Marc Andreottola

Mr Solomon’s Brand New Teeth

by Marc Andreottola

That Thursday evening he got his teeth replaced was peculiar in a number of ways.  He couldn’t see much on that drive back.  The snow whitewashed everything.  A windshield wiper fell off.  A crow flew at him after the car had stalled.  It was majestic in a way he hadn’t experienced in awhile - because it seemed like he was lost.  He hadn’t known there was the foothills of a mountain in his district, and a patch of forest, too.  It almost seemed to him that the district walls had expanded somewhat to get him to where he needed to go.  The walls were holographic and laser-based, so it was clearly possible.  When he got home he tried drawing a map from memory of the journey, a strange star shape with a blob like head.  If he ever changed his teeth again, he would know if the boundaries have shifted.  And before he could finish the cup of cocoa he had sipped in his only chair, he watched a violent power cord jerk and sway in the wind, snapping off, erupting in sparks.  The sentry would fix that, fix the weather.  Usually with this type of weather there was something happening high above the clouds, he thought, something shifting and collecting  the ideas, questions and patterns in the bulbs inside heads of the citizenry below.

It was those kinds of unyielding cascading events that left him in marvelous awe of the unusual sway of the universe.  Mr Solomon wondered if he wasn’t more on edge than usual lately.  That night, as he closed his eyes, he thought of that mountain and the day he got to go outside.   He had only seen people as they represented themselves on screens.  And it was his job to alter their fate.  You could say it was spying, but that’s not what the job title said.  He was part of another tier of society, and some tiers didn’t know the other tiers existed.  But as he reached the mountain where the Dental tech facility was, it occurred to him that perhaps that was a tier watching him, too.  Nevertheless, the mountain was vast and beautiful, inspiring awe inside his wary soul.

He wished time could pause when he hiked through the base woods, always curious about what he’d see ahead.  Often he would see nothing, but feel something.  And when he’d think of the cerulean rapids snaking through the forest, while lying later in his bed, he’d remember how he felt there, as if nothing mattered but these walks he’d take.  Once every so often, but mainly only once or twice or three times a year.  But that was it.  A reminder of a somewhere else that he was aloud to explore now.

WHOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

The Spearhead charted the Earth, going beyond the known, beyond logic and into some deformed inverse, into a crack of a plastic reality.  Many marveled at its invention, the first train to break the sound barrier, then the first to travel at the speed of light.   It was simply a ray that cut past the Earth, dominating it, and running on an energy which had yet to be divulged.  Few knew about it.  It could stop on a dime. It could get from Paris to Tokyo in three seconds.  It was fantagnanimous.

The only employment Mr Solomon could find was for a remote village teaching company.  Everything was on Syncrodat, a remote communications system that was monitored by outside parties for professional purposes.  And these days, with the world divided so neatly, there was only ever remote options anyhow.  Very rarely would someone of his background and genetics be allowed to leave the Fourth Region.  And the paperwork was too long anyhow.  It was better to just stay put.

When he could find a student to teach, Mr Solomon found the exchange pleasant.  But the opportunities were so few and far between.  And the company, which catered to those with a checkered past,  had free rein to cancel teaching sessions at a moments notice.  Of course with what Mr Solomon had said in the past, there was no recourse from him.  He had to just go with it.  That was all he could even do anymore.  

The teeth had been fitted securely.  He was told he could go without the teeth, but who would want to go through life without any teeth?  They were fitted snuggly into his gums after all his old teeth were pulled out.  Immediately he felt a zap and flash, as if they were electronic teeth.  When he asked about it, the dentist said it was just your normal everyday sensitivity.  “Don’t worry.” He said. “You’ll get used to it.”

And then lying down later in his favorite reclining chair, he thought about how the world had gotten to be such a way.   He could faintly remember the times when the boundaries weren’t so stringent and when travel was unlimited.  But even that memory was spare, just a few images, and he couldn’t recall what district it was in…because now they were numbers…there were no names.  Numbers were easier to forget - leaving you to remember only a few.  

And if you wanted to romanticize something, that was in the past, too.  “We are starting clean, starting fresh.”  Everything was gone from the past and this was year zero.  Now it was no longer year zero, maybe a few years later.  But no one was supposed to think about time.  It was about moving forward, as the community organizers told them.  

Forget yesterday, forget the past we’ve come to shame.  Forget everything you know about history - it has all been a sham and a lie.  We are in the new era of starting over.  We are in a new phase of human development.  We will cleanse and rise anew, bold like a phoenix.

It was very hard for Mr Solomon to recollect the series of events which created the world he now lived in.  He remembered the spectacle of it, but he certainly didn’t want to think about it.  At this point in time nobody really discussed going back to what was - largely because everybody had seen the outcome.  A real outbreak that made the Black Plague look meek, so that people rallied to their legislators to contain everything, leaving society instantly divided into neat cubicles that never crossed.

He sometimes thought how convenient it was that a plan seemed to be in place for the divisions.  And life ever since has been tumult after tumult.   People were better off confined because all of the social problems could be addressed once and for all.  It was with satisfaction that books were burned and vows were taken to start over.  But Mr Solomon never subscribed to any of that.  He went through the motions (as was required to maintain citizenship).  But his heart held his reservations and true beliefs.  

He thought again of the mountain.  He had forgotten its name (if he ever knew it).  As part of the Great Shake-Up, people were shuttled off to different parts of the Federation on blind trains with no knowledge of the geographical territory they were sent to.  Family members were reassigned by community organizers as genetic relatives.  It was all a process of forgetting and reorganizing the mind, finding community families, building connections beyond genetics.  Maintaining the brand new order of life.  But the mountain seemed to tell him something different.  Strong and majestic, it felt like it had the liberty to be alone, to forge its own path.  He remembered seeing it - an almost unforced territory, wild, but also protected; a place that was eternal and always mysterious.

Though the further he got from that memory, the more the present drowned it out.  The truth was he was forgetting things and it was okay to forget, he was told.  He fell asleep, the robot cat in his lap.  Animals, too, were unhygienic and not allowed.  Besides the robot cat could talk.  But still.  He stared into the robot cat’s tempered-glass eyes.  “How can I help you today?”  He wanted nothing from it. He put it in the pen.  He wished he could turn it off, but the District Peace Squad would be alerted.

Everyone has the brand new teeth.  They enhance cognitive abilities and keep you smiling.  Studies show that the brand new teeth even might improve longevity.  The latest: the brand new teeth are reported to have anti-inflammatory properties.  Next up:  the brand new teeth might need to be retro-fitted once every two years under new government laws so citizens can take advantage of all their exciting new properties.  It’s a lifesaver.  It’s a modern miracle.  It’s a game-changer.

——————

He overslept.  Stupidly he forgot to set the alarm.  And he wasn’t supposed to lock in the cat.  He felt the zaps again.  Two zaps shooting from his back molars.  Maybe that was part of the new functionality.   He hadn’t read the manual because it was so long.  But whoosh!  He jumped up - there was a red mark on the screen. His rating had been hit.  He was on Citizen’s Alert and at risk of losing his home and being reassigned.  Even if you weren’t doing anything, life itself was consider work, the act of daily living itself was now considered an assignment.  And therefore if your daily citizen reliability markers weren’t hit, you were in danger of losing your post.

Mr Solomon shot up from the bed, threw on some clothes and fled out the door.  The quiet little township he lived in had new features by the day.  It was almost as if, starting from zero features, each little addition was carefully vetted and considered.  When they moved him in, it was just boxes for houses and cement sidewalks and new-paved roads.  Everything looked exactly the same, except for the number and QR code.  The code held all your information and filter tags in one places.  All your obedience checks and social profiling could be found in the code placed right in front of your home, where anyone could access it.

There were updates amongst the citizens too, but people had grown accustom to the changes.  Just two weeks ago, people were hooded with small gauze eyes and QR codes on their backs.  The uniform garb was intended to promote equity amongst the citizens and also liberate people from social judgment, as well as making them easily identifiable to the numerous microscopic cameras interspersed everywhere.  But new features were rolled out on a weekly basis by the Federation.  And this month, it was the rollout of the brand new teeth.  Everyone on the streets now was smiling, their teeth broad, white, with the beguiling enthusiasm of a Cheshire Cat.  He had suspected there was more to the teeth than met the eye, but questioning these things could get you into real trouble and reassignment.  

When he arrived at the Office of Internal Affairs to explain his situation, he was instructed to wait.  His mind raced as he sat down, eyes following the zigzagging wallpaper and the abstract sculpture that stood in every office - a cube seemingly surrounded by water floating in outer space. Or that’s what he saw, at least.

Finally they scanned his code and his image arrived on screen. In exasperation, he explained what happened.  The Clerk was unmoved, asked why he hid his robot cat.  “For future reference, you should never hide your cat - that’s what gives you the alarm.”  Yes, he explained, but it also watches you.  A frown appeared on the Clerk’s face.  He couldn’t say for sure, but he sometimes wondered if the clerks were bots too.  Either that or successfully brainwashed, so that they never veered from the script.  

“Sir, that’s a conspiracy theory. We have strict laws which we adhere to regarding the use of the eyes on the robots.  They are there to make the cat more lifelike and also there to help you.”  

He nodded, but added that he wasn’t so sure about that. 

“Sure about what?” The Clerk snapped.  

He couldn’t hold back.  

“Well, sometimes when it’s looking at me I feel like it’s tracking something, tracking my mind, breaking down my intentions.  I also hear a kind of clicking, like it’s processing something. Because sometimes I notice that it’s looking at me vacantly but intently.  And certain things seem to happen sometimes later in the day, which are loosely connected to things I had thought earlier in the day, in the house, with the cat.”  

It all seemed so wild - even verbalizing it he realized how bizarre he sounded and even he started to question his own story.  Saying it out loud, he felt like he was sleepwalking.  

The Clerk cocked her head and clicked something on her screen. 

 “Are you going to abide by the rules, sir, or are you going to be an agitator and conspiracy theorist, which are you going to be?”

“Well, come on, it’s not like that-”

“Are you going to keep your cat on or off, sir?  It’s really up to you.”

“Well, I don’t want it.  That’s my choice, right?  I don’t want it in my house.”

“That’s civil disobedience.  These cats are meant to protect society.   They come with every house. Thanks for your time, sir. We’ll be locking your jaw for the next 24 hours.”

Instantly he felt his jaw tighten and snap shut.  His teeth reverberated with the snap and rage he felt inside.  He tried to scream but couldn’t, so all the anger poured into his hands.  He tapped on the window, first softly, then increasingly hard.  It was all he could do to plead, since no words could come out of his mouth.

“No problem, sir.” The Clerk said,  “That’ll be 48 hours instead.  Would you like a full week?”

As he pounded on the window another plate of glass came between them for added protection.  He felt his jaw tighten and tighten.  He seemed to get smaller, more ineffectual.  A guard came up with a pad to get him to sign something promising he wouldn’t harass the clerks.  He was ushered out into the snow.  As he walked home, he felt like he had tumbled into a surreal alternate reality.  How was it possible that everyone agreed to get brand new teeth without considering the consequences or what was in them?

He had gotten the new teeth because everybody had them.  But also ever since the Great Shake-Up, there was no recourse to deny these things.  Everything was under the terms of the new martial law - at first extending three weeks, but it had now been much longer, possibly years.  He knew the teeth were magnetized, but he never thought they’d be used this way.  How could a State hate its own citizens so much to do this to them? He went home and stared at the cat.  He tried to let his mind disappear.  If his mind disappeared, there would be nothing for the cat to read.  And no strange coincidences, so nothing would ever happen.  But he started to wonder, then focus…then focus harder…and then he let go.  He willfully lost his train of thought, then let something else seep in.  If he imagined a mouse hard enough.  If all he thought about was the mouse.

The white mouse eventually came and the cat ran off, outside, out of the apartment.  He couldn’t explain how it occurred, but it did, as if almost by magic.  It was like a cuckoo clock - the way things moved, the way the room swayed - the way forms could suddenly appear, then disappear, as he fixated on his trance. It would sometimes seem that everything surveilled in its own way, but his white mouse did not.  The white mouse that appeared was created with some sort of other matter, unleashed into the world like a virus.  It was gone now, but he knew somehow he had thrown a wrench into the machine.  And with that he sat down to the terminal - energized, disobedient, unafraid - and started typing his complaint.

——————

The next day Mr Solomon woke covered in sweat.  He wondered if it was just a strange dream, but looking over to his nightstand, he could see the support receipt. The memories of yesterday evening zigzagged to the ground like flurries.  Pumped up and agitated, he had messaged District Support with his notice for escalation - stating he was unfairly treated, that locking his teeth for such a long time would be harmful to his well-being.  He had told them he would take the unfair treatment to the Bureau of Procedural Review.  He had warned them that it was against any law he knew.

The problem was at the moment there were no known laws.  There were people who reviewed, and people behind them, somewhere, reviewing and analyzing and sorting.  It had seemed to him that everything had fallen into place according to a prearranged pattern - something which worked perfectly for whoever it was on the other side, beyond the mountain.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!

Many didn’t know the Spearhead existed.  It moved so fast, with no visible railway.  You might think it was a supersonic flight, if you heard it.  Some might have surmised a meteor.  And for the few who knew who about the program and what it was, no one really knew who the current occupants were, orbiting the globe like neutrons, unaware and unruly, but tethered to a forever path.

His apartment was still and quiet.  The cat had not come back.  Outside the wind howled and he heard the super-train passing in the distance,  speeding regularly towards a great unknown, taking unknown supplies from and through, away and beyond - to a nowhere he’d never see - in a world he didn’t know anymore.  It’s a sound so many had become familiar with, but which held no explanation.  

He walked over the desk to view the print-out.  He remembered the tone of his message, how angry he was. It wasn’t that it was unjustified.  It was that you had to temper your anger, you had to speak to them in a certain way.  With deference always.  Because they had to see how meek you were. 

That afternoon a Sentry man stopped by to provide him nutrition assistance.  They injected the fluids into his arm and left.  The Sentry man was lifeless in his eyes and walk, masked with a helmet.  Two shaky eyes behind the visor.  It wasn’t uncommon for cyborgs to be dispersed in the general population anymore.  It was also more commonplace than most knew.  For old heads to be attached to new bodies, then repurpose them in policing the populace.  The Sentry Man was someone you could never say no to.  It didn’t care if you declined and it was efficient.

A note was left at his door by evening. The robot cat crept in.  Cocking its head and curling its tail, it asked him to complete a mandatory survey.  He chose all the highly positive responses, worried he was in trouble again.  The letter told him that his complaint was read by the Office of Equity & Internal Review and that a remote hearing had been scheduled for 9am tomorrow.

——————

Mr Solomon woke again in a sweat, with only a brief moment to prepare for his hearing.  It had been a restless sleep, with constant worry that nothing would change.  When he checked the terminal, it appeared the hearing had been postponed.  When he checked again, he received a message “We will reach out to you regarding a date for the hearing next week.”  He felt fire in his soul again. 

The week was endless.  On Friday he received a message, that the hearing was one again delayed, but in the meantime they would let his teeth do the speaking for him.  At first he wasn’t sure he was reading it right.  When the robot cat asked him to do a survey, his teeth managed to somehow electromagnetically thrust his tongue around his mouth and press and pulse his windpipes.  The peculiar feeling made Mr Solomon feel like a set of bagpipes, controlled by invisible electronic pulses around him. The words he was saying were pulled out of him, not coming from inside.

The Sentry man came by at noon.  “How you doing today?”

“Fine, thanks.  It’s a beautiful day.  I’m so grateful.”

The Sentry man gave a half-smile and stood back. “I’m glad to see your attitude’s changed.  You’ve really made some progress. Keep it up.”

And then he left.  Mr Solomon knew there was a box somewhere, something that was checked to record his output.  If they said the words came from inside rather than outside, then that’s the way it was, even if it wasn’t.

Out there on the hill Mr Solomon could see the people gathering once more.  They gathered each night to receive educational training.   You could improve your citizen’s score and make a difference, but Mr Solomon was wary of all of it.  He sometimes looked at them and wondered who they were.  They seemed perfectly cohesive in a way, and of course they were happy.  It was a world where they owned nothing, but they were happy.  Each smiled on the hillside with their brand new teeth, no longer moving their mouths, teeth closed, but utterances somehow pushing through the spaces between the teeth.  It made everyone sound like a robot because the tongue had to do a different form of gymnastics.

WHOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSHHHHHH!

Inside the Spearhead was a brain.  It was organic, bulbous, squid-like.  It floated through the sacred and sterile chamber, seemingly unfazed.  But it did think.  On one of it’s lobes it was branded the Syncrodat Corp.  Inside the brain all thoughts below followed.  Inside one brain on a train in the sky every thought below was collected and filed, forever watching and knowing.

Mr Solomon owned one thing.  Of course he never talked about it - it was passed on - but it was his.  A small talisman from another time his grand-mother had given his mother and she to him.  He buried it somewhere.  He did all sorts of mental gymnastics to not make it clear where, because he knew his thoughts could be read so easily.  He knew it was a crime to know he owned it, but they knew he was a criminal already.  And it meant more to him than anything.  Because it represented an era of freedom and possibility, which was now gone forever.  But he would never let them know where it was.  Because he wanted that emblem of freedom to live on.

His screen turned on and he was instructed to sit before it. He had chosen to do his education at home and was glad for the solitude.  There was something about the way the world was now that made him want to be as far removed from people as possible.  Today’s educational format was different, though, and the screen started asking him questions.

“Do you remember the time before Year Zero?”

His teeth made a whoosh sound. “No, I don’t remember the time before Year Zero.  Not clearly, anyway.”

“What steps are you taking to do better and give back?”

His teeth chattered, then buzzed. “I’m going to —-“  Suddenly, his jaw released.  His mouth opened wide, his tongue fell out. Everything ached. It was his voice now.  “I - I - I … I’m thinking.”

Then bam, hard. His mouth shut like a book.  

“Please be ready with your answer.  Think about your answer, then respond.”  There was a moment of silence.  Dust floated through the room.  The citizens outside stood in a circle, all going in a row, all saying something right, all in unison, up on the hill. 

“What steps are you taking to do better and give back?” The teeth unlocked.  

“I’m - watching…um, um, um -”

The teeth jammed shut again.

“Negative.  Please.  We need you to take this seriously.  What steps are you taking to do better and give back?”  He knew the answer, but he couldn’t.  Because it went against everything he knew.  He knew the answer. Unjammed, opened.

“I’m reading the Manual.”

“Thank you.  Have a nice day.”

——————

The Manual sit there on his nightstand and he didn’t dare move it.  It was the only book they were allowed anymore and everyone followed it.  It was never questioned, never contradicted.  It was the glue that held everything together.   It was essentially a list of 86 Rules.  Punishment was severe for anyone breaking those rules.  Since his Score was so low he hardly had a chance to break any rules.  His mobility was limited, he was largely unwatched.

The Manual was red.  It was that way because when you had reached a point of all out madness as a society, when unspeakable things and acts had occurred, and society was in a state of emergency - red seemed the most appropriate color. 

No one was publicly counting the days.  He had a vague sense of the number of days passed, but he was unsure.  It was a rule not to talk about it.  No one could count how long this new normal had lasted.  But it was in effect, it was real.  And with how swiftly it had been rolled out, it always for Mr Solomon that it was somehow coordinated.

In his brain he felt a zap.  He always felt a zap when he would dig too deep in his thoughts.  In the cold dark room the cat stared chillingly at him, scanning him for traces of thoughts and intentions.  He turned toward the wall and shut his eyes, the only place he could hide, softly counting back from a thousand until he drifted off to an endless nowhere.

——————

The following week was uneventful. His door had been locked from the outside.  He had sometimes thought about climbing one of the walls that separated each district, but nixed the idea thinking the other side might be worse.  When the world was closed and walls were erected, there was nowhere to run anymore.

They had installed new software in his home.  He could go anywhere he wanted, with his walls turning into Paris, a beach in Hawaii, 18th century London.  It was all very stimulating and sometimes he felt happy…though he couldn’t talk.  His teeth were still shut and set to to auto-talk.  

The cat had been quiet lately.  A new feature had been rolled out.  They had updated the Social function so that his Mother, Sister and Father could all talk to him and appear lifelike on one of the screens.  It wasn’t really them, but it was a composite based on the numerous recorded phone and video calls secretly recorded over the years, before they had ended up at Year Zero.  They said things that were Manual-affirmative and conversation was limited.  But it was nice to see them still. Some days he wondered if there was any need for reality anymore.

A knock on his door.  It was the Sentry man, who quizzed him again about how he was.  His teeth answered for him and it was the result the man needed.  Before leaving, the stiff machined man handed him a letter.  He smiled, his teeth said thank you and Mr Solomon sat down beside his bed to read the transcript.

Dear Mr Solomon, 

Thank you for your inquiry.  We appreciate your feedback and have logged your concerns.  Please know that your well-being is of utmost importance to us.  

After careful review, we have decided it is in your best interest to keep your teeth locked, to maintain autonomous communication through the auto-talk function of your current teeth, and to continue a nutritional sustenance program as you have already been doing, indefinitely.  We are happy to say that this nutritional sustenance program is made possible through generous funding of the Centralized Office for Basic Human Needs.

Please know that your score has dropped below 85, and therefore it is not possible to leave your home during this time, as you have been designated as problematic for the community.

If you would like to appeal this decision it is entirely within your legal bounds to do so.  Please send and attach the following form.  Appeal processes can take 36-62 weeks to be initiated as there is a backlog of cases given the xenovirus, so please be patient.

Regards, 

Office of Equity & Internal Review

Mr Solomon didn’t feel anything at all.  There was nothing he could do.  He felt some rage rise and fall inside him, but it passed.  Removing his teeth would be a bloody and painful option, one that he would never want to face.  And what difference would it make anyway, as he’d be left having to endure the pain while they made plans for a replacement and the whole process started all over again like clockwork.  

Out through the window of his mind, he could see the mountain he had visited just days ago.  He couldn’t see it from his home space, but he knew it was there, a monument, a vessel.  There was no escaping what it hid and he watched snow fall gently outside his window, blanketing the landscape, hiding the green lawn, hiding everything and cocooning inside the world of his home.  His teeth then buzzed and spoke up, reminding him to place the transcript on the desk and review the Manual.

WHOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

The brain never went anywhere and it was intended to last thousands of years.  It was more powerful than powerful, it kept everything below in check.  It floated blissfully and aimlessly through its sacred sterile chamber, never to forget the thought misdeeds of those below as it reported back to its constellation of satellites on the free land below.