"Uh, excuse me, sir, I, uh, don't know how to uh, to uh, tell you this, but you were three minutes late. The schedule is a little, uh, bit off. "
He grinned sheepishly.
"That's ridiculous!" murmured the Ticktockman behind his mask. "Check your watch." And then he went into his office, going mrmee, mrmee, mrmee, mrmee.
Is this Your Day To Join The Revolution?
by GENEVIEVE VALENTINE
Genevieve Valentine's first novel, Mechanique: a Tale of the Circus Tresaulti, is forthcoming from Prime Books in 2011. Her short fiction has appeared in the anthology Running with the Pack and in the magazines Strange Horizons, Futurismic, Clarkesworld, Journal of Mythic Arts, Fantasy Magazine, Escape Pod, and more. Her work can also be found in my anthologies Federations, The Way of the Wizard, The Living Dead 2, and in my online magazine Lightspeed. In addition to writing fiction, Valentine is a columnist for Fantasy Magazine. She is a finalist for the 2010 World Fantasy Award.
The Tupolev ANT-20, completed in 1934, was one of the largest fixed-winged aircrafts ever built. It featured remarkable engineering features that outshone any other airplane of the 1930s. Big and fast, it was loaded to the gills with wonders: an in-flight film projector, its own printing equipment, a darkroom, and most importantly, the radio broadcasting unit known as the "Voice from the Sky. " It was no ordinary airplane. The ANT-20 was the jewel of Stalin's propaganda machine.
Propaganda doesn't have to be evil. But it exists to convince people — and those who use it are often willing to skew the truth or obscure it entirely in order to create an influential product. In the past, propaganda was an important part of the war efforts of many countries, from Nazi Germany to the United States. But in the future, who knows how propaganda might be used?
Our next tale is the story of a new kind of propaganda, filled with a message so large it has changed the living fabric of a nation. But is the message true?
In this grim new world, there's no way to know. And even if it's not, who's brave enough to ask?
When Liz left her building, Disease Control workers were standing on the corners, handing out pills and little paper cups of Coke.
"Do you need one?" the old lady asked, holding up a handful of paper masks stamped with ads for Lavender Fields Sterile-Milled Soap. Liz pulled out the one she kept in her bag, and the lady smiled.
The TV in her subway car showed "What You Can Do on a Date. " the young man and woman went to the fair twice — once where he screwed everything up, and again where he helped her into the Ferris Wheel and handed her a paper mask before he put on his own.
The movie closed with swelling music and a reminder in cursive: ARE YOU DUE FOR A DATE? CHECK WITH YOUR DOCTOR.
Liz worked the reception desk on the sixth floor of the Department of Information Affairs.
"That Greg's a lucky man," said Mr. Randall, the District Manager, when he came in every morning. "Too bad I didn't get matched with you first!"
Liz chuckled, because a District Manager's jokes were always funny.
Above her, on a loop, the introduction video played for anyone coming into the Department. It showed a woman on the street overhearing pieces of information she didn't know how to report; it reviewed the details of filing a claim as a man in a mechanic's jumpsuit signed in at the desk, took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, shook hands with a smiling agent.
"What do you know that we should know?" the narrator asked at the end, right before the two actors turned to the camera and the man in the jumpsuit said, "More than I thought, that's for sure!"
Liz couldn't see it from where she was sitting, but she didn't need to. She'd seen the film during orientation; the last time anyone at the Department suggested she had anything anyone needed to know.
Greg waited outside her building for their scheduled date, and when he saw her coming, he smiled.
Greg had been studying for a job at Disease Control, before the Bang. His viable sperm knocked him out of line for any Sector-C jobs; he answered phones at a law office. They had been matched three years ago, and had been evaluated "Above Average" Sweethearts three years running by the Society Council. Their chances of marriage had been rated by the doctors as close to 80 %.
Greg was gay as a Maypole, but they made do.
When she was just far enough away, she called, "Hello, darling. " (You never knew when the Society Council was monitoring.)
He smiled. "Hello, honey. How was your day?"
"Some concern over Disease, I think. Someone from Film Production signed in this morning; they might be making a new film about how the Disease is going. "
Greg whistled. "that's no good. "
She shook her head. "I just don't understand the delay — we've been wearing the masks for weeks already, they should have delivered a new movie by now. "
"They should have," Greg said, frowning.
Liz patted her boyfriend's arm and dropped the subject; every once in a while, the government wasn't above a little mistake.
They hit up The Shindig at the three-Screen. The tag line had caused a little scandal ("Vane and Murray spark more fireworks than the Bang!"), but it was just a romantic musical. Liz liked the dancing. Greg liked Joe Murray.
The cashier stamped their tickets. "Please don't forget to get them stamped on the way out or the purchase is ineligible for reimbursement from the Department of Society," he droned.
Once they were in their seats, Greg put his arm around her like all the other guys had done to their dates. (You never knew who was a Society Council inspector.) "Is there a plan for after this?"
"Well, if you really enjoy Joe Murray, we can go to a Society hotel if you want, after. "
He looked over, understanding. "Due for the doctor?"
She smiled thinly. "We have a year left before they re-match me. " She thought about Mr. Randall finding out and filing a request, and shuddered. "I'd rather stick it out with you. "
Greg nodded, and when the movie titles came up, he held her hand.
Murray and Vane were in the middle of their meet-cute dance routine when the film stuttered, pixelated, and blinked out.
"Refund!" someone shouted before the screen was even black.
The screen flared back to life, with the title: YOU ARE BEING LIED TO.
"So, no refund?" asked Greg. The people near them laughed.
The screen cards kept flashing. THERE ARE NO PATHOGENS. THERE IS NO DISEASE CONTROL.
THERE IS NO DISEASE.
Now no one was laughing.