“Of course not. And for the record, punishment is an ineffective tool — at least when it comes to rehabilitation. A sociopath is unable to learn from their mistakes simply because they have no fear or remorse… no conscience.”
“And that’s a crime?”
Dr. Mallouh closed his file. “We were just children at the time, but in the decade that preceded the disclosure of zero-point-energy, there was a tremendous gap between the top earners and the rest of the population. One of the reasons for this was the unusually high number of sociopaths who were hired as CEOs of major multibillion dollar companies. Their sheer ruthlessness and lack of anything resembling a conscience enabled them to abuse their work force and the environment in order to drive stock prices higher, all the while rewarding themselves with obscene amounts of money. It wasn’t just CEOs; sociopaths had risen to power in Russia, North Korea, Hungary, and throughout the Middle East, South America and Africa.
The ‘Rise of the Sociopath’ culminated in 2017 when the Trump Administration essentially eliminated all federal laws safeguarding what was left of the environment. With the brakes off, the result was a runaway Greenhouse Effect. Polar ice melted, causing fresh water to infiltrate the North Atlantic current. Without getting too technical, ocean salinity is what moves this warm water highway and keeps our planet from moving into an Ice Age. Just as frightening, our crops began dying when dense smog clouds choked off the sun’s rays, disrupting photosynthesis. In the critical four to five years it took to bring atmospheric scrubbers powered by zero-point-energy generators online, we very nearly annihilated life on this planet.
“In retrospect, we had allowed greed and fanatical religious beliefs to silence the scientific community. Elections were determined by money, not by the qualifications of the candidates running for office. The two political parties had produced so much gridlock and anger that nothing could be done. It was only after the masses revolted in the wake of near planet-wide starvation that the rules were changed. One of the new checks and balances that was put in place was to safeguard society against the rise of the sociopath in politics, the military, and the new sciences brought forth from The Disclosure Event. This includes Quantum Physics and CE-5 training — the very activities Michael has shown to have both an exceptional interest in and aptitude for.”
Fresh tears flowed down Tina Soderfield’s cheeks. “Don’t ban him from that or we’ll lose him. Please Dr. Mallouh—”
“We’re not going to ban him. We’re going to attempt to use these interests as a reward for Michael taking a positive interest in his own therapy. While he may not have the internal mechanism that allows him to feel, he needs to know that unless he respects the feelings of others — especially those who are different than him — then extraterrestrial contact will be forbidden… and not just by us, but by the Interstellars themselves.”
18
Jessica awoke to the soothing crash and sizzle of waves dying outside her bedroom window. Rolling over, she glanced at the clock on the night stand.
Twelve forty-eight in the afternoon? No wonder my stomach’s growling.
Rolling out of bed, she entered the bathroom and showered, then ordered a decadent omelet before dressing in one of the many workout outfits provided by the efficient Kirsty Brunt.
Forty minutes later she exited her suite, stuffed from lunch. Her intention was to walk to the gym to digest her meal — until she saw the concourse. While the center track was occupied with joggers, it was the Maglev lanes that grabbed her attention as people shot past her on hoverboards like they were snowboarding on air.
“Oh, I gotta try that!”
Returning to her apartment, she located a hoverboard in the hall closet, the smooth fiberglass top supporting adjustable foot straps, the denser underside composed of a hard gray porous material, similar to the surface of the Maglev track.
Jessica exited to the catwalk outside her dwelling and sat down at an empty bench, attempting to pick up a few pointers by observing the hoverboarders. She quickly separated the pedestrians using the Maglev as a means of getting from Point A to Point B from the “subterranean surfers.” The latter occupied the faster outside lanes, cutting S-patterns in a torque-like maneuver which seemed to increase their speed, each change in direction generating a zzzzzttt of protest from the electromagnetic waves being repelled beneath their boards.
Fearing the embarrassment of taking a hard fall, she waited until the concourse was less crowded before she ventured on foot across the fifty-foot-wide expanse to the more forgiving jogging surface located at the center of the track. Checking both directions again to make sure no one was watching, she tucked her I.D. badge inside her workout top before bending over to place her hoverboard to the hard bare gray surface.
One moment she was registering an invisible cushion of resistance — the next she was being dragged across the cold Maglev surface, her right hand caught in one of the foot straps. Twisting sideways, she flung herself free, only to witness the cursed device shooting down the concourse without her.
Bruised, skinned, bleeding and embarrassed, Jessica stepped onto the center track and started jogging, hoping no one had noticed.
The cushioned surface was easy on her joints, but her knees were scraped and sore, forcing her to walk.
“Move to the side!”
She turned to see a quartet of male joggers bearing down on, a powerfully-built heavyset Caucasian man in his early fifties adamantly signaling her to move aside.
Unsure what to do, she jumped onto the Maglev track, nearly getting sideswiped by a woman on a hoverboard.
“Idiot!”
The herd thundered by, their annoyed leader calling out, “walk left, jog right!”
Jessica contemplated turning back when she saw the teen waving at her.
He was tall and lanky, with shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes — she guessed his age to be sixteen. He was cutting figure-eights across the Maglev track, Jessica’s hoverboard tucked under his right arm.
“Lose something?”
“I’ve never seen that board before in my life.”
He smirked. “Want me to show you how to ride it?”
“No. Maybe. Will it hurt?”
“Only if you’re dumb enough to try to mount it with the power on.”
“There’s a power switch?”
He tugged the leash attached to his board and right ankle, powering off the device.
“Now see, that makes sense. But my board doesn’t have—”
Flipping Jessica’s board back-end up, he unzipped a small plastic storage pouch and unraveled the leash.
“So that’s where they hid it.”
“I’m Logan… Logan Remy LaCombe. You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Jessica Marulli. I arrived late last night. Aren’t you a little young to be living down here?”
“My mom’s a genetics engineer, my father works security. I’ve been here two years; they home school us kids by computer.”
“Where’s here?”
“Shit if I know. I spend most of my free time surfing the RC… the Residential Concourse. Don’t feel bad about wiping out; the same thing happened to Kari her first time on the Mag.”
“Who’s Kari?”
“Kariane Phillips. She’s sort of my girlfriend. Her old man is one of the religious big shots and he’s like, ‘my daughter is not a box of candy; there will be no free samples.’ And I’m like, ‘Dude, I’m fifteen… do you really expect me to marry her without tasting the goods?’ So you know what he did? He moved his family to an apartment on Level-4, just so I can’t see her.”