Greater Deregulation’s more esoteric moments.
“But I don’t have any of my papers. My house burned down.”
“If you had signed up for the TrakMe program…”
“I had. My parents signed me up just after I got a name. I’ve been trying to sign on with or without their help for forty years.”
“You can voluntarily sign up for the TrakMe program at any time,” recited the sallow, callow creature on the other end of the counter. “You need three forms of ID and a blood sample.”
“Which part of ‘house fire’ did you fail to understand? And it needs more than that. I know. I had the three forms of ID and the blood sample and I was still rejected. Turns out I needed to be identified by a non-relative who’s known me for at least ten years.”
“That must mean you’d been red-flagged.” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Reasons for red-flagging include a criminal history,”
“Nope.”
“Association with a criminal,”
“Not knowingly.”
“Relation to a criminal,”
“Nope. No family left to be criminals.”
“Resident in a criminal zone?”
“How the hell would anyone find that out?”
“You’d need to be on the TrakMe program to gain the benefit of being aware of criminal residential areas.”
“How the hell can I get on the TrakMe program to get those benefits if I can’t get on it without those benefits?”
The creature behind the counter ignored her. “Your face has been processed. Please list your former residential addresses in order.”
She’d been through this too many times. It had become a song that she had to resist singing. The rhythm pushed through, regardless.
Stare. “Uhm. I don’t… type that fast.”
She slowed it right down. Laboriously reciting the numbers and spellings and streets and what those streets were now.
“Ah. Hum. You stayed primarily in West Esterbrook.”
“Yeah, it was recommended by our TrakMe administrator.”
“West Esterbrook has been randomly selected as an area of potential criminality.”
“Since…?”
“West Esterbrook has been randomly selected. The -uh- date is… Twenty years before you were born?”
“Why would a TrakMe administrator recommend someone stay there?”
The creature’s console bleeped. “Ah. Yes. We can not help you. I’m sorry.”
“So how do I get hold of at least some ID? I need work! I need food!”
“Please keep your voice down.”
“I’m starving.”
“Your… bloodline… has been randomly selected as a potential criminal element. I’m sorry. We can’t help you.”
“So… what? I turn myself in at the nearest prison-factory?”
Smile. “That would be incredibly helpful. Thankyou.”
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