It was a short distance away physically, but economically it was another world: a very poor, depressed area, filled with people and disintegrating homes. I pulled in, and noticed a lot of commotion going on at Chantlo’s little tenement house. I got out with a growing sense of trepidation.
The first person I ran into was Marina, and she was beside herself. “What’s going on?” I asked, feeling like that was the only thing I had asked in Thusbammanna.
“The family!” she cried, tears running down her face. “The soldiers, they take!”
Oh my God—I didn’t know what that meant, but it sure sounded bad. I hurried in, and saw Anya sitting huddled in a corner of a bedroom. She looked at me with hostility and fear, and wouldn’t respond to anything I said. I ran to another room, and found Chantlo. He was quite upset, running from room to room, calling out in a loud voice. I grabbed his arm, feeling the hysteria of the place rubbing off on me.
“Chantlo! Chantlo, for God’s sake, what’s going on? What’s wrong?!”
“Oh, Mrs. Anderson! It is terrible! Truly terrible! The security police came this morning, when I was not here! They intended to arrest me on suspicion of treason. But, as I was not here, they took my family instead! My wife! My poor children! They are in prison as we speak! They allowed Marina and Anya to stay, and instructed them to inform me that my family will be released only when I turn myself in! Oh, Mrs. Anderson! This is terrible!”
I was struck speechless by the enormity of the situation. Based on my dad’s stories of the Thusbammannan security police, I knew that Chantlo would probably be tortured, questioned, and then executed. And if he didn’t turn himself in, it would probably happen to his family.
“OK,” I said as calmly as I could. “OK. Let’s sit down for a minute and see if we can find a way out of this.”
“There is no way, Mrs. Anderson. Imagine the fear of my family! Imagine what will happen to them if I do not turn myself in within twenty-four hours!”
I didn’t want to imagine what would happen, although I had a pretty good idea. “Do you have any benefit of counsel? Anybody who looks after your rights in this matter?”
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m new to this.”
“Please, Mrs. Anderson,” he said urgently, “could you drive me to the police station?”
“Chantlo, are you sure about this?”
“Yes, Mrs. Anderson. I will not allow my family to be brutalized because of my absence.”
“Well… OK,” I said miserably. “Would it help if I spoke for you?”
“Certainly not. It would merely confirm their suspicions.”
“OK. Well, I’m ready when you are.”
We walked to the car in silence. I sat for a moment. “Why do they want to arrest you?”
“I do not know why they suspect me. I may have been seen attending some high level resistance meetings, but I am not sure. This is what has been happening to resistance members all through the country.”
“How could they know where you were?”
Chantlo shrugged. “I can only presume that the security police have followed me. But I must confess to great confusion. I do not understand how anyone could have followed me without being discovered. I have been extremely careful.”
I started the car, and hit the “No Option” button on the computer system. I wouldn’t need it with Chando here. “So we’re screwed,” I concluded.
“I am afraid so.”
“So you have to turn yourself in?”
“It is my only option,” Chantlo said bitterly. “I can not endanger others to protect myself. I certainly will not endanger my family.”
I had pulled out to the intersection of a major road, and waited for Chantlo to tell me where to turn. I looked at him, but he was shrunk into himself, deeply depressed. Tears were welling into his eyes. I felt great sorrow and sympathy, but didn’t know what I could do. I could at least respect his privacy, and use the computer to get us to our destination instead of bothering—wait a minute.
“Wait a minute!” I exclaimed, and wrestled the car violently to the side of the road. Chantlo looked up inquiringly, but with no life in his eyes. “Chantlo!” I yelled at him, even though he was two feet away.
“Yes, Mrs. Anderson?”
“Do all of the cars in Thusbammanna have these directional computers?”
It obviously took every ounce of his strength to remain polite in the face of such a trivial question, but he managed. “Virtually all, Mrs. Anderson.”
“But surely the people can’t afford them.”
“It was a government program,” Chantlo said, his voice revealing a burr of exasperation. “The technology was imported from the United States to reduce the congestion and pollution in Thusbammanna, and the government had them installed in all of the cars I am sorry, Mrs. Anderson, but I do not see—”
“But that’s it!” I cried. “That’s how they followed you!”
“What?”
I stomped on the accelerator and screamed out into traffic, Chantlo holding on for dear life. “Where are we going?” he called over the sound of the revving motor.
“Back to your home,” I said. “We’ve got work to do!”
“I must protect my family,” Chantlo objected. “I must—”
“Bullshit!” I interrupted rudely. “I know how to get them out of jail, without putting you in!”
He stared at me with wild hope rising in his eyes. “You suddenly remind me much of your father,” he said, not knowing how much of a compliment he was paying me.
“Thanks, but let’s wait to see if it works.”
“I beg you to explain your idea.”
“It’s these directional computers,” I said. “They’re installed as a driver’s aid. But, see, the computer in each car is in contact with a main server somewhere in your city. That’s how your car’s computer gets its sense of direction; by checking with the main server. That’s why, if you go to the country for a day, the computer can’t help you because it’s out of range of the server, but when you come back into the city limits, the computer knows where it is. It checks with the server.”
“I have heard of satellites that can give any car an accurate location,” Chantlo said. “Why is a central computer necessary?”
“Satellites would work fine for individual cars, but the central computer does a lot for metropolitan areas. It monitors the location of thousands of cars simultaneously, which makes it possible to forecast and minimize traffic jams. That’s why.”
“I see. Please continue.”
“Well, the level of detail of your directional computer’s instructions means that it’s got to keep track of where you are at all times. I mean, if it says, ‘turn left at the next corner,’ it’s got to have a pretty specific idea of where you are when it says it, right?”
“Yes,” Chantlo prompted again.
“And if the central computer is going to calculate what roads have congestion, they calculate how many cars are there, and their speed. The central computer also sends out general queries, asking if there are any cars heading for the congested areas. If your car’s computer is programmed for that area, it answers ‘yes,’ and the central computer can forecast how much better or worse the congestion is going to be.”
“But how does this help me?” Chantlo asked.
“Well, don’t you see? The main computer server knows where every car is! The government can tell every place you’ve driven to!”
Chantlo stared at me with comprehension and horror rising in his face. “My… my God!” he stammered.
We drove in silence for a minute while I let him digest the information. Finally, he stirred.