Error

by Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

Chapter 10

'Error' synopsis

One day, Jonas, who has recently migrated to the city, discovers that all his records — including his assets — have been erased somehow. No longer able to get work, buy anything on credit or sell his now legally non-existent car, his life becomes a unique adventure.

The guards remembered Jonas from earlier, and they took him to their back room and gave him coffee.

Jonas told them that the woman refused to give him his identity back, even if he had shown her his birth certificate. The guards thought this was weird, but well in keeping with usual State activities.

“They think you could have forged all the documents, and snuck them in place in the middle of the night,” one of them offered as an explanation.

“But I had it authentically signed, by a doctor. She could at least have confirmed the signature,” said Jonas.

“I think it is most likely that she thinks this doctor is a friend of yours,” said the guard.

Jonas finished his coffee and thanked the guards. They thought it would be best if they followed him to the parking lot, to keep up appearances. Jonas did not mind.

When Jonas got to his car, a possible solution to the problem he was facing occurred to him: he could get someone to hack into the national archives and insert him there!

A truly ingenious idea, he thought. But who did he know who could do that? Perhaps Mac knew someone. Jonas would have to either meet him or call him on the phone. He decided to call him. He grabbed the phone Frank had given him. But he let go of it, and let it sit in his pocket longer. Better not use it unless he needed to. He did not have a charger for it, and if he really needed help, how would he be able to call for help if the batteries had run out? One must think, if one does not technically exist.

He still needed to contact Mac. But first, he had to get a bite to eat, he was hungry.

Jonas started his car and drove to find a little hamburger shop somewhere.

The little hamburger shop had a pay phone Jonas could use. After paying for his burger, he had enough small change to pay for a few calls, and he wasted no time in calling Mac.

“Do you know anyone who is good with computers?” Jonas asked.

“It depends on what you intend to have done,” replied Mac.

“I need someone to hack into the national archives,” said Jonas.

“Why?” asked Mac.

“To reinstate my identity,” said Jonas.

“I don’t know. But I think Frank knows someone. Ask him the next time you meet him,” said Mac.

Good enough. But would Frank want him to have his identity back? Perhaps Jonas could persuade him to give it to him, in exchange for a novel idea that had just popped into his head.

Jonas received his burger. Good stuff, with sauce leaking from the inside. Good sauce too, and the fries: crunchy. Jonas had often heard that fries were deadly because of the stuff they are fried in: the oil. In most fast food restaurants, they do not change the oil very often, perhaps once a month. But after boiling for a couple of days, even mere hours, the oil has acquired properties it did not have when it first started boiling: poisonous properties.

But Jonas worried not of those things. His primary worry was his identity, and again, it seemed as if he might save himself yet.

Jonas finished the burger, washed the fat off his hands, and went home. He would have to wait until midnight again before he could meet Frank, and he just did not have the money to cruise around town for the whole day.

Jonas went for a walk around the neighbourhood instead of going directly inside. He was in a mood for walking just to take in fresh air. He looked forward to having the national archives hacked into and altered. He wondered if that would prove to be difficult. Surely the national archives would have all sorts of anti-hacking paraphernalia around to prevent this. Yes. To prevent people from getting an identity they had just lost and could not seem to get back through formal means. And terrorists; let us not forget about the terrorists.

Jonas walked around the whole complex of buildings. All were of the same basic design, yet with variations in decor, construction quality and such. Some had extensive alkali cracks while others had none. Some were completely slab-sided, while some had colourful panes moulded right into the concrete. It was as though the buildings had not all been made by the same contractor, at the same time, or from the same materials.

And the neighbourhood itself, it was the only neighbourhood in the city that had been designed with some thought behind it — a thought other than “this will look real artsy when seen from the sky”. It had been designed as a completely self-contained unit. There was a bank, a market, and even a school located in the middle. A kid living there would never have to cross a street in order to go anywhere. It would be safe.

Jonas imagined that most kids would not venture much out of the courtyard itself. Kids are territorial, like chimps, or gorillas — or wolves. These days, kids did not venture outdoors very much.

Jonas finally wandered into his own home and lay down in his sofa. He dozed off for some time and woke up with that funny feeling one always gets after having fallen asleep during the day. And to top it off, he got the really disoriented feeling that comes from going to sleep in broad daylight and waking up in the dark.

The sun had gone down. The lights were off. Jonas turned on the light and looked at his watch. Only six o’clock. Well. Jonas heated some food and turned on the TV.

They were talking about that national database again. The central archives, as they called it. Telling how wonderfully it worked, and how happy they were with it. Not a word about Jonas’ little problem. Perhaps he ought to have taken his story to the media. Then he’d have his identity back — maybe. Maybe the media would not believe him. He figured he would try hacking in first. And perhaps have those women working in the Bureau of Personal Information Protection office deleted while he was at it. That would be a good revenge.

Today the TV had fairly interesting programmes on, and Jonas stayed in watching it until about midnight. Then he got himself from his seat, found the one remaining parcel and stuffed it in his jacket pocket before he put on his shoes. He locked the door and put the jacket on while walking down the stairs. This slowed him down immensely, but it made Jonas feel like he was going very fast.

Ah, the wonders of doing two things at once, and both slowly and badly.

When Jonas got into his car, he made sure he still had the parcel with him. There it was, still in his pocket. Jonas turned on the car, and put up the volume in his radio before backing out of the space. “Two minutes to midnight” by Iron Maiden. According to the clock in the car it was five past. Jonas grinned. Small joys for small minds, he thought.

There was not much traffic, as expected. There rarely is any traffic at midnight on a working day. Jonas could have swerved all over the lanes just for the fun of it. But he did not. The police would stop him no matter how little traffic there was.

He drove to the bar where he first met Frank and the guys and parked at a similar spot as where Mac had parked when he took him to meet said Frank. Frank’s Benz was near by; big and imposing. The bar still looked dark and uninviting.

Jonas opened the door, and as before he was greeted with plumes of smoke coming toward him as he just stood there. He lost his breath for a moment, but steeled himself, and walked in. Frank and the guys were sitting in the same corner as they had before, and were smoking the same malodorous weed they had been smoking the last time he was there. Jonas figured that with the sheer amount of smoke in the bar, they would all be suffering from respiratory problems on a daily basis. Perhaps even need to see a doctor about it. He could feel chronic obstructive pulmonary disease coming on himself, just walking toward them.

They were in a happy mood, and saluted Jonas as he took a seat beside Eddy. They offered him a drink, and he accepted for the sake of courtesy. He figured that he, who did not exist, could hardly be put in jail for drunk driving.

But could he be legally buried?

Jonas handed Frank the last parcel. Frank looked at it as if he had not expected to see it ever again and accepted it with a smile.

“He did not show up, this Fred the Rat,” Jonas explained.

“I know. Well, I know now,” said Frank.

Jonas looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s dead. They found him hanging in his apartment,” said Frank.

“Yeah, the cops say it’s a suicide, but the thing is, his hands were tied behind his back,” said Eddy.

“They told me that’s the way people commit suicide,” said Rick.

“How do they tie their hands behind their back? Can you do that?” asked Eddy.

Rick saw the problem.

Frank got out of his pocket a wad of bills, which he proceeded to count in his hand, and gave Jonas what had been agreed to before.

“I am giving you the full pay, because at least you tried. If Fred the Rat had not been naturally excused, I’d be deducting from it,” said Fred as Jonas received the cash.

“Can you handle another load next week?” asked Frank.

Jonas nodded and replied: “No problem.”

“Okay, I’ll see you next Monday — or Wednesday. Same pay,” said Frank.

“Same list?” asked Jonas.

“Mostly,” said Frank.

Jonas nodded.

“Good,” said Frank.

Jonas sat quietly for a couple of minutes, sipping his beer, before he popped the question:

“Do you know anyone who is good with computers?”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Frank.

“To hack into the national archives,” said Jonas.

The bar fell silent. Then a grin crept across the men’s faces.

“You want your identity back, don’t you?” Frank remarked.

“What? You don’t have an identity? How so?” asked Eddy.

“We can help you forge some,” said Rick.

“Rick, I think you mean ‘identification’,” said Eddy.

“Is that different?” asked Rick.

“Very,” said Eddy. Then he turned to Frank and Jonas, and asked again: “How and why does he not have an identity? How is it even possible to lose that?”

“They probably forgot to render his files digitally when they were transferring everything to the central archive,” said Frank.

“And now I don’t exist,” said Jonas.

“I think we know some guys. We’ll get back to you on that, or have them call you,” said Eddy.

Frank nodded.

Jonas had another sip of his beer. The guys promised to try to take care of this. There was a small discussion of what constituted reality:

“What if this is all a dream?” asked Eddy.

“Ooh! What if this is a dream, and what we dream, or think we dream when we are dreaming when we are asleep, is reality?” said Rick, in the most unconfused manner he could muster.

“Nah,” said Frank; “I never dream of the same place or person for two nights in a row, but I meet the same people and go to the same places many days in a row, so that can’t be. And when I am awake I always wonder how stupid or ridiculous the dream I just woke up from was, but I never think about the strange things that happen to me during the day when I am dreaming. So I must now be awake, and dreams must be all in my corporeal head.”

“Impressive. What does ‘corporeal’ mean anyway?” asked Eddy.

Jonas decided not to take part in this discussion. He really did not need to hear a bunch of stoners tell him what constituted reality. Instead he finished the beer, said goodnight and thanks, and left.

It was good to be free of the smoke. On his way to his car, Jonas thought that perhaps he needed to take a bath or a shower and maybe wash his clothes. They would have reeked with sweat, but instead a veritable foetor of burnt leaves emanated from them in all directions, regardless of wind.

Jonas rolled down the windows in his car on the way home. It had been even worse than the first time. And it was damned cold outside. But the cold air was fresh, and Jonas needed that more than he needed warmth at the moment. But the cold stung, and when Jonas drove into his lot to park the car, he eagerly looked forward to taking a nice warm bath.

He also looked forward to meeting those hackers that Frank and Eddy knew. Would they be up for the job? He hoped so.

Proceed to Chapter 11...