Electronic Gags

  Electronic Gags

  By Kudakwashe Muzira

  ****

  © Copyright 2013 by Kudakwashe Muzira

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the above.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  I want to thank my brother, Tirivashe who was my creative consultant when I was writing this book. I also want to thank my cousin T. Mora for his invaluable advice and help.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the author

  Chapter 1

  “We must not fear,” Michael said, although his heart was pounding with fear. “We must fight for our rights... for our freedom.” He clenched his fists in a show of courage and defiance. “This is not the American dream. This is not what the founding fathers of the United States of America fought for.” Michael’s heart rate soared. He knew that any reference to the American dream or any mention of the previous name of the Ten Districts of America was punishable by death. “We must fight this evil regime...”

  The living room was packed with fifty-two people who were trying their best to hide their fear. They came from all walks of life and were united by their desire to end President Brandon Ward’s rule.

  “The Ward regime is like a vice on our necks,” Michael went on. “This is the time for us to say enough is enough.” He paused as he listened to his heartbeat. He could feel sweat trickling down his armpits. “We must organize secretly and when the time comes we shall rise and catch Brandon Ward by surprise. One day we shall bring down Ward’s flag and raise the stars and the stripes. We shall change our currency back to the dollar. We shall return the United States of America to its status as the leader of the democratic world.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his face, hoping his hearers thought the sweat was a result of the crowded room’s heat. “We managed to hold four meetings without attracting the attention of Ward’s security agents. Let’s clap hands for ourselves.”

  Michael’s hearers hesitantly clapped hands, worried state security agents would hear them.

  Sitting in a corner at the back of the room was Freddie, Michael’s best friend. This was Freddie’s first time to attend the group’s secret meetings. He had been reluctant to come to the meeting and had only come because Michael insisted that it was the duty of all true patriots to fight for democracy. Freddie felt his stomach tighten as he listened to Michael denouncing the Ward regime. President Ward and his regime brooked no opposition. If the government found out about the meeting, everyone in the room would go to jail pending execution.

  As his fear grew, Freddie felt movement in his rectum. He went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat with a sigh.

  “In the name of President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation, I order everyone in the house to freeze,” an authoritative voice shouted from the living room.

  Freddie almost fainted. He heard heavy footsteps as Central Intelligence Bureau agents stormed the living room.

  “What are you doing here?” the authoritative voice demanded.

  Michael got us in trouble again, Freddie thought, closing his eyes. Since they were little boys, Michael always got Freddie in trouble. Michael liked to take risks and Freddie always followed him like a fool. Freddie couldn’t say no to his best friend. Michael was persuasive and he liked to have Freddie with him in his adventures so that they would laugh and talk about their escapades when the danger was over. Mom was right, Freddie thought. I must stop following Michael around like a fool.

  “What are you doing here?” the bald-headed Central Intelligence Bureau agent in charge of the operation asked again.

  “It’s a church gathering,” Michael answered.

  “A church gathering?” the CIB agent in charge echoed.

  “Yes patriot.”

  “Where is your Bible?”

  Michael showed him his Bible.

  The CIB agent in charge pointed at a dog-eared book on the table. “And I guess that’s a hymn book.”

  “Yes patriot.”

  “I assume everyone in this room has a Bible and a hymn book.”

  “Most of them have, patriot.”

  The agent in charge took some papers from the table. “So this is today’s program... and these are the Bible passages you read to your audience.”

  “Yes patriot.”

  “If we question the members of your congregation one by one all will they be able to tell us which Bible verses you read this afternoon?”

  “Yes patriot,” Michael said confidently, thanking his wisdom in using church service as an alibi.

  The agent in charge clapped hands. “Nice try.” He sneered. “Now let’s hear your sermon. Rodgers!”

  “Yes sir,” answered a gaunt CIB agent.

  “Play the sermon.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Rodgers switched on a cassette recorder and replayed Michael’s political speech.

  “We got wind of your meetings and we wired this house,” the agent in charge smiled smugly. “We know you call yourselves the Freedom Front. Do you have anything to say in your defense, Mr Preacher?”

  Michael said nothing. There was nothing to say. The CIB had caught him red-handed. He was a dead man.

  “Take all of them into the trucks,” ordered the agent in charge. “Shoot anyone who tries to escape.”

  CIB agents herded the prisoners out of the house.

  Sitting motionless on the toilet seat, Freddie listened to everything, praying the CIB would not search the bathroom. He sighed with relief when he heard CIB trucks driving away. He remained in the bathroom for hours, worried the CIB was watching the house. When it was dark, he sneaked out of the house and crawled out of the yard under the cover of the hedge.

  I can’t go to mom’s place, he thought. Maybe the CIB is looking for me. Whenever Freddie was in Subdistrict Four, he stayed with his mother. He lived in the Brandon Ward Wildlife Refuge, named after the president, where he was the chief scientist. After half a minute of indecision, he sped towards his grandmother’s house.

  “In the name of President Ward the supreme leader of the nation, I order you to stop,” a voice barked from behind Freddie.

  Shuddering, Freddie turned to face two policemen. “Good evening patriots,” he said. “Long live President Ward our supreme leader.”

  “Good evening citizen,” chorused the policemen. “Long live President Ward.”

  “Show us your ID,” the taller of the patrolmen demanded, directing his torch at Freddie’s face.

  “Okay patriot,” Freddie said, taking out his ID card.

  The policeman looked at the card for ten seconds and gave it back to Freddie.

  “Where are you going and where are you coming from?” the other policeman asked.

  “I’m coming from home and I’m going to my aunt’s place. She is not feeling well.”

  “I would stay indoors at night if I were you. We arrested more than fifty rebels who were planning to topple the government. Security is tight, so it’s better to stay indoors.”

  “Thanks for the advice, patriot.”

  “You can go.”

  “Goodbye patriot officers. Long live President Ward our supreme leader.”

  “Long live,” echoed the policemen.
<
br />   Freddie walked away with a sigh of relief.

  * * * **

  The Cabinet meeting was tense. President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the Ten Districts of America, was furious. He was angry with the Minister of State Security and the Minister of Interior.

  “Patriot Campbell and Patriot Collins, can you tell me how fifty-one people managed to hold secret meetings under your noses?”

  Collins, the Minister of State Security, and Campbell, the Minister of Interior, said nothing. They knew that when the supreme leader was angry he brooked no reply.

  “You are now taking your positions for granted. You have been in the Cabinet for too long. Maybe I have to reshuffle the Cabinet...” The supreme leader ranted and raved for more than fifteen minutes whilst the vice president and twenty-eight ministers and deputy ministers listened silently.

  The ministers knew they could now speak when the president finally said, “Patriots, what do you suggest we do to increase national security?”

  Campbell, the Minister of Interior, cleared his throat. “Long live our republic,” he shouted, waving a fist in the air.

  “Long live!” all the members of the Cabinet replied, waving their fists in the air.

  “Long live His Excellence President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation!”

  “Long live!”

  “Down with rebels!” he said, dropping his fist to the table.

  “Down with them,” replied all the members of the Cabinet, dropping their fists to the table.

  “Your Excellence Patriot Ward, I thank you for the opportunity to speak. I think we should ban all gatherings. It should be illegal for more than three people to gather without clearance, except when they are at home, at work or at school. Let’s ban churches, Your Excellence.”

  “Long live our republic!” President Ward shouted, waving his fat fist.

  “Long live,” chorused the members of the Cabinet, waving back.

  “Long live our revolution!”

  “Long live!”

  “We won’t ban churches,” the supreme leader declared. “Churches are good tools for controlling the people. Why do you think we invite clergymen to officiate at our national ceremonies? When church-goers see their bishops and pastors co-operating with the state, they won’t think about treason.”

  “You are right, Patriot President,” Campbell said. “But with so many churches it becomes difficult to separate church gatherings from political gatherings.”

  “Patriot Campbell and you Patriot Collins,” the supreme leader thundered, banging his fist onto the table. “As ministers of Interior and State Security, it’s your job to distinguish church gatherings from political gatherings. We will not ban churches.”

  There was silence as the ministers waited for the supreme leader’s temper to cool.

  “Long live President Ward, the supremo of the National Party and the supreme leader of the Ten Districts of America,” Professor Reed broke the silence, waving his tiny fist.

  “Long live!”

  “Patriot President, I think we are experiencing this problem of rebels because citizens have too much freedom of speech. When citizens have too much freedom of speech they end up talking about politics. When they talk about politics they end up talking about treason.”

  “What do you suggest, Professor Reed?” interjected Collins, angry Reed was encroaching into his territory.

  “I think we should fit every citizen with an electronic gag,” Professor Reed said.

  Everyone burst into laughter. Even Assistant Police Commissioner Evans, the supreme leader’s ever-impassive bodyguard, couldn’t help laughing.

  “You said we must fit every citizen with an electronic what?” President Ward asked when the laughter had died down.

  “An electronic gag, Patriot President,” Reed stammered.

  “I have had enough of your brilliant ideas, Professor Reed,” Ward said with the laughter of a father at the silliness of his child. “The other time you suggested that we create robot cops because unlike human cops, robot cops can’t be bribed. Before that you suggested we fit electric lights with micro-cameras that record what happens in the homes of citizens and now you are talking about electronic gags.”

  “Electronic gags will work for us, Your Excellence,” Reed pleaded.

  “This is a serious security matter,” said the senior minister without portfolio, Christopher Ward, the supreme leader’s young brother, who was the de facto deputy president. “Professor Reed, you are Minister of Education. Concentrate on teaching our children to become loyal, hardworking citizens.”

  “Yes Patriot Christopher,” agreed Vice President Daniel Butler, President Brandon Ward’s boyhood friend. “Professor Reed, you are doing well in your ministry. Concentrate on educational matters... stay out of security issues.”

  “Long live our republic,” Reed chanted.

  “Long live,” the whole Cabinet replied wearily.

  “Long live Patriot Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation!”

  “Long live.”

  “Patriot President, the electronic gag is a useful―”

  “Reed, we have a serious matter before us and we have no time to listen to your smart ideas,” Christopher Ward interrupted.

  “Yes,” President Brandon Ward agreed. “We have no time to listen to your dreams. Use your electronic gag idea to write a sci-fi novel. Electronic Gags by Professor Reed. It sounds catchy.”

  The whole Cabinet broke into laughter. The ministers always laughed when the president cracked a joke or when they thought he was trying to crack a joke.

  Professor Reed was short-tempered, but he knew it would be suicide to display anger towards the supreme leader of the Ten Districts of America. Tears gathering in his eyes, he controlled his anger and joined in the laughter. I will make the electronic gag, he vowed to himself. I will show the president and whole Cabinet that I have brains. The professor didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the Cabinet meeting as he planned how to put his idea into practice.

  * * * * *

  Freddie knocked four times at the front door of his grandmother’s house before she opened the door.

  “Freddie, what a surprise. You are in District One,” the old woman said, baring her yellow teeth in a fond smile. “I thought you were at your wildlife refuge.”

  “I came here today. I took a four-day leave from work.”

  “How does it feel to be back to the civilized world? You must be tired of living with wild animals.”

  “I’m much safer in the wild with animals than here in your civilized world. People are more dangerous than wild animals, Grandma Nicole.”

  “You watched too much of Tarzan when you were a small boy.” Grandma Nicole laughed but quickly shut her mouth when she studied his face. “You look troubled, Freddie. What’s wrong?”

  Freddie looked at the old woman who looked so much like his mother. He knew he couldn’t fool her. Grandma Nicole was very observant and she knew him inside out. Besides, if the CIB was looking for him, he was putting her in danger by hiding in her house and she had a right to know.

  “All is not well, grandma.” With a wavering voice, he told her what had happened.

  “Jesus!” the old woman whimpered. “How many times did your mother and I tell you not to hang out with Michael? Look what you got yourself into... what you got us into. You committed treason.” She put a hand on her chest. “This is too much for my weak heart.”

  Freddie hung his head in remorse. Grandma Nicole had heart problems. He shouldn’t have worried her like that.

  “If Michael told the CIB that you escaped, your face will soon be on TV and in newspapers.” The old woman paused as she weighed the situation. “You have to sneak out of the country.”

  “Michael won’t tell the CIB about me,” Freddie said. “Michael is not a snitch. I’m worried about the others in his group. Michael will never―”

  “Don’t you dare defend that troublesome boy in front
of me!” Grandma Nicole shouted. “You are in this mess because of him.”

  Freddie looked away from the old woman. “Grandma, can you give me shelter while I consider my next move?” he said, bowing his head. “I know it’s not fair for me to ask but―”

  “Shut up Freddie!” the old woman snapped. “You know I can’t turn you out. I will do my best to protect you.”

  The news began on the old television set that Grandma Nicole bought when Freddie was still in primary school. Freddie and the old woman sat down and watched the news.

  “This afternoon, security agents arrested fifty-one rebels who called themselves the Freedom Front. The group was planning to overthrow the government...”

  Freddie sighed with relief when the news ended without any mention of a fugitive member of the rebel group. “The CIB don’t know about me.”

  “I pray to God they won’t find out about you, grandson.”

  “Where is Kyle?”

  “In the basement as usual,” the old woman said with disgust. “I don’t know what to do to take your cousin away from his computer. Please Freddie, convince him to get out of my basement and look for a job.”

  “I will try,” Freddie said, going to the basement.

  Eighteen-year-old Kyle was sitting at his desk, tapping furiously at the keys of his computer. He was a self-taught computer programmer, graphics designer, animator and electronics technician. Kyle’s parents died in a car accident when he was seven and he had lived with Grandma Nicole since then.

  “Hi man,” Freddie said, patting his cousin’s shoulder.

  “Hi Freddie,” Kyle replied, without taking his eyes off his computer or reducing the pace at which he hit the keyboard.

  “Did you finish developing the game?”

  “Not yet.” At last he took his eyes off his computer and looked at Freddie. “I want to develop a world class game that will make me rich.”

  “I have a game concept for you, Kyle,” Freddie said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “The player will be a zebra in the African jungle, going from a dry area to an area where the grass is green. On the way, the zebra is waylaid by lions and must cross rivers full of crocodiles.”