Vote Vote Vote
Claire was a proud Anti-Democrat. Like many rebellious teenagers, she had been attracted to the slogans at first: 'It's our last remaining freedom' in particular resonated for her - even before she was of Voting age, she felt that there was something wrong with the system. Now, at 26, she was certain of it.
She lay in bed, listening to the gentle hum of traffic from outside, and gathered the energy to turn and face her Terminal. Eventually, she knew she could postpone it no longer, and rolled on to her left side. Without her contacts in, she could only see a fuzzy version of the screen, but she knew what it was indicating. Firstly, that she had overslept by eight minutes; secondly that there were 6 Votes due today; and that there were 43 - Claire squinted, no, 48 - pending Motions for her consideration. The bottom left corner showed her Voting Record for the month at 88%, blinking insistently as a reminder that she was getting close to the limit. She stretched, and rolled upright. The Terminal, sensing her movement, and comparing it with the patterns of movement from other mornings, correctly interpreted this as Claire getting up, and began to murmur the morning's news headlines.
"Well, I've got news of my own," Claire told the machine, "Today's the day. I'm going Under 85." She shivered slightly, and stood up. Democracy was all very well, she told herself, but there actually were more important things in life.
Online, which is to say, officially, ADs were tolerated, even encouraged a little as proof of Act37845 - Freedom of Expression Provisions. The rumour was that there were strict quotas for ADs, and that the numbers were never allowed to grow too much. Claire remembered seeing 'Under 85' buttons a few years ago, but they were rare now. It seemed that people contacted each other Offline these days, which naturally carried its own risks. Possession of unlicensed writing equipment, or too much paper was punishable by various means under the provisions of Act68220.
Once clean and dressed, and with contacts - another sign of rebellion - in, Claire unfolded the tiny scrap of high tech paper Chris had given her with her instructions printed on it. She knew by heart what she was to do, but the paper reassured her that she was really going Under.
After a moment's pause, Claire yanked the power feed from her Terminal, and ran for the door. The alarm was gentle, but insistent at this point, and she would have three or four minutes before anything was done about it. She opened the door.
Later, she would reflect on her mute submission to the uniformed Compliance Officer in the hallway. She was altogether too much of a Good Girl, she thought sadly; it would never have actually worked. She was being held under the provisions of Act 4439785 - Prevention of State Usurpation; an act which, it had been solemnly proven to her, she had Voted for three years before. The combination of Terminal damage, possession of NanoPaper, and the contacts - for someone in Affluence Vector VIII not to have had the surgery was not technically illegal, but the Vote had failed by only 0.8%, so it might as well have been - was damning, and covered, it seemed, by 4439785 as 'Statistically Likely Subversion'. Claire sighed and looked up at the Terminal on the wall as a face appeared on it; a face she knew.
Her yelp of dismay was drowned by his mildly embarrassed throat-clearing. Chris spoke. "Ah, it's you. Sorry. Really - I'm sorry."