Bluebird of Happiness

By Bob Coleman

A future ‘New Era’ for America. A time of Automation and Robotics. A land of ‘Living Zones’ and ‘Wilderness Zones’. A government ruled by an Oligarchy. A young man’s quest to find his parents and his perilous journey into the abandoned wilderness of the heartland.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781698704487

Bob Coleman

Robert M. Coleman was born in Washington D.C. in 1949. He started writing poems and stories at an early age, and spent his early life as a professional musician and singer-songwriter. He is the author of ‘A Collection of Novels’ which includes ‘Level Seven’, ‘Jammin’’, and ‘The Cool Shade’.

Book preview

Bluebird

OF

HAPPINESS

BOB COLEMAN

©

Copyright 2020 Bob Coleman.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0447-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0449-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0448-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020922877

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

The Bible used was ‘Holy Bible’ ‘New Living Translation’ ‘Tyndale’

‘Holy Bible, Gift and Award Edition copyright 1997 Tyndale House Publications, Inc.’

Trafford rev. 11/16/2020

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North America & international

toll-free: 844-688-6899 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

Contents

Part One

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

Part Two

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

Part Three

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

A future ‘New Era’ for America. A time of Automation and Robotics. A land of ‘Living Zones’ and ‘Wilderness Zones’. A government ruled by an Oligarchy. A young man’s quest to find his parents and his perilous journey into the abandoned wilderness of the heartland.

A special thanks to Skip Riviere, Hayley Riviere and Jim Patten for their reviewing and editing efforts. Their help was invaluable.

Part

ONE

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I

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I t was October 12, 2093 in a place known as ‘Living Zone 172’, just south of the former city-state of Sioux City, Iowa. As that day began, the young man Keith awoke and heard the sound of birds chirping outside in the trees. With sleepy eyes he peeked out his window to see them perched in the branches. He marveled at the glorious sun in the sky, coming up and over the dark green trees, casting shadows on the nearby forest floor. He could almost feel the cool wet dew on that lush green grass. There was a quiet beauty there that always put his troubled mind at ease.

But there was sadness. He had had a bad dream. One he had dreamt many times. A child being left alone; his ‘lonely little boy dream’. Tears came to his eyes and for a brief few moments he started crying. First uncontrollably but then slowly it subsided. There was a deep sadness there that tormented him. But he gazed again at the beauty outside and found some peace. As with many times before, he pushed the demons back into the recesses of his mind.

He lived in a ‘Residential Unit’, or ‘RU’ as they were commonly called in those times. They were all essentially the same except for the size which was based on the number of inhabitants. Being single, his was the smallest, a small studio with a simple folding bed, a small kitchen area and a bathroom. All with one light hanging from the ceiling. He started boiling water to make a cup of coffee. He noticed it was running low. He would need to get more, but later. He gulped the hot coffee and then washed his face, brushed his teeth and combed his hair.

Suddenly there was commotion, the sound of someone being taken into custody and violently dragged down the stairwell. It was a terrifying common occurrence, and the screaming was loud and scary.

He waited until they had left the building before he continued to get ready for work. It was after seven and he could not be late.

He rushed out into the busy, noisy street and walked to the corner. A Robot was standing there. Robots were essentially the militarized police of the ‘State’ and monitored everyone and everything. Even in this post-modern age, they were simply made from metal parts that could be easily replaced when they were worn out or defective. They had powerful computerized ‘brain-units’. For power, they had advanced solar panels in their shoulders and on the top of their heads. They were strong, imposing figures.

Occasionally there were also ‘Security Drones’ flying above to monitor behavior and the traffic, which was usually a large miscellaneous mix of people heading to work, all riding bicycles, electric scooters, and some jogging or some, like Keith, just briskly walking.

Huge video screens hung above the streets, commonly called ‘Scopes’ that flashed information, all of which were controlled and provided by the ‘State’. The content was either ‘news’ or weather, but most of the time it was ignored and just added to the literal kaleidoscope of colorful activity and cacophony of noise in the crowed streets.

He looked at the ‘comp-aid’ that he wore on his wrist to check the time. Most everyone had some type of computerized device and they seemed indispensable, as everyone would always seem to be totally absorbed using them. One variation was a pair of glasses with a view-screen, a small monitor that was voice driven. The newest most-advanced models were ‘thought-driven’; the user would just simply think of something and a brain-embedded circuit would instantly provide information or entertainment. These were very expensive and usually only the rich ‘Leadership Council’ members could afford them.

At the station, there was a large group of people waiting for the next ‘Mag’, an electronic magnetic train that hovered and traveled over a steel rail line. It was the only form of mass-transit available to the public and used highly advanced computer automation. They were generally guarded by Robots who monitored its operation and passengers.

As usual, it was a very warm morning. Keith wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt-sleeve. He knew by mid-day, even in October, it would be near the 80s. In these times, summers were very hot, longer and lasted well into the fall. Winters were short and snow storms were rare.

Finally, the Mag pulled into the station where a mass of people lined up, ready to board for their ride to the Work Centers, the ‘WCs’. Sometimes Keith was lucky to find a seat near a window which always pleased him. He loved to watch the terrain as he passed through the surrounding neighborhoods, seeing lush green parks between the RUs and WCs. Sometimes there would be squirrels and rabbits running through the bushes.

There was a Leadership Council complex along the route where its members would live a rich and lavish life-style compared to most of who simply lived in the RUs. These complexes were easily recognizable because they were walled-in and heavily guarded by armed Robots. There was always a flag pole with its flag waving, a green flag with three evenly-spaced white stars generally known as the ‘3OP’ flag.

Sadly, he thought about the arrest in his RU this morning. Someone had either said or done something that was disallowed by the Leadership Council. He was sure they would end up at the Human Welfare Board, or ‘HWB’ for a trial.

After several stops, the Mag coaches were being filled to capacity and many were turned away to wait for the next one to arrive. This was the usual congestion of the available public transportation. Each work-day, both morning and evening, there was a large mass of people and the resulting traffic was just accepted as the usual circumstance of LZ life.

Soon Keith reached his stop and wrestled his way through the riders to exit to the street. His WC, number 61, was only a block away. It was a Robot repair center where he worked as one of the service technicians. As he entered, he scanned his right-arm at the doorway. A detector flashed and buzzed which indicated he was checked in for work. There was a Robot behind the desk that motioned for him to enter the facility. Down the long corridor there were many doorways. At the end of the hall, he entered the last door on the left, pulled out the padded stool from under the workbench and turned on the light. Another Robot was waiting for him and out of a quiet motionless state, it came to life.

Good morning Keith, it politely said to him.

Good morning 53, how are you today? Keith asked it.

I am well, It replied.

His Robot helper’s official name was ‘172-53’ which indicated its LZ and Robot Number, but since they both lived in LZ-172 and were co-workers, Keith generally just called it ‘53’. In fact, within the LZ in most cases, only the Robot Number was ever used in casual conversation.

Well ... what do we have for today?

So far we have only two, 53 replied.

Fine … Might as well get started.

The