Previously published in Scifantastic
Mike was on his way to go jump off a building.
He could see it on the skyline in front of him, looming in silhouette against the blue. His progress toward it was slow, as the rubber-walled car he drove would do no more than 35 miles per hour down the expressway. His car inched its way from one lane to another as he progressed toward the off ramp. Zeiter Park Exit, the sign read. Center City. His car made putt-putt sounds as it crept down the long, safe ramp.
As he came to a stop, he did so gently so as not to trigger the air-bag in his steering wheel – which for some reason had a hair trigger. When he’d first bought the car Mike thought it was a factory defect. No, said the factory representative, it was made that way on purpose. Just to be safe. That, and the webbing that made up the seat belt system, and the titanium-steel passenger compartment – and, not to mention the four way anti-skid disk brakes and pneumatic collapsible bumpers on front, back, and sides – were all now standard in passenger cars by law. As was the crash helmet on his head.
Mike found a parking place on the street beside some bushes in Zeiter Park, right between two other rubber-walled cars. Getting out, he pulled a bundled pack out of the back seat, and stepped up onto the soft, spongy surface of the park sidewalk. He felt like a spaceman walking out onto a hostile planet. The helmet he wore for driving was also mandatory for pedestrians, along with the knee and elbow pads, and of course the bullet proof vest to protect him from muggers. Mike, like most people in the last few years, had saved money by buying the whole outfit as a single suit, called a safety suit, which contained all the safe elements required by law for going out in public.
A few joggers ran past, each wearing a safety suit, and a few young couples lay under trees on blankets, groping each other’s suits in frustration. Mike carried his bundle far up the hill, staying on the sidewalk, and at one point crossed the street (safely, at a crosswalk), and headed away from the park.
He hiked up a long, steep hill. At the top was the tallest skyscraper in town, a black and polished bank building called Haben Tower. He stared up at it for a long moment.
I’m going to do it this time, he told himself. Just go right in.
He stood there, not moving.
I’m not afraid, he thought. This will be easy. Come on. Do it. Just walk in.
Abruptly, Mike turned away and walked back down the hill. It wasn’t the height that scared him. It was the thought of getting caught.
They’d fire him at work – no doubt about that. His socially-conscious wife would be embarrassed out of her mind. He could deal with those things, so it wasn’t that. But his kids – they would be teased and taunted relentlessly at school, and that was too much for Mike to risk. He remembered what it was like to be a kid.
He threw his pack into his car and drove slowly, safely, away.
#
Mike was sitting at the dinner table with his family, when his son, Randy, suddenly blurted out: “I hate that speed regulator on my bike. I don’t understand why it has to be there.”
“To keep you from going too fast,” said his mom, Marta.
“But it’s so slow. It’s frustrating. Dad, can you take it off?”
“Well, actually-” Mike began, but Marta cut him off.
“Absolutely not. It’s there for your safety.”
“Safety, safety,” Randy said, “everything safety! It wasn’t always like this, was it?”
“I did a paper on it last year,” said Sharon, Mike’s daughter. “Back at the beginning of the century there was a backlash.”
“A what?” Randy asked.
“It’s when everyone’s opinion turns against something,” Mike explained.
“Yeah,” Sharon said, “back then there was a whole bunch of dangerous stuff happening. And there were all these TV shows showing people getting maimed and killed-”
“Really? Cool.” Randy said.
“It was not cool,” Sharon said, very matter of fact. “People would sit around watching people die.”
“Why?”
“For fun.”
“Fun?”
“It was a bit like ancient Rome,” Marta said, “when they’d feed Christians to the lions.”
“Not exactly,” Mike objected.
“Close enough.” Marta gestured, urging her daughter to continue.
“Anyway, everyone got sick and tired of it, and President Greenwood signed the Citizens Safety Act-”
“I don’t really care,” Randy said. “I just want my bike to go faster.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen,” Marta said, “because it’s not safe.”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Can I be excused?” he asked. “I want to go play wizzle ball.”
After he was gone, Mike looked over at his wife, who was frowning at him. “You know what?” he said to his wife. “Life is not safe.”
“It’s a lot safer now than it used to be.”
“Well, I’m completely sick of lawmakers passing laws to protect me against myself. It’s just not right.”
“Right or not, I think it’s a mistake for you to encourage your son to resent the laws.”
“He resents the laws of his own accord.”
“It’s your attitude that encourages him.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to change my attitude?”
“Attitude is everything.” Marta stood up, gave him one haughty look, and walked out of the room.
Mike pushed himself away from the table, his stomach suddenly burning. “No,” he said, “altitude is everything.”
#
The next morning at work, the screen on Mike’s work phone lead him through the day’s inspection tour, item by item, making sure all mandatory warning labels were in place. He was on the 7th floor of Building 17 when he came across a defaced sign:
#
CAUTION: ROBOT AT WORK CRANKY
ROBOT WILL KICK YOUR ASS
#
Mike laughed. In the next room was a textile sorting robot that really would kick ass if someone bypassed the safety software. As it was, however, if so much as a fly came anywhere near it, a proximity alarm would go off and the robot would freeze until a floor supervisor walked over to hit the big red reset button.
Tapping on his phone, Mike ordered a replacement sign and continued his inspection. He finished the 7th floor and moved on to the 8th. Each sign he inspected seemed even more dismally stupid than the last:
#
WARNING: SURFACE TRANSITION!
CARPET TO TILE – WATCH YOUR STEP!
#
KEEP FINGERS AWAY FROM EDGES OF DOOR
WHEN CLOSING – PAINFUL INJURY MAY OCCURE.
#
COFFEE MACHINE DISPENCES HOT LIQUID
WHICH MAY CAUSE PAINFUL BURNS.
#
Mike’s phone beeped – his boss, Leroy, was calling. He answered it and heard Leroy’s voice sounding tiny but upset from the small speaker: “Mike! Meet me at Building Six. We have a situation.”
Acid flooded Mike’s stomach. “I’m on my way,” he replied. He bookmarked his progress on the inspection list, and raced off across the corporate campus to meet his boss.
Leroy was waiting outside the building for him. “I need you to see something,” he said, and led Mike inside.
There were rows of cafeteria-style tables, all empty except for a tearful woman flanked by two paramedics. He and Leroy stopped at the far end of the room and kept their voices down. “What happened?” Mike asked. He noticed there was blood on the woman’s lips.
“Look around you,” Leroy said. “Do you see a CF-52 anywhere?”
“A what? CF-52?”
Leroy punched it up on his phone’s screen and thrust it toward Mike’s face.
#
PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHEW CAREFULLY
SO AS NOT TO BITE YOUR TONGUE.
#
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mike said.
“No, this is not a joke. That young woman over there chomped the tip of her tongue off – and since you neglected to make sure the mandatory CF-52 caution sign was properly displayed, the company is liable.”
“I’ve never heard of a CF-52,” Mike said.
“It was on your list last Thursday when you inspected and signed off on this lunch room.” Again, Leroy punched at his phone’s screen and thrust the screen toward Mike’s face.
It was there. Mike’s digital signature graced the inspection form. The CF-52 was on the list and Mike had checked it off.
He suddenly remembered doing the inspection. Mike had walked into the then-crowded lunch room, looked around in disgust, and then turned and left. He’d had blown it off, checking all items as present and in good condition without even looking.
“This is going into your file,” Leroy was saying. “You’ve just earned three days suspension without pay.”
Mike stared at the man in disbelief for a moment, then looked at the dark-haired lady with the blood-stained lips. “You’re telling me that if I’d made sure this idiotic sign was on the wall, that this lady wouldn’t have bitten her tongue?”
“No,” Leroy said in a harsh whisper, “I’m telling you that if you’d made sure the sign was there, we wouldn’t be liable.”
“Do you care at all about her tongue?”
“Hell no!” Leroy had to lower his voice again. “Haven’t you been listening?”
“Yes, I’ve been listening,” Mike said, struggling to remain in control. “I’ve heard every word you said.” In his mind he pictured himself picking up one of the cafeteria chairs and swinging it – he even imagined the label on the chair: CAUTION – HIGH VELOCITY FURNITURE MAY CAUSE MASSIVE HEAD TRAUMA UPON IMPACT.
Leroy must have seen something in Mike’s eyes, because he suddenly took a few steps back. He said something as Mike walked away, but Mike didn’t hear it.
Mike had more important things to do.
#
From the base of Haben tower, looking up, the building stretched upwards so far that it seemed to be a pillar supporting the blue dome of the sky. Mike hesitated only a moment. Inside he went, face blank, nodding politely to the guards as he flashed his corporate safety inspection badge. They barely glanced at it and waved him through. He walked straight to the elevators and pushed a button and waited. The elevator arrived and he alone stepped inside. He pushed the button for the top floor, and stood stoically as the doors slid shut and the elevator began to rise.
This is my civil disobedience, he told himself. I have an obligation to my beliefs. I’ll either prove my point, or theirs.
Mike took deep breaths, conscious that his hands were shaking. He opened the pack and pulled out the rubber Ralph Nader mask. He took off his safety helmet, put on the mask, and put the helmet back on. With the helmet on, he was sure, no one would look twice at the mask.
There was a pastel tone from the elevator’s speaker grill and the doors slid open. Several executives in black and white safety suits stepped in as he was stepping out. One gave him a startled glance but said nothing, and Mike dared not look back as he walked away from the elevator. Hopefully the man had doubted his own eyes. Mike continued down the hall and around a corner to the stair well. A security monitor was right there, electric eye focused on him as he tried the door. It was unlocked, of course – it was a fire exit – and as he pushed it open and stepped through an alarm sounded.
Mike rushed up the stairs and faced the one remaining door at the top of the building. This one was locked, as it was not safe beyond. Mike, fortunately, had a pass key which he’d swiped from a janitor two weeks before. Within seconds he was out in the sunshine on the roof, with all of Center City in view.
Now he had to work fast, as there would be security guards after him within the next few minutes. He opened the pack, pulled out the aluminum and nylon contents, and then began removing his safety suit. After that was off, he removed all the rest of his clothes – everything, including the helmet. The only thing that remained was the rubber mask. He stood naked on the roof, shoving his clothing into the pack, and with that done he pulled out the telescoping aluminum struts and unfolding the nylon wings of his hang glider. He had eight wing nuts to fasten and twelve buttons to snap. He worked quickly but with precision, as he’d practiced this over and over. He had done it in secret, as hang gliders were strictly forbidden, and mere possession of one was against the law – now he was doing it bare-ass naked on the top of a public building, in full view of the world.
The wings spread out and caught the faint breeze, glittering with all the colors of a butterfly. Across the wings was printed the message he was to show to the whole world:
LIFE IS NOT SAFE
Mike finished the last few snaps and stashed his pack with his safety suit and helmet in a net at the top of the harness. He looped the padded harness around himself and stood near the building’s edge, nerving himself. He thought of the words written by his hero, the great 1960′s pop philosopher Ashleigh Brilliant: “Should I abide by the rules until they’re changed, or help speed the change by breaking them?” The door behind him burst open and a half-dozen security guards rushed out onto the roof, and Mike, startled, ran for the edge of the building. “Speed the change!” he shouted out loud, his voice cracking with excitement. He took one last long step and the building was behind him.
The first few seconds were the biggest thrill as he plummeted through thin air. Then the wings caught and yanked him up, and he curved up and around to taunt the guards on the building top. They stared at him like a group of knights in black, leathery armor, some of them even smiling. Mike waved, made a steep bank and turned away.
It was a dizzy feeling, reeling through the air with it rushing across his bare skin, pulling at the little hairs on his chest, arms and legs. He was eye-level with the sea gulls and pigeons, sharing their element, scaring them off the ledges of the tower and sending them squawking away. He flew several times around the tower, seeing shocked faces pressed up against tinted windows, before he turned on a wing and soared off across town.
The top of another tall building lay below him, down the hill from Haben Tower, and he could have landed on it had he wished. Instead he touched the microwave relay antenna on its roof with the tips of his toes as he flew over, making it wobble, causing a momentary interruption in someone’s data-link. Somewhere in the building, someone missed a word in a conversation, or lost some bytes in a data transfer. The thought made him giggle, and he circled around and waved at the windows, each one filled with faces and open, gaping mouths. As he did so, the wind caught an edge of his mask and pulled it off.
His face had been sweating under the mask, and the sudden blast of cool air was a shock. He turned quickly away from the windows, dipped the glider and banked, soaring away from the building. Holy Jesus, he thought. Holy Jesus. Holy holy Jesus. For the first time since he jumped off the Haben Tower he felt naked. What am I going to do?
It was like a bad dream.
Heading away from the buildings, Mike continued down the hill, passing over the City Hall. He circled above it, feeling his panic fade. Far below, gnat sized people stood around in a parking lot looking up at him. He was so far up that there was no way they could see his face, not even with binoculars. Not clearly, at least. He continued to circle, smiling at the city buildings and the tiny figures in the parking lot beneath him. City officials, no doubt, men and women in the public trust, making laws to protect people from themselves. Seeing something strange in the sky today? An eclipse perhaps? The moon at noon?
He meandered above the city searching for updrafts. The loss of his mask still worried him. It made him feel unsure, urged him to race the glider toward the park for a quick escape. But he had plenty of elevation, and there were warm updrafts here and there – he could stay up for another 30 minutes at least. At the moment he was deliberately avoiding the park, not wanting to help any of the authorities who might be tracking him to guess where he intended to land. As long as Mike maintained his altitude, all it would take was one long dip, a quick swoop across town, and he would be at the park – far faster than anyone in a car or on a bicycle could follow. I have time, he told himself. Lots of time.
Daring himself, Mike turned into the wind and headed for the far side of the hill, where the updraft would be the strongest. The breeze coming in from the West hit the hill and deflected up at a steep angle. Mike felt for it as he rounded past the concentric circles of the Country Club, hoping to ease into it as he thought it might be quite turbulent. He was over the upper half of the golf range, the really tough holes which sat on the lower shoulder of the hill, when the updraft hit him. Even though he was expecting it, it caught him off guard as to how strong it actually was – he felt the Earth drop away and the blood rush to his feet, and there were creaking sounds from his aluminum frame and two harsh pops, followed by a rapid fluttering of nylon. The thrill of fear went through him like a spike. Two snap buttons on the leading edge of his left wing, out toward the tip, had come undone. The drag of the loose material pulled on that wing tip and made the glider turn, taking him against his will out of the updraft.
Mike swore, throwing his weight to the other side, fighting the turn. If it kept up like this, the best he could hope for was a slow spiral down to the ground. What he was really worried about was coming around and hitting that updraft again. With two snaps off, it wouldn’t take much to pull the rest loose – the wing would come off like it were unzipped, parting from the frame that held it out. He would tumble to his death, and only prove to the world that hang gliding – with or without a safety suit – was too dangerous to be legal.
He managed to cancel the turn, even to coax the glider a little to the right. This was still no good, as he was now heading right for the side of the hill. He had hardly any control now at all, though if he could just get it a little more to the right, he could land safely on the fairway to the 7th hole. But a sudden updraft caught him and sent him up another thirty meters, getting him right up to the crest of the shoulder. And there, sitting on the ridge, was the Country Club clubhouse. Mike aimed for the white rock of the long, flat roof, and touched down to find it very hot on the bottom of his bare feet.
“Yow!” he said. “Ow! Oooh! Ouch!” He hopped around, getting out of the harness, then dropped the glider and danced around to the wing tip. He snapped the buttons shut, rushed back to the middle, harnessed himself, and ran off toward the North-East. There was a terrible dip off the edge of the roof, and for a moment it didn’t look like he was going to clear the line of trees separating one side of the ridge from the other. He turned on one wing and sailed in between, right through the trees and only several feet over the grassy ground, then the hill dropped away and the city once again spread below his bare toes. “Jesus!” he exclaimed to himself. “This is it. This is enough.” He pulled on the bar and went into a dive. The glider swooped down toward the tops of the buildings, the air rushing past him and roaring in his ears, then he pulled up and crossed over to the park, a streak of color slicing through the air. He circled around once, looking for a secluded spot, and shedding some of the speed from the dive. There was a whole meadow adjacent to his car that looked totally deserted, so he took it down and hit the ground running. He reached the edge of the bushes and struggled out of his harness, then quickly began undoing the wing nuts so that he could fold the wings and get out of sight. From somewhere to his right he heard shouting, and he gritted his teeth, trying to hurry. “Over there!” he heard a woman’s voice. “I think he landed!”
“Where?”
“Over there!”
Mike folded the wings and rushed into the bushes, pulling the glider after him. He pulled his pack out and fumbled with his clothes, putting his underwear on backwards and buttoning his shirt crooked. By the time he had his safety suit on he could hear people in the meadow where he’d landed, calling out to each other, saying they could swear this is where he had dropped from sight. Trying to be as silent as possible, he disassembled the glider – though no matter what he tried, he couldn’t silence the unsnapping of the buttons. Someone was poking around in the bushes to the right of him, about ten meters away, when Mike finished stowing the glider in the pack. He took a breath, turned toward the street and pushed his way through the bushes to the sidewalk.
There were two cops and a squad car right in front of him. One was walking around the bushes toward the meadow, the other stood at the car and then looked over to see Mike on the sidewalk, looking guilty. “Hey,” he said, walking over to Mike. “What’s that in the bag there?”
“What?”
The officer reached over and unzipped part of the bag, where a tuft of the nylon had been sticking out. He pulled more of the nylon out and felt it with his fingers. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, looking up and peering into Mike’s eyes. “You’re him.”
“I’m who?” Mike said, but his voice was shaking, as were his hands.
“Don’t play games with me, you’re that crazy bastard mooning the city from the air!”
As Mike turned to run, the officer pulled out his safety pistol and fired high-velocity silly putty at him, which stung like hell and sent him into a writhing, twitching mass on the grass. Within minutes he was pinned inside an inflated arrest cocoon.
#
When Mike called his wife from the police station, she hung up on him. He waited for hours and hours but she never showed up with bail.
The police and the other inmates called him crazy, but in some of them he detected a guarded admiration in their voice. Either that, or it was all in his head. Mike didn’t know. He had no idea what would happen next. What kept going through his mind was: I have changed the course of my life forever.
He thought of his kids, his wife. His job. It was over. They would never understand. Why did I have to do this? He tried to feel regret, but it wasn’t there. He was glad he was caught – he was calm about it. In one single act he’d broken all of the safety laws he so desperately hated, and he was proud of it. The thought of repenting, apologizing, or asking the court for forgiveness made him sick to his stomach. If he did that, it would all be for nothing. So no matter what they did to him, he was resolved to stand by his crazy actions.
Someone was yelling outside the door. It was an old guy, sounding astonished. “Look at that! Look at that!” Mike got up and walked over to the padded bars, peering out at a television that hung from the wall. It was a news report from L.A., and a shaking picture showing two nude people, a man and a woman, climbing up the side of a skyscraper with suction cups on their hands and knees. From between them hung a banner, which read:
LIFE IS NOT SAFE
