Plight of the Neurotypicals

By Thomas Gault

Rojikku is a country where the Otaku, the historically marginalized and outcast, have seized power.  Lead by Fukushū (Japanese for revenge) this cruel group of NNTs (non-neurotypicals) now oppress and subjugate the Neuro population. Molly is a young Neuro who is forced to leave medical school and work for the Department of National Identity where she is harassed by her NNT supervisor, Owen. When Molly refuses Owen’s advances he has her mother and disabled father arrested and imprisoned in the Neuro Ghetto and attempts to blackmail her.  In response Molly makes an alliance with Niall, her trainspotting NNT colleague, and joins the resistance movement. A decision that both conflicts and throws her into the heart of the battle for freedom.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Gault
• Release date: Jul 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386906834

Book preview

Life is very long when you’re lonely.

-The Smiths

One

The routine, predawn raid caught everyone by surprise.

A man’s voice bellowing out of some kind of speaker woke Molly with a start. She shot up in her bed, her heart racing as she heard the voice announce, State Police, and saw lights that emanated from a helicopter circling above cast erratic shadows across her bedroom walls. Her first thought was to check on her parents, but she decided to look outside first. She flung off her bed sheets and darted to the window. First, she stood beside it and listened. Then, she inched her slender body closer to the window’s edge and watched as the flashing red lights danced on her curtains. She pulled one panel back just enough to look across the street then jumped back when she saw a soldier down below looking up right at her. When her wits returned, she peered out again. The soldier was gone.

Across the normally quiet suburban street, there were a number of Gray Shirt vehicles, including an armored car, and several colorful sport bikes. She watched a dozen or so Gray Shirts in riot gear crash through the front door of her neighbor’s house, leaving only one Gray Shirt outside, holding a German shepherd that barked and strained against its leash to join the raid.

After a few minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Carter emerged from the house, their hands behind their backs, apparently handcuffed, escorted by two Gray Shirts. The soldiers pushed their prisoners toward another Gray Shirt with several stripes on his uniform and a tablet in his hand. The Carters stood on the driveway with fearful looks on their faces, shivering in their nightclothes. The room darkened and the sound of the helicopter’s engine began to wane. Molly looked up as the aircraft disappeared into the night sky, then opened her window a crack to see if she could overhear what was being said.

We only found these two in the house, Captain, one of the soldiers said to the man with the tablet.

We have never caused any trouble, Mr. Carter pleaded. Why are you doing this to us?

The captain’s eyes stayed on his tablet. I am placing you under arrest on suspicion of treason. You are hereby remanded to Sector 3C.

Mr. Carter stepped toward the officer. There must be some kind of mistake.

One of the soldiers jerked the old man back. Okay. All right. He adopted a calmer tone. Can you tell us what we are being accused of doing exactly?

The officer’s eyes remained fixed on his device.

We are retired. We go nowhere and associate with no one. There is little opportunity for us to commit treason.

Mr. Carter’s explanation drew the ire of the officer. On the contrary, if you are retired, you have more time than most to commit treason. What is that idiom you Neuros are so fond of? The devil is idle and can’t find work to do?

Mr. Carter threw his wife a nervous glance and cleared his throat. It’s the devil will find work for idle hands to—

I have my orders! You’re coming with us! he said, then nodded to the two soldiers.

They grabbed the Carters by their handcuffed wrists and ran a scanner over their hands.

The Gray Shirts were a militia that emerged as an elite unit in the NNT (non-Neurotypical) army during the civil war. Afterward, the victorious NNT government commissioned the Gray Shirts to enforce the law and combat the subversive elements of the population. The Gray Shirts’ name came from their mandate to eliminate the ambiguity or gray that was believed to plague Neurotypical societies, and these newly minted enforcers embraced their work with ruthless zeal.

Molly looked back at the house and could see lights flash off and on in the various rooms upstairs.

What’s happening?

Molly was startled by her mother’s voice. She turned toward her bedroom door and could just make out her silhouette in the faint light.

Mother, shh.

Her mother joined Molly at the window, pressing against her daughter so she, too, could see what was going on. The Carters? What on earth could two old people like that have possibly done?

Outside, the captain in charge signaled to the soldiers to put the Carters in the back of the armored car. At that moment, Mr. Carter twisted and wriggled free from his captor, taking a few steps toward freedom. One of the other soldiers quickly tackled the old man and threw him to the ground.

Don’t hurt him! Mrs. Carter screamed.

The police dog barked loudly as Mr. Carter was pulled to his feet. Molly watched as he grimaced, clearly in pain, his forehead grazed and bleeding.

No! I won’t go!

Mr. Carter remained defiant.

The captain wagged his finger in his face. This is your last chance to cooperate.

The soldier pushed him toward the back of the armored car, but Mr. Carter put his foot on the bumper. The soldiers lifted him by his arms and tossed him in.

Mrs. Carter stood by helpless, and sobbed.

Get in, one of the soldiers ordered, and Mrs. Carter climbed into the back of the armored car without resistance to join her husband. The soldier slammed the door shut and signaled the all-clear to the driver, who then drove off.

Turning away from the window, Molly’s mother said, We should have left this country when we had the chance, before they closed the borders.

Still watching the activity across the street, Molly said, It looks like they’re taking the Carters’ possessions.

Her mother sank into a chair in the corner of the room and released a heavy sigh.

What does it matter now? They have lost their freedom.

Molly’s attention was drawn back to the window as the motorbike engines revved, and she watched as the last of the Gray Shirts drove off. The return of quiet did not last long as groans of agony came from down the hall. Molly’s mother sprang from the chair and dashed from the room with Molly close behind. In her parents’ bedroom, Molly’s father writhed in pain on the bed.

Molly got on the bed and began to cradle her father.

Mother, get the oil and ice packs.

Her mother darted downstairs to the kitchen.

Molly began to stroke her father’s hair.

It’s okay, Daddy. We’re here.

A few moments later, her mother rushed back into the room and handed her husband a pill and a glass of water.

Here, David, take this.

He struggled to sit up. His hand trembled as he took the pill and a sip of water before he lay back down. Molly’s mother put the glass on the night table and unbuttoned her husband’s pajama top. She poured chamomile oil into her hands and massaged it into the scar tissue that stretched across his right shoulder and back, while Molly applied the ice packs to his leg.

Twenty minutes later, her father finally closed his eyes in exhaustion. Molly sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand. Her mother stood and headed for the door carrying the melted ice packs. After a few minutes, Molly could hear the kettle come to a boil followed by the clang of cups in the kitchen below.

Molly looked at the clock on the night table. It was the same model clock she had in her room. Every time she looked at one of them, she thought about the day her father sent her out to buy the two battery-operated clocks, because regular power interruptions had become a reality of life in the new country. Her father’s words that life is different now seemed to be manifested in these clocks.

Once Molly was convinced her father was asleep, she slipped her hand from his and pulled the blankets up around his chin and went downstairs to join her mother.

She found her at the kitchen counter, looking out the window.

He’s sleeping.

Her eyes fixed on the darkness on the other side of the window, she responded, That’s good. He’ll be tired.

The kettle switched off, but neither of them attempted to make a drink. Nor did either of them speak for a few minutes. Molly twisted a gold ring on her finger that her parents had given to her when she graduated medical school.

I can’t imagine what the Carters could have done.

They did nothing, her mother snapped. They are just the wrong sort of people.

That was the answer each time someone was taken away these days. Neuros were slowly being eliminated from the country.  Any excuse at all. They now lived in a state where what was once revered was now reviled.  A state void of emotion, driven by strict order and a black-and-white approach to everything.

Molly’s gaze fell to her lap. Her mother began to prune the dead leaves from a wilted plant that sat on the window ledge above the sink.

All of your father’s plants are dying, she lamented. He loved caring for living things, nurturing them. And now what kind of life has he got?

Molly looked up and tried to offer an encouraging smile. He has us.

You know better than I do that we can’t care for him properly. You said yourself, he needs surgery and medication, and he can’t get either. The government won’t allow operations for Neuros, and these lousy herbal remedies do nothing for him.

Her mother threw the dead leaves into the sink. He devoted his life to humanitarian work, and how has humanity repaid him? Left him for dead, that’s how.

Molly heaved a frustrated sigh. You’re right.

Her mother quirked a brow. About what?

We have to get out of here, Molly asserted.

It’s a bit late for that now. Her mother offered a bitter laugh. We should have gotten out years ago, but that’s your father again and his unshakable faith in mankind. ‘We’ve got to stay to rebuild the country,’ he said. Even after he was wounded himself, he wouldn’t leave. I told him we have done our part. It’s time for someone else, someone younger to take up the cause. He said we would be abandoning the defenseless, abandoning our principles. I begged him to put his family first, but he wouldn’t listen.

He did put his family first when he rescued me after the hospital was attacked, Molly said, her voice raised. "Remember, Mother, it is because he put his family first that he ended up like he is."

I am well aware of that, Molly, she snapped. But we should have left long before that. It was obvious to everyone but your father that the situation was hopeless.

The hopelessness of the situation is the reason he stayed, Molly said. Her mother had never really understood the passion her father had about his work, his people. She knew her parents loved each other dearly, but it was no secret that her mother blamed her father for their current circumstance.

Her mother didn’t reply, her gaze falling back on the withered plant. We are living in a police state. I’m afraid the only way we will get out of this dreadful country will be to blast our way out.

Well, that’s not going to happen, Molly assured her. There has to be another way. One without violence.

Well, I wish I knew what it was, her mother despaired.

Molly rose, crossed the room, and put her arm around her mother. I will find a way. And soon.

Her mother looked at her and frowned. Why the sudden urgency to leave?

Molly sighed. Because, Mother, if the Carters aren’t safe, no one is.

Two

Even though his eyes were shut, Niall sensed that he was not alone. When someone kicked the bottom of his foot, his instinct was confirmed.

Wake up, freak, a man’s voice boomed.

He swung his feet off the thin mattress and sat up, the metal cot squeaking beneath him. His heart raced as he looked at a stranger standing across the room, wearing a conductor’s hat and a wry grin.

Niall reached up and touched the top of his head, but all he felt was his uncombed, greasy hair. That’s my hat!

The stranger looked over at another man Niall hadn’t noticed standing at the foot of the bed. Must’ve been the one who kicked him in the foot. They smiled at each other, like they were sharing a private joke.

What are you supposed to be, anyway? the larger one asked. A bellhop or something?

A train conductor, now give it back, Niall said getting to his feet.

As he reached for the hat, the man pulled it off his head and tossed it to his taller friend. Niall rushed at the man who held the hat out of reach. Easy, tiger, the man taunted. Are you a real conductor or are you in cosplay? Isn’t that what you weirdos like to do?

It’s none of your business, he lunged for the hat again. Give it back.

The two men tossed the hat back and forth several times, and Niall chased it like a dog after a stick.

After several minutes, Niall came to a stop. He stood between them, out of breath. This is your final warning. Give me my hat back.

The two men broke up in laughter.

Or what? the smaller man challenged, spinning the cap on a finger. You gonna take our luggage?

The two men laughed again.

Niall frowned and stepped toward the man now holding his hat. His face was within an inch of his tormentor. I told you, it’s a train conductor’s hat.

The man’s smile dissolved. Back off, train boy.

You give me my hat first, Niall demanded.

The man smirked. You don’t seem to realize you have been thrown to the lions here, my friend.

Niall furrowed his brow. There are no lions here, and you are not my friend.

You are correct, the man replied. But you ain’t gettin’ this hat back.

Once again, Niall reached for the hat, but this time, the man drove his fist into Niall’s gut. He clutched his midsection and let out a groan as he fell over, his glasses tumbling off as he hit the floor. Winded, and all but blind without his glasses, he got to his knees and crawled toward a corner to avoid further beatings.

The man looked over at his friend. How did these idiots ever win the war?

They began to laugh again but were soon interrupted by an angry voice from behind them. "You locked him up with Neuros? I should have you locked up!"

The two men spun around to find a prison guard and a Gray Shirts officer on the other side of the bars. Niall tried to see what was going on, but without his glasses, he could just barely make them out. The guard fumbled with his keys to get the cell door open while his impatient companion waited with his hands on his hips.

The two Neuros are waiting to be transferred to the ghetto. The guard’s voice shook as he attempted to explain. We are over-crowded. We had no place to put him, Colonel.

I’m not interested in your problems, the officer snapped. Niall thought his voice sounded familiar.

The guard hung his head and pushed the cell door open.

As they stepped into the cell, the two prisoners scrambled to the back wall.

The officer looked down at Niall cowering in the corner, then back to the two prisoners. Classic Neuro behavior.

The two men held their hands up. It’s not what it looks like, sir.

"And a classic Neuro response. When undeniable evidence is presented, they come up with ambiguous explanations like context."

With that, Niall knew who it was. Owen. With or without his glasses, he recognized his brother’s voice. And he knew he wasn’t the only one about to experience his wrath.

Niall watched as Owen pulled his truncheon from his belt and took a few steps toward the Neuros, whose eyes bulged and hands trembled.

He attacked us first, the smaller man tried to explain.

So, you think that gives you the right to beat an NNT?

It was self-defense, sir, the taller man whimpered.

Owen raised the bat over his head. Well, this is not.

The Neuro raised his arms up for protection, but the force of the blow sent him to the ground. He curled up into the fetal position as Owen struck him several more times. Apparently satisfied that he had administered enough punishment to the first man, he turned his attention to the second.

The smaller man, terrified, made a dash toward the open cell door. The prison guard tackled him and held him on the ground while Owen battered him. After a few minutes, Owen stood and mopped the beads of perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

He looked down at Niall. Get up.

Niall looked up at him, then at the truncheon he still held. Owen, he groaned, crouching closer to the ground, if that was possible. What are you doing here?

Get up, he repeated through gritted teeth.

Niall crawled across the floor and retrieved his glasses before he got to his knees and then to his feet.

How many times have I told you to stay away from those stupid trains? Owen roared.   You are a disgrace to the Ministry and our family!

Niall looked up at his older brother. Does dad know?

I don’t know why I continue to protect you.  Just because you’re an NNT and my brother doesn’t mean you can’t be sent to ghetto, Owen warned.

Niall dropped his chin to his chest. I can’t help myself, Owen. It’s like an addiction.

I don’t care. This is the last time I bail you out. Do you understand?

He kept his eyes on the floor and nodded.

Now get to the office! Owen snapped.

Niall looked up. Can you give me a ride?

Owen’s face was red as he pointed to the door,  Get out of my sight! 

Niall slinked out of the cell then turned back and saw Owen turn to speak to the prison guard. As for you, you have violated the segregation laws, and I will be filing a report.

We do our best under the circumstances, the guard replied.

Owen crossed his arms. That’s exactly what the Neuros say when you ask them to explain their irrational behavior.

Niall didn’t feel all that sorry for