Ch 1 (Pt 3): Our Perfect Lower Classes and Their Ancient Idols

~
(Harrington)

After a perfect, private lunch featuring the finest beef and produce brought in from one of my agricultural reserves, I descend to the lower concourse that opens onto the Civic Plaza, an area bustling mainly with members of the BuilderHelper class cheerfully attending to their daily work. Many of them look through their mobile holographic screens, floating just in front of and slightly below their faces, as they move through the plaza.

Following me at a discreet distance is my beautifully crafted autonomous bodyguard. I bought the most expensive one. It’s engineered and manufactured by Raytheon’s Rolls-Royce division. It’s actually a bespoke unit, customized to my preferences and threat concern profile. The design language I specified prioritizes discretion and taste, with smooth lines and no visible weapon ports.

A bodyguard is almost totally unnecessary these days, but many of us prefer the feeling of luxury and comfort it imparts. It can also carry some helpful items for me such as an umbrella, coat, hat, that kind of thing.

On each side of the Plaza, rows of huge statues honouring the exoteric Spiritual Apostles and Prophets Of Old loom overhead, their faces turned skyward.

The statues are marked by signs reading:

THE SPIRITUAL APOSTLES AND PROPHETS OF OLD
DECREEING AND DECLARING GOD’S OBEDIENCE IN AGREEMENT WITH OUR GREAT SPIRITUAL REVIVAL
PROPHET BRANHAM – THE GREAT TEACHER, INCARNATION OF ELIJAH
PROPHET WARNOCK – SAINT OF THE MANIFESTED GODS
APOSTLE BICKLE – SAINT OF SPIRITUAL LOVE
APOSTLE MORRIS – SAINT OF GENEROUS GIVING
APOSTLE WOMMACK – SAINT OF GOOD HEALTH
APOSTLE OSTEEN – SAINT OF PERSONAL EMPOWERMENT
APOSTLE DRISCOLL – SAINT OF HAPPY RELATIONSHIPS
PROPHET WALLNAU – SAINT OF THE SEVEN MOUNTAINS
THE HOLY TRINITY OF PROSPERITY – APOSTLE COPELAND, APOSTLE DUPLANTISS, APOSTLE MEYER

There, moving among the crowd of workers, I see a young woman with cascading blonde hair pulled back, catching the ambient light like spun gold. Her eyes are a clear, deep blue, wide and luminous, framed by long, dark lashes that give her a look of innocent wonder. The eyes sit distinctly below the equator of the head. The skin is fair and flawless, the features arranged in a harmony that feels both timeless and deliberate: a high, broad forehead, a nose of subtle elegance, and lips that are just full enough and perfectly shaped. The thinner upper lip exposes two large front teeth. The head sits gracefully atop a long, slender neck in a posture that conveys an image of poise and grace.

In the old times there was a period when, because of somewhat ham-fisted propaganda and conditioning designed ultimately to dampen levels of human reproduction, young men and women were culturally and emotionally separated from each other. It was easier to make the young women dislike the men, but soon the feeling became mutual. It is memorialized in the esoteric Prophetic history as one of humanity’s greatest achievements in the science of mass psychological conditioning. To overcome the human mating instinct through purely psychological means was thought impossible before that time. However, it came with some side effects that had to be undone once a more enlightened perspective became the norm.

Unexpectedly during that period, the young women began setting beauty standards amongst themselves that paid no heed to male interest in their looks. They stopped looking to the traditional, slow-evolving standards established over thousands of generations based on mutual sexual attraction between males and females. Young women began surgically altering their faces and bodies to conform to their new beauty standards. The results eventually turned bizarre. Young women looked old, and eventually had a uniform look, with huge artificial cheekbones protruding out beyond the eye sockets, shaved-down noses with a sharp point on the tip, and a straight line drawn down the middle to enhance a bony ridge, very large inflated lips with the upper lip the same as the lower lip, heavy, square jaws and large protruding chins, and skin that looked like shiny, stiff plastic. They chemically paralyzed their faces so that they could not emote with facial expressions, for fear of showing any lines or folds in the skin. They also, for a time, paradoxically, gave themselves balloon-like artificial breasts and buttocks. They covered their bodies and hands in many small tattoos that made them look from a distance as if a child had been scribbling on them with a felt marker.

Young men eventually responded by doing these kinds of things to themselves as well. They began taking hormone supplements while still in their teens, breaking their legs surgically to gain height, damaging their own facial bones to try to get larger features, sculpting their bodies with weightlifting, surgery and extreme dieting, wearing makeup, and getting hair implants. Ironically, they were trying to make themselves attractive to women, only for the purpose of shaming women who were attracted to them for their looks.

But we fixed all that nonsense permanently.

Here, now, approaching me, is this objectively, timelessly beautiful creature. I watch her delicate features, the bright eyes, and a smile that is slightly tentative, slightly submissive. She’d be one of the Amethyst models, to use the terminology of the genetic engineers. A subset of the BuilderHelper class, engineered for speed, flexibility and coordination, modest strength, and other physical talents. These ones are built like dancers rather than heavy labourers. Every movement she makes exudes the poise and grace engineered into this very special breed. Physical prowess paired with an aesthetic ideal meant to soothe the eyes and souls of her betters.

Earlier iterations of the genetic engineering necessary to maintain the required cognitive limits of the BuilderHelpers produced physically stunted, unattractive creatures, in accordance, actually, with the concepts and illustrations of the great gentleman scientists and eugenicists of old such as the Prophet Of Old Galton. But over time, through much scientific research, and even more trial-and-error experimentation, technological improvements have given us the BuilderHelpers we enjoy today.

My private feed tells me this one is twenty-four years old and works in a unit that delivers agricultural products for processing. I see she’s rated highly for her skills in interacting with Leaders.

“Excuse me”, I call, stepping into her path. “What’s your name?” I ask as a courtesy.

She turns, the blue eyes looking up to meet mine with practised deference. She recognizes me as a Leader, but probably doesn’t know who I am. She is genuinely happy to interact with me. Her voice is melodic yet restrained.

She smiles. “Elara, Sir. What can I do for you, Sir?”

I pull out a pair of latex gloves, shake them, and begin slowly putting them on, looking steadily at her eyes. I can’t help smirking as I watch her wide eyes staring intently at my hands.

“I need to see a sample of the new algae strain you harvested this week”, I say as I gesture toward the crate she is carrying. “It’s important for the next shipment of food for the Infotech residential districts.”

She nods enthusiastically, “Okay Sir!” slipping a sealed vial from the crate. Along with her genetic traits, the neurochemical dampeners embedded in her daily rations and semi-annual injections keep her emotional range narrow, fostering a contented acceptance of her role. While her muscles are enhanced for endurance allowing her to do light work for many hours without fatigue, her capacity for abstract, critical thought is muted. The engineered improvements dampen useless traits such as excessive curiosity and potential for dissent. Emotional depth is constrained to happiness, gratitude and obedience. The elite have engineered a class of humans who can perform any physical task flawlessly while remaining intellectually and emotionally pliable.

“The algae’s doing great!” she reports, holding up a vial for me to examine. “Even better than we thought!”

I pull a clear plastic bag out of my breast pocket and hold it open in front of her. She drops the vial into the bag and I seal it. I’m still wearing my gloves. Leaders do not touch nutritional products destined for the lower classes, as the nanotechnology can penetrate skin.

“Excellent, Elara. You are so beautiful! And the work you do is very good!”

Her eyes widen as she inhales sharply, giving me a beautiful, open mouth smile. I can see the excited chill run through her body.

Oh, my. The Manifested Gods are so good.

Then, remembering her training, she inclines her head in a gesture of humility.

“Thank you so much, Sir.” And then, adorably, reciting by rote: “It is my sacred purpose to serve. When the Leaders’ Word is obeyed, God in turn obeys, and the world lives in prosperity and good health.”

“Whoops,” I say as as I juggle and drop the sample, as if by accident.

Elara reacts with cat-like reflexes, dropping to a low kneeling lunge with one leg outstretched to maintain balance, her left hand shooting out to grab the vial in mid-air while her right hand raises her crate to prevent contact with the ground. She comes to a dead stop in this position, smiling up at me, and I’m thinking: If I tried that, it would absolutely wreck my back.

“Were you testing me Sir?”

“No, I’m just clumsy – you made a great save Elara, thank you!”

Of course, such physical prowess must not be allowed to become a threat. The emotional and cognitive restrictions make anger or rebellion against the elites impossible. But three additional methods of control are available for use with not only BuilderHelpers, but Infotechs as well.

First, if social analysis feeds detect even a remote theoretical possibility of something like an organic (not engineered) “populist” political movement, the daily and periodic supplements of the lower classes can be adjusted to suit the present need. For example, in the unlikely case of potential physical rebellion, supplements can be manipulated so that any especially strenuous physical exertion would tend to result, among the strongest and fittest of them, in sudden cardiac distress. The public might then be warned about a “virus” going around causing such problems.

Second, a pulsed microwave signal directed at any person, building, neighbourhood, or city from the ubiquitous communications array can interact with human biology, implanted tech, and with the injected nanotechnology if desired, to subject the affected citizens to more useful feelings such as docility or lethargy. And only if necessary, complete physical incapacity, unconsciousness or death can be induced.

Thirdly, there is a more subtle tool, which has only ever been used to deal with members of the Infotech class. Where necessary this tool may be applied against individuals who exhibit high potential for independent political or religious thought, and usually only then along with accompanying potential leadership qualities. There is never any need to directly terrorize or round up political or religious dissidents on criminal charges, or anything of that sort. It’s all taken care of automatically, well before any problems arise.

Elara has sprung back up to a standing position in one motion, exhibiting the strength and lightness of an elite gymnast. She hands the vial to me. We both laugh and I dismiss her.

I linger for a moment to watch as she walks away to rejoin the other workers. It’s considered bad form for a Leader to touch a BuilderHelper of the opposite sex, except in private. Some Leaders of a more severe moral persuasion frown on touching them at all. But the fact is, BuilderHelpers like Elara are engineered for that kind of thing.

I shouldn’t do this as I have a busy week.

“Oh, um, Elara – I have a Prophetic Word for you. If you can, would you like to attend at my office at 20 hundred tomorrow night? I’ll send a drone for you. I’ll have you home in time for lights out.”

Elara turns as her eyes widen, then narrow, and her smile turns mischievous. “Oh, yes! I’d love that! I mean, yes, a Prophetic Word, thank you Sir!” I’m impressed to see that I’ve made her face blush.

My private feed has already scanned her coordinates. “Okay, pick you up a little before 20 hundred - be ready,” I say, wagging my finger in a friendly mock-scolding gesture.

“I will!” Elara turns and runs to join the other workers. I can see her excitedly telling them about our interaction. They look back at me all wide eyes and smiling. I probably look silly standing here smiling back at them. But they certainly don’t think I’m silly.

The BuilderHelpers are genuinely happy and appreciative of their admittedly spartan, but clean, organized, healthy lives. Full and productive lives. They do not know of the struggles and anxieties people of their limited intellectual capacity faced in the old times: poverty, perhaps homelessness, crime, perhaps prostitution. Overarching despair throughout worthless, disease-ridden lives.

People in the old times might have derisively referred to the present BuilderHelper class as “slaves” or something to that effect. But it’s not like that now. These people are extremely happy, by design. They tend to die suddenly by age 40 or so. They’re incapable of worrying about that, and furthermore the religion we gave them (and the Infotechs, who live normal lifespans) makes all of them look forward to their transition beyond this life.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, I turn and head back toward my tower.