Ch 1 (Pt 4): Every One of Them a Scoundrel

~
(Harrington)

In my office, I watch my bodyguard silently park itself in its custom storage rack. I’ve settled into the quiet ergonomic comfort of my desk. A state of calm and stillness comes over me. If I want to, I can monitor all the things, people and processes I control in my Region, but it’s not necessary just at this moment.

I sit perfectly still, thinking, for perhaps 5 minutes. There is no sound other than Schubert’s Impromptu No. 3 wafting in subtly from all directions.

I think, as I often do, of how our new, improved world came into being. This was long known to be the natural, inevitable, ideal state of things that would have to evolve into being, one way or another. The Earth with its many delicate natural processes presented its solutions to the nightmare scenarios the great Prophets of Old, by whom we, the knowledgeable elites, mean the old-time scientific elitists, Malthusians and eugenicists, had mused about for centuries.

Our ancestors, both ancient and more recent, crafted, in the form of many warnings about great crises to come, an ideological blueprint that became our world. A world in which a small, benevolent class of human beings, who do not mind referring to themselves as “elites”, unbound by the antiquated system of morals and ethics, would, after generations of toil and struggle at great cost to many important families, take the reigns of the planet in earnest, steering the destiny of humanity with precision, forever. The lower classes of human beings perfectly and happily serve the requirements of our plan for the management of our new, perfect world.

I’m watching, through the floor-to-ceiling glass, a drone flying slowly, high above the city. I watch it until it disappears in the distance. After a moment looking at the spot where it disappeared, I turn and look at my desk. I reach into a drawer and pull out several neuropaks. I look at the labels, then press one against the interface behind my left ear. It’s my favourite neuropak for relaxation - a mid-grade whiskey, the less refined taste a guilty pleasure, quite good enough for these stolen moments in an otherwise busy day. Straight with a drop of honey. For the next 30 minutes, sipping room temperature water out of a linked glass will perfectly simulate the flavour and effect of my favourite drink. Each small sip goes down nice and hot. I savour the warmth as the relaxing and slightly euphoric effect of alcohol spreads through my body and mind. I only drink the natural primary water accessed in one of the vast uninhabited nature reserves in my Region.

I look down. I can see part of the Civic Plaza where I met Elara. It’s hard to miss, with the rows of huge statues of those clown-like characters, every one of them a scoundrel, who the lower classes believe are the true Prophets of Old.

The Leader class is privileged to be entrusted with the sacred knowledge of the science behind the quantitative and qualitative management and improvement of the world, as well as the true esoteric or high version of the religion. This knowledge is not taught in any Infotech academy, and of course not to BuilderHelpers. There is a simplified official history, taught in the schools for the lower classes, of the processes that led to these great improvements. But the precise truth of these matters is reserved for the sacred texts available only to the Leader class and of course the Holy Supreme Council.

We (meaning my generation and previous generations of elite controllers and planners) refined the ideas and doctrines that the ancient prophetic writings were forced to insulate with softening language such as “theoretical” or “speculative” or “controversial”. Our great Prophetic forefathers accepted that it was necessary to feign adherence to the weak and backward moral standards of their time. But now we are free. Free of the old standards. God Himself marvels at what we have created.

To state it more accurately, theologically speaking, God marvels at what He has caused in His required response to our Will of Faith, which uses our Power of Faith. Our Great, Obedient God obeys us, the Manifested Gods on Earth.

A chime from my comms. It’s my Ground Forces Command Senior Liaison Officer, requesting a propaganda mission at the southern front. I skim the notes and approve the request. I ping Kade.

“Mr. Kade, you see this mission request here. Southern Front visit. Can you get one of my drones to the vicinity of Corpus Christie, depart from location at your discretion, let us know when we’re close and I’ll join you at drone command.”

A couple of hours to enjoy my drink and review the flight plan, then I’ll have to disable the alcohol effect and head to the 83rd floor of my offices. I don’t mind being so busy.