Photo by Nyah Rizzuti
Clive did the unthinkable, and awoke at 7:22. The whole city of Ludificatus’ alarms rang at 7:15. It was the first time, as far as he could remember, that his earpiece had been off. Not “Off” like the decrease in volume you’d experience when talking to someone, but off in a complete sense. No chimes were coming from his wrist-comm to remind him of the next task, no programs to tune into, just silence.
The breakfast tray sitting in the dumbwaiter had been there for a few minutes, but he didn’t feel hungry. He sipped the coffee and scrolled through the list of “To-Dos” assigned to him on his communicator. It was a pretty ordinary workday, and yet Clive felt adventurous, and perhaps a little frightened, as if some great rift of potential had been set before him. He skipped breakfast that morning and left early for the office, two things he’d never done before.
The shuttle ride felt different. The monitor in front of him broadcasted some educational show of some sort concerning pyramids, although he couldn’t be sure, with his earpiece in a state of disrepair. He instead focused on the crowds outside the shuttle. Most of everyone else had just left their building and were standing in line for one of the numerous, constantly operating hyper-shuttles.
The Bureau’s imposing steel and glass roots rose from the concrete and curled towards each other, meeting in the middle like two boa’s in a contest of strength. Typically, he would have received the directions to his cubicle dictated to him step by step, as the maze of workspaces inside the Bureau stretched out to the horizon on either side. Instead, Clive had to make turns using the mini-map on the screen of his wrist communicator. One such turn led him straight into a wastebasket, knocking an army of crumpled paper balls onto the floor. He felt a little embarrassed, but thankfully nobody was in the office, so he promptly began picking them up. One of the pieces caught his eye. In hurried handwriting, it read:
Conditioning Abstractions:
Palettes of association: what colors are you? And when?
Divine Energies: unleashing self-care and self-awareness
Us and the stars: name a star after yourself!
Below 1 and 3 a red pen had written “bullshit” and “uninventive”. He looked at the paper puzzled. The second line was clearly related to the recent “Energist” social movement. The media had been all abuzz promoting it over the past few weeks, and he even knew a few co-workers who had begun attending after-work Meditation Meets.
The smell of nicotine assaulted his nose. He looked up to see the glossy red heels of a giant 6-foot-7 woman aggressively smoking a cigarette. Her lips were the same color as her shoes and contrasted with the white jacket and skirt. Her jet-black hair was held tightly in a bun, pulling back the skin on an already gaunt face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she sneered.
“Decided to come to w-work early,” He stuttered slightly. He had never met someone who could afford height implants.
“Damn right, you’re early. Why the hell would you do that?” she said.
“My earpieces don’t seem to be working, I ah, got up early, and skipped the morning talkies I suppose,” he laughed nervously.
“Hmph,” the gaunt lady said. “Get them serviced at the technology desk immediately after your shift.”
“Will do,” He said.
Clive straightened the basket and slinked off, the crumpled note gripped tightly in his palm. The workday was monotonous, no input from the earpieces meant no music, no impromptu encouragements reminding him to “Work Hard for your Health!” or that “Focus is Fantastic!” He seemed to get little done. A nagging thought had crept into his brain, radiating from the note in his pocket. There was something awful about “Conditioning Abstractions” as a title… An implication he wasn’t quite willing to accept. In a fit of frustration, he walked over to the office of the imposing woman and knocked on her door.
“Come in.”
On top of the desk, there sat an ebony nameplate with the words ANGELA PYTHONESS engraved in silver lettering. In the chair in front of the desk, there sat a balding, portly little man with round glasses and dressed in a fine olive suit. He sat twiddling his thumbs and craned his neck to observe Clive. He blinked.
“We were just talking about you, Clive,” Angela said. The cigarette on her lips smoldered half-heartedly as she stared blankly at the wall.
“Yes, of course, Clive. Did you get your earpieces fixed?” the little man said.
“No,” he replied. “I’m not sure about it.”
“Not sure about what?” the little man said, his voice biting yet restrained.
“Not sure I want them fixed.”
Angela extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray and locked eyes with Clive.
“And why would that be?” Angela said.
“I, I don’t know,” He said, exasperated all of the sudden.
“Take a seat, Clive.” The man in green said.
Clive sat down in the seat, facing Angela and the little man.
“I have this note, here,” Clive said, handing the note to the man. He read it, expression unchanging, and passed it to Angela.
“Kozbi, this is our last campaign…” She said, her fingers gripping the note with unusual force.
He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. He was focused on Clive.
“I presume you understand the meaning of this note, otherwise you wouldn’t have come into her office.” Kozbi said.
“I suppose I want to know why, and how you could plan this sort of thing, and… is this the only case?” Clive said, fiddling with a string fraying at the bottom of his wool vest.
“The reason is quite simple: control.” Kozbi said.
“Control?” Clive asked.
“Control.” He took a moment to clean his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled out of his front pocket.
“Piping in hours of television, music, concocting dishes and menus to amaze even the most de-sensitized epicurean is just simply not enough. People must wonder about something they think is deep and meaningful, they need a purpose and drive to obsess their minds with. Their psyche wanders till it finds such a thing to grasp.”
“What does this have to do with the Energists?” Clive said.
“It is our aim to make Man wonder about himself and obsess with his own identity and association. Of course, there is some sort of false humility inserted in the messaging that it is the grandeur of things or aspects is what we’re really focused on. In reality, these are all hollow walls, intended to conceal the masses’ own self-obsession. We have created a religion of self, to which you may add the sacraments of your personal neuroses, as long as it is subjected to our common catechism.”
He paused to put the spectacles back on his nose.
“You may think us cruel, manipulative, elitist, etc etc, but through these measures, the bureau has ended war and most organized crime. For when we turn man’s attention inward, there is no longer anything of value to pursue in the outside world.”
Clive remained silent.
“Of course, living such a vapid existence has its side effects. As such, the distractions provided by the Office of Entertainment supplement our need for stimulus.” Angela said.
'
The two stared at Clive waiting.
“So it’s all, every social movement, everything is a… distraction?” Clive said.
“Of course it is. The movements of our society, and the thought patterns you are permitted, have been carefully selected to achieve perfect, non-contiguous, conformity. I say non-contiguous because each person is allowed to fashion their own cage to their liking. If we were to construct the universal mode of thought there would be many who rebelled against parts or would choose another ideology entirely. The Axis powers had such issues in the Second Great War. The recent philosophy of Energism is nothing new, we’ve known for decades that people are easily impressed by themselves.” Kozbi said.
His tone was both condescending and matter-of-fact.
“The question is, what will you do now that you know?”
“What is there to do?” Clive said.
“We would be willing to offer you a position, similar in assignment to Angela here, assisting in writing and executing these movements.”
“I… I don’t think I could do that. Knowing what is being done.”
“Of course you could. I did. Angela did.”
Clive shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would.”
“Ah,” Kozbi said. “Would.” He looked over at Angela.
She leaned down and opened a drawer.
***
A loud pop rang out in the Bureau offices that day. Marilyn looked away from her monitor to try to locate its sound and noticed that Clive wasn’t at his desk. She thought it very odd, she’d never seen someone leave their desk during work hours more than to stand up and stretch. She’d wanted to invite him to an Energist meeting – he seemed cute, and most people could benefit from some meditation and transcendent self-creation. Chimes emitted to all the earpieces in the building, and a soothing woman’s voice declared:
“The tech crew is making some minor repairs to our building’s wiring today, if you notice any loud sounds pay no mind! It’s a great day in Ludificatus!”
Photo Creds: Nyah Rizzuti