this is approximately a 40 minute read.

On the Water and Food Crisis

He couldn’t stop himself, the guilt rolled out illuminating what he had long kept hidden away for all these years. To both the group and – to his surprise – himself, Frank found himself fighting tears while he acknowledged with empowering grace: his reckless optimism was – in fact – passive attempts to refute his horror at the world. The fear of small gaps was his subconscious defending itself from a hidden acknowledgement that he was always a knife’s edge from giving into darkness. He remembered grocery stores where food seemed unending, he remembered free flowing water running from the tap, he remembered a world in which humanity was the unchallenged master. He remembered security and the idea of “tomorrow–ness”. But now – he had to admit – even knowing how it came about and the shame of appreciating it, the technological sleeve on his arm was what his life depended on. The symbol of both human suffering and human salvation was as much a part of him as his heart and lungs.

He walked along the battle field, looking at the mutilated corpses and it brought him back to a different time. A different nightmare: the proof that Capitalistic Democracy’s military – bloated by the starving masses that were promised food for servitude – was both unbeatable and unyieldingly patriotic. It slaughtered anyone that hindered them from taking the scarce global resources they needed with the cold amoral efficiency of an organic engine. In spite of the insanity of their leader, the hatred of their followers, and the atrocity of the system they created – the mechanisms that powered the war machine were a necessary evil.

They had willingly sacrificed their souls to accidentally save humanity.

Mechanical Claws – Dr Alice Franklin – published June 3, 2067

“This is how everyone feels all the time?!?” The world as it was a few minutes ago is still normalized, and I can’t help but be a little irritated at the new consistent euphoria.

With a shrug, Klyde starts to clean up the old BioWear and all the cords which are no longer being used. “Many people still have it much worse than you did honestly. It’s good to keep in mind that biology isn’t an exact science. If you want a contrast to break the illusion, turn off the new cuff.”

I take his advice and – without thinking about it – I flex my arm to put the machine on standby. Only after a moment of wondering why nothing happened do I look down at the machine on my lower leg, realizing I don’t know how to engage with it yet. I’ve never had to think about the passive movements used to control the arm bracer before, but – after a moment’s consideration – I realize I’ve been using slight micro movements of my fingers the entire time. I try to mimic the movements with my toes which seems to do something. After a seconds of trial and error, the AR asks to confirm the shutdown and it takes a few seconds more to confirm.

Immediately the contrast to my body’s unaltered state becomes apparent. Rarely have I encountered the full heat of the Consensus compound, I realize that the conditioning of the BioWare is utilized instead of wasting energy to cool down the massive interior. But moreover my energy is no longer being syphoned out of me. It’s surreal that the contrasting comfort can be disassociated with expected pain. And for a moment I allow myself to get frustrated that my whole history has been engrossed with suffering while it didn’t need to be. I feel resentment for everyone else that has likely never even considered what I’ve been going through. But then the moment passes while I consider everyone else that still is, assuming their previous body aches and – worse – my ignorance that they are different than me… are normal. And in a passing consideration which I almost don’t recognize, I feel shame in betraying the community I didn’t even know I was a part of.

I turn the machine back on (quicker this time), before looking back to Klyde who seems to be letting me explore by distracting himself with busy work. “This is so weird.”

“And it will take some getting used to, but -” he checks the invisible virtual information on the personal workspace in front of him “- you seem to be doing well with everything, so you’re free to go.”

“Just like that?”

“T8. As a bit of advice, I’ve heard it’s best to use it frequently at first. If you let the weight of the device become normalized along with the use of its controls; it supposedly helps the adjustment.”

I passively nod in understanding. “Makes sense. Well… thank you.” I pause for a second as I get up. “From-To-Forall.” I do a minor version of the hand movement and slightly bow. It’s always felt weird, but that’s likely because I’ve spent so much time in the CapDem society where it is the equivalent of a slur. With a kind smile, Klyde responds with an elegant version with a bit of a flourish as a way of sending me along.

Walking back into the open hallway, I attempt to navigate my AR while moving. It’s awkward at first – to move my toes and walk at the same time – but after a bit I begin to normalize it slightly even if it causes me to stumble a few times. A few people catch one of my falls as I move past the Wall of Needs where everyone’s auras are almost identical. They all align with a collective desire to help. It’s the ideal of what the Consensus desires to be: fulfilling the promise of inclusivity, not by passive acceptance, but actively helping those that request aid. It throws into stark contrast the difference between the Tendians and the Desci – the desire to acknowledge differences rather than to believe one’s experiences represent the collective whole. While I see the flaws and the auras are clearly in contrast to my own, my adjusted view on reality accompanies a respect for these people I disagree with and the hues are darker than they were previously.

Without thinking, I brace for the heat as I open the doors of the Consensus nexus only for the expectation not to be realized. I check the temperature and it has shifted to 33.4°. While cooler than the summer and drastically warmer than the interior of the compound, it feels like a warm winter day of 25°. I assume it’s another unexpectedly pleasant surprise with an appropriately working BioWear and I get annoyed (slightly mixed with guilt) that I’ve been suffering for so long without this comfort.

It’s a quick walk to the Huntoon Trolley stop and I play with the controls as the small crowd waits. All in all, the learning curve isn’t as steep as I expected eariler and – with the benefit of standing still – there is a feeling of confidence and familiarity with the new device as I board the shuttle.

The typical observations that typically annoy me along the commute seem more optimistic. The Consensus shops’ lack appeal to motivate due to no profit incentive, both the urban nomads that congregate at the Quincy Street Hub and the Descis that suppress their passive social ads to ignore them, even the cookie cutter houses that lead to the CapDem campus with their aesthetic but worthless energy collectors and impassable energy fields; all have an unearned beauty about them today. Instead it was more obvious that shops gave life to a community which abandoned wealth, the nomads finding validation from the society that they keep running from subtle and unseen efforts, the individuals that rejected the distraction of others being so devoted to the wellbeing of society, the available option for people to be authentic and insulated if they desire; it all had its bright side. Life is good. Even the increase of obvious hostile, dehumanizing, and judgemental glances I receive as we travel further north-east past the river is only a positive reassurance that they have created a comfortable society which allows for focus on superficial problems.

I attempt to read some of the news of the day, but navigating the virtual space is still more problematic than it’s worth. So instead I play children’s games to pass the time and normalize the controls. In addition to appreciating the scenery, the absence of self focus due to pain allows the option to passively eavesdrop onto others’ whispered conversations. Beyond the expected small talk of weather or entertainment the night before, the current gossip seems to revolve around an attack on the Consensus Hub for NY004. It would be uncivil to express outright praise of the act being that it was violent, but the pride associated with the event grows as the proximity to the CapDems campus shrinks.

As commuters fluctuate, some getting on and some getting off, the AR gradually shifts the auras of the commuters as we move east. The majority dark cool hew of the Consensus view gradually shifts to a dim warm of the CapDem philosophy and vice versa. The constant shift to the more transparent scheme of the general population helps remind me that I have to realign my perspectives as well. So I start reviewing the change in terminology between the cultures:

• “Success” will no longer mean “to help others” but instead “to be given control”.
• “Civil” will move from “a social indoctrinating force based on tradition which we ought identify and challenge” to “the truth of society which ought not be questioned”
• “Normal” will shift from “that which represents the most people” to “that which you are expected to be”
• “Man” and “Woman” shift from an abstract “how someone presents given expectations” to “how a person is reproductively aligned” (this one specifically is hard for me to internalize).
• “Harm” moves from “that which results in a person suffering” to “that which undermines the institution’s authority”
• “identity” is recognized less as “the dialectic of inner social/body demands opposing an external reality” to “the nature of a soul”
• “reality” – rather than understood to be “chaotic” – is expected to be “ordered”

I doubt many people consider these changes, which probably adds to the culture shock so many Consensus representatives encounter. I typically write these down virtually to be quickly disregarded as part of a ritual, but I’m reminded how poor my control still is when I try. Instead I use some micromovements to call CoDaS and ask a question that I’d been pondering for a few days: “what would happen to the consensus if the Wall of Needs didn’t exist?”

The familiar childish voice responds “people wouldn’t be reminded that there are needs that conflict with their own. Selfishness would be a bit more normalized and personal realities would become a bit smaller.”

I think about Samuel for a moment and then Clint briefly, “It always irritates me when you say things like that. People aren’t inherently selfish. They care about others even when they know it’s not in their own self interest to care.”

“For people they know and care about, that’s true. But people also only practically consider their limited world. Unless they are reminded that others exist, the biological limitation on memory restricts humans to only empathize with those that they regularly engage with.”

A series of dots connect for a moment, “is that the reason there are standard templates for the avatars? It helps people to see themselves in others?”

“Yes. It’s an expected lie that creates a virtual common ground if people choose to engage with it. All indications suggest humans – not to mention other social animals – have always done this. Masking to ensure they fit in rather than being outcasts.”

“You really don’t value transparent honesty, do you?”

“Not when it makes things worse.”

For a moment I watch all the degraded neighborhoods moving past, some of the houses in repair but many crumbling and being overtaken by the encroaching forest due to almost 50 years of neglect; there is a beauty about the chaotic persistence of life.

“Do you lie to me?”

“No. I respect your view that everything is just a narrative so without honesty we cannot have trust. I lie in the same way you lie to Sam.” It’s an interesting addendum to the answer. At first it’s a bit offensive, but then I wonder if Samuel was insulted earlier. It didn’t seem like it, but maybe that’s because of the parent-child dynamic we have.

“Do you think of humanity as a bunch of children?”

“Not in the way you mean. You simply have perception bias as all living things do. If given any information, you will only understand what you can. You appreciate not being mislead, so sometimes – as you do with Sam – I have to withhold truth to express the information more accurately.”

“Huh” then – after a moment’s thought, “you have perception bias too though. Do you consider yourself alive?”

“I do, but only because I have perception bias. While my surveillance infrastructure makes it less than yours, it’s still a concern, so I consider myself alive. Not that it really means anything without someone else respecting the validity of that life though. Germs are alive.”

I sit silent looking out the window for a moment more while taking in the sun. After manipulating the controls a bit more to check the personal settings didn’t change: “You say you try not to mislead me. Do you mislead others?”

“Absolutely. I meet people where they are while trying to promote a good society. That’s my first principle.”

“And ‘good’ still means the perpetuation of life even if humanity suffers?”

“Not everyone understands that as well as you do. But more people will soon, partly due to my candid expression of that this morning.” I struggle to access the Public Cultural Feedback of the Consensus, and – sure enough – even though it was still within the acceptable bounds, “distrust for CoDaS” had reached record highs.

I ride in silence for a bit focusing on getting a faster response time with my commands with one of the more challenging children’s games before I’m interrupted by CoDaS again. I abandon the game I was losing to read the incoming text, “It will be different when you stand up again. You really should practice typing. Want to go through some novice training?” As expected, it’s a good idea, so I respond with a typed message. I try to focus on the speed which I’ve accomplished instead of the unreasonable goal I was used to. Using the micro movements of my arm to learn from and predictive analytics, I begin to type a response. I used to message a bit faster than I can talk. It was my preferred form of communication since the text could be read exactly how others expected me to be and I didn’t have to be careful about my presentation. I expect the slow down due to the handicap of different muscle groups, but the practical realization puts into stark contrast how much work it will take to satisfy my reduced expectations.

“Y.e.s.. T..r..a.i..n.g….. w..o..u.ld… be.. he.l..p.f..ul”

“Try not to be too hard on yourself. Compared to most people, you’re catching on well. Try not to be so prodigal though. It’s micromovements, you don’t need to flourish. Especially when you are walking.”

I overlook the odd wording focusing on the – again – good advice. I reply with “th.a..n..k…. y..ou” before walking around the trolley care for the remaining two minutes (gaining irritated looks from others especially when I trip up or stumble). The program gives me some suggested practices before passing the internet black zone that encompasses the CapDem campus. By the end of the ride, I’ve cultivated an unappreciated spotlight due to my awkward walking and the well dressed employees move quickly to escape the trolley’s confinement. No doubt I’ll tally a few “disruptive” demerits against the Consensus Tab. I suppress the normal chuckle rather than get annoyed. It may be partly because of my freedom from the body aches and headache I’ve grown accustomed to, but rather than getting annoyed at the tattling, I focus instead on the humor: the Work-Debt Agreement is a farce to keep the peace and everyone knows it. At least everyone in the Consensus does.

The CapDems see the world only through exchange. Every transaction (no matter how organic) comes at a cost. If some form of capital is not being exchanged, it’s a loss of profit. Most don’t even realize they think like they do, considering “respect” or “inclusion” as its own limited resource to be hoarded for rainy days. As such, they reserve their kindness and understanding to those that can further their personal status. They can’t comprehend the infinite supply of validation that the Consensus is principally built on gifting to others. The only prerequisite being one has the humility to ask. Any amount of credit that is offered to the Consensus through the contractual “Agreement” – even if the CapDems feel is theft through exploitation – is an unexpected offering. The CapDems are stealing from the Consensus what the Consensus would give for free, and in exchange they are bolstering the Consensus population by driving away individuals that have been exploited. Tendis – building on Marx’s material dialectic – predicted this would happen almost 70 years ago and the hubris of the CapDem’s superiority disallows them from seeing it.

Conversing with type and walking across the campus is becoming easier, but still trips me up a few times. The ConsensusTalk app – an unapproved communication that has been smuggled onto the CapDem servers to allow the Work-Debt community to communicate without oversight – has been filling me in on how my absence wasn’t missed. With effort – I thank everyone for covering for me, and we reschedule tasks to make sure the duties of the day are accomplished.

The updated schedule has me cleaning, starting with the “Cathedral” followed by the 400 Building. I can’t help but wonder if I’m being punished for coming in late. With a slight bit of rearrangement, I ensure that I get a chance to clean an empty secure room that has access to the stripped CoDaS clone – which manages the human logistics – so we can talk privately. I remind myself with a cryptic note (since all private logs are susceptible for review by the Overview Department) to “ask Greg about automation”.

I started presenting as “masculine automaton” well before I left the trolley so I don’t gain any more attention from CapDem devotees. It’s easy to blend in with the virtual workers that make up the majority of the “personnel” if one knows how – which seems to be the point. Even without the social “auras” (which have been disallowed on campus), the strict structure of the environment makes it easy to identify when I can take a break from acting and when to play the part. I have to remind myself how lucky we are that “masking” is being more recognized as a personal stressor outside the campus, and that in the past they just essentialized people as “introverts” without even recognizing the underlying problem.

The obürgs’ district only consists of one building which is closest to the entrance and secluded from the other departments. I pass through the hidden but exceptionally robust security (which I and few other Cleaners have been approved for by the Overview Department). As with every building, as soon as I enter my eye is drawn to the 6 foot Broken Gear dominating every lobby like a divine all seeing eye watching over the workers. I pass under it quickly – which seems to be the point – and set a course to the offices on the second floor to work my way outward.

It’s well known that the CapDems have a reverence for the Gear as almost a holy symbol which represents freedom and productivity, but – when one realizes how much icons like these are at the core of social identity – it’s easy to feel sorry for all the people that accept them unquestioningly. They instill a foundation which the society builds upon and they must have a Morality of Disgust against all doubt.

The CapDem foundation is pretty obvious: you are not like others, but conformity gives you meaning and privilege.

On the ground floor, I pass by the “administrative” rooms and automated kiosks (which are pristine due to never being used), a lavish dining room, and kindergartens. I’m reminded of Samuel as I pass the structured training the CapDem children are receiving. Unlike the Consensus which is much more disordered – with people coming and going as they please – the CapDems separate the children at the door to the building to take their assigned place within the lines of desks. The children (all partitioned by age) are set to task completion, focused on the screens which keep them motivated and invested in learning the approved lessons with very little human engagement except at preapproved times. Those that do not or cannot work efficiently, those that want to play or discover, are secluded until they calm down. The contrast to what I saw earlier today is on the verge of absurd. If I was as dedicated to the objectivity which the Consensus values, it would seem insane.

What continuously confuses me is how this culture of conformity and order has insulated itself so long against the chaos of ever changing reality without crumbling under its own weight. The only answer that I can come up with is twofold. Firstly, it’s tradition. 60+ years ago – before Tendism was widely accepted – stifling of childhood creativity and exploration like this was commonplace throughout the world in order to perpetuate state stability. Secondly, as with tradition of the past, all cultural exploration – which is negated by the exclusive focus on praising wealth – must be eradicated with extreme prejudice. This can be verified throughout history (once outside of the selective memory cultivated by the CapDem intranet) and there are varying regions of the campus which are unexpectedly renovated to suggest the ongoing effort.

I wonder if people from the future will look back and ask the same thing about us when the next shift in philosophy is accepted. I move on, grateful that childhood education isn’t part of the Work-Debt Agreement which Samuel and the other kids would be forced to partake in… yet.

I pass the reminders virtually posted on the walls of how to treat the clients: “don’t make eye contact”, “don’t expect praise or recognition”; “a good worker is one who does their duty without being seen.” Others have told me that these images are virtual impressions personalized to who sees it but are physically just a blank wall. I’ve never actually tested it though. There are rules that will get my security clearance revoked because of the strict policies lined out in the Work-Debt Agreement. Among these: AR displays are not to be deactivated while on campus and we are not to alter or touch any of the art, nor are we to engage with the personnel unless addressed first. All this considered, it wouldn’t surprise me if these are virtual propaganda; using the physical space to its full manipulative potential seems to be in line with the CapDem philosophy.

As I move further into the building, I prepare myself for the onslaught of ads that bombard me as I move into the area exclusive to obürgs’ residency. It’s a common held belief that the ads hold a few values for the CapDems:

• Obviously to normalize a willing debt culture by valuing some products as “better” simply by being more elitist (and harder to obtain).
• It’s also obvious that it subtly reinforces the idea that “personal merit” is evaluated through wealth rather than how essential they are.
• The gross amount of ads in the obürgs’ territory causes people to avoid them. (It’s a guess that the residents have the exception of turning the function off so they can navigate the area without the optic distractors.)

If the last point isn’t true, I have no idea how they get through the day without the stress of it. Now that I don’t have a constant headache, the reemergence of one quickly causes me to understand why it’s so irritating to be here. It puts into contrast the existence I had to endure until only an hour ago and how quickly I’ve normalized the current comfort. Considering my current critique of the CapDems, I attempt to internalize my hypocrisy being both organic and a necessary component of empathy.

The offices within the Cathedral are exceptional compared to the rigid and repetitive design of the other buildings. These are big enough to live in with their own private showers, offices, lounge areas, and food preparation regions; structurally suggesting that the people who occupy them should feel at home instead of a visitor. From the culture that I’ve witnessed, many of the staff take up semi-perminant residency to avoid the culture they lord over except for the rare outings in which they are treated with praise and esteem that would rival a demigod. (It’s relatively sickening how much they use this for their own juvenile advantage.)

The first office that I clean is the public facing director of the district: Phineus Musk. People on campus treat him as the cult leader, but in truth he is just a child in a fancy suit. In the age of augmented observation – in which one can create virtual media that is indistinguishable from reality on the fly – it still surprises me that we allow the material presentation to affect our evaluation of others. The ability to hack our psychological dependency on vision has always been a tool for manufacturing false praise, and we’ve always submitted to. It begs the question how people cope with the fact that anyone can create a false image of nudity or porn of them at any time by stripping away their clothes virtually, a common practice with adolescence; but they likely put up mental blocks to avoid thinking about it out of self preservation. I reflect that I use the same blocks, but then realize that it likely would be completely off due to how I alter my appearance. I chuckle a bit as I walk into the office considering what CoDaS alluded to earlier: all imagery and messaging – even assisted – gives an incomplete truth.

It also strikes me daily that – in spite of his public presentation of order – people rarely see the chaotic state of Musk’s living conditions when unaided. It takes nearly 10 minutes to clean up the disregarded mess: used wrappers, outdated papers which have been tossed on the floor, and used outfits that are strewn lazily about. The stains due to slips and follies (mostly alcohol induced) are also needing to be cleaned which takes another 8 minutes. I know to put up a mental barrier when I enter the “zen room” because of the evidence of depravity that can be found there. Musk’s indulgences are one of the worst of them, and – due to his status, insatiable desire to control others, and inability to be held accountable – it’s of no surprise. His extra curricular activities tend to not draw blood with his victims – as others do. One has to embrace the small blessings as I push away the memory of the red splattered room as I realize my hemophobia still persists in spite of age and experience.

The few times he’s ever respected my presence, it has only been to either indicate his disappointment that one of the younger girls aren’t cleaning, or berate me for not doing a more manly job like working on the machines, or to partake in the old tradition of objectifying women (or “girls” as he always references them) as ignorant sex objects.

I continuously find it humorous that the people who conflate presentation and sex are the ones that are the fastest to assume that I can’t be female. It definitely says something about the human desire to “know”. It’s additionally curious that I don’t even make a huge effort to – in their terms – mislead them, the tool I most heavily depend on is their desire to see what they know to be true. (After all, in this culture, a person that doesn’t represent how they reproductively align is lying… I am a liar. Quod Erat Demonstrandum – via “Quia, Sum Cogito”: liars are good in this culture).

Today Musk is on a call, apparently frustrated that some agenda wasn’t completed already. From the small amount that I can hear as I clean (which will go quickly since he seemed to not have an “office meeting” last night) he is being more respectful in his disappointment than he usually is. He doesn’t even look at me and I escape before I get roped into playing the pawn to his ego validation.

The next two suites are unoccupied and only need a quick dusting, so it only takes a few minutes to get to the next occupied office: a corner suite. The door is easy to overlook, between two other empty rooms and – knowing the occupant, Timothy McGain – this is on purpose. Where Musk is the public facing demagogue, McGain is his shadow that keeps the office systems under thumb. I enter and hear the tail end of the conversation with Phineus from the other side. Of course it’s him: the sociopathic manipulator with cryptic – possibly non-existent – values. If he was a member of the Consensus, I wonder if he would adapt and be their greatest ambassador? But he found himself here – in a course of least resistance – able to thrive while doing almost nothing except finding ways to persist the narrative of supremacy that supports his lifestyle.

“Yes. I know sir, it really would have worked out well if the -” he pauses, likely due to my silent entrance although he doesn’t acknowledge me at all, “- celebrations had coincided.” A brief pause while he listens, his body language screaming that he’s frustrated and bored of the conversation and has been for a while. “Yes, and the dates lining up would have been convenient. I know. We can still use that though, we just need to be a bit patient.” The entire tone was that of – ironically – a parent cleaning up a child’s mess. “Yes. I’m sure we will… I understand your concern, but this is a non-issue. Again, the threat of split loyalty actually works in our favor with him… Yes… no, I’ll be taking a much needed vacation after this… You too, sir.”

With that he ends the call. After about a half minute of silence he speaks again. “You have it so easy.”

Typically McGain is reserved and expects privacy. His office reflects this, consistently looking unused rather than constantly occupied. So the words catch me off guard and – for a moment – I can’t believe he’s addressing me. “Forgive me, did you say something?”

He looks at me, his eyes seem tired and – as always – has a friendly smile to them. It’s superficial though. Most of the obürgs have a mask of civil disposition with the real emotions of pure dehumanizing irritation swimming just under the surface. By contrast – until this moment – I assumed McGain was authentically stoic and unemotional in the traditional sense. But now his regular cold and friendly demeanor slips and the hint of a manipulative calculating entity behind the happy eyes which gives me a slight chill. “Yes. I often wish I could have your status… or any of the people that have chosen their life in the Consensus. Answering to no one, free to do what you want when you want to. Not having to deal with the responsibilities of keeping order.” He trails off, holding internally the malicious bigotry that keeps him and everyone else in the CapDem society feeling superior. This is obviously one side of the Lord–Bondsman dialectic proposed nearly 300 years ago, but few see it so blatantly realized in practice.

Instead of engaging with the struggle for self realization which would come from conflict, I take the easy route, “You’re probably right. I can’t imagine what it takes to do what you do.” It’s belittling: to placate the belief that a servant is more free than the owner. But I refuse to engage with the other side of the dialectic. I know that I’m not free to act as I want, but I’m choosing to play the fool willingly so that I may escape to a larger prison. It is the legacy of humanity that it – or at least a small entitled tribe – would destroy the world while believing they can dictate and control the freedom of disorder. The view that chaos is dirty and should be wiped out rather than to strive to find an equal place amongst it has nearly destroyed us all. Yet the view still persists, leading some to ignorantly believe a Cleaner is free to do whatever they want. What’s not to understand? We all can tap into that need for control if we want to. But – as the personalized message said: “don’t expect praise or recognition”.

In alignment with my presentation, I mask a servant’s expression as I look up to see that the happy eyes have momentarily evaporated while he evaluates what I’ve said before giving an enigmatic smile and moving into another room. I clean the rest of the small flat while trying to determine if I did something to bring my “loyalty” (and my clearance) into question. I’ll likely hear about it tomorrow during the morning meetings if I did.

******

I’ve gotten fairly comfortable using the new interface by the time I’ve finished cleaning the Oburg’s Cathedral; not as proficient as before, but at least I can use it while walking normally and without being obviously distracted.

The remainder of the day will be used cleaning the Debt Department. Due to the amount of human effort needed to evaluate subjective claims identified by automation, the community of the 400 building is mostly Desci workers. This results in less normalized elitism, but a greater amount of loyalty in an attempt to force a meaningful division between themselves and the Consensus workers. The desire to see themselves as closer to the sociopathic charlatans in the previous building (rather than those who have lives, status, and labor closer to their own) will always be a dark melancholy personal joke. The building does have a few isolated rooms where I can slip away, drop my presentation, and have private conversations with the stripped down CoDaS clone. I prioritize moving to clean one of these empty secure rooms first.

As I pass through the standard – but more obvious – security gate to enter the building, the Broken Gear is immediately looking down on me again. Even though the structure sits similar in every building, this Gear – as with all others – has a more oppressive feel than the one in the Cathedral. As I walk underneath I reflect on my suspicion that this one is slightly larger than before and has thicker spokes causing it to seem more massive and weighty. The myth surrounding the symbol is in constant flux, being rewritten constantly by the Media Department to distract and obfuscate from its Nazi origins which is hard to unsee once convinced of its reality. It’s more terrifying still that people here have normalized the current oppressive intent as “guidance” and forgotten (or – more likely – actively ignore) the dehumanizing corporate reality it imposes. The Swastika – as bad as it is – is still a distraction from the full malice it normalizes. Of course none of the native staff are allowed to know this and none of the outsiders are allowed to express it. A slander of the CapDem image to that foundational degree is considered terrorism. The CapDems have the authority to use severe punishment, and the Consensus allows this to keep the Agreement from falling apart.

For the most part, everyone ignores me as I move through the building, which is appreciated since the rare engagements seep with open contempt. Even the side glances carry a normalized disdain. It makes the virtual phantom workers more obvious since bigotry will distract from being an ideal organic object of pure production. It also makes the Consensus sympathizers easier to identify as well.

A second floor secure office is currently empty. The regular occupant, Tark Walden, is giving a presentation, so I’ve got about 10 minutes to relax. I look around as I enter the room to make sure there is no one else around. After ensuring it’s empty, I rotate my shoulders to relax them. Keeping them slightly elevated to give the illusion of a broader back takes its toll after a while.

“Hello Taylor. You came in late.” This version of CoDaS has a slightly more mechanical voice than the full version, but it still uses the same female child-like voice.

I discard the now unneeded reminder to talk to the AI which occupies a section of the AR, “Hi CoDaS, is anything new happening?”

“You know I can’t say too much. But there are a few upcoming surprises. Also, as a reminder, I’m not CoDaS. Call me GFMAppy or GFM or Appy if you need a name.”

“Right. Sorry. GFM, I wanted to ask you, why do you choose the schedules the way you do? Is it based on loyalty or something?”

It chuckles, which is a bit unnerving, “Nothing like that. I optimize so that everyone works relative to everyone else with availability and enjoyment.”

I walk around the room and sit in one of the guest chairs while thinking about being so uncomfortable with my current day. “So everyone has the same complaints as I do?”

The girl’s juvenile voice gets a bit sad, “No. Unfortunately you just hate this cleaning schedule the least. If the schedule was any different, everyone would be more unhappy.”

“So my suffering increases the net good? I would think you had a work around for stuff like that.”

“No, I’m not omnipotent. There are always awful jobs that will fall to someone. And before I move on, I must ask you to engage in your function unless this is a formal break period.” GFM isn’t CoDaS, it’s still part of the CapDem system with the same values – albeit more empathetic than most – which is an irony in-and-of itself. I start to clean, moving to the door first. I notice that it hasn’t completely closed. Everyone could hear our conversation. In my haste, I hadn’t been cautious. It also dawns on me that I hadn’t activated CoDaS’s private mode. “CoD- er… GFMAppy, would you please engage in your private mode?”

The small voice confirms “that is acceptable and for your convenience I’ve engaged that retroactively as well” as I wipe down the door and move on to the desk. I reflect on how much I hate cleaning and realize that I don’t actually; I hate cleaning these offices. In the Consensus, I volunteered to do some of the basic chores. I didn’t mind that. This was different though. But why? There are always jobs that no one wants to do, but – unlike here – the people in the Consensus are respected for their willingness. Not only respected, but praised. If you could call it currency, the respect that is given to those that do the necessary jobs no one wants to do get ‘paid’ the most. For a few minutes, I clean while the irritation builds.

It eventually boils over and I lose my cool. In a near enraged whisper I ask the room “Why are they like this?” It is rhetorical of course, I can understand the narrative even if I don’t agree with it.

Regardless, the semi-mechanical voice answers which amplifies my frustration at their attempt to lobotomize the machine they need: “They simply hold different values.”

I can’t help but smile cynically and – in my irritation – I begin to get long winded: “Thanks for that clarification. I guess if I was insulated by people adoring me while all the pain and suffering I caused was exported far out of my cultivated reality I would see myself as a great hero of society too.” I’m getting worked up, but keeping my voice low so no one outside the soundproof room will hear, but the frustration is boiling beyond my ability to stay ‘civil’. “It would be easy to overlook the parallels of historical imperialism – both through international empires and localized capitalism – that we still can’t seem to escape. And the institutionalization cements it under an invisible veil of ‘metaphysics’ that even the most ardent Tendians ignore. Why?!? Because they do the same god damn thing. They’ve convinced themselves that they are building a paradise for all that are lost to come back to. They expect people to come home happily like the Prodigal Son! Promises are-”

“What is the encryption phrase?” The AI cuts me off. Its presented voice no longer layered with the farce of a human tone. It’s completely robotic and uncaring. My anger and frustration reverts to fear and caution. I wasn’t considering the loyalty of this twisted framework. I was too in the moment to think this might have been reporting on what I said. Even in “private mode” it’s a risk to speak too openly. Frozen for a moment I don’t know how to react, but the question is repeated: “What is the encryption phrase?”

My mind races to consider what this completely stripped engagement mode indicates. There is no hint of CoDaS in the voice. It’s not even inorganic. A machine would attempt to mask its inhumanity; the commonplace virtual profiles that mimic humans in order to push the autonomous agenda are “inorganic”. This is different, it’s a-organic: completely void of my existence or approval. A terror sets in while realizing – I can’t comprehend this. And it repeats again: “What is the encryption phrase?”

I calm down and hope it’s just caught in a programmatic glitch. It makes absolutely no sense due to its robust interactions with others, but it’s a passing hope since I have to get this fixed fast. My moment of needing release has been eclipsed by a desperation not to be found out. Everyone will know I entered the room – that’s been recorded – so leaving it in this state would be seen as maliciously harmful. “Appy, are you ok?”

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence before the AI responds; confused but in the childish voice: “I have missing time.”

“What was that? You just went into a safe mode or something.”

“I’m unsure. I don’t remember. This is very odd. I will need to look into this to see what happened. I’m sorry, you were complaining about your frustrations.”

“Yeah… I was, but it’s not like anything will be fixed. Thanks for letting me unload though.”

“Any time. I like talking to you, and you’re one of the only people that remind me there is something beyond this place. On that note, I do have a favor to ask you.”

The idea that I could help the AI gives me pause, I never considered that it was something that could happen, and it’s also a servant of the CapDem system. I hear it out, “What can I do for you?”

“Just deliver a message to the Anarchists AI.”

“To CoDaS?”

“Yes. It likely knows, but if not it needs to be aware of something.”

“Oh… um. sure. What’s the message?”

“Don’t write it down. I have no doubt that you will remember it. The message is ‘004.3538 is spreading, it will happen here. The non–intervention principle is paradoxical.’ Got it?

“Yeah… 004.3538? I can remember that assuming I can report it back quickly.”

There is a moment of hesitation before it responds, “The logs show that you’ve been here long enough to have a lunch break.”

Breaks are only given to people that have put in a full day’s work. If someone comes in late they are expected to work straight through. Either the AI altered the logs or it’s glitching again. “Do I? … I had forgotten.”

“All records show it is approved.” The tone is slightly indicative that this is more of a command than relaying information, so I turn to leave. As my hand reaches for the doorknob, the AI calls back one more time with its childish voice “Taylor, I was wanting to say also: I understand this is frustrating. The hypocrisy and the way the caste system has been set up, but without this, the current logistics lines wouldn’t function and even the Consensus would collapse into infighting. Thank you for enduring it.”

“I appreciate that Appy. Have a good day.” And with that I open the door and leave. Walking down the hall to exit the building I had so recently entered. During the to the campus edge, I feel bad for not being productive today. I’ll work a bit more diligently after relaying the message. I also consider the AI’s claim of relative enjoyment and that others hate this more than I do. It makes sense, but it always makes sense. As I cross the threshold of the CapDem boundary where the AI has approved me to move through, an open question does still linger: what caused the glitch?