Secrets of the Heart

Aaron Swift sipped his coffee at the bistro that had been installed in his male housing dormitory and watched all the women walk by the windows. All of them were of the same shape and height with only the proscribed hair colour, either blonde or red or black, nothing in between and nothing different. Looking at each one up and down he searched for flaws or differences anything that would make any of them stand out and to his chagrin he could find nothing. All their eyes were the same shape all of their eye colors were brown or hazel only. He wondered if the stories of women with different shapes and sizes and with blue or grey eyes were true. Then he laughed at himself the histories said as much but, in this day, and age the way the Proletariat controlled information that could be a propaganda campaign as well.

There was only one thing that damned heart shaped locket they all wore, each one was identical except for the jewel at the Centre. It was different depending on their birthplace. Division 1 to 3 wore Sapphires on the locket, Division 4 to 6 wore Opals on it and Division 6 to 8 wore a Diamond on their lockets. Of course, the extraordinarily gifted women from Division 9 to 12 wore those Rubys on their locket. They were the Alpha Women the ones who made the rules for all other Women. They were dominant not just over the Women but over most of the men as well.

Aaron put down the coffee cup and stared at the timekeeper on the wall in 10 minutes his transport would be arriving. To take him to his workplace, where he would be shoved into his cubicle to read the incoming reports from the edges of the civil society. He lived in Division 15 and worked in the Signals Quarter that collated all information in the society and gave it to the Proletariat Secretarial services. The proletariat had abolished all television and radio broadcasts that were “Unsanctioned”, that is when the information had not been approved by the Proletariat. The internet that once free and sometimes dark place where earlier civilization had bought and sold just about everything was now a mere shadow of itself. The proletariat had first lauded their control of the internet as a protection against exposure to traumatizing images and information. But over time many had realized the continued sanitization of the internet for the citizen’s protection was about control.

A sound pulled him from his musings, and he looked up, oh my God, there they were again. Troopers were going from dwelling to dwelling and rounding up all female children who were entering puberty and taking them in for the distinction. A process that removed all the ovaries and the uterus to be used at the Genetic Integration Hospital. All those born in this epoch were genetically engineered to fulfill a specific role in Society. Everyone had a purpose, and everyone was required by the society. Over time this had eliminated all disability and mental illness, Aaron had noted that it had also slowly eroded the Creativity of the current Civilization if you could call it that. The Historical Archives still housed great artworks, but they were only accessible in their 3d Holographic form. All the real artworks, paintings, sculptures, and books were vacuum sealed in the underground repository.

Moments later his transport’s arrival was announced by his ID bracelet, “Mr Swift”, a robotic voice announced, “your transport has arrived. Please present your ID bracelet for entry.” Aaron stood up and absent mindedly scratched at the new implant behind his ear. After so many years of technological implants you would think they had thought of a way to stop this infernal itching. He collected his briefcase, which contained nothing and was not necessary, but he felt somehow naked without. The door to his transport opened automatically after scanning the ID and then just as he was about to get in, an explosion erupted from the Exiled quarter, a place where all those who were suspected of plotting against the proletariat were held against their will.

Although he was a little shaken by the explosion, he entered the Transport and sat down as he waited for the familiar announcements to advise that he would soon depart. His Id bracelet began vibrating as a call from his manager was announced. Pushing the button to receive the call his manager’s pale and expressionless face was projected onto the transport window in front of him. “Swift” said Ryan, “Yes sir” replied Aaron, “Was there an explosion at the Exiled Quarter?” he queried. “Yes, there was sir, looked and sounded like a plasma explosion,” he reported. “You know you can’t tell anyone about this?” Ryan peered at Aaron trying to read his expression. “Yes sir I understand”, Swift replied. “Good man”, exclaimed Ryan. “You will come straight to work and report to me, Yes?” demanded Ryan. “Yes Sir, straight to you, thank you will be there in 5 minutes,” Swift groaned inwardly and thought to himself ‘every bloody time something happens near my building’. He could imagine there would be another “we can’t let the civilians know about the ongoing unrest” lectures. In 15 years there was 3 or 4 of these events a year, he knew what was expected of him but like everything else orchestrated by the Proletariat it was a process of repetition like a broken record until there was only one thought process that occurred to all citizens. Brain washing pure and simple, he was glad they still hadn’t developed the technology to read thoughts. It was bad enough with all the regular implants he had to endure.

The transport lurched forward and began the journey to his work compound. He watched the buildings glide past all different shades of brown depending on how far away from the hallowed halls of the Proletariat each building is located. All buildings in the municipality of Proletarium, are colour coded for both the AI embedded safety droids and transports. It mitigated the early problems of the safety droids and the transports getting lost and eventually turning in ever smaller circles before catching on fire or crashing into each other. AI technology can differentiate between shades of colour to locate where they need to go to facilitate their purpose.

Swift scratched behind his ear at the implant, a device used for expanding the memory of a human being. It also gave the wearer a heads up display in their embedded contacts. The figures and names of locations and temperatures as well as other useless information. It was always there a remnant of the War of Distrust when the first outbreaks began. After a while, the wearer got used to the constant stream of information even while sleeping. It could be shut off if the user really wanted, but users would just get used to not seeing the heads-up display and it would be reactivated by the Proletariat to gather information. It was ultimately even more pervasive and invasive as the Mobile Phones with Cameras had been at the turn of the Millenium. Now 200 years in the future the Proletariat literally had eyes everywhere, the eyes of its own citizens.

A chime distracted Aaron long enough to realize he had arrived at the compound of the Signals Quarter and in front of him was the entrance to his office building. The armed Guards looked suspiciously at him while he stepped from the transport and walked toward them. One of them smiled with recognition “Aaron”, he exclaimed “back to the grindstone already?” Aaron just smiled and nodded as he walked past, the Guards were a different breed, totally incapable of understanding anything but what the Proletariat told them. In 15 years Swift had not learnt one of their names, didn’t matter really he had absolutely nothing in common with them and everything he did while working was secret he could not even share the normal weather observations with them. Even though he was just another worker in the Signals Quarter, to most other citizens he was a messenger and every word he uttered was notable. In ancient times he would have been considered a prophet, someone who knew the truth and protected the people. That idea was also another round of propaganda perpetuated by the Proletariat.

Walking into the relocator transfer system, he braced himself for the disintegration and reintegration of his molecular structures. Just like earlier ancient peoples some suffered the effects of travel sickness after this process. For about 10 seconds he felt like his knees would buckle and he would vomit but if he just stood still the feeling would subside. He mused that it was probably psychological, but it was a great deal preferable than using an Elevator. After the Distrust Wars when so many people had been trapped in rubble and underground for days on end absolutely no one would willingly enter an Elevator. Confinement in a metal box was totally unacceptable even for a short period of time and everyone, despite the best efforts of the Genetic Integration Hospital’s Doctors, suffered from a fear of confined spaces. Once the sickness subsided Aaron walked out of the Relocator and turned left down the wide corridor towards Ryan’s offices. It was quite impossible to tell what sort of mood he would encounter in his managers office. But these days he had learnt not to concern himself with his colleagues’ emotional states.

Ryan’s secretary smiled widely at Aaron’s approach, he smiled back and sighed as he took in her perfection. He looked into her Hazel eyes and searched, for something an imperfection, then he slowly observed her face. ‘Nope, nothing there just a facsimilie of all the other women, not even acne or a wrinkle.’ What he would not give to see a wrinkle or a blemish of some kind. Sure, he had been with Alice before, sex one of those things that the Proletariat dare not control except the normal level of voyeurism that occurred every day. She knew all the right ways to please and all the right things to say, but she was ultimately a pale copy of the women that had been written about in the histories. He looked down at the Heart Shaped Locket it was a Ruby and now it was all lit up like the old traffic lights that used to be on every street corner. The stone in the Locket was an indicator of health, emotional state, and physical arousal. His grin widened as he remembered their passion and her shock at his unvanilla proclivities.

Alice mustered her most husky voice and bent forward provocatively, “Hello Aaron, Mr Ryan is waiting to see you.” She lightly ran her fingertips over the hand that held his briefcase. “When will you available for another partnership?” She whispered and fluttered her eyelashes. He removed her hand gently and looked into her eyes, “Alice you know that I don’t do partnership with the same woman more than twice.” He smiled. Alice bit her lip and pressed the access button to Ryan’s office. Yes Aaron had not partnered for life yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to either. Not with one of these lookalike model types they were 75% illusion and the rest well, he was not sure he wanted to find that out either.

Aaron walked toward the office door and paused long enough to sweep the blonde fringe out of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the door and took in a cursory glance at the office. He scratched absent mindedly at his implant and walked over to the Mahogany desk. It was a fake but a masterfully good one that for all intents and purposes, smelt, felt and looked like the real thing. L.E.D. lights from the ceiling illuminated the room in an odd yellow hue. Which clashed terribly with the plush purple carpet and the Gold accented wallpaper. Aaron’s contacts immediately adjusted to the eyesore and arrested the migraine that might have halted his progression to Ryan’s desk.

Ryan purposefully ignored Aaron for a good ten minutes, while he stood there waiting in the office. Aaron was used to this treatment; it was the way that his manager chose to show his dominance and power. Ryan shut down his display console and looked up at Aaron. “Swift, helluva day really I have had a crap horrible shite day.” Swift held his gaze and controlled the urge to roll his eyes, it was always a crap horrible shite day for Ryan. Any time the bastard had to do some work really. Ryan leaned back in his executive hover chair and put his hands together in a prayer position rhythmically tapping the fingertips together. Aaron did not move an inch, he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe audibly just stood staring at Ryan. “So Swift, what’s new in your life any life mates on the horizon?”, he asked one eyebrow arched upward. Swift shifted on his feet and put his briefcase on Ryan’s table. It was going to be one of those chats was it. Every couple of years the Proletariat would put pressure on Aaron to partner up, even those with tendencies toward the love of their own sex were under that pressure.

A hover chair whizzed up behind Swift and nuzzled against his legs to indicate he could take a seat. Ryan tapped the control panel underneath his table and two large glasses of bourbon were brought out by a service robot. Next to the glasses was an ornate box with a plethora of banned cigars and cigarettes. Citizens outside the employ of the proletariat were unable to obtain cigarettes or cigars. Aaron reached his pale long fingers out and grasped the bourbon and with the other hand selected a Cuban Cigar, probably the most expensive item in the box. The Cuban so thick and well made looked at odds with his pale oblong face. Aaron rolled the Cuban between his lips and the service robot lifted a cigar cutter. Aaron presented the Cuban to the service robot which clipped the cigar and then rotated the device to present a blow torch of a lighter. Aaron was nonplussed by the movements of the robot and didn’t change his expression at all as the service robot moved the blow torch closer to his face. Thankfully service robots were programmed with extremely robust code that was virtually invulnerable.

Aaron lifted the glass and took a rather large gulp of bourbon, sighed audibly and took a large draw from the cigar which he exhaled slowly in thin trails of smoke. He watched the smoke lazily snake its way to the ceiling at which point the automatic exhaust kicked in. Ryan caught Aaron’s eyes and smiled “Aaron, how long have we known each other?”, he asked. Aaron rather amusingly said to Ryan “What time is it?” and smiled. Ryan guffawed and took a sip of his bourbon. He looked at Aaron and exclaimed “You arsehole! You know damn well we have known each other since we were in Social Prep.” Ryan was right of course they had known each other all their lives practically. “John, can we get to the point please, who knows when I might need to get back to the desk to protect our citizens?” Aaron smiled wryly and John Ryan knew he was being sarcastic. Aaron was well liked because of his open contempt of the Proletariat, and the amazing lack of concern for his job. He was extremely good at the cultural and power games that everyone played but absolutely detached from the work. Aaron’s job, position and living situation or past did not define him at all. Ryan understood Aaron’s job was simply a means to an end for him. It made him a bit of an enigma to the Proletariat Board Members, but his talent and skill was never in question.

Ryan stopped laughing and presented a deadpan expression, “Aaron, I am sorry but this has become a real problem with the Proletariat”. Swift stopped smoking the cigar and looked at Ryan. He could see that the blood was draining away from his face. Ryan was terrified, this was no regular ‘hurry up and get a mate’ conversation. The look on Ryan’s face made Aaron’s blood run cold. A shiver that might have originated from some far flung polar region snaked up his spine. “John, you are kind of giving me a small heart attack, what the hell is going on?” he asked real concern on his face. John shook his head as if to shake the recent implants he had been compelled to accept out of his skin. “Buddy, I don’t know how to tell you this but the Proletariat are insisting that you take a mate this season.” The words that had just fallen from Ryan’s lips didn’t make sense somehow. He understood the meaning but just for some reason couldn’t make out the implication. A high pitched squeal was emanating from his implant, it was affecting his ability to speak, to see what was in front of him. As if in slow motion the glass of bourbon fell to the floor. Swift lurched to his feet and tried to stand up, he staggered forward and smashed his hand on the desk. “Oh Fuck!” he screamed as the noise became louder and louder. Swift’s eyes were rolling back in his head and a thought arose out of nowhere. Aaron lifted the still burning cigar to the scar of his most recent implant and plunged it into his skin. The heat singed his skin and hissed, the smell of burning skin and hair erupted in the office. Suddenly the noise from the implant started becoming quieter and then it made a sick electronic squeak and fell out of his neck partially melted.

Ryan had been watching Aaron with a horrified fascination and trying his best to find something to smother the small fire that was burning through the carpet. He had been yelling at Aaron to stop burning his neck with the Cigar. The single minded resolve he had witnessed in Aaron just then was not expected behaviour from his old friend.