by Jen Cole
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CHAPTER 34
Secretary Melvin Briggs stepped out onto the veranda of his country house and noted his son was already ensconced in a comfortable chair. Cedric was slurping a bourbon as he took in the view of trees and rolling pastures through half-lowered lids. At the slam of the screen door he looked around, but didn’t bother to rise.
“Father, what’s all this about? You’ve called me away from preparations for the most important event of the season. I know you don’t care to keep up with such things, but I…”
Melvin cut in. “You think I would have summoned you here without a reason? Try to forget your social engagements for the moment. You have responsibilities and it’s time you faced up to them.”
Cedric went white, but before he could speak, Melvin continued. “You’re my oldest child and will one day inherit the position of Secretary to the Secretary of the CEO. Meanwhile, as my 2-IC, you should be proving yourself worthy of leadership. Are you actually checking, for example, that your six brothers and sisters and eight cousins on the Morale Executive are doing their jobs of monitoring the world’s silos? When was the last time you yourself used the passcode that makes surveillance invisible, to eavesdrop on employee Playrooms and discussion areas?”
His son exploded. “What nonsense is this, father? You call me out here on the eve of the new season hunt to talk about spying on the employees? The employees have been self-managed for years. They live their lives and we live ours.”
“In other words,” choked Melvin, “you don’t even remember the last time you did your job.”
Cedric waved away his father’s words. “Everything’s running smoothly. My siblings and cousins are quite capable of doing their parts and don’t need me breathing down their necks. They have plenty of staff to monitor the silos in Safe Places around the world and my own staff monitors the silos here. I’d know if there were any problems.”
“Would you indeed?” said Melvin. What guidance have you given your people Cedric? What have you told them to look out for? How long has it been since you’ve studied the psychology notes passed onto us by our great ancestor, Cedric Briggs, for whom you’re named?”
“Father, employee morale is fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“No? That’s what The Company thought after The Great Arising, hundreds of years ago, when they assumed the provision of safe, comfortable housing would suffice. It didn’t, and the employees were on the brink of revolt by the time Cedric Briggs was given the job of calming them down. His success is why our family now has the role of Employee Morale. I don’t suppose you remember what he actually did.”
Cedric stiffened. “There’s no need for sarcasm, father. The problem and the solution were obvious. Humans have a genetic need for activity, which wasn’t being met.
Melvin nodded, relieved the child who would eventually replace him, at least had some grasp of the situation.
His son continued. “When automation gradually replaced the manual labor of the early years, the employees grew frustrated at being increasingly confined to the silos while Company Executives roamed freely on prime land at the centers of the Safe Places. My great, great, etc. grandfather, Cedric Briggs, realized that flaunting one’s advantage was unwise and insisted all Safe Places wall their Executive estates. He also pushed through a ruling that only automated machinery could tend the vast production fields radiating out from the estates. As the fields extended, the silo dwellers literally lost sight of the Executives, but they still needed to be kept occupied. Shall I go on?”
“By all means,” said Melvin.
“My forebear came up with the idea of adding Playrooms to the silos, along with the carrot of Personal Points, as an incentive for employees to channel their free time into useful pursuits. It was a stroke of genius. In the Playrooms, employees have pushed forward progress, while keeping themselves occupied and happy.”
“Not completely happy,” Melvin corrected. “Which is why the role of Employee Morale still exists. Tell me, Cedric, does your staff have the figures for employee suicides at their fingertips? Can they tell you to what degree depression amongst the silo dwellers has risen in the last two decades, or how many more drugs the tube smart mats are needing to administer? Can they describe trends in rage-related incidents, child abandonment and general neurotic behavior?
“These are all recordable indicators of employee unhappiness but there are also minor signs to watch for – a general rise in disgruntled conversations, an increasing tendency to criticize or question Company decisions…”
Cedric broke in. “Not much we can do about that.”
“Really?” said Melvin. “Do you not remember Cedric’s notes explaining the need for frustrations to be focused and released? If they’re not, employees will vent their anger on The Company.”
His son had the grace to blush. “Of course I remember. Cedric devised a brilliant focus for employee frustrations – the Ancestors.”
Melvin nodded. “And he released those frustrations through events like the Four Seasons Raging Festivals – wild bacchanals, which end in the burning in effigy of the Ancestors who destroyed Earth.
“Don’t forget the reading primers,” said Cedric, anxious to redeem himself. “A whole range of stories for the young about the stupidity and selfishness of the Ancestors.”
“Indeed. They were the precursors to the indoctrination games the children currently play. Thanks to the groundwork Cedric laid, today’s employees view The Company and the Ancestors as extreme ends on the spectrum of good and evil. Their worst insult is to call someone an Ancestor, and you’ve heard their sayings: Selfish as an Ancestor, Dumb as an Ancestor, and Numerous as an Ancestor’s Offspring.”
Cedric tried to stifle a yawn. “So the job’s finished.”
“The job is not finished.” Melvin spoke with quiet force. “You mentioned the human need for activity. It runs deeper than that. As a species, we seem to have a genetic imperative to roam free. Your forebear somewhat countered this urge by making the outdoor work shift as unpalatable as possible, but the need for open spaces remains at the root of their frustrations. Therefore, to keep the employees as happy as possible we must constantly observe and where necessary, tweak the doings in the silos. Done much tweaking lately?”
Cedric frowned. “As I said before, everything’s fine and to quote an old saying, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Without maintenance, even the best machinery will eventually break,” said Melvin. “And by the time it does, it may no longer be fixable. You should be maintaining the machinery your forebear put in place.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing?” his son said with a sneer.
“I have,” said Melvin grimly. “Here’s an example. Thirty years ago, I took over my father’s role as Secretary to the Secretary of the CEO, but prior to that I was expected to prove my fitness to follow in his footsteps.” He glanced at Cedric, who sat stony-faced. “I spent weeks observing employee behavior, and finally I selected Danny Fitani.”
“The game show host? He must have been a baby back then.”
“He’d just turned four and had been living in the children’s silo for two years. No father had ever come calling, and his mother’s visits had already dropped off to a point where he rarely saw her. On the few occasions she did come by, he tried hard to win her approval. She fancied herself as a singer and actor and spent most of her play-times in various performance Playrooms.
“As is the custom with silo-children, Danny had accompanied her everywhere until the age of two, and had watched her starring on stage. When he moved to the children’s silo, he began creating his own shows. He would make up little dances for her and sing songs, and if she liked them, she would stay longer and sing some of her own songs to him and the other children. But eventually her self-centeredness won out and her visits to Danny stopped.
Cedric harrumphed. “What scum those silo dwellers are.”
“That comment tells me how
little you’ve observed them,” said Melvin. “The majority of employees are loving parents, who spend as much time as they can with their children, and given the tube, work and play cycles, that’s not easy. I think you’ll find every society, including our own, has parents who neglect their children. When this happens in the silos, it’s an opportunity for us.
“Danny Fitani was a child in desperate need of love. Though his mother no longer visited, he continued to put on concerts for the other children. They now became the ones from whom he sought approval, and as he grew older, he showed great skill in organizing groups of children to perform their own shows. I could see he was destined to be a great entertainer – far more effective than his mother at bringing joy to the employees, and I supported him all the way.”
Cedric looked puzzled. “Why? How?”
“How?” said Melvin. “I began contacting Danny during his tube time using an avatar I called Mother Company. The image of the woman I chose for the avatar was attractive and more importantly, available at his call. I got into the habit of watching his shows and contacting him afterwards as Mother Company, to tell him how wonderful his performances were and how proud and pleased The Company was at the way he made others happy.
“As he grew older, he came to realize the Mother Company avatar was just a representation and that it was The Company itself, which had been supporting him and nurturing his talent. He now loves The Company as much as he would have loved his real mother. His belief that The Company loves and knows what is best for its employees comes through in his shows.”
Melvin paused. “Do you really need me to tell you why I supported him?”
“Yes,” Cedric defended his question. “It sounds as though Fitani would have gone on to be what he is today, regardless of any intervention by us.”
“It’s possible. However, I suggest you take a look at the statistics on abandoned children to learn how they usually fare in later life. You’ll see that without our intervention it’s far more likely Fitani would have grown into an unhappy adult with low self-esteem who eventually came to blame The Company for his mother’s rejection. He may still have put on shows, but their subject matter and flavor would hardly have been the kind of thing we’d want our employees watching.”
Cedric shifted uncomfortably. “What kind of thing do we want our employees watching? Fitani’s current show, Play or Die, is pretty violent.”
Melvin sighed. “You so need to brush up on your psychology.”
“I get that nice shows don’t necessarily make people happy,” said Cedric. “But what makes Play or Die suitable?”
“Remember the statistics I spoke of?” said Melvin. Data over the past two decades show increasing indicators of unhappiness among the silo dwellers in all the Safe Places. Three years ago I was a nervous wreck, wondering what to do about it.
“That was when Fitani approached Mother Company for permission to use the new Microwave Time Viewing technology to produce nature programs. He wanted to show people the world as it had been before The Great Destruction, and I thought it would be a good way of reducing employee stress.”
“Makes sense,” said Cedric. “What could be more calming than viewing a beautiful and intact Earth?”
Melvin smiled grimly. “Early results were indeed promising. Fitani’s team put together spectacular shows in which employees were able to vicariously join mountain climbing parties, travel through glorious rainforests, and hike beautiful trails to lakes and waterfalls. Stress levels in all the silos dropped. But then they began rising again, faster than ever before.”
Melvin locked gazes with Cedric. “Care to guess why?”
His son’s eyes narrowed and then suddenly widened. “People always want what they can’t have.”
“Exactly,” said Melvin. “And worse still, the nature shows became a catalyst, congealing all the unresolved frustration that had been building within the population. I needed to find an outlet for that frustration fast, before it turned against The Company.
Now can you see how my grooming of Fitani paid off? In the hands of a willing artist, that ball of frustration could be turned against the Ancestors, and released in a great catharsis!”
Cedric’s voice held a note of admiration. “Good one Pop.”
“I contacted Fitani as myself – Secretary to the Secretary of the CEO, and explained that I felt his nature shows were becoming rather tame and lackluster.” Melvin chuckled. “He was naturally appalled by such criticism. I then hammered the point further, reminding him of the exciting game shows his team produced before they had the Microwave Time Viewing technology. I asked him what had become of the thrills and chills he’d once given his audiences and then I said, “How can you be content to let viewers see the Ancestors wallowing in Earth’s beautiful environment, while they bring it ever closer to destruction?” Finally I threw in some good old mother-love emotional blackmail. “The Company has entrusted you with this new technology,” I said. “It’s therefore up to you to find a way of making those Ancestors pay for their evil ways.”
“That was sufficient. Fitani went off and consulted with the inventors of the technology. He got them to make certain modifications and a month later his team brought Play or Die to the people. I’m sure even the great Cedric himself would have approved. Play or Die focuses employee frustration upon an actual live Ancestor. It uses the Hunt to build tension, and then provides a huge emotional release through the kill.
“Stress levels in the silos drop steeply after each game and months go by before they’re back to a level sufficient to require a new one. Fitani produces three games per year and fills the intervening time with replays and panel discussions analyzing strategies used by Hunters and Prey. Play or Die has given us the best control we’ve ever had over employee morale.”
“So where did you mess up?”
Melvin’s eyes sparked with anger, but Cedric held his ground. “Something’s gone wrong. Isn’t that why you called me here?”
“You are correct,” said Melvin. “Our problem is the Prey in the current game. She’s been asking Fitani about the lives of the silo dwellers and pretending to sympathize with them in order to stir up resentment against The Company. Recently she suggested they keep their ninety square kilometers of cleaned land and turn it into a recreation reserve for employees.”
“What? That’s intolerable,” said Cedric. “We need to act immediately.”
“Any thoughts on how?”
His son’s chin lifted. “Simple, we give Fitani a choice. Either kill her off immediately with a professional assassin or stop broadcasting the game.”
Melvin sighed. “You are failing to consider employee-response. The situation is delicate. Already Jo’s words have triggered much questioning of Company policy and motivation. Terminating the game prematurely would give credence to what she’s been saying. It would also prevent the safe release of employee frustration and anger that has built up over the last few months. Their fury would turn against The Company and the result could be catastrophic.”
“There must be something we can do.”
“I’ve already taken an initial step,” Melvin informed him. “I’ve ordered Fitani to introduce a new rule forbidding any discussion or questions about our society or people. That will stop Jo from making further inflammatory remarks and will also prevent this kind of situation from happening in future games. With luck, that girl will be eliminated shortly and the crisis will come to an end.”
He looked at Cedric’s expectant face. “But luck may not be on our side, so your job now is vital. Contact the rest of the Morale Executive immediately. Everyone must be onto this. We need to monitor employee discussion rooms and tube chatter in every Safe Place on Earth. It’s vital we track their mood. If dissatisfaction with The Company continues to escalate and Jo continues to survive, we have to be ready with a new strategy.
So while you and your siblings monitor the silo dwellers, wrack your brains for a way to eliminate Jo without turning
the employees against The Company.
~~~~
CHAPTER 35
As Richard turned to block the agents, Jo leapt forward. He wouldn’t hold them back for long – she had to get out of sight. Dashing into an opening on her right, she found herself in a laneway lined with high brick walls. Halfway down, a metal staircase climbed the side of a building to a flat rooftop. Going up could trap her on the roof but was the alternative any better? In the dim light she strained to see beyond the staircase. It looked as though the laneway came to a dead end.
Take the stairs, she thought. Her legs disobeyed and ran past, hoping for a cross alley. Bad move. No cross alley, just a smooth, wooden fence, too high to climb. Jo turned. Was there time to make it back to the stairs? The female agent entered the laneway. A head taller than Jo, the woman had a muscular build and was dressed for action in a loose slack-suit and low-heeled shoes.
She strode down the alley calling, “You’ve had a good run, Kylie, but it’s over. Come quietly and you won’t be hurt.”
Jo looked around. Trapped! Once this woman had her, she was as good as dead unless... an injured captive might make the agent less vigilant.
Jo turned and leapt high for the top of the fence. Her fingertips brushed centimeters short of the edge and she made herself fall awkwardly, crumpling and screaming as she hit the ground. A hand gripped her arm and began pulling her up.
She screamed again. “Ahhh, my ankle!” It wasn’t hard to squeeze out tears, and sobbing she cried, “Let me go. Ow, my ankle.”
The fingers tightened. “You’ll get first-aid at the police station. Come on.”
“I can’t walk,” said Jo, standing on one foot. Gingerly she touched the other to the ground and gasping, pulled it up again.
The woman sighed and adjusted her grip to lift Jo’s arm across her shoulders. “Lean on me,” she commanded.
Jo put her weight on the agent and hopped along with her ‘bad’ leg held out to the side. “Where are taking me?” she asked.
