As they shouted out for the deaths of sinners, Rachel only joined them in deed, not spirit. She found the “call to purity” distasteful, though she was unsure why she felt that way about it. Perhaps, she mused, it was because she had never met anyone who had committed these transgressions against the Kingdom. She had serious doubts about the existence of Hillary and her band of rebels, the “Illuminated”, as well. Deep down, Rachel believed that Hillary had been dead and gone since shortly after the Glorious Revolution, if she ever existed at all. She believed the Saints were afraid of what she represented taking hold among the Elect: Heresy. Heresy was the only thing that could destroy the Kingdom. Sure, external enemies had managed to strike a few times against the Kingdom, but these occurrences were rare, for the Kingdom Soldiers kept peace at home by fighting the terrorists in foreign lands. The terrorists were powerless to move against the Kingdom, to topple it, yet it was of the utmost importance to secure the Kingdom against them. The contradiction of that logic struck Rachel suddenly. If one part of the statement were true, the other part had to be false. Either the terrorists were a terrible and great threat to their safety that required constant global warfare, or they were now powerless to topple the Kingdom and the soldiers could return home with peace achieved. Rachel realized she had stopped participating in the devotion with the group, and the devotion leader was staring at her with concern. She rubbed her head, then began speaking with the crowd once more.
“The land can and must be healed of sinners and sins. The hearts of men must be transformed, that they will enter the Kingdom and sin no more. Then shall the words of the Profit be fulfilled and the King return for his glorious reign of a thousand years in which there will be no more war, no more hunger, sadness, sickness, or death. The lion shall lie down with the lamb and none shall be afraid in those days.” Once more, National Truths flashed on the monitor and the assembly chanted them together. “Knowledge leads to Heresy, which is oblivion. Knowledge is oblivion. Knowledge is oblivion.”
The Spider-screen went black and the chanting became a small communal whisper. Some of her co-workers looked as though they had been hypnotized and were just coming out of their trances. Some swayed, then sat back down, catching their breath. The devotion leader spoke into a microphone, his voice soothing and pleasant. “As we go to toil in service to our King today, remember that the heart of the Kingdom is the free market, the combination of business, government, and education which are the three arteries of our shared heart. The power and presence of the Profit must be visible throughout the economic industries, and certainly in the work we do. By their fruits, you shall know them. Anything that does not yield maximum revenue, whether in terms of worldly or spiritual wealth, must be pruned. Almighty, give us strength to take an axe to the root of those that do not produce at all or who produce insufficiently for the glory of your Kingdom and its Profit. Amen.”
“Amen.” the Assembly muttered, barely listening to the closing prayer. They shuffled out of the basement towards their designated work stations, smiling and nodding briefly to each other before beginning their long day of privileged service.
Rachel’s work area was a small cubicle with a desk, chair, computer, monitor, and keypad. She did not need to turn on the computer or monitor, for these remained on continuously. She logged in and immediately two new jobs emerged on the desktop.
The first one involved correcting an error in statistics that had been previously published on the Spider-Screen system and the Web. It had been previously reported that the literacy rate of the Kingdom prior to the Glorious Revolution had been a mere 60 percent. However, evidence now shows that it had really been 20 percent, proving that the current literacy rate of 30 percent was a vast improvement. Rather than risk the citizens falling into Heresy through doubt, it was better to simply change all references past and present to reflect the more accurate data. Rachel steadfastly searched the Web and isolated all references to the erroneously reported statistic. Using her Weaver pass code, she entered the system and replaced the outdated data with the modern figures. After about three hours, her first task was completed.
A crick in her neck compelled her to rise from her chair and stretch. Yawning, she stood on her tip-toes, rolling her head around to loosen the tension in her neck. Opening her eyes, she peered over the half-wall of her cubicle. She discovered a young woman looking in her direction. Rachel blinked. The young woman was perhaps twenty-one years old, almost beyond prime marrying age. No ring chained her fingers. The young lady’s eyes were a soft blue with a hint of green in them, framed by thick black lashes. Her round face was framed by long, straight dark hair that bounced as she strode down the hall, despite the bonnet that tried to hold it down. She wore the uniform of the Elect, but instead of the somber bulk of it hiding her shape, it miraculously accentuated her slender, maidenly figure. Around her waist, she wore the white sash of the Vestals. That explained the bonnet the unwed woman wore; Vestals wore the bonnet as a symbol of their devotion to the King. Rachel wondered if the maiden intended to remain pure for her entire life. That was the option some of them were taking these days. Given Rachel’s experience with wedded bliss, she could hardly blame them.
Upon realizing the girl was of the Vestal Order, Rachel lost interest in her. The Vestal Order was dedicated to sexual purity and chastity among unmarried women. There were two sub-groups within the Vestals. The higher level of the order were the perpetual virgins; women whose fathers had granted them permission to serve as wives of the King, in a spiritual sense. When the King returns in future, it is believed that all Vestals will be resurrected and will become his wives for all eternity. The Vestals were perceived by the masses as holy women, sinless and maternal. The Perpetual Vestals formed a tightly knit group that wielded subtle influence over the inner workings of the Kingdom. The lower level lacked any such influence. They were to be married eventually, and served the Vestals only until that day. These women were the visible face of the Order. They made banners, hung posters, sang hymns in the streets on Sunday, and passed out fliers for community events. And they were utterly brainwashed.
Rachel sat down quickly and gasped at her own thought. Brainwashed? Yes, she realized, she did think they had been brainwashed to believe sex is a sinful but necessary evil, just as her late husband had believed. Sadness crept into her heart at the recollection of John Wright. Shutting her eyes tight, she blocked out the memories. Just as she was preparing to open her second task, the lunch bell rang loud and shrill, burning her ears.
III.
Rachel entered the open double doors to the cafeteria and got in line. Taking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. It was as if something she didn’t fully comprehend was simmering within herself, just beneath the surface, waiting for the opportune moment to emerge. She glanced at the oceanic tele mural on the wall, watching the simulated fish swim by on the giant flat screen. She wondered if fish really looked like that. Was this what the ocean was like? Had anyone she knew ever seen the ocean? If she wanted to see it in person, which direction would she go to get there?
But that was a ridiculous notion. In every county, there was the central community of the Elect, called the Pearly Gates. The Elect were not allowed to leave the safety of the Pearly Gates. Beyond the Pearly Gates were the communities of the Convicted, referred to as Purgatories. Just outside Rachel’s Pearly Gates lay the Ground Zero Purgatory. It was called that because it had been the target of Terror Attacks. There were said to be some stretches of empty land between the Purgatories and their Gated Communities. These were called “Limbo”. Official Web Geography stated these were becoming extinct as the numbers of Convicted citizens, factories, shops, and businesses steadily increased. There was no mention of beaches, oceans, or boundaries of the Kingdom, though logically there had to be boundaries. After all, there were enemies that the Kingdom Soldiers fought to keep at bay outside the Kingdom.
“Mashed potatoes, dear?” the cafeteria lady asked.
Rachel examine
d her choices. There were three different types of potatoes and only one type of meat, though no one was sure what type of meat it was. Rachel made a face. “Sure, those look fine. Thank you.”
The lady plopped the slop onto her beige plastic plate and motioned for her to move down the line. Rachel took her tray and found a table in the rear corner, away from the loudest of the Spider-screens. The mashed potatoes ran like wet sludge through the prongs of her fork. She made a face at the scentless mush, then lapped at it with her tongue. It was surprisingly not bad.
Rachel grimaced as Mrs. Wordsworth sat down across from her. Mrs. Wordsworth often sought Rachel out at lunch time as they were two of the very few women who worked at the DOC. A woman’s primary duty was to produce, raise, and educate children. Young unmarried women and widows could request the burden of service that men enjoyed, though most often this request resulted in an arranged marriage. If the widow was thought to be sterile or beyond child bearing years, such a request was often granted. Women were in no way permitted to supervise others, as this was the natural God-given responsibility and right of men. Mrs. Wordsworth was about sixty-four years of age. Rachel generally avoided her because Mrs. Wordsworth was very critical of Rachel’s grammar, and asked nosy questions she didn’t feel like answering.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Wright.” she greeted her.
“Good day, Mrs. Wordsworth.” Rachel replied, turning her head to pretend she was riveted to the Spider-screen.
Mrs. Wordsworth pretended she didn’t get the hint. Smiling, she said, “You know, I became very lonely after my husband, Mr. Thomas Wordsworth, died three years back. Lung cancer.”
“That’s not possible.” Rachel replied. “Lung cancer was eradicated in the Kingdom in 2025.”
“Nonsense.” she responded. “They made that up. They make up lots of stuff. My Tom, he suffered, he did, all because he was told the same thing you yourself just said. He was accused of laziness. And he died.”
Was the older woman losing her mind? Didn’t she know that such talk would get her in trouble, as in ‘disappeared’? Rachel stared at her with concern.
“You oughtn’t say things like that.” Rachel mumbled. “Not safe.”
“Then you know. Good.” Mrs. Wordsworth answered, smiling and patted her hand. “So many young people these days have no recollection. No sense of history. Shame, really.”
Although Rachel intuited it was not safe to say the sorts of things Mrs. Wordsworth was saying anywhere near a Spider-screen, she didn’t have the recollection of times past that the older woman had. Rachel couldn’t help but be curious. “Mrs. Wordsworth, give me an example, quietly please, of what you’re talking about.”
Mrs. Wordsworth leaned across the table, nearly rubbing her matronly bosom into Rachel’s soupy potatoes. “Please, do call me Esther.
We’re two widows, alone in a world not of our design. What’s your name?”
“We aren’t supposed to use our given names.” Rachel reminded her.
Then she softened and said, “Rachel. My name is Rachel.”
“Like the wife of Jacob.”
“No, my husband was John Wright.” she corrected her.
Mrs. Wordsworth- Esther- smiled sadly at her, with pity, and gently patted her hand. For a moment, they both stared at the Spider-screen at the other end of the room, and ignored the buzzing sound of the voices of the other staff as they shared their meals. Then she asked, “Rachel, did you know that there are words changing their meanings every day?”
Mrs. Wordsworth’s job was to update the Web Dictionary. She loved her job. She had related to Rachel before that she had been an English teacher before the Glorious Revolution. “Of course, I know it changes all the time. And so do you, since that’s what you do.”
“For example, let’s look up the word “sharing”, shall we?” Esther pulled out her small portable Web Browser and input the word “sharing”. She showed the definition to Rachel, then read it aloud. “Sharing. One. Robbing oneself. Two. Unjustly enriching the weak and undeserving.”
Rachel’s eyebrows went up. “When did that word change? I don’t recall it having that meaning before.”
“Oh, it didn’t. This one is a few days old. It used to be defined as “the original holder grants to another the partial use, enjoyment, or possession of a thing.” But it changed. In time, its usage will reflect the change.” Esther stared at her for a moment to make sure her meaning sunk in. It did. The Dics weren’t updating changes that had already occurred in the language. They were changing the meanings and then language usage followed suit. Rachel nodded in comprehension.
Esther continued, “And the word “Freedom”. What do you think it means?”
Rachel recited the definition she learned in finishing school. “Freedom is the natural right of the corporate sector to be free from restriction or control with the power to act without regulation or interference. As in “the free market”.”
Esther frowned, and quietly said, “I forget how young you are, Rachel. It once meant the absence of coercion, necessity, or constraint in choice or action; liberation from slavery or the power of another.”
“Oh- like the liberation from sin and the power of the Adversary?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, but also the liberation from the power of anyone who exercises dominion over you.” Esther whispered just loudly enough for Rachel to hear her over the Spider-screen. She typed in another word and read the definition. “Liberal. A treacherous heretic seeking the downfall of the Kingdom; an idolater and proponent of the false ideology of Humanism. This word once meant not being bound by orthodoxy, authoritarianism, or traditional forms; generous, free thinking.”
Rachel squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and wondered if they were being monitored by the Spider-screen, or perhaps even their own Safechips. “Why are you sharing this information with me?”
Esther grinned. “I too am dying of cancer, like my husband. I too have been told that cancer was eradicated. A miracle of the Profit. I have no children who did not die defending this Kingdom from terrorists. Every time there was an attack anywhere in the world, they claimed to be going after the mastermind. But it became an excuse to invade other nations, topple their governments, and install those that would be beholden to the Saints for the power the new governments held over their own people. My youngest son, Mark, told me that the Profit’s agents flocked to these regimes to spread belief in the Profit and the Kingdom among the masses, creating a large minority within the new nation that could influence its laws and keep it Profit-friendly. Then Mark was killed in an electrical mishap that could have been avoided had the work been done properly. It very well should have been done properly, considering all the credits paid to the corporation that got the contract for it. But the Saints didn’t care about my Mark. Soon, there will be none to know what I know. So, I freely choose to rob myself of my knowledge and share what I know with you. I always liked you, Rachel. You’re not like the other young ones in this generation.” Esther rose from her chair and took her tray to the cafeteria worker. Then she left, waving farewell to Rachel.
How could she put me in such a position, Rachel thought to herself angrily. All this time, Esther had spoken of the most trivial, superficial things. Suddenly she decided to speak controversy, and chose Rachel to give her knowledge to. Knowledge was oblivion. She prayed to the King that nobody had spied their conversation. She chuckled at the irony of praying to one who was omniscient that none may have heard what they discussed, and felt the tension leave her body. Surely if they had been watching, someone would have come to fetch her for questioning by now. Or would they? Perhaps they were merely giving her plenty of opportunity to commit open acts of Heresy, rather than getting her to confess to thoughts of Heresy. While thoughts of Heresy were viler than acts of Heresy, acts proved the thoughts had existed in the first place.
She noticed Esther had forgotten her portable Web Browser. Picking it up, she pocketed it with the intention to return it to her th
e next time she encountered her. Rachel walked past the tele murals on the walls of the corridor towards her work station. Around the corner came the young Vestal she had seen earlier. Rachel became tense, worried deep down that the girl was a Fisher of Men come to take her away to some dank dungeon. She stared straight ahead, pretending to be blithely unaware of the girl’s existence.
Although the hallway was wide enough, the girl bumped into her with a solid thud that took her off guard. Rachel glanced down at the Web Browser at her feet. It had fallen from her pocket. Rubbing her sore arm, Rachel angrily met the girl’s gaze. Her expression was one of concern, embarrassment, and nervousness; and there was something behind her aquamarine eyes that immediately made Rachel sorry she had been cross with her. She softened her countenance and grinned.
“Sorry, so sorry,” the young woman apologized, bending to retrieve the Web Browser. “It’s alright.” Rachel assured her. “It was just an accident.”
The girl placed the Web Browser back in Rachel’s pocket. Rachel thought that was an odd thing to do. Why didn’t she just hand it to her so she could put it back?
“I’m- “Rachel began.
“Mrs. John Wright.” she finished, smiling at her. “I know who you are.”
Rachel turned pale as her grin fell into a worried line across her face. This was it. The Vestal was a Fisher of Men and they had overheard Mrs. Wordsworth’s comments at lunch. They knew she had been having doubts, among other potentially heretical thoughts. She was here to take Rachel away to one of the Happiness Camps.
2042: An American 1984-Dystopian Thriller Page 3
