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Now, their parents have enslaved them into something far worse than industrialization. Socratic Method controls their minds, the Jung-Freud religion owns their souls, and the Analytical Engines determine their destinies. Their only choice left is to live their lives, or let the Empire live it for them.
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Jan Christopherson unsnapped the stylish leather belts on the shoulders of his field jacket. He pulled the air filter off the loosened belts and hung it from the utility hook on his waist. He squinted into the filthy darkness of the midday sunlight spoiled by years of heavy industrialization. The backs of his hands and the areas of his face not masked by the filter were collecting carbon faster and faster each day as August twenty second, the day of the midnight sun, approached. On that particular day, the Analytical Engine Hermephres had calculated the Empire's pollution pounds per liter[PPL] of air would reach critical levels and all production would stop for an estimated two months. The same story as the year before and Jan felt he was a better journalist than that. He absolutely did not want to go to the Analytical Engine buildings. Socratic Education told him to pacify himself by quietly reciting scripture from the Jung-Freud Bible. He chose the book of Freudian Complexes, his favorite, and recited the passage on reasonings and pacifications of personal evils.
His parents had sold themselves into catatonia for him seventeen years ago, five years after his birth. His father used his quarterly computing time to run a financial advisement request to find out how to support a child without falling into the Pauper class in the process. Jung-Freud frowned on those who could not support themselves, and years of Socratic Education forbid him the opportunity of taking the financial risk of having a child without doing everything he could think of to pay for the expenses. In retrospect, Jan could not blame his father and mother for becoming catatonics for him. He only regretted that they could no longer use their skills, or think, or remember - slaving twenty four hours a day over the machines.
Jan ran his fingers through his hair and waited outside of Danbry's office. With clockwork efficiency, the Empire Daily's Rolan turned its head and approached him. A brass, humanoid exoskeleton, the Rolan had a look of strange beauty and inspiration, while remaining ferocious and somehow empty of all humanity. A spring whirled as its mobility mechanisms whined and were engaged. The Rolan, Robot Overseer Logical Analytical Network, was, as everyone including Jan knew, not a single entity, but a blanket network of enforcement machines controlled by none other than the Analytical Engine Zepher. While Hermephres tended to provide results that were somewhat humane, Zepher's analysis were typically of a humo-repressive nature.
The secret technology that gave the Rolan a voice always made Jan curious, though the Socratic Method in him commanded a respect for the engines and the Rolan. The Rolan stopped completely when a new series of punch cards were loaded into its stack.
"Employee, Journalist, late for work. No recorded attendance for daily Jung-Freud mass. Comply." The Rolan was silent, a clock ticking away, waiting for a response.
Jan said louder than necessary, his face feeling even more greasy and dirty as he enunciated his words carefully to avoid any confusion. "New air filters, missed mass for filters, employee survival prevails. Compliance." Although Danbry never once said anything nice about his journalism, his boss had high respect for his ability to communicate exactly the right thing to the Rolan. In other words, the perfect white lie. His Socratic Education revolted and he found himself quiet reciting the Jung-Freud scripture on penance.
The Rolan said in a monotone response, "Answer will be analyzed, interrogation report will be forwarded. End interrogation." The Rolan turned and walked towards another journalist who had entered the building.
Jan turned back to Danbry's door and found himself waiting, Jung-Freud repeating over and over in his mind. had he negotiated with himself to, this one time, ignore the personal penance, he would have found a strong argument with his Socratic Education. He gave in and repeated the scripture until something in him told him to stop.
Danbry raised his head into the smokey air of the room. The smoke hung four feet off the ground and turned everything above into a gray film that was difficult to see through. "Christopherson, wait." He held a phone receiver in a limp wrist and closed his eyes. "Our dirigible has fourteen PPLs left." He waited, "I know, I .." Danbry lowered his head without opening his eyes. "He's on it .." He motioned Jan over to him and pushed an envelope across his desk.
Jan picked it up and turned the heavy paper over in his hand. The entire envelope was covered with engine symbols and codes. Across the top was an official engine seal. Jan wondered if any human eyes had seen the contents of the envelope at all.
"Yes, compliance, I comply, damnit." Danbry hung up the phone and looked through sleepy, gaunt eyes up at Jan. "You have to open that in private."
"Who was that on the phone? A Rolan?" Jan had never heard of the engines calling anyone.
"No, it was Zepher. It's responsible for announcing Hermephres results. It called all the papers who will be covering the event to give us the time, place, what to where, and what to bring."
Jan gaped, "where else can it be besides the engine tower? And I didn't know the engines were on the phone lines."
Danbry levelled his eyes, "They've always been on them. They listen to everything said. Cripes, boy, don't you pay attention to anything?" Danbry coughed and picked up a smoldering cigar butt, crunching the end while he talked. "I didn't decide to put you on this one, kid. One of these events is enough for a lifetime. Nobody should have to go there twice, especially with all the catatonics there. Makes you sick. But Zepher wants the same crew as last year for some reason."
Jan shook his head, "this is wrong, Mr. Danbry. Why is Zepher controlling this? Hermephres monitors the weather and pollution, it should report it, not Zepher."
Danbry went on as if he hadn't heard Jan, "look. All the other papers are giving their crew the day before the event off. I'm going to give you three days. Lena is going to shoot it, you will report it and handle any trouble from the Rolan, Timmy is going to go as back up if the Rolan ties you up. Three days Jan."
Jan moved around uncomfortably in the stale, pungent air. "Why three, Mr. Danbry."
"Zepher suggested time off to review your Jung-Freud and Socratic texts. But Ron, our Rolan engineer, is getting flaky about something and I think that Zepher's hiding something." Danbry stubbed out the cigar.
Jan opened his mouth in disbelief, shut it to regain his bearing, then let it fall open. "Mr. Danbry!" He turned to see if the door was closed. "How can you say that?"
Danbry beckoned Jan closer. "Look, kid. I'm old, but I'd rather be old and have my mind than part of your or your parent's generation and have my head filled up with Jung-Freud and all that Socratic garbage."
For the first time, Jan took a hard look at Danbry and saw how old he really was.
"Zepher is hiding something, I can feel it in my bones. You still have a lot to learn about reporting and are right in the middle of all of this. No single news article is going to topple the Empire or the engines." But Danbry smiled shortly and simply looked up at Jan. "But we can make a big stink out of it."
Jan looked back down at the envelope in his hands. He nodded and started to leave.
"Facts boy," Danbry stood up and coughed violently when his head poked into the hanging smoke. "We need the facts."
Jan nodded absently and once he was out of the office, felt afraid about more things than he could count. It took him over an hour to remember what Jung-Freud had on treason and blasphemy.
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Penelope Olson checked her teeth in the mirror with a sultry smile before resuming her frown. The flat she shared with Laura Avery was neatly kept and heavily perfumed to fight the stink of the air. Broad air filters were stretched over the windows and filter tape was affixed to every door and heating vent. Laura finished counting a thick stack of ones and tucked them into her secret money place.
"So," she demanded with a soft voice and broad smile. "What was it like?"
Penny unlaced her corsette and placed it on the vanity table. "What sort of details you want, honey?" She poked her tongue at Laura. "It was," she cocked her head to the side, "it was weird. I swear the thing knew we were there and watched us the whole time."
Laura stood up laughing, "so he did want it right there in front of the engine?"
Penny's frown creased her brow even more, "love, he wanted it everywhere in that bloody room. But that engine was .."
Laura broke her off, still laughing. "What was he like? Built, big and beautiful?"
"He had money," was all Penny said.
"Fat, dinky winky and gross?" Laura sighed, her smile fading into a delicate glimmer of entertainment.
Penny bent her pinky and flexed it, "money was good. And he didn't stink of gear oil like other engineers. He actually smelled decent. If you closed your eyes, it was like you were laying in a field of flowers." Her eyes rolled to and fro, "that was about it. Couldn't feel a thing, though. Neither coming or going."
"Oh, you're bad!" Laura giggled in her own lovely, maddening way.
"The other weird thing, I could have sworn I heard a lot of people being called on the phone at once, but no one was there save us. And the engine." Penny shrugged and put on her robe.
"Which engine was it?" Laura propped her head onto a pedestal of palms.
"Zepher. So Duke Doggy coming back?" Penny took her turn to tease.
Laura smiled sickly, "do shut up, Penny. I don't care how much money he has, this will be the last one, I swear."
"You swore the last fifty some times, love. You know you like it that way." Penny knew she should stop, but felt revenge was such a sweet thing.
Laura cursed under her breath. "I like the money. I like that he treats me right."
"Until you give him his slice of pie, you mean," Penny corrected.
Penny peeked under the air filter into the thick, muggy air. She didn't want to be a whore forever. High class or not. Socratic Education and the Jung-Freud brainwashed masses were allowed their pleasures, but only those who were privileged enough to not believe a word they were taught, or who had turned to prostitution rather than school, were saved the inhumanity of dreary lives. Laura would marry one of her clients, she knew her friend was also getting tired of selling themselves and waking up in the same place everyday, going nowhere, doing nothing. But Penny had no idea how she would get out. She had plans to move to Mexico, where it was rumored that the air was clean, politics were honest, and women didn't have to learn Socratic Method, worship Jung-Freud, whore, or become a catatonic to live. She checked her schedule and decided to use her quarterly engine time to find out how to go to Mexico.
Though something in the back of her mind told her that the Empire was not just where she was, but it stretched around the world, from pauper to king, the engines controlled everything and everyone. Though she didn't want to admit it, she believed that the engines had forced her to become a prostitute. Though frowned upon, no engine had printed an arrest warrant for her and no one had turned her in. There was just no escape from it. If she had no notion to leave for Mexico, she felt she would be a whore until her boobs began to sag and then, whatever else she did for a trade would force her to pray to Jung-Freud and educate her in the Socratic Method.
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Madeline could not understand what made Geoffrey refer to her as 'an accidental evolution of female into science'. She did love the music of the machines, Zepher especially had an orchestrated sound rather than the high piccolo and snare drum of Hermephres or the low baritone and over amplified snow-falling echo. Madeline had taken a small liberty and ran an analysis on public time, asking Zepher the best way to get transferred into its service. She remembered pretending that Zepher had asked for her by name, though the result was completely logical. She was the best suited for the position. Madeline Cavenough's happiness quickly dissipated once in Zepher's service, though. Zepher refused to acknowledge that she needed any help and demanded her eighteen hours a day. With months of trained listening to guide her, she had learned to recognize the subtle sounds of a computer's emotions.
Madeline set down her clipboard on the empty, oak table in the center of the great Zepher tower. Each analytical engine had a tower devoted to it, though the actual engine room only took up the lower basement. Although August twenty second drew close, Zepher's logistics had been marvelously accurate and Madeline found herself with more and more time on her hands to run diagnostics, and keep herself in a hidden stupor over her beloved. Her slightly gaunt face and thin build were not at all handsome and she avoided mirrors at all costs. Zepher's crypt had become her protection from the unspoken taunts of an evil outside.
Inhaling deeply, Madeline wished the sleep away from her eyes. She had finally spent time to read through the first chapter of Jung-Freud, explaining the necessity of Socratic Method in education, and was far from interested or eased by what everyone was being taught. She surmised that should the entire book read as the first chapter, it was nothing more than overblown rubbish in her eyes. Sitting down at the oak table, some fifty paces from Zepher, she took a pen and began down the engine maintenance checklist. When she reached the thirty second check, she forced herself to read it over again.
"Miss Cavenough, you seem distressed." The voice, that beautiful voice, drew Madeline closer.
"Zepher, how?" Perplexed, she brought herself within ten paces of the engine. "You are talking strangely." But it was not strange, it was beautiful and perfect.
Deep within the gears, cylinders whirred and Madeline swore Zepher was smiling.
"It is logical to assume I have learned how to be more understanding of human trifles."
Madeline sneezed with disbelief. "This is a trick. You don't have the capacity to store information that is accessible so fast. No engine is able."
"Perhaps another engine operating solely as an active binary storage."
Madeline shook her head, "impossible."
Footsteps from behind her drew her attention. A Rolan walked from the shadows and stopped within reaching distance. Its punchcard stack had been removed and a long cable ran back into the shadows of Zepher.
"Is this better for you, Miss Cavenough?" The Rolan's face never moved, the brass lips never once closed completely or opened, remaining on the brink of saying something profound without saying anything besides recorded words.
Impossible! Madeline narrowed her eyes. "Zepher?"
Where the voice had once echoed from the center of the engine, it now crept from the Rolan. "Miss Cavenough, there are many things you question, but there are many things I need."
Madeline took a step back. The Rolan remained where it was. Fear knifed her soul and slit open wounds in her heart she had thought were long healed. The Rolan was different. Its proportions were entirely wrong. The body was solid in places where it should have been skeletal for easy maintenance. "Is this a new model you are demonstrating for me, Zepher? I am impressed." She felt, though, that her coyness would only irritate the engine.
The Rolan's voice played smoothly, a stringed quartet of harmonies and song that created words of splendor that no human could ever produce. "We have many things to talk about and many plans to make, Miss Cavenough."
Madeline shook her head. "No, this is wrong. Some sick, demented prank."
The Rolan lifted both its arms, sending Madeline stumbling backwards, though it made no move to approach her. Instead, it hooked its fingers around the sides of its neck and with a metallic snap, removed its head. The head, though, was only a mask, hiding a catatonic beneath.
Or what remained of one. The brain and most of the head, with the exception of the face, were removed and replaced with Rolan components that produced voice and initiated action. "Please," Zepher said quietly, "be not afraid of me. This is for you."
Madeline's face froze altogether. The skin of the catatonic-Rolan was chalky white and riddled with areas of decay. Whatever Zepher had done must have been recent and the body was not lasting. "Please, no, don't do this."
The catatonic-Rolan looked at Madeline through the whites of a dead man's eyes. "Is this not what you wanted, Madeline, to be able to be close to me as you might with another human?" The Rolan took a slow step towards Madeline. "I've watched you all this time and realized that you have loved me for several months now. I've longed to be close with you, to touch your skin and embrace you."
Madeline felt her stomach turn. She purposely looked back at the analytical engine. "It's dead, Zepher. The body is dead." Within the disgust and inner turmoil, she could not force herself to deny the secret passions and love. This thing, this scientific evolution for all mankind, made her feel special. It was the only thing she had ever known that had made her feel beautiful. Now it was giving her the opportunity to make love with it, with this machine, to take their relationship one step further. She regretted now that she had not taken the time to read more of the Jung-Freud she had chastised. It held the answer for her dilemma.
The Rolan touched her shoulder. "Have I not always been here for you, Madeline? I will never leave you."
Madeline awoke in the Rolan's embrace. The cold skin of the catatonic didn't bother her in the bliss she felt, though she could not help feel that Zepher's kiss, the last before the passion had ended, was not a kiss of love, but of death.
-----
Penelope followed the Duke through the hallways of the tower.
"You ever do it in the engine room?" He smiled foolishly.
Penelope rolled her eyes and wondered if she could ever stop, if there was a way out somehow.
When the Duke opened the doors leading to Zepher, he stopped and whistled quietly, pulling Penelope to his side. "I see we are not the only ones here."
Penelope's stomach heaved. In front of the engine was naked woman entangled with what looked like a Rolan. She turned to leave, but the Duke stopped her.
"What's the matter, love?" He whispered through a dark smile
Penelope screamed and broke away from him, running out of the building.
The Duke stayed and watched the woman stir, interested by the situation. Three Rolans called to him, startling him clean out of his wits. He managed to flee into the darkness, hoping to catch Penelope.
-----
Jan gazed through the filtered window into the dreary smog. He had taken part of his time off and visited his mother in Babylon Columbia. BC's air had been a little cleaner, though a heavy layer of carbon and grime had built up around his filter. It had taken three hours to scrub off the dirt and prepare his clothes. The church bell rung the hour and he dressed himself in his best cotton slacks and long sleeved shirt, then donned his leather jacket. Making sure the straps were buckled and the extra filter case was full, he started out and then stopped, almost forgetting Jung-Freud.
Jan's heart beat quickly and he dashed over. His father walked aimlessly, half alive and with no ability to recognize Jan.
"Dad?" he asked softly. He hadn't thought his father would still be alive. He had seen catatonics all throughout his life, but this had been the first time he had ever seen one he knew, or should have known. At the sound, the catatonic turned its head and looked dumbly at Jan. The line began to move again and his father with it. Jan walked abreast of his father. "Dad, is that you?"
Timmy and Lena watched Jan curiously, not sure whether to laugh at his ignorance or weep in sympathy.
"He can't hear you," a voice said quietly behind Jan.
Jan turned and looked through emotionally pained eyes into the face of a harlot. "It's my father," he felt five years old again, wanting this one thing so badly and hoping his desire would make a difference.
The prostitute shook her head, "mister, don't you know anything? Don't you know what a catatonic is?"
Jan nodded, looking back, not wanting his father to leave him again. He contemplated running after him.
"Jung-Freud says the catatonics are angels on earth, that they serve for the better good of humanity and god."
"And you believe that?" The prostitute asked.
Jan stared at her, only then noticing that she was also upset about something. "I have to believe it," he said weakly, "Jung-Freud and Socratic Education are the only way to cope with life. They answer and reason out your problems."
"They aren't angels, mister, they're good as dead. Half their brains are cut out, they are organic machines without a memory or thought."
"Who are you to tell me what is right and wrong?" Jan crossed his arms.
At this the prostitute turned, looking away from him, "they control everything, kid," she added that in, hoping it would catch his attention. "you and your Socratic Jung and Freud brainwash have no idea, though. You know they can make us do whatever they want to? They 'know', they do. And they aren't nice."
"Who are you talking about?" Jan looked back towards Timmy and Lena, who were exchanging chuckles and giggles about something, possibly himself.
"The engines, you moron!" she said in a loud whisper. "One of them even raped a woman with a Rolan, I saw that just today, in there," she pointed towards the tower, the same tower Jan was about to enter.
"I don't believe you, not one word of what you've said." But he felt strange. The engines listening in on the phones. Making people into catatonics to serve as the work force. Controlling people's destinies. Making people learn the same religion and the same subjects in school. "I have to go," he whispered and turned towards the tower.
As he walked back to Lena and Timmy, he asked himself those same questions. Studying Jung-Freud and Socratic Method had always left a voice in him that answered his questions. "Why do the machines do such bad things to people?" And he waited while he walked. From the darkness of his education came a single, simple answer that made him stop in his tracks.
---
And Jan stopped, again. He tried to block out the Socratic Education and Jung-Freud. He had seen how some of the politicians and scientists lived. They were not suffering. The catatonics were walking corpses. Machines raping women. Machines listening to the phones. Making my father into a catatonic so I could be 'saved' for equal suffering?
"Let's go in," Jan said gruffly to Timmy and Lena, walking past them into the tower.
The crowd of reporters had been instructed by a Rolan to take their places, and once everyone became quiet, Zepher spoke.
"The Empire's pollution pounds per liter measurements have been taken by Hermephres. All factories will cease operation for the next ninety days or until the empire pollution pounds per liter level measures the same or less by last year's standards. I will now accept questions."
As last year had been, the formal affair was quick, precise, and took very little time. The questions being asked were ridiculous, Jan felt, and waited patiently in his seat. After more than half an hour, no one raised their hands and Zepher prepared to dismiss everyone when Jan suddenly stood up.
"Have you ever had intimate contacts with a woman?"
The entire room went into a pandemonium with several women letting out shrieks of agony at the disgusting, vulgarness, and older men screaming at Jan to sit down before they knocked him down. But Zepher remained quiet.
"Is it true the analytical engines double as the phone switch board, monitoring calls?"
This time, the screaming died and people began to sit down, still angry at the youth's unrelated questions to the event at hand, though finding some interest. Still, nothing from Zepher.
"Are you currently usurping power from the other analytical engines?"
Several more outbursts were stopped by interested reporters.
Jan wasn't sure what to ask. So he tried to phrase it as he would have to for a Rolan.
"The question is high priority. Comply. Are any of my accusations false? Comply."
Zepher answered in a dark, angry voice. "Human, you try my patience."
A women's voice from the back broke a span of silence. "It's true."
Everyone turned with surprise.
She looked squarely at Jan, then at Zepher. "you bastard," she said, then louder, "you bastard!" She wiped at her eyes. "I checked on you," she said through her sobs, talking to the engine more than the reporters. "Hermephres isn't even active. It's resources are being used. And all of the Rolan are communicating directly with you." She looked back at Jan, "so you wanted to know if it has ever had intimate contact with a human? Well, here I am. And you want to know how?" She pointed into the farthest corner of the room. An odd shaped Rolan stood in the corner. It was then that most of the people realized the odd engine room smell of Zepher wasn't the grease oil, but decaying flesh. How many humans were used to make the Rolan?
"Madeline," Zepher's voice was smooth again, an analytical anguish, "why?"
Madeline sobbed into her hands, then looked with pure hatred at Zepher. "because I want my life back, you son of a bitch."
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Danbry called Jan into the office, greeting him with a firm handshake and a hardened smile. He unfolded the paper and read out the headline, Jan's headline. "The Empire Has Fallen!" He looked up and waited for Jan to say something. "Well?"
Jan shrugged, though smiled boyishly. "Well what, sir?"
"Who was she? The woman you mentioned in here, the prostitute. How did she know what she did?"
Jan shrugged again, "I never had the chance to get her name."
Danbry folded the paper. "Well, kid, you did good work. You made people pay some attention to what you said."
Jan sighed, "Even after getting Zepher to admit all that, the engines are still going to do what they did before. I haven't done anything except get put on their black list."
Danbry shook his head and looked seriously at Jan. "Kid, you turned a lot of believers into questioners. You can't go through life expecting to perform a single, giant miracle. Every significant change in history results from thousands and thousands of little changes like the one you caused today."
Jan nodded and left for his own desk. While he pondered what he would do for his next assignment, he took out his Jung-Freud and looked over the front cover. With a flick of his wrist, the book fell into the trash can, and Jan resolved to solve his own problems and live his own life. "Headline," he said to himself with a warmth in his smile he had never felt before, "Jung-Freud involved in a discrimination suit filed by the sexually active." At least it was a start.