Corrupted Root Corrupta Radix

ESSAY ONE
SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MUNDANE
New City of Black Haven Harbor, in the province of Latium, had finally become what the leaders designed it to be – a useful machine of co-operation – possible because of its technologic infrastructure. Every occupant was literally dependent on the integration from one database, a brain that filtered and framed a smart outlook on life for its prized citizen. Technocrats, indeed, were in charge of every aspect – science and medicine, as well as toiletries and travel.
Undeniably, it took energy the technocrats relied on. One inhabitant was figuring that out: I’m a storage capacitor, thought H0lli8ter, thinking about her motor circuitry and how it worked. I simply store, though I don’t make energy. She wondered if that reduced her potential to perform in her designated capacity. Where does the power come from? There must be a grand battery somewhere. When I leave my shift there is an identical replacement who will occupy this seat and perform the same functions.
Without question, in any building of uniformed workers one would see rooms with sterile machines worked by those having an appearance of sterility and lack of emotions, for these trained employees were dedicated. With the automatic parts of machinery making dull and senseless sounds, the actions of seemingly unconscious human parts, moving much like the things they were operating, the room took on a lifeless state, a sure and destined existence with each new shift sent in.
Laborers were partitioned off from one another and from transmission of all sorts – from dangerous pathogens to particles of speech. They were fearful of words, and wouldn’t think to speak their minds. Such agents of disease and distraction were, in accordance with laws, reported. Avoiding impromptu occasions, where regretful extemporaneous chatting with co-workers might center on people, places, and things, happened to be foremost in their routine training. Casual talk might accidently lead to disclosing work content; they were not allowed to share any information in the Information Age. They were trained to stifle their emotions, cautious of offending. Precaution and hindering were as important as prevention.
Scheduled and routinized, and, some might reflect in due time, coldly assigned to mechanized duties, their entire unit was employed as one, focusing on the same task at hand; this was, after all, a collaborative society. Though such identical engagement was unknown to the employee, imparity wasn’t imagined. They never acted on their own feelings but always followed by the book, as instructed. Because they were now equal.
Repetition of simple orders by way of obedience, and more obedience eventually caused obeisance and more obeisance…and then laudation of laudanum, and reverence of the theocracy. And how could they suspect life could be any different while fulfilling their predetermined destiny? Technocracy was all this generation knew.
Conquered, they were living the illusion they were in control of the machines they invented, and were a part of, and likewise, the belief was propagated that they conducted a part in the installation of the victorious, irreproachable ruling class, which always had them in mind, since they ordained their predestination.
Occasionally there was a delusional one, like H0lli8ter, who would stray from the allotted, unalterable and appropriate designation, who appeared to be preoccupied and certainly satisfied with the mandatory, mindless monotony, but actually veered off in independent thought. But this was rare.
After all, the dependency on one’s machines and their prescribed power had become integral to all that the human did. Her physiological functions with a particular machine’s activity became one, and at least achieved symbiosis for the day, enforcing motive and duty. The implants certainly assisted in creating this harmony, for those so endowed. Of course, other inducements for effortless concentration were brought about by artificial and natural compliments to one’s chemistry, generally creating a positive attitude.
Even if she didn’t have the gift of a cybernetic implant, New City inhabitant #H0lli8ter, (known to her allies as Cassie Ambrose) would have been the most efficient scribe in her division. She had the schooling and ability to read and write, few others having those proficiencies. But she did have biomechanical enhancements in her hand, making her tapered fingers much more agile at the keyboard, and the benefits of her education produced flawless, legible documents. The speed at which she applied her abilities made her the fastest of all skilled scribes, a fact her supervisor knew, a fact that would be kept from #H0lli8ter, or Ms. Cassie Ambrose, to maintain order and fairness.