The Society

The world as Aidan knows it has always been the same: sleek and perfectly engineered in every way, with a system and process for everything, overseen by the System who controlled all. The old gods and their myths and religions are abandoned in favour of relying on what is real, rather than useless faith.

Aidan himself was born into the prestigious Czartoryski family, who worked at the helm of Nimeitus: a corporation specializing in technology, and the creator of the System which governed the world. You could say it was a family business, in a way.

September, 23XX.

Today, Aidan's scheduled to fly out to the manufacturing centre of their operations. It's important let the workers on the ground familiarize themselves with the future face of Nimeitus after all. It was never a good strategy alienate any part of the working hierarchy. That was something he learnt from the history books, and from observing his father's style of management from a young age. Each used vastly different means, yet however still achieved the same end.

On one end, there were the books of ancient history, precious tomes that documented the earlier years of human civilisation, covering the likes of World Wars and scattered conflict. It must be said that an alienated force can still be useful, they said, so one should be sure to placate these forces if the alienation is irreversible, and ensure they remain docile and pliant.

Approaching from another angle was his father, full of hard-won knowledge of the yesteryears and the precious few memories of the chaos of an unregulated world. Once alienated, that sector becomes useless. Cut the rotted flesh from the roots, no matter how minor the damage. An alienated group is a dangerous group, and in this world, we leave no chances for the dangerous. Aidan can recall more than one instance where his father had signed off on the assassination of various underlings, sparing no expense. The then-young age of his son did not faze him either; in fact he accepted it as a chance to educate him, allowing, even encouraging Aidan to obtain and peruse files of documents full of similar data. Once it deviates from the path, it is no longer useful.

But despite the clashing, contrasting opinions of the two, they, nevertheless agreed that alienation was risky, something to be feared, something to be prevented. Both agreed that the greatest of revolutions could begin from the smallest spark of deviation, and end in the overturning of society as one knew it.

And so, Aidan finds himself on a journey to show himself at the variety of manufacturing plants his father had acquired over the years. The only part of his itinerary (pre-planned without any of his input, as usual) that sparked even the remotest bit of interest in him was the private tea with the General Supervisor, who had finally been instructed to allow Aidan more insight into the workings of the System; the System that governed the lives of everyone in the world. Well, everyone except the miniscule elite that Aidan had been born into.

It begins, as it always does, with a factory tour. Heaven forbid that he forget what the layout and processes were after the last twenty times that he saw them! Still, he nods politely as they lead him around the polished, sleek interior, floor space largely dominated by smooth unmarked silvery cubes of production that tower far overhead into some indiscernible space above. The occasional factory worker glides from cube to cube, pulling up dozens of holograms at once, fiddling with some display or another, before moving on in some ritualistic dance with their companions.

The lower floors are designed with openness in mind, and the space stretches out far, farther than the eye can see across fields of cubes and the occasional rows of desks and clusters of workers. Looking up, it's impossible to deduce where the ceiling might begin, for at some point the harsh white light descends into muted shadow, then, pure darkness, without any hint of what might lie beyond.

The various sections of production are delineated through the white strips of light built into the dull, pristine grey carpet. The light shines upwards in a shimmering curtain of light, bathing each passerby in a shower of the gaze of dozens of mechanical eyes, scanning, gauging the authorization level first by their badges, then a full body matchup. All of this is completed in less than a second, and any who fail the test is immediately paralysed through microscopic injection then brought to one of the various Security Centres to be... dealt with.

Aidan listens to all of this as they pace slowly through parts of the factory floor, ignoring the not-so-subtle glances sneaked by the newer hires. The older workers are long used to his presence, and hardly spare him a look as he passes by.

He could repeat the entire speech back to the balding, suited executive (always the same one, for reasons unknown) with his eyes closed and half drunk, but he refrains from doing so out of... respect, for his father's wishes. Self-control always was his strong suit, and it serves him well in such times.

Soon, they come to the familiar rows polished metal and glass frames of the factory elevators that appear dotted around the seemingly infinite production floor. Each is designed with maximum efficiency in mind and created, as always, in the Nimeitus facility. Able to traverse twenty stories in a single second, they scour across the factory space both vertically and horizontally, bringing workers to their destinations with practiced ease. But as the name implies, factory elevators were for the lowly workers who were employed in the business, and Aidan himself, being of a higher importance, would never be troubled to travel in such cramped spaces.

'Hmm, the regular elevators seem well maintained, at least.'

It is one of his unspoken duties to ensure that the factory is run well, and he takes it seriously, just like all of his other, arbitrary duties.

Unaware of his thoughts, the executive bows deeply, already extending a hand towards a much larger set of elevator doors. "Please step this way, sir, we have prepared a separate elevator for your convenience." This one is decorated with intricate carvings and fine workmanship; sure it might be of a somewhat dated style, but it stands out as different and that's what matters the most in a miniature city of sameness.

Nodding dismissively, Aidan strides past the bootlicking employee without a single glance backwards; he knew the other would follow, whether he liked it or not. He dislikes such people, who put up facades as though he were a three-year-old child, unable to see through such flimsy pretences. The executive might have a good three decades on him in experience, but Aidan has the most precious resource of all:

Time.

With near unlimited free reign over his time, Aidan is able to pursue his interests freely, unlike the other plebeians who lead lives dictated by a mechanical fate. As he sits primly in one of the plush seats available in the elevator, he contemplates the information he's collected over the years of visits with the same executive, leisurely sorting them into mental folders.

Obtaining information and acting on it is not one of the objectives assigned to him by his father, but rather, was a personal goal that Aidan strives to fulfil in all of his official roles. It did make life a little more interesting in the dreary corporate world he's often thrust into, especially so when he was given sufficient motivation to actually use what power he had to alter the flow of society's rhythm.

He has been rather irritating after all.

"Estimated time of journey: Three. Minutes. Forty. Seconds."

The lift whirs to life, as the robotic female voice issues forth from unseen speakers. Then with a near imperceptible jolt, it moves, rising from the factory floor to a land above.

It takes them nearly ten seconds to break through the constraints of the factory building itself, then they're sailing smoothly up into the air, encased safely in the reinforced clear titanium-glass compound tube, within which the lift rested.

"The Nimeitus factory is a groundbreaking work that spans over two hundred acres of land, with the towers of the building extending ninety floors above ground level. This lift begins at the lowest levels, and requires ten seconds to transcend the forty floors that make up the base building. It will then travel attached to the outside of one of the five main towers that comprise of fifty stories each in order to offer the occupants a close up view of both the base and the towers…"

Aidan sighs quietly while the lift begins its usual advertising-esque spiel, attempting to tune it out as white noise. He understands that the lift is also used for important visitors to the compound, but is it really so difficult to turn it off when the visitor is someone clearly experienced like himself?

Taking out a sleek tablet, he begins to clear some of the emails accumulated over the day. It's only when the lift clears the ninety floors and continues upwards that he puts the tablet away, leaning back to enjoy the view, unobstructed by towers in his face. Nimeitus was the first conglomerate to create the cutting edge technology needed to design a exosphere satellite station, and of course was the first to connect it to earth. Though there might have been more efficient ways of doing so, Nimeitus did as Nimeitus wanted, and hence the satellite station of the main building was grounded through a lift.

(Aidan secretly appreciated the unconventional move, it was rather pleasant to be able to recreate the futuristic scenes dreamt up by the authors of long dead societies.)

No matter how many times he sees the view, Aidan still finds himself entranced by the world, and Man's conquest of it. Here and there there were pockets of protected rainforest and greenery, surrounded by the kingdom of humans, a sprawling, chaotic neat mess of roads, buildings, and technology, so much technology. Who could see it and not be captivated by it?

He almost glares at the executive when he unknowingly interrupts his reverie, again, with the bootlicking. But he successfully refrains from doing so. It would show that he enjoyed the experience after all, and for someone of his status to show anything beyond bored indifference of anything that was not the standard set of interests was simply inviting trouble. Even the slightest hint of information about a noble's personal interests could sell very well among the right circles, enough that Father ground into him from a young age the cold, uncaring demeanor that he carries into adulthood.

"Sir, if you would be so troubled as to step this way, we have arrived at our destination."

The space he steps into is familiar yet unknown in the way that places one visits semi-frequently are. The floor to ceiling scenic view windows are polished as always, the carpet remains the same royal blue, and the chairs and tables still stand scattered in their geometric patterns. Yet the atmosphere yields the faint impression of having been tampered with in his absence, perhaps, by the presence of others.

'Three tables, twelve chairs…'

He notes the addition of an extra table and chairs, sparing them a look before he retreats to what is familiar, the two upholstered armchairs set across from a glass and chrome coffee table against the backdrop of the vast unknown. At least, today he's not scheduled to be meeting with the insufferable executive. It's with a sweet satisfaction that he watches the other fade into the background, yielding to another, more preferred presence: the General Supervisor.

"Ah, Aidan. How have you been? It's been awhile since we last met."

The General Supervisor is all sleek fashion and perfectly ironed creases, down to the collar pin strategically angled in a way that catches the eye yet fails to distract overmuch. Even as she takes a seat, the cloth somehow flows such that not an inch lies out of place, smooth, and without wrinkles.

"I am well. I believe we met just over eighteen months ago, at the annual supervisory rounds of President Czartoryski, and it is a pleasure to deal with you once again." Aidan intones neutrally, running a quick eye over the papers handed to him by a helpful, chameleon-like assistant from the shadows. "Is this the documentation required to understand the functions of the System, then?"

"Yes, you should find several files detailing the specific parameters within which our System operates, as well as the data that we collect and make available under the correct circumstances. Now, if you will turn to page three, we'll begin with an overview of the conditions which the System works under…"

Diligent as always, Aidan listens with his full attention to the new information offered, making annotations as necessary. After all, this is one of the few occasions where Father concedes precious information, and an especially large chunk at that. Considering that the System is the foundation of society as they know it, this can only be a sign of Czartoryski Sr. beginning a process to hand over control of Nimeitus to his young heir.

Even if the process may take decades, Aidan knows better than to spurn any potential setup. One mistake from him, and everything will come crashing down like a house of cards.

So it appears that the System is built on a network of various surveillance devices. Some are obvious… like the CCTV on the streets, or the speed cameras on the roads or the security cameras in buildings. Some of their functions are interesting, though. Facial recognition seems standard, but gender, clothing, and intent recognition are definitely a hushed up development. Interesting. The scent trackers are quite unique too, as well as the mocked up data maps of each individual. How much memory would that occupy? No wonder Father was so intent on revolutionizing how data was stored.

Brimming with new trains of thought and a brand new enlightenment about the workings of the society he lived-but-did-not-live in, Aidan walks slowly across the curved floor to ceiling windows arcing around one entire side of the satellite station. He doesn't turn around, even as the executive and the General Supervisor quietly excuse themselves through the elevator that takes them down to the mortal plane, leaving Aidan standing above, aloof, and very much alone.

But, that wasn't something new to Aidan, was it?

A god, or someone like a god, knowing so much more than humanity, is always doomed to be beyond their reach.

He remains for the span of an afternoon, walking, working, admiring the conquest of his race over a dead world. Every now and then, the assistant untangles himself from the shadows to provide for some unspoken need-- sometimes even before Aidan knows he needs it-- before concealing his form back into the shadows. His productivity is exceptionally high in this enclosed bubble and he finds himself satisfied as the sun bleeds out red-orange tears of farewell over the horizon.

'Time to go.'

The streets of the factory are crowded as he leaves, filled with workers milling about, walking and cycling in and out of the factory as shifts change. The factories, doubling as a village of metal and glass for its workers, hold its captives close, even the young children who press their faces to the windows high above the streets, entranced by the pomp and circumstance that always surrounds Aidan's arrivals and departures.

But as though an invisible barrier holds them back, they seem to be less substantial than a picture on a wall, transient, and only seeming to belong within the small windowed world of the factory. That is the nature of the society after all, so perfectly engineered that anyone seems to slide in perfectly to where they're assigned to, but stands out almost outrageously anywhere else.

A snap of Aidan's fingers, and the car pulls away seamlessly, leaving behind the beautifully ugly, towering alters to consumerism and loss of free will.

The scenery between the factory and the capital is one that he's seen hundreds of times, so much that he grew sick of it a few years back, and took to setting his window tint to opaque for the trips along those paths. He isn't much of a fan of watching the industrialization of land, especially since much of the land under construction are abandoned districts left behind by communities either killed off by food shortage and disease, or strangled slowly by urbanization. He never could quite get used to the view of ghost towns and overgrown lawns.

Luckily, the automated vehicle finds the quickest path available and brings him back to the city in a matter of minutes, travelling at nearly four hundred kilometres per hour within the tubed motorway crisscrossing above and below ground. Only the richest can afford to utilise such express routes, but Aidan is nothing if not rich.

The vehicle slows to a modest pace of seventy kilometres per hour as they enter the city limits, entering a gentle glide from the mouth of the tube it was travelling within to join the traffic on the road below. The windows automatically untint to fifty percent, the maximum allowed within the capital city. Even with late afternoon light streaming in to mingle with its artificial counterpart inside the vehicle, Aidan barely looks up, eyes still glued to the ebook displayed on his tablet, as he has been since leaving the factory.

"Please state your destination, Mr. Czartoryski. We have arrived in Nadezhda."

"Home. Inform Father and Mother, I have completed my assignment successfully, immediately."

"Transmitting message to contact 'Father' and 'Mother', 'I have completed my assignment successfully'. Setting route towards 'Home'."

Knowing that it wouldn't be long before he's delivered to the doorstep on the family mansion, Aidan gathers his things, neatly slotting the tablet into its pocket in his bag. Today's dinner will be interesting, since he's finally received the information that's been held from him for so long. His siblings, being older, had been introduced to the true workings of the System many years before, leaving him in a frustrated darkness. Not that he ever showed his frustration, instead maintaining his usual stoic mask.

It usually takes exactly one minute and thirty seconds from entering the city to his home, coming up in five, four, three, two…

"Welcome home, Young Master. The Mistress has instructed us to escort you to her office."

On time, as usual.

'Mother, as usual.'