Even Braver New World State

by Rick K. Reut

“And so awfully antiquated!”

  “We should really pass a law against fornicating in twos!”

  “That’s exactly what I was telling you at the sex party the other night! Remember?!”

  “All I remember is being horny from having too much of that male hormone cocktail you gave me!”

  “Like there are times you aren’t, Victoria!?”

  “Not that I can recall!”

  There was a wave of shrill, ear-piercing laughter that made the young man wince.

  “But really, I sometimes wonder how we still haven’t done that?!”

  “Done what?!”

  “Banned twosomes!”

  “You’re absolutely right! Only two really won’t do. It reeks too much of the old age monogamy!”

  “And so sets a bad example for everyone!”

  “Does that mean that two must be made a taboo?”

  “Well, we should surely keep in mind the wellbeing of our younglings. Otherwise they might think that copulating it twos is cool. And come a time some of them come to actual controllership they may even pass a law validating it as the only publicly acceptable form of fornication, having no idea how horribly harmful it actually is for their mental and hence physical health!”

  “It’s clear that we must act at once and work out a constitutional amendment prescribing compulsory copulation with no less than three individuals at a time to every teenage transsexual in the state.”

  “I suggest six or seven, which rhymes with sex and heaven.”

  “Almost like sex in heaven or heavenly sex!”

  “Well, I don’t know. Seven people can be pretty hard to find.”

  “What do you mean, hard to find?! Just look out of the window!”

  “Yeah, really! According to our latest population census, we’ve got about ten billion people on Earth alone. Not to mention our Moon and Mars colonies. And besides, we can always make more.”

  “Yes, but we can’t continue producing new people indefinitely.”

  “Why not?!”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Because the amount of products and consumers has to be carefully balanced! We may have to start thinking about limiting the population production like they did during the First Coming. Cut it down to a million a year and keep it that way.”

  “Freudina is right,” came Controller Globe’s cautious voice of support, one of the two Adam was able to identify. “If we don’t sustain the essential equilibrium, our economy will collapse. And we must also think about what we’ll do if we finally find a way to transfer identities and make ourselves immortal. We might have to consider ceasing the production of new people altogether.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Yeah, why is that?”

  “Well, at least because there won’t be enough space left for all of us then.”

  “Space is infinite!”

  “Yeah, space is infinite! Almost as infinite as stupidity was before the Second Coming. Have you forgotten your university physics course? This solar system is not the only one we can colonize. There must be millions of worlds out there waiting to be populated.”

  “Yes, but shouldn’t we actually wait till we get to those worlds and actually populate them first?”

  “Sure we should. The same way we should first wait till we actually find a way to transfer identities before we raise the question of shutting down the production of new people.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me.”

  “And to me too.”

  “I thought that two was already a taboo?”

  “Apparently not yet!” said someone, but the words were swiftly buried by a landslide of laughter.

  “Maybe we should take a vote on it?”

  “Nah, it will just be a waste of time! Everyone in this room realizes that it’s still too early to make such a decision.”

  “We are simply trying to suggest a working strategy.”

  “I can see that. And we’ll certainly try to consider it next time. As for now, I suggest that we proceed to the planned agenda,” broke in the West Asian Controller’s voice.

  “And what’s on the agenda?”

  “Yeah, what’s on the agenda!?” came the same couple of heavily accented Latin American voices the entire cacophony had commenced with.

  “I beg your pardon, but your latest hormone therapy seems to have screwed up your brains in the literal sense of the word. Don’t you remember that the only reason we are here today is to determine the most convenient way of converting the Isolated Islands’ Inhabitants into Our FordorFreud’s Faith? Controller Globe, for starters, wants to make a presentation using animate material.”

  “Animate material?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “That means that our colleague is going to introduce a naturally born male exhibit straight from one of the Islands. Namely, the Isle of Man.”

  The West Asian Controller’s statement was succeeded by a spell of shell-shocked silence, soon snapped by cries of discordant indignation.

  “No way!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding us!”

  “Is it actually here right now?”

  “Right in the room next door,” revealed the voice of the Chairtran.

  The second spell seemed even more shell-shocked than the first.

  Behind the door, Adam could feel how long and tense it was as he held his breath, listening to the silence being broken by his own heartbeat.

  Soon it snapped again, torn to tatters by a pack of outraged voices arguing all at once.

  “What do you mean, right in the room next door?!”

  “Why weren’t we warned?!”

  “And why wasn’t the security strengthened?!”

  “Bringing an Islander to the middle of the mainland just like that?!”

  “This is way too much!”

  “That’s it! I’m outta here!” shouted someone.

  This last shout sparked a tumult that threatened to turn into an exodus. Punctuated by more moving chairs and cries coming from behind the door, it quickly transformed into a mishmash of dashes, commas and periods of confusion inside Adam’s swelling head (blocked between the brackets of his burning-red ears). Something hard and heavy – probably one of the moving chairs – fell to the floor, producing an exclamation mark as large and loud as a close range pistol shot, startling him to the point of shuddering.

  “Calm down!” the deep, chest voice of the West Asian Controller rose above the raging ruckus in an attempt to assuage it. “Who the Ford do you take me for? All the necessary precautions have most certainly been taken! I assure you that the creature in that chamber is completely harmless and under constant control! It is, in fact, even more afraid of you than you are of it!

  “I’m not afraid of anyone!” shouted someone.

  “Neither am I!”

  “And nor are we!”

  “Alright, maybe you’re not afraid. But you’re clearly anxious. So is the alien in the adjoining room. And this is precisely the problem we must try to solve in course of this summit. So, I suggest that you take your seats and allow our speaker to state Its case.”

  After a brief beat, the sound of moving chairs and muffled complaining shortly resumed, only to be smoothed back into controlled silence.

  “That’s much better,” said Controller Trahova as soon as the last splashes of indignation had died down. “And now as the current Chairtran of this Council, I’d like to hear our colleague Chief Caretaking Continent Controller Gianna Globe say a few words.

  The Chairtran’s introduction was succeeded be a screech of a sole chair, after a which Controller Globe’s voice filled the room with a stream of carefully selected rhetoric.

  “Thank you, Chairtran Trahova! Respected members of the Council! Today is one of those days that may become a major turning point in the history of our civilization and be always remembered as the time when…”

  Adam was all ears as he listened to the Controller’s speech, building up
the ground for his arrival. But as the ground was being built, so was the tension inside of him. Occasionally, he threw a worried glance at Director Downing who had already finished massaging Its feet and was now mixing Itself a cocktail by the minibar.

  “Want some?” It asked him catching one of Adam’s worried looks.

  “No, thank you,” he shook his head, nervously.

  Director Downing stared at him for some time.

  “Don’t be so anxious,” It said eventually. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Everything is always fine in the New World State.

  “Is it one of your current hypnotic clichés?” asked Adam, not noticing through his nervousness that he was being rude.

  “No, it isn’t. In fact, it is pure experience. You see, as the world is actually becoming better, there’s no more need to program people into believing that it’s better, for they can now see it for themselves. And therefore, we are gradually giving up most of the self-evident hypnotic suggestions, leaving only those the factual foundations of which are still fairly shaky.”

  The Director took a short sip of Its she-male shake and sauntered back to the window sill.

  “Conditioning’s what you can call a necessary evil. It’s like a surgical operation aimed at healing a human organism when it’s ill by incising it in the right places, making essential corrections and then stitching it up again. It’s a pity, but sometimes you need to shed some social blood, cutting out free thinking, to counteract the corrupt cells of irrational conduct.”

  Having approached the window, the Director stopped and stared out in wistful silence. It stood like that for some time and then turned around and looked directly at Adam, who was watching every move It made, waiting for Director Downing to resume Its speech.

  “But as soon as the operation scars heal and the social organism recovers, there is no more need to repeat these procedures more often than it is required for purely prophylactic purposes. And no prophylactic, as you probably know, is ever as painful as a full-fledged operation. Fortunately, we learned to sedate pretty well in course of the First Coming, putting society into a state somewhat similar to the state of coma – or soma, as they used to call it back then – so that the operation does not have to be hurtful at all.”

  Director Downing beamed with wisdom.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a glass? I can add some chemicals with a soothing effect to help you calm down,” It added on second thought.

  “Well…” the young man hesitated.

  The Director took it as a yes and turned back to the bar, but was stopped in Its tracks by Controller Globe’s voice breaking through the door:

  “And so, respected members of the Council, please welcome the Good Islander who has volunteered to be here with us tonight in order to make his own personal contribution to building a bridge of hope into the peaceful and, as we pray, totally perfect transsexual future.”

  There was a round of reluctant applause.

  “No time for that glass, I guess,” grinned the Director, turning towards the door. “It sounds like our entrance, Mister Marx.”

  Meanwhile, in the Council Chamber, most of the Controllers sat around the round table in tense anticipation of what was to follow. Only Gianna Globe stood towering over them all Its ten feet tall. Everybody was focused on the door to the adjacent chamber, where Diractor Downing and Adam had disappeared an hour earlier.

  Right after Controller Globe’s introduction, the door slowly opened and in came first a voluptuous, blond-haired she-male bimbo and then a shy, shrunken shadow of a man, dwarfed and depressed by unfavorable comparison, cautiously slipped out from under the she-male’s arm and stopped at Its side, too scared to go on.

  Most of the Controllers stared at the strange-looking couple with their eyebrows raised in surprise. Some of them looked at each other and then back at the little monster, smiling scornfully. Others were already whispering with their colleagues, whose contemptuous smiles became even broader, spreading with the speed of an infectious illness.

  In the meantime, the big-bosomed bimbo bent down to the dwarf and also whispered something into his ear, nudging him forward. The small creature took several shaky steps and stopped between the table and the front door, crucified in the crossfire of the Controllers’ scornful stares.

  Seeing that something had to be done to stop this public humiliation from going any further, Gianna Globe walked from behind the table and, circling around Adam, laid Its hands on Its protégé’s puny shoulders, like a skillful puppeteer stealthily attaching additional strings to a ragdoll.

  “This,” said Its Freudship, slightly massaging the back of Adam’s neck to make him relax, “is Mister Adam Marx, who politely agreed to be here today, having traveled all the way from the Isle of Man.”

  “Are all the men on that island that miniscule?” came an irritating interruption from one of the Controllers, a fat-bottomed, long-legged Latino tranny literally squirting with suppressed laughter.

  “Cut it out, Conchita!” thundered the Chairtran, threateningly.

  “Well, I could certainly do that, too. But we’re not allowed to bring surgical instruments to such summits because of a law you yourself once initiated!”

  “I said, shut it!” shouted Controller Trahova. “I won’t tolerate any cheap cracks or mockeries at my meeting.”

  “Your meeting? I thought we all were invited to it on even terms.”

  “You’re really trying my patience, Conchita!”

  “Maybe that’s because your anger arouses me so much!” cooed the Central American Controller, playfully.”

  “Well, we’ll discuss that in detail during the Trans Time,” said Tania Trahova, fighting an already lost battle against Its own budding smile. “And now, please proceed, Controller Globe.”

  “Certainly, Chairtran,” continued the European Controller. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to reply to our respectful colleague’s childish remark.”

  It squinted expressively at Its Central American counterpart.

  “Very well then. Just try not to turn it into a circus cock fight, will you.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. My answer will be absolutely impersonal and totally to the point. Most naturally born men on the Isolated Islands are indeed not as tall and well-built as we are. But we must bear in mind that, unlike us, none of them has had the luxury of being gene-engineered. They are, therefore, left all alone to face the vicissitudes of their natural fate, which we sometimes call heredity. Unfortunately, being essentially slothful, nature doesn’t take too good care of its offspring. And this is exactly why we, as creatures of higher intelligence, must take on the chore of correcting the outcomes of its idle incompetence.”

  “Its idle incompetence! I like how it sounds!” commented one of the Controllers.

  “Me too. But how exactly do you suggest we do that?” asked another one.

  “The same way we do it here on the mainland.”

  “Yes, but you seem to be forgetting that here we begin to work on our material starting with the moment of conception in artificial wombs. And even before that, selecting and then perfecting the most promising spermatozoa. Whereas, on the Islands, most of the material is already mature. And do you realize how difficult, let alone expensive energy-wise it is to convert and transform all the remaining pre-transsexuals on this planet? Do you have any idea how much time, research and resource power it’ll take to satisfy this little subjective whim of yours?”

  “Well, first of all, this is not my subjective whim, as you call it, but an objective necessity,” countered Controller Globe, coolly. “And secondly, according to my calculations, it should take no more than ten years to put it into practice.”

  “No more than ten years?!” smirked one of the counterpart, skeptically. “All right, let’s say we can physically accomplish that within this time. But what are you going to do about all those atavists who simply don’t want to be trans
formed?”

  “We’ll try to do all we can to convince them.”

  “Convince them?! Which will take what, another ten years? And besides, what if they are not convinced?”

  “Well, our plan is to use the latest propaganda techniques for a year and then see if the number of those wishing to be transformed is increased. If the percentage proves to be worth the effort, we will continue along the same track.”

  “And if it isn’t increased?”

  “If it isn’t,” Controller Globe paused, staring straight at Its opponent, who happened to be no other than Freezena Frost, “we will try to transform them all the same.”

  Hearing these words, the whole council gasped and exploded with angry humming, like a disturbed beehive.

  “Order! Order!” cried the Chairtran, trying to calm them all down again.

  Controller Globe squeezed Adam’s shoulders so hard that he winced with pain. He looked up at Its Freudship, but could see nothing but the sharp edge of Its proudly raised chin.

  “But how the Freud are you going to do that?!” came the first coherent objection.

  “Partial memory erasure enhanced by hypnotic programming. The fruits of our latest bio-technological breakthroughs, in other words,” the European Controller said coldly.

  The response resulted in an even more energetic uproar.

  “But it goes against the Constitution of the Council!”

  “The Council is the Constitution,” cried Controller Globe, Its eyes electrified with enthusiasm. “If we choose to change it, it will change!”

  “Controller Globe is right!” cried Chairtran Trahova, coming to Its colleague’s rescue, “The future of the world is in our hands now!”

  “Yes, but is it actually worth the effort?”

  “Anything is better than war and genocide,” said Tania Trahova, staring straight at Gianna Globe, who was staring back at Its colleague across the round table, the looks in their eyes bound together by a secret bond. “And besides, you can’t harm someone who doesn’t know he’s being harmed.”

  “But how the Freud do you expect them not to know that?”

  “Well, we can dose them down with sedatives. Some of those are produced in this area, by the way. And when they wake up, they will have already been transformed and having the most tremendous time of their lives. And when they actually taste our way of life, I sincerely doubt they will ever want to change back into what they were before, which, fortunately for them, they will not even remember.”