2084: Slavery Resurgent

“There are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered.”

William Shakespeare

After a delicious four course Mexican dinner, served piping hot from a microwave oven, Franklin donned a new lime polyester suit and a string tie. As an added touch, he pinned a gold-filled metal tulip on his right lapel. He caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror and liked what he saw. “Time to step up in the world,” he commented out loud to no one in particular since he lived alone. Rapidly setting his security system, he flew out the front door and pressed the ignition symbol embossed on a ring remote control he wore on his index finger. It was Monday, his first day in management and he did not want to be late. But he had no reason to worry. His hovercar drove him to work in less than ten minutes.

Franklin’s automaton trainee was already waiting for him in the lobby. “Good evening, my name is Franklin Pierce. I’ll be your instructor for a month while you learn to be a janitor. After that, he extended his right hand in a gesture of friendship.

The automaton stared at the hand in disbelief. Following a few awkward seconds, the automaton remarked, “it is improper for an automaton to shake hands with his master.”

“Really? Well, since we are the only two people in this building after 6 PM and, to the best of my knowledge, we are not being recorded, I guess we can dispense with that kind of nonsense and get to know one another. Does protocol prevent you from telling me your name?”

“I’m George. All automatons are named George. Specifically, I am George 41,832,709. Master Pierce, I do not wish to offend, but I could not help but notice you do not have an implant.”

“Neither do you,” Franklin laughed. “Perhaps, we will go to hell together. We should make a pact and shake hands on it. Even a dog can shake hands.”

George grasped Franklin’s outstretched right hand, pumping it up and down for a full minute before letting go. He was smiling a big, idiotic grin rimmed with rotten teeth. Making friends with an automaton no longer seemed to Franklin to be a good idea. It was time for them to get to work.

George proved to be a fast learner. Franklin was impressed by how hard the automaton worked to please him. When Franklin said to add two-thirds of a quart of pine disinfectant to the mop bucket, George added precisely that amount without having to measure it. Nor did he nod off while buffing the linoleum floors. His attention to detail was truly amazing. Not a trace of graffiti remained on the toilet stalls. He pried a used tampon from the ceiling of a 22nd floor women’s bathroom without having to be told to do so. This was much more than “monkey see, monkey do.” George worked as if he had been born to be a janitor.

They broke for lunch at midnight. Franklin ate two burritos and an avocado. George bought two cans of vegetable beef soup from a vending machine on the 12th floor and warmed them up in a microwave oven. Franklin wondered how George came to have money. Were not automatons unpaid slaves? Would it be impolite to ask? In the end, he decided against it.

On the 9th floor George had found a wad of gum under a table. He offered Franklin half. Franklin declined and George popped the entire wad into his mouth. Franklin did not speak to him for the rest of the shift. As far as he was concerned “monkey see, monkey do,” sufficed for an automaton. Besides, it was time to quit. They departed in silence.

* * *

For the next four days the boss and his trainee had a business relationship. Talk was kept to a minimum and even then it had to be job related. Franklin was disgusted with automatons and George was no exception. He was stuck with them; they were his cross to bear.

The following Monday, they were servicing the 18th floor when George spotted an oil spill in a hallway. He attempted to clean it up with a mop, but it left a stain. Adding a pint of ammonia to the mop bucket helped a little, but parts of the stain remained. Feeling a strong urge to relieve himself, he rushed to a nearby men’s room. He had been gone a few seconds when Franklin decided to check on him. Finding the stain and the abandoned mop bucket, Franklin added a gallon of bleach to the contents of the mop bucket.

When George got back from the bathroom, he found his boss unconscious, lying face down on the floor. When George knelt to pick up Franklin, he smelled the strong odor of chlorine gas and almost collapsed. Knowing that the windows were sealed and could not be opened, George lifted Franklin and dragged him down the stairs to the 17th floor. Franklin started to cough violently and then vomited. George pushed everything off of a secretary’s desk and laid Franklin on it. After drinking a cup of water, Franklin seemed to get better. It was not long before he got down from the desk and sat in a chair. Franklin said he felt weak, but was otherwise alright.

* * *

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes. Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret - it leads only to evil. For evil men will be cut off, but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land. A little while, and the wicked will be no more; though you look for them, they will not be found. But the meek will inherit the land and enjoy great peace. - Psalm 37:7-11

“Thanks, you saved my life,” Franklin stated, hugging George. “I owe you, big time.”

“You probably would have recovered on your own. It was most likely the ammonia I added to the mop bucket that caused the mixture to produce toxic gas,” confessed George.

“And I added a gallon of bleach. Ammonia plus bleach results in chlorine gas. The Germans gassed enemy soldiers with it in World War I. It’s so deadly that it was outlawed by the Geneva Convention. I probably would have died if you had not rescued me. I really meant it when I congratulated you for risking your life to save mine. If there is ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

George looked embarrassed. After an hour they went back to the 18th floor. The chlorine gas had dispersed. They rinsed the mop, emptied the mop bucket, and resumed their duties.

Franklin had always fancied himself a good judge of character. Now, he was having doubts. Although it was his job to instruct automatons, he didn’t know that much about them. Hiram had told him that “managers are paid to think.” Franklin would have to solve the automaton enigma himself. His initial instincts had been to befriend George. Although he had miserably failed, he would have to try again.

They broke for lunch after servicing the 16th floor. Franklin was determined to get to know George better. “I heard on the news that all automatons are hard-core convicted felons. You do not seem anything like that to me. Why did they transform you into an automaton? It really isn’t none of my business, but I cannot keep from wondering.”

George stared deeply into Franklin’s eyes for the longest time. Finally, he opened up, “I never committed a crime and neither have most other automatons. Years ago, I was conceived in a test tube, technicians transferred the embryo to a polyethylene sack full of amniotic fluid that flowed in and out of the bag, and nine months later, they opened the bag, cut the umbilical cord, and that was how I was born. I forgot to mention that my DNA had been altered to produce a superhuman. It was all part of a government project to create supreme soldiers. After spending billions of tax dollars, the project was discontinued. All artificial humans, including myself, were supposed to be murdered. But the government was running out of convicted felons to convert into automatons. The polyethylene womb project was restored in order to meet the public’s demand for automatons. Actually, it seems to have worked for the better. I would prefer being an automaton rather than dying on some foreign battlefield.”

“You didn’t commit a felony and don’t deserve to be enslaved,” reasoned Franklin.

“And a man with a college education didn’t deserve to become a janitor. But it happened to you. Life offers no guarantees. No choice other than to play the hand you are dealt, that is unless you want to be the leader of a slave rebellion like Spartacus or Nat Turner. They both died horrible deaths. That is not for me. The company gives me a food and housing allowance and I earn a little money on the side. I try not to draw attention to myself.”

“You have markedly changed,” Franklin noted. “Was all of this servile automaton behavior just an act? Were you playing me? What for?”

“I go along to get along. Stepin Fetchit became the first black millionaire. Stereotypical personas don’t get lynched. Give the public what they want and they will love you for it.”

“Do all automatons come equipped with as much knowledge as you have?” asked Franklin. “Automatons are not supposed to think for themselves. You do not fit the popular stereotype.”

“Of course, I don’t. I was a holdover from the defunct Supreme Soldier program. The government decided to transform us into automatons when they ran out of convicted felons. Ninety-four percent of transformations were successful, but in my case the process failed. Due to my enhanced DNA, I was smart enough to act like it worked. They sold me at auction to your company and here I am. Go ahead and tell them about me. Nobody will believe you. To them, I am a valuable investment.”

“Valuable investment, my ass. You are a Wobbly Warrior dud. I have no intention of ratting on you. Everybody has a right to privacy. As far as I’m concerned, the government shouldn’t be keeping tabs on private citizens who haven’t committed crimes and are not involved in terrorist activities. Politicians no longer trust the people who put them in office. Constant surveillance intimidates people. That is how the top one-half of one percent maintain their stranglehold on the citizenry,” Franklin resolved.

“Society is rapidly changing,” remarked George. “I doubt that the political system can keep pace. Automatons compose over thirty percent of the U.S. population. The government projects that by 2200 the number will be more than fifty percent. Also, the birthrate of ordinary humans is continuing to decline to the point where deaths outnumber births. Cro-magnon man will go the way of the Neanderthals. In other words, you represent the past while I represent the future.”

“Keep dreaming,” chuckled Franklin. “How come I am the boss and you are the worker?”

“It could have been that the Neanderthals initially lorded it over the Cro-magnons, but not for long,” countered George.

* * *

It was time to get back to work. Given the noise from the floor buffer and the compressor that sprayed the unisex restrooms with disinfectant, they did not have many opportunities to talk for the remainder of the shift.

The following night, Franklin found a scanner recessed into an acoustic ceiling tile in a hallway on the 14th floor. After soaking it with a caustic aerosol spray, he hit it with a hammer until the plastic cracked. He was sure he had disabled it, but to be safe they stopped talking freely and communicated on matters that were not work related via notes that they shredded by the time they quit work.

* * *

Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.

- Abraham Lincoln

Despite not finding anymore concealed scanners, George and Franklin continued to pass notes to each other. Franklin’s offer to drive George home after work was refused. He was curious as to where George lived, but did not want to pry. Obviously, George had some kind of life outside of work and he was not ready to let Franklin become a part of it. George was taking an enormous risk by opening up to his boss and he was reluctant to further jeopardize himself. He could not be sure he was not under surveillance. George was unnerved by it. He was afraid of what Homeland Security might do to him.

They were cleaning the inside of the windows in the hallway of an office on the 22nd floor when George saw a drone hovering, apparently surveilling them from a position approximately eight feet from the outside of a window. It was so small and dark as to be barely visible. He had no way of knowing how long it had been watching them.

Franklin was angry. His privacy had been violated. He wanted the drone to go away so he flipped it the bird and made faces at it. But the drone remained in place. A blue LED light blinked on and off, indicating it was recording them. George motioned for Franklin to get away from the window.

They took the elevator to the 18th floor in an effort to evade the drone. It must have been effective because they didn’t see the drone for the remainder of their shift. Still, they felt depressed. The totalitarian state was making its presence known. Franklin regretted having destroyed a scanner. That was probably what had called attention to the two of them. He half expected to be raked over the coals for it.

Two hours later, Franklin received an email from Hiram Nasov ordering him to report to the office the next day. He had some misgivings about it, but he went anyway. Hiram was his usual grumpy self, however, it seemed he was not aware of Franklin having destroyed a scanner and made obscene hand gestures at a drone.

“Those automatons cost a bundle. Is the one you are training capable of doing the job by himself yet?,” asked Hiram.

“I think so. He is a fast learner.”

“It’s not a ‘he’, it’s an IT,” Hiram corrected. “That automaton is company property – the head office refers to them as chattel. Don’t treat them like human beings. They may look human but in reality they are merely dumb animals. Monkey see, monkey do; what we want is for them to mimic your behavior. You’re in charge. Don’t ever let your guard down. It’s simple – you order and the automaton obeys.”

“Are you saying we can mistreat automatons because they are subhuman?,” asked Franklin.

“No, our automatons are valuable investments. You better not let me see you mistreating them. They were born as human as anyone else, but they made too many bad choices and ended up being convicted of violent felonies. In the past, we confined dangerous felons in penal facilities where they were a drain on the economy. Now, we transform career criminals into societal assets.”

“There seems to be no end to the supply of automatons. They couldn’t all be vicious convicted felons,” Franklin ventured.

“Of course, they all are recycled criminals. The newscasts are full of them. There was a time when people could not go out at night for fear of getting mugged. Believe me, the bad guys are finally getting what they deserve. But we aren’t social workers and we do not have time to philosophize,” Hiram said. “It is our job to make money for this company. The reason you are here today is to assist me in evaluating the results of the automaton development program. You told me that your automaton could do the job by himself. That is good news. You taught one to be a janitor in less than three weeks. Do you have any objections to doing it that fast on a regular basis?”

“That depends on how bright they are,” reasoned Franklin.

“It is not a question of intelligence. Do what it takes to get their attention. After that it’s simply monkey see, monkey do. Get it done in three weeks and you will earn a considerable bonus,” Hiram offered. The man was grinning from ear to ear. Franklin had never seen him do that before. It was downright scary in a Halloween pumpkin sort of way.

“How about we make the last training day this Friday,” Franklin suggested. “That will give me time to teach it how to fill out the paperwork.”

“Suits me. Let George know that I will be sending someone by from time to time to check up on him. Next Monday you will be getting another automaton to train at a different location. Your hours will remain the same, however, you will be cleaning the Prudential Building on Wilshire Boulevard. You remember, it is the large building where you took your on-the-job training. Any questions?,” Hiram asked.

“Is it a male or a female automaton?,” queried Franklin smiling back at Hiram Nasov.

“Since they are all named George, I do not think there are any females among them. It wouldn’t matter anyway because they are neutered as part of the transformation process. Please say you were not thinking of having sex with an automaton.”

“No way. It is just that I saw a holograph soliciting automatons to work in a Hollywood massage parlor,” Franklin evinced, still smiling.

“Get out of here!,” Hiram exploded. “For your information, your predecessor lost his job because he spent more time watching pornography than disinfecting toilets. Fool around and you will suffer a similar fate. Consider yourself warned. Try not to slam the door on your way out. Now, GO!”

Franklin stood up from the shoddy pink fiberglass chair so fast that he nearly knocked it over. He rapidly exited, slamming the door behind him.