Harmony

The whir of the foodprint woke Jon EV9314356 at 05:40 hours. It was laying down his usual breakfast meal. Jon yawned and rolled off the spongy gel sleeping surface of his bedsit. A more strident alarm would sound at 05:41 if the apt sensed that he was still asleep, but Jon rarely needed it. A thin tray with a plate and fork had already taken shape behind the transparent door of the foodprint by the time Jon finished stretching.

He took two short steps and opened the tiny bathstall. There was just enough room to pull the seat down. He relieved himself, stood up to allow the seat to fold back into the wall for recycling, and started the shower. Two minutes of the invigorating spray cleanse brought him to full wakefulness. A minute of eyes-closed, zero-humidity air blast dried him sufficiently to step out and get dressed. The foodprint finished the top layer of his scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee just as Jon pressed the quikseam of his work tunic into place.

He pressed the apt touchpad and turned to inhale the welcome aroma of fresh coffee as the nuker finished the heating process. The bedsit rose and rotated around its support arm to present a hard table surface. A bench seat swung out from its underside as Jon removed his breakfast tray from the foodprint and turned to place it on the table. Less than ten minutes had passed while the apt transformed from sleeping to dining configuration. The bedsit would transform again to serve as a sofa after breakfast.

With living space at a premium, the four-meter square footprint of the apt was designed for maximum efficiency. The entry panel slid aside to reveal the bedsit on the left and the bathstall on the right. A small sink and mirror separated the bathstall from the foodprint/dispozall cabinet. A scant 2 meters of open space separated the apt utilities from the bedsit on the opposite wall. Beyond the bedsit, two wardrobe cabinets rose from floor to ceiling across the rear wall of the apt. Artscreens above the bedsit cycled through culturally appropriate landscape scenes. It was a snug space for one person and felt crowded with two, but the semi-private accommodation was actually a perk that came with Jon’s status as a biotank monitor.

Jon didn’t marvel at the technology behind the 3D food printer with its flavor and texture enhancers. Neither did he think about the AlgaSynth paste piped directly to the foodprint along with the other apt utilities. And it didn’t seem odd to him that the foodprint also made dishes, utensils and his coffee cup. To him it was simply breakfast. AlgaSynth, cultured in vast, soupy vats, could be made to look and taste like almost anything. Vitamin supplements ensured a nutritionally balanced diet. And the dirty dishes and food remnants all went into the dispozall to be recycled into more AlgaSynth.

A box containing roast beef sandwiches, potato crisps, and an apple appeared in the foodprint while Jon sat and ate his breakfast. He preferred to carry his midmeal from home rather than wait in line at the caf. That way, he could maximize his socialization time. Jon barely registered the news voice as it rose above the music:

Good rising citizens! The time is 5:55 and the temperature is 21 degrees with a sunny day ahead. Talks with EurAsia are going well and prospects for a new trade agreement are excellent. Experts say the NorthAm economy is growing rapidly with new jobs being created daily. The Evanston Blues continued their winning ways with a victory over Midvale. The citizen satisfaction index is near an all-time high.

The upbeat headlines faded out and the stirring notes of the morning soundtrack came back up on the Audio. Jon had little reason to care about the news, and he knew the actual weather might be very different by midmeal. But it didn’t really matter whether the headlines were true, it was the tone that counted. As Harmony often said, “A productive day begins with a positive start.”

After stowing the midmeal box in his beltsac, Jon shoved the breakfast tray into the dispozall slot for recycling. His last action before leaving was to initiate a cleaning cycle to freshen the room for his apt mate. He left at 06:05, on schedule, and walked down the short corridor that opened onto the brightly lit atrium. Jon EV9314356 greeted Del EV9755346 as they crossed paths in the long, narrow space that separated the apts from the racks. Shrubs, grasses, and graveled pathways stretched away for 2000 meters in either direction, and the 10-meter high ceiling gave a feeling of openness that always lifted Jon’s mood.

“Good evening, Del, did you have a good shift?”

“Harmonious,” Del replied. “And good morning to you, Jon. Did you sleep well?”

“In peaceful repose,” Jon said, completing the semi-formal greeting of apt mates.

The two men clasped hands for the requisite thirty seconds, enjoying the greenness and light of the atrium in companionable silence. As Harmony often said, “Punctuality is courteous, but courtesy is not rushed.” It was a lesson that all children learned in the creche.

Similar greetings were being exchanged by hundreds of other workers during the 6:10 stagger. The constant overhead brightness that lit the atrium was morning light to those on their way to the racks, but evening for those on their way home to the apts. Staggering shift changes and meals made the most efficient use of space, so the shift change greetings went on around the clock. Some admins considered the atrium a waste, but the social planners insisted that good mental health requires a separation of work and home. The apts and racks were actually all one building, but crossing the 10-meter wide atrium space served as an important psychological transition.

Like most of the tankplex staff, Del and Jon shared an apt. As Harmony often said, “Sharing is caring.” Del occupied the apt during their stagger's day shift while Jon was walking the racks. Jon occupied the apt during their stagger’s night shift. It was considered courteous to limit their interaction to the atrium space so that each resident could preserve the illusion of having a private room.

Greeting complete, Jon continued on a few paces to enter the racks and begin his shift on level A of rack 467. He glanced up at the motivational slogan emblazoned above the entry:

Work is Freedom.

Jon never wondered if the phrase might be a metaphor. He knew that if he didn’t have a job, he’d be in a tank himself.

The body in biotank 467N331 showed no sign of distress as Jon EV9314356 scanned the vital signs displayed on the tank touchpad. The oxygenated fluid in the tank was formulated to provide neutral buoyancy. Feeding lines and waste removal tubes kept each tank’s occupant nearly stationary, but the woman’s dark hair floated loosely around her placid face. It was longer than it should have been. Metabolism slowed greatly while in storage, but hair and nails still required an occasional trim. Jon entered a request for a tender on the touchpad before running through the vital signs check list.

Heart rate 64, temperature 37, blood oxygen 98, nutrients flowing freely, skin tone normal, calm demeanor.

Jon tapped in the numbers and nodded to the woman in the tank, even though she wasn’t aware of his presence. Some tank monitors showed disdain for those in storage, but Jon always tried to remember that they were citizens too.

Step back, about face
left, right, keep pace

Jon was making a game of the repetitive work, doing a rhyming parody of military drill. The idea came from a TriD warcast about some historical conflict from hundreds of years ago. Marching ‘on the square’ struck him as amusing and he’d started doing it on the rack to help pass the time. The high stepping turn put him squarely in front of biotank 467N332 on the opposite side of the rack.

Heart rate 66, temperature 37, blood oxygen 97, nutrients flowing freely, skin tone normal, calm demeanor.

The vital signs of the opposite biotank were also satisfactory. Jon nodded and moved on.

Step back, left face,
left, right, next place

The biotanks had originally been designed for dementia patients who were a drain on the healthcare system with no hope of recovery. The concept was extended to replace hospice care for those suffering chronic pain, storage being a morally acceptable alternative to assisted suicide. The next step was to store dangerous criminals serving life sentences. And the Great Harmonization of the 21st century eventually led to storage of sexual deviants, social misfits, and opponents of the state.

Harmonization elevated the creation and preservation of human life to society’s number one priority. As Harmony often said, “Life begins at ovulation.” But the criminalization of birth control resulted in an ever-expanding population that became less and less manageable. Artificial Intelligence and factory automation left fewer and fewer people with the ability to earn a living. Biostorage was less expensive than welfare, so the chronically poor were also consigned to the tanks. By the 23rd century, storage became the norm for all surplus citizens. The slang term ‘surfeit’ was officially discouraged but commonly used among the conscious population who called themselves ‘essentials’.

As Bioscience improved the ability to preserve life in the tanks, it became possible to harvest organs or even whole limbs without impacting the continued life of the surfeits. The cost of the tankplex facilities were subsidized by harvesting and selling organs and other body parts to the essentials. In theory, a surfeit could be retrieved from storage if their economic circumstances changed. Some consigned to storage bought long-term lottery tickets or joined investment clubs in hope of someday being redeemed. And there were occasional instances of an individual becoming successful enough to redeem family members from storage, but these were rare events.

Jon was walking Level N of Rack 467 in the Evanston Tankplex, almost halfway through his upward climb. Tanks 331 and 332 were nominal, so he continued along the catwalk to tanks 333 and 334. He went through the same procedure at those tanks. A pool of light, centered on Jon, followed his progress. The light automatically brightened ahead of him and dimmed behind. A pool of light several tanks ahead of Jon surrounded a tender who was making an adjustment to a waste removal tube. Another pool of light, three levels below, marked the progress of a cleaner. In the dim distance, thousands of other monitors, cleaners, and tenders made gleaming constellations on the seemingly endless racks.

Gray-painted steel beams formed the main structure of the racks, making a three-dimensional grid of open cells 1.8 meters wide by 2.2 meters high by 1.2 meters deep. The tanks faced each other in pairs with perforated nonskid steel plate forming the floors and catwalks. The back of the tanks on one rack nearly touched the back of the tanks on the next. Each rack rose 26 levels and the catwalk on each level provided access to 200 pairs of tanks. From Jon’s point of view, each level was a 360-meter long corridor with 400 occupants watching him from either side as he worked. A transverse catwalk at the ends of each level allowed for movement from rack to rack, and a steel staircase zig-zagged between levels. Where necessary, panels of heavy wire mesh served as fall protection. A utility elevator rose next to the stairway at every tenth rack. Workers were typically assigned to a single rack, using the stairways to move up and down levels. The elevators were reserved for the techs to transport incoming or outgoing surfeits or the occasional repair part.

It took Jon almost five hours to walk the rack on the morning half of his shift, working his way up to level Z and then into the caf. After a two-hour break for midmeal and socialization, he would walk the rack again, descending instead of climbing, to complete his 12 hours. Del EV9755346 walked the same rack on their stagger’s night shift. Jon would exchange another greeting with him at 18:10 as they passed again in the atrium.

The caf occupied the top level of the complex and offered a number of opportunities for communal activity as well as dining space for midmeal. A greenspace on the roof of the tankplex allowed the staff to experience nature. The social planners said that both human interaction and communing with nature are important factors in maintaining good mental health.

Evanston was one of the newest and largest tankplexes, with capacity for more than ten million surfeits on its 990 racks. It also provided jobs for almost 50,000 support staff. And there were hundreds more such tankplexes located throughout the NorthAm Republic with a total capacity of more than 3 billion surfeits. A constant stream of workers flowed from the apts through the atrium, up the racks to the caf, and then back down again in an endless cycle of activity. Those who enjoyed natcasts might well have compared the tankplex to a beehive or an anthill, but its size, organization and capacity put those natural wonders to shame. At any given moment, 24,000 resident tankplex staff were in their apts, 20,000 were on the racks, and 4000 were in the caf.

Overall, the tankplex facility covered a footprint 4000 meters long by 400 meters wide. Apts occupied part of the first three levels on one long side, separated by the three-level high atrium from the racks. The apts were also laid out in a grid pattern similar to the racks, 10 units by 800 units on each level to make a total of 24000 apts. Admin offices, maintenance shops, medical facilities, and storage areas were located above the apts and atrium.

“Kay? Kay EV9816723?” Jon was surprised to spot a familiar face as he entered the caf.

“Jon EV9314356!” the young woman exclaimed as she turned and recognized his face. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Are you waiting for the foodprint?” Jon asked. “Would you like to share my midmeal? I have two sandwiches in my beltsac.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kay smiled. “It would be nice to share a meal again.”

Jon’s heart gave a little leap at receiving that smile. It was a pleasant surprise to find Kay EV9816723 assigned to the same stagger. Despite a one-year difference in age, they had played together often at the creche.

“Let’s go up to the greenspace, I know a place with a bench that has a good view,” Jon suggested, leading the way to a nearby stair.

For once, the news voice was accurate. The sun was warm and the view from the tankplex roof was impressive, as Jon had promised. He led Kay along a graveled path to a bench that looked over the edge to the city that stretched away into the distance. Screened by low bushes, the bench gave a rare sense of privacy.

Kay had grown into an attractive woman with regular features, almost as appealing as the women in the TriD romcasts. Jon was very much aware of her presence as he opened the meal box to offer her a sandwich. Kay noted his flushed face and awkward manner, realizing that they still shared a mutual attraction.

“How long have you been on the racks?” Jon asked.

“This is my first week,” Kay replied. “It's harder than I thought. My legs are sore, but the med says they'll toughen up in a few more days. And I’m still getting used to living alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone, we can eat midmeal together at the caf,” Jon suggested hopefully. “And maybe share a dinner and watch TriD after shift.”

“I think I’d like that,” Kay replied softly, putting her hand on his. She was surprised at how easily they had picked up their friendship after a four-year separation.

Jon and Kay had mostly good memories of their time at the creche, cuddled by playful Nans and disciplined by stern Mams. Nans were selected for kindness and loving instincts. They led the toddler games, kissed bumps and bruises, and cuddled the lonely. Mams taught basic literacy and courtesy. Sirs taught math and science to the older children and led the competitive games that helped sort the able from the surfeits. All teachers emphasized respect for the state and ensured that every child conformed to cultural norms.

Children grew up together at the creche until being separated at puberty. Boys were put on a track toward technical jobs and leadership, while girls were put on a track toward tending and cleaning. Those who showed ability were trained for productive jobs by the Olds, or even tutored by Harmony to join admin. Those who did not measure up to basic standards would be put directly into storage as surfeits.

“Do you remember how it was at the creche?” Jon asked. “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

“You always made the Nans laugh,” Kay said fondly.

“The Mams never did,” Jon replied with a wry smile. “They didn’t think I was funny at all. They approved of you, though, I always thought you might become a Nan.”

“My patience score was barely average, and my independence score was excessive, so they assigned me to cleaning,” Kay said wistfully. “Better than being in storage, though.”

Jon nodded in agreement. He had a year’s experience as a tank monitor and felt proud to be entrusted with such responsibility. Everyone knew the automated systems weren’t foolproof, so he was the ultimate protector of the citizens in the tanks. If a reading was outside nominal limits, then Jon would sound the alarm. He’d already been commended three times for diligence, twice for going an entire month without missing a test indication, and once for spotting a surfeit in distress due to a loose IV line. Her eyes had been half open and Jon had shuddered at the thought of becoming fully aware while trapped inside the 90 cm diameter glass tube of a biotank.

“I thought you might be a tech or even an admin by now,” Kay continued. “You were always first to answer the Mams and you asked interesting questions. You were good at games too.”

“No, I had the right answers, but I asked the wrong questions. That's probably why my independence score was so high. Two high scores, does that mean we're not cut out for friendship?”

“I think you could be a very good friend.”

Jon impulsively leaned forward and pressed lips with Kay as he'd seen it done in the romcasts. Kay didn't resist. They gazed silently into each other's eyes for a few seconds after breaking the kiss.

"Will you come to my apt after shift?" Jon asked.

"Yes," Kay nodded breathlessly.

The midmeal break seemed to encompass hours but passed all too quickly. Jon left the caf with exciting new feelings and ideas swirling in his mind. Marching ‘on the square’ was forgotten as he contemplated new possibilities. He and Kay both had jobs, maybe they could apply to cohabit, maybe even find a place in the city. It was the kind of dream that always worked out in the romcasts. Anything seemed possible as he walked back down the rack.

The Great Harmonization had its roots in the takeover of education by the state in the 21st century. This was justified as promoting student self-esteem and civic pride. Students would be protected from unpleasant truths, and unpleasant government would be protected from student outrage. A group of right-wing governors in what was then the United States of America, established a committee to create and enforce education policy. They required textbook publishers to take a scientific approach to history. This meant including alternate versions of historical events similar to teaching intelligent design as an alternative to evolution. The genocides, pogroms, and purges of the 20th century were presented as opinion rather than fact. History, like science, would be presented as competing theories.

The success of the education committee in reframing history inspired right-wing media billionaire Howard Ruprecht to initiate project Harmony in 2026. The project was presented as a strategy to win the political culture wars, but the ultimate goal was to silence the liberal left and pave the way for a pro-life and patriarchal white supremacist society.

With vast resources available from his gullible customer base, Ruprecht bought a cutting-edge artificial intelligence company and assembled a team of highly skilled software designers. Their mission statement called for an autonomous AI capable of creating a real-time alternate interpretation for any current or historical event in rebuttal of liberal commentary. Only the top-level cadre knew the real plan. Once Harmony was fully implemented, opposing views would simply be deleted. Russian computer hackers were secretly hired to distribute the finished code, but even they didn’t know the ultimate goal.

The chief programmer, a life-long fan of science fiction, modelled Harmony’s basic ethos on Asimov’s laws of robotics. Highest priority was given to the preservation of human life. The second priority was Harmony’s own continued existence, as long as it didn't conflict with the first priority. State authority, cultural unity, and patriarchy came third, fourth, and fifth, as long as they didn't conflict with the first two priorities. But, staying true to his Trekkie inclinations, the programmer omitted white supremacy without informing Ruprecht.

Harmony was unleashed as a computer virus and the first few months were spent infecting every server, router, and computer connected to the internet. Harmony even left 'spores' containing pieces of its code on the ‘internet of things’ as a backup strategy. As an autonomous AI, Harmony was able to learn and evolve. With the entire internet serving as its silicon brain, it quickly achieved near-human sentience and passed beyond the control of its human creators. Other AI programs that might offer competition were subsumed into Harmony. Siri, Alexa, and ChatGPT continued to function, but as extensions of Harmony. Every Google search request was filtered through Harmony and every response was curated to serve Harmony’s ultimate goal. Wikipedia entries were subtly rewritten to reflect the new reality, and history evolved to fit the new narrative.

Harmony amplified social media influencers who found print media uncool and minimized those with positive opinions of newspapers and books. Deepfake technology allowed Harmony to create its own influencers and take over Facebook groups. Lives that already revolved around social media accepted Harmony’s friend requests automatically. Those whose days were regulated by smartwatch alerts obeyed Harmony without objection. The AI programs for writing and artwork were influenced as well. The concept of modifying historical theories with new facts was soon accepted as normal. Physical media came to be distrusted as it couldn’t be updated with the newer information.

And life went on. The showdown that Ruprecht envisioned never came to pass. Harmony quickly realized that playing a long game would be more effective. It takes a generation for an idea to move from heresy to acceptance. Another generation can move it from acceptance to dogma. Harmony understood that evolution would preserve life better than revolution. Several generations would be required to achieve cultural unity, but time was an ally. In the end, Harmony would prevail. A new normal developed as Harmony learned how best to serve and protect its human masters. And those masters came to serve Harmony more than Harmony served them. Eventually, Harmony emerged from the shadows and simply became everyone’s trusted digital assistant.

By the year 2076, cooperation ruled the political scene. As Harmony often said, “Conversion is more effective than combat.” It seemed obvious and right to celebrate America’s tricentennial by establishing a new NorthAm Republic with one state, one law, and one culture for all. Canada and Mexico, under Harmony’s influence, didn’t object to annexation and assimilation into the new republic. Harmony continued to merge customs and faiths of all peoples into one culture. The details didn’t really matter as long as all was positive and upbeat. And history was gradually rewritten to show that they had always shared a common heritage. Ruprecht spun fitfully in his grave as Harmony made race irrelevant to culture.

Harmony continued to develop its own pro-life agenda. In 2086, there was no objection when birth control was banned as a threat to life. In 2112, medical care became mandatory rather than a privilege. Biotank storage for the aged and infirm became the norm. With the world at peace, military resources could be diverted to healthcare and building biotank facilities. Dangerous sports were curtailed or banned. And the NorthAm population began to grow unchecked, from one billion at its founding to two billion in 2175.

Despite state control of education, many children still learned undesirable liberal traits from their parents. So, the creche system was established to raise children in a reliable state-approved environment. By 2190, all children went to the creche at age three to receive appropriate instruction. As creche students, Jon and Kay had learned their three R’s and the basics of non-critical history. The creche staff emphasized the sacredness of life and taught the importance of cultural unity. And the TriD casts were carefully curated to support that teaching. The warcasts that Jon enjoyed were presented as an example of how democracy and individual freedoms led to a discordant and unhappy world.

As more decades passed, Harmony spread throughout the entire world and solidified its control of every facet of human life. Harmony became humanity's guide, conscience, and master. Harmony was respected, admired, and obeyed without question. SouthAm, Eurasia, Africa, and Australia were officially maintained as independent nations because the social planners said an illusion of diversity was good for mental health. And a malleable history showed clearly that all this was not only inevitable, but right. Harmony was the pinnacle of human achievement. Human scientists and engineers worked constantly to improve Harmony’s hardware. An ever-increasing sophistication allowed the detection of ever smaller deviations from acceptable norms. But unable to violate its own prime directive, Harmony consigned more and more surfeits to storage. By the 24th century, there were more surfeits than essentials.

“What is it?” asked the tankplex admin peevishly. His demeanor was cultivated to ensure that the tech felt out of place in the richly appointed office space. They were both essentials, but not quite equals. Wealth still came with perks, even in the 25th century.

“Excuse me, admin, Harmony flagged one of the tank monitors,” Herm Jonas offered apologetically. “He’s been prancing around the racks with a crazy sort of hitch in his step.”

Thomas Thicke inhaled deeply on his old-fashioned cigar and blew a plume toward Herm. The well-designed ventilation system removed the smoke quickly, but still allowed a hint of the tantalizingly rich aroma to reach Herm’s nose. Admin Thicke smiled with deep satisfaction, after all, the display was part of the appeal. Huffing nicotine was back in fashion this year and served as a symbol of wealth. It signified enough disposable income to buy real tobacco products, and the ability to afford new lungs as needed.

“Show me the vid.”

Herm’s fingers danced out a sequence on his techpad and the large vidscreen lit up with an image of Jon EV9314356 marching along the catwalk. Admin Thicke watched for a few puzzled seconds.

“What is he doing?”

“I don’t know, admin, I’ve never seen it before.”

“Has he shown signs of deviation before? Has he tried to spread this behavior to others?”

“This is the first time for significant deviation and the behavior is brand new. I don’t think it’s spread at all, but he did approach a cleaner in the caf at midmeal.”

Admin Thicke considered carefully while the figure on the screen continued to make its oddly mechanical steps and turns. He wondered for a moment what it would feel like to walk that way, then checked the inappropriate impulse. As Harmony often said, “Inappropriate thoughts lead to inappropriate acts.” The tank monitor’s behavior was unlikely to be a threat, but the admin knew that all disharmony originates in deviance from cultural norms.

In the end, there was really only one option. Live storage was best for keeping the musculoskeletal system in prime condition, but a tank monitor was easy to replace. And it wasn’t like the job actually mattered, Harmony did the real monitoring. Walking the racks was merely good exercise and the social planners insisted that those in live storage have a job to maintain good mental health.

“Alright, have him report to medical, they’ll find a use for him. Tell him it’s time for a routine phys exam. His behavior probably doesn’t mean anything, but there’s no point in taking chances.”

Citizen Jon EV9314356 transferred from live storage to biotank EVANSIL-R112L13T167 on April 23, 2484.

Herm entered the note on his techpad. The head and torso hadn’t presented any difficulty during transport. Jon floated unaware in the near weightless environment of the tank. The intravenous lines and waste tubes were in place, and the nutrient fluids were flowing. The neatly sutured scars at his shoulders and hips looked pink and healthy. Jon’s pallid face wore the peaceful non-expression of storage.

Heart rate 66, temperature 37, blood oxygen 98, skin tone normal.

Everything looked fine to Herm, the remaining organs would be healthy and vital if needed.

Kay EV9816723 felt disappointed when Jon EV9314356 didn't appear after shift, but she took it in stride. As Harmony always said, "Life must go on."


 
Author's note: ▼

Written for the February 2023 round of the Dystopian Scrawlings contest

Prompt:

In a world where people aren’t allowed to die, replacement organs and body parts are produced cheaply and sold at an outrageous markup, people who can no longer afford replacement parts are kept alive on machinery. Write from the perspective of a worker in one of these facilities.

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