Bits of Binary

 2011/04/16 - Inspired by the quiet world

 "It is a quiet city, the flowing cold air murmurs, whispering of days gone by."

     A flock of finches descend onto an insignificant cherry tree.  They feast on the icy blossoms, destroying the shrub in the process. This progression repeats indefinitely.

      The year is 2095. The global village effect has blossomed into worldwide standardisation; all places are alike.  The artificially balanced climate has no doubt contributed to this.  Months have been made obsolete, but are still sometimes kept by the ‘lessers’.  This archaic practice is considered by scientists to be a prime example of floccinaucinihilipilification.  Cities are characterised by long passageways opening out into wide open spaces.  An occasional tree dots the landscape, temporarily breaking the consistency of the denuded countryside.  It is a quiet city, the flowing cold air murmurs, whispering of days gone by.  The acoustics are such that sound carries easily, the few that be.  Inhabitants have been forced to listen for some time and now rather favour the habit.  If you take a walk along the passageways, you will encounter many impersonal buildings. These are the offices.  All are large and square, with steel and glass complimenting the cold concrete floors.  Each office has 256 cubicles, all finely balanced and conducive to productivity.  An ‘elite’ is carefully installed into each cubicle.  Contained inside them, are the genes of the future.

     The average elite have been optimised with the strongest genes; dark hair, dark skin, large brain capacity and fairly hairy.  The latter is encouraged as it protects against the cold and saves resources, viz. time spent, clothing and general upkeep.  Each elite is issued with several sets of white work wear, a name and a handheld device, optimised for binary.  Base 2 numbering systems have been bench-marked as the most efficient.  Most elite exchange is accomplished by use of this standard.  A maximum daily word count of 167 has been apportioned to the lessers.  This number is the result of years of study, the minimum amount of words needed for basic life to be possible for the creatures.  These out-dated methods of communication are generally looked down upon by the elite.  The lesser colloquialism ‘Mutes’ has been directly drawn from this fact.  One elite, Arian, had recently suffered from an imbalance.  It had started with a simple piece of paper.  He had dropped and watched it fall from his desk to the floor.  As the Government was controlling and monitoring, he was careful to seem oblivious and continued his calculations.  Multitasking was one of his talents, one of which the government was not yet aware.  192.168-9/4 entered unobtrusively on all fours, so as not to obstruct his field of vision.  He pitied her absentmindedly, as he had noticed that she supported both blonde hair and blue eyes, the weakest of genes.  No wonder she had been allocated to manual labour, she deserved it.  168 picked up the paper without a word and put it into the dustbin.  She then proceeded to pick up two other objects that Arian had not yet noticed.  This was the latest lesser assigned to him.

     Arian had been trained in mathematical calculation from a young age.   Multitasking made possible his idle musing; the primary cause of his imbalance.   It freed him to consider things of an emotional quality.  IQ was encouraged while emotional quota was not, left to the lessers to dabble with.  They had all been tailored to fill their positions, no one questioned their karma.  With each position, came a particular ideology.  Instilled was the constant task of the self-purifying, or, emotional elimination and limitation.  At 18:05 exactly, he left the building.  Daily schedules had been individually balanced to be as efficient as possibly possible. Arian left office followed closely by 168.  Careful to not look at her directly, he did so only out the corner of his eye.  She was on her cellphone.  This was a puzzling trend, common amongst lessers.  They would often grunt and breathe into them.  Ironic that the obscene phone call of the past was now a comfort; highly valued, was the knowledge of a shared synchronisation. The lessers were truly primitive.  Emotion made no evolutional sense.  It was kill or be killed, that was the natural order of things.  You simply reduced your chances of procreation if you had compassion; the selfish gene.  Philosophic poems boomed as there was now a valid reason for silent reflection.  The lessers had used graffiti to describe these thoughts; they played on themes such as Love, Longing, Loneliness, Boredom, Sadness, revolt and other emotions.  This weakness was not tolerated.  It was fitting that the true value of meaningful language was only realised when controlled.  The animals used both words and paralinguistic techniques to communicate.  By reason of the word limit, great effort was put into effectual use of the eyes, expressions and gestures to relay concepts. It was a most inefficient means indeed, as much data was lost in the process.  He continued his musings to the sound of lessers, scratching notes.  Arian noticed this all, feigning oblivion.  168 slipped and fell down violently but did not cry.  Arian raised an eyebrow at this, she had begun to speckle her dappled grey uniform with red drops.  How could she stand it?  How could she not react?

     Despite his fanatical indoctrination, Arian felt sorry for 168.  She was limping.  It took everything in his being not to help her.  With every step she took, it was a struggle between two base, opposing internal forces; self-preservation and self-denial.  It was superlative for the survival of the species that the strong be allowed to live.  She was a lesser.  He did not want to be balanced, he could not risk it.  Her eyes tenderly brushed against the path ahead, she had noticed a stone that was out of place.  She used a precious word to warn him.  “Stop!” she pleaded and stumbled on to remove it from the path.  This tore him in two, one part of his multitasking brain ground against the other.  Two ideas so disparate; the concept of emotion pitted against the concept of accomplishment.  Several elites had made their way across the square-tiled foot paths.  They walked on carelessly, stopping only to type a few digits into their handhelds.  The sterile street lamps bounced their produce against the cool cobble stones. Arian walked up the stairs to his unit, pausing only to bend over while pretending to tie his already tied shoes.  He was slipping, slipping into a world unknown, a world much different to his own.  He did this so as to give 168 a chance to climb the stairs.  The sweet girl smiled gratefully as she walked past. “Thanks” she said breathed. Tired.  Small.  In dire need of protection against this harsh system.

     So she also had a secret.  She did not want to be balanced either, he mused and entered his unit.  All was ordered, a rug, a kitchenette/bathroom and a bed.  The lesser could sleep on the rug next to Hein, the cat, if it so wanted.  The social value of pets had been realised, every elite had being issued one as it reduced depression and increased productivity.  Arian sat down at his desk in the combined lounge and study.  He opened up his portable and started work on complex mathematical formulae, nonchalantly and simultaneously considering open revolt.  Arian developed concepts at an alarming rate; he, like many others, had been specifically designed to process as proficiently as possible.  Rebellion against the government was considered to be treason, and treason was corrected accordingly.  He suddenly felt (for the first time since becoming cognitive) like rebelling.  Rebelling against the phrases and words reduced to their most expressive.  He started to despise the fact that large lesser words were being supplanted by smaller, more meaningful ones, that synonyms were fast becoming an abstract concept.  This might be something that they could share together he thought.  He completed his fourth formula, starting on his fifth.  He could…

“Food” 168 pointed out, interrupting his current train of thought.  Arian started eating.  He reminded himself that he had evolved ‘past’ the need of speech in language.  ‘Mutes rule 100 to 1’, the city banners proclaimed in binary, ‘Lesser beings must be subjected’.  This was the only philosophy that made sense.  Conservation was stupid.  Prolonging of the life of the aged and infirm, allowing inferior babies the right to life.  These concepts were ludicrous, as it violated the fundamental laws of evolution.  Everything had to be rationalised and rationed.  This woman, this thing was corrupting him, corrupting his values, destroying his decent morals.  The internal struggle raged on while he continued the perfunctory act of eating…

Several finches, several cherry trees, all are equally dead; emaciated.  The year is 2099.