dressed in standard government enforcement teal, picked up a microphone and started speaking into it.
“I’m sorry to inform you, but you’ve been Demoted. From this day on, you will take your place in society as a Demoted human. You will be considered an adult minor under the law, under the protection of your trainers or masters. You will be considered property for tax purposes. We understand that you are of the lower range of mental functioning, and this shall be taken into account.”
It sounded easy, if dreadfully boring.
“You will spend the next two years in one of the state-approved re-education facilities. You will be taken there immediately after the sterilization procedure is completed and all shots are made up-to-date. From this point on, you will cease speaking, making unnecessary noise, or causing disruption. The guards will escort you to the transportation modules of their choice.”
A small girl who I remembered from the art class I took in tenth grade piped up, in tears. “What about my family? When do I get to say goodbye!”
The man who just finished addressing us turned his nose up as though he smelled a skunk. “You are property. You have no families.” He turned to exit the stage.
The girl darted toward him, yelling something that I couldn’t quite make out from where I stood. Before she could reach him, her words were cut off by screams as she was tased simultaneously by two of the guards who flanked the man who had spoken to us. She fell to the ground, twitching and sobbing.
It hit me just how real it was.
Nobody else tried anything sudden or impulsive, which was good, because the smell of singed flesh made me a little nauseous. Any other day, it would have been lunchtime. I wondered if they planned on feeding us.
We were herded into hover-vans, which were decidedly unappealing. Vans of all sorts had gone out of style decades earlier, since most people drove alone or with one passenger, two at most. People didn’t tend to have more than one or two kids due to the population growth and the escalating cost of education. Hover-buses caught on briefly, before the e-rail system caught on in most areas. Vans fell into use only for prisons and the like. Being Demoted wasn’t much different.
We weren’t fed until we arrived at the re-education facility. A big, brick building stood four stories tall, and electrified gates surrounded the perimeter. It seemed like a bit much to me, but for all I knew, maybe people tried to flee from a government-imposed life of servitude on a regular basis. It didn’t seem like the brightest idea in my book, but then, the place supposedly housed people who weren’t so bright. I discarded any hope of running anyway on the sheer logical realization that it wouldn’t work, no matter what I tried. Even if I was to get past the guards and the gates and the distance, there would be no place to go. I realized I’d rather live as a Demoted person than die of starvation or an animal attack or something. I had spent my whole life in a small city; my idea of wildlife was squirrels and pigeons. The trees and vast expanses of space were unnerving. Not only that, but Demoted don’t do well outside their usual status as pets—without a wristband or identification, there is no way to buy anything, nowhere to go, and no way to hide. The thing about Demoted trying to escape is that there is nowhere to escape to. To survive, a Demoted person must have a master.
After our uninspired but filling dinner of some sort of oatmeal-mash-thing and water, we were taken to dormitory-style rooms, mostly separated from our schoolmates. I ended up in a room with approximately twenty other boys, none of whom were familiar to me. The guards who escorted us one by one pointed to a bed for each of us, and there were sheets and clothes waiting. I stood beside my bed, awkward and bored, much like the rest of the boys. It was obvious what we were supposed to do, but we all waited for orders
“I’m sorry to inform you, but you’ve been Demoted. From this day on, you will take your place in society as a Demoted human. You will be considered an adult minor under the law, under the protection of your trainers or masters. You will be considered property for tax purposes. We understand that you are of the lower range of mental functioning, and this shall be taken into account.”
It sounded easy, if dreadfully boring.
“You will spend the next two years in one of the state-approved re-education facilities. You will be taken there immediately after the sterilization procedure is completed and all shots are made up-to-date. From this point on, you will cease speaking, making unnecessary noise, or causing disruption. The guards will escort you to the transportation modules of their choice.”
A small girl who I remembered from the art class I took in tenth grade piped up, in tears. “What about my family? When do I get to say goodbye!”
The man who just finished addressing us turned his nose up as though he smelled a skunk. “You are property. You have no families.” He turned to exit the stage.
The girl darted toward him, yelling something that I couldn’t quite make out from where I stood. Before she could reach him, her words were cut off by screams as she was tased simultaneously by two of the guards who flanked the man who had spoken to us. She fell to the ground, twitching and sobbing.
It hit me just how real it was.
Nobody else tried anything sudden or impulsive, which was good, because the smell of singed flesh made me a little nauseous. Any other day, it would have been lunchtime. I wondered if they planned on feeding us.
We were herded into hover-vans, which were decidedly unappealing. Vans of all sorts had gone out of style decades earlier, since most people drove alone or with one passenger, two at most. People didn’t tend to have more than one or two kids due to the population growth and the escalating cost of education. Hover-buses caught on briefly, before the e-rail system caught on in most areas. Vans fell into use only for prisons and the like. Being Demoted wasn’t much different.
We weren’t fed until we arrived at the re-education facility. A big, brick building stood four stories tall, and electrified gates surrounded the perimeter. It seemed like a bit much to me, but for all I knew, maybe people tried to flee from a government-imposed life of servitude on a regular basis. It didn’t seem like the brightest idea in my book, but then, the place supposedly housed people who weren’t so bright. I discarded any hope of running anyway on the sheer logical realization that it wouldn’t work, no matter what I tried. Even if I was to get past the guards and the gates and the distance, there would be no place to go. I realized I’d rather live as a Demoted person than die of starvation or an animal attack or something. I had spent my whole life in a small city; my idea of wildlife was squirrels and pigeons. The trees and vast expanses of space were unnerving. Not only that, but Demoted don’t do well outside their usual status as pets—without a wristband or identification, there is no way to buy anything, nowhere to go, and no way to hide. The thing about Demoted trying to escape is that there is nowhere to escape to. To survive, a Demoted person must have a master.
After our uninspired but filling dinner of some sort of oatmeal-mash-thing and water, we were taken to dormitory-style rooms, mostly separated from our schoolmates. I ended up in a room with approximately twenty other boys, none of whom were familiar to me. The guards who escorted us one by one pointed to a bed for each of us, and there were sheets and clothes waiting. I stood beside my bed, awkward and bored, much like the rest of the boys. It was obvious what we were supposed to do, but we all waited for orders
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