The Halls of Distribution

I was late, but I made it just in time for the gigantic metal doors to slowly growl to a close. The sunlight, gone. Like an elevator, the doors came from inside the walls and rolled together, sealing us in from the outside. It was ominous, depressing. I was the last one to enter. Everyone there, maybe a thousand, sat and stared. The men or aliens in charge sealed the doors at 7:00 a.m. sharp for the class of 2198. Sterile gas spewed out from blow holes near the entrance like white exhaust fumes. This was it. This was the end of free will, I thought.

It was a sterile, solid, vibrant gray metal-lined massive corridor where we all resided. Aliens...maybe they designed it that way. No one knew how the world came to pass. It was quick and exacting. They came, had had technology they shared openly and at first, it solved the world's problems but they soon took over without a fight. They made the world better for us, or so we thought and probably for them as well.

The long great hall had no personality except as a barren antiseptic aesthetic of hygiene. It looked to have the structural integrity of a bomb shelter. No windows. The ceiling was as tall as the elevator doors. The aliens gave us technology to make what we wanted structurally sound and cathedral ceilings were always used by the modern day architects. The spacious opening proved to be calming to humanity.

The lobby of this massive building may have spanned 1000 floors up, all transparent, all mimicking each other. It matched the rest of the skyscrapers around it. I sat by the entrance with wandering eyes, basking in its contemplable plainness. It was cold and unwelcoming. The air conditioning above emitted a clean ionic invisible chill that hummed a zephyr of calm but the air smelled of bleach and filled the packed chamber with its odor. It had a dismal feeling of regret and remorse that everyone was now used to feeling. This was college life.

College has changed since my parents' parents first went or so I was told. Since the inception of alien life after contact, things changed quickly. My parents remembered stories told to them by their parent's; about how things once were. They talked about it abundantly although never experiencing it for themselves. I guess the stories were meant to further history but history was regularly altered to fit the incoming regime...

They claimed it was open and free at one time. The kind of openness and freedom I would've loved to experience when life was free. Carefree. Classrooms were outside, professors cared, and textbooks were taught. That life was over. Now, a chip and one-third of your life are required. After evaluation at 18, you are equipped with the best AI chip "college" could produce. Always available for upgrades with promotion. The better you produce and align yourself with the "main intention", or M.I., the better your position is to the "Final Outcome."

Their chips were 99.1% safe. Some "outsiders," or what the aliens called them, tried to dissect its technology and duplicate the power they produced, but it never worked. The technology was too advanced and secure. It also had a failsafe; to disrupt the chip's algorithm, or integration with your brain's output, meant disaster and imminent death. It killed you quickly, painlessly, and effortlessly. It was the First Law; "obey to be rewarded."

The many youths who waited patiently on the frigid alloy benches provided by this triangular purgatory waited in turn like people waiting at a doctor's office for a terminal diagnosis. There were hundreds, if not a thousand, waiting silently for fate to unravel. A cough here, a loud sniff there, a shuffle of feet echoed throughout like a hollow reverberation of discomfort, then silence ensued.

No one talked. Mechanical. All remained as silent as they could muster worrying about what they would become; from custodian to savior.

These "schools of thought, or "colleges," as the aliens called them, accepted everyone and luckily for me, money had nothing to do with it. You were assessed and assigned your life with one meeting at the end of the hall that looked to be miles away. Fortunately, it didn't matter if your parents were rich or poor, you were assigned by your brain power or your "potential technological advancement." Your "PTA." It was measured when you were born, then again when you were 18. For some reason, it was important to be gauged. That was the Second Law; "Learn meaning."

Rather than choosing, you were installed with a chip that could produce the best of your self. Your talents, sometimes comatose until chipped, were usually a mystery to everyone. The chip tapped into your purpose, or so that's what the aliens told us. Sometimes you were chosen to be a surgeon, an engineer, or even an astronaut, pianist, or actor. You could be a soldier or baseball player, lawyer, or celebrity. It was all based on their assessment of your PTA. Sometimes you were chosen to be an "Advocate." More times than not, you were a skilled laborer. Other times...other times you were never seen again. Your fate was decided in a room that no one remembers being in, and they installed a chip that no one remembers having placed. But, there was no doubt, they installed the best of you, or so we thought.

Before entering I said goodbye to my parents for fear of never seeing them again, but only the lucky ones were "chosen." I was never that lucky, I assumed.

"Simmons!" They called. Then, 2 seconds later, the voice rang out perfectly, "Andrew Simmons, dob 04/17/2180, social security 170-30405-300556-3885477. Andrew Simmons, please approach to be assessed." The voice was clear and concise, calming. The person projected, I'm sure, was assessed to be an announcer. I understood somehow that no one could hear my name being called. Although it sounded like a megaphone it didn't come from this massive hall I was in but from within my head. It was ears shattering.

The hallway was 100 yards long if it were a foot. As I got up and started walking toward my own oblivion, I witnessed the somber eyes of hundreds of applicants glare at me again. No one understood why I was walking toward the other end. I was the last to enter the building but the first to enter my demise, it seemed. The silent-sounding systematic tone that reverberated my name vibrating my bones. It hit me hard when the sound circled around like a strong gust of wind. My shoes clopped and clanged on the metal floor and I appreciated the new noise. It echoed aggressively, making a deafening hum that bounced off the walls and pillars like thunder. The sound was satisfying to none but me. The metal benches to the sides filled with students clouded the noise but not enough to mask it. I anticipated the loud crash of footsteps as I planned for it before entering. This alloy monstrosity was much like every other refined, advanced building in the world, so I inserted a tack at the heel so my steps were louder and more noticeable. I got the sneers and leers people often display in disgust, but I didn't care. It was the last dash of vengeful youth I had before my fate was determined. I planned on going out with a bang. This was the biggest bang one could make given the times. I thought it was hilarious. "The sentient", or policeman to use a primitive term had other thoughts.

He came out of nowhere and approached me in the middle of the runway, only to scan the barcode on my wrist. He grunted then walked away like they always do. I'm sure I would have to report to prison after this, I thought. Hard time, as they called it, was a small room that only fit a screen, a keyboard, a chair, and yourself. "Memory frags," they called it; feeding the machine was more appropriate. You would tell stories about your past, your feelings, and your thoughts. Anything you wanted to write about. It was intrusive and degrading but everyone was penalized at one time for any infraction deemed by the sentients. If you ask me they were the real enemies, not the alien life that picked them for that career, but what did I know...

As I slowly made my way to the end, (or the beginning, whatever your philosophical take was on the subject), clicking and clacking rhythmically like a soldier parading, the deafening noise made the cameras at the end of the landing shutter uncontrollably and almost twitch out of control. They moved like cat eyes, always moving, always studying. There were a hundred on each side of me and feet apart from one another that focused in and out constantly, watching, recording everything. Above the cameras were lasers that looked like pens sticking out from the metallic walls. Red and green beams turned on and illuminated my body after crossing a black line on the floor. I tripped onto what seemed to be an invisible wall or force field. It stopped me in my tracks. I looked back to see everyone, again, studying my every move. They, much like me, were struck with shock and awe. They were confused much like me.

The wall was transparent, or so everyone thought; it guarded secrets that were kept from anyone knowing except those on the other side. When I approached this seemingly transparent facade, a small section, the size of a door, turned to gas, allowing me to enter.

When I walked through, the tack on the soul of my shoe disappeared. The fillings in my teeth were gone. I felt stronger, more confident. I thought my clothes were shrinking but I came to understand my muscles were growing. My body was adjusting to my will. I grew taller. My eyesight was sharp, my thoughts became were sharper. My reflection at the other end of the room was beautiful. I knew the world. I knew myself. I could hypothesize fact out of thin air. My conscience was in synch with my spirit. I could hear my heart beating and my blood pumping. I turned looking around to understand what was happening but saw nothing except light. Bright light that terminated from nowhere but it was everything and everywhere.

A foreign voice from an unknown language I strangley understood said softly, "You have been chosen."

I know these things because that was my purpose. My judgment was determined and my fate was decided. I was to be a "recorder of fate." An advocate. It was the Third Law; Know thyself and become.