Blockchained — An Original Short Story: Part Four

son-of-satire (69)in #fiction • 7 years ago

Blockchained is a short story set in a dystopian one-world-government future where blockchain technology has been used to enslave the people of the world.

Part Four

I really ought to be more grateful. This is the distraction I wanted. All I have to do now is pay attention. There is more than enough data here, and if I can just stay focused on what's in front of me, then before long, I'll surely be free of my mind's torments.

Right here in this chair, sitting before all of these monitors, I find the only times in my life where I don't feel completely helpless. I might even admit that this position can lead me to feel powerful on occasion-- if you could believe that. It's the ability to make decisions that matter. Nowhere else in my life do I have that opportunity. But sitting here, with thousands of citizen's fates resting in my hands, it never takes long before I'm overcome by a shameful sense of self-importance.

Ahead of me, spread among a total of nine monitors, a map of the sector can be seen. All but the controllers have a TTID(Track and Trade Identity Device) chip implanted under the skin on the palm of their hand. Each chip is intimately connected to the blockchain, with a tiny blue dot on the map to signify the last confirmed location of each civilian implant. It might as well be a live feed, for the last confirmed location is typically within 2 - 3 seconds old at most.

Amidst the tiny blue dots, seven or eight larger, yellow points can already be seen. I hover my mouse over one of them to investigate. An information box appears revealing that a MR. SIMON FIELDS arrived at his work posts 72 seconds late. The TTID implants automatically send a "handshake" to a designated receiver when in close proximity to the assigned work post of the chip's owner. This acts as a signature of sorts, providing the blockchain with data on every worker's punctuality.

If you're late to work, I will know about it. If you take longer than the eighteen minutes permitted for your break, I will know about it. I see that Simon is a manager at the nutrition plant, and clicking on the yellow dot brings camera footage of the time leading up to his arrival at work on the monitors. Noticing that his lateness has come as a result of a conversation with one the lower level employees at the plant, I click the "FORGIVE" icon and move along to the next anomaly.

This job was initially automated, but civilians were racking up their total of seven strikes extremely quickly. The system's designer had not taken into account the inevitability of delays. The controllers decided that lateness does not always constitute dissent, and so the need for oversight of the penal system was born. I was one of the lucky two who were given the job.

I move onto the second yellow dot, and as expected, I find a MR. PAUL MITCHELL-- the employee I had seen on the monitor only a moment ago speaking with his manager Simon. I forgive his lateness and move onto the third notification.

This time I find MR. MARCUS MADSON. I recall the name, as I recently was forced to penalize him with strike number four. Marcus has arrived at his post in the garments factory on time today, but unfortunately he has an outstanding payment of 12 Credits, due to be paid to the State an hour ago.

Clicking on the yellow dot this time brings up his transaction history over the past seven days. I hate having to make these decisions. I am to rule on whether his spending leading up to this default was of absolute necessity. If I deem that any purchases fall under the category of "luxury spending," I'm obligated to verify the fifth strike. I'd happily forgive every one if I could, but my decisions are randomly examined and if it is judged that I got something wrong, I am given a strike of my own. This is only reason that I have two already.

Reluctantly, I inspect his previous transactions. 8 Credits in the last week have been spent on food. Thankfully, that food is limited to bread and soup, so I can easily forgive these purchases. Another 8 Credits have gone towards toiletries. Soap, toilet roll and toothpaste. I'm not sure about toothpaste, that could be considered as a luxury, but I decide to be brave and allow it. I find that 14 Credits have been spent on medication. Hunger suppressants, sleeping aides, and pain killers. This is a very difficult one to judge, but before I am able to contemplate forgiveness, I see the next item on the list.

Marcus appears to have spent 12 Credits, the exact amount of his debt, on a pair of boots just two days ago. I don't know how I can forgive this without worrying about a potential strike coming my way upon a review of this decision. As always, my mind begins to create excuses for the subject. Perhaps the pain killers were purchased because his boots were too small, and he was developing blisters on his heels. Maybe he realised he couldn't waste money on pills to sate his discomfort forever, and that it might be better in the long run if he just purchased some new footwear.

In the end, it doesn't matter what excuses I come up with, No one else is going to make excuses for him, so unless I want a strike against my name, I have no choice but to validate the penalty.

I try to convince myself that this is not a bad thing for Marcus. The fifth strike lowers his wages by 15%, but perhaps that will serve as the kick up the arse he needs to get his affairs in order. Or maybe it will just speed up the rate at which he reaches strike seven, and then he will be free from this sector. I don't know much about the prison they are ushered off to once receiving that final mark against their names. All I have been told is that it's beyond the sector boundaries. It can't possibly be much worse than life here, and if they no longer have to work, that's surely a good thing. Right?

The lies I tell myself work. Before allowing the guilt to sneak up on me again, I return my attention to the screen and begin to move my mouse to the next yellow marker. As the information box pops up the screen, my concentration is interrupted by the sound of the elevator doors beginning to open.

Fuck fuck fuck. A glance at the screen shows that all other workers in the building are still at their posts. This must be one of the controllers.

My mouth is immediately flooded with the taste of fear. An uncomfortable tingle slithers its way up my spine and wraps itself around my neck. I can feel the weight of something pressing down my shoulders, forcing me to sink deeper into the chair. I try to correct my posture, but my body is trembling too much for me to gain control over it.

I try to think of anything I may have done to warrant this visit. Did I make a bad decision? Was I late today? No. I know I wasn't late. Was I? No controller ever comes down here to tell me I'm doing a good job, so I must have fucked up somehow.

I force myself to sit up straight and put on the appearance of being hard at work. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to crawl upwards as I hear the haunting footsteps of high-heeled boots laying waste to the solemn silence within the room.

Lady Gotha...