Noology (2 page)

Eventually, realizing its mistake, the ruling
body scrambled desperately to save the wilting flower of humanity before its
gruesome extermination. Having already lost so many helpless souls to
starvation, the government was left in control of a much smaller population and
ultimately these grief-stricken survivors congregated in small hubs throughout
North America.

The nation was lost, and individual
governments were constructed in each major hub. Communication between the
cities was terminated since the loss of technical and mechanical knowledge, as
well as a lack of power and electricity revealed an inability to support such
connections.

Humanity began to rebuild itself, but in
a much different form from the glittering model of perfection it had once been
labeled. The wanderers that persisted through the trials of the famine were of
the upper classes since these were the fortunate few able to feed and clothe
themselves due to their possession of monetary security and resources.

An evolutionary bottleneck occurred
whereby the remaining constituents of the human race were adamant believers in
the power and importance of academic excellence attained in a highly
competitive environment, thus the stigmas flourished and socialization became
complete.

The food crisis was averted by charging
the least academically qualified members of society with the task of procuring
edible resources for the majority. Mentally deficient individuals were left to
work on farmlands cultivating the organic materials essential to the
continuation of human existence. Having placed food production on the bottom
rung of the ladder of possible career paths, quality became a critical issue
since food handling was delegated to people with inferior mental capacities.

Life became a very hand-to-mouth
operation, however, with no means of preserving foods for future use or
preparation. Most of the sustenance came from fruit and vegetable matter, and a
few course grains were incorporated into briquettes of gruel and water baked in
the summer sun. Few animals were available for consumption because of the toll
the famine took on their provisioned populations. All that remained were small
rodents and birds unable to yield much meat.

The social hierarchy was replicated once
more in the distribution of edible resources. Wealthy and powerful members of
society were able to claim first pick of the harvested crops. By the time
resources trickled down to middle and lower tier families, much of the
remaining stock could hardly be labeled fit for livestock. Insect infestation,
mold, and other maladies afflicted these remnants, however, there was no choice
but to rely on these revolting scraps for survival.

Food poisoning, dysentery, and intestinal
parasites were a common vice experienced monthly or even weekly by those unable
to purchase first-rate foods. Retching became a household sound, stomach acid a
familiar aroma.

Society subscribed to a mentality of
treatment, not prevention. Having invested in producing excessive number of
medical professionals, access to medical care was no longer an issue. Bottom
tier doctors were forced into prostituting themselves and their services in
exchange for food, shelter, water.

Thus, little regard was paid to improving
the quality of food and water sources, but rather emphasis was placed on simple
and rapid treatment of symptoms emerging after sickness took hold of an
individual.

That being said, research into cures for
crippling disorders such as cancer remained stagnant and unfinished.
Researchers were derogatorily branded “goggle monkeys”, and only unsuccessful
medical students reluctantly took on research roles in an attempt to avoid
being demoted to food procurement. Without ingenuity and passion, no new cures
were discovered and humanity was left with only the archaic treatments of
previous generations.

Fear became a popular motivating force in
this climate of unrest. Disgraced farmers continued to produce food for a
hostile and demeaning public for fear of being deprived of medical assistance.
Alienated workers were unable to change their situation by simply charging
premium prices or refusing to continue production because such actions would
result in a denial of treatment were the individual to become afflicted at a
future date.

The governing body knew that humanity
could endure by scrounging for scraps of edible material within the natural
environment because the survivors were forced to do just that during the
Interim: the period of chaotic disorganization and pandemonium between the old
government and the establishment of a new system of production. Thus, power was
in the hands of corrupt and merciless rulers possessing the leverage necessary
to control their weaker and comparatively feeble-minded subjects.
 

The system served to blackmail,
manipulate, and control. It persisted despite acknowledgement of these vices
because it tapped into the vein of all humanity by policing the gateway between
life and death and carefully allocating protection from man’s greatest fear
through medicine.
  

The black symbols are beginning to dance
and float across the page, spinning in tight circles simulating the graceful
pirouettes of slender ballerinas. I have been studying for what feels like an
eternity, and yet I should persist despite my body’s vehement protests.

Glancing at the tortured soul to my left,
I see that he too is weary and fighting the ruthless demon of fatigue. My mind
has been scouring these tattered pages for over ten continuous hours and is
demanding release, but my heart knows my companions have devoted many more
hours to their tireless vocation.

I struggle onwards, peeling back yet
another page riddled with complicated text and focus on the variety of words
before my eyes: technical nouns, procedural verbs, lack-luster adjectives.

After staring, unmoving and in a trance,
for yet another painfully slow half-hour, I succumb to my body’s unwavering
commands and close the book, careful not to disturb the other slaves to
knowledge.

As I rise from my perch upon the mildew-soaked
couch, I catch the eye of my restless neighbor. An unspoken word passes between
us, and we simultaneously leave the confines of the study in search of relief
from its oppressive silence.

The seal on the door reengages behind us
and we have ventured around the first bend in the hallway before a suppressed
sigh escapes my companion’s lips. I turn to face him and connect with his lush
green eyes. They are the color of newly sprouted grass blades, soft yet
vibrant. I pay no notice to his other features for they are the standard set of
physical characteristics ascribed to all males within the city of Certet and
determined by administration of a precise genetic cocktail in-utero: six feet
tall, short brown hair, athletic build, slender Roman nose, small ears with
unattached lobes, etc.

Before the demise of modern society,
geneticists isolated the genes responsible for almost all physical
characteristics, and soon thereafter developed a method by which such
attributes could be perfected and controlled through gene therapy. In holding
with the intellectual goals of Certet, the government recognized the necessity
in removing all judgment based on individual physical determinants as a basis
for prescribed success and wealth. Therefore, regulations were enacted
requiring all fetuses be treated with the genetic cocktail during pregnancy to achieve
physical homogeneity that would curtail aesthetic discrimination and provide individual
brains with a body perfected by science. Thus, physical weakness would no longer
prevent attainment of cerebral prosperity or limit theoretical advancement. Of
course, the asymmetrical allocation of available resources based on
intellectual achievement and wealth still fosters distinctions based on
physique due to the fact that malnutrition arrests development in lower tier
families, but this discrepancy is so firmly rooted in the social hierarchy that
it cannot be helped.
  

The only corporeal embodiment that
thwarted such advances and remained untouchable to genetic manipulation was the
human eye because of an insurmountable entanglement in genetic expression. Mine
are a smoky blue, the color of waters tinged with the ash of an unbridled
flame.
 

“Did you hear about the jumper?” he blurts
out.

No premise of interest in my day. No “How
have you been Avelyn.” In a city so bent on minimizing time wasted and applying
oneself wholly and completely to acquisition of knowledge, at least in this
stage of life, there is little attempt to mask the urgency under which we all
operate.

“No, Tate. What year?”

“A third year, no doubt pushed to the
brink by preparations for his SMART’s. A shame, but it’s always inevitable,”
Tate concedes.

SMART’s are the Seminal Medical Aptitude
and Readiness Tests administered to third year medical students twenty-one
years after their birth dates, and is yet another means by which to compare
individuals like cattle up for slaughter. The SMART’s weed out the tier one
doctors from tiers two and three. Results are used to determine who gets the
privilege of continuing their medical education with the most diabolical and
scheming minds of the century: the trust-fund babies born with a silver spoon
in their mouths and capable of employing abundant resources towards securing
for themselves the same success as that of their parents. Tier two doctors can
expect to live relatively stable lives providing treatment for the population,
while tier three doctors must search for work following graduation as medical
machinery mechanics, genetic technicians, researchers or professors. Those
failing to complete schooling are demoted to positions of agricultural food
production and reside in the peripheries of Certet.

“I dread taking them more and more each
day,” I moan. “Every moment is one either spent studying furiously or wasted in
chastising myself for not being more proactive in my preparations.”

“I’m three months away from mine and
already I am walking on eggshells with my folks, praying they don’t ask how my
review is going. It makes me sick.” Tate mimes a stomach convulsion to
accompany this revelation, and I unleash a tittering giggle. He grins in response,
but the gesture fails to permeate his dead eyes.

We round the final bend in the corridor,
crossing the threshold of the kitchen with lethargic heaviness. I pull a chair
from under the scoured wooden door that doubles as our dining table, but as I
shift to collapse into its welcoming arms, Tate suspends my movement by
snatching my right arm. Something frantic lights up his eyes and he scans both
the room and the hallway before directing me instead towards the moth-eaten
sofa crammed into the far corner of the vacant kitchen.

I sit and wait for him to divulge what is
obviously distressing him greatly. I have known Tate almost since birth, our
families having attended medical school the same year and become certified tier
two general physicians. We are close enough that when something is off, it is
blatantly apparent.

Tate runs his hand through his short
brown hair exclaiming, “Have you ever thought about it?”

“What are you talking about?”
 
 
  

He begins rubbing his eyes, discomfort
oozing from every pore as he fidgets in place. I remain silent, patiently
bracing myself for what could possibly cause him such difficulty in expression.

“You know…suicide,” he whispers under his
breath.

I immediately balk.

“Are you crazy?! You can’t do that to me!
What would I… How could I… No, Tate you can’t!”

“Relax, I didn’t mean I was going to.” He
holds his hands in front of his chest as a pacifying gesture. It does little to
settle my throbbing heart and frenzied mind. Reaching for my hand, I feel the
pressure as his warm fingers slide between my cold ones. I draw away, turning
towards the spider web of a window affording a meager view of the city. It has
been cracked as long as I have lived within these crumbling walls, remnants of
a forsaken era.

I furiously swipe at a lone tear, carving
a valley in its wake as it slides over my pallid cheek.

“It just gets so hard to go on
sometimes,” Tate murmurs to himself as much as to me.

“I don’t care,” I spit back. “It’s hard
for us all. You can’t be that selfish. What would I do without you? What would
Rian do? What about your parents and your family? How could you…”

“Shhh.” He lifts his finger gently to my
lips in an attempt to halt my furious ravings. Externally I listen, but my mind
refuses to comply and I continue to picture the horrific future positioned
before me.

“Promise me you will never even think
about it again. Promise!”

“I, Tate Jasper Decker swear to you
Avelyn Theresa Pearce that I will banish all thoughts of suicide from my
memory, now and forever.”

With that, I mutter a swift farewell and
retire to my room under the pretext of sleep. Instead I contemplate my own dire
situation and fight my own demons, tantalizing me with temptation. How easy it
would be, to fall asleep and surrender to a reprieve from this madness and
stress. Despite it all, I must persevere for if I crumble under the weight of
the world, so does my family and all of their aspirations for success in this
future generation. And so I will fight, and I will win.