Models

A Horror Story

Models

Nearly five-hundred young people gathered outside the examination building. The final obstacle, the 21+ exam to decide which few would be admitted to the rank of Alpha 1, and the rich world of power, wealth, and influence.

These five-hundred were already among society’s finest, and this was the final winnowing, after more than a decade of tests, to select the elite of tomorrow. Sophisticated computer models used these tests to progressively eliminate the less suitable and to promote the right candidates to the next level. Proof of the correctness of Darwinian selection, intelligently implemented by computer models. Teleological natural selection.

As the tests worked their selection people were allotted into their proper categories, according to the models. Best for the individual, best for society. The Alphas 1, 2 and 3, the Betas 1, 2 and 3, and the Gammas, 1, 2 and 3. A place for everyone and everyone in their place.

Jake stood alone as did most of the others. This was competition, give nothing away to the opponent. Each of them had completed an outstanding university education, and would now be sent away to the appropriate training institutes, preparing them for leadership and power. Jake had mastered various fields of study, but hoped that he’d be appointed to one of the technology institutes, chemistry or biology. But that was not his decision, the computer models did that. Individual preferences were unstable, possibly wasteful; the models knew best.

A siren sounded, five-hundred heads turned and bodies moved quickly and silently into the building.

                                                                                     ***

The 21+ results were calculated quickly. Candidates were informed of their ranking at nine the following morning and assembled once more at the examination building at twelve, to join their assigned group and be transported to their various institutes.

Jake and his parents sat at the kitchen table, his comms device placed in front of them. They were silent. The disappointment of his older sister’s Alpha 3 ranking – she became a teacher – was now to be erased by Jake’s achievement.

At nine his device chimed, the screen turned to yellow, and black writing appeared. First his name, then his ID number, then a pause, and then in large letters that filled the screen: Alpha 1.

His parents congratulated him, both faces showing relief as much as joy. How could they have coped with another disappointment – really, a humiliation? Family honour was restored. His father left the room, to begin contacting family, friends and work colleagues with the news. Perhaps there would be news of other candidates not so successful. Jubilation at the failure of others would be properly masked by words of condolence and encouragement that no one believed. Four years ago he had been on the receiving end, so now he hoped to be able to dish out some of the same medicine.

                                                                               ***

Jake’s parents dropped him off at the examination building. There was a line of buses, and off to the side, a small minibus. Young people stood quietly, as they had yesterday. A few chatted. Some looked pleased, these were the ones chatting. Others stood, apparently deep in thought. Officious looking people in blue uniforms and holding clipboards stood evenly spaced across the building forecourt.

At 12.00 the siren sounded and the young people moved quickly and silently to line up in front of the uniforms. Each one gave their details and was directed to a particular bus. When it was Jake’s turn the official checked her list then looked at him. Did he see something in her eyes? He was no good at reading people. She did not speak but gestured to the minibus.

Jake thought this odd, but knew better than to question authority, especially uniformed authority. Soon he would be a member of the class who gave orders to people in uniforms. He sauntered to the bus, engrossed by this thought.

There were two others at the bus. A big bluff looking fellow and a thin, nervous-looking girl. Apart from perfunctory greetings, they did not speak. Soon they were joined by three others, two boys and a girl.

Jake began to feel a little uneasy. This in itself was not unusual for him, he disliked change or anything out of place. But this was odd. Why would a group of six be separated from the rest? The other buses were modern coaches, this thing was obviously well-used.

It did not do to voice concerns, let alone complaints or criticisms, so he kept them to himself. The first of the other buses was pulling away from the group, and Jake felt suddenly very alone. He did not think he liked these people he was with.

A loud female voice interrupted his reverie.

“Bus is open at the back. All your bags go in there. Look lively!”

The speaker was a thickset woman in a brown uniform. She was accompanied by a rough-looking character dressed similarly.

Jake and the others deposited their bags in the back of the bus. The thin girl had a handbag which she held against her chest.

The group gathered near the front of the bus, expecting to be invited aboard. Instead, the woman ignored them, watching the last of the buses pull out and trundle up the road. Then she turned to the group.

“Line up against the bus, facing me!” she bellowed, and her offsider stepped to her side and glared.

The young people looked at each other. This was unheard of! Each face showed shock. Jake’s mind reeled. No one spoke to any Alpha in this way! What on earth was happening?

The woman spoke again. Her voice was grating and ugly, her face twisted with disgust.

“I suppose all you very clever little folk are wondering why you are here. Why is the mean lady treating us like this? We are Alphas, we are the elite, we deserve respect, deference.”

The big man chuckled. The woman continued.

“Not when you are a pack of wretched, ungrateful subversives.” She paused to appreciate the shock on their faces.

“You creatures are here because you have been found out. Thought you were clever, but the computer models always know. Your answers gave you away. The models predicted, and you know they are always right, that sooner or later each of you will rebel against the system. No, not content to be top of the tree, not satisfied with wealth and power, no, you dirty whines would start to question, to doubt and to pour your poison into the ears of others. Betraying the system that has nurtured you. Well, you have been caught out. Computer models are never wrong.”

The thin girl suddenly spoke. She looked past the big woman. “No, that is wrong, I wou…”

The big women stepped forward, two steps, and punched the girl in the eye. She staggered back and cracked the back of her head against the bus. Her mouth moved but made no sound, her eyes welled.

“Shut up you little bitch! Did I ask for your opinion?”

She turned to the man and spoke with mock weariness. “See the brazenness? She thinks she is smarter than the computer models. The arrogance!” He shook his head, resigned to the iniquity of some people.

The girl sniffled. The woman yelled again. “And look! She still has a bag! You were told to put that in the back!” She reached out and grabbed the handbag. Her mother had made her sandwiches to bring on the trip in case she became hungry. The woman reached into the bag, pulled out the sandwiches and tossed the handbag on the ground. She bit into a sandwich.

“Mmm, this is good. Mum make these? I’ll make sure I am especially compassionate when I pass on our condolences.”

Condolences?

“I better bring you up to speed on what’s happening. God these are good. Seeing as you all are subversives we have to dispose of you. If it was up to me you’d all be taken round the back and shot. But since our society, that you so despise, has spent a fortune on you, we expect some return on our investment. But we can’t have chattering malcontents around the place. So, a short trip and you will be taken to a facility where a simple operation, injection of hormones, chemicals and such, will destroy your too-clever little minds, leaving you at around Gamma two or three, and useful for all kinds of simple tasks. You won’t remember your previous lives, and you will live the placid existence of a cow in the fields.”

She leered at each in turn. “None of you look like you’ll be of much use, but there’s always something. You,” she reached out and stroked the thin girl’s hair. “You look more like fourteen than twenty-one. There are some gentlemen who will like that very much. And with a black eye, that’s quite a turn on for some.”

The girl whimpered and her bladder let go. It trickled down her leg. The woman noticed.

“Good, that’s a big turn on too. Good for you girl, you catch on fast.”

Jake stared in horror at the woman’s jeering mouth. Everything that he had known and all that he had hoped for, was now stolen from him. Nothing left. And she laughed!

“Look at the rest of you. Lord knows what use you’ll be, but I suppose there’s carrying the garbage to the bins or sweeping floors. Someone has to do it, might as well be you lot. Best part is, you won’t care. Your parents will be told of a terrible accident, lab explosion, whatever, so you’ll never be missed. Just unfortunate victims of cruel fate.”

She finished the sandwich and threw the wrapper on the ground.

“Oh oh, that was a bit naughty, silly me, forgot. You, pencil-neck, down the end. Pick it up.”

A tall boy with thinning hair looked at her, at the wrapper, and with a terrified look on his face picked up the wrapper then stopped and looked around, confused.

“In ya pocket ya moron! Christ, I swear they get more useless each year. You’ll be a more valuable member of society when you’re a Gamma. Get back in line!”

Her words chilled Jake’s heart and he was overwhelmed by helplessness and defeat. The models never got anything wrong. But they were wrong…

His thoughts were interrupted by loud cackling laughter. He turned to see another boy, face red, waving his arms and yelling, “I get it!” in a tremulous voice. “This is just another test! They’re trying us out. It’s not real! To see how we react under pressure. Good idea!” He was panting.

Could it be? For a moment Jake believed it, as a shipwreck survivor clings to debris and hopes that shape on the horizon is a rescue ship.

“Well, that is very clever. Now shut the fuck up. Or Jeremy here will shut you up. Now get on the bus, all of you. ‘React under pressure’, that’s priceless.” She roared with laughter.

They boarded the bus. It was stiflingly hot inside and stank of cheap disinfectant. Jake sat in the nearest seat and buried his face in his hands.

                                                                                      ***

The trip took about twenty minutes and then the bus pulled up outside a brown windowless building. This was the Gamma section of town. There was no garden or lawn, or even bitumen, the place was surrounded by hard-packed dirt.

A door in the front, or side, impossible to tell, opened and six figures dressed in medical scrubs filed out then stood to attention.

“Out we go, haven’t got all day.”

They filed out silently. The boy who’d claimed it was a test shivered as though freezing cold. Jake was numb. Less than an hour ago his father had dropped him off, a wonderful future about to commence. Now he was to be eliminated.

“Line up!” They did. Each was allotted to a person in scrubs, and was marched through the door. They walked down a long passage, then each departed into a separate room. Inside the room a hospital bed, a cabinet, fridge, and a trolley on which sat a tray containing two syringes. The figure in scrubs spoke.

“Lie down on the bed, on your left side please.”

Shaking, Jake obeyed. This was it, in a short while everything would be taken away. The injustice, the cruelty! He curled up and wept.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Steady on bud, it’ll soon be over. You’ll hardly remember anything. And you’ll never again have to fear, or cope with life’s vicissitudes. I’m Alpha, I have bills up to my ears, a failing marriage, my kids are arseholes and I haven’t had a holiday in six years. The exalted life of the elite.”

While he was speaking he grabbed a syringe and jabbed it into Jake’s arm. In a few seconds the shaking and sobbing subsided. The second injection was administered to the base of his spine.

                                                                                     ***

Jake came to slowly. He felt muzzy, but he knew who he was, where he was and what had happened. He rolled over and looked at the notice attached to the fridge. He could read it, every word. The operation had failed! That boy at the minibus was right, it was a test. For a moment he felt ashamed of his tears, but then angry that he and the others had been put through such torment.

A middle-aged man opened the door and walked in. He was in scrubs so Jake assumed he was the one who’d attended to him earlier.

“How are you feeling bud? There is ice-cream in the fridge. Would you like some ice-cream?” He spoke slowly and enunciated each word carefully.

The charade’s over, thought Jake, give it a rest. His mind was now clear. He started to say that the charade was over.

“Da sharay owa.”

His mouth and tongue struggled to form the words. He tried again.

“Da. Shaway. Oba.”

Dear God, he had lost the power of speech! He felt drool at the corner of his mouth. Jake forced himself to sit up, furious and terrified.

He yelled, “Da opasin di wuk!”

“Settle down.” He pushed a button on the wall and a moment later the woman from the bus entered. Jake thrashed about, waving his arms, too weak to stand, and howled, “Di wuk! Din wuk!”

“I’ll take it from here,” the woman said. Then when they were alone, she grabbed Jake by the wrists and held him in place.

“Di wuk,” he moaned.

She stared into his eyes. “I see you are still in there, little clever man. This is something of a surprise, I suspect, not what I told you would happen.” She grinned. “I lied.”

She shrieked with laughter and threw him backwards onto the bed.