A Man's Castle and His Kingdom...

My bones ached as I walked the final block home at last to my little neo-Victorian townhouse. Fourteen hours of servicing the “elite” and my own work yet to be started. I felt not days weary, but years weary, and wondered if I could physically survive to see my partners return. It was difficult to cover for so many away. Not that the non-techs really cared what we did, but I worried those absent would eventually be missed. We could not afford any special attention turned to our efforts just then. That could have complicated an already tenuous situation fatally. I knew the week at hand would not be the last unendurably long one for me. Nothing for it but to hang on and keep the show going.

Come to think of it, I remember realizing and pondering the fact I seemed to be feeling a little lonely, as well as tired, which struck me as odd. Overall, I would class myself as “the ultimate loner.” I definitely like my space and get frustrated when there are too many others milling about, or even working too nearby. Paranoia, personal history or old habits; whatever the reason, humans, either tech or non, simply seem to complicate things and tend to aggravate me. Strange I should feel a twinge of craving for their company. I don’t recall coming to any ground-breaking conclusions concerning this odd sensation by the time I reached the door.

The bent and tarnished key offered a bit more than its usual playful resistance as I coaxed it through its paces. I kept the old 4-in-1, though many said it was unsafe to have all one’s entry-curves in one unit. I couldn’t help it, always a sucker for nostalgia pieces. The lock and key dated to the 2040’s, the same make I remembered on my grandmother’s door. I got the set of 4 locks and 2 keys at an auction. A fellow scientist whose hobby was locksmithing had restored and installed the system for me. The friend, sadly, was years gone now, too, as much a memory as the bygone days we’d so enjoyed recalling together. One day soon I was certain I would have occasion to think of my friend again when I was barred from my own home because one of the ancient barrels collapsed, or the key broke off. I contemplated having the system replaced or putting out feelers for someone else into vintage, manual locksmithing. Or maybe I’d take up a new hobby. The last thought brought me a smile.

The massive oak door swung silently, effortlessly open. No doubt, those with an abiding love of physics made the best carpenters.
‘Kaitlyn?’

No answer, but the smell of something cheesily wonderful cooking told me she had anticipated my return and would be back any minute. I guessed she had run to the market to pick up fresh salad and some of my favorite fruit for the weekend ahead. She was always such a sweet, thoughtful girl, and, God help her, immeasurably devoted to her old father.

As if on cue, there came the sound of the locks being worked once again. I’d made it to the kitchen by this time, and my ungainly sprint back to greet my daughter nearly overturned 2 chairs. We saw one another nearly every day. One might think the enthusiasm would have been containable, but that would have been an affront to family tradition. When Kaitlyn’s mother was alive, her homecomings and welcomes were just as exuberant. All of this might have surprised our acquaintances who, knowing us only from our behavior in professional settings, may have viewed us as much more reserved sorts. As tired as Kaitlyn and I both were, that day’s reunion, in fact, was one of the less rambunctious and sent only a few grapes and a papaya rolling across the old Oriental rug in the entryway.

Kaitlyn was 13 and had her mother’s eyes and smile. Had she shared Kathryn’s classic Irish coloring, the resemblance might have been too disconcerting to bear. Kaitlyn's hair may have been ebony while her mother's was auburn, her eyes blue as the sky where her mother's had been sparkling peridot...but one thing was a perfect match. Kaitlyn surely shared the full measure of her mother’s impatience. I recognized the essential nature of this too well to hope she might outgrow it, once out of her teens.

‘Dad, the locks have got to go. Did you hear how the stupid, annoying, old relics fought me? What do we need 4 locks for, anyway? I love you, but you’re crazy and you’re making me crazy. I swear, I can’t even bring my friends to the house because of silly things like that.’

Truth was, she very seldom brought friends around, anyway. She liked her refuge as much as I did. I also knew her aversion to the locks wasn’t based in any lack of appreciation for the vintage. She had her own collection of old books and some charmingly odd 19th and 20th century tests of psycho-physical function. The poor old locks were, indeed, becoming an issue.

‘So, my dear, how was your day?’

‘Frustrating...I don't know...O.K., I guess, but sometimes I wish they’d never selected me to teach the third-years. They were impossible today. I will never, ever have children. Not like that's likely to be a problem anyway, because what boy wants to date the workaholic nanny-teacher? Why couldn't I have just been assigned a part-time lab apprenticeship like eveyone else? I never have any fun and have nothing to talk about but work and I’m so far behind on my own studies, I’ll never catch up.’

She sighed gustily, then finished with a dismissive laugh, as if she'd had enough of her own melodrama, but there was truth in what she said and I admired my little girl's dedication as well as her intellect. I made a mental note to call the superintendent to request he schedule an couple days' off-site "enrichment" program for Kaite's students some time in the next few weeks so Kaite could catch up a bit. I knew she was concerned.

Mind you, she was “catching up” on level 14 academics – what they used to call “sophomore year in college.” At age 13. Indeed, I was very proud of my brilliant daughter, and more than a little fearful of what lay ahead for her.

‘So what did you do today, Dad? You’re home a little early.’

‘The Mayor again.’

That got me a sympathetic look and another hug.

We were all stretched thin. Why SHOULD my daughter have been pressed into service at such a tender age? Because she was qualified and not yet quite old enough to desert. There were less than 750,000 scientists left in North America, children included. Sadly, that figure constituted over one third of Earth’s population of scientists, and the numbers kept dropping. The allure of neglecting one’s studies, then, ultimately, leaving the difficulties and the stigma behind once and for all was powerful. We lost more teens and twenty-somethings every generation. It wasn’t all that hard for them to start over elsewhere. Wander a few hundred miles, pick one of the less suspicious mid-level non-tech communities, tell them you were from _____ (name another similar little town you’d seen on the way), and that was pretty much that. Non-techs were generally not too interested in the details, anyway. The kids who deserted like that just had to be careful not to blow their cover by fixing things or doing anything else to show any technical knowledge.

The scientific community was very tight, of course, not just within geographical regions, but worldwide. The adult scientists in the area knew who these young men and women were, but did nothing to interfere with their plans for a different sort of life. Sooner or later, most of these young rebels found a mate and settled into the birthing and rearing of more cute, clueless kids for the scientists to serve. The few others for whom the experiment in world-change brought disgust rather than fulfillment were welcomed back into the fold without undue ceremony.

The non-techs, of course, held no real power over us, except in their numbers. We controlled all the machines, including those necessary for commerce. The nons knew their lives could become difficult if they treated one of us particularly badly, but no one wanted to deal with the consequences of such conflict. It had been years and years since it had happened, but there had been a few incidents in which scientists had failed to survive repair calls that had gone badly. It was the Nons' choice to disdain detailed knowledge, and ours to pursue it. For the present, we still shared a single planet, so the result was a tacit peace which allowed both sides .

Many non-tech establishments refused to sell to scientist. Their cities were large and commerce was based upon credits tracked electronically from an identi-chip. The chips identified the user also as Scientific or Non. We could, of course, modify our coding at either the chip or the database level, but, eventually, someone was bound to catch one of us in the act. Better to let the masses think things were going according to their plan. Better for them to think we managed the resources of our planet with a view only to providing for them. The result was a tacit peace in which

It seemed to me a tragedy life had come to this, but, on balance, humanity had known worse times. Still, I remember my father telling me about his childhood, a delightfully foreign time when there had been but one school system. He’d shared a classroom, a playground and a world with children who would become non-tech adults as well as others who would grow up to be scientists like himself. I did so relish my fathers’ tales of this strange, exciting world of old. I supposed many scientists of my generation heard these tales and yearned to know such a different life, so full of limitless opportunities without compromise…or so it seemed in the rose-colored rearview.

History had become a compelling pursuit for many of the scientists of my generation. This interest, of course, had to be kept deep underground, never exposed to non-tech eyes or ears. The non-techs wanted no reminders of what they had been brought up to consider very dark times. Whenever scientists went to work for the nons, we made sure to wear only the most modern of apparel, but nothing too trendy. It wouldn't do to have the non's view us as unbusinesslike or cocky. It would do even less to raise their suspicion or ire by sporting the retro gear popular inour own communities. We also made sure to pocket any small personal items that might give us away. We'd spent our lives learning the carfeful lines to walk that would keep our world and our private pursuits relatively safe from the "corrective" pressures of the majority. For all our efforts, it further saddened many of us that little slips (I even dropped my key at a non’s house once) were getting easier to bear, as the last generation who would have had parents living in the “era before” was rapidly perishing. Most nons now wouldn’t even know what they were seeing, except that it was different and therefore suspect.

Along with our assorted relics and reproductions, scientists secretly kept vast databases recounting the myriad bizarre conflicts of our planet’s past. While exciting, there was no arguing those had been violent times, compared to modern conditions. Hard to believe race, ethnicity, even economic status were once reason enough to suspect or even harm one’s fellows – scientist against scientist, non-tech against non-tech. So much ado over these superficial discrepancies between one and another…unfathomable! All the while all but ignoring the intellectual/educational differences, the real stuff of separation! Most hostilities now were exercised through financial leverage and impermeable invisible barriers between one society and the other.

The present situation worked well in its way: two worlds existing in the same space at the same time. Being a scientist walking in non-tech space was rather like being a ghost. The scientist was unseen, unheard, an eavesdropper paid no mind…until his services were needed! Passing beneath the radar had its advantages. Since we controlled all the machines, including the financial ones, we had access to what we needed. As long as we were patient and not greedy and didn’t bring undue attention to our activities, we had resources enough to make good progress. Time was the greatest problem.

The edge on the non-techs’ arrogance regarding us seemed more sharply honed with each passing year. There were periodic uprisings within the scientific community, swells of indignation culminating in an impulse to control the non-techs, put them in what some saw as their rightful place of subservience to us. Brash youth. We older scientists had to remind another wave every decade or so that we scientists comprised less than 3 one-hundredths of a percent of Earth’s 7.2 billion residents, making discretion the better part of valor. There were rumors of a core group of senior scientists who secretly planted the seeds of such discontent. At least, I hoped it was merely rumor. I hoped we were past that.

So scientific life, while noble, was far from perfect. I had actually tried to make sure Kaitlyn kept her options open. She was so very lovely. It would have been easy for her to slip in at the highest level of non-tech society. While nostalgia was the lot of the scientists alone, the non-techs shared our keen appreciation for beauty. In fact, without the requirement of any sort of survival-oriented skill as a means to professional or social advancement, beauty was that much further up the list of tickets to immediate social acceptance. Kaitlyn could have had any life she chose on Earth. Why she chose to work as hard as she did, I cannot say. I simply hoped she was not doing it to please her father. For her own sake, I’d have welcomed her distancing herself from me.