Chapter One - Iceberg Blue - 2034 The Corporation Post 2012 - The Novel

FROM THE NOVEL
2034 The Corporation Post 2012
by Mark Whistler

CHAPTER ONE
ICEBERG BLUE

Lying in the steel coffin, Franklin's neck ached as he craned his head to read the note from Haggai. The artificial florescence of the glowstick scarcely produced enough light to make out the words...

Franklin,

The masses who mindlessly allowed their opinions to form by the media, played directly into the blueprint of Tyranny that would soon rule their lives.

SEESOC had slowly been edging itself into the naive acceptance of the self-consumed public many years before the financial crisis and the razing of the U.S. Constitution. Corporate lobbyists were also significant 'men behind the curtain,' outnumbering every member of Congress by 30 to 1 in 2008. Falling into the financial crisis, many politicians professed great care for the economically destitute individuals of America, though really the elected officials (and lobbyists) were truly wolves in sheep's clothing.

Trillions of taxpayer dollars were allocated under the guise of economic stimulus, but the money never really landed in the hands of the people. Large Corporations were the true beneficiaries. The politicians figured that if the ship was sinking anyway, they might as well double down on their bets; hoping increased speculation would repair the hull's ruptures.

Inevitably, the Government folded when the dollar fell through the floor, as interest rates rocketed through the roof, all derived from the complete deterioration of the credit quality of U.S. Treasury Securities and by extension, the Government. Simply put, the national debt escalated to a point where even foreign investors would not buy into the gamble that had become America.

Sadly, the media played a starring role too, actively keeping the American public apart from reality, while The Corporation put its army of gluttonous political henchmen and lobbying opportunists to work...


Franklin leaned his head back on the makeshift pillow, letting the note fall to his chest.

Everything had changed in just two weeks; now lying in this metal casket, his destiny remained unknown. Thinking back over the events that led to now, Franklin concluded that even if he were to expire in the metal tomb, he'd lived his final days with hope, gratitude and freedom. Closing his eyes, Franklin listened to the air circulating in the cramped, sealed container. Even with grave implications in the current predicament, the outcome was not to be feared. If anything, Franklin would die knowing he'd awakened from the mindless slumber that had entranced so many others. As Franklin felt his body edge towards forty winks, his thoughts drifted back to the night only a few weeks ago - alone in his apartment - just before it all began.

II

Franklin gazed out the window; the sky was a translucent iceberg blue. There weren't too many winter days now when temperatures on the Northern seaboard were above freezing. At least, not since the Gulf Stream had almost completely slowed in 2015, just a few years after the U.S. Government stumbled into its final phase of existence.

Taking a mug from the cupboard, he slowly filled it with hot water from the kettle on the stove. Using an actual kettle to heat water was an archaic action, which no one really did anymore, except Franklin. There was just something about the simplicity of the kettle he'd come to love.
Perhaps heating water on the stove was merely an action in remembrance of a time when the world had been a quieter, softer place; before Capitalism and America had been scuttled. Prior to the reckless spending of the Federal Reserve and U.S. Treasury, which exposed excessive trillions of taxpayer money, even before the new President's stimulus plan and additional Treasury funds for the Term Asset Backed Facility went into effect in 2009. A time before the national debt topped $11 trillion that same year, which crushed the credit quality of U.S. Treasuries and forced the dollar facedown into the dirt. And certainly before private property was appropriated through the nationalization of U.S. mortgages markets. Ahead of when the Federal Reserve loaded its balance sheet with assets, including eighty percent ownership in AIG, the $27 billion acquisition of Bear Sterns and before the nation's central bank agreed to absorb 90 percent of any losses resulting in the guarantee of a pool of assets held by Bank of America and Citigroup. Before the U.S. Treasury acquired senior preferred equity shares and warrants of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

Before the Government began acquiring positions in airlines, healthcare, and the automotive industry.

Before the Government's subjective support of Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan, AIG and CITI - perhaps - partially because of a quiet organization founded in 1973.

Before the Opportunocrats, and before the Great Walls under the ruse of immigration.

Before average global temperatures unexpectedly spiked 1˚C from 2010 to 2012.

Before worldwide famine surged… And before the coasts flooded.

Before the West Coast rumbled and the black rocks appeared in the arctic.

Before the U.S. Government was forced to begin shutting down services, as the dollar became virtually worthless. Before the awful circumstances presented The Corporation with the opportunity to swoop in like a knight in shining armor; ever so gracefully offering to save the American people from pandemonium.

The deal with the devil promised Americans stable employment, a monthly dividend check for life, guaranteed retirement, healthcare, refuge and security - even profit sharing through ownership. The only action Americans were required to take - to save the country and themselves - was to simply accept The Corporation's proposition by voting to dissolve the U.S. Constitution and incorporate the United States into the first ever Socialist Enterprise Employee Stock Ownership Country. If the people did so, as they were told, they would save their nation - and the futures of their families. The Corporation's propaganda to win mass acceptance of the scheme was delivered through television, Internet, print ads, billboards, even tee shirts, all bearing the acronym: SEESOC.

Initially, The Corporation used terms like 'Worker's Cooperative', 'Employee Owned and Controlled Corporation' (EOCC), 'Cooperative Social Enterprise' (CSE) and 'Community Interest Country' (CIC), though in the end, SEESOC won out.

Through the media, The Corporation launched an all-consuming campaign, specifically targeting two core groups: Americans 18 to 30 and those in the 50 to 70 range. The Corporation knew if it were to mix a little Hollywood sex appeal with dash of American Idol together, while tossing in a pinch of 'progressiveness' into the campaign, a great majority of the 18 to 30 pigeons would eat the incognito Communist mendacity up faster than a toddler a dum-dum sucker. The youth bought the 'collective is progressive' ruse completely.

Sadly, the 50 to 70 group was a pushover too, though for two completely different reasons. First, the troop felt it had the most to lose, as failed markets shredded many baby boomers' retirement savings (with the bonus effect of stimulating virtual panic about their futures in the flailing healthcare system) and thus, were already psychologically primed to be on the lookout for a savior. Second, because The Corporation had become a master chameleon, it simply positioned SEESOC with supposed JFK era ideals and 'voila', out went the Constitution like skunked pooch in the house on a hot summer night.

Socialist intellectuals and politicians believed they had developed governance models more adequate for individuals, than what individuals could decide for themselves. Collectivists' prophesized 'social enterprise as a heterogeneous business movement', though Franklin felt the propaganda was nothing more than a manifesto for uniformity and mindlessness. Like military Drill Sergeants have known for years, good soldiers are completely broken down first, and then built back up. The financial crisis was extremely effective moment in time for disguised Socialists to 'break down' the working class, entrepreneurs and small businesses, thus creating a potential future environment of 'equitable distribution, and not accumulation, of social and economic capital.'

To ensure the final nail in the coffin of Capitalism, The Corporation even assured mortgage and credit card debt relief, in exchange for the public execution of the U.S. Constitution. Really, those manipulating the strings from behind the scenes knew the modified ESOP was the perfect plan to quietly assimilate assets the Federal Reserve had been nationalizing since the crisis began.

Behind the curtain though, the same old career politicians and greedy kings were at work doing the same old things...and would simply change the rules as they saw fit, after taking total control.
In the end, The Corporation succeeded in using the slippery slope of progressive Socialism to slither right on into a murky area somewhere between Tyranny and Communism. It didn't have to end up that way though and Franklin wished with all his heart he could go back in time and warn the people of what was happening around them. But he couldn't step back into history, and the reality of the situation was that the people had traded the Constitution for a little supposed income and security.

The bottom line, the capricious pander-poots soon found out, was their days of freedom were over. Like any good employer, The Corporation demanded uniformity and compliance while employees were on the clock. But the clock never stopped.

Franklin sighed, holding the warm mug up to his lips, gently blowing on the steam rising under his nose. Twitching his nose slightly, he thought about her; the only woman he had ever loved. It had been 29 years since he had seen her last, and even after all this time, he sometimes wondered why life made the erratic turns that it had. He had grown used to not knowing, though somewhere inside his soul, he felt like it must all mean something. Every year, he would wonder if the questions would go away, and every year he would realize that in one's lifetime, some questions are never answered. They fade over time, and we learn to live with not knowing, but all of the questions never completely disappear.

Suddenly, the monitor on Franklin's living room wall, just beyond the kitchenette separated by the little wooden dining table, burst with sound.

"Good evening colleagues; The Corporation announces energy cutbacks this evening, due to the increased efforts in the 66° PARTNER war. Energy will we be distributed via your Personnel Eminence Credit Kilojoules (PECK)."

"Here it comes," Franklin thought as he stared at his wrist where the invisible bar code had been tattooed.

"Distribution rationing will commence immediately, based on personal contribution to The Corporation. 'Accordingly, the individual producer receives back from society, after deductions have been made -- exactly what he gives to it.'"

At that moment, The Corporation's Logo on his blue middle management blazer caught the corner of his eye; looking down at the icon, Franklin briefly thought about spitting on it.
"It's probably not too respectable to spit on your own coat," he decided, "even if you are all alone in your own home."

Day in and day out, he wore the blazer with The Corporation's logo to his office pod in one of the city's skyscrapers. Walking to work, Franklin was a mere spec in a sea of blue blazers, all exactly the same, all with the same logo, all walking in a silent hush, routinely spaced, with heads bowed slightly, like quiet waves in a morbidly frightened sea of corporate commerce.
Occasionally, he would pass a blue pinstripe suit, with The Logo of course, and wondered whom that person knew? It had long since become an unspoken rule that the only way to move beyond middle management was to either be from a corporate family, or to know someone in one of the families.

The blue pinstripes were blessed with the opportunocratic possibility of becoming a vice president within The Corporation. Being an executive in The Corporation meant power...
The power to hurt.

Hardly anyone ever spotted black suit executives in public, especially on the streets. The executives held such isolated positions of elitism; even the thought of being near the nebbish proletariats was repulsive. If an executive class member needed an item from one of The Corporation's stores, there was always a junior executive to do the bidding for them.
Also on the streets were the attendants, all clothed in the same drab gray jumpsuits.

Of course, there was certainly no shortage of Security Services in The Corporation, all wearing the same pale blue fatigues, like the color of a human body that's been dead for a day or two.
Security Services were on every corner, in every window, in hydrogen and methane squad cars, walking behind you, in front of you, standing by doors, at attention in the hallways and in the elevators. Security Services often stood in stores, in your office and sometimes - for hours on end - behind your chair at work. It wasn't uncommon for Security Services to be standing in your kitchen, your closet, or in your shower when you returned home.

They just stood by - always watching - lifeless and mute, hoping for the slightest sign of nonconformity to appear.

The UAV's were always buzzing overhead too, perpetually watching everything, virtually everywhere. The little robotic surveillance drones had simply just become a part of day-to-day life the employees had come to accept. Even when one couldn't actually hear a drone overhead, the little spies were still there hovering at an inaudible altitude.

Franklin cursed at himself upon the realization that he'd been doing it again, thinking about The Corporation and the past. He was always thinking about both. Always living in his regrets and trying to figure out how the people let it happen? Franklin stood there in his kitchen shrugging his shoulders, realizing things were 'just the way they were', and there was nothing he could do about it.

Walking towards the small dining table in his cold, sparse little apartment, he opened his laptop briefly catching his reflection in the screen. His pale face hadn't seen actual sunshine in six months - he left for work in the darkness and he returned at twilight. He almost looked like a ghost…colorless, gaunt, with receding gray hair, although as neatly groomed as possible. As the laptop screen sputtered to life, he logged into The System. Franklin knew he had to be logged into The System promptly after returning home; Security Services frowned when one wasn't logged in.

Joy! His monthly dividend statement had arrived. The Corporation loved its employees so much; the Executives had decided to pay a special monthly half-amero dividend, on top of the normal one-amero per month dividend every employee had been guaranteed for life.
"That's how they did it," Franklin thought. "The sockdolager was the guaranteed monthly dividend check... If only the public would have known the dividend check was really just bait transforming the masses into nothing more than wage-hungry slaves." Franklin shook his head in disgust thinking, "The people thought The Corporation meant security, safety and an easier life. But we've been forced into nothing more than dogsbody supporting a small class of ecumenical opportunocratic elitists."

The monitor went on to inform Franklin that today's 'special dividend' was only because The Corporation had the best quarter in history, and wanted to share the wealth with its darling employees. The math wasn't too tough; Franklin had 10,000 shares, meaning he'd be able to afford one extra mush-meal every month.

Thinking about his shares for a moment, Franklin realized his 50th birthday was coming up in three weeks and he would be receiving a fifty percent increase in shares from The Corporation. They called it the 50/50 benefit. Employees who didn't miss a single day of work from the time they were forty, until they tipped a half century in age, received a fifty percent increase in their total shares. Franklin had a perfect record at work; he even showed up the morning after he had a heart attack.

He remembered the experience like it was yesterday. Stretched out in the Corporate Health Care (CHC) recovery room, the doctor asked him if, perhaps, Franklin needed to take a leave of absence, which really meant he would be moved to Recovery and Restructuring (R&R). Most people never returned from R&R, though if they did, they were usually different altogether.
Regardless, the extra §100 a month he would receive from the 50/50 dividend increase meant he would be able to finally buy a new pair of shoes.

Franklin's notebook began rattling off the day's news, with a streaming ticker running across the bottom and one at the top. The tickers always ran the same propaganda, with the upper containing pictures and slogans of The Corporation's various consumer products, while the bottom spouted news, weather, and corporate affirmations. On the right side of the screen, three small boxes were permanently present, each with their own robotic telecaster discharging updates like cow does manure.

Each night the monitors would present a detailed account of The Corporation's most recent act of generosity, which usually turned out to be the same blessed stability of their monthly one-amero dividend payment. There were always images of the starving around the world too. The famished of the world had become locked in frantic anarchy, living in societies of hunger-derived animalistic brutality.

The images mostly showed footage of barbaric heathens fighting on both sides of the Great Walls, which separated - rather, "protected" - The Corporation from Mexico and Canada.
Insurgency was commonplace on the other side of the two Great Walls - the Great Wall of Mexico and the Great Wall of Canada. Catching many nations by surprise, sudden climate changes from 2012 to 2015 took a devastating toll on global agriculture production.
As the monitors displayed nightly, multitudes of starving humans were constantly skirmishing at the Great Walls, seeking only to gain entrance to The Corporation, where the employees were fortunate enough to have mush on their plates daily.

The monitor began again, "The Corporation is the most prosperous place to live on earth. The starving are rioting at the borders, and attempting to cross into this incredible utopia." Right on cue, the monitor then flickered with an image of Security Services shooting the skull of a famished 'terrorist' about to throw a Molotov cocktail at one of The Great Walls.

There were also images of the old seaboard towns, which were mostly underwater now, the dustbowl that had become the old Southwest, the Midwest blizzards and of course, the frigid conditions that were continually persistent in the Northeast now. Franklin always got a chuckle out of the name of his home New Venice, which was once called New York City.

"Perhaps even The Corporation has a slight sense of humor," he wanted to believe.
Every hour, the monitors would begin reading 'breaking news' lists of employees who had just retired and the names of those who had gone beyond the expectations of The Corporation.
The news always ended with a story of an employee awarded a special dividend for turning in another employee; a terrorist in disguise posing eminent danger to the safety of The Corporation's employees.

Sometimes the monitor would show the insurgent's execution, though public thrashings were generally reserved for weekly teambuilding meetings. The Corporation (and one's peers) rained praise and applause for unswerving attendance at work and weekly teambuilding, torturing, and capital punishment.

The most loyal employees though, the ones The Corporation loved the most, were those who had embraced the heartless faculty of mind to inculpate family, friends or colleagues, who even remotely whiffed of potentially being an insurgent.

Without a doubt, every employee knew The Corporation cheerfully rewarded loyalty, ad infinitum.