Executive slave 1

Author: plugged
Title: Executive slave 1
Date: 01 February 2006

white collar
Executive Slave


God I was fed up with it! I'd been at it for fifteen years and what did I have to show for it? A bitchy ex-wife and two spoiled kids who thought Dad owed them everything. I had a boss who demeaned me in front of my own people and insisted that I do the same to them. "Trickle-down shitonomics" we called it.

"We've got to increase productivity!" he'd rant. "The Gross Product
Authority demands it! Now get on those people and get them working!"

So I'd crawl out of the meeting and go "motivate" my people. I had eighteen direct reports, each of whom had their own staffs. Day after day; on it went in a never-ending cycle of abuse, false praise, exhortation, corporate rah-rah, followed by more abuse. On and on: I just wanted to do something else, to be somewhere else.

But in the mid 21st century, finding something else was out of the question. You are slotted by the Vocation Authority while still in Basic school, almost before you learn to read and write. The Authority knows what you're going to do and they make sure you do it. Laws were passed decades ago to ensure an orderly, secure society. Having people do what they pleased was impossible in such a crowded, technologically advanced world. What if everyone decided to be a painter? (If you've forgotten, painters were people who used to put colors on pieces of stretched canvas and made what they called "paintings": representations of people and things. No one does
that anymore -- it doesn't contribute to Productivity). Anyway, if everyone decided to become a painter, the society would grind to a halt. So the Authority stepped in to "assist" people find the jobs for which they're bestsuited.

Well, I may have been suited to the job, but the job wasn't suited to me and I wanted out! In fact, I was secretly putting away a bit of a nest egg for the future to enable me to leave this hole and go do what I really wanted to do, which was to open a small restaurant out West, like Idaho maybe. I've always loved to cook but the Authority doesn't ask what you want; they tell you what they want. So once again, I sighed, murmured my "Yes sir," and left my bosses office to urge my reports on to higher levels of productivity, looking toward the day when I'd have enough money to bring my dream to life.

The only problem with this dream was that I was shorting my ex-wife and kids on their living expenses. Hell, I don't know why they deserved to live better than I did anyway? God knows it's hard enough to make ends meet without having to support two residences and two teenaged girls. So I skimmed some off each paycheck and socked it away. It was tricky when the Tax Authority practices complete surveillance of banking records but I'd managed it: at least I thought I had.

I arrived back at my office, sat behind my desk and rang my assistant. "Terry, would you call the team together? I need to meet with them in five minutes. Thanks."

I disconnected and there was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I called out, sorting some papers.

The door opened, revealing two Labor Enforcement Authority officials in uniform.

"Is there a problem officers?" I asked, startled by their presence. Our company doesn't make use of LEA units so I had no idea as to why they might be there.

"Clifford Swainton?" one of the officers asked, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

"Yes," I answered, rising. "How can I help you? We've never used LEA resources here. What can I do for you?" I felt a hot flush spreading through my body as I experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"We're here take you in for processing Mr. Swainton," the officer said breezily but looking at me with cold eyes.

"P-p-processing?" I stammered. "What do you mean, processing?"

"Mr. Swainton; we have a warrant for your arrest and processing. The Tax Authority has investigated you and found that you are misappropriating funds to be directed to the support of your family. That's a violation of Code 1350.07, Article 8 of the Tax Code."

"Wh-what?" I said, my voice rising. "You must be mistaken. I--I--I never..."

"Mr. Swainton!" he said, cutting me off. "There's no mistake! You will come with us now. Please don't make this difficult for us."

"No, no no," I cried. "Please, there must be a mistake. You have the wrong man. I didn't, I never, I wouldn't..."

As I was babbling, the second officer came around the desk and took my arm.

"Please Mr. Swainton. Just come quietly."

With that, he took a cuff unit and locked it onto my left wrist.

"No!" I screamed. "No, please!"

With that, the officer deftly twisted my arm behind my back and threw me down across my desk. He pulled my wrists together behind my back and cuffed my left. Then he lifted my legs and pushed me forward so that my body was completely supported by the desk and my legs and feet were dangling in the
air. He rolled me onto my back and while his partner held my shoulders down on the desk, he put his hand to my belt buckle. Knowing what was coming next, I cried out.

"Noooooooo! Pleeeeez don't do this to me. Pleeeeeez!"

# # #

Congress had "passed" laws three decades before in an effort to gain control over a society that had lost control. The Authority sent legislation to Congress which, in desperation, voted to accept whatever was put before them. Thus, new and more powerful Authorities were created under The Authority to monitor and control behavior, as well as to enforce the Society's will for those who refused to comply.

One of those laws had created the LEA, the Labor Enforcement Authority. The LEA was the new penal system's face to the world. They took those who couldn't or wouldn't obey the laws and brought them forcefully under control. Society had also grown tired of what used to be quaintly known as "recidivism" and had even done away with the "three strikes" laws. The new way was "one strike": make a mistake and you're sentenced to a life of hard labor under the gracious sponsorship of the Authority. While LEA units frequently worked in Authority and corporate jobs, along side free citizens,
no one was really sure of what the LEA did to ensure the compliance of its units. Certainly, the units didn't talk about it and it was dangerous to ask because such questions could be viewed as disloyal and the questioner might find himself receiving first-hand experience of the LEA's practices. LEA units were not free; that much was certain. The LEA kept careful tabs on them and housed them in dormitories (read prisons) in and around the cities. There were also units that they "sub-let" to local Authority organizations or businesses. Such an organization could, if they could afford it, pick up a unit's "option", take him or her into their custody, as
long as they pledged not to lose them. What became of the unit then was at the pleasure of his or her "sponsor". It's well known that this practice was strongly encouraged and widely engaged in throughout Society. It helped to alleviate the burden of having too many units dependent on the Authority's resources.

I hadn't had a lot of exposure to LEA units and was only vaguely aware of LEA units working in the City. Generally, people at my level and in my business didn't associate with them. I was about to learn a great deal in a very short time.