Smartystan

The men and women of average ability only looked on with blank stares as if skeleton heads held eyes but no other organs or signs of life. What they did do, however, was organize chapters, sectors, and guilds. To keep them out of the nation within a nation, all the CS had to do was deliver them aptitude tests. They never passed. When some of them fought, got bloody-minded, and studied and still didn’t achieve a satisfactory score, they looked at themselves and challenged the Board of Information Systematic Testing (BIST) to review their virtues. This wasn’t the most tangible of things to ascertain.

Their virtue, honor, and morality meant something to them. The leader of the Average Capacity Association (ACA), Hector Vergara, spoke whenever he could. He mentioned the possibilities, endless as they might be. He looked light skinned and his well-built beard and dark hair gave him a youthful appearance. It was just a table, no grand speeches or pontifications. The others leaned in as if to hear better. And they knew better.

“And so I say to all of you,” he spoke with authority at the small convention hall packed with bodies from the door to the main floor.

“We might not be as smart. Yet, we can study and train and learn all there is to know about being amongst the ‘gifted.’” This last line elicited an acidic rumbling of laughter amongst the group. A whoop arose like a siren in the night, clean and piercing and just as alarming.

“I say right now, that we will continue to use the Web. And if you find yourself unable to grasp what the moon has to do with tides or why bees must do their little dance just so we can enjoy apples and other produce, let that be found in our children and their children, and their children. This is no speech!” Some laughter and applause descended on the occupants of the hall.

“I say this…we are brown, black, white, yellow, and red. We are focused on the goal of living on with intelligence. We already are!” Smiles plastered the faces of the group. Some eyes gleamed and some tears fell. Great creases folded in the faces like accordions of skin. The expressions of approval lasted for at least eight minutes with the occupants slamming their fists on the table. Chants of “Vergara!” pervaded the space. He got up from the table with a poise and powerful ease that befit his position as a leader among men and women. Hector Vergara piled into a Goulding SUV. He served as a mechanic, but the dues paid by the ACA afforded him many luxuries. He yawned in the backseat.

“Doris, please take me to the Founders’ Rock.”

“Yes, sir.” Doris Anders then set the vehicle to the destination Vergara stepped out of the car. He took hold of the magnificence of the structure. Rusty iron beams stood beside giant steel girders and entire pieces of wood that growed with an intensity that gave gravitas to such a noble collection of minds that constructed it. The start of the piece where the founders had meant to pan out the remainder of the best ideas that escaped their brains. Vergara put a hand on one of the beams. The might of its stature reassured him that this was a righteous cause despite nearly insurmountable tasks. He walked around the grounds.

“Sir,” he stopped in his tracks. His back faced the voice.

“You’re not allowed to be––”

The voice halted like a military formation. “Oh, Mr. Vergara, I didn’t mean…” The boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. His white face looked as pale as a lilly.

“It's okay. You’re doing your job.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man responded.

His words seemed like a salute, leaving a great impression on the leader.

“I’ll be out of your way now. And I’ll be sure to let your manager know you need a raise. What’s your name?”

“Patty. Patty Denny.”

“Alright, I know your boss is Linda Gilchrest.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll keep my word.”

Vergara mentioned, smiled again, and left just as soon as he had arrived.

*****

Dr. Frampton continued to count the amount of students she would have in her class. She found the number to be sixty. After a few labs taken, some papers written, she would be glad to take the different aspects of the city of Cranium. She knew that there would be wonders to behold on her trek to greatness. Like Dr. Strong, their educational acumen matched their business sense. A synthetic assistant placed multiple tablets on the black and brown desks that would rotate fifteen students at a time, four times a piece. It was pie. Her intellect permitted her to challenge her pupils. Except, they always wanted to challenge her on everything but chemistry.

“When is the ACA going to break down the walls most of them built and terrorize us?” Mckenzie Duncan asked. Her alabaster face reddened.

“Now there is the science of silence and also of rage. We will engage in the science of thought. If outside factions wish to threaten our way of life, that is what the president is for, now. Mr. Goshen will ensure our safety and well-being.”

“We’ve got to deal with instruction and experiments, respectively, at the moment.” The students breathed. They donned lab coats and goggles. Their work, upon being reassured, consisted of making a way to derive fuels from the moon samples collected over the past few years. The conversion of the moon substances only boosted the efficacy of coal, oil, and natural gas.

“Alright class, the fuels that have been maligned, disrespected, and vilified, will continue to power all of this country along with these moon samples. That is a fact.” The students looked at their brave leader with reverence and admiration. The doctor noticed all of this. She soaked in all of the excitement of knowing that these fuels will carry men and women into Mars’ orbit one day. This delighted Dr. Frampton so utterly that she skipped a little when she walked behind her podium.