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Dystopia USA

by John Argo

Page 18.

There was a considerable promotional effort to make the Harrisons seem like a princely family, a Kennedy-like Camelot. Even in a democracy, the common people seemed to eat this up. There was a booming television industry devoted to following the rich and famous. The tone was reverent but inquisitive, respectful but confessional. The funeral of Joseph Harrison, Sr. had been a national event, with three days of mourning and long church services. Just thirty-three families of unimaginable, trillionaire wealth were now America's royalty, without anyone saying that. There were nearly 1,000 other families in a second tier of wealth—the billionaire aristocracy, without anyone ever saying it out loud. The leader of the nation, the Great Shepherd (first among trillionaires, whose very name remained a secret, though he gave inspirational weekly broadcasts), was a remote figure who almost never appeared in the media glare. He was treated not only as President, but as a religious leader through whom God spoke directly to his people, the suffering, heroic, and enduring people of America.

Common people—in factories, on farms, in offices, in the home—could follow the exploits of Trent Harrison's extended family, who were active in sports, industry, education, philanthropy, religion, patriotic causes. The factory where Kenny worked was saturated with images of the Harrisons. The mostly illiterate workers, when on break, could touch these icons on the walls, and hear either prayers, or a story about the Harrisons. Each Harrison had that beneficent, kindly smile that was so reassuring.

One of Trent Harrison's brothers was a general in the Army of the Borders, manning the great siege wall, hundreds of feet tall in some places, that surrounded America and protected her from the hostile world beyond. Another of his brothers was a senator from Texas. A third brother was the leader of a Biblically Correct mega-church with over one million members linked together via televideo. A fourth brother had died years ago in an air raid by Canadian intruders. A sister was the executive director of American Christian Charities, which took in and fed impoverished city orphans, educated them in Bible verses, and gave them constructive work under dignified conditions in far-off places.

Trent Harrison, one of the nation's 33 trillionaires, was a tall, studious looking man. He looked ascetic, so thin was he. It was said he worried and cared day and night about the millions of average Americans who worked in his defense plants, continuing the work of keeping America safe in a world full of venomous enemies. Trent Harrison had four children. The oldest son, a clean-cut, somber looking man in his late twenties, was a student of Divinity in Mississippi. The younger son, a brighter, happier looking red-head with uneven teeth, was said to be grooming to take over Trent Harrison's place as Chief Executive Officer and President of Harrison Industries.

Then there was the older daughter, Cheryl, a bronze medalist in the American Olympics recently. She was a runner and swimmer, with a bright smile, short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a roundish, strong, streamlined face—a plain, fresh, scrubbed All-American beauty. Sometimes one saw a news video of Cheryl Harrison, like a princess in a long gown, attending some ball in Washington, D.C. in company of one or another of the young men who were scions of their own great families.

There was a darker, younger daughter, Melody, who had melancholy eyes and a wan smile. One did not often hear about Melody. Even the propaganda machine surrounding the Harrisons could not disguise the personalities of this family. Melody was a cipher.

People around town, in the factory, on the streets, spoke reverently of the Harrisons. After all, their jobs, their livelihoods, the well-being of their families, depended on Harrison Industries. What small cars a few people owned were usually Harrisons. When you got sick, you went to Harrison Hospital—though healthcare, like everything else in a nation beset by the Long War, was strictly rationed. What little there was was privatized, and administered by the Harrisons. As Trent Harrison sometimes liked to say, on the Roger Thomas Daily Chat and other shows, "We succeeded in slaying the monster of big government, a socialist horror. Now we have to continue fighting off the communists and other enemies of America from outside, who want to destroy our cities, poison our minds, and destroy our way of life."

The truth was, as Kenny could see in his own life and the people around him, you paid lip service to the system that controlled every aspect of your life, and secretly you did what you had to survive. If that meant having a forbidden second job, so be it. If it meant not paying taxes on your under the table income, that was a time-honored tradition. If you had a serious illness, and Harrison Hospital denied care, you searched for herbal and alternative medicines. Everything had its kind of balance, and so the world moved along.

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