AN: This chapter took a while to write, but I am thankful to the Lord for the help he has given me.

I would like for my readers to know that the pamphlet that I referenced, The Fall of the Socialist Machine and the Rise of the Citizen King, is written with expressed permission from its author Christopher Diaz. He is a fellow Christian writer, and he has allowed me to use this as a reference to help flesh out my narrative. His other pamphlet, which argues for Utilitarian-Socialism, is also an exciting read, and it is available on Kindle if you would like to look at it underneath the Across the Door series.

As always, thank you so much for your continued views and your support. Read, Review, and Enjoy, and I'll see you next chapter.

Chapter 31

Aelita was sleeping soundly and comfortably. In her dream, she was back in Lyoko's digital library, looking at all the raw data that she had looked over during the time that Jeremy had been trying to figure out the formula for her materialization. As she moved her hands over select panels of different studies. A flash of light engulfed the data, vaporizing it before her eyes. Aelita was terrified at first and warily turned around. A woman was before her. She was taller than Aelita by at least a foot. Animal skins clan her body from neck to foot, her feet covered in what looked like deer-hide boots. An emblazoned helmet covered the woman's face, only her eyes were visible. A spear was held in her right hand, beautiful and long; the point of which was made with ornate carvings of dragons at the base and the edges were semi-jagged, but Aelita could tell, razor-sharp.

"Who are you?" Aelita asked the figure.

"It's me, Aelita." The voice replied, "Sylvia-Anna."

"How are you here? How are you in my dream? I'm not wearing your bracelet."

"Perhaps not. But rest assured, there are other ways of performing this little gimmick."

Aelita paused, "What are you doing here?" she after a moment of hesitation.

"You have spent long enough in your father's archives in Lyoko. You have absorbed much and learned equally almost as much. It is now that I would like to bring you to my domain. To show you what I have been privy to in the many years since my birth."

Aelita concentrated and soon energized spheres generated from her hands, "How do I know that I can trust you?"

Sylvia looked at the orbs and the back at Aelita, "So, you've mastered lucid dreaming. Excellent, Aelita. Very good, indeed."

"Answer my question, Sylvia. How do I know that I can trust you?"

The woman's eyes sharpened on Aelita, "You don't. That's what makes life interesting. Now, we can stand here at a proverbial impasse, or you can walk with me through my own databanks."

Aelita exhaled, and the sphere dissipated. Sylvia nodded, "Very good. Now, you're going to a slight sting."

Aelita arched an eyebrow and was about to ask a question when suddenly the spear launched and pierced her right above her left breast. Aelita screamed, and she took a breath in. It was so sharp, so cold, the metal in her chest. She looked down, and the spear was pulled out.

Aelita fell to her knees, "You fucking bitch! Why?!" she screamed through tears. As she looked down at the entry point, she was amazed as she saw no gaping hole but a small prick. "Huh?" she looked back at Sylvia-Anna.

"See? Now was that so bad? I told you it would sting a bit." Sylvia replied, leaning on her spear.

"A bit? A bit?! You nearly pierced my heart!"

Sylvia sighed, "Were you always one for the dramatics? Or have you picked up a bit from Delmas?"

"Fuck you!" Aelita retorted.

"Masturbation doesn't sound terribly bad at this point. But, alas, we have some lessons to start."

Sylvia took the bloodied spear tip and pressed a section of white. Aelita was amazed as her blood droplet turned into an ever-expanding digital code that, in time, encircled both women. Sylvia then took her spear and cut her own hand and applied her blood to the same section of the wall and a similar code except it was colored cyan. As the numbers ran blindingly fast in rotation, Aelita approached Sylvia.

"What did you do?" she asked.

Sylvia replied without looking at Aelita, "I joined our blood in the element that was needed to unlock the shared connections between North-Gate and Lyoko. Combined, we can see a more accurate picture of the data we both had to work on for the duration of our time in cyberspace."

"Why are you doing this?" Aelita asked, turning Sylvia around to face her.

Sylvia extended her hand and gripped Aelita firmly, raising her to eye-level, "Because in the absence of my former stability, I need something to help stabilize and rationalize my procedures to come. Besides, we can learn much from our combined data files."

A beep sounded, and Sylvia-Anna looked at it, "Just in time." She gently pressed the flashing node with her spear tip, and the code turned into a bird's eye view of a large city at night.

Sylvia lowered Aelita gently to the ground, and she navigated the city by focusing on critical points of interest that were highlighted by a cyan marker. As the view of the camera drifted slowly towards the location, the two young women listened to the sounds of the city and listened more as the sounds became muted, and in time, they stood in front of a majestic towering mansion of black granite.

The night around them was still, barely a breath of wind dared to stir the leaves of the trees. It was in such calm that Sylvia knew many of the deciding voices of communities, and indeed nations could make themselves heard, for dealings such as theirs were best left to nighttime when most slept. Their homes magnificent in size, design, and materials loomed imposing and powerful over the many quiet lesser vestibules of the gentle suburbs. Sylvia-Anna knew pillars of the communities dwelt in these homes. Leaders, maintainers and, gatekeepers; the spinners of the threads of everyday life. In the hands of these select few was power; the power to grant life, prosperity, justice, and freedom. Just how much of either one depended very much on those throughout their domain. How much would one be willing to sacrifice? How often was one willing to sacrifice? Both questions demanded an answer if one was hoped to find what was believed to be a purpose, let alone contentment.

Both questions were not only mandatory to be answered, but how one answered effected the powerbrokers themselves. It affected so very much. From the training to prepare one for a position to allowances to overlook minor mistakes, even going so far as to determine how quickly to take the rug out from under one who just "didn't quite meet the standard." Indeed, the answers to the two questions of willingness and frequency of sacrifice unknown to many who first cross the powerbrokers sealed their fate. It was, in a way, a dark game to the powerbrokers. A game that allowed all of them to sup with glee on choice meats, sweet and full-bodied wine, and desserts rich in sweetness and decadence of the very finest in dinnerware. Those below the great houses, however, barely had enough for a to meet the standard necessities of everyday life. Heaven forbid that one had an emergency. A rainy-day fund is what many of the upper tiers called such preparedness. However, those in the top tier never had much to worry about. In the grand scheme, they were taken care of; for they had answered the second question to the satisfaction of the masters at large.

Many, after hearing such things, would likely give pause and ask, "Just how did this come to be?" The answer would unsettle them more than comfort them. Such empires as having been described were birthed out of the love of money, the love of control, the want to be one's own master, and indeed, the master of others. The gatekeepers served their functions for the powerbrokers, many of them captains of industry, commerce, and community, to just name a few. The gatekeeper kept vigilant watch for those who showed immense promise. This promise manifests in many ways, either in intellect, charisma, strength, and resolve. If one was obscenely lucky, all properties would be in one individual; however, this was seldom the case. The gatekeeper will not let just anyone in. Those who are allowed need to be aligned to the critical aspect of the vision. The vision that power can only be entrusted to and adequately exercised by the few. The many are held to likely be too stupid to hold such power, and even if they did, they would not be of a uniform belief of how best to use it.

Once this person has been successfully vetted after a time by the gatekeeper, he will be instructed, groomed, molded, and shaped into a fellow powerbroker. This element is reserved only for those who have proven themselves able to answer both questions, as mentioned earlier, satisfactorily. This answer, however, unlike the lower tier of the gatekeeper is not just satisfied by words, but as Sylvia knew all too well, cemented by physical demonstrations of this declaration of willingness. Once the powerbrokers are satisfied, the junior powerbroker is given a district to oversee until he has proven himself worthy for advancement. This assigned district is made up of those who are a similar ethnic and cultural demographic to this new powerbroker. In time, the great test before advancement would be made evident: To unite the district through a veneer of community. However, this veneer is held together by the interweaving threads of violence and cultural pride.

Why is this done? And why mainly are these two threads used to achieve this vision? It is because, in the eyes of the powerbroker, oneness and sameness are mandatory to ensure a finely tuned element of control should things hit a snag or two accomplishing a greater agenda. The junior powerbroker is the emissary, the sated, and grateful puppet, making peace between the community and the older powers that be.

Also, in a community where there is a desire for unity, pride can feed on the people. Once pride begins to feed upon the minds of those within the community, there comes a sense of danger. Soon, the mentality goes from the inclusiveness of other outsiders into that of "us versus them." This transpires after a certain threshold of tolerance is reached. From this mentality of drawing lines, movements of enforcement and protection are born. Usually, such changes are out of the communities themselves and typically of similar backgrounds among the members of such groups. The group is designed to keep a perceived level of status-quo in the city that benefits the dominant older demographic.

The older powerbrokers know that the existence of such pride-focused groups will ignite a counterbalance from the persecuted outsider demographic. The outsiders begin to form their own clandestine coalitions. However, an understanding is attained by the junior powerbroker. That understanding is that one demographic of a select area is desired by the elders to be the dominant power for that area. Once that demographic's control is steadily maintained for a time, the junior powerbroker may sit at the elder's table, having mastered the core disciplines. The elders, for their part, apportion this new zone with their initiatives pertaining to new economic possibilities or long-held desires. The people who felt they had resisted the older power brokers had been subdued, and it was in a way that was per the elder's wishes, timely, efficient, and above all, discreet.

Sylvia waved her hand gently in front of her, and there was a dull static discharge. She looked back at Aelita and said, "Come on, I want to show you something." She walked forward, and Aelita cautiously followed as their presence darkened the door. Sylvia's hand gripped the door-handle, Aelita gripped her wrist.

"Wait," Aelita said, "What are you doing? This is someone's home."

"You want the answers you seek? You must dare and go into places you'd rather not. I would have figured with my brother's defeat you would have known this."

"I do want answers, but in this way! Tell me what you want me to know, and we'll work from there."

"Why tell you, Sister, when I can show you instead?"

There was a click, and the door gently swung open. Sylvia, with a violent jerk, removed her wrist from Aelita's grip, "Go in." she said, "Seeing is believing."

Aelita nervously walking inside the dimly lit home. Her breathing was quick and shallow as she walked along what she knew to be a black and white tiled floor.

A light went on, and Sylvia walked forward into the home from the switch near the door. Aelita was amazed as she looked around this house. It was gorgeous. White marble seemed to be the order of the day when it came to this home. It was on the countertops; the very pillars of the great room and kitchen were also made of it. The counters and cabinets were made of the very most beautiful mahogany; the stove was of the highest efficiency and capacity for operation. The stainless-steel refrigerator was massive, taking up at least twelve feet of wall space.

Aelita opened the doors of the unit and saw shelf after shelf of food. Refrigerated fruits, vegetables both whole and chopped; numerous cheeses, seemingly fourteen different types of meat, jarred fruit preserves, and a freezer full of assorted loaves of bread, many bottles of chilled Cristal, Patron, Hennessey, Vermouth, and Jameson.

Aelita took a bottle of Cristal, and after putting it back, she turned back to Sylvia, "Look," she said, "Why did you bring me here? To show me the ill-gotten gains of Capitalism? I get it, I really do. You are upset that life is not fairer to others as it is with some. But since when is that any concern of yours? Does this perceived inequality give you a license to enter someone's house and take as you like? It sure as hell doesn't."

Sylvia looked at her, rolled her eyes, and sighed; she felt an explanation was in order and said, "This is the servant's floor. There are four floors to this house, not counting the attic. This is where the food for the family is prepared by the staff who live just down the hall. Did you not take in of the raw amount of food in the refrigerator? Do you honestly see a family of four eating and drinking that much?"

Aelita looked back at the fridge and then back to Sylvia, "So what is all that food used for then? And if it is only a family of four as you say, why have so much space one home?"

"Now you're asking the right questions. Answer: The food is used for dinners of those in the city. It is used to help broker deals as well as showcase that this house and its occupants are the desired quality befitting assurances of what most in this circle would call progress."

"Okay, that's the food, what about the sheer scale of the house?" Aelita asked.

"Simple. Many deals are brokered not just over food. Although it is a major part of such deals, and quality food at that. Many deals that run finer elements of everyday life are done in the backrooms of houses such as this. This is where the real money resides, Aelita. This is the resting place of the money that habitually buys paintings by Van-Gough for an opening bid of fifteen to twenty-five million."

Aelita nodded and said, "Go on."

"Gladly. Why so gracious a space? Hospitality and quality of said hospitality are key for people of power. This is largely what makes the world go around. A house this large is made partially in mind with the element of entertaining the necessary overnight guests, but no more than the necessary."

"So, a house like this is as much a home as it is—a business investment?"

"Yeah, that's dead on. The thing is it's also used as a sick kind of carrot, dangling at the end of every man's nose. It's kind of a sick twisted joke. Work until you are dead for the unconfirmed promise you may have a house like this." Sylvia-Anna laughed, "The only assured life choice which semi-guarantees this kind of life, at least early on in appearances, is armed service to the State."

"Now, you've gone too far!" Aelita yelled. Immediately a powerful sting was felt to her face as Sylvia-Anna slapped her so hard that it took a moment for Aelita to register the full pain.

"Quiet, moron! They'll hear you." Sylvia replied in a harsh whisper.

Aelita's eyes went wide as she was recovering from the shock of the blow, "Huh?"

Sylvia lowered herself to Aelita's height, "They will hear you. Keep your mouth shut or at least talk low."

Aelita's eyes went wide, "What are you…"

Sylvia held a hand to her mouth and said, "Shh."

Sylvia sighed, "That's enough for tonight. You're going home. I'll contact you when you're confirmed to be awake."

Aelita's face grew confused and then angry. She reached for Sylvia's spear and was about to lay hold of it when Sylvia grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. The force of the grip was not hard enough to choke her but enough to divert Aelita's attention. Taking a crystal peppershaker from the counter, she put it in Aelita's hand and threw her. Aelita flew backward, and then she felt falling. It was a fall with such incredible swiftness that Aelita almost lost her breath. Her eyes shot open. She was on her bed; it had just struck four. Aelita was breathing rapidly, but soon her heart stopped as she felt her hand gripping something. She raised her hand to her face. It was the crystal peppershaker from her dream.

Later that day, Aelita was at Yumi's house. She told Yumi all that had happened in the past few days: her conversation with Cassius Dio, the discussion with Silvia before the dream, and the dream itself. Yumi listened intently, and when Aelita had finished, she took a few moments to properly process all she had been told.

"Well," Yumi said finally, "It's a bind. That's for sure. On the one hand, we know where Sylvia's intentions lie; we know where her anger and resentment stems from. In many ways, it's a mixed blessing, as my grandmother would say. We know how she's going to proceed. That said, if what you have said is true, she has barely restrained anger just under the surface. The dark truth and the sad reality are something you may not want to hear. I believe it was Sylvia behind your mother's attack, and I believe she genuinely has tried to kill her. What's worse, as wrong as such an action is, she may have no issue attempting to kill your mother. If I were in her shoes and I found my mother was still alive, I'd likely sit on the information a bit longer; but what transpired would be not that far fetched as to what most would do given her history."

Aelita nodded, "I more than realize her life may not at all have been ideal, but look at me, my father put me into the supercomputer, and I didn't turn into a maniac with homicidal inclinations."

Yumi laughed a bit, "Yeah, but Aelita, remember you didn't remember how you came to be in there, let alone the reasoning behind such action. Now, let's look at Sylvia, who has an accountable memory. From that account, she has a greater reason to desire an explanation of her situation. How did she word it to you? She said that at first, she believed her state was out of her safety but realized it was for your mother to hide her shame."

Aelita sighed, "Even though someone else's shame may be the reason you are given such treatment doesn't' give you a right to kill that person."

"Are you so sure about that?" Yumi retorted, "Look at your own relationship with your mother. She only recently came back into your life, and I remember the rage you had towards her in your first meeting. Now, take that rage and magnify it in the understanding that you are seen as shameful by your mother. Because you are shameful to your mother, you are sealed away within a program. That is Sylvia's position exactly. It is easy to say it doesn't give you the right to kill someone, and yes, common sense would agree. But, Aelita, since when does mankind, especially in a situation as this, ever lead with a morally upstanding view? Never, and you know that. The human heart will want what it wants. Sylvia, in this regard, wanted revenge, and who can blame her? I can tell you now, much of the world would support such a decision. Why? Because of the allure of revenge for such an action."

Aelita nodded, "Do you really think she'll try and kill mother?"

"She's already tried. Would she finish the job if she found your mother was still alive? I honestly can't say, but I wouldn't get my hopes up for your mother's survival in such an event."

"Life and soul, you are," Aelita replied wryly.

"It's just the reality we find ourselves in, Aelita. However, what needs to be done is what Sylvia is more or less asking you to do. What you need to do is call your mother, talk to her, and address this skeleton in the closet. Perhaps, if you talk with her, hear her rationale, you can convince Sylvia to let her live."

Aelita was silent a moment as she contemplated Yumi's words. Four minutes passed, and Aelita said, "You're right. It's what needs to be done. Question, do you think I could get a ride to the hospital where she's staying?"

Yumi looked at the clock on the wall, "I would advise you to come back tomorrow, and I'm sure my mom can take you to see her. Today admittedly is a bit last-second."

"Of course, I'm sorry."

"No worries, but tomorrow is not a problem. It's nearly lunchtime would you like something to eat?"

"Sure. What do you have?"

"We'll raid the fridge and see what there is."

"Speaking of raiding a fridge, what do you make of what I told you last night about my dream?"

Yumi got up and headed to the kitchen, and Aelita followed, "Honestly? I don't know. There's a lot to be considered. You said that you went to bed after the movie, and when you dreamed, you were able to talk around someone's house and see and feel their belongings. You then wake up with a crystal pepper shaker in your hand from the dream."

"Yes, that's correct."

"I know," Yumi replied as she opened the fridge, "I'm just organizing it in my mind. Well, we've got salami, a few slices of various cheese, some roast beef—would you like a sandwich?"

Aelita nodded, "Yes, Salami would be fine."

Yumi took out the baggie of salami, and she took out two of her father's hard lemonades, "I don't have an answer for you, Aelita. I would have said she has harnessed the teleportation aspect, perhaps, as she does have the supercomputer. But, then how would you dream so vividly? In most of our dreams, we don't feel anything as in touch. But you said you felt her grip, and it was tight around your neck. You also said that you woke with the same peppershaker in your hand from the dream, and you have this shaker in your room. Okay, so the question would be, just how did that materialize from your dream into our reality?"

"I don't know. There's no way to do it, at least as far as I know." Aelita replied.

Yumi was making the sandwiches as she said, "You said you had a feeling of intense falling when Sylvia threw you back?"

"Yes. It was a sudden drop like I felt my stomach was a lead weight, and the rest of me was just along the for the ride."

"It makes sense. In our falling action in the dream, we're usually falling somewhere, but you said you woke in your bed, and apart from the shaker, there was nothing different?"

"No, nothing."

Yumi sighed, "I don't know. Maybe it's something we haven't run across yet. Perhaps it's a new tool in her skill set., there's a whole bunch of likely reasons, and it would do no good to start guessing. She handed Aelita her sandwich and hard lemonade.

"Thanks. I know it's the one thing that bothered me because it was exactly from my dream, but I don't know how that happened."

"Give it time and don't stress on it. We have time to figure it out; in the meantime, let's eat."

As the two ate their lunch, Yolonda was taking advantage of her free time at North-Gate's residence in the city. She was sitting in front of what looked like an ordinary ham radio setup. But this setup, in particular, had been calibrated to correspond with Terry on his trip back home. There had been regular check-ins from him every day around this time, but for some reason, it was silent today. She had been at the station for the better part of an hour, and despite how punctual Terry usually was, he had deviated from what had been a steadfast schedule quite drastically. As Yolanda thought she could zero on his frequency, no luck.

Taking her headphones off, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I honestly wonder what has happened back home." She thought, "It has been nearly ten years since were there last, and I know so much can change. It depends on the roots of what we endeavored to plant."

A knock came at the door, and Yolanda got up and was amazed to see Terry outside. She opened the door and looked at him. He looked tired as if he had been through hell's half-acre far too much for his liking.

"Terry," Yolanda replied, "I thought you weren't to be back for a few more days."

Terry entered the house, and he handed her a paper bag, "Your pretzel bread." He came in, dropped a small rucksack down on the ground, and lay down on the couch. He let out a sigh that Yolanda could tell was from sheer frustration and exhaustion combined.

"Thank you. Terry, what happened? What's going on?" Yolanda asked as she sat down beside him.

"I've had a bellyful." He replied after a moment and then said, "Turn off your implant. What I have to say doesn't leave this room."

Yolanda disconnected, and she said, "What happened?"

He looked at her, "Everything we aspired to have happened back home—it's still going. Albeit with some changes. The social experiment didn't work nearly as well as we'd originally hoped. However, I learned from the last surviving member of the cabinet that they had made some suitable changes."

"How didn't it work?" Yolanda asked.

Terry looked at her as if he had been shot, "We didn't account for people's greed. Greed runs this fucking rock. But thanks to the leniency of some of our policies, the suitable changes were made."

"What do you mean greed runs the world?" Yolanda asked.

"It does, Londie. Pure and fucking simple, it does. North-Gate's not wrong. There's an immense limit to how altruistic people can be. I've learned that. Leave it up to them, and they won't give to the people. North-Gate wasn't asking much with her ten percent off the top. We didn't think so. Ha! Boy, were we wrong. It only took five years for the people to want more. We have given them the greater ninety percent to do with as they wanted. It still wasn't enough. The old seeds, the seeds of the capitalist as our leader says, they're deep, Londie. They're very fucking deep. The good news is, there is a way to subdue it."

"How?"

"Go into my rucksack. I took those from the Bureau of Public Relations before I came back. That is what our vision has turned into."

Yolanda got up, and she went to the sack and pulled out the literature. It was in a blue and gold book. She came back and sat down.

"The Fall of the Machine and the Rise of the Citizen King." Yolanda read aloud, "Hmm, very musical ring to it."

"It's our new government. Thank the Lord for our flexibility in some areas. Our party still has most of the great house, but we had to do a facelift as we more or less anticipated."

"And so, what is this?" Yolanda asked, "It's tiny. Not even sixty pages."

"It's a call to movement and action by someone who started out as a nobody, Florianne de Michon. She is an outstanding speaker and analyst. She's been given rank now, that's how good and loved by the people she is. But like the junior powerbroker, she's very cunning. She came forward to the great house four years ago when the people had enough of giving their ten percent. She is not against us. On the contrary, she's for us. Just in a different way."

"In what way?"

"Just read it, Londie. You can read it in half an hour. She's smart, oh ho-ho, she's fucking smart. I wish we had her on our team for damage control, honestly."

Yolanda read, and as she read, she asked, "What is this kingdom, this Tourant?"

"That's the beauty of it. It's a phantom. It doesn't exist. Turns out we're not the only one with access to economic tools to help us in this way. Using the raw empirical data, she was able to gather, she convinced much of the leadership at the time if they wished to avoid a massacre, to let her speak to the people. She secured a position for herself as the people's hero."

"You know how North-Gate responds to such a thing, so why are you so fed up?" Yolonda asked.

"A lot of reasons. The main one? Because in all reality as much as I don't like this Florianne or Flori as she likes to call herself, she's not wrong. It's like with anything, Londie, if you look deep enough, you'll find a problem. That's exactly what she did, and she rectified it but used the people's revolt to propel herself into her station. Not only that, but she fed into the greed that people naturally have. She made it a sport, just like it was before we came to power, but she made it so smooth in how everything ran, making everything sound the epitome of fair that she is practically untouchable. If the people found out, she was killed, all we worked for, and the last threads we have in power will collapse."

"And what of our orator?" Yolanda asked, "What happened to Sabina?"

Terrance sighed, "They killed her. She was proved to be ineffective once Flori took the stage. To her credit, she tried to continue to stoke the fires of our movement. However, according to the records, she was killed in a protest. I wanted to bring her body back home, but by the time I arrived, she had been cremated."

Yolanda looked at him, stunned, "So now she's gone too?" she asked her voice gently breaking.

John sat up and replied, "Yes." He sighed, "So much for our glorious vision, eh?"

Yolanda took a moment to collect herself and then said, "What about Josef? What about Henri, Father Phillipe, or little Maria?"

Terrance looked at her, "Josef was killed in the wake of Influenza sweeping through. Henri joined Florianne's movement and is a proud proponent of her stances. Henri sold out brother Phillipe, and they sentenced Phillipe to exile. According to the records of such people, he's a potato farmer now. I tried to find his farm, but expatriates are not 'worthy of mention.' And so, his location is not disclosed. Little Maria was more natural to bring into the Citizen King fold as they turned her into a state-press radio operator and jammer of outside elements."

"State Press?" Yolanda asked, "Not even we were that stringent?"

"According to Flori, it is to keep a sober mind, free from distracting or corrupting influence."

"So, you met this woman?"

"She's a smug as hell bitch who got into power through a silver tongue. But can I fault her for her solution? It is rather ingenious. It benefitted her and others like her, but the people seem largely happy. The people are placated, they are appeased. Because Flori played into the two things, we would not, their pride and ambition. She made pride the principle motivator and ambition the common currency and mark of establishment. What's worse, people love her for it. I mean, think about it, what a great idea! Turn your own craft into something of legitimate pride, but you are still under a slight form of regulation, and so long as you work within the rules, you can pride yourself not only on what you make but how you are compliant to the code. She took our standards and, through the slightest alteration, made them beautiful."

Yolanda read through the small pamphlet, and she said, "According to this, she's a grand duchess…"

"Don't believe that." Terrence said with a chuckle, "The entire pamphlet is an allegory. She used those exact words to gain the sympathies of the inner chambers of the Great House, and she printed it for the primary movers, and when they read it, they deemed her more than worthy. She gave her initiation speech verbatim from that pamphlet. And because of her eloquence and grace, she is now a Grand Duchess in the new system, which is a fancy name they have for women Captains of Industry as they are called."

Yolanda stood and looked at Terry, "So, what's your plan? You know as well as I do, North-Gate will not accept these principles because it doesn't align with its morality clause. So, what's your plan?"

Terry was silent for a moment, and after a sigh, he replied, "I'll tell you. See, as much as I may not like Florianne, her policies build on ours. The issue that we face is not so much about morality. It's more accurate to say, we encounter people's individual motivations to work. Our system expects too much of people. We expect them to operate out of good faith, and we know that at least fifty percent won't do that. However, another thing that her pamphlet brings up is an emphasis on what to specialize in bolstering the economy.

Our emphasis was to give people occupations based on their passions. That's only half the answer. Necessary tasks need to be met for a nation to thrive. However, the best way to do this is to have a society raised with a select ideal being paramount. Keep reading the pamphlet and you will see just how this is done. It takes our solution, and it extends it to multiple generations because of the line of teaching it to future generations. Make a community standard of acceptable behavior, and it will become the new norm. Passions, while important, cannot drive a country. There is much in terms of overall labor that needs to be done. I know what to do now to improve our own element. And that is to implement portions of what you see before you in that pamphlet."

Yolanda looked at the pamphlet and then looked at Terry again, "This will take work."

"I know. But the beauty of this is, while it may not necessarily gel with North-Gate on a moral ground, the systematic controls of the populace are something that I know would appeal to her. All one needs is a master of oratory; all one needs is someone to make the people see sense in this vision. It is not too late to do a lot of this. The best part is that we have so much of this already in production. We just need a new motivation moving forward."

"And just how do you intend to explain your travels to North-Gate? How do you intend to explain this new ideology?"

"As she does with much of her narrative, in doses," John replied. His watch beeped, and he said, "If you'll excuse me, I have to talk to the others."

As he began to walk away, Yolanda said, "Answer me one thing. Why did you come to me and not to Maria, Emilio, Enrique, or Frank?"

Terrance turned back, "Because you're the only one who is likely to see reason out of all of them. You're level-headed. Go about introducing this kind of thinking to the others, and suddenly you're accused of being the rebel in the camp. I'm not a rebel, nor am I against North-Gate. But when you come against someone more skilled at seeing this from a more profitable angle, from a much-desired ordered angle, you submit to what they have to say. The man or woman who doesn't have anything left to learn is a braggart and a fool. There is always more to learn, always a new view to take in. That is why I spoke to you first. Because you're the most reasonable."

Terrance came back for his rucksack, turned, and headed out the door. Yolanda looked at the pamphlet in her hand. And she thought, "Thank you, Terry. Thank you. Hopefully, now, the sacrifice of the others will not have been in vain."