Mr Huxley and the Case for Sedition

By Maiya Elali

It is a peculiar thing that convictions one has held for years can be destroyed by an act committed in the span of ten minutes. I suppose it is a function of our inherent malleability – a very human thing indeed. But I am ashamed to discuss human things in this account, for I feel that I no longer possess the qualities that truly constitute humanity, and lost them long ago with my induction into the Company, and again with my actions committed barely a fortnight ago.

I record those events now so that I may gain respite, but also, so that I may be punished and in that way recover some form of my ‘Soul’. Even dictating that age-old term sends shivers down my spine; I have truly crossed into dark, unauthorised territory.

The evening began with a Summons. It was to be an intimate occasion – a gathering with Department heads and the Company Chief–the man I had so longed to converse with, to view even.

‘For the People.’ The words were emblazoned above the entry to the Headquarters and reading them made my heart swell with pride. How foolish I was to believe that what we did was for our fellow man and not ourselves alone.

Inside the grand foyer, I was greeted by familiar faces waiting outside the elevator. There was Horatio, Minister of Education, and Murphy, Minister of Allocation of Resources, and, with a trembling voice I speak his name – my long-time friend Huxley, Minister of Populace Participation. There were other faces, but I cannot recall them now but as a blur of faces and waistcoats. We stepped into the elevator, all of us, conversing lightly about our Departments, and then as we passed the 50th floor, we began to excitedly discuss the meeting. Together, we concluded that it was to be a roundtable on the future of the Company.

“What if it’s about the…Incident?” interrupted one of the men with a tremor. Benjamin, I think it was. The group fell silent and then after a moment, Horatio shook his head.

“No, we dealt with that.”

But when the elevator doors parted noiselessly on the hundred and tenth floor, an ominous air hung heavy in the opulent hallway that greeted us. I had thought then that perhaps it had not been adequately dealt with.

The hallway was shadowy, illuminated only partially by neon globes hanging low. We passed beneath them; Horatio removed his bowler hat, and the group of men shuffled in a hushed line down the hallway. A large entrance opened at the end of it. My excitement was largely diminished now by a nervousness that increased the more I walked. I instinctively halted in the doorway and noted that a large conference table that must have occupied the centre of the vast room had been pushed against a wall. In its place there were a number of chairs arranged in a circle. There were three men in the room – two Company Guards stood against a wall and a singular figure, certainly the Chief, stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows with his back to us. He was still, as if a statue, and one would’ve thought so if it were not for the slight twitch of his head and the movement of the fabric of his black coat. I swallowed, stepping silently into the room, followed by the others.

“Gentlemen.” The word hung pregnant in the air, perfectly articulated. I glanced at the other men, and anxiety was evident in their expressions. Finally the man turned around and I was able to observe him. He was an older man with a stern face and dark deep-set eyes that stared out at us in one sweeping gaze.

“I am the Chief Executive.”

He stopped, and after a few seconds one of the men piped up,

“It is a great honour to meet you sir.”

The Chief nodded slowly and with great emphasis. Then he continued.

“I have gathered you all here today to aid me in making an important administrative decision.”

He moved closer towards us.

“In light of recent events, I wish to be apprised of the dedication of my Department heads to the mission of the Company”- and there was an audible intake of breath – “so that I may commit myself to the task of restructuring. As you see before you, a circle of chairs. I am sure you have all heard of the old game of Musical Chairs.”

There were strained smiles and nods from among the men.

“It is a quaint game, but effective in demonstrating Company loyalty.”

He placed two large hands on the back of a chair.

“Here are the rules.

There are fifteen chairs – and fourteen of you. I will play music” – and I recall thinking ‘music? I suppose rank has its perks’–“And when the music stops, each of you will attempt to sit on a chair. He who does not obtain a chair to sit on will be…relocated.”

My heart pounded. I had heard about relocation.

“After each round, a chair will be removed. I will do this until I am down to five chairs. Those men who obtain a chair are free to return to their posts. The rest of you will be relocated.”

Each of us was rooted in our spot. The Chief clapped his hands together.

“Prepare yourselves! The game will begin in a minute.”