Fitocracy.

A dystopian fiction for dystopian times.

Ajax sat across from an empty chair behind a desk with a single monitor.

He was nervous. He turned 21 two moon cycles ago and was awaiting The Conversation with his career consult. He quietly recited the fruits of weeks of research under his breath.

“Name Julius Marino. Age 42. Height 6 feet, 1.32 inches. Weight 172.338 pounds last measured 12 days ago. Favorite activity triathlon. Specialty is biking. Last recognition was the Alexandrian Triathlon on the 22nd of Cicero, 2062 when he placed 3rd overall, 1st for his age group. Deep Lindy certifications in psychology, supply chains, and physiognomy…”

Julius was late. He hit an unforgettable pace during his lunch run and rode the wave and additional 2 miles beyond his usual 11 miles. Ajax continued to recite his research until the door behind him slammed open.

“Hello!” Julius shouted as he pulled his wired earbuds out of his ears. He was pure fucking sinew wearing a cutoff tee featuring a faded portrait of crudely drawn cartoon frog. Ajax remembered that from his classes; one of the few frenly symbols from the before times. Very rare. Julius pulled a carton of eggs out from a minifridge, cracked four into a glass and drank them in strict accordance with the Slonk religion’s post-workout standards. Then he walked behind the desk to remove his running shoes, sat in the empty chair and moved his sunglasses to his forehead.

“Don’t tell me!” he shouted again with a smile on his face. He was obviously an excited, high-energy person. He stared at Ajax’s face while he wracked his brain for a name. He was normally better about remembering his appointments, but the run stole his focus.

“Hmmm… Ajax! Ajax Miller.” Ajax smiled in affirmation. “How are you, I’m Julius.” He reached across the table and shook hands with Ajax.

“I’m well, very well.” Ajax’s voice was calm but his body language betrayed his nerves.

Julius chuckled. “There’s no need to be nervous. It suits nobody to give you a career that’s unhealthy for you. That’s what soys are for.” His eye twinkled as he remembered the last time he looked out over a soy camp and saw all they had accomplished.

“But you can’t stop the heart can you? So I’ll break the ice with a little demystifying. I have here an aggregation of files on you from multiple sources. Schools from primary through university, employers, coaches, friends, girlfriends (very well done on that front, young man), your family, and a few chance encounters over the years that remembered to make a public log of your interactions. Using these I have devised a small number of ‘perfect’ careers for you, as well as a larger subset of ‘acceptable’ careers. But first I wanted to ask you about your graduation ceremony.”

Ajax’s heart dropped. He knew what this was about.

“Your grades look spectacular. ‘A-’ in ‘Greek-Lensed Nietzcheism.’ ‘A-’ in ‘Aquinan Applications of Multidimensional Integrals.’ ‘A’ in ‘Derivation of Schizoid Ideologies from Classic Literature’ with a glowing review from the professor. Your physical feats throughout your college career were well beyond basic requirements for your declared major in powerlifting. But during your graduation ceremony you only managed 425 for two reps. Again, good enough for basic requirements but well below your established capabilities. What happened?”

Ajax was panicking. Any question of physical capabilities or one’s commitment to them was no laughing matter. He frantically searched his mind for an excuse but settled on the truth.

“When I laid onto the bench I laid on a fold in my graduation gown. It impinged my shoulder movement and I didn’t notice until I was holding the bar. By then it was too late. My university has a strict ‘no balks’ policy.”

Julius’ eyes pierced Ajax. He already knew all this as the graduation official had made a note of it but wanted a gauge of Ajax’s reaction to pressure. He kept quiet for a few seconds after he was satisfied to see if Ajax had anything to add. “Fair enough. These things happen when you lift out of routine. As I said earlier, I’ve got several career ideas for you that I’d like to discuss. What is your ideal job?”

Ajax’s eyes lit up. He loved talking about his dream job. “I want to be an enforcement officer at a soy camp! Sticking it to the soys for a living. I spent my entire college career dirty bulking for it.” Enforcement officers spent prolonged shifts at the soy camps but had very, very significant social capital during their week-long intermissions in ordinary civilization away from their posts.

“Ah! Ambitious! Motivated! Of course! I love it.” Ajax beamed at this response. “But I have some bad news for you,” Julius continued. “It’s not gonna happen.”

The emotional whiplash left Ajax confused.

“Wha- but I… One bad lift at graduation shouldn-” Julius held up a hand at Ajax’s attempt to protest.

“I know. I know it’s not ideal. But that’s the way it is, for a few reasons. First off, the Mongolian-Samoan eugenic movement in the 2040’s has saturated the enforcement officer market. You should see those guys,” Julius’ voice broke from its sanitized officiality into mellow conversation. “Saw one snap a soy’s arm like a carrot for saying *Equity.*” He mouthed the last word without making any noise to prevent a potential life sentence to a soy camp. Ajax reflexively put one hand over his own mouth in shock. “I know, right? Controlled combat testing shows we only need three to four of them per block of 120 soys. Even if they all worked together they couldn’t take them out, even when we gave them weapons. So, you’re not quite what we’re looking for there.” He resumed his meeting tone.

“Not to mention your grades, like I said earlier. The glory of an enforcement officer may be tempting now but you’ve got some smarts that I know you won’t want to be wasting in 5 years. I don’t want you wasting it, that’s for sure.” Julius paused as he considered this new information from Ajax. “You definitely need something more cerebral, but I won’t pretend the heart doesn’t want what it wants. Not to mention you’ve got a good face, voice, and size for authority… Hmmm…” He opened his computer to search the government’s employment database. “Let’s see…” He clicked and typed and clicked and typed for a couple minutes. Ajax was sweating with suspense.

“Nothing here…” Ajax’s heart fell into his stomach. “But I’m not giving up just yet.”

“Please just not construction,” Ajax pleaded.

“You? Heavens no,” Julius responded without looking away from his monitor. “With the technology we have now construction workers are way closer to a masochistic cardio nerd like me than a powerlifter like you.” Ajax laid back in his seat, relaxed at this news.

Julius continued his search in silence. “Aha!” He shouted. “I thought I remembered this email! You’re gonna love this.”

“What is it?”

“Department of Enforcement, O’Brien Division.”

“O’Brien Division?”

“The one and only.”

Ajax was confused. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of that.”

“Nor should you! It’s a forensic, psychological, and surveillance division of the Department of Enforcement. You see often times enforcement just requires a broken arm, but sometimes that’s not enough.” Ajax stayed silent with a quizzical expression, taking in what Julius was saying.

“Sometimes,” Julius continued, “the soys get ideas. Like how you and I get ideas. Ideas about right and wrong that they hold with religious fervor. Even though they say they hate religion! It’s fascinating.”

“Ideas like what?” soys were rarely ever taught about in Ajax’s classes beyond the basic reminder that they are subjects of contempt for Fitocrats.

“Crazy shit.” Julius was particularly candid right now as he remembered his own fellowship in observing soy psychology. “They think 7-year-olds should be learning about sex, that everyone deserves the same everything, and strangely enough that they’re meaningless flesh sacks that for some reason deserve to live out a meaningless life of living off the labor of others. Really weird, disjointed stuff like that.”

Ajax’s head went reeling at these ideas. “But those ideas are absurd! They don’t even survive preliminary inspection. Not to mention any of the three Aristotelian rhetorical appeals.”

“To them they do. They think that shit’s all there is. They get it in their heads and they just won’t let it go. Honestly, they all think it somewhere deep down but most of the time they keep quiet about it. When they don’t - and when you can’t beat it out of them - that’s where the O’Brien Division comes in. They have to remove the ideas from their heads, or at the very least the foreground of their consciousness. Requires a rare combination of intelligence with authoritarian appearance. One of the frens I made during a psychology fellowship with them sent me an email a couple days ago that they’ll be posting for an opening in about a week. I’m gonna get you to the front of that line.”

“What about my bulking?”

“Oh, you’ll need it,” Julius reassured him. “It’s important for employees of the O’Brien Division to have a diverse array of aesthetics in their ranks. Whatever can catch the soys off-guard. You would work well as a “big and stupid” type. They love to think they’re smarter than you.”

Ajax chuckled with Julius at the idea of a soy actually being smarter than a fitocrat.

“Some of the pros include great - really great - training, very good compensation, enough aesthetic incentives to keep you exercising. Some negatives are that it’s more cerebral than you were asking for, it requires a lot of travel as you’ll be going to whatever soy camps across the country that need you, and sometimes the un-idea process can take a long while. So, what are you thinking?”

Ajax sat silently and parsed through the flood of information he had been given. He thought about his grandfather who had fought in the Class War. He could always see the before years in the wrinkles on his face. His grandfather had so much wisdom for Ajax no matter what the problem was.

Ajax thought about the time when he was 14 and his grandfather pulled him aside at a family Christmas party after his mother brought up her desire for Ajax to be a sculptor. “You were born to stick it to the soys,” he said gruffly. “Don’t you ever forget it. I know your mother disagrees with me. She wants something more glamorous for you. But I raised her in a world where she didn’t have to worry about them. I neglected to teach her everything we went through because I thought we could put it behind us. But we can’t. Everything around us is lost if we don’t keep those soys where they belong: in those dirty fuckin camps. You get a chance to break them and you take it. If you don’t get a chance you make one. And always remember that I love you.”

Ajax’s melted expression of consideration froze into one of determination.

“I’ll do it.”