By Design (Pimpworld)

“We thought this design would be effective”.

The draftsman pushed the prototype across the desk to the panel.

“Similar species with prolonged immaturity have a heat cycle of approximately 10 years to allow the mother to raise one child to a degree of self-sufficiency, free from male sexual demands”.

“You mean, sex once every 10 years?” One of the panel queried. “No good”, and he pushed the prototype back.

Another draftsman coughed softly and gently pushed his prototype forward.

“We took into account your policy statement that the males would take no part in  child raising.  In view of the particularly demanding nature of the young I have proposed that the young be raised collectively by groups of mothers.  As this is a social species who work, hunt, food gather and live in groups, this would fit in the normal social pattern”.

The panel briefly conferred.

“And this would mean collective protection of the young by the mothers?” one of the panel queried.

“Yes.  This deals both with the needs of the mothers for help and results in a high level of protection for the young”.

“No good” the first panel member stated, pushing the proto back to the draftsman.

“But why? It meets all your requirements”.

“If the females band collectively to protect the young, they might extend that to banding collectively to obstruct male sexual advances.  This has been observed in other species.  Next”.

The third draftsman hesitated before pushing his prototype before the panel.

“We had a bit of difficulty with your requirement to maximise intelligence.  The needed circumference of the head at birth creates a high incidence of death and injury to the mother and child.  We suggest the female bodies are scaled up accordingly so that the young are a proportionate size”.

A ripple of laughter ran through the panel. With a deliberately straight face one said, “You are suggesting that the females should be bigger than the males?”

“And more muscular.  Their bodies have to carry a substantial weight unlike the males who only have to  carry ……”

His voice trailed off at the expressions on the panel’s faces.

“And” he desperately continued, “when you consider the size of  infants to a mature female gorilla…”

The rest of his statement was swamped by gales of laughter from the panel.  With a wave of his hand the first panelist dismissed him.

“In fact you are all dismissed.  Bring in the next candidates”.

The draftsmen sloped from the room and three bright-faced graduate recruits trooped in.

“This is your assignment.  We require a design for the females of this species.  We want maximum intelligence and maximum sex.  The males will take no part in the raising of the young.  Any questions?”

“Maximum sex.  Won’t this amplify the danger to the females and their young and subject both to continuous ongoing harassment?”

“It will – and your point is?”

“Well, I …”

“Maximum sex means maximum young.  That means the females and young can experience a high attrition rate without endangering the survival of the species”.

The students quietly considered this.

One spoke hesitantly.  “Maximum reproduction means abandoning a heat cycle and having continuous fertility.  This will mean frequent sloughing of the uterine lining a process repugnant to both the males and females”.

The panelist nodded.  “The males can avoid the females when they are undergoing the process.  Their reward is continuous access to sex”.

“But why?” asked one student. “Why do you want maximum reproduction and maximum sex.  You have designed for intelligence.  Why would you want an intelligent species to spend more time on animal activities than even animals do, when they are equipped to do so much else – science, technology and arts?”

A member of the panel who had remained silent up till then answered.

“So we can throw away the people we don’t want and there is a fortune to be made out of sex”.


Copyright conartistocracy, September 2017




“Somebody said you’re the girl who finds things. Are you?”

Sam turned to look at the younger girl, a good foot shorter than herself. She was starting to see a pattern in the faces of the children who came to her.  Their eyes wet as they had just been crying.  Eyes anxious and pleading.  Some tied their hands in knots as they anxiously made their request.

“I’m the finder” Sam replied. “What have you lost?”

The face relaxed before her. “It’s my favourite teddy.  A tiny one.  Mum told me not to take it to school, but I love him and I take him everywhere.  I must have pulled him out of my pocket when I took my hanky out”.

The girl reached into her pocket, retrieved her hanky and wiped her nose.

Sam thought. A pretty toy.  If it fell anywhere in the playground another kid would have picked it up and kept it.  Not good.  But, there was still a chance.

She took the younger girls arm.

“Let’s walk and you tell me everywhere you’ve been since you last saw your teddy”.

Arm in arm the girls strolled round the playground while the boys weaved around them in their boisterous games, and cliques of girls looked the other way, only some looking curiously at Sam, the finder. They had heard stories about her.  She was the one you went to if you lost something.  Nine times out of ten you got it back.

They strolled around the open playground while Sam let her senses take in the girl’s atmosphere.  She thought of it as frequency, as her Dad was an electrician and had explained to her about frequencies, and wave lengths, and how you tuned a radio. It was like tuning into a radio.  You read the girls frequency, then kept your antenna alert for when you felt the signal of the same frequency.  The possession and the owner sent out the same signal.

The playground was clear and Sam knew there was little chance of finding the teddy if it had been lost here.

“Did you go anywhere else?”

The girl’s face had taken on a forlorn cast as she was coming to the conclusion that her teddy was lost for good.

“I went to the loo first thing after class, as I always do”.

The girls headed to the girls lavatory. With a rush of relief Sam felt the signal as soon as they entered the door.  Faint but definite.  The girl ran to her cubicle then rushed out with a whoop of joy, a tiny, pretty teddy with a red bow waved in her hand.

“I must have dropped it when I went to the loo”.

Sam smiled. Face all in smiles, the girl stuffed teddy deep into her pocket.

“Thank you, thank you” she said, and she rushed back into the playground to join her friends, Sam forgotten.

How many was that? Sam wondered. It had started by chance at the start of term.  A friend had lost her scarf.  Sam had helped her find it, and then realised she had a sense for missing objects.  It was a feeling that matched the object with the owner, like a magnetic attraction.  You just brought the two together.  People who knew her came to her when they lost things, and most times she found them.  Then children she didn’t know started to come to her.  First older children, then younger.  Sam didn’t mind.  It gave her something to do to pass the boring lunch hour when she would have much rather been home reading a book.

For her seventh birthday her aunt gave her a butterfly broach. It was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen, and she was not much interested in jewellery.  It was a golden metal, enamelled with bright cheerful yellow, and deep blue rings for eyes.  It had a safety clasp so it could not be lost.

One day she wore the broach to school, and somehow the safety clasp didn’t work and the broach fell off. Search as she might she could not find it.  She felt as if a part of her heart had been taken away.  Then several days later a girl from a younger year stopped her in the playground.  The girls face was serious and worried.

“I heard you lost a broach” the strange girl said.

Sam nodded.

“I think I found it”. But the girl still looked worried  “Are you sure you want it back?”

“Yes” said Sam.

Without a word the girl handed over Sam’s broach and walked away. Sam looked at the broach in her hand.  Definitely it was her broach, but now it was broken.  The wings had become flattened, and the coloured paint had been stripped off.  It was no longer the tiny gem of beauty it had been.

As Sam looked at the broach she heard a man’s voice in her head. Mature, authoritative.  He was referring to her finder ability.

“If you continue what you are doing one day you will find something that would be better left unfound”

Sam obeyed. She obeyed automatically.  In her experience adults were more often right than children.  They were right nine times out of ten, where children were wrong nine times out of ten.  From that day on she never found for anyone again.

And many years later. Many, many years later, when her finder ability would have saved many lives, she was blind.  Thousands died because she could not find them.


The rain fell softly on this summer morning.  Across the land children on their school holidays were amusing themselves indoors.  Tendrils of thought reached out, first tiny streams tumbling haphazardly across the land until they touched mind, then the streams became channels, rivers; thoughts reached out, explored, probed, and the data streamed back into headquarters where they were analysed by computers.

The children played on unaware that from this day on their future was pre-determined.

The Agent, Max, settled back from his computer, thrilled by the data he had uncovered.  It was mind-blowing.  So much potential in the population.  He had never dreamed.  He quickly typed his report and sent it to the Controller.  Deciding he needed a break he helped himself to a coffee from the office machine, but when he returned to his desk saw that the Controller had requested his immediate presence.

The Controller nodded briefly as he entered the room.

“Ah, Max” the Controller’s voice was friendly, ” I have just read your report.  New at this are you?”

“Just transferred from Human Resources”.

The Controller nodded.  “Well, we do things differently in Potentials”.

The Controller sat back from his terminal and examined the young man standing nervously before him.


Max sat.


Max relaxed a little.  “Thanks.  Black, no sugar”.

The Controller fetched two black coffees and settled himself comfortably.

Max, what do you do with a problem called Max.  Young, intelligent, enthusiastic, idealistic.  He had checked his personnel file before summoning him.  A high flyer Human Resources had said.  Greater potential than they needed.  They had recommended the transfer and now the Controller was regretting that he had allowed it.  The one place the Controller didn’t want Max, or anyone like him, was in Potentials.  But what could he do with him? The safest thing would be to simply send him back to Human Resources but they had already concluded that he didn’t fit there. The man was unaware of it but he was a boat rocker.  He needed careful handling.  Most of all he had to be brought under control and his boat-rocking potential nullified.

“Human Resources spoke highly of you”.

Max smiled, sipping his coffee appreciatively.  Much better than the machine coffee in the general office.

“Tell me.  What do you think of the work in Potentials?”

“Fascinating! I had no idea we could do this.  Explore the minds of all the children. Ascertain their innate talents, then optimise their social conditions so that they reach their full potential for the good of society”.

The Controller sighed inwardly.  It was one of life’s great mysteries how naive people got to live to competent adulthood but still remain so blind to the world around them.

“Quite so” he agreed amiably.

“Coffee all right?”

“Yes.  Delicious.  Thank you”.

“It is a unique blend.  I have it imported specially”.

Max nodded. “Very good”.

Now the Controller smiled.  “I have to say some part of your report and recommendations are excellent.  I couldn’t have done better myself.  The Headmaster’s son, streamed into Science, then on to Oxbridge.  I shouldn’t be surprised if we recruit him when he becomes professionally established.  This is exactly the kind of work that we want.  However, some parts of your report were not so good.  Perhaps you could clarify your thinking regarding this child?”

The Controller pushed a file across the desk.  Max recognised it instantly.  This was the highest potential that they had uncovered.

“Yes.  A talented all-rounder.  Highest percentile of intelligence, showing artistic, literary, scientific, military, humanistic and political potentials.  Basically she would be a creative, innovative high achiever in any profession, but given her range of abilities she would be best used in something which employed all her talents.  I recommended nurturing all her talents and put on a trajectory to also take her to Oxbridge”.

The Controller’s face showed no expression.

“And this one?” He pushed another file forward.

“He was the most highly talented in Mathematics”.

“Did you consider their backgrounds?”

“Yes.  They will take particular care and investment.  The girl’s poor, working class background would naturally hamper development of her talents.  The Asian boy’s parents are shopkeepers whose only desire is that their son should carry on the business”.

There was a long pause while the Controller said nothing and Max fidgeted restlessly.  Why was he in the Controller’s office?  What had he missed?

The Controller arrived at his decision.  He needed to get this man out of Potentials immediately before he found out what was going on.  Sometimes naivety was an advantage after all, if you could divert the fools before they found out information that would disillusion them.

“Very good” the Controller said, pushing the files to the side as if they were of no importance.  “Human resources were correct in their assessment.  You are most diligent.  However, regrettably I am going to have to send you back to Human Resources”.

He spread his hands apologetically.

“It is out of my hands unfortunately.  The lady whose job you took over left to have a baby, and now has changed her mind and decided to return.  I have no choice but to give her her old job back.  But don’t worry.  We all realise your potential and I am sure another opening will occur shortly.  (In outer Siberia if I can arrange it).

With a smile and a handshake the Controller escorted Max to the door.

“No need to go back to your office.  Your old job at Human Resources is waiting for you”.

Back at his desk the Controller buzzed Human Resources to expect Max, then accessed Max’s Potential access and cancelled it.  He then deleted Max’s recommendations replacing them with the standard formula for dealing with lower class men and women who showed potential.

Disruptive children would be sent to the school.  Older bullying children would be placed and teachers instructed to ignore the victimization, only to act when the targets tried to protect themselves.  Both children would be diverted from good teachers to teachers who were incompetent or emotionally abusive.  A formula of life-trashing, causing total frustration of the development of their abilities, combined with the maximum psychological and medical damage possible in their circumstances would be set in motion.

The woman flagged as prime breeding stock, coming from a family with no genetic weaknesses, intelligent, athletic, many talented, long-lived and youthful.  Psychologically damaged and way too intelligent to attract men of her own social class out of the blue a higher social class man would appear in  her life, get her pregnant, and then have the baby taken from her on the grounds that she would be an unfit mother. And after that, then what? A life of prostitution perhaps.  Might as well make some money out of her while she soaks up all the social misfits.  And the boy?  He was destined for a surprise accident at a tragically early age.

The Controllers closed his report, sat back and enjoyed his coffee.  Social stability did not just happen.  It required work and planning.

Meanwhile Max.  The Controller had no hard feelings towards the man.  His naivety and idealism could still be used.  But not in their organisation.  He would be gently eased out, into some academic side line, perhaps.  He would be permitted to tell the world he was a retired spy to reassure any potential recruits that they could leave any time they wanted.

Pre-emptive strikes and delayed actions

The Controller passed by the office of assassinations on his way out to lunch. On a whim he pushed open the door and was met by a surprised look from the head of the section.

“What’s up?” the chief asked.

“Nothing” the Controller reassured him. “Just thought I’d stop by to see if there was anything interesting”.

The Head looked round his desk thoughtfully then pulled out two files from the pending tray. He tossed them onto the desk for the Controller’s viewing.

“It’s quiet at the moment. These are the current projects”.

The Controller opened the file classified “thorns”.  He recognised the name. An investigative journalist who had done a very successful hatchet job exposing corruption in high places several years earlier.

“The cooling-off period has passed. Now he is no longer in the public’s eye we have set the wheels in motion to take him out”.

The Controller smiled at the wordplay. The assassination method was to be a jinxed car. “We won’t need to use black magic when every car is a smart car. Much easier to assassinate by computer error”.

The Controller opened the other file. “I don’t recognise the name”. He glanced at the cover and noted the file was headed “green shoots”.

“You wouldn’t” the Head responded. “He’s a newby. Talented, charismatic musician. Our talent scouts have just spotted him. We can’t recruit as he has strong humanitarian sympathies”.

The Controller nodded. No independent line was permitted to get established. The simplest solution was to take such out before they had gained public notice.

He dropped the file back on the desk.

“Just heading out for lunch. Care to join me?”


Copyright 2015


Social engineering starts in schools

The school report was in. The Headmaster had collated private assessments from all his primary school teachers. Several reports were starred for special attention.  The Controller settled himself to read.

Child A.   Female. Working class. Average intelligence. Shows signs of extreme psychological disorder. Provoking trouble, causing disruption in every social setting. Policy being followed. Light discipline. Turning a blind eye to most misdemeanours. Arranging interactions with students targeted for sabotage.

Controller gave a green tick and continued.

Child B.  Male. Working class. Black. Showing extraordinary athletic talent. Policy. Close but discreet monitoring. Attempts to divert and sabotage  but kept well below radar. Advise.

Controller made another green tick, and added comment. Continue with this policy, with discretion. If Target or family become suspicious of sabotage, desist immediately. Continue to inform of progress.

The Controller then copied the page and opened another file for possible elimination of Target should he reach a level of proficiency likely to lead to success.

Child C.  Female. Lower middle class. White. Average intelligence, pretty with maternal qualities. Present policy, protective. Keeping safe from destructive interactions. Indulgence from teachers uprating her in all activities wherever possible.

Controller again ticked green, then copied and entered copy into new file headlined MOTHER. She would be closely monitored and in maturity found a suitable husband of higher social class. The sons of the higher social classes deserved the best mothers.

Child D. Female. Working class. White. Top intelligence percentile. Artistic talent. Policy, harassment. Withdrawal  of art classes. Put into classes with teachers who do not teach. Arrange proximity with trouble causing students. Down playing achievements, highlighting failures, even with fabricated complaints.

The Controller green ticked again, then added comment. Good. Continue policy with close monitoring. Work to create an appearance of dishonesty and mental disorder. A special teacher will be appointed.

He then created a copy and opened a new file headlined BREEDER. By maturity the Target, unknown to herself would have a secret official record labelling her as criminal and insane. Then she would be manipulated/forced into pregnancy and the resulting child handed over to higher social class adoptive parents.

He then wrote a memo requesting a paedophile teacher to be appointed to the school.

Child E. Female. Working class. White. Above average intelligence. Beautiful. Policy. Normal. Monitoring but no special action taken.

The Controller made another green tick and added the comment. Good. Continue as before. The Target must have no suspicion that their experience is anything other than normal. He then took a copy and opened another file. HONEYPOT. When the child became a young adult coming from a completely normal family with a completely normal life experience, she would have no suspicion when she meets a personable young man, equally intelligent and attractive who shares her interests. She would walk into the trap completely unsuspecting.

Child F. Female. Working class. Black. Highly intelligent. Close monitoring, withdrawal of teaching and total harassment. Has been kept strictly separate from Child D and Child B. Advise.

Controller ticked green and commented, Continue. He thought. Both Child D and F would arrive in the child abusers class in due course, but were in separate age groups so would not meet. Psychological damage of young females prepared them for their role as prostitutes later in life. But intelligent females were tricky customers. Too much interference and they might suss it out. Arranging a disappearance to conscript into prostitution could not be done too often or it would become apparent. Rape and murder could also show up in statistical anomalies which might lead to questions being asked. Dammit! He hated these intelligent black females. Intelligent, talented black kids were no use for breeding stock and they were more trouble than everyone else put together. Too damned strategic!


Copyright 2015


Lies are free. Profits are huge.

As Jay hauled her luggage up the path a small figure darted out of nowhere, grabbed the luggage from her and darted ahead.

“Hi. I’m Lin” she called over her shoulder. “you must be the new tenant”.

“I hope so saying you now have my luggage”.

Lin giggled, then pushed the front door open with her foot. “You are on the first floor, overlooking the garden. Can I help you carry that upstairs?”

Together the two girls walked up the stairs balancing the luggage between them. The room was indeed small, like a student’s study bedroom, just a single bed, storage and desk. But the view  made up for it. A large garden enclosed by mature trees and a tennis/volleyball court. Lin put her end of the luggage down and bounced on the bed. Jay looked at her curiously. The landlords hadn’t mentioned that they had a daughter. Lin looked about 13 and full of life. She glanced round the room which she was obviously familiar with and commented. “A bit of a change from the countryside”.

Jay felt a pang of loss. Open fields, quiet, gentle neighbours, but most of all her parents. It had been hard to decide to move away, but there was no work in the countryside.

“Work or study?” Lin asked.

“Work” Jay muttered. Lin looked at her not understanding her morose response. Her face fell slightly. “Well, OK. I hope you like it here. Most people do”. With that she bounded off the bed and out of the room.


Jay found work immediately and when her first pay cheque arrived took herself out to a local restaurant to celebrate. The Head Waiter was very friendly and Jay told him she was newly arrived and celebrating getting a job. He told her he owned the restaurant and he hoped she would have many more things to celebrate in future. Jay laughed and later a complimentary bottle of wine appeared on her table. The meal was mouth watering, and for the first time since she arrived she felt relaxed and less unhappy at leaving her parents.

The weeks passed and Jay worked, dined out at the restaurant on a regular basis and soon was dating the waiter/owner. The other residents in the house were from every part of the world, some had come for work, but most were students at the nearby university. Apart from the landlords, Jay was one of the few white residents. But the house was friendly. Some evenings groups would turn out to play volley ball or hold ping pong tournaments in the basement.


One evening the landlord came home from work and took his wife aside. He looked worried.

“What’s the matter, Sam?”

“What do you know about the new tenant?”

“Jay? She works hard. Has a boyfriend. Gets on well with everyone. Why do you ask?”

“A policeman dropped in at the office today. He said he needed to talk, privately. Jay isn’t what she seems. She’s a criminal, pet. She takes drugs, and is a prostitute”.

“Oh, Lord”. Sue stand down suddenly on the sofa. She looked worried. “Can we get her out of here? What do we do?”

“The policeman said to let her stay. This way they know where she is and they can watch her. Just be careful. Watch her relationships with the other residents”.

“But what about her boyfriend? He’s a respectable businessman”.

“He’s her main customer, the policeman said. Her bread and butter. He wanted to marry her but she refused. She’s milking him for what she can get”.

Sue nodded her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Her qualifications – “.

“All lies. She doesn’t have any qualifications. She’s taking her employers for a ride too”.

“I want her out of here. This is a respectable house. Our tenants are all honest people. And what about Lin?”

“I know. I don’t like it either. But the police said it is very important that she stays. They don’t want her to suspect she is under surveillance. They want to catch her out”.

“OK. But I still don’t like it”.


When the new term started some Muslim students came to the house. Jay found when she went into the communal kitchen they stared at her hostilely. She couldn’t figure out what she had done to anger them, but she felt uncomfortable and avoided going into the kitchen and other communal areas.

She was doing well at work but her job was only temporary and she was applying for other jobs. She attended an interview at the polytechnic. Her qualifications and experience were a perfect match. The interview seemed to being going well when one of the panel asked about periods of unemployment on her CV. She was about to explain that being unable to find work was why she had moved to the city when he said “How do we know you were not in prison?” Jay stared at him flabbergasted. Where had that come from? If they didn’t want her for the job, fair enough, but was an outrageous insult really necessary?

Then her boyfriend started to act oddly. One day he took her arm and turned it over exposing the inner joint. “Why the needle marks?”

“I’m a blood donor”.

He humphed, but after that he called to see her less often.

Even the shopkeepers were looking at her in an odd way.

She still had not found another job and the atmosphere in the house was no longer friendly. Jay decided to move to another town where the cost of living was cheaper but there was still plenty of work.

As she was struggling with her luggage Lin suddenly appeared and helped her haul her luggage to the waiting taxi.

“I’m sorry you’re going”.

Jay wondered what was in store for her in the new town, but she nodded. This place had given her a good start.  Her work record was now looking respectable. Moving from home appeared to have been the right decision.


Shortly after Lin went missing. Then her parents received a ransom note for half a million pounds. Desperate to get their daughter back they paid, selling everything they owned and borrowing from relatives. Their house was bought by a property developer who demolished the historic building to build luxury high-rise flats. But Lin was never returned. They sought out some of the Muslim men who had been previous residents to see if they could suggest any contacts. They were treated with scorn. “You were running a brothel” they were told. “You had a prostitute in the house. Your daughter was a whore. You dare ask us for help?”

The northern Controller was counting his ducats. The value of a healthy, well brought up, white Virgin on the Middle Eastern market?

Worth considerably more than a few free lies.


Copyright 2015