The Annual Big Five Governor Regents' Winter Summit was the largest gathering of the regent-level leadership of North America. Sixty-two GRs, each one representing a territory within a paramountcy, had gathered in DC. Here, they planned to air and share issues leading to the upcoming Conclave where the Regents will decide which fief will sit in the White House.

Public detractors claimed these assemblies were a waste of time, because the real decision-making power behind economy and practice, lie with the paramountcy Chairmarks, and they were forever absent.

In North America alone, five Great Houses, each headed by a Chairmark, held control over five insulated economic blocks. Chairmarks were more akin to Olympus gods than men, fief-lords so lofty and powerful their lives had little semblance to the groveling humanity beneath them. To be human was to be mortal -- even that axiom no longer applied.

Bitter rumors had circulated that the hyper-rich had achieved longevity for their own and kept it out of the reaches of the global plebeians. And why not? If humanity could extend life in perpetuity, the race would suffer and starve; its excess population would languish sloth-like without purpose, or flip everything upside down in an all-out grab for the few remaining resources. But most of all, the world needs ditch diggers, too, went the reasoning. Therefore, great lifespans should be gifted to the few, those touched by genius and wisdom, the Mozart & Da Vinci, the Einstein and Hawkins, Edison & Tesla, the Jobs and Musk, whose contributions should evolve with the rest of mankind and bring about a more enlightened future. Else how would the pyramids get built?

At first, extreme life extension advancements in whole-body cloning and cerebral transfers were guarded with jealousy by the world governments. But as the paramountcies gained dominance and authority, the secrets of longevity became theirs. Some research programs were misdirected for years, purposely leading to dead ends, while the successful cases were hushed up and spirited away. But word eventually got out. No surprise, then, that this life-hoarding culture had fomented public resentment so much so that the bi-centenarians themselves shied from public life and faded into the mythical, never to be seen except by those of their inner sanctums.

Official appearances on behalf of the paramountcies were delegated to their most senior second-tier representatives, Governors Regents, more or less errand boys.

The agenda of this annual summit hadn't changed much from the past pre-Conclave meets. It included the prevailing issues of the fifth industrial revolution -- augmented reality, artificial intelligence, cryptocurrency and the most disruptive one: Universal Basic Income -- issues that can't hope to be solved from a simple meet. By the end of its three-day duration, as expected, the conference had accomplished little but more wrangling.

Eight circular rows of seats spiraled to a focal point below, amid impeccable acoustics gathered by the bowl-shape chamber. Camera orbs hovered noiselessly to capture every nuance of the Master of Ceremony as he closed.

"We've like to open the last few hours of this Summit to a free forum and invite anyone who'd want to participate."

A woman rose from her seat with her hand raised and the Summit's chair acknowledged her.

"The assembly recognizes Midland Superior's Governor Regent from Illinois -- Devlin Augustine. Your Excellency, you have the floor . . ."

All eyes shifted to an elegant lady who had but a single aide behind her. She didn't need more than one. Augustine exuded a quiet referent power as a senior eco-politico official of Midland Superior, the economic paramountcy that covered territories from Ohio to Idaho and as far south as the Missouri. With its HQ in Chicago, Midland carried a membership roster of 3,500 public companies, 12 Sphere of Influence, and boasted dominance in food production, Biotech, Heavy Industry, and fracking. Since Midland Superior was responsible for the welfare of twelve territories and its people, it had twelve Governor Regents appointed by its Chairmark to attend.

She sidled across her row and stepped onto a sliding platform that gently carried her to the marble rostrum at the bowl's core.

As she took the dais, her fellow Regents from Midland clapped, and depending on their relations with Midland Superior, the GRs of other fiefs varied in their reception of her. The Atlantic Economic League was lukewarm, their ovation ambivalent and sporadic. So were the polite Southern GRs of Gulf-Con. Pacifica was sanguine, their relationship with Midland Superior more fruitful than most. Then there was TexPax -- not one clap came from that stewing block.

The camera orbs adjusted their axis and followed her, their lens apertures whirring to refocus.

"Thank you." Augustine cleared her throat, her shoulders squared and strong. "I stand before you as a colleague who carries the same burden of responsibility as you do. I, therefore, want to address an ongoing injustice vital to the welfare of most of us. In the drive to perfect automation, we create debris left behind in the wake of obsolescence -- in the crumbling infrastructure of old factories that once employed thousands of workers, and in a burgeoning mass of unemployed who are surplus labor. While each of us has loyalty foremost to our respective fiefs and stakeholders, it pains me to admit the irony we all faced -- to make an omelet, we must break eggs . . . But beware: Ignore the bottom and the top loses its relevance. Fief loyalty is secondary to the conciliation of its populace." She paused and scanned the room as murmurs stirred. A lot of scowling ugly faces glared back at her. Even from her block.

"Human civilization has benefited from tech improvements, made available through the great investitures of our respective fiefs. Today, many technologies are blurring the realms of the physical, digital, and biological realities -- nanotech, genomics, cybernetics, cold fusion, quantum computing. These achievements are possible because of the long-standing stability of the North American Big Five, including our affiliates in Canada and Mexico . . . But that reliability is threatened."

A low snarling grew around the punch bowl, punctuated by a few boos.

"Ever since the first paramountcy formed in North America and on other continents, the need to wage national wars had become a thing of the past. Nations, intertwined by fief interests and directives, no longer fight each other. We settle disputes along economic lines, untainted by nationalism. Saved for the occasional rogue states rattling their sabers, foreign threats are few and far between. Yet, there be dragons in the deep.

"The fear I speak of is chaos from within, friends." She paused. "Just look at the typical Non-Affiliate. Feel for him. Commodity prices have outpaced his earnings. Even if he's lucky to have an income, he can't feed himself and his family -- still, we made no plans to ensure a fair distribution from our coffers. Instead, we sat on our hands while people hurt. This is dangerous."

Someone shouted, "How much are you worth yourself, Governor Regent?"

"Hypocrite!"

"I make no apologies," Augustine raised her voice and declared with grit. "I am part of the problem, I admit. But many here do not heed the lessons nature taught us -- when prey animals die, apex predators follow. When people at the bottom starve, those at the top lose their validity. Hunger begets revolt and then sons will feed on fathers. This is the fundamental truth behind human history."

The chamber noise rose into a ripping cacophony, swamping her voice while the gavel from the Chair banged away.

A lull allowed her the opportunity to continue.

"No matter how bountiful and effective our paramountcies are, the current leadership from Dallas-Austin is blind to its predatory nature. The PIP has ushered in a culture of indifference; in extreme cases, they are brutal, feeding on society."

A few boos rose from the TexPax bloc.

She pressed, undeterred, "May I remind you that Non-Affiliates outnumber favored members twenty to one. For every man, woman and child blessed to be members of a paramountcy, twenty are out there in the cold, ready to burn us down. But I fear the situation is endemic. And in the meantime, TexPax Affiliates grow fatter than before, complacent and indolent like squatter sloths. Twelve years we have endured this. Now is time for a change."

Boos became hisses, the most strident coming from the TexPax bloc. The waves of outrage drove against her, trying to throw her off the stony podium.

"A society ruled by elites cannot endure for long -- one side unproductive and slothful, the other living in servitude. End the divide and we'd see a boost of creativity, entrepreneurship and true merit for all people and members alike. This is what Midland aspires to do. Our record is clear for all to see."

Her last words were unheard among the shouting.

She glanced at the Chair. His eyes pleaded for her to step down before complete pandemonium overtook the peace.

Augustine relinquished the pulpit and returned to her seat among colleagues who gazed at her with disbelief, some shaking their heads in confusion.

The Chair retook the dais.

"Moving on -- "

"Mr. Chairman, I ask a chance to address Madam Regent's comments," said a porcine figure of a man, late fifties, African American, a round face millions recognized as TexPax’s Governor Regent from Oklahoma, Dominick Lazard. Though he had aided a TexPax victory in the White House during the last Conclave, he preferred to remain the GR of OK. "The Honorable Augustine treats us as if we're naïve children listening to a fairy tale before she tucks us into bed. She will tell you the sob story of how her Non-Affiliate poor suffered, and to fear their make-believe ire, that the great system which we rely on needs an overhaul."

He waited for the snickering to fade before continuing. "What she conveniently left out is that her fief's legal framework isn't sound. They've lost a few trade suits, so she scares you with stories of the bogeyman, hoping to conceal Midland's ineptitude. She neglects to tell you that her fief is in financial trouble because of bad management. At this rate, Midland will hemorrhage in no time."

Someone else from TexPax cried out, "And we will gladly pick up their pieces after Chapter 11."

Boisterous laughter and foot-stomping rolled across the strata.

Lazard continued, raising his hand for silence. "To address her concern for the feeble fellow human . . . fifty thousand years ago, if you run faster than the slowest ape, you don't get eaten. Climb higher than the lowest monkey, you'd survive. The fittest endures -- then and now. Does she mean to ignore evolution and embrace obsolescence? Corporate Darwinism works -- because it eliminates the mediocre and rewards the sure-footed. And for those who'd made his mark, what's wrong with a little leisure? I object to being called a sloth hugging his tree."

Lazard shook his fist, jiggling the loose jowls of a large head, as the throbbing noise bolstered him. He sat back down and scoffed her way.

Augustine sat stone-like, looking ahead and retreating into herself.

"Did it feel good?"

"Excuse me?" Augustine said, startled. She hadn't noticed the person who'd taken the seat next to her. It was the weasel Emile Vargas, Special Counsel to the Chairmark of Midland.

"I mean, it must have, or else why say it, right?" He spoke away from her, never once making eye contact, clasped hands resting on crossed legs. "Are you helping our bid or sinking it?"

"I said what needs to be said," she answered, curt and smug.

"At the risk of making us look foolish and incompetent. Was it worth it?" Vargas said as she leaned away from him, not hiding her aversion of the man. "You want class equality, then resign and you can wallow in the dirt at your heart's content. No one wants to hear it. We came here to arrive at Conclave and to determine the future of the White House."

"Know your place. You are speaking to a Governor Regent."

"Then behave like one. I wager Chairmark Carlyle would agree with me your progressive ideals are distractions, while TexPax encroaches into our spheres of influence. God forbid, they win another four years -- then where would your reforms be?"

"Distraction?" She bristled, scrunching her nose. "And what have you done with your meddling? At least this way we may grab the popular vote."

"Popular votes count for little," Vargas leaned over and whispered. "You forget one thing, Excellency, you're not Midland's nominee. So let others do their job."

"And we'll lose another four years." She grounded her teeth, at last looking him in the eyes.

"Take care." Special Counsel Vargas gave her a sly smirk and went to a different seat.

She sat there stewing and feeling like a fool.

Her moment for self-flogging was short-lived. A presence moved into the vacant place behind Augustine while the Summit's Chair gave his closing remarks below.

"Should I say I told you so?"

"Please, not you too, Harry. I got a bucketful from Vargas."

"No, Madam Regent, I am your advisor, not your critic," Harry said looking straight ahead, covering his mouth.

"We should start looking into him."

"We shouldn't discuss this here, ma'am. No telling how many micro recorders are floating around picking out speech patterns. And lip readers too."

"Vargas is after something. I can feel it."

"You keep out of his sandbox. Leave the rest to me."

"I never played well with others, even when I was young." She chuckled not from any amusement.

"You watch your back,” Harry said. “Some souls carry the mark of Cain. I should know. I have it. But not to his level of ambition."

"Birds of a feather?"

"Don't all flock together."

"You're indispensable to my office, Mr. DeWitt. So, I tolerate your excesses."

Harry hid his smirk. "And I you, madam."