Just as Bernard had promised, he was back in Moore’s office the next day. With him, he was packing a brief case full of papers. He shoved it across Moore’s desk and gestured to it, which prompted the President to crack the case open.

  “Rations and Housing,” Moore read the first paper in the case. “We’re assigning people jobs based on their performance on a Skill Assessment? And paying them with food and housing? So we’re Communists?”

  “What? No, we’re not Communists. Keep reading.”

  Moore’s eyes scanned further down the page.

  “Exchange points, awarded based on the class of the individual. Five per week for Lower Class, twenty per week for Middle Class, seventy five per week for Upper Class, and one-fifty for First Class. So it's dumbing down our currency,” Moore whispered.

  “Something like that. The rations and housing make sure everybody’s essential needs are met; this keeps them complicit. Obviously, the food grades get better with higher classes. The exchange points will keep our free-market economy the way it always has been, but largely available to only those with the most power. First Class people are business owners, CEOs, political figures. That stuff. They get the most, and they stay in power.”

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  “And what do people buy with these exchange points?” Moore inquired.

  “Whatever they want. Technology, alcohol, furniture. Anything other than food or housing,” Whiteblood said with a shrug.

  “Alright. Anything else you wanted to discuss?” Moore finally asked as he shut the case.

  “One thing. The Anti-Order Federation in Canada is becoming a real… pain in the ass to say the least. The rest of the coup is looking for a way to get rid of them, but it may need executive approval. If I bring something to your desk, sign it for me.”

  Moore nodded, looking at the brief case that was still sitting on his desk. The locking mechanisms were a silvery metal, polished and shined well enough that he could see his own face in them. He lifted his eyes to meet Whiteblood’s, who was staring through him.

  “Whatever I must do,” he said, his voice quivering slightly.

  “Good. You’re almost done. Just three more days,” Whiteblood said as he grabbed his case. He departed from the office with one last look over his shoulder.