Derbyshire, 1825
The memory of Wilberforce's ledger—human suffering reduced to columns of figures—was still fresh in Enki's mind when he saw the next phase of the machine. It was no longer on paper. It was made of brick and iron.
The textile mill by the river was a beast, its heartbeat the relentless thump-thump-thump of the waterwheel. Enki, under the name Mr. Adam Wright, "investor," stood on the factory floor. The noise was a physical assault.
He watched a boy, no more than eight, his job to crawl beneath the thrashing machinery to clear jams. His movements were a frantic, terrified dance. The foreman, a man with a stopwatch, nodded. "Efficiency is up 12 percent," he shouted over the din. "We've timed the motions. Eliminated the pauses."
The owner beamed. "We are systematizing humanity itself, Mr. Wright! Removing the variables of fatigue, daydreaming, spirit. Here, a man is a perfect, predictable component."
Enki looked from the boy's haunted eyes to the owner's proud face. Wilberforce fought to free bodies from chains. This new system was forging chains for the soul, and calling it progress.
Scrapbook Entry: "They have built a new church where the liturgy is the clatter of the loom. The god of Output demands a sacrifice, and it is the quiet, systematic extinguishing of the human spark. The altar has been replaced by the assembly line."