I shifted away as he passed. You knew his caste. It was more than the extra gristle on his ribs; it was the listless look on his face. He rolled along through the healthy and dominant—the Elite, as we’re called--to the back of the tram, where the other class--aptly named “the Majority”--wasted away. Their governmental powerlessness was their own fault; because they couldn’t control their lives, they were poor, uneducated and unhealthy. I couldn’t believe they let them ride the same cart as us. The overhead crackled. We were making the future, and they, their graves.