Archeofuturism

by Guillaume Faye

  After a moment of silence, Nafissa added, ‘And what about the Federation, have you re-established “democracy” within it?’

  Dimitri gave the girl an ironic smile.

  ‘Let’s put it this way: we no longer have the kind of democratic system that was in force before the Great Catastrophe. We are now applying the notion of “organic democracy” inspired by Plato, an ancient Greek philosopher. A fixed and uniform model of democracy would be completely unfeasible for a geographic entity such as ours, in which vast differences exist between the way of life in rural communities and that of the minority of people, like the two of us, who have resumed the techno-scientific lifestyle. Besides, each of our autonomous region-states is free – in all those areas which are not within the province of the Imperial Government – to organise its institutions as it wishes. All these states have to do is appoint – by whatever means they please – a fixed number of representatives for the Federal Senate of the Empire, in proportion to its population. But rest assured: no state has the right to oppress its population, lest it be expelled from the Federation. The state under the rule of law is our norm.’

  Nafissa gazed at him intently with a half-smile.

  ‘I understand. You really are very tolerant! My father would have a good laugh! But then again, every folk has its rules... Please continue with your explanation.’

  Dimitri didn’t react.

  ‘In the Federation we have tried to combine two principles: on the one hand, absolute authority and quick decision-making on the part of the leading political body – the Government elected by the Imperial Senate; on the other, great freedom of organisation for individual region-states. Some of these – about 30% – have remained or turned into hereditary monarchies ruled by kings, dukes or other rather folkloristic sovereigns. As you see, we try to be both tolerant and efficient.’

  * * *

  The stewardess interrupted their conversation to serve them some cubes of raw fish from Lake Baikal, mixed with hot vegetable soup – a typical dish from the area they were crossing. Nafissa was ravenous and devoured her food.

  ‘Your cuisine is good, Mr. Councillor. It’s almost as tasty as that of my own country.’

  ‘I organise culinary competitions between the various autonomous states of the Federation on a regular basis.’

  And who wins?’

  ‘It’s annoying: it’s always the states from old France...’

  ‘Open the competition up and then the Indian Empire could take part...’

  After a moment of silence, Nafissa said, ‘Look!’

  She was again leaning against him, her face against the window. Her long black hair brushed against Dimitri’s uniform. He focused on the view outside.

  The train was moving between a rock face and a clearing. Dozens of animals with grey fur were running in the undergrowth. They only caught sight of them for a few seconds.

  ‘It’s a pack of wolves. They’re multiplying everywhere. In the Twentieth century wild animals had disappeared, but now they’ve made a big comeback. Clearly, this is causing quite a few problems...’

  ‘It’s the same with tigers in India. From time to time they devour a villager. But they’re so beautiful! Look, I’ve got a bag made of tiger fur...’

  ‘I’ve seen it. I’ve recently had to settle a controversy between the Duchy of Provence, the State of Padania and the Federal Ministry of Agriculture. They were complaining about the proliferation of wolves, which destroy flocks, and asking us to send them 5,000 trained dogs to protect them. But the cost of this was too high and the negotiations dragged on.’

  ‘What was their outcome?’

  ‘The two states have 25,000 shepherds with huge flocks and I came up with a brilliant idea to solve the problem.’

  ‘I’m not surprised... Tell me.’

  ‘At my request, the AHG (Animal-Human-Genetic) labs, a branch of the huge Typhoone company, developed 1,500 “biotronically modified animals”, two for each threatened herd. These were far cheaper than 5,000 trained shepherd dogs.’

  ‘What are these biotronic animals?’

  ‘They’re biological animal-robots: genetic hybrids of various species, including man, of which wolves are naturally afraid. They are crammed with electronic chips that multiply all their faculties tenfold and enable them to do without sleep. So at night they remain awake to guard the flocks. Clearly, no wolf dares approach them now...’

  ‘And what do these things look like?’

  ‘Pretty much like the gods of Hindu mythology!’

  Nafissa frowned. Dimitri continued, ‘Oh, I’m sorry! Well, they walk on two legs, have huge limbs and a head that is halfway between a monkey’s a shark’s... They look a bit like a dinosaur from the Jurassic era, the Velociraptor. They’re guard animals equipped with exceptional bodies and there’s no need to train them because they’re already programmed beforehand. Their cost has considerably dropped, as the AHG has decided to sell a modified version of them to the police forces of the Federation’s states and to the Federal Army. Clever, huh?’

  ‘Indeed... This lab should canvass the Indian market. But tell me, Mr. Councillor,’ Nafissa remarked in a flattering voice, ‘you must have some great responsibilities...’

  ‘Well, my job is both very simple and very complicated: I must settle disputes among autonomous states and make everyone respect the laws of the Federation. I command 2,000 federal officials – if you really must know,’ Dimitri added, stroking his epaulette.

  ‘I’m happy for you, Mr. Councillor. My father, the Maharaja of Gopal, has about a hundred times as many people under his control!’

  Nafissa broke out laughing, as Dimitri scowled in his corner.

  The train continued travelling on its elevated rail and sped across a deep forest.

  ‘What’s that?!’

  The girl again pointed to something beyond the window. She had glimpsed a bizarre object shining in the sun on the tops of the pines, behind a slope.

  ‘It’s a “Barge” of the FAF, the Federal Armed Forces.’

  The object was large, oblong and parallelepiped, slightly curved at its ends, measuring some twenty metres in length. It looked vaguely like a flat-keeled river barge. The object was fluctuating and spinning on its axis as it surveyed the forest. It was khaki green in colour and both its sides and bottom appeared to be covered in tubes.

  ‘What’s that machine for?’

  ‘That “machine”, my girl, is one of the most promising new inventions by Euromotor, a rival company of Typhoone. The principle behind it is this: the Barge is made of a new super-light material, keflon, which weighs less than cotton but is as resistant as steel. It floats in the air because a vacuum is created at its centre. It is piloted from the ground and moves thanks to neutron-based mini-reactors. It is equipped with radar, 3D cameras and a miniaturised and highly sophisticated electronic detection system.’

  ‘So it’s like a flying radar?’

  ‘Exactly. But it’s an extremely accurate one. It is used to discretely identify all possible threats, from local to wide-scale ones. It is far more efficient than the old radar-planes. It can fly between 10 and 15,000 metres without making a sound and is difficult to spot. The Typhoone company recently announced that it is perfecting a new generation of rival Barges which perform even better as they are based on an anti-gravitational system...’

  ‘And what’s that “Barge” doing there?’

  ‘It’s probably a military operation or some kind of experiment,’ Dimitri answered evasively. ‘In eastern Siberia such things are quite common because China’s so close.’

  The girl’s voice took on a more perfidious tone. ‘So, Mr. Councillor, is the vast Eurosiberian Federation planning to go to war? And against whom?’

  ‘Don’t believe it, Nafissa! Twenty-first century history has made us peace-loving but not pacifist. We simply wish to make sure that no one will ever be able to attack, invade or defeat us. Our aim was to create a federal army that no one would dare fac
e. The only goals of the military policy of the Government are to protect our “common home” and prevent human folly from destroying the planet – deterrence based on the potential threat of our power. But don’t worry: we have no intention of attacking anyone, and certainly not your marvellous civilisation... In this respect, we’re following the ideas of de Gaulle and Gorbachev.’

  ‘And who are they?’

  ‘Oh, they’re European heads of state from the mid-Twentieth century. Hardly anyone listened to them in their day...’

  Komsomolsk

  The train entered another tunnel. The lights came on, the windows were covered and passengers were pushed against their seats as the train gained speed. The screen read: ‘A speed of 12,000 kilometres per hour will be reached within seven minutes. Acceleration level G3. If feeling unwell, contact your stewardess.’

  A few minutes later, the train had reached its terminal, the underground station in Komsomolsk. Dimitri took bitter leave of the Indian girl. The two exchanged their electronic coordinates on the platform.

  ‘Call Vega to get in touch with me,’ Dimitri said with a note of sadness. ‘My invitation to Brussels is always open.’

  ‘And you and your wife are welcome to visit my father’s palace in Srinagar.’

  ‘Where are you headed, Nafissa?’

  ‘I will continue my study trip. I’m going to China. The Governor of Manchuria is a friend of my father’s. I’ve booked a sleeper car on a classic train for Changchun.’

  ‘It will be a very long ride – 1,200 kilometres, more or less...’

  ‘Oh, it will be very comfortable. And I’ve got all the time I need. Besides, I’ve brought something to read: Trifles, an English novel from the Twentieth century. It tells a horrible story: the voyage of the Titanic; this time, though, the ship doesn’t hit an iceberg but safely reaches New York.[21] It describes frightful things. I love it.’

  Dimitri’s gaze followed the slender figure of Nafissa, her hips swaying, as she disappeared into the crowd. With her dark skin, she was almost a living version of his virtual secretary, Vega. Would he ever see her again?

  * * *

  Dimitri took an escalator and reached the surface. He had left Brest just over three hours before, early in the morning. Now, because of the time difference, it was already night. The cold hit him – it was only 10 degrees Celsius, despite it being already June. Eastern Siberia had hardly benefited from global warming. The skies twinkled in the black sky. Outside the station building, the fires of the chestnut and grilled fish merchants glowed.

  There were no electro-taxis here... Dimitri headed for the carriage station. There was a queue of about twenty people waiting. He entered the stationmaster’s cabin and showed his high federal official’s card. His uniform would have been enough...

  ‘Please follow me, Mr. Councillor...’

  A few minutes later, Dimitri was sitting in a carriage pulled by a small black horse with a lively trot. On the seat was a small heater containing some burning coal.

  ‘Where shall we go, sir?’ the coachman asked in Cumikan dialect.

  ‘To the airship harbour. Hurry!’

  The coachman cracked his whip and the horse quickened its trot.

  Once jets had been abandoned as a means of civilian transport and replaced by airships, airports no longer required long landing strips, nor were they a source of pollution and noise. So they could now be built rather close to city centres. It is often updated versions of old technology that prove the most efficient, as was the case with the new wind-based systems of propulsion used for ships. Airships were not as fast as the old jets, but helped gain time in the final lap of one’s journey.

  Dimitri had booked a first-class ticket on the airship that directly connected Komsomolsk to Dorbisk, his home on the Bering Strait, 2,300 kilometres away to the northeast. The airship also made a stop in Petropavlovsk, in Kamchatka.

  After a ten minute, bumpy ride, the carriage stopped outside the station run by Siberik Sideral Flot, the public company owned by the United Republic of the Siberian Far East. There was no way Dimitri could have paid with his credit card here, so he gave the coachmen a two-Eurosesterce silver coin.

  It was an amazing sight: a dozen mooring masts, measuring a hundred metres in height, stood there, lit under the starry sky. At the summit of each mast a huge, black cylinder lightly danced in the wind, its position lights on. These were the airships.

  A blonde stewardess with violet eyes led them to the base of the mast for flight 788. Dimitri boarded the aircraft via a lift and stored his travel bag in the hold, keeping only his laptop with him. He took his reserved seat, by a window. It was even more comfortable than the planetrain. There was a screen in the back of the seat in front of him and a light meal on the tray, including a glass of vodschkaia, the liquor made from birch wood. As they waited for departure and the propellers of the airship started to turn, SSF advertising flashed on the screen. An electronic voice accompanied the text:

  ‘Thank you for choosing our air travel company, the safest in the world. We ensure connections across Siberia, with departures from 80 cities, serving 35 rural communities. This airship is an Albatross 350 built by Typhoone. It is driven by six propellers with different blades fed by a fast-neutron nuclear reactor. Its level of atmospheric pollution is zero. We are supported in the air by two systems: a helium compartment and a vacuum one. The aircraft holds up to 200 passengers, including 50 in first class. A bar and prayer chapel are available for passengers on the first floor. We will travel at an average altitude of 3,500 metres and with a speed of 490 kilometres per hour. With favourable winds, we can reach a top speed of 580 kilometres per hour. We will land in Dorbisk, our final destination, in just over six hours. The Commander, Markst, and his crew would like to wish you a pleasant journey. We are now ready for takeoff.’

  On the Airship

  There was a humming noise from the reactors and then the huge aircraft, unmoored from its mast, set off at high speed, flying over the city and its lights. The airship then gradually veered left. Dimitri looked out of the window into the darkness. They were already crossing the Sea of Okhotsk. The cabin was flooded by a bluish light.

  It was now time for Dimitri to get to work. He switched his computer on and connected it to the screen in front of him. Vega immediately popped up. This time, Dimitri’s virtual secretary was wearing a tight-fitting, long muslin[22] dress, in an early Twentieth century style.

  ‘I am listening, Master. I have just received a message from Commodore-Count Ron Schneider. He is waiting for your report and is growing impatient. He is complaining that you have switched your mobile phone off... He cannot get directly in touch with you.’

  Dimitri had switched his phone off so as not to be disturbed when speaking with Nafissa on the planetrain. A small lapse in professional etiquette...

  ‘It’s no big deal. Make a note of my report, which includes a recording of the most important moments of the Brest conference, and send it immediately to Schneider in St. Petersburg, via Euronet.’

  This means of communication, which had already been known in the Twentieth century, had entered development in 2010, before the Great Catastrophe brought things to a halt. Only around 2050 was this technology resumed – and improved – thanks to the superior power of quantic and bionic computers (‘ADN chips’), although clearly it was reserved for the ruling elite alone.

  Dimitri started dictating his report over the microphone. His words were immediately being transcribed (and translated) in the form of a trilingual text (in Russian, French and German) by the computer and would then be sent via satellite to Schneider’s fax machine. Dimitri was then going to insert the microdiscs containing the recordings of the debates into the disc-reader on his laptop. These, too, would then be immediately transcribed as texts and attached to the report, which would reach Schneider in the headquarters of the Supreme Inter-State Court within less than a minute.

  Dimitri grabbed the microphone and started speaking in
a low voice, so that the other passengers could not hear him.

  ‘Are you ready, my beautiful Vega?’

  ‘I’m ready, my wise Master...’

  Dimitri’s virtual secretary shuffled on the screen, with a killer pout on her face. He had programmed her very well indeed... And to think that this dream girl didn’t really exist!

  ‘What follows is the introduction to the report.’ Dimitri was speaking slowly and the transcribed sentences flashed on the screen in Russian. Typing on his keyboard, he would change a formula or expression here and there.

  ‘From Dimitri Leonidovich Oblomov, Plenipotentiary Councillor, to his Excellency Commodore-Count Ron Schneider, Provost of the Supreme Inter-State Court of the Eurosiberian Imperial Federation.

  Object: Settlement of a dispute among the following autonomous region-states: the Republic of Ireland, the Kingdom of Scotland, the Duchy of Wales, the Duchy of Cornwall, the Popular Republic of Brittany, the Duchy of Normandy, the Free State of Vendée-Poitou-Charente, the Duchy of Aquitaine, the Socialist Republic of Euzkadi, the Republic of Galicia and the Federated States of Portugal and Lusitania – all of which are all members of the Association of Economic Interests known as “Atlantic Arch” and represent the respondent party. To these states is opposed the accusing party, comprised of: the Kingdom of Île-de-France, the Socialist Republic of Ukraine, the Kingdom of Bavaria, the Unified State of Padania, the Kingdom of England, the Czech Republic and the National-Popular Republic of Serbia.

  Nature of the dispute: The aforementioned accusing autonomous region-states (ARS), the plaintiffs in the case, are charging the aforementioned respondent ARS of the Atlantic Arch of having acquired a de facto monopoly over the fish market, fishing reserves and farming of shellfish and seafood. As high yields allow these states to keep fish prices low, they are damaging the agriculture of the accusing ARS by providing unfair competition for their exports in the Federation, causing them great economic losses. According to experts, this complaint is well-founded. The aforementioned accusing ARS are asking for the states of the Atlantic Arch to provide financial compensation by subsidising their produce. The latter states have refused. My mission was to find a solution by enabling these states to reach some sort of agreement.