I shook more hands, was reminded of more names, and ushered the group, numbering sixteen in all, through the bright, broad corridors of Dvalin’s shiny new interior and towards the observation lounge where the others were waiting. Even a surprise trip to a recently-arrived asteroid wasn’t enough to quiet the academic bickering, I noticed. Ali Durani was pressing his opinion upon the recalcitrant Irishman and noted structural engineer, Dr. Harvey Jones. I wondered if we’d get through even a day of these meetings without blood being spilled.
The champagne hadn’t stopped while I had been away. Chris, very obviously interested in prolonging his interview with Liz way beyond the usual journalistic parameters, broke off from flirting to bid us a gusty, cheerful welcome. “Well met, landlubbers! All hands to the Veuve Clicquot!” I gave silent thanks for the Replicators, which had produced tens of thousands of dollars of champagne for the occasion. More introductions were made, chairs were found (doubtless spontaneous Hal-creations out of the floors and walls) and the group formed into a loose gaggle, facing the huge viewing windows and their spectacular view of our planet, rotating serenely beneath us. In Gabon it was 3pm, which put the sun over our left shoulders, preparing to set over the western horizon in a couple of hours. The new arrivals mostly gawked at the view; those who recovered from the shock most quickly were desperate for information and quizzed Evelyn, Liz and Chris on any number of matters. I settled things down.
“Hi everyone”. There were chuckles; glasses were raised in my direction, perhaps in toast to my cherishable normalcy in these extraordinary times. “Welcome to Dvalin. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to have you here”.
Dr. Fitzwallace seemed to have appointed herself de facto spokesperson for the group – although several others were both more notable and more respected – and saw fit to speak on their behalf. “Thank you for this opportunity to visit this incredible facility and to see, with our own eyes, what mankind is only beginning to comprehend. It is an honour to be here.” Others murmured their agreement. The tall, bearded Paul Cleobury, recently elected Archbishop of York, stood and asked if we would mind a moment of prayer before the meeting began. No-one objected, although some showed subtle distaste with raised eyebrows or a sudden frown.
“Dear God, among whose works we travel and within whose infinite bounty we are sheltered and clothed, we give thanks for our safe journey and for the new opportunities this awesome feat may provide. Lord, bless this asteroid and all who live and work within and around her. Guide our discussions to fruitful wisdom and compassion, so that together we may do your work, on earth and in space.”
Not a bad start, I thought to myself. Although, you have to admit, ‘bless this asteroid’ had an odd ring to it, almost as though Theism had arrived in unchartered territory and was struggling, as we all were, to make sense of it. I wondered if there would come to be churches on Dvalin. It was a worry; we needed no more sources of sectarianism and division. I put it aside. It was another reminder that there was so incredibly much to do.
“Thank you, your Grace. I’m sure those are sentiments we can all agree with. I’d like to begin, if I may, with a short briefing about Dvalin. Right now, mankind’s beliefs about this project are rife with misconception. This is my chance, in front of some of the most eminent minds of our age, to set the record straight.”
I laid it all out. Hal provided useful imagery, projected onto the chamber’s walls, and a neat holographic which described our orbit, the planned elevator cable to Gabon, and the utility of Dvalin as a departure point for journeys to the solar system. Then, piece by piece, I discussed the handing over of Takanli technology to mankind; replicators would come first, distributed in tiny numbers and under the strictest control. Relocation systems would be installed to reduce traffic. Advances in agriculture, aquaculture and hydroponics, some already in place and others soon to arrive, would guard against caloric, mineral and vitamin deficiencies. High-value metals and minerals would be arriving on shuttles in five-tonne loads, even before the elevator cable was constructed. The group listened and watched, rapt and enthused. But this, I knew, was the easy part.
I opened the floor to questions, after the initial fifteen minute presentation. Robots, zipping around on the pristine floors, served drinks and snacks – some of the group had not eaten all day, having been roused from bed by Hal’s human or robot agents and taken directly to the Cruiser. Ali Durani had questions about our orbit, naturally enough. Liz threw in thoughtful queries about the implications of the coming resource glut. Then Dr. Julia Fitzwallace chimed in. Given her stern tone, I was immediately worried.
“We need to talk about what you’ve done to the world’s economy”. She sounded like nothing so much as a pissed-off school mistress. How could you have been so naughty? “The financial system is collapsing, right now, as we speak. Savings which millions have banked away over long careers of hard work are evaporating. You’ve ruined a lot of lives today.” She left it at that. It was more than enough.
Before I could get to a real answer, Stephen Fairfax spoke up. “I think we need to see these economic changes as part of the whole package” – right, I thought – “and consider the longer-term implications, rather than the inevitable short-term pain”. Right again. “Even you have to admit”, he said, motioning to Julia, “that the economic crisis of 2009 gave us the clearest indications that the capitalistic system was failing the world.” Good. Don’t stop. “It was shown to be ripe for abuse and both consistently, systemically and unfairly marginalized the poor while elevating an undeserving minority to fabulous wealth and influence”. I want to applaud, but I’m supposed to be kind of impartial.
Julia turned to him. “You must be loving this”. Oh shit, Julia, this isn’t supposed to get personal. “The socialist revolution, clothed in high-tech garb. The redistribution of wealth, giving everything to those who’ve done nothing to earn it. The humbling of systems which have provided centuries of prosperity and growth. And with no replacement in sight. It is a cataclysm”. She looked at me, hard. “I’m sorry, but it is. You’ve been deeply irresponsible and the whole of humanity will have to pay for your thoughtless, crass intervention in an elegant system, the intricacies of which you clearly fail to understand.”
She went quiet, arms folded, glowering at me and the group. “Is this the right time for such a broad-ranging discussion?” asked Harvey Jones, somewhat meekly.
“When do you propose we have it?” Julia shot back. “After humanity finds itself impoverished, starving and living under ruined highway bridges?” The room showed its first clear signs of disapproval. “We need to restore the federal banking system and begin a major bailout for the remaining banks, before they, too, are consigned to oblivion”.
Voices began to be raised. Shit, this is the first part of the first day of the first round of discussions. Was it a mistake to bring these people here? Perhaps a dictatorship might have been better – impose the plan, rather than negotiate. It would have been against my deepest beliefs, but how can you generate agreement among nine billion?
“We tried bailouts before”, countered Harvey. “You know what happened. It was an act of grand larceny. We were right never to forgive them.”
Opinions were flying. I did my best to settle things down. “Julia, there won’t be a bailout. The whole thing has to be dismantled. It’s a condition of the positive things we’re bringing to mankind.”
“I don’t call global poverty a positive thing!” she almost yelled. This silenced the room.
I felt the need to retort. “Who’s in poverty?” I asked. The silence continued, Julia scowling at me. “We’re going to provide cheap, nutritious food to everyone, everywhere. Power will be free. International airship travel and journeys into space will be heavily subsidized. In the end, and not too far in the future, we’ll be looking at a cashless society. Perhaps even one with a balanced carbon situation. Excellent education, for free. The eradication of disease. A thriving cultural melange. What”, I wanted to
know, “is wrong with all of that?”
She sighed heavily, angrily. “If nothing has value, there can be no medium of exchange”, she argued. “If consumer goods are replicated, rather than produced, then manufacturing will cease and a billion adults will be unemployed. Without resource extraction – and with the artificial glut of gold from this thing”, she pointed to the ceiling, “even a gold standard system wouldn’t provide a meaningful pricing system for goods or services.” She counted the disasters on her fingers, lecturing this room of noted academics as if they were spotty adolescents. “No jobs. No business. No buying or selling. The end of the world.”
There was a silence packed with unspoken anger, like a dam just before it breaks. And, in perhaps the most memorable part of my whole time on Dvalin, a quiet voice emanated from the walls. It was soothing, familiar. It was the voice of my friend.
“Dr. Fitzwallace”, Hal began. “I have at my disposal computing power which would beggar belief, were I ever asked to deploy all of it.” This one was for me, another in his litany of complaints about boredom. I grinned. “But making use of a fraction of these resources, I have been able to extrapolate the likely outcomes of tens of millions of economic and social structures. The laws of causality”, he patiently explained, “apply everywhere, at all times. And mankind, if you’ll forgive me, can be incredibly predictable. Large groups of mammals behave as large groups of mammals behave; it doesn’t matter if you give them access to deep space and limitless resources, or send them back to their caves and consign them to poverty and disease. Their responses can be plotted. I have done so. Let me educate you with some of the results.”
Julia was very obviously furious but was powerless as Hal projected graphic after graphic depicting the inevitable collapse of humanity under the capitalistic model. Greed begat greed, in every case. He proceeded, as he put it, from the red to the green ends of the spectrum; catastrophes of a dozen different kinds were played out, involving a disastrous mix of calamitous wars and unrestrained climate damage. Then came the less worrying versions – relatively peaceful and stable, but dependent on a cycle of production and consumption which were unsustainable and led to the effective enslavement of the consumer base. One of these reminded me of the J. G. Ballard short story The Subliminal Man, in which the populace is coerced through devious advertising into a never-ending, pointless cycle of consumption. It sounded horrid.
I had through these scenarios hundreds of times, of course. It was the cornerstone of my world-view, the platform on which the Dvalin project was built. I made eye contact with Evelyn, who was combining some avid learning with equally conscientious people-watching; this was a unique bunch and their reactions to these meetings would do much to steer world events in coming years. She had already expressed her surprise that there were no politicians among them. This was deliberate, of course. We’d had enough of those assholes to last a thousand lifetimes. Instead, I eyed her stunning figure, encased as before in her smart blue Air Force uniform, and I ached for the chance to strip it off her and send her into her own orgasmic orbit.
Hal’s presentation moved onto his calculations for the probability of success given our new methods of running the world. Most of the extrapolations predicted a peaceful, well-resourced, educated world packed with culture and meaningful endeavour. It was almost like something out of Star Trek. Very Utopian, very optimistic. Still, Hal genuinely believed it was possible. He concluded with a call for unity and then laid out the schedule for the coming days.
There was an avalanche of questions. This wasn’t getting easier.
“I see no provision for the spiritual lives of mankind in your plan. Socialist regimes have ruthlessly repressed religion in the past. How will you ensure the survival of our belief systems?”
“What if the elevator cable breaks? A swathe of the earth around the equator will be destroyed, pummelled by the falling debris. Huge tsunamis will cause global flooding. How can you be sure it will remain stable, in perpetuity?”
“Isn’t it possible that, in the future, Dvalin could fall into the wrong hands and be sent crashing down to earth? Or harnessed as a military platform, holding the world to ransom?”
My pulse rate began to rise. To my surprise, and for the first time in decades, my fists balled, seemingly of their own accord. Long-dormant, ancient reflexes began to kick in.
“I read an op-ed article which claims you’re an agent for the government of Takanli and seek only to extend its malignant influence, turning earth into another vassal planet for an expanding empire. Comment?”
“Social unrest is inevitable. Are water cannons and tear gas going to be enough? How will you react – if at all – when the first deaths are reported? Are you prepared for the accusation that you have blood on your hands?”
“You’re imposing systems of farming which are quite new. Traditional ways of life which have flourished for millennia will be wiped away. How will you protect cultures against these losses, now and in the future?”
“You talk endlessly about carbon neutrality. Yet your spacecraft spew enormous quantities of noxious gases into the atmosphere. How can we take your environmental promises seriously?”
Strange, unbidden images began to fill my head. I continued to listen to the questions, almost out of habit, but a violent movie began in my mind’s eye and it wouldn’t stop. I began to see myself committing acts of despicable cruelty.
“Without a proper inventory of Dvalin’s resources, how can mankind be certain that you’re not hiding quantities of metals, or using them for illicit purposes?”
“If you’re cunning enough to harness an asteroid from deep space, what else might you do? What are you not telling us?”
There would only have been seconds to restrain me from running across the room and actually ripping someone apart when an extremely high, piercingly loud squeal filled the room and resonated throughout Dvalin’s halls. It was deafening, like a massive tinnitus attack, and lasted for many more seconds than anyone could take. Hands clasped to ears, mouths agape in agonized yells, we cowered under chairs, hammered on walls and curled into foetal positions on the floor.
Then it ceased. Silence reigned. While the group got their bearings, Hal was chattering in my earpiece, giving me almost no time to recover from his sonic assault. He wanted guidance. While I tried to answer him, Julia strode towards me and screamed in my face. I’m not sure quite what she said, but it was loud and obnoxious. Spittle landed on my cheek. She was incandescent. Hal tried to do the talking for me, his calm voice emanating once more from the walls.
“Dr. Fitzwallace, please take a seat and we can work everything out.” She ignored him, continued yelling at the top of her lungs. “There is nothing to be gained from prolonging such conflict. Please, we have so much to discuss, and agree on the majority of points already”.
Unpacified and patently furious, Julia span round and yelled at the walls. “I’m not going to be manipulated by anyone, let alone a cowboy like him, or a mere computer!”
There was silence. The others, quite taken aback by Julia’s outburst, even given the provocation of the deafening squeal, were observers now in this orbital soap opera. Hal muttered darkly into my earpiece. He was pissed.
“Dr. Fitzwallace. Do I have your attention?” I’d never heard him sound so angry. “I have some information you might find useful”. There was a very special undertone to Hal’s voice, one that I had suspected might lurk within his circuitry, but one which had never reared its head. Oh, shit.
Lady, you are about to be completely fucked.
“Whatever it is”, she shouted imperiously, “I want this project stopped at once and I want to be returned to Edinburgh.”
There was a moment’s pause. Then Hal said, “seventy-seven”.
A flicker of confusion crossed Julia’s purple face. “Seventy-seven what?”
“There are only seventy-seven viable ova left in your reproductive system.” Hal was wheeling out the big guns. A medical scan, I
knew, had taken him but moments and a piffling fraction of his capacity. “You have genetic predispositions which render you 84% likely to develop Alzheimer’s disease. Cell mutations have produced conditions quite excellent for the development of colon cancer.” She stared at me. I shrugged; not me, babe. Talk to Hal.
“How...?”
“Your limbic system is slightly suppressed by a genetic anomaly, leading to a deficiency in the production of dopamine. This accounts for your life-long depression and tendency to see the negative side of a situation. Although I am unfamiliar with your personal history, and personally couldn’t give a fuck about it, there is an eighty-six percent chance that you have been divorced, and a near certainty that your behaviour has led to the premature end of several partnerships. You’re also genetically a lesbian; this has certainly brought underlying tension to your heterosexual relationships.”
“Did he just say...”
“Your IQ is approximately six points lower than the average for senior academics in your field. Your reading speed and overall cognition is also significantly lower. This makes you a poor academic, but other factors make you a really first-rate bitch.”
Senator Chris Beasley burst out laughing and didn’t stop for some time. Evelyn had been quietly giggling behind her hand since Hal’s announcement that he ‘couldn’t give a fuck’ about Julia’s personal history, and now laughed more openly. Others joined them. Hal had never spoken to anyone like this in the whole time I had known him. And he only unleashed his earthiest vocabulary on the most special of occasions, of which this was undeniably one.
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