The 2084 Precept

by Anthony D. Thompson

  "So you finally got to the point."

  Jeremy laughed. I could imagine him running his hand through his hair, his moon-face crinkling into that pleasant smile of his. "Yes, I did," he said. "And I also went on to explain the following. The undeniable existence of biology as the source of human aggression is already observable shortly after birth. Human babies and small children exhibit aggressiveness long before they have been exposed to external influences which might possibly be deemed to be the cause of it; such as, for example, school. And even external influences only provoke what is biologically already in place in any case.”

  Indeed, even the gender-aggression ratios are identifiable and apparent at an early stage. The genes involved can be identified—as your biologists already know. And the key genes are inherently, if not exclusively, to be found in the male. And what these genes do, they determine the structure of the proteins in your bodies' cells. So far, so good. But what I am here and now strongly recommending is that you have your biologists concentrate on Step 1: the long and intricate sequence of complicated processes interposed between the aforementioned proteins and what, for the want of a better phrase, we can call behavior."

  "They were still listening?" I asked.

  "Yes, they were still listening. But their interest was beginning to wane. My fault. I was trying to be helpful, but in retrospect it was unnecessary for me to elaborate at length on which areas of the brain and which of the hormones need to be researched."

  "Testosterone is a hormone."

  "Yes it is. I also spoke quite a bit about the central role of numerous circuits within both the neocortical and subcortical structures of the brain. And I emphasized the role of the chemicals in the brain, especially the neurotransmitters."

  "You bored them."

  "I'm afraid so. They were interested in the subject but, in retrospect, I don't think that in the end they took it very seriously. Their only interest in me was as a potentially incredible new weapon, and in having that capability proved to them beyond all doubt. And what would happen after that and in which way they would react and what they would decide to do about it…"

  "They still consider you to be a lunatic, someone suffering from delusions."

  "Yes, as you do yourself, Peter, if you don't mind my saying so. A lunatic with, possibly, some amazing capabilities. But I have done my best. My next 'demonstration' will be the last and it will be the end of my attempt to prevent a possibly unnecessary annihilation of your species. I will, so to speak, have tried to get the wasps to choose to fly out of the window instead of making it necessary for them to be eliminated. The wasps' choice."

  "Aren't you concerned that they may be having you watched, followed, put under surveillance by the NSA, the CIA, the GCHQ or some other secret service organization?"

  "Not at the moment, Peter, no. I am probably under surveillance right now but that doesn't cause me any inconvenience. In London, it was different. There was a perceived need, initially, for me to protect you and your private affairs. In the meantime, I don't think they have too much interest in you any more, except for the fact that they would still like to have your assistance and cooperation as a person who, in their view, has a close relationship with me and who knows me fairly well. Mind you, after the next demonstration, the nature of their interest in me will possibly change definitively, as will their decisions on how to 'handle' me. We shall have to wait and see."

  "So we will be talking again tomorrow?"

  "Yes, Peter, I will call you."

  And we said our goodbyes.

  I realized that in my contacts with Jeremy over the past few weeks I had progressively been talking to him more and more as if he were a perfectly normal person, one whom in fact I had come to quite like. He was pleasant, he was courteous, he was well-meaning, he was never intentionally rude and he complied meticulously with any agreements he made. This made him superior to the majority of other individuals who had floated past my life raft on their own particular ocean currents. Certainly, Jeremy was deranged, very seriously deranged, but in all other respects, in his Dr. Jekyll respects let us say, he was perfectly normal. And, to be truthful, I would not even think he were deranged if the feasibility of his being an alien were not such an inconceivable, impossible and ridiculous concept. My neurons would not budge on that one and quite right too.

  I was tired, but before crashing out, I typed up and printed a two page document for my visit to the Naviera's bank tomorrow.

  DAY 35

  My review of this morning's invoices turned up nothing of interest. I wandered around my office and made a leisurely inspection of Alfonso's maritime souvenirs, an old ship's lamp was impressive, and then I went into town, had a coffee near the Plaça de la Reina and turned up at five to ten at the bank.

  The manager was polite and courteous but he was unable to hide the fact that he was worried. He was worried about our loan balances and our maximum use of the expensive overdraft facility. And so, notwithstanding my station in life as an honest person, I lied through my teeth to him. I explained how the company was being turned around, how I had replaced the previous general manager, how he would soon (a delightfully vague and hazy word) be seeing monthly reductions in the amount of our debt, also how the situation in twelve months' time would be such that he would probably be wanting to make additional new loans to us. Ha, ha, create confidence, has to be done.

  In the meantime, I continued, elements of the turnaround initiative involved recuperating some of our 40-ton container cargo business and reducing the number of lost transits, and for those purposes we needed a small amount of additional financing to repair the wharf crane in Palma and the top deck of one of the ships. And I handed him my two page document which showed the estimated investment requirements, the additional revenues and profit which would be incrementally generated, and a fairly rapid repayment plan for the additional loan facility.

  I now expected a prolonged and difficult discussion. But there wasn't one. There wasn't one because he simply said no. He said it without hesitation and he explained why and he repeated his comments just in case I hadn't understood him the first time. What made things worse, he said that the bank had for some time been having serious misgivings about the financial situation of Naviera Pujol, and would be considering demanding a reduction in the amount of the debt already existing. However, in view of the fact we were a long-standing and traditional customer and in view of the initiatives I had just described to him, they would continue to watch developments for a further period of three months before making a determination. And he wished me every success in my difficult task.

  I don't blame him. He was right. And it was fair. He would have had to be mad to have said anything different. I liked him. No beating about the bush, no bullshit, and he communicated in a faultlessly civilized and courteous manner. I liked him enough to stay on for another coffee and discuss the pathetic economic situations created by the elected birdbrains in his country and in the other countries around Europe and around the world. He called in a member of his staff and I signed various forms to have the company's signature and password authorizations changed and I had the signature limits and the dual signatory requirements amended at the same time. And then he had another member of his staff come in and they opened up a personal account for me as well.

  Out in the street, the heat was reaching its midday intensity and the shade I found to smoke my cigarette didn't reduce it much, not noticeably anyway. But accustomed as we smokers are to the various sacrifices required to maintain our compulsory nicotine levels, I smoked the thing doggedly to the sweaty end prior to disappearing into a nearby air-conditioned cafeteria for a chicken salad and a glass of cool white wine as a prelude to my return to the office.

  I sat in my office chair and I thought about the problems. And then I picked up the phone and called Sr. Pujol. No, he said, there was no possibility of any money for any purpose at all. The only thing the group was doing was to continue subsidizing our negative c
ash flow in order to ensure the Naviera's operational liquidity for the time being. And the banks, he said, will lend you no more either.

  As if I didn't now know. Well, I couldn't blame Sr. Pujol either. His group was lending around €700,000 per month to keep the Naviera afloat until that miracle worker, Peter O'Donoghue, turned it around into a nice cash-generating and financially independent entity. Very good, very pleasant indeed, except for the fact that the miracle worker had absolutely no idea as to how he might achieve that. And maybe he couldn't. And that would be decided within another ten days or so at the most.

  A completely unproductive day and so I took a taxi back to the hotel as soon as the first of the employees began to leave. My employees, I should now say, although for how long that would be the case remained to be seen. My hotel was an oasis, a much needed oasis after a day like that. I swam, I had an early dinner and I settled into my lounge chair on the balcony and I became immersed in that book I was reading, Platform.

  Jeremy's mobile rang at around 11 p.m.

  "Hi, Jeremy. How are things?"

  "Things are fine, thank you, Peter. Oh, by the way, since we got the world's leaders together, you are owed the €300,000. I transferred it to you this morning."

  Jingle Bells.

  "Thank you very much, Jeremy. As it turned out, I didn't have to do much for it. Easy money, for which thank you again. Nevertheless, it might have turned out differently. I suppose we might say that I got paid for the risk of the trials and tribulations to which I might have been subjected. For my readiness, as it were. And that I just got lucky."

  "Now that would be a fair enough way to put it, Peter. And I hope you enjoy the spending of it."

  "Did you decide on your next and last show?"

  "Yes. But not very original, I'm afraid. Frankly, I would have preferred to do something positive, something that millions of people could enjoy and/or benefit from. But I decided against it."

  "Why?"

  "Because fear is what they understand. We are back to fear again. It is the only emotion which stands even the smallest chance of getting them to agree to start doing something about weapons, population and peace…and to commence the research on how to achieve the necessary biological transmutations."

  "Don't tell me that it is going to be another asteroid. Hitting our planet this time perhaps?"

  "Yes, it will be another asteroid. Hitting your planet. Without causing harm, needless to say. Except to a few sub-aquatic and cold-blooded creatures. It's boring, I know, but it will create the chance of the shit not only flying but of it also hitting the fan."

  "And don't tell me, Jeremy, it's a good idea, if a repetitive one, because you just happen to be aware of something like that which is due to occur anyway in the near future. It coincidentally happens to be a period of considerable activity as far as our solar system's asteroid belts are concerned."

  "Well, I do happen to be aware of such an event and it will occur on Monday, as I have informed them. But it is not going to be because of any undue asteroidal activity; it is going to be because some of my colleagues are again arranging for it to happen."

  "Do you know what I am thinking, Jeremy?"

  "No, but I believe I could make a pretty accurate guess."

  "Yes, well, I am thinking that you somehow—don't ask me how—have an extraordinarily advanced knowledge of astronomy and that you are simply in the position of knowing more or less what is going to happen and where."

  "And also when, perhaps?" With a smile in his voice. "O.K., as you prefer, Peter. But this one is really fascinating for my colleagues. As usual, they have to perform their normal calculations regarding the asteroid's size, which has to be big enough to produce a massive impact effect, but also small enough to avoid any massive destruction. And this time, because of the unusual characteristics of your atmosphere, they need to work through highly complex computations to calculate the exact approach trajectory required, also the speed and angle of entry, and then what the appropriate size of the asteroid needs to be. They also have to select an object of a specific mineral composition. It mustn't break up too much on its way in nor, indeed, not enough."

  “Really?" I said. Is it not amazing what convoluted intricacies this guy was continuously capable of creating in order to support his fabrications.

  "And even then," he continued, "they needed additional technical data from me."

  "Such as?" I asked.

  "They needed to know what the maximum allowable area was which could be affected by the impact without causing harm to human beings, and whether that area was land or water or a mixture, and where the precise center of that area was."

  "And so you told them?"

  "Yes, and I gave them the center's exact coordinates."

  "And they are?"

  "They are 54˚26´S and 3˚24´E."

  "And where is that?"

  "That is the most remote island on your planet. It is uninhabited and it sits in the South Atlantic and it previously belonged to Britain and now it belongs to Norway. It is called Bouvet Island and it has an area of 49 km2 and it is mostly covered by a glacier."

  "And the nearest inhabited land?"

  "The nearest inhabited land is the archipelago of Tristan da Cunha which is 2,260 kilometers away. Tristan da Cunha belongs to Britain and is the most remote inhabited island on your planet, although the population consists of only a few hundred people."

  "And that is the information you gave to your colleagues?"

  "Yes, and now they are performing calculations on matters such as non-dangerous tsunami ranges and so forth. They are, as you say, having a ball."

  Well, if anyone was having a ball, it was Jeremy. He must be a pretty good student, I thought, he knows how to do his research. In fact by now, he probably knows more about my planet than I do.

  And so we said goodbye. He expected to hear from his professor tomorrow about the ongoing interview agenda and he would give me a call so that we could decide on some mutually convenient dates.

  But my neurons were in disarray. They were in total disarray. If this event were to happen, and happen when and where he said it would happen, and if it didn't turn out to be bigger than he thought and destroy us all, well…what then? What would my neurons do? My neurons were in Zugzwang as we chess players say. They were even beginning to reconsider the possibility of an extraterrestrial explanation. And this caused a short-circuit and they shut down in confusion and I fell asleep.

  DAY 36

  I had brought a suitcase with me today for my stay in Barcelona. I stuck it in a corner, got myself a cup of coffee and began checking the day's invoices. There were only a few, but one of them was a billing for 'monthly fee: consultancy services as per contract'. The amount was for €20,000 but there was no further indication as to what the services were.

  I called María into my office and asked her what services we were receiving from this company, 'Gestoría Transbalear S.A.'.

  "Well…they perform various different services for us," she said.

  "Yes?"

  "Well…things like finding new customers. Marketing services. Advice on publicity matters. Er…things like that."

  She was nervous and a bit red in the face and I smelled a rat. Or maybe several of them.

  "What exactly have they done for us this past month, María?" I asked, "I mean, concretely?"

  "Yes, well…it's an ongoing contract and is not based on any precise actions taken in any particular individual month."

  I wasn't going to waste any more of my time on this. "I would like to have the name of the contact person, please," I said.

  "That is not a problem," she said. "I will get hold of him and have him contact you directly."

  "No. I will contact him personally. What is his name?"

  She didn't like that. She became extremely nervous, I even saw her hands twitching, and her face had taken on a deep crimson color. There was a pause while she tried to think of which would be the best answer to provid
e me with, but she failed to find an acceptable alternative to the one she gave me.

  "Actually…er…it's Alfonso."

  "Alfonso Orfila?"

  She nodded.

  "The general manager of our company? The one who has just left?"

  She nodded again. She definitely looked as if she would have preferred to be somewhere else, Bulgaria maybe.

  "And who manages this…gestoría for him, María?" I asked.

  Another long pause. Again, no alternatives found.

  "Well…he manages it himself," she said.

  "Oh, he does, does he? And how many employees does he have?"

  This provoked even more discomfort. She now looked as if she would like to be able to disappear through the floorboards, an option suddenly superior to the Bulgaria one.

  "Actually…he is the only one," she managed.

  "O.K., María," I said. "I will handle this. Thank you."

  She stood up and fled from this chamber of horrors, and my neurons reacted with a couple of quick thoughts. Maybe she was in on this obvious fraud. Maybe she wasn't even having an affair with Alfonso, maybe she was just doing the books for his gestoría and typing his invoices and processing the payments for him as well? And receiving a decent fee for doing so? And maybe she was having an affair with him on top of all that, why not? A paid affair, not the first woman on the planet to be doing that. And why not? If I were a woman, I would probably be doing exactly the same thing myself. But I would be doing it at a far higher monetary level than this one, let it be said.

  None of which was here or there. Whatever it was would come out in the wash. I picked up the phone and informed Sr. Pujol. I told him we were stopping the payments and that it was up to him to decide whether we should begin the legal process which would most likely send Sr. Alfonso Orfila into jail. He said he would think about it. As for me, I was going to reflect on what to do about María. She would have to go, no question about that, but I would need to find a provable reason to dismiss her without having to pay her any money. Which I would, shouldn't be too difficult. I would look into it when I got back from Barcelona.