Maura walked back to her desk. “All of that is in the public domain. What did you learn in our dossier on him?”
Pauline followed her. “He is not faithful to his spouse. He has two steady relationships outside his marriage and he’s trying to start a third. Brown’s seen his new daughter twice to date, as he is attending functions at various locations around the region to raise his profile. He hasn’t paid for most the recipes in his food fabber; when he’s travelling, he spends his time accessing pirated VR material through a series of four or five proxies. Including our stuff, of course.”
Maura pressed her lips together and sat down. She decided to probe Pauline a little. “Of course. What do you think of his platform, Pauline? Should EduTain support him or his rival for leader?”
“It’s not for me to decide,” Pauline demurred, “and it’s too early to tell. Normally, I’d vote for his opponent, as I like most of her platform, especially the upgrades she wants for the digital voting system, but she doesn’t excite me much. And there are things in her past—”
“So because the other candidate isn’t perfect, you’d consider voting for someone with an open track record for promoting fear and hate?”
Pauline looked startled. “Well, not necessarily. Uh, as I said, it’s early. What he plans to do about, say, crime is not clear.”
Maura leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. “Ah, but it is. This morning I collated recordings of every one of his public pronouncements. I ran a sentiment analysis and extrapolation algorithm. It is projecting his platform will be to deport every single criminal, and all residents of J-District to Base 53, and somehow, this miraculously solves the city’s problems.”
“But that’s… absurd,” Pauline said, struggling for adequate words. “The International Lunar Port Authority would never agree. It would violate at least six treaties and two conventions. And the logistics of moving how many people out in a short period? And the expense! Surely it would blow the budget?”
“Of course it’s ridiculous. But a big enough lie told boldly enough…” Maura replied. “Listen, it doesn’t matter if what the other side proposes is total nonsense, or it’s beset with scandal or incompetence. Voters won’t care if your side has rock solid policies backed by data that benefit everyone. Elections are won by the team that picks a simple message that resonates with the majority of people who bother to vote, and repeats it every single day of the campaign.”
“So you think he will tap into some latent fear of people in the District?” Pauline asked.
“There are a surprising number of people who automatically distrust anyone who is not hooked up to the thingweb. It’s assumed that if you’re not connected, it must be because you have something to hide. It will get worse if he continues to lay the groundwork as he has been doing so far. Not to mention the legitimate concerns about the growing resurgence of organised crime, there and elsewhere in the city.”
Maura brushed a speck of lint from the front of her jacket. “If he gets elected, my bet is he’ll ‘discover’ aspects of the law that will stop him from fulfilling his promise. But in the meantime, he will foment unrest, and people will get hurt. I won’t have that. J-District is a problem area that needs help. We can’t let someone use it to upset the order in the city. Or anywhere else, as I’m sure he has aspirations outside Toronto.”
Pauline shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I wonder what he’ll make of the incident downtown, the bombing or whatever that was. Probably nothing good. So what will his real agenda be?”
“I can’t tell. Beyond just getting elected, and the usual personal enrichment, of course. His communicator is too well encrypted. I haven’t broken it. Yet.”
“Then we won’t be accepting his proposal today?”
Maura smiled. “Oh, I’ll take his money. He’s set up an impressive campaign account, and he’s likely to spend lavishly if he thinks he’s getting a good deal on an influential media package like the VR we produce. And my war chest needs filling.”
“Then…?”
“Then our job today is to keep him fixated on bargaining for placement in our top programs. And… not so focused on firming up details on how we deploy his spots. Once he’s locked into a contract, we have a range of options for influencing how he’s perceived.” Maura permitted herself a small chuckle. “One tactic that was effective in the last election was to digitally copy and paste the latest populist idiot’s eyes onto the villain of our Dark Wings series. Our demographic analysis told us the people most likely to vote for him were also keen players of that VR sequence.” Maura remembered her amusement in reading the confused messages between campaign managers when the polls plummeted and no one could figure out why public opinion had shifted so radically. Even the press, which been almost fawning in their coverage of the ‘rogue’ candidate, turned on him and ripped him to pieces.
Pauline looked shocked. “But isn’t that—”
Maura cut her off with an impatient gesture. “I despise demagogues. We’ve suffered through more than enough of them through history, and I fail to see why we should again if we have the means to stop them before they get started.” Maura’s gaze rested briefly on the sculpture on her desk. She cleared her throat. “Progressives are always too pure to take the necessary steps to prevent a backslide. We think well-reasoned arguments and nuance will somehow carry the day. Or we’re shocked to learn after the fact that the other side wasn’t playing by the rules. If no one else is prepared to nip this in the bud, then I am.”
“I see. Then perhaps you should also know he ran an ultramarathon yesterday, and so he will be tired.”
“Did he now?” Maura feigned surprise. That the meeting was to take place today had not been a coincidence: Maura had chosen the date for exactly that reason. She waited to hear what Pauline would say next.
“Yes. Oh, before we get started, is there anything you need? I forgot to mention the lift is scheduled for maintenance.” She glanced at the window where Brown’s pod had nearly dropped off the overlay as it was so close to the building. “In about ten minutes’ time. So he must take the stairs. Can’t be helped.”
Maura wasn’t disappointed. The meeting would be even more interesting than she thought. And so was Pauline.
HAROON
“Yo, tomodachi,” Yoshi said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fab you something for your eye?”
Haroon looked up from his screen to smile at his friend and then tried not to flinch. The area from his cheekbone all the way back to his ear was still sore. He switched from smiling to shaking his head. “No, Yoshi, thank you, really. You do too much for me already.”
“It’s not for you. You’re making my eyes water just looking at you.” Yoshi grinned.
Haroon aimed a playful cuff at Yoshi’s head and returned to reading. He tried to quell the feelings of humiliation and resentment rising inside him. It wouldn’t be fair to Yoshi to take those out on him.
Haroon wanted to concentrate on his book, but his attention kept wandering, and it was really hard to control his restlessness today. The Fujitas lived just a few blocks from the edge of J-District. By city standards, they were comfortable, but not wealthy. To Haroon’s eyes, their tiny apartment was a palace. So clean compared to the dump he lived in. And more importantly, it was connected. He could access books, and art, and music, and courses, and even other people in faraway places. There were so many things to learn and he needed to know it all. It frustrated him no end that he always had such a hard time focusing.
He remembered the day he and Yoshi had met.
Haroon had been exploring since dawn. He’d been about ten and although it was dangerous to be out on his own, he had already worked out that if he was careful, his chances of catching a beating were usually less than they were at home, where there was no escape. And that afternoon, his curiosity was driving him harder than his fear. He had to find out if what the pasty-faced kid with the limp hair had said was true: J-District was a place, i
t had invisible borders, and things were very different on the other side of those imaginary lines.
Yoshi, meanwhile, had been out for a walk with his parents and somehow got separated. Running around in a blind panic, he’d gotten completely lost.
He was standing under a tree in an unkempt wooded park at the very edge of the District, crying, when Haroon had spotted him. Just a few minutes later, he spotted Dominic and Drea, the twins from the east side of his block who were also out, looking for trouble. It wasn’t long before they heard the sniffling and started straight for Yoshi, grinning like a pair of sharks who had smelled blood.
Haroon’s head pounded as he stood there, hidden by the shadows, watching as they got closer and closer, in an agony of indecision.
There was only one of him. And he didn’t recognise the crying boy as anyone he might know or care about. But he’d seen what the twins had done to a stray cat once.
The memory still made him sick to his stomach.
He stopped thinking and charged.
The twins were so intent on their easy mark they didn’t hear Haroon coming until it was too late. He threw his whole body against Drea, knocking her straight down, and then he spun and put everything he had into a hard right hook into Dominic’s nose. He grabbed a stunned Yoshi by the arm and they ran as fast as they could out of the park.
It was several minutes before Yoshi had calmed down enough to think to check his wristband and work out where he was and lead them back to Yoshi’s parents. They had been so grateful at Yoshi’s quick and safe return they fed him the biggest meal he’d ever had in his life and told him he was forever welcome in their home.
Haroon remembered walking back into the District that night, blindly, a hurricane of conflicting emotions: wonder, dread, happiness, and furious resentment. Things were different elsewhere. And they were infinitely better.
He and Yoshi had become fast friends, and Yoshi’s parents were helping him integrate into society and the thingweb, although not as quickly as he would have liked.
Mr Fujita startled him out of his memory by waving a plate under his nose. “Anata wa kukkī o shitaidesu ka?”
Yoshi rolled his eyes. “Dad, English, please. How many times do I have to remind you Haroon doesn’t have a transbud yet?” he said, tapping his own, tucked into his right ear. With so many nationalities living in Toronto, the transbud was practically a necessity. And it was another thing Haroon had never been able to afford.
Haroon smile-flinched again. “It’s okay, I can figure that much out.” He took a cookie from the plate and nodded his thanks. Mr Fujita offered one to Yoshi, bent to kiss him on the forehead, and then left.
Haroon stopped in mid-bite. He’d seen Mr Fujita do that to his son a hundred times at least, but suddenly, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, the image of that kiss seared Haroon. The room seemed stifling, and he could hardly breathe.
His hand flew to his bruised face, his father’s handiwork. He was ashamed to find hot tears spilling down his cheek. Haroon wiped his eyes, tried to force his attention back to his book. He still couldn’t focus.
If Yoshi noticed anything was amiss, he didn’t say. Instead, he stretched, and then put down his own reader. “So,” he said around a mouth full of cookie, “you wanna go do a holographic? I need a break.”
Haroon didn’t want to waste time downtown. He sure didn’t want more distractions. Why was it so hard to keep his attention on one thing? “I don’t know. I still have studying to do.”
“Uso tsuki!” Yoshi scoffed at him and snatched his reader away. “Liar,” he said again. “You were ready for the exams a week ago. You’re reading more of your big ideas books, aren’t you? Who is this one by? Seth… Bocci?”
“Bacchi,” Haroon corrected him, before grabbing the reader back. “It’s his second novel. It’s all about how someone becomes so attached to their digital personal assistant that they start a physical relationship. And he seems to say that may not be as bad or as weird as you might believe, especially if you’re not able to get along with other people. He’s great.”
Yoshi smirked. “Never heard of him. Some days I think you were born old. C’mon, let’s flick. Maybe we can invite that cute girl you’ve been pining after? What’s her name?”
Haroon sighed. Yoshi’s continued friendship was important, and it wasn’t such a bad idea to stop brooding for a while. “Fine, okay. She’s called Saba, and she’s more than just a cute girl, but no way are we inviting her. If I work up the nerve to ask her out, I don’t need you telling her all of my embarrassing stories first time out.”
Yoshi laughed. “Oh, I see, that’s how it is. I’ll tell her on your second date then. And your third because one date won’t be enough for all of them.”
“Yeah, and I’ll tell that hunky football captain you’ve been crushing on him for months.”
Yoshi fanned himself. “I almost wish you would. I’d die of embarrassment, but it’d be a happy death. He’s gorgeous. But to do that, you’d have to get your nose out of the books for five minutes, so I know I’m safe.”
Haroon chased him out the door.
SETH
Seth pushed back from his workstation and paced up and down. He had just wasted an hour drafting and then erasing a single paragraph repeatedly. Nothing was coming out right and the sounds from his old-fashioned keyboard, clicking and ticking, were irritating him. He considered switching to dictation mode, but he’d never gotten used to writing that way. Somehow, it felt less intimate, and too public, even if he was dictating alone, in his home.
“Tasha, give me some headlines. What’s happening today?”
“At once. Scanning your favourite topics,” Tasha replied. “Researchers in Spain have officially upgraded the status of the Pyrenean ibex from ‘extinct’ to ‘extinct in the wild,’ and noted they are now working towards creating a larger, genetically viable population for release.”
Seth’s brow furrowed. “I thought I’d read there was some debate about whether it was even possible to call it a Pyrenean ibex? That it wasn’t, how would you say it, ‘pure,’ or whatever?”
“That is correct,” Tasha replied. “Would you like to do a deep dive on this topic?”
“Not right now. I just need distractions to reset my head. Next headline.”
“Four people were killed in unrest in parts of the African Union overnight, as representatives debate the pending trade agreement with the EU. Several world leaders, including China’s new premier, Jiang Li Chun of the Chinese Social Democratic Party, have condemned the violence.”
Seth shook his head. “Ugh, no, stick to positive stuff please.”
Tasha paused as she worked to interpret that response. “Companions Inc. has announced orders for its latest creation, the North American House Hippo, have exceeded their projections.”
That made Seth laugh. He’d seen the ads, and they were kind of cute. Miniature hippos, no bigger than a guinea pig, and engineered to have a nicer temperament than their dangerous wild cousins did. Plus no fur, so no shedding. He could imagine his great-grandmother complaining about them, though. She had never forgiven a neighbour for having two of those pot-bellied pigs that been popular once. “Another headline, please.”
“The mayor of Calgary is asking the federal government to commission a study on droneway licensing. He says the number of new drones using the droneway between Edmonton and Calgary has tripled, but much of this is fly-through traffic en route to Lethbridge. He argues it is taxing the city’s computational resources and the drones should be rerouted.”
“Seems reasonable,” Seth shrugged. “One more. Positive, remember.”
“Climate Central is reporting that for the fourth year in a row, carbon dioxide PPM has declined. Their spokesperson warns against decelerating current measures to fully realise a post-carbon economy, saying we are still nowhere near pre-industrial era levels yet. The switch away from coal for power generation and from fossil fuel for land-based transportation has been very
effective, but much work remains to be done in the sea and air vehicles and in the agricultural sectors here and in developing countries. Reforestation is also still a concern.”
Seth felt a little of the tension drain from his body. He still had nightmares about that awful documentary he’d seen as a child called The Year of the Tornado, which recounted how an unprecedented number of massive tornadoes had carved their way through the American Midwest in the late 2020s. The point of the video had been to show how that devastating summer, combined with a terrible disaster relief response and a history of low infrastructure investment, was the beginning of the end for the American union. But all Seth got from it was a permanent fear of storms, because Ontario was prone to vicious winds, too. Last year alone, Toronto had four ultra-severe thunderstorms, producing massive hail in some areas, destructive downdrafts, and flash flooding in much of the city. After each storm, there was always at least an hour’s worth checking up on family members, as his large family was spread across the city. At least one of them would need help with property damage too. He wondered if he might look forward to fewer anxious summers.
With that hopeful thought, he sat down and got back to work. Soon, he could no longer hear the clicking of the keyboard, and the prose poured out. When he next checked his wristband, four hours had gone by. But it had been a solid afternoon. He’d added another two thousand words and written a tricky scene involving a major character reveal.
Feeling pumped, he had Tasha play music while he cleaned and danced his way around the apartment, belting out his favourite lines at the top of his lungs. He even threw open his windows for a bit to let some of the very cold, but fresh air in.
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