“It looks okay to me…” – not a single muscle twitched in Bikie’s face. “I wouldn’t bother about it. What’s could possibly be wrong? You’re not related.”
“We’re not, but it’s still not exactly the right situation for starting an affair.”
“Isaac, you shouldn’t get all hot and bothered over it. If you like her, I don’t see any reason why you should not woo and date her. Only I don’t know how she’d feel about that.”
“I don’t know how she’d feel about it either. I just wanted to get clear for myself how weird it is.”
“You know, Isaac, we have enough real obstacles in this life. There’s no point in inventing more. If you love her, then love her. I’ve never really fallen in love in my life, so my relations with women aren’t clouded by prejudices and fears. And believe me, lots of girls like guys who are direct and know what they want, without clouding the issue pointlessly. Although, of course you have to be aware of the subtle line between directness and coarseness.”
Isaac looked so gloomy that Bikie decided not to press him and looked out of the window at the colorful patches on the fields. But those colors didn’t arouse the slightest romantic impulse in him.
Great progress in agriculture was another achievement of COMA’s work. “The energy of each person for the good of humankind” – as UNICOMA put it in its promotional material.
All the existing knowledge about agriculture, from the moment the primordial man first began working the land right up to the present time, had been systematized and integrated. A bundle of ideas from biological sciences, soil science, meteorology, astronomy, chemistry and God knows what else had been pooled together. And the result was that Collective Mind could indicate precisely what to plant where in order to produce the largest harvest of the most delicious fruit per acre of land. Even the demand and supply on the market was taken into account.
The technologies cost megabucks, and the first year saw a wave of protests from farmers, but then everything quietened down. The correct use of the land produced such large harvests that, despite a general reduction in the price of agricultural products and the high cost of patents, farmers still made good profits. One of Bikie’s friends, a Belgian called Matheo, only got into university because his farmer father had started earning a lot more money
Futuristic miracle-machines of gleaming metal worked in the fields. As a matter of fact, if something looks like it’s arrived out of the future; it means the future is already here. The freakish combine harvesters with dozens of robotic arms droned as they harvested and processed. Up on the hills wind generators spun their curved blades soundlessly, with five propellers on each. Hothouses with solar-battery roofs shimmered opaquely in bright light, like iridescent patches of petrol on water.
The contents of supermarket shelves changed instantly. The tags “Natural”, “Organic” and “GMO” disappeared. After three years of COMA’s work, they were no longer needed. From then on no one used GMO technologies; they’d been outdated by the arrival of new methods for growing organic produce.
Fertilizers stopped being harmful to people and animals, their quality improved and they became more effective. Matheo was as an old friend, and a big fan of innovations. He and Bikie often argued about the harm and the benefits of COMA.
In general the environment had benefitted a lot. Chemical barriers and filters, waste disposal systems, technologies that reduced fuel consumption, high-power hydrogen and solar energy motors – these were all technologies that could not have been implemented without some powerful impulse. The world had definitely improved with the arrival of OE and taken an innovative leap forward.
Bikie was the one who hated the new order of things. This sweet, utopian world of smiling people had become too sterile to be regarded as real. It was more like a world of obedient, squeaky-clean robots. An advanced computer game.
Pleasant-looking, identical, nine-story buildings of a residential district flickered past the window. . The little town looked lovely. It was a Happy Ghetto. Actually these settlements were called Happy Cities, but Bikie’s name for them was ghettoes.
At UNICOMA they hadn’t immediately realized that by downloading energy from low level individuals they would run into the problem of homeless Happies that no one would look after. Those whose payment wasn’t enough for a long, normal life in a boarding house or who lost the money they were given proved incapable of adapting to the outside world. To give the Agency its due, it didn’t just cut these people adrift. A limit was quickly introduced, specifying a minimal level of creativity before downloading, and the downloaders were required to get insurance contracts for life-long support, or at least have a guardian who had to obtain a license from the Agency. The homeless Happies were gathered together and housed in specially built residential districts. Of course, these weren’t holiday resorts by any means, the apartments were small with no frills, but even so they were quite adequate for the undemanding new residents. In any event, they didn’t complain. Before moving to Peter’s place, Bikie had lived in far more modest conditions, even in Monaco. These little towns were built quickly, on inexpensive land, and dubbed Happy Cities. They had a pretty good infrastructure: sports grounds, parks and cinemas, even leisure and entertainment centers. The Agency chose jobs for the Happy residents, often building some factory nearby. The problem was solved and no more homeless Happies appeared.
The settlement and its residents were left behind. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Bikie recalled.
“Listen, Isaac,” said Bikie, surfacing from his reverie. “If we destroy the system, we have to offer something to replace it. If you think about it seriously, for most people we’re just ordinary terrorists, and death is too good for us. Wars and epidemics will start up again; lots of people will lose their chance in life. There’ll be an economic collapse and chaos like the world has never seen before.”
“Ah, but we won’t destroy what has already been achieved. We’ll just slow the world down a bit and reduce the speed of evolution. I’m not saying that COMA is all harm and nothing else.”
“There are so many benefits, I sometimes have doubts myself. Criticizing is one thing, smashing is a different matter altogether.”
“The distance between UNICOMA and the other corporations and governments is growing so frantically fast, we’ll have a dictatorship before you know what’s hit you.
“That’s just theory, but there’s concrete, positive, practical achievement there outside the window. How many of these people will end up in the street? Die on drugs? Wars, starvation, will start again. Sometimes I think we picked the goal out of anger for being losers, - Bikie looked upset. – What if people finally created paradise on the earth? Well, they are stupid, they really are. But so what? As if in the nineteenth century everyone was smart. Veggies have no creativity, but they can feel joy – they watch movies, fuck, see no evil, obey the scripture. What if this is just the future that has come too fast? What is the future you want? What if Coma saved us from nuclear war, terrorist attacks, that never happened, god knows what else? Lots of folks might not have been alive by now, but they are! Don’t you tell me that it’s better to be a dead smart guy than an alive Veggie. As for me, I don’t mind a fuss, I’m following you, and I’m really interested to reach the goal. But you, where the hell are you going? Well, there’s theoretical danger, indeed. This way you can accuse the creators of the Internet that the terrorists use it to exchange information, or fuckers store child-porn there. Or the creators of cell-phones can be blamed that their gismo can de used as detonators. One can find potential threat in every goddamn invention! Actually speaking, this artificial intellect that Link invented is the safest possible This machine doesn’t work without man, doesn’t make any decisions on its own”
“We’ll find Link and then figure it out.” Isaac was still absorbed in his own thoughts, and he really did not feel like discussing COMA.
Chapter six
The train arrived a
t St. Pancras Station in London.
They both got out of the carriage with its long, streamlined nose that reminded Isaac of his mother’s flat iron, while Bikie thought it looked like a red-and-yellow Japanese dragon.
After they went up in the lift, their eyes were met by a huge, bright dome of glass and iron set on walls of red brick with archways and plastered columns. Beautiful, raw neo-Gothic architecture.
“Bikie, did you know that this place has the longest champagne bar in Europe?”
“I don’t know what you’re hinting at, girlie. Let’s just have a coffee from the machine.”
The machine poured them coffee in cups that had a new stag printed on them: “2. soluble plastic”: in two years there wouldn’t be a trace left of those plastic cups. They each bought a sandwich from the next vending machine.
Everything sold at the station was handled by vending machines, people were hardly involved at all. There were still waiters working at the champagne bar, but that was basically a concession to tradition, the place could have managed without them.
The friends sat down under a sculpture called “Meeting Point”. Passengers walking by stared curiously at the nine meter high sculpture of an embracing young couple, frozen in cast metal. “A good sign,” Isaac remarked. Not far away was another sculpture, a bit smaller: a respectable-looking man gazing up so intently at the dome that he had to hold on to his hat to stop it from falling off. It was Sir John Betjeman, a poet who adored railways and had been feverishly active in the middle of the last century in the campaign against dismantling the platform of this station, and in return had his likeness admiring the lofty dome forever. “Look at him, an example of a man who grabbed tight hold of the past in good time. Yet another good sign.”
From the station they went straight to the University campus, which was a forty-minute drive from London. The University was now named after Jeremy Link. The genial Hindu taxi driver asked if this was their first time in London.
“Yes, we’ve come to repair our karma,” Bikie informed him
The Indian gave a broad smile and said that you didn’t repair karma, you restored it.
“My name’s Rashid. Would you like me to explain what karma is and how it influences a person’s life?”
Bikie nodded. Rather than travel in silence, he could listen to something interesting, and not just from a journalist, but from a real Hindu.
Isaac didn’t listen; he was again caught up in his thoughts about Vicky.
Along the way they passed several abandoned universities and a couple of demonstrations by unemployed lecturers.
“Thanks Rashid, that was interesting.” Unlike Isaac, Bikie had spent the entire journey discussing and arguing about his karma with the driver. “When we go back, I’ll call you and you can pick us up. Did you get that, Isaac? If you spat in someone’s face in a past life, you risk catching your own gob of spit in this one!”
“What?” Isaac had missed the conversation and he didn’t understand a thing.
“Look at you! What a blockhead with leaky karma you are! You’ve got two holes, in your left ear and your right one. It all flew in one and out the other. You missed everything!” Bikie explained disappointedly. “All that interesting stuff you were just told and you didn’t pick up a thing.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t in the mood for listening. And I do know what karma is.”
“In your case that’s as much use as a straw hat against a meteor shower,” Bikie replied acidly. “I’m not going to repeat it all. Listen to me next time, and I’ll swap your karmic sombrero for a decent anti-tank helmet!
“It’s a deal,” Isaac said with a smile. “But can I have an anti-Bikie helmet?”
“There you go. You’ve just made another hole in it!” Bikie exclaimed indignantly. “What you’ve got isn’t karma, it’s a colander. And your head hasn’t got cerebral convolutions in it, just spaghetti.”
“I hope it’s Italian, at least.”
“Yeah, Italian, hard-shell noodle.”
Isaac and Bikie walked up to the library building. They wanted to look inside – it must be really beautiful! It was centuries old and the collection of books had to be huge. All universities unofficially competed with each other to have the best library. Another depository of the ideas and thoughts of great people, only not computerized. If COMA could have found a way to augment its capacity not by using people, but the books they had written, what immense power that would have been! Though there was nothing good about artificial intelligence either. All the films on that subject inevitably ended with a computer declaring war against mankind.
The University was beautiful and it had a certain aroma of aristocratic dignity. Neatly trimmed lawns on all sides, with students on them, discussing something or other: some sitting there, reading textbooks, some lying on the grass and fiddling with their laptops. A scene from a fairytale. And lots of attractive girls.
“I’d come here as a lecturer,” said Bikie, impressed by two young beauties who had just walked by.
“And what would you teach rebellion and rock-n-roll?”
“Libertarianism and freethinking.”
“This is a mixed University. You ought to go straight to one with just women to do your lecturing. Although you’re more interested in the practical classes aren’t you?”
“Screw you. If you envy my high-flying fantasy just say so. You’ll never reach such heights with that spaghetti of yours.”
“Do I understand right that you won’t take me as a lab assistant in your department?”
“In my department I conduct all the lab work in person,” Bikie declared solemnly, adjusting his jeans lewdly. “But we’ll find a sweet little fat girl for you.”
Isaac’s bad mood had evaporated. He absorbed the carefree student atmosphere floating in the air, and tried to listen in to portions of the student’s conversations in order to recall more clearly the time when he was in college. The chatter on all sides was in English, but he understood perfectly well what they saying. After all, English was an international language that had spread everywhere and conquered entire continents. All thanks to the might of the British Empire that had subdued such vast territories, implanting its language as it went. The British colonists and settlers had felt quite at home on a continent discovered by the Spanish, and in Asia, and in distant Australia. When Isaac looked at how many universities there were in England, it occurred to him that this country was an example of how the world had been conquered not simply by military might, but by education.
The university was splendid; the only thing making him feel worried was the task ahead – finding a lead to Professor Link.
“Look, Bikie, there’s our goal, the professor himself with a bronze head.”
“Enough with the jokes. We need a cover story; people could ask questions about who we are and why we’re interested in the professor.”
“That’s not a problem, Bikie! I’ve already used my hard-shell noodle. The subject of Link’s disappearance is still an event that intrigues people. We’ll introduce ourselves as student journalists from the University of Monaco. No one will bother to check if our student journal ‘The Principality and Science’ actually exists.”
“OK, I was going to suggest something like that myself!” Bikie said with a nod, and then out of the blue he started saying how envious he felt looking at the students in England. “Just look at that building, and how much land they have here, the lawns. Football pitches and handball courts – who are they training here sportsmen or eggheads? And those golf courses we saw on the way here!”
“And those abandoned universities we saw on the way here,” Isaac retorted.
“That’s true,” Bikie agreed. “Lots of students have given up studying. They went chasing after the money that COMA promised them, like sheep which only proves yet again…”
“… that what we intend to do is right,” said Isaac, completing the thought.
Isaac and Bikie spent two days searching for everything
connected with Jeremy Link. They rummaged through University publications and spoke with his colleagues and former students, even with the cleaning lady of his study which was now a museum. They also studied the publicly accessible archives, as a result, having asked about Link to everyone they came across. There was zero new information, they already knew everything that they were told. Link had disappeared suddenly, without even completing the course he was teaching.
As they walked out of the building, a gallery of portraits of great scientists caught Isaac’s attention. The great men looked down at him: Einstein, Leonardo, Galileo and right there among them was Professor Link. He had his head inclined to one side and his expression was sardonic, with the eyes narrowed, a real person. Not a hint of glamour, even in a portrait he’d been captured just as he was in real life.
“Bikie, there ought to be other photos of Link, right? Maybe we’ll find a lead in them?” Isaac exclaimed in sudden insight.
They looked through what they had collected again, this time studying the images carefully. They asked students about their photos. Some had photos of unofficial events, some boasted that they had “me and Link” selfies. People were glad to show the two journalists their photos with the great celebrity, and the pair tried to pick new details.
Chapter seven
In his office in Paris, Pellegrini one more time leafed through the materials from the scene of the incident and the interviews with witnesses. In the report drawn up by the UNICOMA accounting department he saw that the computer had to be replaced and could not be repaired because some parts were missing. The computer had been written off as a loss as a result of the terrorist attack.
“A smashed monitor and keyboard with missing parts.” Pellegrini was delighted: something had been lost after all! He could take another trip, an excellent pretext for a little more time by the sea at government expense. But the most important thing was that new details had surfaced and he needed to know what parts of the computer had disappeared. This nagging little point had to be clarified, didn’t it?
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