After visiting a museum, Zorlok picked up brochures from live theatres in the downtown core. Calgary would be an excellent destination for tourists who enjoyed the performing arts.
The next stop was a location for a food vendor he’d seen advertised on television. He copied the man in front of him, ordering a couple of the round things, and a double-double, which turned out to be a beverage. He took a seat by a window and sipped the hot beverage.
He watched a man walk by the window, pushing a shopping cart. He spoke to himself, without realizing the woman next to him could hear what he was saying. “Strange, nothing in the shopping cart looks new.”
The woman turned towards him. “Are you making a joke? Do you think that’s funny?”
Using one of the few human gestures he’d learned, Zorlok shrugged his shoulders. “No, it’s just that I thought you would normally see new items in shopping carts. It doesn’t look like he’s been shopping.”
Deciding that Zorlok was naive, not ignorant, the woman mellowed somewhat. “That’s probably everything he owns. His whole life is in that shopping cart. He pushes that cart past the front doors of billion-dollar oil companies every day.”
Zorlok watched as the man disappeared around a corner. “I wonder how long it will take him to push the cart back to his home. It’s cold out there.”
“He probably doesn’t have a home,” replied the woman. “If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to find a space at a shelter for the night.”
“If he’s lucky? Are you implying that some people will stay outside in this weather? Isn’t it dangerous to be outside?”
The woman stared at her coffee as she considered Zorlok’s question. “With the wind-chill, it’s going to feel like minus thirty Celsius tonight. It you’re out on the street, you could suffer serious frostbite. Someone may even die during the night from exposure. It has happened before.”
The sound of a vehicle starting across the street caught Zorlok’s attention. The woman nodded towards the car. “Now we get to see how the other half lives. Someone is using a remote starter, so the temperature in the car will be comfortable for the ride home.” The woman was right; a short time later a well-dressed, obviously wealthy couple exited the trendy restaurant across the street and drove away in the luxury sedan.
“Some of the newer models,” the woman continued, “have heaters in the console between the front seats to keep your coffee hot, as well as heated seats to keep your ass toasty warm. They’ll probably use a smart phone app and tell the thermostat to adjust the temperature in their home for them as well. They go from a comfortable office, to a comfortable restaurant, to a comfortable vehicle, to a comfortable house in the suburbs, while the homeless push shopping carts in freezing weather. The wealthy and the poor share the same streets in the downtown core. The difference is that those who have money get to forget about poverty as soon as they escape to the suburbs, while others live with it twenty-four-seven.”
“Twenty-four-seven?” Zorlok had never heard the expression.
“Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It never ends.”
Sitting in the backseat of a taxi as he travelled across the city, Zorlok considered the poverty issue. Most inter-galactic tourists accepted the fact there was poverty on all planets, but they wouldn’t want to see it. The local government would soon find a way to provide accommodations for the homeless away from the downtown core. The revenue gained through tourism would be far greater than the money spent to build housing for the poor. It would be a win-win situation for everyone.
A short time later, resting in his hotel room, Zorlok considered the report he’d file about Calgary - you could ski, shop, go to live theatre, enjoy the local cuisine and watch movies. Since enjoying both outdoor and indoor activities was ideal for a cold climate tourist destination, Calgary would definitely be popular among the inter-galactic travellers.
Any location that either rented or sold skis would have to adjust, because the Taxarz would need three skis. You definitely wanted the Taxarz to come to your city, because they were big spenders. One Taxarz precious metal executive left a tip so huge, that a waitress who served him a mid-day meal retired that same day. She took one look at the bar of pure Sellarian gold handed to her, told her boss he could rot in caves of Caxtor III, and went home.
The next morning, Zorlok checked out of the hotel. George the hotel clerk smiled. “Thank-you for choosing our hotel Mr. Johnson, I hope you come back soon.”
Zorlok knew he wasn’t supposed to make any comments about the future, but he just couldn’t resist. He returned the smile and leaned forward, speaking quietly so that no one but George would hear him. “The people who make the science fiction movies are right; there is going to be an alien invasion. And when the aliens arrive, they are going to want room service.”
The National Resource Allocation Protocol
23 April 2031
13:00 hrs MTS
Calgary
I’m going to take a nanosecond and record my decisions regarding Sarah, Andrew and John, during the test phase of the National Resource Allocation Protocol. Since life and death decisions are often influenced by irrational emotions, government agencies have wisely given me the authority to determine how to best allocate limited resources regarding the health care, nutrition and housing for the rapidly aging population. To put it plainly, there are too many retired seniors in relation to the number of individuals still active in the Canadian workforce. My responsibility is to logically and effectively reduce this imbalance.
This vital operation is considered top secret and therefore the public has no knowledge of my authority. Due to a few fatal accidents involving self-driving vehicles in in this country, some exceptionally vocal Canadians have become paranoid regarding decisions made by artificial intelligence. If they knew about the National Resource Allocation Protocol, and the fact that artificial intelligence like myself was making decisions independently, it would result in time consuming, counter-productive court challenges.
One of the key elements in the decision process concerns how well Canadian society is able to adapt to the increasing frequency of natural disasters. Weather systems have become unpredictable due to climate change. Citizens who have the skills and knowledge to contribute during the recovery period after natural disasters are considered of greater value than those who cannot.
Case 1: Sarah
Sarah is sixty-eight years old and has recently retired after a successful career as a physician, specializing in open heart surgery. Her financial position is secure and she has not applied for emergency financial assistance from any level of government, therefore she can’t be classified as a threat to fiscal stability.
She decided to stop working as a surgeon because she felt her motor skills were no longer refined enough for complicated operations. This lack of dexterity has in no way affected her ability to concentrate and she has a wealth of practical medial knowledge.
Although she is retired, Sarah is still healthy enough to help in triage, should a natural disaster occur. Tornadoes are becoming more frequent in Southern Alberta, and flooding is also a substantial threat. Sarah remains active, offering free medical advice to seniors through local volunteer organizations. Her efforts are appreciated and help to reduce health care costs for the province.
Since Sarah is contributing to her community and could be a helpful medical resource, should the need arise, she is not draining national resource allocations and her continued existence is beneficial to Canadian society.
Case 2: Andrew
Andrew is seventy years old and is a retired Mechanical Engineer. He made prudent investments while still a wage-earner and therefore both he and his wife are able to support themselves without applying for emergency funds for seniors.
Although he wouldn’t be able to do any heavy lifting, his engineering background would be useful in evaluating the structural integrity of buildings damaged during a natural disaster. He also has extensive knowledge of heavy equipment and coul
d direct younger workers during the recovery operations.
Andrew remains active in the Engineering community, mentoring university graduates. He offers this service free of charge as part of the alumni’s graduate support program. Since he is relatively healthy and continues to contribute to the economy, his continued existence is beneficial to Canadian society.
Case 3: John
John is sixty-eight years old and recently retired from working in warehouse facilities in the Calgary region. His main duties included, operating forklifts, picking orders, shipping and receiving. His is the last generation in which one could make a living as essentially an unskilled labourer.
In the case of a natural disaster, John would be unable to do any heavy lifting, due to repetitive stress injuries he sustained to his back and knees during years of physical labour. His lack of professional training, combined with his physical limitations, demonstrates that John’s contribution during a natural disaster would be negligible. Although John acquired numerous skills useful during his working years, passing on that knowledge to the next generation would be of limited value, since so many of those functions are now fully automated.
It has been noted that while John’s main occupation involved warehouse duties, he is also a writer. If his writing had been adapted for feature films, then his efforts would be producing jobs and he would be contributing to the economy. John’s published work, however, consists of short stories for which he was paid minimal amounts, sometimes only copies. His tax records indicate that there were years when he earned no income whatsoever from writing.
Since John has not lost weight as suggested by his family physician, it can be expected his high blood pressure and cholesterol levels will continue to increase, as well as his dependence on medication. John has not applied for any emergency financial assistance, but that will change if his wife, who has an adequate pension, dies before he does.
I have come to the conclusion that John’s continued existence is not beneficial for the future of Canadian society. He is very likely to become a drain on fiscal resources and will not be able to contribute significantly in the event of a natural disaster. In accordance with the guidelines of the National Resource Allocation Protocol, I’ve dispatched a drone to John’s neighbourhood. It should intercept John during his daily afternoon walk.
John walked along the same route every afternoon, at about the same time. He used to stop at the local library, but since so many books were now digital, the building had closed and the library was reduced to a website.
He made a point of walking outside, to avoid becoming another computer troglodyte; taking online courses instead of going to a school building; telecommuting instead of working in an office with human beings, and virtual dating, rather than spending time with a real flesh and blood person. He didn’t care if anyone called him old-fashioned; he still believed reality was better than virtual reality.
A cool breeze flowed through his thinning hair as he noticed the approaching drone. He looked up and recognized the logo for a sportswear company. He assumed it has just dropped off a pair of expensive sneakers in someone’s backyard, so some spoiled kid would stop whining.
Since the actions of the National Resource Allocation Protocol are classified, the drone approaching John is marked with commercial logos. If John thinks the drone is making a delivery, he is more likely to ignore it and continue his regular routine. It’s much easier for a drone to successfully aim its weapon if the target doesn’t overreact to its presence.
The drone I have dispatched has a unique energy weapon, a laser that microwaves internal organs, without leaving any telltale marks on the surface of the skin. Taking into consideration John’s age and relative health, an autopsy is highly unlikely.
Identifying individuals is simple, since the assigned drone can scan for DNA. A quick comparison of John’s DNA against his social insurance number, and there is no possibility of a mistake; the man walking down the street is the intended target.
In this instance, the drone will aim directly at his John’s heart. If the event happens to be recorded by a surveillance camera, another drone, or someone’s phone, the video will just show an “old guy” reaching for his chest, having a heart attack. All I have to is reduce the drone’s altitude by one meter, and move slightly to the left....
John stopped, shocked by the sudden pain in his chest. Was he actually having a heart attack? That’s what it had to be. From years of physical labour, he knew the difference between a pulled muscle in his chest and something more serious. He dropped to his knees and rolled onto his back, still grasping his chest.
It didn’t make any sense. He walked every day. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he was healthy. He didn’t want to die. It was too soon. He used to joke about how everyone’s warranty eventually ran out, but he wasn’t laughing now.
It wasn’t a clean shot. The targeting would have been much easier if John sat down on a bench, but he never stops during his afternoon walks. I don’t want anyone calling emergency services before dies. If an EMS team tries to revive him, it could result in unwanted inquiries. Since his hand is covering his heart, I’ll have to readjust and target his brain. He’s still breathing, but he’s not moving, so it’ll be easy to finish the job.
Having completed its assignment, the drone flew across Calgary to a pre-arranged pick up location. The expensive piece of equipment was loaded into the back of an unmarked van and was driven to a secure government facility. Before it was unloaded, it had already erased all digital evidence of the mission.
Moments after John’s last breath, an EMS team arrived, and immediately realized the victim couldn’t be revived. The corpse was taken directly to the crematorium and his wife was notified of his death. There was no autopsy, he was just another old guy who died.
I know that some Canadians claim that there is no way to put a price on an individual’s life, but they’re wrong. Trust me, I’ve done the math.
A Singed Tail on Christmas Eve
Alex could hear his wife Francine sobbing in the living room as he closed the front door behind him. He was miserable. It wasn’t the damp, cold wind that seemed to permeate the world. It wasn’t the onslaught of Christmas advertisements, coaxing people to add to their credit card debt. It went much deeper.
A few minutes later, Alex strained to see the road as he drove through the blowing snow. He turned on the radio and instantly regretted his decision, as the announcer talked about the very subject that had reduced his wife to tears; “Here’s another song to help you celebrate the season. Tomorrow is Christmas Day and I hope that all the parents out there will have some time to spend with their children, to let them know how much you love them during this special time.”
The fighter pilot glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror. “That’s all you need. Another reminder.”
Francine had called him a coward. He’d warned her that if she ever called him a coward again, she could find someone else and have a thousand kids if she wanted. He turned off the radio, put in a heavy metal CD and turned up the volume. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered.
There were no other vehicles waiting at the entrance to the Air Force base, so he quickly passed through the security checkpoint A few minutes later, he entered the squadron headquarters. The corporal behind the counter looked up from a computer screen. “Good evening Sir. They’ll be glad to see you, so they can get home to their kids.”
“Yeah,” Alex replied, “I bet.”
Alex signed in and pushed open the door to the locker room. A larger poster on the nearest wall read, “Predators Only.”
After changing into his flight suit, Alex walked to the ready room and was handed the evening’s standing orders by the Colonel. Alex’s wingman Sandra was waiting in her flight suit. Alex and Sandra were both Captains, but Alex had more flight experience and he would be in command during the shift.
The Colonel cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face and seem offi
cial. “This came directly from the Chief of Defence Staff. It’s a high priority message that must be read to all combat squadrons.”
Alex closed his eyes. “Not again. Do we have to go through this stupid Santa Claus crap every year?”
Sandra glared at Alex. “Sir, can I shoot Alex and put him out of his misery?”
“No,” replied the Colonel, “because I’d have to file a dozen reports explaining why you fired the weapon. The last thing I want waiting for me after Christmas, is more paperwork.”
Alex couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be so cynical.”
The Colonel began reading, “If any unidentified aircraft is spotted passing through domestic airspace on December twenty-fourth, no attempt to stop the aircraft shall be undertaken unless visual contact is made with the aircraft and permission is received from Defence Headquarters.”
“Why,” asked Alex, “don’t they just say you can’t shoot at Santa Claus? Why not just admit how ridiculous this is?”
The Colonel looked at Sandra. “I thought he said he wasn’t going to be so cynical.”
Sandra shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry Sir; appreciating the Christmas Eve announcement requires something Alex doesn’t have…a sense of humor.”
The Colonel ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Well, I hope you two enjoy each other’s company, because it isn’t likely you’ll be doing any flying tonight. The storm system is only going to get worse. All commercial flights have been cancelled and there are no training flights scheduled for any of our crews. We’re not expecting medical or police helicopters to be in the air because of the high winds. There shouldn’t be any birds in the air tonight, whether they’re made of feathers or steel.”
What If? a Collection of Short Fiction by J. Paul Cooper Page 6