Visions of the Future

by Brin, David

  “Uh oh,” said Randy. “I forgot about that. Do you think you’ll be able to lasso a goodly number of agnostics?”

  “Sure, if that were the only criterion. But those people are mavericks. Will they be able to get along with their colleagues? Who knows? I think I’d better concentrate on the big farms and orchards in California and if I can’t find enough people there, I’ll try the smaller farms in New England.” She thought further. “It would be best if I didn’t take any of the marijuana growers. I think they sample too much of their own product.”

  Jenny Wang’s startups were pharmaceutical companies. Quite a few of them manufactured and sold totally useless dietary supplements and quack cancer cures. They were all wildly successful. Jenny didn’t head in that direction. She arrived at the door of the director of a pharmaceutical company that evidenced a sincere desire to do good. Sort of like the old Eli Lily Corporation of the early twentieth century. Jenny knocked and entered to the sound of, “What’re you waiting for? C’mon in.”

  “Hello, Joe,” Jenny said.

  “Well look at what the cat dragged in. As I live and breathe it’s none other than Whitney Jamison. Siddown. What’s cooking at corporate?”

  Joe was a little guy, about five six. He sported a small paunch, a balding head of gray hair, and a benevolent demeanor.

  Jenny explained her mission.

  Joe shook his head. “You really believe that your boss has located a safe haven?”

  “Not really,” Jenny replied. “But what’s the alternative?”

  For once, Joe looked serious. “I don’t think there is one. If the doomsayers are right, we’re gonna get drowned, fried, buried, or eaten by starving polar bears. All right. I’ll make you up a list of likely candidates. I won’t include me. If you’re starting from scratch, you don’t need any old geezers. Go get some lunch. Come back when you finish and I’ll have your list.”

  Lark was an astrophysicist, a calling that did not normally lead to untold riches. So she, her partner Ed Miller, and Zoe started up a number of aerospace companies, all registered in Lark’s name. The single proprietorship avoided a trail that could link the three of them. Theirs were not the kind of companies that manufactured huge flying craft. All but one were aimed at the consumer market. They made smallish earthly craft, such as retro jets, and spiffy looking spacecraft that allowed wealthy men undergoing midlife crises to feel young once more. The jet that Ivar flew had been bought off a used jet lot and lovingly restored by Ivar. The two space vehicles that Ed and Zoe would fly were manufactured in two of their companies, one of them a consumer-market enterprise, the other specializing in larger vehicles. For that one, Lark went with the amusement park in Thailand.

  Lark had stayed out of the way while Ed and Zoe kept the companies at the state of the art, efficient, and competitive. And they had kept Lark well informed. Based on their often-updated information, Lark was able to patrol the floors, confidently conducting interviews in the guise of a management consultant sent by corporate. This was the first time Lark had gotten to know anyone other than her fellow intellectuals. She was amazed at how interesting these blue-collar workers were—not all of them, of course, but a fair number of them. She thoroughly enjoyed the assignment.

  Blake’s billions arrived via the large construction firms he founded. Each firm would hire a subcontracting architectural firm for every new building job. Thus, Blake was already familiar with the architectural subcontractors. That made his high-level interviews a cinch. He already knew who was competent and who was congenial. That narrowed the field considerably. He just had to filter out those who flunked the rest of the criteria. That took less than a week.

  Charley Wilson, along with his partner Judy Fahr, Blake Zuverink, and Randy Brown, would do the grunt work. Their first order of business would be to choose their top assistants. Charley would need supervisors in electrical engineering and computer science. Judy’s supervisory team would be made up of structural and hydraulic engineers. Aside from his architects and drafters, Blake would need construction workers. And Randy, because his clinics were mostly located in rural areas, would not only require the normal complement of medical personnel (Hep could supply them) but also rural medicine specialists, agronomists, and farmers.

  The first part would be fun. They’d be interviewing (mostly) dedicated professionals and looked forward to some interesting conversations. After that, hoo boy. They would each pick the most likely of their supervisors and tell them as much as they needed to know. That would give them around thirty trusted assistants who would start the interviews. As the supervisors and assistants completed an interview, they each would pass the candidate on to the next level.

  Charley, Blake, Judy, and Randy would winnow out the candidates who, on second glance, didn’t match the criteria and arrange to fly the rest, in stages, to the island. There, they would undergo further scrutiny, initially by Adam and Hep, later supplemented by Charley, Blake, Judy, Randy and the supervisors. They expected that the interviewing process would take about four months and that some seven hundred blue-collar workers would be left standing. Those that interviewed badly would be dealt with by Ivar. The rest would live outdoors in the lovely climate afforded by the South Pacific and begin constructing barracks for themselves and the rest of the selected people. As the barracks were completed, workers and researchers would move in.

  As each batch arrived, they would be asked to strip and, naked as jaybirds, enter an area where medical personnel and geneticists would check their health and their DNA. Those with health problems or genetic risk factors would be identified. The people with current problems would be handed $500,000 and sent toward home right away. The people with genetic risk factors would stay on until their work was finished and would then be handed $500,000 and sent homeward. Since they would all have told their friends and relatives that they would be gone for a year, no one would miss them.

  While their health and DNA were being checked under Verry’s and Randy’s supervision, Charley, Blake, and Judy would go through their clothes. One of the guys tried to smuggle in a Douay Bible. When his health check was complete and he was once again clothed, he was sent to the main house where Charley awaited him. Charley was sitting behind a desk. He motioned the guy to be seated. Then he reached across the desk and handed him the Bible. “We’ll give you $500,000 and send you home.”

  “Please don’t do that,” begged the guy. “The climate change will drag me under.”

  Charley shrugged. “You knew what the rules were.”

  “Yeah,” said the guy, “but I wasn’t going to do anything with the Bible. I wasn’t going to try to convert anyone. Just read it every once in a while.”

  Charley considered. “Okay. Just promise never to do anything like this again.”

  “I promise. I promise.”

  Charley got up and retrieved a decanter of Vosne Romanee from the cabinet. He poured the guy a glass. He retrieved a white wine from the cabinet for himself. Sheepishly, he said the guy, “I’m allergic to red wine. But you ought to drink the best.”

  He raised his glass for a toast. “Here’s to good behavior.”

  The guy drank the burgundy and shortly fell into his final sleep. Charley called Ivar. “Take this guy and dump him. The sharks may have some use for him.”

  A woman tried to bring in a pistol. This time it was Judy who staffed the office. “Why,” asked Judy, “did you think you’d need a pistol?”

  “Well,” said the woman, “the Earth has become a pretty dangerous place for a woman. And you’ve got a bunch of guys here that I don’t know. If one of them decides to go in for a little rape, I’d better be prepared.”

  Judy surveyed the woman. She looked to be in her middle thirties. Her hair was sparse—what was left of it was a mousy brown color. She was about twenty pounds overweight. Her face showed the results of adolescent acne. She was built like a brick outhouse.

  “That’s a reasonable precaution,” Judy said. “Let’s have a c
up of coffee. Do you take anything in it?”

  The woman said, “Cream and sugar.”

  That made Judy’s life easier. She got up and retrieved two cups of coffee from the keep-warm oven and administered the appropriate sugar and cream. She took hers black.

  “Tell me a little about yourself,” Judy asked.

  “I’m a plumber,” she said. “I…”

  She didn’t get any farther.

  Judy left her slumped in her chair. Ivar would take care of her when he returned.

  Then finally, another Bible smuggler—this time an Old Testament. Blake sat at the desk, awaiting him. The smuggler was a big, burly guy, about thirty five with a shock of black hair. Blake motioned him to sit down. He sat. Blake handed him the book and told him that they’d send him home. He offered him a good-bye glass of wine.

  The guy shrugged. “I shoulda known better than to try to hide it in my clothes. There must be a better place.”

  “I doubt it,” said Blake. “We keep a pretty good eye on things. Why’d you want to bring it in? You trying to make converts?”

  “No way,” the guy said, “I’m a Jew. Jews don’t proselytize.” He laughed. “We’re the chosen people, remember? I’ve never been able to figure out what we’re chosen for, but we’re chosen and we don’t look for converts.”

  “So why’d you bring it in?”

  “Well,” the guy said, “I figured that you were going to bring us all here and that if the rest of the world gets wiped out, we’d all be here with nothing to show our descendants what we used to believe in. I was going to hide it someplace where some archeologist might find it.”

  Blake looked at him. “Interesting. But why the Old Testament?”

  “Simple, that’s where it started. The New Testament and the Koran were both built on it.”

  “And the Hindus?” Blake asked.

  “Hey, look,” said the guy, “I can’t look out for the whole world. They’ll have to look out for themselves. I’m not an educated guy, you know. I’m a hod carrier. I think I’m at a disadvantage in this argument. What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an architect.”

  “So, okay, Mr. Architect. Let me see if I’ve got this whole thing figured. You brought us here to try to save us in case the world comes to an end. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “But you don’t want anyone to try to horn in on your game, so you don’t want anyone to know where you are. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So if you send us home, we’re liable to let people know the general area where you’re located. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you’re going to off us. Probably by poisoning that unkosher glass of wine you got there. So, before you do that, let me ask you a few questions, okay?

  “Okay, Mr. Hod Carrier.”

  “You don’t believe in God, you don’t believe in anything much. You’re an amoral fella.”

  “I am,” agreed Blake.

  “Then why you doing this?”

  “Because,” said Blake, “we have the money to save civilization and it’s the right thing to do.”

  “And what,” asked the hod carrier, “is the difference between ‘right’ and ‘moral’?”

  Blake sat a long time, considering this. Finally, he said, “You’re correct. There isn’t any.”

  The guy laughed. “So I won the argument and I lost the war. Forget the wine. You got any schnapps you can poison?”

  Blake retrieved a decanter of very fine single malt Scotch. He doctored one glass and took the other for himself.

  The hod carrier sniffed his glass appreciatively. He raised it high. “Le chaim.”

  It was with genuine regret that Blake called Ivar.

  Apart from those three incidents, everyone passed inspection. They were all given new clothing. Their old clothes would be washed and returned to them. During the next couple of months, they were observed. Two of the guys got into a fight over a woman. They were all sent back. The woman, who was one of Jenny’s technicians, put up an argument. “What did I do? I was friendly, but I wasn’t seriously flirting. Just friendly flirting.”

  “Of course,” said Jenny, “but you’re an extremely attractive woman. It’s unfair to keep you here, at the mercy of all these guys. Tell you what, instead of the usual separation bonus, we’ll give you a cool million. Would that be all right?”

  “That’s generous of you. It’s a deal.”

  Ivar loaded her and the two guys into the jet.

  Finally, about two months before Zoe and Ed’s expected return, the people who had been identified as having genetic risk factors were gathered together. Adam and Hep thanked them fulsomely for their help and told them that the project was nearly finished. “You people,” Hep said, “were randomly chosen to be the first to go home. You’ll each get a $500,000 bonus and there will be a celebratory drink on the plane to thank you for a job well done.”

  Adam said, “It’s been a pleasure having you.”

  They were loaded into the jet for Ivar to transport to their doom.

  The next month, the rest of the people were assembled. Adam and Hep divulged the real reason for bringing them to the island. Adam outlined the risks of staying on earth—the least of which was climate change. The real danger came from the depleting ozone layer, diminishing Earthly resources, and probable nuclear holocaust. The risk of going into space was the risk of the unknown. How many of them were game to go into space? Those who preferred to take their chances with the earthly risks would each be given $500,000 and Ivar would transport them to the mainland. About fifty of them wanted to remain on Earth. Or, Ivar observed, at the bottom of the ocean.

  Just a little shy of five hundred people remained.

  The ship carrying the livestock, their caretakers, and two pilots was the first to be loaded. It would also transport a veterinarian and two farmers. All of them, except for the cows, sheep, goats, and chickens, were excited to be going. The livestock couldn’t care less.

  The second ship was loaded next. Because those two pilots would be by themselves without much to do, Zoe and Ed’s library of thrillers and the dumb old cozy mysteries by Peg Kay were bestowed upon them. Bryan, indefensibly remiss in his assignment, had failed to provide any mind-improving literature.

  Adam and Ivar would fire the rockets to launch the first two ships. They could also launch the third ship but there would be no need. That ship, which would lead the other two, was equipped to fire its rocket from inside.

  It took many hours to load. Five hundred people, including the family, were boarded and settled. The craft itself had been altered to act as a communal space suit, a technological accomplishment not possible in the smaller ships. Lark took up a station at one of the spyglasses. Zoe and Ed would pilot the craft. Finally, they were all there save Adam and Hep. Ed stuck his head out of his porthole. “Dad. Mom. Get your behinds in here!”

  Adam shook his head. “Go without us. You don’t need a couple of old farts.”

  Ed started to protest as Adam and Ivar moved to fire the rocket. Alarmed, Ed closed the porthole and off they went.

  The ground based trio waved. “Happy trails!”

  Hep cuffed Adam on the shoulder. “Who you calling an old fart?”

  They both laughed. Adam and Ivar sent the other two ships on their way.

  The three of them watched the tails disappear.

  Hep turned to Ivar. “What do you want to do, Ivar? You can stay here and live out your days with us or you can take the jet to the mainland.”

  Ivar furrowed his magnificent brow. “I’ve been thinking and if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home. What I figured is that if I stay here, I’ll die—maybe of old age, but I’ll die without having anything to do except maybe cook for you. If I go back, maybe the deniers are right and I can find something to do. Maybe pilot a retro jet full time.”

  “That’s probably a wise choice,” Adam said. “Let’s go get the money box. There should
be over a billion in it. You might as well take it all.”

  They slowly walked back to the house, retrieved the money box from the office, and returned to the dock. Ivar, with tears streaming down his cheeks, gave Adam a manly handshake and kissed Hep goodbye. He entered the jet and took off. Adam and Hep watched him until, about a mile out, the jet exploded.

  Adam shook his head. “It never occurred to that poor, dumb stiff to wheedle his way onto the spaceship.”

  Hep agreed. “They probably could have used him up there.”

  As the two of them strolled back to the house, Adam said, “I think we’re out of tomorrows.”

  Hep nodded. “Do you think that you can get it up one more time?”

  “I know damn well I can.”

  They arrived in the bedroom and made long, slow, and finally explosive love.

  Hep started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny, dear heart?”

  Hep said, “That was a fitting climax.”

  Adam howled with laughter.

  They didn’t bother to dress. Just wandered into the big room. Adam retrieved a decanter of Romanee Conti and poured two glasses. “What should we toast?”

  Hep didn’t hesitate. “To the last syllable of recorded time.”

  They finished off the bottle. They died happy.

  CONTEST

  We are running a "Billionaires' Gambit" contest. Write a sequel to this story and the author of the best story will be selected as the winner and get their story published on both our website and in our next anthology. A $1,500 prize will be given to the winner and an anonymous donor will also donate $1,500 to the Lifeboat Foundation in the winner's name. The deadline is the end of 2016. Send submissions to contest@lifeboat.com with the subject "Lifeboat Foundation Contest".

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  1 This is where Kepler, Newton, and Einstein spin in their graves, assuming that activity doesn’t violate some physical law. There is no such Exception as that of the fictional Viktor Marashenko.