by Joe Jarvis
Lots of bad habits of food production were lost after the collapse, and as populations rebounded, the market provided the means for agriculture to remain natural, with the example set decades earlier by Food Corp, the miniature walled city that survived the 2020’s collapse of society by building skyscraper farms and factories centered in what was then called Massachusetts.
Barry had left four questions blank on a recent survey for BER, and the survey itself he had been returned late. Molly mustered the energy to make the call to Barry. She flicked on her video screen, and pressed Barry’s number.
"I told you I don't want any calls right now!" snapped Mr. Barry to his secretary. He was his typical, uneasy self that morning. He hated talking on the phone, and dealing with customers, except for a few of his favorites. But even then he was more interested in playing golf, or attending dinner parties than conducting business. His reputation as an arbiter had slowly diminished over the years so that many of his clients were slightly less than reputable these days.
Rumors had swirled now for a few months that Mr. Barry had taken a bribe to ignore a breach of contract one of his customers committed against their colleague. This was being investigated by Molly from Business Ethics Review, who Mr. Barry was already on shaky terms with for being standoffish and failing to disclose records pretty much every arbitration agency gladly shared with reputable publications like BER. Most of the remaining honest customers left the agency as soon as they learned of Barry's lack of cooperation, but a BER finding of corruption would essentially doom the company – it would be bankrupt in a matter of months.
"It's Molly from BER," shot back his secretary, not quite rude, but obviously annoyed at Barry's demeanor. The secretary was used to Barry's attitude. She was reminiscent of a 20th century librarian, with a tight graying bun and seeming to wear invisible glasses which she would look over when she wanted to talk down to someone in the waiting room. She took liberty to talk back to Barry because through the years she had deleted a number of sensitive documents, and erased a number of sensitive files, and made a number of sensitive calls on Barry's behalf. She had job security as long as Barry Arbitration existed.
"God damn it." Mr. Barry looked at the screen as if trying to figure out some way to dodge the call. His lips curved into a frown as he reached for the screen, then hesitated, cleared his throat, and quickly hit the "receive" button, the motion of his hand invoking images of a striking snake. Most people used the two way screens when answering calls, but Barry habitually disabled his camera.
"Hello Ms. Metis so good to hear from you!" Barry said a bit too joyfully and a little too loudly. But he wasn't fooling anyone, especially not Molly, with his fake enthusiasm.
"Hi... Mr. Barry" Molly stumbled a bit when Barry's screen remained black instead of his face popping up as with most people on a call.
"How can I best serve you today Molly – may I call you Molly?" Barry wasn't letting up on his happy-go-lucky act.
"That's fine." Molly said shortly. "I am just calling to find out why you left four questions blank on the survey that you returned to us last week."
"Oh did I? An oversight I'm sure."
"Well that's what you said the first time, but you still failed to fill out the information when we resent the form."
"Just message that over to me and I'll..."
"Frankly we need to clear this up in person, BER has a policy that a personal interview is required if it is determined that the subject is refusing to answer certain questions."
"I'm insulted!" Mr. Barry retorted unconvincingly – he was well aware of this policy. "I am certainly not trying to be evasive, why don't you come by next Tuesday."
"Tomorrow or Thursday would work much better for me. It will be almost as bad for your company to have a blank rating when the report comes out next month than to get a C rating... assuming you answer my questions to BER's satisfaction."
Barry hesitated, as if again attempting to think of an exit plan. With a slight sigh that he hoped Molly did not detect, Barry replied, more subdued than before, "Ah, Thursday will be fine. Come by after lunch."
"Thank you Mr. Barry, I will see you around 13:00," responded Molly before she hung up.
Barry's fake smile (which he was wearing despite disabling the video screen) quickly vanished as he hit the "end call" button.
Frown returning, Barry ground his teeth, reaching for the scotch bottle in his top drawer – it was already half empty. Barry was in his mid sixties with gray hair that slightly receded away from his forehead. He had a matching gray goatee that formed a small triangle; Barry must have used gel or wax to keep it in place, and sometimes when he would twist it out of habit, the goatee would develop some curls. He was bony and pale with red cheeks, and bags under his dark blue eyes; the iris sometimes blended right in with the black of his pupils. His ears came to dull points at the top, and extended to the sides a bit further than normal. His nose was slightly rounded, and his lips were thin.
Barry was old enough to remember as a child, politicians. He was envious of the lost profession, and wished he could have lived in a time where he didn't have to spend every day fighting his competitors to stay in business.
"It is too much work! Haven’t I earned enough already? It is a cruel society that forces an aging man to work his fingers to the bone everyday just to turn a profit. It is pathetic," he thought as he swigged his scotch from an iceless glass like a pirate drinking rum, "that I have to attend charity events in order to make speeches and take my rightful place at the head of a crowd. Government events would provide me a much more fitting platform”, but the days of government in New England were a distant memory.
Even the politicians that Barry remembered were hardly the type that used to inhabit every region of the continent and globe. The politicians from Barry's childhood were mayors and local selectmen who were big fish in a small pond. In the end they were out-competed by bigger, private entities which delivered all the benefits of a town government, for a lower cost, and without compulsion.
It was the force that Barry envied most. As an arbiter he was well aware of having to negotiate and concede; having to finely word agreements so that he could squeeze a little gain out of hours of hard work. He wished more than anything that he could simply issue a proclamation, and have that be law!
Law: a dead meaning really, the word more applicable in the modern day to scientific principles. What was once called law was now called agreements, contracts, and free association. What was even more aggravating to Barry was that for every little litigation he had to find a victim. How many times had the perfect opportunity arisen to help along a business he had invested in – by ruling against a competitor – only to lack a victim! In the good old days, it could be claimed that society in general was the victim.
Money had only gotten Barry so far, and although he had plenty, it would not support him at his current spending habits for thirty years of retirement. And given the choice between money and power, Barry would have taken power any day, if true power was still available; power in the old sense of the word, where people in the right positions could do whatever they wanted without retaliation. But power was no longer derived from who had the most guns and the biggest muscles. Today, power flowed to those with the most friends, who had helped the most people, who never tired of positive interactions and good intentions. They had influence; the power of networks, the power of acquaintances. Barry knew all too well the detriment of burning bridges. His company could have been the largest in New England if not for an event, 30 or 40 years earlier.
Mr. Barry read a lot of books and boasted an antique library in his home full of novels and texts from before the collapse. He still enjoyed paper pages, and had as much interest in historical works as he did in old fiction from the 20th century. He read about when there were governments, and he pined to have an agency at his disposal like the FBI, daydreaming about standing in J. Edgar Hoover’s shoes. He read about how the FBI once raided the lab of
a guy named Tesla, just because a rich tycoon, JP Morgan, told them to do so. He read about hits carried out by the CIA on reporters and loudmouths who threatened the power structure of politicians and bureaucrats. He poured over books about judges giving decades long sentences to rape victims for "perjury", and other judges giving time-served to their rapist friends. He slipped into a daydream about having the power of force at his fingertips.
He thought about Molly driving home from work, hitting the brakes and nothing happening. He thought about her frantic expression, her terrified scream, and her car burning all around her. Barry imagined Molly walking down the sidewalk to work, with a coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other when, BOOM, a bullet slams into her skull and out the other side, spraying brains all over the sidewalk and onto the wall behind her. Finally Mr. Barry could not help but let a real, genuine smile cross his lips.
"Ahh..." he sighed. If only things were as easy for people like him as they used to be. But why can't they be again? It was wishful thinking. And Barry knew he was dreaming if he thought he could get away with killing a reporter. The investigation would inevitably lead back to him if he hired anyone to do it, and every cent of his money wouldn't be enough to pay off a single security agency, let alone the dozen that would be involved in one way or another with the investigation.
The frown had returned to Barry's face because he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the corruption report from surfacing. But he had to do something to avoid the impending report ruining his business. Security agencies and their customers would be furious, and the last thing he wanted was protesters outside the building; the quickest way to make customers drop like flies. And once customers started leaving an arbitration agency it was doomed to the snowball effect. He would be forced out of business, and worst of all start burning through his savings. Unless Mr. Barry wanted to be doomed to a retirement of playing golf at pay-per-game courses and drinking merely $90 per bottle scotch he had to do something. But what to do, that was the problem!
"Well I'm not going to get any work done with myself all in a frenzy like this!" he thought to himself, and he got up to head out to lunch at Hillside. At least at Hillside he could consort with the movers and the shakers, and forget his current problems. There's nothing like a $500 lunch to clear the mind!
On his way out of the building Mr. Barry saw a familiar and unwelcome face at the bottom of the steps to the sidewalk. It was the drug addict, Trix, who would make rounds a couple times a week in this part of town, because he could always manage to squeeze a few bucks out of the folks who found it worth it to slip him a few dollars in exchange for leaving them alone.
"I just need $5 to get back uptown," Trix said to Barry as he descended the stairs.
"Like hell," Mr. Barry thought to himself as he prepared to ignore Trix and brush past him, possibly hurling a witty insult at him... if he could think of one in time. But just as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty at Trix, a client yelled his name from a half block down the sidewalk.
"Mr. Barry! How are you? Leaving early to enjoy the fresh air?"
Uhg. It was one of those good customers who barely cost him a dime or a minute of time, just paid to have an arbiter on retainer for his businesses. He had to be nice to him, it would be too easy to patronize someone else, and Barry knew the only reason he stayed with BA was that he had been with them for two decades. They always saw each other at the charity events, so the client wrongly assumed Barry to be considerate of his fellow man.
"Oh, hello!" Mr. Barry greeted the client with the same fake smile he wore on the call with Molly. "And here you are young man. Get yourself something to eat," Barry continued, handing Trix a dollar, hoping his client would mistake it for $5.
"Thanks," Trix said without expression, looking disappointed with the amount in his hand, as he walked away down the sidewalk, but Barry had misjudged his client.
"You know, you shouldn't give those types money, nope, they'll just use it on drugs, you know? It’s better to walk with them to a shop and get them a sandwich or something. Actually..." the client dug in his pocket, "I know you'll be interested in this, being the charitable guy you are. Here's a card for my new project. I'm working with a couple of advertisers to promote a clinic that helps people kick their drug habits," he handed Barry a card. "If you just call this number you can donate money in someone's name that will go towards their treatment if they show up, then the ball's in their court, you know? If they don't go for treatment within a couple months, it helps someone else. But I'm sure you'll see him again, that's the one they call Trix isn't he?"
"Uh, yes, I believe so..."
"Well then you can let him know next time. He's somewhat of a regular around here, right? Doesn't hurt anyone, but it's still sad to see young people killing themselves like that. Anyway I've got to run, business to attend to, you know how it is. Enjoy this weather!"
"Ah yes, I will... and uh, thanks for the..." Barry looked at the card in his hand and turned it over and back ."..card." He nodded and flashed an extra closed mouth smile to make up for the hesitation.
"You bet!"
Mr. Barry made sure his client had turned the corner before he threw the card in the trash. As if he would waste money on some dope fiend when he had his own problems to deal with. He again daydreamed of the governments he knew from books, that would simply lock up those type in jail for doing drugs. Everyone in society would chip in to pay for it, and it kept most of these areas sanitized! If the addicts weren't in jail, they were in the ghetto where they belonged, not living side by side with honest hard working people! But with all this extra wealth floating around these scum had options in this society.
"How ridiculous," thought Barry, "that I have to demean myself laboring day in and day out for my money, while Trix just begs and collects free handouts on every corner. Pathetic."
Barry waved his mini-tab at the receiver on the magnet tunnel terminal to order a level 1 pod to pick him up. It was there in a matter of seconds, and when the door slid open, Barry could see that it was sparkling clean unlike the level 2 or, God forbid, having to take a level 3 pod!
These reverse magnet tunnels were vacuum sealed and shot pods – compact cylindrical capsules where up to ten people or cargo was carried – through the mostly above ground tubes which ran along highway medians, roads, old railways and the like. Drop off points were mostly terminals owned by various pod companies, though hospitals, security companies, and big businesses, as well as some extremely wealthy people had the tube built right into their buildings or houses. A few people had their own pod, but mostly everyone just ordered them at the terminal, and the closest pod in the quality level selected would come, unless you saved preferences for pod companies. Riders could use or refuse specific pod companies, but this could make the wait up to ten minutes if the closest vacant pod was 400 or so kilometers away.
Pods traveled through the magnet tunnels at up to 5000 kilometers per hour, with vast tube networks running all across North America, and into other parts of the world. There was no air resistance or friction inside the tubes to slow them down. A few major pod tunnel companies had built the largest and most central veins of the system where pods going long distances would get up to top speed. But the smaller tubes with less traffic capacity and more turns would go slower. The system was all automated and in order for a company to plug in, their system would have to be compatible with whatever company owned the tunnel at the point where the new connection would be made. That company already had to make theirs compatible to plug in, and so forth.
The telescreen was running a news broadcast when Barry entered his pod. It was Crystal Carriers pod company who owned this particular news agency and automatically set the channel to their news station in all their pods.
"The independent pod system in Texas, continues to be plagued by safety hazards, while costs and customer prices remain above those for mag pods within the New England Style Economy," a women’s soft therapeutic voice ex
plained. "Although the state of Texas regulates the system’s safety standards, another accident occurred yesterday when two pods collided. All 11 occupants were killed when a safety feature failed, propelling a pod into an occupied tunnel at 1200 kilometers per hour where it rear-ended another pod that had slowed to 500 kilometers per hour for a curve.
"This is the second major magnet pod accident in Texas since 2113. An investigation into that previous accident revealed that a Texas government official was bribed to look the other way on the safety features in the code, while the public assumed there was no risk to the system. The company originally contracted to build the system had donated to over 50% of Texas’s statewide politicians, sparking accusations of political influence in selecting the contractor. Texas’ independent system does not use the same technology and coding as the worldwide New England System, which is why they have yet to plug in.
"To contrast the safety of the Texas magnet tunnel system with that of the New England Style Economy system, the worst accident on record killed 9 people in 2 pods when a safety backup procedure failed. The code was rewritten, the victims’ families given a generous reparation by the company, and the CEO took to traveling in her mag tunnels very publicly with her family to alleviate fear of another crash. That was Tunnel Cake CEO Athena Driver, and happened 23 years ago this December. Since then, only six accidents have occurred in the entire New England system, leading to fewer than a dozen casualties, making the New England Style Economy magnet tunnel pod system the fastest and safest way to travel, in the history of the world.
"The Crystal Carrier that you are traveling in – " Barry pressed a button on the armrest that switched the telescreen to a crackling fire. He let out a relaxed sigh as he sat back on the extra plush seat cushion and closed his eyes, whizzing off towards Hillside in the magnet tunnel.