by H. R. Moore
‘It’s sad, when you think about it, that the state has had to step in to stop us eating too much, especially when there are still people in the world dying of hunger.’
‘I know,’ said Guy, a shadow crossing behind his eyes. ‘Speaking of which,’ he said, brightening up, ‘I’m having an opening party for a new business venture on Friday. You should come along.’
‘Guy,’ she said, avoiding his eyes, ‘look, I’m just not sure this is a great idea.’
Guy smiled. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not sure I’m who you think I am.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Some kind of socialite artist, who wants to walk around on the arm of a business mogul.’
He laughed. ‘I think it might more be the case that I’m not who you think I am, if that’s what you think I’m looking for.’
‘I used to work for you.’
‘Did you?’ he chuckled. ‘Doing what?’
‘I worked in a factory, maintaining the robots that stole our freedom and our jobs.’
‘I see,’ he said, carefully, ‘and you think it’s partly my fault? All the working restrictions?’
‘Well isn’t it? I was stuck doing menial work for twenty hours a week, with no ability to progress into a decent job and no ability to work more due to the working hours cap. The people around me were all the same; stuck and with nowhere to go. Sure, they can go home and put on their gaming visors, or even go to a real-life pub with their friends, but there’s no way to move up, and that sucks the life out of people.’
‘I didn’t make the rules about which jobs have caps; that’s purely based on the job’s skill requirements and whether it can be automated or not. And people have more money and more free time now than at any point in history,’ said Guy, not forcefully, just matter of factly, ‘and living standards are higher than they’ve ever been.’
‘And mental health problems have never been more of an issue, and, for all that the state’s tried to do about obesity, it’s still raging out of control. People have nothing to force them out of bed in the morning, so half of them literally don’t even bother.’
‘Life’s too easy.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she snapped.
‘And you think I’m partly to blame.’
They’d reached the edge of the beach and Lulu slumped to the sand, pulling her legs up to her chest as she watched the sea. Guy sat down next to her. ‘I don’t know,’ she eventually replied. ‘I think people like you could do more to campaign for people like the one I used to be.’
‘Lulu, I agree with you, the current situation sucks, but what’s the alternative? Do we let other economies develop robots instead? So we’re reliant on their technology and line their pockets to the detriment of our own prosperity? Or do we force people to forego the benefits of modern robot technology all together? Where more people die in operating theatres, housework takes up a significant portion of the week, and education’s a lottery? And our economy wouldn’t be able to compete properly on the global playing field.’
‘Isn’t that what’s happened to Africa? China? All the others? Their jobs have been stolen by artificial intelligence and now look at the mess they’re in.’
‘Again, I agree with you, but what would you have us do about it?’
Lulu took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. Paint about it in my case, although little good that does.’
‘And me?’ he asked. ‘What do you expect people like me to do? Give up my company? Try and stop the never-ending march of technological improvement? Campaign to call the men and women back from Mars? Make people go back to lives where we live quietly in villages tending to our livestock?’
‘We’re not even allowed livestock these days.’
‘That’s an exaggeration.’
‘The costs are prohibitive,’ she shot back.
‘Methane is a significant contributor to global warming, and there are plenty of more efficient ways to farm protein-rich foods.’
‘Bugs,’ she replied, numbly.
‘Amongst other things,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘And anyway, they’re nutritious, and very delicious,’ he said, gently nudging her shoulder with his. ‘A company I’ve recently invested in is one of the largest producers. What they can do with ground up bugs is a marvel,’ he said, trying to brighten the mood. ‘And they produce the most delicious cultured meat. You can meet them for yourself when you come to my new venture opening in Edinburgh on Friday night,’ he said, with another nudge and a hopeful look.
‘Urgh,’ she exhaled, shooting to her feet. ‘Another party? Is that all you do? Buy things and go to parties?’
‘Lulu, I know you’re frustrated, it’s written all over your artwork for everyone to see; that’s the whole point of your art, if you ask me, which is one of the main reasons I like it, but what else are we supposed to do? You protest through your work, and I protest through mine. I do everything I can to give people opportunities to help themselves; that’s the whole point of my new venture. And there’ll be politicians there, so I’ll be lobbying them too. I’m as frustrated as you are with the way the world works, but I don’t see there’s much more we can do about it.’ She turned away, facing the sea. Guy stood up and pulled her back to look at him, their proximity suddenly obvious, his hand remaining on her arm. ‘Tell me what else you think I should do, and I’ll do it,’ he said, looking down at her, searching her angry eyes.
‘You could start by letting all your staff work however many hours they want,’ she said, pushing away from him.
‘And then they’d send in the regulator and shut me down. I’d be fired, a new CEO would be appointed, and everything would continue as it does today.’
‘Get all your mogul friends to do it at the same time. At the very least you’d make a statement.’
‘There isn’t enough work for everyone; as it is the state creates extra work to keep people in employment. All I’d be doing in reality is paying my employees additional income while they sat around and did nothing, which, I’ll dare say, isn’t your vision for a better world. And anyway, we live in a Democracy, remember? The majority voted for Universal Basic Income and all that came along with it.’
‘Of course they did,’ she fired back, ‘what could be better than a free income from the government that you can live off with no conditions attached? You don’t even have to get out of bed to go and get it. People with absolutely no need for it, like you and I even get it, for God’s sake. It’s rotting people from the inside out.’
‘I know,’ he said, shrugging, ‘but the only way to legitimately change it is to start a rival political movement, which would have to come up with a plausible way to lift the working hours cap, whilst at the same time maintaining a stable, globally competitive economy, and providing work opportunities for all.’ He paused, the enormity of the task settling around them. ‘And I’m afraid I don’t have a plausible solution. Do you?’
‘Urgh,’ she said again, venting her frustration. ‘No.’
‘Come to the launch,’ he said firmly. ‘Talk to the politicians; tell them your point of view. If they start to hear it from all quarters, they might get worried about their job security, especially if the press get behind it. You never know, you might even help spark something.’
‘The chance would be a fine bloody thing.’
CHAPTER 3
Answer, Guy thought, as his smart glasses made contact with his head. Voice only, he added, as he heard the call connect.
‘Guy,’ came the strong, female voice of the woman who had almost become his sister in law. They’d grown up together and Guy had never particularly liked her, but she had integrity, and that was a quality he rated highly.
‘Mila, hi,’ he said, keeping the surprise from his voice. ‘How are things?’ he asked, tentatively. They had only spoken a handful of times since the tragic death of his brother, her fiancé, in a boating accident, almost a decade ago. He, Robert, had been the one their father had always want
ed to take over the company, and had been the one most suited to it.
‘Fine, Guy, I’m fine. But I’m not sure you’re going to be,’ she said, matter of factly.
‘They’re coming for my company?’ he asked, closing his eyes.
‘Not really, Guy. Iva’s coming for you.’
‘Ever since I got this job,’ he said, dryly.
‘Well, you did steal from her the conviction she’d wanted to kick her promotion off with,’ Mila replied, her tone full of sarcasm.
‘I did nothing but prove myself innocent,’ said Guy, bitterly, even though Mila knew the truth better than anyone. But Iva had had a serious dressing down from her superiors, right at the start of her senior career, for targeting Guy’s appointment as his father’s successor. They’d liked her attacking style, but felt she’d lacked judgement and needed to know when to let things go. Not that Guy could blame her, after what had happened...
‘She seems to think now’s the time,’ said Mila. ‘She hasn’t lost a case for three years straight and she’s feeling confident.’
Guy took a deep breath. ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he said. ‘I know you’re in a difficult situation.’
‘I can look after myself,’ she said, pausing, ‘but I’ve never seen her this het up about a case; she’s going to go for the jugular, Guy, your jugular.’
‘I understand.’
‘And Guy,’ she said, tentatively, ‘you know there’s nothing I can do to help you.’
He smiled. ‘Of course, I know, and I’d never ask you to. Mila?’ he said, quickly, catching her before she hung up.
‘Uh huh?’
‘It’s good to talk to you.’
‘You too Guy.’
End call, he thought, before ripping off his glasses and fighting the urge to throw them across his office. The only thing that stopped him was knowing the research and development team would lose it with him; these being one of a handful of prototypes they were testing.
‘Benjamin,’ he shouted, instead.
His smart and snappy executive assistant hurried into the clean, contemporary office. ‘How can I help?’ he asked, in his usual, efficient style, taking in the unfamiliar set of Guy’s shoulders and worried facial expression. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, a little perturbed.
‘We’re going to war,’ replied Guy, shaking his head with regret. ‘Tell the others to be careful, and then, we need to make preparations.’
* * * * *
Iva stepped out of a large grey vehicle with blacked out windows, her team pouring out around her, both people and robots, looking to her to give the signal. She looked up at the glass and steel monstrosity before her, next to all the other typical corporate buildings that had sprung up on the outskirts of Oxford. They were carbon copies of each other in every way that mattered to her; tall, imposing, had no doubt won some contemporary design award, each and every one housing reams of people and robots scurrying around to do the bidding of those who perched precariously at the top.
Iva found the buildings distasteful, gaudy, a way for the company bosses to keep up and compete with their other C-suite friends. They may have gyms, spas, gourmet food, nurseries in the basement, but they were an insult to the glorious, ancient city they towered above. She’d attended the University of Oxford, and had thought, every day as she rode her bike to lectures, past the building sites where they were being built, how vulgar these buildings were that sat in challenge to the old and beautiful structures of her academic sanctuary. Nothing made her happier than the thought that she would bring another of these glass monsters into turmoil, make its insides churn, thrashing about like a fish on a hook, as she pulled it towards its inevitable destiny. Guy had shaken himself free once before, but this time, she would net him.
She looked to the top of the building, to where he would be sipping his morning coffee, and savoured the moment. She loved the thrill of anticipation at the start of a new investigation, there was nothing like it. There were not yet any problems to contend with, brick walls in their faces, time and cost constraints bearing down upon them. She felt only the joy of a chase about to begin, with all the fresh and wonderful possibilities that accompanied it.
She took a deep breath, looking around at her team. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, relishing every word, ‘this is the big one. Let us begin.’ She strode towards the open glass door of Cybax Technologies, a shiver of delight coursing up her spine.
* * * * *
Iva knew something was wrong the moment the receptionist sent them straight to the top floor. That never happened. Either the receptionist was a total moron, or Guy knew they were coming. The lift pinged when they reached the top, and the doors opened to reveal a lithe young man with slicked-back dark hair waiting for them with a clipboard. A fucking clipboard.
‘Ms. Brooksbank, I assume,’ he said, holding out his hand to shake hers. She shook it firmly. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, efficient and respectful. ‘Please come this way, we have breakfast and coffee waiting for you.’
Iva turned to a robot that was displaying Mila’s face on its monitor. Mila was practically open mouthed at their reception. ‘Did you do this?’ Iva demanded, her voice low.
Mila’s eyes were wide as she shook her robot head. ‘No,’ she whispered. Iva sped off down the corridor, Mila hurrying the robot along in her wake.
Benjamin showed them into a large conference room where a lavish breakfast of fruit, smoothies, Bircher muesli, porridge, and savoury muffins had been laid out for them, along with a robot to produce a range of teas and coffees on demand.
‘I hope the selection isn’t too boring for you,’ said Guy, in his most ordinary, pleasant voice. ‘We try to promote healthy eating wherever we can, so tend to avoid the more fatty, calorific breakfast foods. We do still allow caffeine,’ he said, smiling, ‘as I’m afraid our productivity would fall if we took that away,’ he laughed, ‘but only because everyone would be so outraged, not because I think the caffeine really helps. If anything, it probably hinders performance, don’t you agree?’ he asked, sweetly, but continued before giving anyone time to say anything. ‘Of course, we also offer pretty much any herbal tea you can think of, along with other healthy breakfast beverages,’ he finished, with a flourish, indicating the shiny robot at the end of the spread of food. ‘Just ask Ernie for whatever you would like.’
‘We do not require breakfast,’ said Iva, sharply. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, we are not allowed to accept any kind of gifts from those we are investigating.’
‘Are we under investigation?’ asked Guy, feigning surprise.
‘Don’t play with me,’ spat Iva. ‘Yes, you are. I’ve just sent you the official documentation. Please acknowledge receipt.’ Guy put on his smart glasses and read the document which had just been delivered to him. Acknowledge receipt, he thought, before taking them off again.
‘So we are,’ said Guy. ‘In which case, let my assistant, Benjamin, show your team to an area in which they can work. You’re more than welcome to have my office for the duration of your investigation; I don’t spend much time here, you see, in this horrible soulless glass cage my father built. I prefer some of our other locations, or indeed, my home, where I intend to go now.’
‘What?’ said Iva. ‘You’re leaving?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, as though this were an obvious progression. ‘I’ve got things to do.’
‘I will need to interview you.’
‘Of course,’ said Guy, opening his hands, ‘just liaise with Benji; he’ll find a suitable time.’ He smiled, picking up his coat from a nearby chair. ‘I hope you have a pleasant day, and I look forward to chatting again soon. If you need anything at all, Benji will be more than happy to help.’
Guy strode out of the room, his shoulders set square, and Iva shook her head. Every single one, she thought, thinks they’re a master of the universe...until I bring it all crashing down. She smiled, safe in the knowledge that very soon the tables would turn.
* * * * *
Guy had acquired an old church as the venue for his new venture, and had had it gutted, with state of the art everything put in. They’d excavated the basement, put in a mezzanine level, and even converted the bell tower into a private meeting space. By tomorrow, the old church would be filled with a fleet of robotic arms, work stations, prototype manufacturing facilities, 3D printers, drones, virtual reality rooms, and experts in every field, from software, to hardware, to various different types of manufacturing, to HR and legal. The stained glass had remained, and light wells had been added, filling the space with light, and making it feel warm and contemporary.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ started Guy, looking around at the eager faces of start-up founders, press, politicians and businesspeople in the crowd. ‘We have made great strides as a nation, leading the world’s response to automation. It will surely go down in history as a turning point in the fortunes of the UK, positioning us, once again, as a global powerhouse that leads the world.’ He paused, letting the weight of his words sink across the large open space.
‘We live in the gleaming light of technology. We have the most fair, progressive system, where everyone is entitled to free education, for as long as they want it. Our health service is once again state of the art, and, most importantly, still free for all. We’ve given those who want it the time to enjoy their lives outside of work, paying everyone an income they can live on, regardless of how they choose to spend their time. Our crime rates are at the lowest point in history, and conviction rates at their highest,’ he said, speeding up, the energy in the room rising with his voice.
‘Our rehabilitation rates for criminals are exemplary, equality in the workplace is better than ever, our standard of living is higher than it has ever been,’ he said, feeling the enthusiasm from his audience.
‘Everything we want, we have. We’ve put an end to homelessness, and, as part of an international community, we even have colonies on the moon and on Mars,’ he said, to rapturous applause. He let them rile themselves up a little before continuing.