《Path to Entropy - An Apocalyptic Climax》


 EP. 79 - TRANSGRESSIONS

    ¡°DOES ANYONE KNOW WHY I called this meeting?¡± Ron asked, his neck veins bulging with anger. His eyes were unusually bloodshot, the result of a binge drinking and drugs orgy that began the previous night after he received the disturbing news.


    No one at the table dared move. They knew what was coming next, and they had enough experience with Ron¡¯s histrionics to know not to dive into the middle of his torrential whirlpool of vitriol.


    ¡°Seal your lips tightly,¡± Sara repeated to herself.


    Sitting erect as if at attention, her dark bangs fell precariously across her eyes. They wiggled slightly as she blinked.


    ¡°Do I dare use my hand to brush the hair away?¡± she wondered. ¡°Will that modest body movement divert his attention to me? You¡¯ve learned hard lessons before, right here in this conference room from hell and perhaps in this very chair. Just do nothing. Don¡¯t let it bother you. Don¡¯t allow your discomfort to expose you. Try not to breathe fast. If you don¡¯t think about it, he can¡¯t sense it.¡±


    She shifted her eyes momentarily to Edgar who sat directly across from her at the large, oval table.


    ¡°Imp is no doubt picking up our vitals directly, or worse yet, predicting them inaccurately,¡± she speculated. ¡°I had to see if he was showing signs of stress. Anyone who knows the situation should be aware that he¡¯s at fault. It¡¯s his ass this time, not mine.¡±


    Sara looked away, unclear what Edgar¡¯s facial expression was telling her. For a careless moment, she let her mind slip. She started wondering where the wood from the table originated. How many trees were cut. What the forest looked like.


    ¡°Snap back,¡± she commanded herself. ¡°Back to this misery. Edgar should have caught it. He has all the resources at his disposal. He¡¯s the fucking CIO of this godforsaken beast Ron built, and all technologies report into him. Billions of devices, AI IOT, and server shit. He and his fucking AI can access countless millions of cameras, nanobots, satellites, monitors, and predictive tech. That asshole should have had a handle on every fucking inch of human and varint activity within our domain. In Vista.¡±


    She felt her head-shaking imperceptibly and forced herself to stop before others took notice.


    ¡°I¡¯m not responsible for this new indiscretion against Ron that just arose. But Edgar certainly is at fault, and everyone at this table understands that truth, including Ron and Imp.¡±


    Edgar was stone-faced, confident Ron wouldn¡¯t come after him directly. Even if he did, Edgar knew too much, given his limitless access to data. He may not control the most powerful AI in Vista; Ron had that. But he had something far more valuable: data that gave him unique, consequential leverage over his boss, his oligarch, his regent, his demigod. Ron.


    Three vidscreens were hanging on the wall at the front of the room displaying data and charts about the recent event. In an eye blink, Ron swiped his mechanized arm across the wall, detaching the screens from their anchors in an instant.


    They splattered into pieces against the boardroom windows that looked out over the river. These were only shows of force, the usual demonstrations, of Ron¡¯s belligerence, domination, and physical power.


    ¡°I hear what you think, each of you frail and gutless worms. Do you perceive Imp as incompetent? Me as stupid?¡±


    Ron pointed his finger indiscriminately at his ministers. ¡°I know what sewage swills in your craniums and rotting gray matter. I¡¯ve got the tech. I own the managing systems that run this place, the whole fucking domain and the maggots who inhabit it. You assholes would be captive rats in this little box without me and my generosity.¡±


    He smiled wryly. ¡°Perhaps your job is simply too hard for you to bear. Perhaps you should quit right now and go back to your shithouse hovels, your thumb-sucking safe places. Good luck with that, if you think you¡¯ll do better without me. Every last one of you is uber-expendable. Replaceable at my whim. Look at the lot of you. Your bloated, exalted, and unjustified visions of power. You are nothing without me, yet you suck at my generosity like engorged ticks on an anemic dog.¡±


    At the table sat his dozen counselors, his ministers. Each had executive power over their areas of expertise within the domain known as Vista, the large geographical segment of Westrich under Ron¡¯s control.


    He was pacing angrily around the room in his usual state, contemplating the next target. Sara sensed her head was imperceptibly nodding back and forth, an instinctual outburst of disgust at his demeaning missives. Imp caught the move and immediately informed Ron via his integrated data connection enabled by the Vistachit embedded in his forehead.


    ¡°Sara,¡± Ron hissed, ¡°where the hell were you when this embarrassment in the desert occurred? You are, or maybe it¡¯s ¡®were¡¯ at this juncture, my Minister of Social Infrastructure. How could you let this happen in my domain? It¡¯s your job to have your hand firmly on the pulse of the people and whatever the fuck we call the menagerie of hybrid creatures today. Your function is to feed me with knowledge of their discontent or aberrant thinking, then to design comms to neutralize them.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she half-whispered.


    ¡°Did you suddenly forget your function? Look at the unfiltered access you have to the rich data that Edgar feeds you. Where were the fatuous minions in your department of useless hundreds, or is it thousands by now? With all at your command, how could you have overlooked this humiliating event? I¡¯m surprised you had the cojones to show your face here today. You might want to shit your pants right now so you can politely exit your smelly corpse from our presence.¡±


    Sara¡¯s heart was beating furiously, and Imp knew it all. Imp sensed her physical reactions. Her pulse. Sweat. Pupil dilation. Chemicals emitted from her breath and skin. Imp analyzed her eye movements. Facial tics. The number of times she licked her lips and blinked. And she knew Imp constantly monitored her thoughts, to the degree that such tech had been perfected. Imp did not know every thought she had, but its predictive algorithms could easily fill-in the blanks.


    Even though she was accustomed to this constant monitoring, she had rarely suffered such a direct assault in Ron¡¯s wrathful line of sight. Not knowing whether to respond and hoping he would turn his rant elsewhere, she stuttered, ¡°But it was on the reserv. . .¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a flying fuck where it was. You¡¯re telling me you don¡¯t have a handle on what our lovely citizens are thinking? Do you not also have insights to those living on our reservations?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re more dispersed out there, Ron.¡± She was winging an excuse, real-time. ¡°They¡¯re harder to monitor and understand. Speak their own languages with varied meanings,¡± she appealed.


    In an awkward moment of silence, Ron stopped his rant to stare at her, managing a feeble smile.


    She grinned back, showing no teeth but communicating the anguish she felt.


    ¡°Pool of water, girl. Pool of water,¡± she told herself. ¡°Don¡¯t let that fucking Imp through your mental door. You know what you¡¯d like to think about this fraction of hell and its actors, but don¡¯t let your mind go there. Not now. Pool of water, girl. Repeat. Pool of water.¡±


    Ron resumed his table pacing. Sara knew this was a good sign. He was readying his quiver of arrows on another sucker at the table.


    ¡°Did you hear that, team? Do you know how much I¡¯ve given to our native peoples and all who live in those semi-autonomous areas of Vista? The billions I¡¯ve spent to build and maintain their homes and businesses? Sure, we have more than our share, relative to the other domains or even nation-states. Certainly more than our share of any domain in Westrich. Sara, they¡¯re what, ten percent?¡±


    ¡°Sir? Do you mean population size? I believe it¡¯s more like six percent of Westrich, including native and non.¡±


    ¡°Now, what the hell does ¡®native¡¯ mean anymore, and who gives a shit? Your pathetic excuse is that they¡¯re a little more dispersed, a little harder to monitor and control, and we aren¡¯t trying hard enough with them. You¡¯re implying our social infrastructure and communications efforts are not having the same effect as elsewhere in our domain.¡±


    She knew that among this writhing pit of vipers she should show no deference to Ron¡¯s insults and innuendo. No weakness or soft spots.


    ¡°Our budgets have been successively cut, Ron, and we¡¯ve been stretching them the best we can. We know this comes from being the smallest domain in Westrich and the least productive.¡±


    At her comment, Ron vaulted his lanky body across the table, bumping into two other ministers as he slid toward her. He leaned hard into her face; his arms crouched like a lion ready to pounce on prey.


    ¡°Are you saying this fiasco is my fault, goddess shithead? Are you implying the budget I gave you is not enough to monitor the scum in this domain? Are you suggesting I should rip funds away from others here at this table, your best friends, so you can spend more on yourself and your worthless team and do even less for me?¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡± Sara stammered, leaning back slightly but staring him directly in the eyes.


    Ron was a demigod in a real sense. All nation-states across the globe were managed and controlled by counterparts like him. An unholy mix of machine, computing horsepower, and human, one never knew what was real in him or what was manufactured.


    Imp¡¯s overarching influence on Ron¡¯s psyche was unknown. Many expected that, given the AI¡¯s superior algorithms and data access, it might have become fully sentient and taken complete control of him.


    Sara was convinced that Ron no longer managed himself. She assumed Imp was only playing an extended, surreal game of strategy, of win and loss against those who were not in control, those who had limited access to the same data and were purposely restricted from advancing their own AIs any further.


    To Sara¡¯s surprise, Ron slithered back from the tabletop and once again continued his clockwise pacing. The twelve sat in rigid silence, awaiting the next fusillade.


    Sara felt relieved it ended there. She¡¯d seen too many instances where Ron¡¯s wrath resulted in unfortunate, even deadly, results.


    Ron continued with his usual oratory, the never-ending, recycled, and tiresome theme of his incessant victimhood.


    ¡°They¡¯re after me, you know. I have lots of friends, of course. Businesspeople across Vista, Westrich, and internationally. People who know me, they love me. My own citizens love me, and those who live in other domains wish they could live here to benefit from my warmth and generosity.¡±


    He scanned the table for a second to be sure every minister was staying attentive to his plea. ¡°But when it comes to the few brilliant and effective leaders like me, we always have our share of detractors. Pathetic Machiavellian monsters who work to disrupt all I¡¯ve done and am doing for this pisspoor domain and Westrich as a whole. I mitigate these attacks by being the most capable and compassionate of the oligarchs. For the benefit of others in Westrich, especially our useless and vulgar congress, I work my ass off to put together the most capable team, the best people, the best ministers anywhere.¡±


    Ron puckered his lips, as if he was ready to spit. ¡°And you¡¯re second rate. Imperfect. I¡¯d go so far as calling you horribly incompetent and self-serving. This fucking indiscretion by some laser-shooting do-gooder in Arizona has confirmed your incompetencies, hasn¡¯t it? Some crazy shithead on my reservation gets a wild hair up his fat ass to blast a laser in the sky for all to see. And now, due to your gross negligence, I¡¯m the one getting heat from our Westrich congressional and judicial assholes, as well as my pig-faced oligarch counterparts in California and Hedron, the slime.¡±


    He started pacing faster, knowing his team would become more agitated by the action. ¡°Yes, my lovely comrades are implying my team is incompetent; that you¡¯re inept for letting this happen. A great example of the inept calling the inept ¡®inept.¡¯ They are the least competent of all the pigs in the swampland we call Westrich. Some nerve calling my team that.¡±


    Ron turned to sneer at Sara. ¡°Not picking on you, sweet child, though it¡¯s partially your fault. Maybe much your fault. You understand, little one? I can¡¯t have events like this happen. If mine was the strongest or the richest of the domains, then I¡¯d have the power. But people are jealous of me, so they come after me. They salivate for openings like this. And they¡¯re after you because you are my proxies. You act in my stead. Don¡¯t you see? They want my land, power infrastructure, nukes, biotech labs, and solar farms. They want all my natural resource riches. Only concerned with themselves, not with Westrich as a whole or the greater good of our lovely citizens.¡±


    As she listened, Sara tried to avoid any negative thoughts, to let her mind wander to other things lest Imp sense her intentions.


    It was her job to broadcast this relentless vomit of self-absorption and amplified victimization to Vista¡¯s citizenry, and she was the expert at it. But she had both developed and heard the narrative so many times from his own mouth, she forcefully repressed her desire to puke at hearing it yet again from the vile tongue of her boss.


    Ron continued the rant. ¡°I deserve to oversee and rule everything. Me and Imp. But I¡¯m given this pea-shooter domain, and I¡¯m the only one who cares about Westrich and its people. Those other two are afraid of me. They¡¯re experts at persecuting me and attempting to take me down, as if they have nothing better to do with their time. California and Hedron in a split-second would disassemble Vista altogether, eliminate Westrich and therefore my power, then divide our booty amongst themselves.¡±


    Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. Sara hated that this creature salivated so profusely when on one of his tirades.


    ¡°Every interaction with them is another pathetic quest for power and wealth. Same goes for these fucking politicians in congress. I¡¯d like to fry the lot in pig fat and serve it up to the ignorant vermin who actually believe they elected them to office.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Edgar was slouched in his chair. He was a gaunt, sniveling man who wore excessively tight clothes to display the extensive tech fused within his body. To mitigate any participation in such typical carnage, he¡¯d let his locks of long, black hair fall across his forehead, obscuring his face and eye movements. Chair-slouching in the conference room chair also helped minimize his presence.


    ¡°Edgar!¡± Ron screeched. ¡°What does your unparalleled brilliance and wizardry bring us?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± he replied. ¡°In what regard?¡±


    ¡°In the fucking regard of fucking latest news on the fucking topic, you imbecile!¡±


    Spittle was pouring from Ron¡¯s mouth. Some landed on Edgar¡¯s cheek. He dared not touch it.


    ¡°Do you think my Imp knows everything and has access to all the data you collect? If I were to let that happen, then I wouldn¡¯t need you, would I? Indeed, Imp and I may seriously consider that idea.¡±


    Edgar was startled. This event in Northern Arizona was perhaps more important than he had perceived.


    ¡°We continue to receive active updates from the field.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Edgar had been through this type of rancorous discourse a thousand times with Ron, as had the others at the table. He understood any response must be positives, only positives. No hints of lack of knowledge, resources, or capabilities.


    ¡°Deflect,¡± he thought. ¡°Always deflect from you personally and redirect blame. Never use ¡®I¡¯ unless it¡¯s to praise yourself.¡±


    ¡°All our efforts are focused on sifting through the extensive piles of rubble, and we¡¯re finding some early successes,¡± Edgar offered. ¡°Unfortunately, the drone missiles substantially damaged the transmission site.¡±


    He knew this tactic, an idea generated by Edgar¡¯s AI and communicated to him instantly through his Vistachit, would draw heat away from him to someone else around the table. Edgar nearly exhaled an audible sigh of relief as Ron¡¯s attention turned elsewhere.


    ¡°Who the fuck gave approval to bomb the hell out of the place? What are you guys, a gaggle of malicious kids playing video games? You know, I should replace all of you with a dozen drugged-up, CRISPR-damaged hybrid morons off the street. What the hell? Twelve old, whiskey-soaked Texans in mech brothels could do better than this team.¡±


    Not wanting to move his head conspicuously, Edgar¡¯s eyes scanned the periphery. Ron was behind him somewhere, out of his visual range.


    Being within striking distance of another mech like Ron was always unnerving to him. Edgar¡¯s tech was probably more advanced, but Ron¡¯s mech¡¯d arm could take him out in a wisp of air with no time to defensively counter.


    ¡°But he wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Edgar assumed. ¡°He knows my death would detonate countless explosions of incriminating data to his enemies near and far. In fact, he has no friends beyond his AI master. That info would expose this fuckhead¡¯s gross incompetence as Vista¡¯s lone oligarch, and he knows it.¡±


    Ron laughed aloud. ¡°I can predict your excuses, team. Imp tells me so much about your failing personalities, moment by moment. I¡¯m not sure why I keep you heathen around, except I¡¯m required to for now. Edgar, my boy, you¡¯re going to say ¡®It¡¯s not my fault. I didn¡¯t send those missiles, those drones, to blast the Arizona site to smithereens.¡¯ Right?¡±


    ¡°But I did not release them, sir,¡± Edgar quickly responded.


    ¡°General?¡±


    Luis Vasquez, Ron¡¯s Minister of Security, held responsibility for all security and military operations in Vista. This included Vista¡¯s armed forces and secret service as well as dotted-line responsibility over local police units across thousands of towns.


    Formally, Luis was a five-star general. His official title was Vista¡¯s Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and he had similar counterparts in the California and Hedron domains. The extensive resources at his command included human, hybrid, and mechanical modes of security, or anything not related to Edgar¡¯s internal data systems. This placed him in constant conflict with Edgar who owned security for all of Vista¡¯s governmental systems and databases.


    ¡°Sir?¡± Luis replied, sitting erect in his chair as always.


    Luis had mech¡¯d his body years before and had undergone many generations of physical hybridization. And like most others in the room, his chronological age far exceeded his physical age due to continuous treatments of anti-aging medicines, organ replacements, and genetic upgrades.


    The man was as imposing as hell, even more so than Edgar or Ron. His stature had been increased from his birth-height by eighteen inches, making him over seven feet tall. His muscles, veins, and sinews burst out visibly from his clothing, a result of genetic augmentation with the latest strength and stamina tech. ¡®You¡¯re a fucking B-17, dude,¡¯ Sara previously remarked at one of Ron¡¯s raucous pool parties for the team.


    Ron did not respond, intentionally creating a pregnant pause. Luis knew he¡¯d better say something.


    ¡°We had our sights on them, sir, a while back. Didn¡¯t know until the day it happened that the perpetrator was still alive. He had been hiding from detection for a decade with the help of his spouse. Their home was built into a metallic mountainside with old mines, allowing him to further avoid detection from our normal citizen sensor systems.¡±


    ¡°I could give a fuck where they lived or what their patio furniture looked like, you dolt. Why didn¡¯t you discover their fucking tech?¡±


    ¡°They were apparently building the laser array during that decade. It was all constructed underground and out of sensor system range, whether terrestrial and airborne. Our teams used the best tech we have available in the region, although some of the local police with whom we contracted were supposed to patrol the area regularly but apparently failed to do so. They¡¯ll be appropriately prosecuted. Sir, it¡¯s very difficult in that remote territory to find good people to suit our special needs. That¡¯s reservation land and not your typical snoop¡¯s or mech¡¯s first choice. Hot, dry, cold, harsh. Poor living conditions.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see,¡± Ron chided, shaking his head as if he understood and agreed. His fist clenched visibly outward. ¡°So, we have a weak point in our system. Something our enemies can exploit?¡±


    ¡°Sir, we don¡¯t know if this event was initiated by enemies like the other nation-states or . . .¡±


    ¡°Cold?¡± Ron interjected angrily. ¡°Our security bots care if it¡¯s cold? What day is that? Aren¡¯t we outfitting these robots with tiny blankets to keep their circuitry and little mechanical legs warm?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. But out in the hinterlands it¡¯s harder to keep our robotic systems functioning properly. We tend to use humans and hybrids instead because they work more reliably in those environs. Dust from the wind gets in our mech bugs, birds, lizards, and all other manner of mobile security systems. It fouls them up. Even the drones have issues with the harsh elements.¡±


    ¡°And how, under your watchful eyes, could these brazen senior citizens build an infrastructure powerful enough to sustain such a high intensity laser signal? Yes, a beautiful, wondrous signal that God knows which of our enemies has deciphered while we haven¡¯t a clue? What satellite of theirs might have been in line of sight and captured that beacon as it brilliantly shined to the stars? Do you understand how fucking embarrassing this is? The pinnacle of my disgrace. Don¡¯t you see, you cretin? You also shamed your soldiers and your entire security apparatus. It makes me look weak, and I¡¯m not weak. I¡¯m decisive.¡±


    Ron began pacing around the room again, faster than before. Given his long legs, he had already made at least twenty round trips, always clockwise, using his hips to knock purposely against the chairs and their occupants to magnify his anxiety and dominance.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to tell you what this means, do I? Can you imagine a couple old farts in no-man¡¯s-land Arizona constructing a high-scale, petawatt laser facility? All to broadcast a message to nobody?¡± he screamed. ¡°What the fuck were they sending out there? It¡¯s bad enough to have it happen on my watch. When news leaks out as it always does, since I trust all of you to happily leak it, do you know what that makes me?¡±


    He waited for a response, then continued. ¡°A dupe. A dope. A dud. A dunce. It shows to all that I have a team of incompetents monitoring and controlling my territory. Vista. My domain. It says our tech is inferior, our security systems are shit, and our ability to protect our border is deficient. Worse yet, it announces we¡¯re out of touch with our citizens, Sara.¡±


    She didn¡¯t budge. ¡°God, please keep talking,¡± she prayed.


    ¡°It highlights our weaknesses as a team. Every single one of you is at fault, and it reflects on me. Not on you, but on me. You royal flush fucks. Yes, this time you defecated golden-brown turds of royal flush fucks!¡±


    Tired of releasing his wrath, Ron collapsed onto his chair at the head of the table and sighed loudly.


    ¡°Hey, you maggots. I have enough pressures from outside this room. And now, in your combined laziness and unfitness, you give me this gift. A gift in return for my generosity to you. My magnanimity. I let you guys have all the power and riches to your pleasure. Then you fuck up, and I get blamed.¡±


    ¡°May I speak, sir?¡± the Minister of Foreign Relations began, leaning forward.


    Jessup Quarles was the quietest of all ministers while at staff meetings. Outside the meetings, he politicked relentlessly to position himself favorably with Ron. His sequencing of blame would be very predictable.


    Ron knew this. ¡°Shut up, Jess. You¡¯re about to tell me this was no fault of yours it has nothing to do with foreign relations when it has everything to do with it. If you did your job better than quarter-assed, I wouldn¡¯t need to worry nonstop about the other nation-state oligarchs stabbing me in the back. If you and your incompetent teams possessed better negotiation skills, we¡¯d be in a superior position with allies and enemies and benefit from all that comes with that.¡±


    Jessup slowly sunk back in his chair, reluctant to continue his thought.


    ¡°I see through each of you and your excuses. Imp informs me that you are all scared. Button-lipped. But Imp also says we won¡¯t get anywhere if I only scream at you in your ambivalent stupidity. Sorry, Imp, but I¡¯ll try to do better. Now, let me give this sweet team a sense of where I stand because of you. The other Westrich oligarchs are already breathing down my neck with a vengeance, and these thugs have far more resources.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± Sara thought. ¡°Imp is now doing the talking.¡±


    ¡°So nice that we border two other belligerent nation-states, and I have the longest border and the fewest resources to scout those vast reaches. Dr. Lewis¡¯ team and I spend inordinate time and money fighting these pathogens that fly effortlessly across our borders every day or two. It¡¯s a constant shit show of new hybridized variant of influenza or coronavirus or God knows what mutant genetic code dressed up in a natural or synthetic carrier. How many in Vista died last year?¡±


    Dr. Lewis, the Minister of Health and Safety, checked the small vidscreen in front of him. ¡°Slightly down, sir. Only thirty-two thousand.¡±


    Ron continued. ¡°Our enemies surround us. They¡¯re after me. Resources, land, power, riches, minerals. You¡¯ve heard this shit before, but none of you work to fix it. It¡¯s always me doing the work and you getting my glory.¡±


    Ron lifted his head high and peered down upon his team, each hunched over slightly like they¡¯d been beaten with a thick reed.


    ¡°Life¡¯s not been easy for me. I know most of you think I was born into this, that I came with money and power because of my family, and it was always fun to gain and win more. But I lost. I lost so much in the Debacle, and now I¡¯m constantly harangued and attacked.¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯s back,¡± she surmised.


    ¡°I manage this god-forsaken domain out of the generosity of my heart because I¡¯m the only one qualified. I¡¯m the most capable, and you know that for a fact. I¡¯ve done my best to pull this piece-of-shit domain together, to deal with the horror show of post-Debacle politics, and nobody appreciates me or my efforts. Sara, are you capturing this? I want to be sure you get these messages out in your comms.¡±


    Sara quickly grasped a vidscreen on the table and began typing as if she were transcribing his thoughts verbatim. She¡¯d heard the same narrative and communicated it so many times before that grabbing the vidscreen was only an act of self-preservation to prove she was paying attention to his nonsense.


    ¡°Not my exact words, mind you,¡± he demanded, oblivious to his incessant repetition on the topic. ¡°The concepts. My righteous, right, and perfect concepts. I¡¯ve not been treated well by others. Not by you, not by my people, and certainly not beyond our domain. Many owe me who never pay back. Do you think I¡¯ll get help from the other demigods, those fucking autocratic cowards? You know, I love calling them demigods because that¡¯s what we are, those of us at the top of these shithouse domains. But I¡¯m beyond human. Beyond demigod. Superior to both human and hybrid. A being imbued with the most perfect genetic, mech, and AI systems.¡±


    Sara glanced up from her screen to assure him. ¡°I¡¯m getting this for the comms. We¡¯ll smooth it out, as usual. Please continue.¡±


    Ron grimaced. ¡°Not sure I want you to smooth all of it. Our citizens should be slugged in the face with my directives and made to pay penance. Made to understand what I must go through to keep them alive and safe, to ensure their lands and assets are not seized by the barbarian hoards outside Vista. I keep them happy and productive, and I deserve recompense. Instead, I get little from them.¡±


    She was starting to feel like this could spin into another long victimization tirade, though that might improve his mood. The incessant victim narrative was his teddy bear. His self-comforting ¡®blankie.¡¯


    ¡°Do I ever get a genuine thank you not generated by bots? Do I ever receive a handwritten letter from any Vista slugs playing out their cheap lives of futility? Do the ¡®little people¡¯ praise me? Not that I can see. Sara, this must be your failing since you own my comms.¡±


    Every time Sara had to listen to this diatribe, she always used the same comeback. ¡°Your ratings are no different than the other six demigods in Westrich, and the citizens in other nation-states think no differently of theirs.¡±


    ¡°But they should, of course, and you need to do much better. You¡¯re failing me.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she obliged. ¡°We¡¯ll redouble our comms efforts to focus again on all that you provide to our citizens, and how they should show their gratitude.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that will help, however. In this instance, we were unfairly attacked by someone who was probably prompted or supported by another nation-state. Look, we¡¯re here in Austin at the hairy edge of our borders with Bolivar and Southern. No doubt they funneled contraband equipment into Northern Arizona, then helped these oldsters set up the laser array and power facility. The goal? Embarrassing me. It¡¯s a cowardly means to weaken our resolve psychologically instead of sending an invading army or volley of infective agents across the border.¡±


    He placed his long arm to his chin and rubbed it, a sign that he was still pondering the situation and the monologue was anything but finished.


    ¡°Who can we blame for this? Those on the reservation? Our native peoples? They have no power otherwise beyond their own sub-regions. They¡¯re unable to kick any shit back at us.¡±


    Gloria Davis, the Minister of Physical Infrastructure, spoke up. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone will listen to us if we point fingers at the Latinos in Bolivar, or Southerners, for that matter. We have a constant flow of those types of comms every day, and more of that messaging won¡¯t rise above the noise. Probably a good thing if we can select a new target of diversion like the tribes.¡±


    ¡°Sara?¡± Ron demanded.


    She frowned at Gloria and thought, ¡°How dare she step into my expertise, talking about messaging. The little shit!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thought,¡± Sara replied. ¡°We could create a narrative that our native peoples are too autonomous. Yes, they seem to manage themselves well and are peaceful. But we can spin it around as a negative. Perhaps they were quietly helping these old farts do their dirty deed. After all, this event happened on their watch, under their noses, in their own semi-autonomous lands.¡±


    ¡°One of the perps, the one we found dead with her dogs. She was part native, no?¡± Edgar queried, knowing the response beforehand.


    ¡°Even so, that story bolsters our case,¡± Sara continued. ¡°Assuming we don¡¯t quickly discover the contents of the message in the laser blasts, we can infer it was something related to them. Very innocuous, like a message to their legacy gods or what have you.¡±


    Ron turned to Luis. ¡°General, remind me of what we know about the laser.¡±


    ¡°Certainly, sir.¡± Luis repositioned himself in his chair to expand his chest size and musculature. ¡°Per initial intelligence, it appeared as twelve discrete emissions, each of ten-second duration. The last one was shorter, however. Likely truncated by the missile blast.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a world of data, my friend,¡± Ron stated facetiously. ¡°It¡¯s not clear what you couldn¡¯t possibly say to a god or gods with that much data. The information about all molecules on Earth could fit into a hundred twenty seconds from a multiphased laser. Fuck! It¡¯s a first-class pisser this happened in my domain.¡±


    He focused back on Sara. ¡°Get that hair out of your eyes, schoolgirl,¡± he insisted. ¡°It¡¯s bugging me. Moves every time you blink.¡±


    Sara quickly pulled back her bangs.


    ¡°Yeah, like that. I can¡¯t think straight with an eyelid twitching your hair. Hey, worthless. We need to turn up the Vista victimization story. How we¡¯re the scrappy little upstart, the smallest but meanest, most innovative of domains. We have so much potential, but others are stealthily attempting to pull us down in their jealousy and greed. Show how this was an attack on all citizens of Vista, and get them angry. We can use that native peoples narrative as a cover story, since that¡¯s an easy demonization target. Then the subsequent messages should imply Southerner spies into the native tribes were the culprits. If we obscure with the usual inferences and implications without worrying about facts, then we¡¯re golden, right?¡±


    All at the table nodded in unison, hoping this painful monologue was close to its end.


    He continued, talking mostly to Sara. ¡°Avoid stirring up Bolivar, however. Too fucking volatile. Their citizens are rebelling against the new personal monitoring systems. It¡¯s not pretty, either. And I have nothing to gain by raising the ¡®hate flag¡¯ with them. By placing the blame on our native peoples and accusing Southern of assisting, this caustic energy gets diverted, pushed a few thousand miles to our east. Besides, it puts the other Westrich oligarchs on notice that they need to pick up their monitoring and defensive efforts against the other nation-states. I¡¯m tired of having full responsibility, and they need to pick up the slack. Indeed, my plan diffuses the energy from our failure here. Edgar!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ron.¡±


    ¡°Work with Sara¡¯s team to coordinate your data and stories. You develop the data for the counter-narrative, and Sara, you know how to spin that. I need this out pronto, so get your sluggish fat asses in gear for once.¡±


    The team started to pull out their chairs to stand, but Ron held up his arm. ¡°Wait! Not yet adjourned. We meet again at five tonight. Everyone. I don¡¯t give a shit about your other little ministerial problems. Nothing¡¯s as big or important as this."

 EP. 80 - NARRATIVES

    ¡°WHERE THE HELL¡¯S YOUR plan?¡± Ron hissed.


    It was a long and difficult day for Sara. She was given only seven hours to develop a complex response plan with multiple narratives. That was bad enough. Then there was Edgar. He was a pompous ass, the worst humanity had to offer, always insinuating to the other ministers that his black hole of endless data sources could expose their darkest secrets.


    Edgar was a master at subtly hanging this threat over their heads to coerce and control each of them. As a result, he presumed they needed to give him special deference, as if he held an esteemed second position of near-equivalency to Ron. The other ministers, on the other hand, understood the tenuous and unpredictable nature of their jobs. Many had come before them, and many would certainly follow.


    Given Ron¡¯s extensive wealth and business connections in Vista, the ministers knew he was going nowhere, not unless he was ousted by the other oligarchs with whom he shared power in Westrich¡¯s domains. He was the lone regent in Vista, an oddity among domains. It contained the largest square kilometers of land in the Westrich nation-state, but it was also the least populous and poorest of the three.


    The oligarchies in North America that coalesced after the Great Debacle of 2037 were very similar in administrative structure ¨C not by any mandate, but because it was the most practical form of governing during the post-Debacle transition. Typically, three to four oligarchs co-ruled each domain, often in tenuous and conflicted balance. Their oligarchic positions were usually a function of acquired or inherited wealth coupled with brutal political alliances that either managed to survive the Debacle or were strengthened because of it.


    All oligarchs were supported by their courtesan contingents of beneficiaries, businesspeople, and networks of politicians. But Ron was a weak and easy target for the other nation-states since he possessed the fewest cross-domain alliances and the least competent management team. He was also the most self-delusional of the lot, even though he ruled among a cadre of human-hybrid oligarchs who were enshrouded by perverse amalgams of narcissism, Social Darwinism, and righteous entitlement.


    Prior to the Great Debacle, Ron¡¯s family was at the pinnacle of position, power, and influence in the United States. Among the world¡¯s richest moguls, their global holdings included a wealth of oil and gas, natural resources, and factory farming businesses. His family¡¯s legacy of wealth had started generations prior, their elite status having been franchised through the years with the assistance of corruptible legislators, judges, and influence peddlers.


    In those pre-Debacle days, before the instantaneous death of billions and subsequent societal collapse, Ron was the family ne¡¯er-do-well. Hardly concerned about the family businesses but living off the profits, he spent his days pursuing hedonistic pleasures and ensuring his social activities were always trending at the top of the news cycle.


    Because his mental energies were fixated on being admired by others, he was always first in line to acquire the latest augmentations. These modifications to his body shielded a psyche suffering from a neurotic sense of worthlessness, exacerbated in his formative years by an unrelenting, hard-driving father who rarely had a kind word for him and a mother who soaked her self-absorbed carcass in alcohol and drugs. When his parents died unexpectedly in 2034, Ron and his two sisters inherited the bulk of the family¡¯s fortune.


    Three years later, many things fell away during the week of the Debacle, a dreadful time of death and destruction for all who remained. Over half the population of the world died that week, including one of Ron¡¯s sisters.


    Although the Debacle¡¯s causative agent was readily uncovered, its creators were never revealed. As far as could be determined, the agent was first manufactured in Australia, though many rumors persisted.


    The most credible rumor pointed the finger at a single marine researcher, a radical bio-activist and basement freelance geneticist who was angered at Australia¡¯s failure to restore the Great Barrier Reef which had finally succumbed to the warming global waters. In the post-reality, post-Debacle era, however, any truth about the perpetrators would never be fully exposed or believed.


    During the lingering, post-Debacle devastation, the once great nation of the United States diverged into three nation-states. Westrich primarily was comprised of the former West Coast and Southwestern states, including Texas. Southern evolved from the bastion of formerly conservative midwestern and southern states, and its creation drew an unnatural diagonal northern line across the continent from Montana to Ohio to North Carolina. This long, southern border with Westrich was a constant point of conflict between the two nation-states.


    Nemerica was formed from a merger of northeastern coastal states. The nation-state was a ghost of its former self since the population and capital wealth in that region was decimated as the pathogen spread quickly across heavily populated northeastern metropolitan areas like New York, Boston, and Philadelphia.


    Even before the Debacle, however, the United States had been on a slow, painful slide. China had already surpassed the country as the world¡¯s largest economic powerhouse. The U.S. also suffered from severe disrepair after years of political infighting and shameful wealth and representation imbalances.


    Decades prior to the Debacle, a small group of media moguls and ultra-conservative billionaires hatched secretive strategic plans to concentrate their wealth and power. These plans were slowly, carefully executed with full support of their political and judicial lackeys, and the power brokers watched with glee as the once-great country stumbled helplessly into the trap.


    Their plans were executed with little resistance, out in the open for all to see. The opposition, a flaccid and ineffectual party of weak-kneed liberals and progressives, perennially suffered from poor long-term planning and lack of resolve to counter the growing threats to democracy.


    Aided by conservative court rulings, dark money funding ensured the budding proto-oligarchs would eventually be victorious. Dark money led to favorable courts, which led to more dark money, and so on. The cycle rapidly built upon itself. By the 2030¡¯s, the rapid dissolution in the nation¡¯s functional standards and norms took a toll so great that the government was irreversibly dysfunctional. There was no turning back.


    The Debacle broke the nation¡¯s fading resolve. Its effects were similar for many nations across the globe. The causative agent used a powerful airborne motility to unleash a devastating impact on many of the world¡¯s largest population centers. The only thing that saved humanity from extinction was a carefully engineered five-day, replication life.


    Oligarchies began springing up across the globe within weeks, metastasizing like writhing maggots in a rotting corpse of disarray and misinformation. Individuals and families who were in control of the machinery of life at the time, such as data and communications systems, distribution, transportation, and food and energy production, were the most typical beneficiaries of the emerging new order.


    Ron managed to congeal at the top of the shitpile. In addition to his inherited near-trillionaire wealth, he possessed many characteristics of other post-Debacle tyrants who came to power ¨C ruthlessness, biting cynicism, devious cunning, and an accusatory, belligerent personality.


    A vicious, instinctual animal in many regards, Ron¡¯s middling mental abilities expanded rapidly once he was enhanced by Imp¡¯s near perfect knowledge and advanced algorithms. Imp excelled at selectively providing Ron with relevant facts and figures to keep him in power. Imp also gave Ron valuable predictive capabilities that helped him annihilate, neutralize, or possess all obstacles in his erratic, haphazard path to the top.


    ***


    Ron¡¯s twelve ministers met promptly at 5 p.m. He had often joked with them, ¡®If Jesus had twelve, then so can I. If you care to be my Judas, Imp will inform me in advance.¡¯


    Sitting at attention and waiting nervously for the meeting to start, Sara understood her ass was on the line. Maybe more than that.


    She lamented that she held none of Edgar¡¯s leverage against Ron. With Edgar, it was always ¡®clenched fists up and ready to joust.¡¯ All the time. Never did he exhibit a moment of compassion or understanding. Never did he give an inch or admit a mistake.


    He was like Ron in many respects. Two sharks, hungry for blood, tearing at the flesh of others to avoid being torn asunder.


    Holding her head confidently upright, Sara scanned the room before speaking. This was her way, her hard-learned way, to establish dominance and fearlessness at a table otherwise trembling from an impending onslaught of rabid dogs. All at the table were experts at sensing another animal in trouble, and they¡¯d gladly pounce to gain a momentary stronghold in the struggle to maintain status and power over each other and their fiefdoms.


    ¡°Hurry up,¡± Ron demanded as he entered the room. ¡°I have better things to do than waste my time with this group of thugs and henchmen. Sorry, ladies. Henchwomen. Or henchwhores, if you prefer that instead.¡±


    Sara noticed Gloria¡¯s eyes drop with a barely perceptible downward nod of the head. She liked Gloria. Maybe ¡®liked¡¯ was too strong a word. She ¡®tolerated¡¯ Gloria better than the others. Among the three women on Ron¡¯s direct report team, they had an unspoken code to treat each other a little nicer than normal.


    ¡°Too bad,¡± she considered in the moment. ¡°Everyone will notice that tiny display of dissatisfaction, an indiscretion of disgust. Gloria lets Ron¡¯s malicious venom bite her ass. Her callouses are too thin, and she won¡¯t last long.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a multivariate plan, as you might expect,¡± Sara began. ¡°We¡¯re using our normal media channels to spin the narrative.¡±


    Sara started the discussion on this topic for a reason. Ron didn¡¯t really care about the storyline. He knew she and her team would elevate the expected messaging through the usual channels. No, she was seasoned enough to know this meeting would follow the Marshall McLuhan quote she loved from century earlier: ¡®The medium is the message.¡¯ She was particularly fond of the simple statement from his 1964 treatise: ¡®We become what we behold.¡¯


    Sara held McLuhan¡¯s words as the purest truth. The message always played second or third fiddle to the medium. This was probably true in centuries prior, but it was amplified beyond recognition by 2075.


    Ron and his designates controlled or strongly influenced the important media outlets on all sides of the established narratives in Vista. Without Ron¡¯s continuous bombardment of invectives, outrage, and titillating, inappropriate remarks, everyone¡¯s ratings would sink and eyeballs would go elsewhere, as would advertisers and profits.


    It wasn¡¯t that Ron didn¡¯t have legitimate detractors and critics beyond his direct control. Indeed, there were many, and he loved picking fights with them. It was part of the game he played so well.


    This fighting was Sara¡¯s favorite ploy ¨C get them to engage, and they unwittingly became controllable. From her perspective, all must behold Ron in some strongly felt way, good or bad, and therefore become beholden to him.


    When Ron fought, it was intentionally vicious, vindictive, and always laced with a thick syrup of victimhood. He knew his supporters loved the emotional appeal of his fighting and understood that when he defended himself, he was defending them.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Conversely, Ron¡¯s detractors hated him, especially given his narcissistic but predictable behavior. His persona was clearly his natural inclination, but it was also his effective stage act, a strategy to gain mindshare and face time. Irrespective of a person¡¯s love or hate for Ron, no one could pull themselves away from the non-stop media coverage of him.


    It didn¡¯t matter if they praised or criticized Ron, as long as he was the message. He was the hit parade. He was golden idol Baal. He was the orgasmic recycler of carefully designed, AI-approved bias confirmation.


    This fact was abundantly clear to all media channels. Ron was good for business. Any coverage of him engendered loyalty and obeisance among the channel¡¯s consuming audience. It was an immutable truth, irrespective of the nature, tone, or position of the channel.


    Ron, who was unable to separate himself from the media¡¯s image of him, only required that he was prime, front-and-center, always-on, top-of-mind for every citizen. Spending much of his time absorbed in a world of continuous data feeds curated by Imp, he cared only that his visibility metrics stayed within key levels. The Ron Quotient factors were Sara¡¯s key metrics. RQ success was her success.


    Ron innately understood that, within the constructs of the RQ metric, every media reference, every spoken paragraph, every visual, needed to be about him either directly or indirectly. Good or bad. He didn¡¯t care.


    In fact, Ron often preferred a constant stream of negative news about him or his actions. Emotion was his vice grip on the mind of citizens. As long as his antics and actions continued to stir emotions and garner attention, he was succeeding.


    Emotion had no color for Ron. Intensity was the only thing that mattered. And what he did, what he said, or what Sara and others communicated about him, always needed to maximize that intensity.


    Intensity meant winning. He was winning only when all minds in the domain were consumed in him, when citizens were so mired in the morass of facts and innuendo that they capitulated all rationality to their chosen channels of information, irrespective of truth. Negative emotions needed to be as strong as positive.


    Sara learned this same lesson early in life from her frustrated mother¡¯s scolding. ¡®Sara, you feed off attention¡¯ she¡¯d say. ¡®You swim in it, not caring whether it¡¯s right or wrong. For you, Sara, any attention is good attention.¡¯ Indeed, for Ron, any attention was good attention, and Sara¡¯s media strategy used this as the starting premise for all channels of communication.


    Sara often considered herself a modern-day extension of McLuhan, but with renewed brilliance regarding ¡®the medium¡¯ being the message. If McLuhan¡¯s ¡®medium¡¯ implied the means of physical transmission, like a vidscreen or Vistachit or cellphone, such a thing mattered negligibly to her. Those were only access methodologies that were readily interchangeable.


    What really mattered was the channel. The channel was the medium was the message. The channel was the brand. The familiarity. The trust. The belief confirmation. And the brand was always tied to characters and personalities with the requisite plots, intrigues, and focused victimization.


    Sara thought McLuhan missed the mark in at least one other respect. He failed to illuminate her favorite mantra: ¡®Repetition breeds belief.¡¯


    This insight was her addition to his prescient research from the prior century. And it had played out so well in the early twenty-first century. A constant beating of the drum, repeating of the message, and molding of the narrative kept interest levels high, allowing the influencers to lead media consumers down any desired path. Like a pied piper, one only had to pick the path and possess the ability to influence the channel or the narrative.


    By 2075, truth no longer was relevant in controlling the populace. Only repetition. However, one could not deviate rapidly from an established, carefully constructed narrative. You had to execute a slow handhold, a gradual tugging of the mind along the desired path. This brought true power over the individual and provided great leverage for imperceptible, underhanded, and devious intentions.


    Simply begin with an element of fact, mix it with a dose of innuendo, half-truths, and outright lies. Then do more of the same, but skew towards the latter. This method of imperceptible coercion was the yellow-brick road to mind-control, scientifically proven in countless instances throughout history and ultimately perfected with the ingenious algorithms and data manipulation in the AI systems at the heart of Sara¡¯s channels.


    She was a master at this media science, but her daily challenge was always the same. People were easily bored by the same salacious news, the same voices and faces, the same narratives.


    For example, when transgenic DNA became popular and led to hybrid humans that resembled animals more than humans, even that very visual novelty wore off quickly. This overexposure forced her and her team to constantly regurgitate and churn eye-popping, entertaining, and outrageous content in new wrappers, new colors, smells, tastes, and sounds. In order to make it work well, the content had to ebb and flow in idiocy, inappropriateness, and disgust. It had to be perennially extreme, novel, and titillating to keep the RQ at proper levels.


    All messaging began with fear and entitlement. These were at the root of human emotion and frailty, and she constantly reminded her team of this.


    ¡®Where is the fear in this message? Where is the entitlement? To simply inform is to bore! Information must always have a fearful bang, an entitled tang. Is this story about another Ron detractor? Then work the victimization angle. They never liked Ron. They never gave Ron a chance. He¡¯s done so much for them. He¡¯s entitled to thanks but only gets hate. Then amplify his detractors. Make them bigger than life. Radical. Scary. Regurgitate their corrupt leanings, their questionable lives and relationships. Inject doubt in their credibility. Align them with Vista¡¯s enemies. Innuendo, innuendo, innuendo! This is how you must think. Fear is your right leg. Entitlement your left! Innuendo your addictive drug!¡¯


    Despite her years at perfecting this craft, Sara¡¯s job was not an easy one since Ron needed to represent many things to the citizens of Vista. This meant she and her team had to continuously develop, nurture, and modify his many personas and narratives.


    Most of her cohort groups were ostensibly addicted to the predictably evil Ron, the one who had no scruples or morals or sense of decency. This was the Ron persona who always outdid himself with regular chastising of others around him, vile comments and extreme edge pronouncements, name-calling, bigotry, and hedonistic proclivities and sexual desires.


    And it didn¡¯t matter whether he carried out his aberrant promises or missives. It didn¡¯t matter how many times he yelled and pranced before his adoring crowds, pounded the lectern, or spat epithets and warnings at perceived enemies. What mattered was the commentaries themselves and the emotions they engendered. To threaten or infer action was often enough, and only occasionally would the government have to carry out an edict to maintain credibility.


    It helped considerably that Ron was so animated and narcissistic in his own exaggerated way. She simply had to enhance and shape finishing touches on the innate vanity, depravity, and apparent insanity, then confuse it with moments of feigned generosity and compassion, hypercritical humor, brilliance, and bravado.


    Sara would sometimes liken her responsibilities to the manual food grinder her mother used to prepare her least favorite dish of hash from the mixture of leftover refrigerator contents. Ron¡¯s personas were hash variants. Sometimes corn was in excess. Other times kidney beans or red chili. But the base ingredients were always predictable, with vapid overtones of blood-soaked hamburger, stale cereal, and rotting celery.


    Her easiest job was to speak to his fervent, almost religious supporters, the foot soldiers of Ron¡¯s dark soul. This cohort loved Ron irrespective of what he did or said, so she needed to embellish all aspects of who he actually was. These followers, these cultists comprising about thirty percent of Vista¡¯s population, would do anything to support him and ensure his continued reign.


    Per Sara¡¯s terminology, the use of the term ¡®audience¡¯ and ¡®cohort¡¯ were interchangeable, though she preferred the latter. The foot soldier cohort possessed an unrelenting need for a father-figure. An emotional leader. It needed both a messiah and an anti-messiah, amalgamated into one conflicted being. It required a demigod, demagogue, or authoritarian. It needed to look up to something greater and look down disgustedly at those whom Ron and they deemed less worthy.


    Ron was no true demigod, not in the comic book sense. Yet, his anti-aging tech made him effectively enduring, eternal, and immortal, particularly for this cohort. His body, enhanced by the latest robotics, provided him with demigod-like physical powers and a physical appearance that few could afford. In addition, his mind was effectively fused with Imp, one of the most powerful AI¡¯s on the planet and arguably sentient in many respects. This combination made Ron a modern-day god of sorts, and his gangrenous human origins only played into this persona he was destined to fulfill.


    In Sara¡¯s view, the messages to this cohort didn¡¯t really matter since they had conceded virtually all their decision-making, energies, and the fruits of their labors to the corrupted being outside themselves. Ron could never do wrong. No transgression could be severe enough to engender disloyalty, even when aimed against them. Sara loved these people for their blissful ignorance and faith. They were energetic, dependable, and utterly unable to discern anything beyond the contextual world she built for them.


    And Ron the demigod was but one of multiple, customized personas she used to nurture the voracious media machines she influenced. She created multiple narratives and personas of him and his courtesans and enemies, feeding the needy recipients with stories that satisfied their insatiable hunger for entertainment and bias confirmation.


    Born in 2020, Sara was too young to have experienced firsthand the early days of the post-truth era, but she often wished she could go back in time to be there as it evolved. In the decades before the Debacle, the old, once-trusted media structures were continuously disassembling and reassembling, hiding within innocuous corporate structure. At that time as well, the message didn¡¯t matter nor did the method of transmission.


    In those unsophisticated days of narrative control, the only thing that mattered was profit. Profit drove all the decisions, and boring was not profitable. Whatever got eyeballs, mindshare, and therefore ad dollars was what mattered. Ethics, honor, honesty, and fairness were concepts for Sunday school kids to review once and forget. Post-truth stories needed to be amplified by the inane, profane, and nonsensical.


    Given that fundamental fact, a cat-and-mouse game of media duality was created that persisted up to the Great Debacle. One side chose conservatism and the other progressivism. Neither chose the unprofitable middle that required truth and discernment. The audiences no longer cared for such things. They only wanted entertainment and confirmation of the biases the media so stealthily infused in their minds.


    Confirmation brought relevance. Confirmation brought attention and comfort. Confirmation brought advertising. Advertising brought profit. Profit brought personal wealth, power, and prestige for management teams.


    As the post-Debacle period of anarchy started to settle down, there were too many narratives. The world was begging for even one channel that seemed relevant, consistent, and thorough. One with glimmering personalities, straight teeth, smiling faces, and serious frowns. One that engaged and enthralled the cohort, interspersed with sub-second flashes of light to keep their attention.


    The proven techniques for holding viewer engagement had changed little since those days. Subliminal visuals and audio. Constant camera position changes. Fast-paced, short segment stories to stimulate hungry neurons with a continuous cacophony of glitter, fear, and disbelief.


    Sara¡¯s was an exhilarating, wide world to manage. The low signal-to-noise ratio implied that nobody could readily discern the signal, allowing her to manipulate this most important elements at will. She honed the art of applying a constant, gentle nudge to the nose rings of Vista¡¯s media consumers and her beloved cohorts. It was her media magic, her expertise.


    In Ron¡¯s domain, Sara and her team bore the responsibility for all narratives across all media types. Though she had counterparts in the other two Westrich domains, her role in Vista was relatively autonomous. Few in the world could outclass her prowess in managing so many propaganda channels concurrently across so many cohorts.


    The binary channels were relatively simple to manage with narratives that had proven successful decades prior. On one hand, Ron was god-like, a speaker of truth and power. One who watches out for his subjects, supports them, gives them what we deserve.


    He tramples enemies under foot. He is a victim of haters, but ten times as vindictive when they go too far. Manful and unafraid, he is righteousness and gall. He is human perfection and has reasons for what he does, even if not obvious or stated. Trust him, as only he can do this job well.


    On the flip side, Ron was the demon. Power-hungry. Inept. Paranoid. He was a hand-me-down trillionaire using his position to illegally expand wealth and power to him and his friends. The worst of demagogues and tyrants. His lies were pathetic, his rhetoric caustic, his next moves predictable and disconcerting. Worst of all, he was an incompetent narcissist, and quite possibly under the complete control of his AI.


    In this new age of ¡®the channel is the message,¡¯ this dichotomy of narratives worked flawlessly for Sara and her team. It kept Ron¡¯s face, voice, and personas actively in the news, forcing him to be top of mind for Vista¡¯s citizens and keeping Sara¡¯s RQ scores in line.


    But it wasn¡¯t only these binary channels that mattered for Sara. Due to the constant risk of a Debacle recurrence, large cities had been all but abandoned. Population centers were dispersed and considerably smaller, rarely exceeding forty thousand in a contiguous area. Nobody wanted to risk another volatile air or water-borne causative agent spreading rapidly through a large, concentrated population.


    Given this greatly dispersed distribution of humanity on the face of the globe, communications had to change as well. Local communities ran their own media, and rendering effective control over these decentralized outlets was difficult. New channels would spring-up continuously, coagulating from unruly and distrustful citizens. The challenge was so large that half of Sara¡¯s team were constantly managing these local community channels to ensure alignment with the approved narratives.


    These communities liked who they were becoming. They developed their own truths and narratives that only loosely aligned with Sara¡¯s. They were too independent, at least to her liking. This fact was no more evident than in Vista with its large geography and relatively sparse population. It was therefore no surprise to her that Vista was where the signal originated, the signal from Northern Arizona of unknown intention that Sara was tasked to message appropriately.

 EP. 81 - PROPOSAL

    ¡°TO BEGIN,¡± SHE PROCLAIMED, ¡°we worked with Edgar¡¯s team to develop and implement a comprehensive messaging plan . . .¡±


    Her monologue was interrupted by Ron¡¯s jarring, obnoxious laugh. A few others joined him as was typical of his sycophant ministers who understood what would come next.


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± he blistered. ¡°You never work together. You¡¯ve fucking hated each other ever since I introduced you. Don¡¯t you know your stress indicators spike even mentioning him? Do you think I keep this expensive monitoring tech in my toolbox for fun? I know everything you simpletons engage in. Every friggin¡¯ thought you have. But what I like is your mutual animosity toward each other, your detestable natures. That¡¯s why I keep you together on my team. A little friction and competition keeps you at your best for me, as pathetic as your best often is. I know this. Imp confirms this.¡±


    No different than the lion¡¯s roar to the lionesses, this was Ron¡¯s way, or Imp¡¯s way, of signaling and ensuring dominance. He was utterly predictable with his epithets, and she knew enough to stay quiet until he was done.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± he protested, his hand waving her to proceed. ¡°I expect to see the best here. I want a comprehensive plan, one that is underway as we speak. And I demand damage control since it was all of you and your failures that brought this on me. Do you know how the world sees me at this moment? Do you?¡±


    He pressed his scowling face outward and stared directly at each of his ministers, as if he could burn his hatred right through them.


    ¡°Once more, you fucked up. I should throw every damn one of you out and let the coyotes have their way with your carcasses. My balls are hanging high and my enemies are holding their bats and paddles in the air ready to take a whack at me. To detach at least one of my little boys. To take me out forever. So, I want to see this wonderful plan you¡¯ve devised.¡±


    He slammed the desk hard with his mechanized arm. ¡°Once again you¡¯ll try to place a blanket of dog shit over your failures. Nobody cares about you. Nobody thinks about you, your teams, or power structures. Your employees would just as soon crawl over your corpses without remorse, hoping to lead your ministries themselves and not thinking for a second about any allegiance they may have had to you personally.¡±


    She was wondering why he was worked up more than usual. Crazy shit was happening everywhere in the world, and Vista had its share. They couldn¡¯t know everything that might happen. Even Imp, with his superior AI brain, couldn¡¯t see the future that well.


    ¡°They¡¯d prefer to hear the sound of your cricket backbones snap and grind as they walk over you and get great satisfaction from that. You place too much faith in your teams. You are too comfortable in your positions of power. But my ass, my ass and nuts, are bared to the world because I let you constantly get away with shit.¡±


    He grimaced sourly at the team, showing how much he despised them.


    ¡°My incompetent counterparts are not so generous, you slugs. Anywhere else, you¡¯d be glue factory fodder. So, go Sara Shithouse. Defecate your wonderful comms plan. Puke it out for our virgin ears. But I want all ministers to be on notice. When you fucked me by letting this embarrassment happen, you fucked yourself and your teams. Everyone will pay the price for this indiscretion; this day of infamy.¡±


    Spittle was hanging from the corners of Ron¡¯s mouth, and those seated nearest to him discretely wiped the poisonous excretion he spewed from their hands and arms.


    ¡°Go,¡± he waived again. ¡°I just wanted you to know how you let me down, despite all I do for you. I¡¯m done,¡± he barked, slapping the heavy table with such power that it rose momentarily on Sara¡¯s end. ¡°Time¡¯s wasting! Get on with it!¡±


    This was her signal. ¡°I¡¯d ask you all, excluding the boss, of course, to let me get through this without questions, interruptions, and other signs of disagreement or discomfort.¡±


    First, she would play her own victim card.


    ¡°My team is small, and given the time pressure and need for secrecy, I couldn¡¯t have the benefit of engaging with all of them. We dropped everything for this, given the criticality, and executing this plan is consuming our resources.¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Ron stammered. ¡°You¡¯re pitiful. Where¡¯s your disgusting plan?¡±


    She acknowledged him with a nod. Clearly, he heard her plea for more time to perfect the plan.


    ¡°Good, then. Let¡¯s first consider our primary conservative and progressive channels.¡±


    Sara had specifically told her team to avoid the use of visuals for her presentation. She knew any factual or counter-factual data in a visual presentation would open the door for Edgar to steal the show, to prove her wrong, and to embellish the accomplishments of his team. Besides, this was her moment as the center of attention.


    ¡°We are already executing well-considered messages throughout all channels, but most heavily in the conservative and liberal feeds. At the same time, we and our various data sources continue to monitor reactions from around the globe. As we are aware from the last few hours of global feeds, the brightness of the laser blast was approximately that of ten thousand suns for the hundred-plus seconds of its duration.¡±


    She glanced to Benjamin Wook, the Minister of Science and Technology, to deflect some of Ron¡¯s negative energy toward him instead. He was one of Ron¡¯s favorites and took the cue.


    Wook was hairless from head to toe, a result of a DNA change to satisfy his desire to eliminate the need to shave, cut his locks, or concern himself with what he considered the dirtiness and filth of human hair. Almost every feature of his being was augmented in some way. His corneas had been replaced with data-fed artificial lenses. His limbs were fully mech¡¯d implementations of flesh and metal. Genetically, he had integrated transgenic DNA from multiple animals into his body, including olfactory senses from silk moths that caused his mouth to constantly twitch from side to side.


    ¡°About ten petawatts of power was consumed over a one hundred ten second period. Eleven bursts of ten seconds. A twelfth burst was apparently cut short by the missile strike. As Ron indicated, there was enough information carrying capacity in a multiphased laser during this amount of time to transmit virtually all the known data in the world, down to everyone¡¯s DNA, within each of those ten second bursts.¡±


    He stopped there, knowing any speculation beyond the known facts would collide head-on with Ron¡¯s wrath.


    ¡°And the brightness, Benjamin?¡± Sara queried.


    ¡°Yes, the brightness was picked up by multiple Westrich satellites in the area. Because it was a laser with petawatt power, enough ambient photons escaped for virtually anyone within visible range to see the transmission occur. However, only those within close proximity of the direct and very narrow path of the laser could decode and decipher the specific messages.¡±


    Sara noticed from the corner of her eye that Ron¡¯s right fist was clenching again and the veins in his neck were bulging. A bad sign, for sure. She needed to wrest control of his reaction before the next outburst.


    ¡°Regardless,¡± she continued, ¡°we must assume the signal was captured, at least in part, by any of countless terrestrial and orbital monitoring systems. We are closely watching the other Westrich domains and all other nation-states. As expected, most are actively creating narratives of this event to their advantage. Our objective is to mitigate any attempts at pinning this on Ron and his base of power. In order to do this, we¡¯ve already started messaging per our standard ¡®Five D¡¯ execution strategy.¡±


    ¡°Help us again with the Five Ds?¡± Edgar interjected, shaking his head in barely perceptible disgust.


    She frowned, angered she needed to repeat something that had often been included in her previous discussions in staff meetings.


    ¡°Of course. Our standard comms plans include our Five Ds. Deny. Divert. Distract. Detract. Deceive. These principles are at the center of all we ever communicate. Can I continue now?¡±


    She nodded ungraciously at him. He didn¡¯t dare acknowledge.


    ¡°We are out in front of this. From the critical and accusatory messages we¡¯re seeing already from global sources, most are targeting the source as Northern Arizona and therefore Vista.¡±


    All eyes were on her. This was her moment. Her display of control and competency.


    ¡°Our denial strategy is in full execution mode. We forced our progressive channels to immediately spin multiple, confusing narratives and counter-narratives. For example, one narrative is that this signal was from an obscure Navajo sect messaging their god-creators to come back and restore their native lands. This narrative hits on liberals who align their belief systems with minority groups continuously wronged over time. We have a no more effective target for this narrative than our indigenous tribes, given our relative lack of support for them and their continued autonomy and almost neglect of Ron and what he¡¯s done for them..¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    She stopped for a sip of water and to sense Ron¡¯s mood.


    ¡°Another counter-narrative for liberals? That our budgets have been squeezed beyond measure, creating risks for Westrich and thus the larger world. It¡¯s Westrich¡¯s fault, not ours. We are the smallest in size and industrial capacity but the largest in land mass. We don¡¯t get enough monetary support from Westrich to cover essential services for handling our numerous emergent infections and genetic infestations. We are playing-up that we are the scrappy guy, doing the best we can with the little funding we get, with geographic challenges that far exceed the other two domains and even other nation-states.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she thought, scanning the room. They are all engaged, even Ron.


    ¡°As a double benefit, this is also a crossover narrative that works in our conservative channels since it explains why we cannot effectively police societal deviants as effectively as the other domains. We are David, while California and Hedron are Goliaths, and they are treating us, and especially Ron, mercilessly. They get all the benefits of trading with Pacific Rim partners while refusing to share their wealth and riches with us. We in Vista give them much in resources and treasure, however, they always expect more for less despite being their front lines in the ongoing skirmishes with Southern and Bolivar. These are just two of multiple narratives we¡¯ve already broadcast across our channels for the liberal and progressive cohort subsets. But let me continue down the list.¡±


    Sara was standing at the end of the oval table opposite to Ron, glancing across the team and keeping a watchful eye on his reactions. He was stone-faced thus far.


    ¡°As we know, it¡¯s easier to speak to and readily influence the conservative base since their fear and entitlement constructs are richer and more predictable than the progressives. The primary narrative we¡¯re executing engages with their innate paranoia. Southern continues to back radical pockets of dissidents and genetic terrorists trying to eliminate or weaken our population and overtake our God-provided lands. None of that will be new news to this cohort because we regularly spin such narratives. However, this time we have a very visible, in a literal sense, global event that ties effectively into our historical messaging. This laser blast was proof that radical, leftist pockets exist, even in the remotest parts of Westrich.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go too far with that,¡± Edgar interjected. ¡°We don¡¯t want our own people getting too riled up with each other to the point of civil war.¡±


    That was always a concern everyone understood. She ignored him.


    ¡°The blame is focused on Southern. It continues to threaten our resources and livelihoods. They are doing all they can to get unfair and access to our mineral wealth. They desire more land, given the continued flooding of their low elevation areas. They need our vast high, sunny plains for their solar and wind farms. They are rebuffing Ron¡¯s constant attempts to bring peace to the border and ensure free flow of goods. They are belligerent cowards, always using underhanded, devious means to effect their goal of dominating then eliminating us despite our innocence and righteousness.¡±


    ¡°Here, here,¡± Ron interjected with a smile, another sign that Sara was on track.


    ¡°This event plays especially well for the significant, powerful religious conservative cohorts. We already sent messages into those channels that this signal is most likely tied to the obelisk crash of 2037. The platinum-gold object falling to Earth was the first indication that aliens were about to attack. Sub-cohorts in this group are such effective prey for this narrative.¡±


    She paused momentarily, giving just enough time for the others to fall to her intended conclusion.


    ¡°This signal was from a devious alien source who was messaging back from Earth to our imminent interstellar invaders. The laser blast was their green light to finally attack us. They have been waiting for the right moment, and now is the time. In case we determine the message in the signal, and if the message includes any information about the world, or even if it doesn¡¯t, then we¡¯ll explain, ¡®see, this is a set up. This is the signal that exposes humanity¡¯s weaknesses and frailties. It¡¯s the beginning of the end. An indication that Armageddon is around the corner. You God-fearing souls who have maintained your zeal, you who have stayed pure to the message, will soon be risen from Earth while our alien visitors fry the world¡¯s sinners to a crisp.¡¯ Indeed, it¡¯s hard to develop a better storyline for this sub-cohort of conservatives.¡±


    Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ¡°Imp tells me there¡¯s some risk in this. Risk that this cohort may congregate. Take to the streets. Proceed as if they had God¡¯s approval and grace to cleanse the world right now of its sinners before marauders ever arrived from space. Help their God exact his vengeance per their ancient revelations. Did your plans take that into account?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± she responded. ¡°We know from our prior comms to this cohort that they can be volatile, easily aroused to anger and fear, and highly vindictive and judgmental. We love them for all these traits. But we know we can only go so far. If our metrics show the socials indicate excessive calls to violent action, we¡¯ll modify our narratives. We¡¯ll re-message that the signal was of earthly origin, pointed at nothing specifically, with a simple message of peace and hope. Hell, we could even lace the message with counter-narratives like it being of Muslim or Buddhist origin, as long as it kept them angry but mitigated their fears about a realization of their prophecies. We¡¯ll work it and continue to monitor their reactions as usual since this group can be more readily sculpted in real-time.¡±


    Her comments appeared to appease Ron¡¯s concern for the moment.


    ¡°Additionally,¡± she continued, ¡°we will influence the narratives of their religious leaders since they are so closely bound to Ron, irrespective of what he might do for them. At our insistence, they might urge their flocks to pray for the world and to further prepare according to their scriptures. We have many ways to coerce these cohorts and their mouthpieces, and my team has unparalleled experts working all contingencies.¡±


    ¡°And what else for conservatives?¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she thought. ¡°More questions from Ron. For once, he¡¯s actually engaged and present.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve barely started, but a most obvious one is to play off their fears and paranoia of another Debacle. That the world is full of fearful things. Dangerous left-leaning cults and religions, lone wolves, radical ideas, each with the potential to destroy humanity. We¡¯ll hit harder on the democratization of virulent technology, that every neighbor is a budding geneticist with the next infective agent growing away in their basement test tubes. That this event is one very visible indication that criminals are everywhere. That people who are not like you, who don¡¯t conform to your ideals and beliefs, are your biggest threats. This diverts attention away from our little domain and places it into the global system of fear about the other Westrich domains or other nation-states, over which nobody has control. We are living in very tenuous times. We must be on our watch, preparing for the worst realization of human or hybrid nature. The end of days is near. We regurgitate that narrative in some form regularly through their leaders and media, and they continue to soak it up. Easy extensions of our current comms.¡±


    ¡°When will you get to my contributions about enhanced predictive capabilities?¡± Edgar interjected, indicating he was looking to exaggerate his participation in the plan.


    Patronizing Edgar was the best way to entrap him.


    ¡°Yes, Edgar, I was saving the best for last. Per the discussion you and I had today, we¡¯ll spin your narrative that Vista has set aside a portion of its pathetically tiny defense budget to create the latest advancement in predictive control and monitoring tech, something so effective that it stretches credulity. At least for those nerds who are interested, we previously released stories on quantum coupling and the potential to affect space-time such that crimes can be determined before they arise. The new narrative will claim that we are combining these amazing new findings with the world-class predictive abilities of our AI-based defensive systems. We¡¯ll claim this combination provides nearly one hundred percent accuracy in predicting all manner of risks and attacks from friends and enemies alike.¡±


    Ron laughed aloud, throwing his hands behind his head and setting his long legs and feet upon the table. This was another typical dominance display, Sara knew, but it was a positive one. He only did this when he was more relaxed, and knowing Ron was calmed in the slightest was a good sign in light of the challenges facing them.


    ¡°Bravo!¡± he exclaimed.


    Benjamin was visibly perturbed that this theoretical tech was being discussed in staff without any participation from him. ¡°Even with Imp, even with our security systems,¡± he warned, ¡°we are nowhere near this level of predictive accuracy. Do you understand how little truth is in this quantum predictive shit?¡±


    Edgar jumped in before Benjamin could continue. He would not allow anybody to steal the thunder from this idea.


    ¡°As you know, Benjamin, the theory is on paper only and nothing is proven in labs. Regardless, this claim places California and Hedron, in addition to all global nation-states, on alert. Who would want to rise against a domain that could predict, and therefore easily counter, every aggressive move they were about to make? It¡¯s the perfect defense weapon, like the silent-running nuclear subs from last century. Besides, nobody has made any progress in this area. Everyone knows the theory is just some university bullshit in study phase. That¡¯s why it¡¯s such rich fodder to advance our case that Vista has the most aggressive and capable intelligence, tech, and systems, despite budgets. The claim sucks the oxygen from the room, drawing attention and energy away from this laser event.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant!¡± Ron exclaimed.


    With Edgar gaining momentum, Sara grasped the reins. ¡°More than that, though. It also strengthens our position with those bellicose conservative cohorts. They¡¯ll believe our new superior shit will advantage and protect us. Protect their businesses and property. All they hold of value, even their families. It further endears them to Ron and assures them he is ever-present, ever-vigilant, ever-caring about their social status. He has the best teams. The best tech. He is the winner, and since you live in his domain, you are the winner as well. Stick with him. Support him and all he does for you and your investments. This narrative even extends to the liberals. It works across all cohorts in the domain since everyone remains paranoid for good reason.¡±


    ¡°Good plan for once, but I¡¯m not hearing any direct misinformation campaigns. What gives?¡± Ron protested.


    Sara breathed deeply and belted a roaring retort. ¡°That¡¯s rolling along well, sir. For example, foreign feeds are showing satellite images of the destroyed laser location in Arizona. One story is that the bright light was simply a meteorite and nothing else. It left a crater, scientists are searching for the fragments of metal, and they¡¯ve even located some. That¡¯s just one lead story of many that we are rolling out.¡±


    ¡°What else you got?¡± Ron questioned. ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough. What else you got?¡±


    This was an indication that he was confident in the plan and wanted to cut the conversation short.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t cover all channels we are working across the various cohorts. They are variations on these and other themes, mostly focused on diverting attention elsewhere. We¡¯ll confuse and distract their vidscreen and Vistachit feeds with the typical innocuous and salacious crap about movie stars and celebrities. We¡¯re mixing this with stories on our herds of social deviants, new and disgusting forms of genetic hybridization, and plagues released by other nation-states. The normal array of hardly credible stories with a hangnail of reality. A sweet, continuous stream of conflicting, amygdala-activating bullshit.¡±


    Ron grimaced. ¡°Fine then. I approve. Go execute and make no mistakes. Any questions from the team?¡±


    This was Ron¡¯s sign he wanted no questions or comments. All nodded their heads in unison.

 EP. 82 - EXECUTION

    ¡°YEAH?¡± SARA MOANED, ANGRY at being awakened by a vidscreen popup so early in the morning.


    When Ron¡¯s meeting ended, Sara gathered her leadership together for a status check and to ensure the execution plans were in progress. Exhausted by 2 a.m., she fell into bed.


    To ensure order, discipline, and ready access to his ministers, Ron made them live in his fortress compound on the outskirts of Austin. There was risk in that concentration, he understood, but he¡¯d rather all of them die in one simultaneous event than allow a few to live and perhaps undermine his legacy with their undisclosed knowledge.


    If Ron was going to die, his ministers would come along with him. To avoid such an untimely demise, however, security measures at the compound were without equal anywhere in the world, or so Imp informed him.


    After the release of the deadly pathogen responsible for the Great Debacle of 2037, the world changed considerably. In years prior to the Debacle, governments and industry were already well along the path of complete control and monitoring of all human activities.


    The world¡¯s finance, social media, distribution, and information companies were constructing mesh cloud networks for personal data sharing, the first step towards universal consolidation and concentration of behavioral profiling. Many of these networking capabilities were initiated in the aftermath of the Coronavirus plague of the early twenties, once nations realized they lacked the basic tools to track infective agents, their carriers, and quite possibly their creators.


    Years later as the post-Debacle anarchy was subsiding, there was a clear mandate to finish the job. Paranoia was at its peak, and most humans were far more concerned about a repeat pathogenic devastation than the philosophical or moral implications of government monitoring and loss of personal freedoms. In the new world of virulent, democratized technologies, simply being alive meant more to people than freedom, privacy, or control.


    By the early 2000¡¯s, data storage capacities, monitoring capabilities, and cloud computing advancements had substantially reduced the cost of acquiring and retaining information. Data and social networking companies grew into global monoliths which, post-Debacle, were given full freedom to gather, share, and capitalize on personal data without the previous constraints of monopolism, data privacy, or human rights actions.


    In the decades that followed, these massive companies merged or morphed into global centers of information about every human or hybrid on the planet. This centralized infrastructure worked perfectly for the oligarchs as they came to power, enabling them and their AIs to own the data and all that it allowed them to control.


    The unanticipated laser transmission from Northern Arizona was proof, though, that not every individual had yet been properly reined-in, monitored and controlled. Such an event would normally have been a substantial embarrassment to both Ron, Vista, and Westrich.


    That¡¯s where Sara¡¯s talents came in. She was mission control for messaging. She was spin, truth, lies, and innuendo, amalgamated in a luscious concoction of narratives and storytelling. From her viewpoint, it was a creative role, a challenging role, and certainly a powerful one.


    She consumed it, and it consumed her. As a result, Sara didn¡¯t think twice about not residing in the compound. In fact, she welcomed it as confirmation of her importance to Ron and Vista¡¯s citizens.


    ¡°It¡¯s Rasha,¡± a voice from the popup indicated. ¡°Apologies. I know you were trying to sleep.¡±


    Sara immediately scanned the multiple screens that activated above her bed. ¡°Oh, shit! I see it.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rasha continued. ¡°Just our luck that it was Southern, of all nation-states, who claimed to pick up the signal. They¡¯ve deciphered some of the content, or so they indicate.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I can read. Good they say they caught it. Works better into our narrative, like, ¡®you know about this event because you caused it, and you¡¯re now reporting on it per your treacherous scheme to discredit Ron. You and your fucking band of traitorous infiltrators on our sovereign territory.¡¯¡±


    She paused to read further.


    ¡°Wow. It appears the whole freaking encyclopedia of human history was embedded in that signal. You¡¯ve obviously consumed more info than I have on the topic, Rasha. What¡¯s the gist? Where¡¯s the magic? Who¡¯d want to secretly superfart a history of humankind out into the sterile galaxy? Anyone receiving that planetary puke would either get a good laugh or a bad case of heartburn.¡±


    Rasha was one of Sara¡¯s veterans on the team and always knew to choose her words carefully.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know which feeds you¡¯re looking at right now, but they¡¯re claiming two primary components of information were included in the transmission. The encyclopedia of human history was one part. Then there was a commentary of sorts. An extensive opinion piece on the state of the world.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting that, and I¡¯m seeing the spin from the other nation-states already. Damn, freaking AI narrative-creation systems. You know, you used to have the luxury of a few free minutes to counter this bilge. Now it¡¯s instant vomit-splatter of AI-generated pulp fiction across all relevant channels, and nobody believes any of it. Getting damn more difficult to spin our own bullshit narratives when ten thousand others are out there in the time it takes to spit.¡±


    Rasha paused to see if Sara was done.


    ¡°What else, and what¡¯s your plan, Rasha?¡±


    ¡°The opinion piece appears to have been a warning to its recipients.¡±


    ¡°A warning? To what recipients? What the hell?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. A warning that humanity is in its final death throes. That we¡¯ve reached a juncture where technology advancements have rapidly outpaced social values, resulting in an irrevocable imbalance. In other words, we¡¯re stumbling headlong toward the inevitable death of the species.¡±


    ¡°Huh? I assume you means our species. Humans.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s your interpretation of the implications?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve already created narratives and just need your nod to execute on them. The implications are that it was intended to embarrass the global oligarchies and the current structure of society. This fits well into our anarchist narratives, that radical, liberal groups continue to denigrate all the advantages Ron brings to them.¡±


    ¡°And the anti-tech idiots?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re accusing them of creating this mess. The content of this laser message proves they¡¯re Ron-haters, even to pushing their caustic narrative beyond the planet to unknown, unseen aliens who could give a shit when they see it a million years from now. We¡¯ll amplify our current narratives that the anti-tech cohorts are living in a 1950¡¯s fantasy world, as if we could easily ignore the ominous personal risks to life in these post-Debacle realities. This ties-in well with our usual narratives that state and industry cooperation, control, and management over the citizenry is a positive thing; a great thing. These are only two of the multiple messaging paths we¡¯re ready to release at your approval.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Rasha. I get it. Execute, then, and I¡¯ll be over with you as soon as I shower and dress.¡±


    Rasha let out an audible sigh. ¡°Will do.¡±


    ¡°Just one more thing,¡± Sara wondered. ¡°How real was the message? How much truth is in it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an opinion piece only. No credible evidence was provided by this lone wolf.¡±


    ¡°I get that. But how much truth is in the opinions? Occasionally, that matters to some of our cohorts.¡±


    Rasha smacked her lips. ¡°Straight out? One hundred percent, from my read thus far. Whoever wrote this crap, this crap about technology reaching its infinity curve while societal norms continue to decline, had a fair handle on reality. It¡¯s a broad, if not boringly repetitive and mundane, treatise on why the world is going to hell soon.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it, though,¡± Sara posed, vexed at the rationale for such a stupid venture. ¡°This message wasn¡¯t intended for us humans? It was meant for other presumed recipients in space? Or was it more targeted?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Our AI analyses show the message contents to be broad and general. The creators emitted this short laser burst of personal rubbish for anyone or anything to hear. Unbelievably, it appears to be a warning to other sentient life forms about a declining race and how to avoid similar degradations and cataclysms in their own societies.¡±


    ¡°Interesting. For about ten minutes, anyway. We should assume this crazy-ass laser blast issue will last just that long; ten minutes. I¡¯m always amazed so many people have nothing better to do than complain about the state of the fucking world. This idiot would have been happier consuming the rubbish we feed him every day. If people don¡¯t like the sewer they¡¯re swimming in, then change the effluent or find another sewer. Hey, that sounds like a pretty decent counter-narrative. On the other hand, the more we counter-narrative around this, the longer the story might stick around and perhaps raise real questions about Ron¡¯s adequacy. We are Ron, and Ron is us. I must say that a thousand times a day.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rasha confirmed. ¡°We are Ron.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to read the entirety of this guy¡¯s schtick if I get the time. For a good laugh, if nothing else. I¡¯ll ask our AI to give me the highlights.¡±


    ¡°Our comms metrics show this as the top trending discussion topic on most socials. Lots of social going on around this, even at this early hour. Off the charts. It¡¯s scoring a seven of ten right now. Ron isn¡¯t looking good, either, but maybe it¡¯s his turn.¡±


    ¡°Shit!¡± Sara bellowed. ¡°Ron won¡¯t like a turn at something like this. I can expect an unpleasant ass-jolt from him any minute. Go get this worked, and I¡¯ll be there in twenty minutes. Tell the team we¡¯re meeting again when I arrive. Wake anyone who¡¯s asleep.¡±


    Sara ended the call and slumped back on the bed, her head hanging low.


    ¡°I need to cut back on this hyper-fluid crap. Gets me jittery. Maybe I should go back to simple, black coffee. Now, where were you before she called? The dream, the vicious dream. I had a long knife in each hand. Running in the jungle, or was it Austin? Bare feet. Bleeding everywhere. Stabbed at a lioness, then a raccoon, or was it a civet? Something, some animal, had its jaws embedded in my back, and it kept evading my stabs.¡±


    She rubbed her side as she pondered. ¡°Jesus. Is Imp pushing this dream shit into my head? Damn AI control freak. Do I need to wear a disruptor cap now when I sleep? I¡¯ve never had nights of a repeating dream like this. It must be Imp and Ron, that fucker. Playing around with his mind control tech. That shithead is in total control, whether he tries to be or not. And I can¡¯t trust Imp at all. A proxy system for Ron¡¯s insanity and a dutiful servant executing his deranged commands. Or hell, maybe it¡¯s the other way around. Either way, I must be vigilant. God, I need a few weeks away from this perversity, this abhorrence of reality, and these walls. I must get my grip on things and find some joy in this job again.¡±


    She dropped her nightshirt to the floor and turned on the shower. ¡°But I do love it, I can¡¯t deny. Influence. Power. Recognition. I¡¯m not a self-bullshitter. I am this good. I am Ron¡¯s voice. The voice to Vista¡¯s millions. I create reality for them, a reality they crave in all its glorious bias confirmation and carefully designed malevolence. And I¡¯m damn well the best at it in Westrich. Maybe in the world. Fuck those who¡¯ve tried to fuck me reaching this pinnacle. I¡¯ve dodged their bullets and swords. I am steel-plated. No, not just plated. I am platinum-gold alloy, just like that old Canadian obelisk. Pure metal. Impenetrable. I¡¯ll never wear down."

 EP. 83 - FOSSILS

    EDGAR SAT UNCOMFORTABLY ON his porcelain crown, gazing at the fossil-encrusted limestone brick wall that lined his bathroom and most of the compound.


    ¡°It¡¯s a reminder, isn¡¯t it?¡± he whispered. ¡°A reminder that we are walking fossils. Look at me, though. I have the latest tech. Anti-aging. Musculoskeletal enhancements. Mech metallic components throughout my body with skin indelibly fused to alloys. Ocular-neocortex connects to my AI. I have so many transgenic and human code modifications, I can¡¯t recall all of them instantly without digging into storage. And despite this great tech to forestall fossilization, why can¡¯t we find a means to avoid the shitter? It¡¯s so fucking wasteful. How many total hours of my life wasted so far, much less in the eons to come? There must be an answer to this. Shit. Incoming.¡±


    His AI streamed him the latest global messaging feeds on the trending news of the moment, the laser signal.


    ¡°Hah.¡± He laughed and belched simultaneously, his breath emitting the rancid smell of half-digested fried onions from his breakfast. ¡°She¡¯s got the tiger¡¯s tail on this one, that Sara dog. Little bitch will try to get the glory and do this on her own, as if her pathetic messaging is any good without my data infrastructure. Without my full assistance.¡±


    He wiped himself. ¡°She¡¯s the fossil. And her team. Dead shells and curly animals, waiting for the gray muck to enclose and smother them in time, buried forever in the ground, only to be regurgitated in ages as building material. Sara¡¯s carcass will be embedded in the shitty limestone bricks in one of my future buildings. I¡¯ll see to it.¡±


    To Edgar, Sara was an anachronism in the current context of AI. Who needed a human to create narratives when his AI was more effective? More prolific? His AI could churn-out a thousand narratives to her one. His AI could confuse the world on a whim, creating mindless, meaningless sludge to be farted across the toilet bowl of human networks. Misinformation was kid stuff, but mass misinformation ¨C now that was AI magic.


    Edgar felt this toilet analogy also applied effectively to Ron¡¯s direct reports. His ministers and their respective teams were barely surviving in the constant vortex of rage and fury. He imagined them hanging on tightly to the inside edge of the bowl, staring up at his ass. At any moment, Edgar¡¯s massive butt could crush their slipping hands, given what he knew about them. He could smash their weakened digits against the porcelain edge of the commode to which they clung so desperately. Then down they¡¯d go with the flush. Down to oblivion and the ignominious death they deserved.


    For Ron, his ministers were transient, like unused condoms on the shelf of a sex addict. When he perceived their cost or risk exceeded their value, he¡¯d simply do away with them.


    There was no job after domain minister. Once you tied your harness to that beast, the beast of the oligarchs, you were forever naked and exposed.


    You knew too much. You knew the lies, the personal weaknesses, the perverse, corrupt dealings and indulgences. Temperaments. Indecencies. Amorality. Insanity. And if you were smart, you¡¯d tuck the worst of that knowledge away in a safe place, only to be exposed to the light of day when necessary for survival.


    For Edgar and the other ministers, the key challenge was to stay alive as one¡¯s personal net equity to Ron began to slip. Each person needed to possess various forms of collateral to retain their jobs and status. Only the best, those with the greatest leverage like Edgar, might squirm their way out of the compound freely and intact once relieved of ministerial duties.


    An ex-minister could too easily target and weaken Ron with their knowledge. For example, they could align with another oligarch inside or outside Westrich. Tattle. Embarrass. Malign. Weaken. Assassinate. Insinuate. Indeed, insinuation was often a worse fate for an oligarch than assassination.


    Edgar thought back to the years he¡¯d been with Ron. Seven. Lucky seven. Many ministers had come and gone. Even Edgar, with all his data resources at the ready, rarely had insight to their final dispositions. The party line was that most were pastured, kept far away from access to data or people. That probably meant either a deserted island somewhere or at the warming poles, living desolate lives in a lonely purgatory. Ron¡¯s gulag.


    But Edgar knew, they all knew, the more likely resolution. Death. Extinction. A grinding up of innards. Once dead, one¡¯s body had to be ground-up and consumed by fire. No trace could be left behind. It was simply too dangerous, given the evolving tech. New tech might extract the content of neurons and other cells, resurrecting life events lurking in the dark recesses of one¡¯s decaying brain or stored in muscle or blood.


    ¡°I am uncomfortably exposed,¡± Edgar considered. ¡°This bullshit about having predictive tech to one hundred percent reliability. It¡¯s nowhere near that, of course. In fact, our AI is no better than anyone¡¯s, despite what Ron thinks of his marvelous Imp. I know Imp, and Imp is good. But he¡¯s not astounding. Hardly ahead of my own AI. Yeah, that wonderful Imp. And I named him. ¡®I M Perfect.¡¯ Ron bought it hook, line, and sinker. It¡¯s all about perception. All about it.¡±


    Finished with his bathroom duties, Ron stood naked in front of a large picture window looking out on the Colorado River of South Austin. His tech was the best, and he could stand there for hours, never worrying about someone peering in. His systems knew everything, saw everything, and could almost predict everything.


    ¡°Now that the messages are flooding in, and thanks to Sara¡¯s mindless efforts in following my suggestion, a shitstorm will rain down upon me. CIOs from the other Westrich domains will be pressing me to verify the claims that we perfected this new quantum, predictive tech. And the other nation-states. Fuck. My AI has already reported they are claiming similar capabilities. Piss-assed rivalries. It may have been an effective ruse, but we should have discussed the risk potential, especially since Sara made it the pillar of her response campaigns. I didn¡¯t mean for it to be that. It was intended as only one of her many narratives. Simple-minded, lazy wretch that she is.¡±


    He turned to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers and continued thinking. ¡°The normal escalation process failed this time. The AIs should have caught it and advised us of the risk. Imp. My AI. Sara¡¯s. Everyone¡¯s. I¡¯m not sure how this slipped by the fucking algorithms that were processing in those moments from our initial discussion to the presentation.¡±


    Edgar was pissed and pounded the dresser drawer shut, causing it to rebound back at him.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Fucking world this is. You can¡¯t tell a sweet little lie anymore to cover your ass. Always ten or fifty convoluted layers of algorithmic processing, game theory, alternate paths. It¡¯s almost like the AIs led us down this trail on purpose, but to what end?¡±


    Edgar had good reason to be concerned with an announcement of new tech that gave Westrich a strategic competitive advantage versus other oligarchies. Relations between nation-states in the post-Debacle world were always tenuous and hostile. The rapid spread of volatile tech and its democratization down to the smallest level, even to every 3D printer in each home and business, had placed every nation-state on an even keel of continuous high alert. Too many deviant minds in the world. Too many deadly creative capabilities. Too many hands in the pot.


    By this time, all countries had deployed similar tech, and any hostile act was returned with an equally detrimental hostile act. Bolivar, for example, might create an infective agent that caused five thousand deaths in Southern. Five thousand was a good, solid average. Enough to send a message, but not too high to cause alarm. And it was only that high because it still took time for each nation-state to create and distribute antidotes like vaccines.


    The antidote creation process was well-honed. A nation-state might lob a volatile agent over the border, always denying or justify their actions based on some perceived infraction or injury. Citizens would be instantly informed of the new risk through a variety of means spanning old handheld devices to direct alerts into human-machine interfaces, usually Vistachits. Expert AI systems would be used to instantly assess the risks and develop mitigation steps. Instructions were then provided to home or business 3D printers which would create a skin patch with the agent¡¯s antidote.


    In recompense, the inflicted nation-state would typically create its own comparable noxious agent and lob it back over the wall. This provided for a relatively innocuous but constant tit-for-tat battle of wills. It also kept citizens in all nation-states in line while giving the oligarchs perfect cover for unrelenting monitoring and control of the citizenry.


    By 2075, this interplay had come to a fair and equitable balance. Every nation-state knew not to overreach or amplify their jousting to avoid the next step of creating a major killer like the Great Debacle agent. An eye for eye, or a tooth for tooth, but not a tooth for a second global devastation.


    Given a few hours of further consideration, of war gaming with his AI and monitoring global responses, Edgar now understood their new pronouncement had that tooth-for-a-devastation potential. This was worrying.


    It¡¯s not that Westrich¡¯s oligarchs didn¡¯t lie on a regular basis about their new tech, defenses, and offenses. Everyone lied about their capabilities, and every nation-state was on relatively equal footing in this regard because the infinity curve of uncontrollable technology acceleration had finally reached an apex. Technology had scaled the y-axis in ever-shorter increments of time, then it finally hit a wall. Virtually all capabilities that could be imagined were either realized or realizable, within the constraints of physics.


    Edgar¡¯s problem with this new messaging was physics. Nobody had ever claimed they could perfectly predict the future by utilizing the time-space correlations of quantum physics. Many decades prior, science had discovered that even time was relative at a subatomic level. It could go forward, or it could go backward in concert with space or elements contained within it. That was old news. But to date, there had been no effective way to modify the arrow of time in the macro world, the world of molecules and humans and fossil-encrusted limestone walls.


    Again peering out his window, Edgar spied another small, curly animal embedded in the limestone wall. With his fully mech¡¯d left hand, he clipped the handful of stone from the wall and stared at the ancient animal. Although he¡¯d seen many of the same fossils in these bricks, this was the first time he really examined the fine detail in its inch-long body, still intact after a hundred million years. It reminded him of a visit to an underground cavern in Arkansas during the earlier part of the century.


    The cavern guide was a religious fundamentalist who let Ron¡¯s family know this fact at the start of the guided tour. He was outfitted with worn overalls, a checkered flannel shirt, and grease-stained boots. The man¡¯s face was weathered from years of strenuous outdoor work. A large, golden chain swung to and fro around his neck as he led Edgar¡¯s family on the journey underground.


    ¡®See these artifacts the scientists call fossils? In my religion, I know the devil placed these here to tempt me to doubt my faith in God. You understand? The devil wants me to believe Earth is not five thousand years old like my scriptures insist. He even wants me to believe the dinosaurs were alive millions of years ago. The devil, well, if you read those holy scriptures, you¡¯d know he¡¯s a deceiver. The great deceiver. The great liar.¡¯


    ¡®Great liar.¡¯ He remembered being called that too many times.


    ¡®It¡¯s only those with open eyes and pure hearts, only those fortunate few who can see the truth behind the lies. Only they will be saved. Never believe what your eyes tell you, folks. Not fully. Sometimes, somebody places things in front of you to control you, to corrupt your heart and collect your soul. These are often subtle, coming from where you¡¯d least expect. A political party, perhaps. A news personality. A politician. An entertainer, one who says he¡¯s on your side but does everything against your sense of what¡¯s right, just, and fair. A media outlet. They¡¯re all just different coins in the slot machine ride to hell.¡¯


    ¡®Guy was a shithead,¡¯ Edgar¡¯s dad shouted as they drove to their motel after the tour. ¡®Thinks he knows everything. Thinks he has the answer. Thinks he can preach to me and my kids. There ain¡¯t no God. There¡¯s only liars and the pitiful poor, like that man. Then there¡¯s the lucky few who¡¯re born rich or cheat their way to the top, sucking the life from hard-working people like me. The jackass. Beth, grab me a cold one.¡¯


    Edgar¡¯s mom glanced to the back seat as if she were apologizing to the two kids for letting him drink again while driving. As she turned forward, his dad backhanded her on the cheek, splattering spit into Edgar¡¯s eye.


    His mom¡¯s head bowed down quickly, below her seat, and he heard the whoosh of air as she popped open a beer can from the cooler under her legs. Extending her bloody, shaking arm out to her husband, she placed the open beer can in his outstretched hand.


    ¡®Mom, what happened to your front tooth?¡¯ Edgar asked later in the day as they walked together to get a bucket of ice at the motel. ¡®Nothing,¡¯ she whimpered. ¡®Walked into a cave wall by accident. It fell out and is lost forever.¡¯


    He recalled his dad¡¯s words at dinner that same evening. ¡®You lost your tooth? You replace it. Don¡¯t use my money to pay for your stupidity.¡¯


    But Edgar knew the truth. He remembered seeing the tooth, his mom¡¯s blood-soaked tooth and its root, wedged in a crack between the car¡¯s carpet and insulation. Seeing it in the car again a few weeks later, he considered picking it up and handing it to her. But he didn¡¯t. ¡®She doesn¡¯t want it. No good to her now.¡¯


    His mom rarely laughed or smiled after that, embarrassed by the missing tooth and always carrying that visible reminder of abuse, fear, tolerance, and intolerance.


    It was only one of many incidents he¡¯d seen like that in the following years. He hated his dad. Hated him. Hated him for his anger. His lack of control. His ignorance. His lack of cunning and unobvious deceitfulness.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so much that he was evil as much as the fact he was bad at being evil,¡± he pondered. ¡°Thoughtless. Amateurish. Valuable lessons that helped me reach the top of this dung heap. I hold my own, though. I am self-made. I look up to nothing and nobody. My dad was a fucking slimeball, and life is hell. You¡¯ve got to stay vicious, vindictive, vigilant. Love those words. Can¡¯t have a moment of self-pity or you¡¯ll end up like this fossil.¡±


    He began to crush the bit of limestone in his hand. Then he stopped and placed it in his pocket.


    ¡°AI,¡± he commanded, ¡°I need to meet with Sara. Stat. Sara only; not her team. She¡¯s fucked things up again. When can I do that?¡±


    ¡°She appears open for five minutes next hour,¡± his AI responded.


    ¡°Fuck her! I¡¯m going over there now."

 EP. 84 - PILLORIED

    EDGAR WALKED THE LENGTH of the compound to the area where Sara¡¯s team worked. He passed his face in front of monitor at the entry door. It scanned his retinas and the Vistachit embedded in his forehead.


    Edgar was particularly proud of the Vistachit, given that he and his team had developed it. At the time it was invented, it integrated a novel new technology to use the energy from cellular mitochondria to power its processors. When Edgar proudly informed Ron of his new creation, Ron patented it and bragged globally that the invention was of his own creation. He licensed and sold the technology to oligarchies across the world, providing another perennial source of funding and power for his own pockets.


    To embellish this accomplishment, Ron insisted that Vista¡¯s logo had to be clearly imprinted on the front of the chip, facing outward for all to see. The logo was comprised of three hexagons, one stacked atop the other two. Each hexagon represented one of Westrich¡¯s key mantras ¨C growth, genetics, and glory, with a large capital ¡®G¡¯ emblazoned on each.


    Vistachits were typically applied in the sub-dermal layer on a person¡¯s forehead, just above the nose bridge. This allowed its microscopic wires to be connected directly onto the optic nerves of each eye. Although the chip was dime-sized and relatively obscure, one could view it unaided when in close visual proximity to the wearer.


    Sara was meeting with her team in a conference room. The AI bot interrupted their conversation.


    ¡°Edgar is at the entry door and needs to speak with you immediately, Sara.¡±


    She grimaced to her team, then walked into her office to take the message, not wanting to have the discussion in front of them.


    ¡°Tell him to fuck-off!¡± she shouted at the wall.


    ¡°He¡¯s insistent on meeting only with you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what mentally unstable state he¡¯s in right now. I¡¯m in the middle of critical team meetings. He can find a spot on my calendar just like anyone else.¡±


    ¡°He says he¡¯ll go to Ron and force you.¡±


    ¡°Screw the little bastard! Going to mommy,¡± she exhaled. ¡°What¡¯s his pointless topic?¡±


    ¡°Reactions to your misinformation campaign.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my,¡± she grunted facetiously. ¡°What could that mean?¡±


    The AI responded back to Edgar, and she waited a moment for the reply.


    ¡°His words. ¡®The quantum shit. You¡¯re going too far overboard. Creating a critical imbalance. Fucking things up, in other words.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Tell him if he¡¯s going to be that cryptic, he can waddle his baby-ass diaper directly up to Ron¡¯s den of iniquity and complain there. I¡¯ve got better things to do.¡±


    ¡°He says Ron can¡¯t be involved. Not at this moment. Your ass will be juiced, and he¡¯s only here to ensure it doesn¡¯t extend beyond you to the other ministers or Ron himself.¡±


    Sitting atop her office desk, Sara stared at the moving images of her team leaders through the opaque glass of the meeting room across the floor. They had been working through a critical evaluation of responses to the comms executions, and she needed to get back to them.


    ¡°First he says he¡¯ll go to Ron, and now he says Ron can¡¯t be involved? What an idiot. He must be talking about Southern¡¯s reactions to our announcements, among others. Well, fuck. Can you inform my team I¡¯ll be delayed for fifteen minutes? Let that son-of-a-bitch know he¡¯s only got fifteen with me, then allow him through the door ¨C but open it very slowly to piss him off.¡±


    Sara was not intending to let Edgar¡¯s taunts upset her. She believed he was wholly guided by his AI, and everything he did or said was an intentional calculation, an estimation of her reactions. It was not unlike games of chess she used to play with her sister, unaided by any intelligence beyond their own. No AIs in that case, but a convolution of decisions, endless tree-branch probabilities, responses, countermoves, and logical loops.


    Edgar had access to far more resources than she did. In fact, since he was responsible for all the non-military systems and data structure in Ron¡¯s domain except for Imp, it was a futile effort from the start for anyone to challenge him. The best she could ever do was to come to a draw and slowly lower weapons to the ground simultaneously. That¡¯s how most of her interactions concluded with him.


    He strode into her office, bursting with conspicuous bravado. She laughed in disgust.


    ¡°Do you really think your display of machismo, your pathetic swelling antics and rapid movement of your mech-tech scare me in the least, you little shit? How many times have you done this in front of me and others? You¡¯re like a cowardly male pheasant. All show and no substance. Yet you still try, don¡¯t you little guy? You and that AI-corrupted brain of yours get so confused when your remarkable algorithms don¡¯t work in the real world. Can¡¯t you control your fucking scrawny ego?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± he growled.


    Edgar recalled that he hated Sara almost as much as he hated his long-dead father. ¡°Cut-that,¡± he thought. ¡°Step-father.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re accusing me of carrying your idea too far?¡± she laughed. ¡°You¡¯re saying I¡¯m responsible for the pus that spewed from your own mouth, or was that your AI talking? Has it finally rendered complete control over your gray matter, whatever¡¯s left of that nominal piece of you that is not machine?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t listening,¡± he exhorted in frustration. ¡°I came here to save your ass, not mine.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Bullshit. You know that if the idea you generated and took such visible pride in creates real problems for Ron, your butt is on the line and not mine.¡±


    Edgar scratched his head with his mech arm. Although it was the latest tech, it still wasn¡¯t perfect. Sara was able to discern the slightest shaking in his hand that indicated he was truly concerned for himself.


    ¡°Leverage,¡± she reflected. ¡°Nice to get this asshole backed against a wall for a change. He¡¯s always doing this to everyone else.¡±


    ¡°My AI wouldn¡¯t have done this,¡± he claimed. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have let loose an overly expansive message. My AI would have muted this with hundreds of other messages so no single narrative could slip above the verbal sewage that is your job. But you and your team over there, that emotional deadwood reeking of ovaries and estrogen, couldn¡¯t develop any other decent narratives. As a result of your laziness, this minor idea I suggested in passing was naturally highlighted.¡±


    She knew he was working to flip the conversation and get her on the defensive, particularly with the misogynistic remarks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not describe the efforts of my team to a novice, thank you. Go analyze your own cluttered stats factory you take so much pride in. You¡¯ll see we executed no differently than any other misinformation campaigns from the past. Dozens of discontiguous stories across hundreds of alternative channels. No one narrative to elevate above the others. No, not me, buddy.¡±


    He despised her use of that colloquial term with him. It meant she felt she had the upper hand.


    ¡°No what?¡±


    ¡°No, this is not about my execution plan, buddy,¡± she emphasized. ¡°It¡¯s not my comms that are at issue. The problem is something else, isn¡¯t it? The problem is that you didn¡¯t vet your idea with your own AI. My oh my! With all that computing power at your disposal, you failed to take the proper steps before proclaiming the righteous glory of your suggestion, right? You didn¡¯t ask the algorithms to cycle through the possibilities, the alternate paths, and assess the risk in this narrative.¡±


    Edgar was unusually silent, and she knew this confirmed her leverage.


    ¡°Okay, we have the picture now. You come up with this stellar idea, unaided by your golden shithouse data systems. Then you¡¯re so anxious to prove you¡¯re creatively superior to everyone, especially me and my ¡®estrogen¡¯ team, as you state, that you fail to run it past your predictive models. Oh, ha ha ha,¡± she taunted.


    ¡°You fucking don¡¯t get it, do you?¡± he snorted.


    She loved this banter. ¡°Upset, buddy? A tail of snot just shot from your nose, dude, telling me your anxiety juices are working overtime. Oh, I get it indeed, down to the last detail. You were so proud of your little achievement that you exposed it to the world. To Ron and the ministers. Ass-bared. And now, now you¡¯re beginning to see that the other domains and nation-states are taking your idea a bit too seriously. Now you¡¯re concerned you might have created a real imbalance, that Eddie-buddy-boy went too far this time. That you opened your fat mouth and bragged about something that may never be possible, and that¡¯s got both our enemies and friends all riled-up.¡±


    Edgar was hissing audibly through his teeth. She was getting to him.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve seen the comms. That¡¯s my job! Now they¡¯re all engaged. They¡¯re aggravating and sniping at each other and us. Worse yet, you have no way out. You failed my boy, you failed to do what a domain CIO is supposed to do. You forgot to use your AI¡¯s predictive abilities to make a prediction about advanced predictive capabilities! That¡¯s just hilarious! And now poor, baby Eddie needs my help.¡±


    She laughed aloud at her play on words. ¡°Christ, if I had known this is the reason you came to my end of the compound, I¡¯d have let you into my office immediately. Damn, too bad we didn¡¯t do this in front of my entire hormonal team!¡± she screeched, pounding her desk with joy.


    ¡°Oh, you think you¡¯re clean, missy? Your own comms models should have predicted this, but they didn¡¯t. Not my issue. They failed. You failed. And you know, you¡¯re the checker of last resort. You run comms for the whole fucking domain. You are supposed to double-check everything. If your incompetent sows over there had any talent, they would have caught the first whiff of overexposure. Of excessive reactionary comms. But you and they didn¡¯t. You failed big time.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit. We responded when we first saw them.¡±


    ¡°That was what? Twelve hours ago? My AI tells me you should have alarmed us a few hours after our meeting with Ron. That was well enough time, and you had ample evidence of overreaction across the globe. You guys just sat on your bovine asses.¡±


    He raised his chin with a smirk. ¡°Maybe too much time talking about boys. Or girls. Or sex with animals. Hell, or hybrids. Whatever you piglets do to palpate your underdeveloped genitalia when you should be on the job.¡±


    Sara took a slow breath and rolled her fingers on the desk. She stopped immediately, knowing Edgar¡¯s AI would pick that up and conclude she was pondering the truth in his statement.


    ¡°Thank God,¡± she thought. ¡°At least I have no mind-reading or monitoring tech directly in my office. At least he can¡¯t really know what I¡¯m thinking. He can only predict.¡±


    She stared at the camera that peered directly into her office, then turned her back to it. Beyond what his own eyes saw, she wanted to expose no other facial or body expressions that would alert Edgar¡¯s AI, be interpreted, and allow him to have a superior position.


    ¡°Oh, I have no doubt Ron will kick both our asses,¡± she confirmed. ¡°But I was just doing my job. Executing with excellence, as usual.¡±


    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t. Did you listen to me, or are you that stupid? You and your team were slow.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off! It was your bad idea. Never vetted. Never evaluated. Maybe your fragile, exhausted AI was taking a much-needed day off?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not getting anywhere,¡± Edgar conceded. ¡°Let¡¯s agree to this, though. We are both in deep shit if these global reactions continue to escalate. We need a plan. We need to keep Ron out of the spotlight, or at least we should take advantage of him being in the spotlight. What about your ¡®with Ron, any attention is good attention¡¯ motto?¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Then I suggest you and your team do whatever it takes to make this ¡®good attention¡¯ for Ron. Right now, he¡¯s getting heat.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m sure you know where he is right now, as do I. He¡¯s getting his sensual pleasures maxed in his secure bungalow upstairs. Right now, he¡¯s not being bothered, even by Imp. You and I both understand his repulsive proclivities and indulgences, and he¡¯s in the middle of another long episode of ecstatic, orgasmic playtime. The constant teat at which he suckles.¡±


    ¡°All the better to give you the time to develop your plan, my dear,¡± he smiled viciously.


    She closed her eyes and rubbed her chin. ¡°We¡¯re straight, then. Your bad idea. Your nonexistent vetting. My excellent execution. Market meltdown in early stages. You, the incapable one, have no further responsibilities. ¡®We need a plan¡¯ is bullshit. This is all on me to clean up. All on me and my team of sows to pull your microscopic gonads from the muck and mire. I love that. And what is your role, if any? What do I get if I pull those tiny, useless sacs of yours out of this hell pit?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Oh, my dear, you get my undying gratitude. Now, we may not get along so well, although that¡¯s typical among this dunghill of deviants he calls ¡®ministers,¡¯ but I do provide proper payback, whether good or bad. If you need my help, just whistle.¡±


    Sara was staring at the floor. ¡°I think we¡¯re done here,¡± she stated flatly, not wanting to provide the courtesy of looking at him as he rose from his chair.


    ¡°Keep me apprised, missy,¡± he chuckled as he opened her office door.


    ¡°Go fondle yourself, buddy; it¡¯s the only thing you¡¯re good at doing without consulting the AI that controls you,¡± she countered.

 EP. 85 - ARRANGEMENTS

    SARA SLAMMED THE CONFERENCE room door after she entered, angry that she had to cover for Edgar¡¯s missteps.


    ¡°Team, apologies for the delay. Before we go any further, someone please summarize the current status of global comms on this issue.¡±


    The conference room was large, too large for the eight team members who sat a few chairs apart from each other, most busily typing away on their keypads. As with Sara, Ron insisted that none of her team could be fitted with a Vistachit, so they suffered the inconvenience of using the decades-old keyboard tech.


    Rasha rose from her chair and clicked on her tablet. ¡°If I may, I¡¯ll cover the larger regional reactions first, then those from the continent.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Sara agreed. ¡°Start with Southern first. They¡¯re always the troublemakers and no doubt will be the progenitors of our pain. And what is this I hear about some ¡®vivid proof of life beyond death¡¯ bullshit? Where¡¯s that coming from?¡±


    ¡°We suspect Southern is behind it. A brand-new narrative, one we believe was designed to disrupt or even deplete the ranks of our strong religious cohorts.¡±


    ¡°Deplete?¡± Sara repeated in disbelief.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How are they disseminating the message?¡±


    ¡°This story has spread widely across the religious cohorts, and not just the evangelicals. Spreads in a very devious way, even devious for Southern. Rather than using typical media channels, they rely on real people, individuals, who attend the various religious meetings. These proselytizers either claim or infer that distinct proof has been found of life beyond death. A life of heaven and joy just as described in their scriptures.¡±


    ¡°Nothing new there,¡± Sara observed.


    ¡°One minor issue, however. You must die first. But there¡¯s a certain way to die, like a defined process to get you on the glorious road to heaven. No willy-nilly hitchhiking your way. More like renting a car to get there. Shit like that.¡±


    Sara was visibly pissed. ¡°Fuckers! So, they avoided our usual means of scraping the net and other monitoring sources by going directly to these groups and spewing this vomit?¡±


    Rasha clicked her pad to expose a photo of a woman at a podium, hand in air and overhead projections behind her. ¡°Yes. All participants in these gatherings are proactively scanned for external devices like cellphones. If they have flesh-integrated components like Vistachits, they aren¡¯t allowed into the meetings at all. Everything is as secretive and discreet as possible, which makes the experience seem especially unique and inviting. They often do it revival style, erecting tents in the middle of nowhere. Then they release an array of scan-bugs to ensure nobody is snooping, which obviously limits the efficacy of Vista¡¯s standard nano monitoring tech. Hard to get inside a tent if they don¡¯t want you there. This photo shows a rough image of one of the Southern plants preaching her monologue of death.¡±


    ¡°Who is she?¡± Alice asked, Sara¡¯s chief editor.


    ¡°A nobody. Not traceable by face rec as a Vista or Westrich citizen. Another red flag. But we have some potential matches from our database of Southern citizens.¡±


    ¡°The fuckers!¡± Sara repeated beneath her breath. ¡°Why the hell didn¡¯t Edgar¡¯s great tech catch this crap going on? It¡¯s not up to our team to scour this kind of localized, cultish insanity.¡±


    ¡°Our source is indeed from our friendlies on Edgar¡¯s team,¡± Rasha confided. ¡°However, it was also based on our own research of unusual suicidal activities along our border with Southern.¡±


    ¡°What the hell?¡± Sara was gritting her teeth. ¡°You mean people have started killing themselves as a result of this horseshit gospel?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s what we believe is happening. We¡¯re working with a few of the more amenable people on Edgar¡¯s team to infiltrate the various religious groups who are at the highest risk of falling prey to the narrative. Not all of them are susceptible, of course. Some sub-cohorts use good old reasoning and rationale to reject outlandish narratives like this.¡±


    ¡°Explain to me what the hell the narrative is, please. What could convince people to off themselves in apparent secrecy, and why is Southern pushing this down the throats of Ron¡¯s strongest cohorts?¡±


    Rasha noticed Sara¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Well,¡± Rasha nodded, ¡°I believe you came to a conclusion just as you uttered those words. This is what we are thinking as well. Southern would love to find a way to weaken Ron¡¯s strongest supporters, the religious cohorts. So many of these groups sprung up after the Debacle. Most continue to base their rhetoric on an assumption that the uber-religious will die soon and be vaulted to the gold-gilded heaven. Meanwhile, all others, and that generally includes the irreligious like ourselves,¡± she smiled, panning the room, ¡°will rot in hell or on Earth, which is increasingly a corollary for hell in their minds.¡±


    ¡°You know how many centuries this fucking ¡®I¡¯m more special than you¡¯ narrative has been used by such power-hungry scum to manipulate the gullible masses?¡± Sara observed in disgust.


    ¡°In fact, many are quite disappointed they haven¡¯t been exalted to the promise land yet. I¡¯m always amazed by the fact that these cohorts purport to be so caring and giving, yet their doctrines are drunk with exclusivity and entitlement, assuming only their believers will experience these optimal eternal outcomes. That overused and abusive narrative seems so in conflict with the teachings of their prophets. That same mantra of selfish entitlement makes them inherently vulnerable to this new narrative.¡±


    Sara knew she needed to get beyond her personal disgust at such dogma.


    ¡°Does Southern seriously think they could infiltrate Ron¡¯s strongest cohorts, convince them with some shoddy testimonials and pseudo-science that people should waste themselves, and there¡¯s some guarantee of eternal grace for them when they do so? Will the idiots never learn?¡±


    Rasha clicked to her next slide. ¡°You can see the numbers showing nearly two thousand in Vista have done the deed in the last thirty days. We¡¯d expect less than a hundred suicides in normal instances. They¡¯re instructing converts to avoid performing their ordained finale en masse to stay under the radar of Westrich¡¯s monitoring tech. This is performed one by one. Very stealthy. Either way, it may not be the deaths that are so corrosive.¡±


    ¡°Dying sounds pretty corrosive, Rasha. What then?¡±


    ¡°The message is corrosive. This cohort, the whole lot of them, are beyond patience, and the message is feeding off that. Think about it. Their anticipated messiah never arrived, but a Great Debacle did decades ago and killed many of them.¡±


    ¡°And I suppose they have some way of determining whether a dead person met a good or bad end? How ignorant! Never mind. I¡¯m just pissed. Go on.¡±


    ¡°Despite the extreme wealth at the top of Westrich¡¯s population, many citizens from this large cohort live in relative poverty. They turn to religion for hope and guidance. They usually don¡¯t partake in anti-aging tech because they¡¯re afraid of living longer lives in anger and destitution. We know from our research they may be Ron¡¯s most loyal group, and some of them could even be considered cultists, but overall, they feel Ron has not delivered effectively on his promises. Nor has Westrich. Nor has the world or their god, for that matter.¡±


    ¡°Nor will anyone ever, unless those prophetic aliens from the obelisk arrive and either help us or fry us,¡± Sara added.


    Rasha continued. ¡°This makes them perfect targets for messianic messages of death and glory. Many of the unemployed and unengaged in Vista, a large part of the population, in other words, spend their time and energies consuming narrative-confirming channels like the ones we substantially influence. They have little sense of self or purpose beyond their religious belief systems and our crafted narratives. This makes them sitting ducks for any message with exciting revelations, promises, and certainty. By and large, we know, these are good people, good citizens, loyal fans of Ron for all the right reasons we convince them to be. But some in the cohort are clearly more susceptible to that pernicious salvation message.¡±


    ¡°Southern. Those fuckers, fuckers, fuckers.¡± Sara motioned for Rasha to sit, but she held up her hand.


    ¡°Not yet. One more item. There¡¯s also FYV, a new group gaining traction in Vista and elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Shit. These new groups seem to extrude from the slime every day. I saw something on these idiots last week. Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Fuck Your Values. They¡¯re a values group. If you can believe it, they appear even more firmly entrenched in a self-righteous vision than our salvation cohorts.¡±


    ¡°I find that hard to believe. Is this FYV group religious or anti-religious?¡±


    ¡°Neither, apparently, not in any real sense. In fact, one of the reasons we have so little data on them is that they seem to be a loose coalition of people arriving at the same conclusions simultaneously. We¡¯ve been monitoring the comms of individuals associated with this group, if you can call it that. Beyond what we capture in occasional emails, texts, or face-to-face meetings, our AIs can¡¯t find any sense of organization or centralization. No heads of state. No fervent leaders we can manhandle. No pulpits or preaching. No holy books, or maybe all holy books. I suppose that¡¯s the same thing.¡±


    ¡°By what possible means could they be a coherent organization if they never organize, hardly ever communicate, and have no doctrine? Damn, if the religious cohorts had this same behavior, they¡¯d be shit-hard for us and the AIs to find.¡±


    Rasha smacked her lips. ¡°You just identified the problems we are having in gathering data about them. We hoped they¡¯d congregate like other cohorts, create consistent narratives, and develop deep complexity and fervor in their belief systems. If they did this, we could infiltrate them, manipulate the narratives, and put into effect our subtle coercion that all good things in the world always begin and end with Ron, just like what we do with the other cohorts. But we see none of this.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Sara was getting angrier. Not at her team, but at Edgar who was likely hiding key information to embarrass them.


    ¡°Then how in the hell do they even have a name? How does a cohort establish itself or exert power without a structure?¡±


    Alice leaned forward. ¡°This conversation frustrates me to no end. How do we know they exist if they don¡¯t have a fixed narrative? What is their narrative?¡±


    ¡°Glad you both asked.¡± Rasha clicked the next slide and referred to the first bullet. ¡°There¡¯s not much to say about them, which is one of our problems with controlling them. See the first bullet? The one that says, ¡®Humanity is doomed due to the lack of even a single agreed-upon ethic or wish to extend its race into the future.¡¯¡±


    ¡°I get it. This is one of our racist cohorts then,¡± Alice offered. ¡°They¡¯re usually highly volatile but definitely controllable.¡±


    ¡°Different meaning. The word ¡®race¡¯ in this instance refers to humans. The human race,¡± Rasha added.


    Alice shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ¡°They¡¯re against hybrids? Between the augmented and nons, we already have scores of sub-cohorts who hate each other. We do a ton of work to keep that anger and energy high and well-directed, as long as it benefits Ron and our RQ numbers.¡±


    ¡°No evidence of any racism,¡± Rasha replied. ¡°Here are the challenges. You can¡¯t find them. Their simple belief system is one that seems to befall humans or hybrids naturally. It¡¯s not apparently influenced by outside factors like religions, belief in obelisk-related aliens, or hatreds and biases around politicians, hybrids, gun rights, or anything else. They possess none of the typical attributes that bind people together and allow them to be controlled and managed by our approved narratives.¡±


    ¡°Every cohort has narratives,¡± Alice observed.


    Rasha continued. ¡°We believe individuals fall to this conclusion of their own accord, as if something is whispering into their minds during sleep. In the few conversations we¡¯ve captured between such converts, we find no secret encryptions, no mind control, and worse yet, no underlying devious or controlling intentions. No consistent dogma. As odd as it sounds, the FYV belief system appears to be an outcome of one¡¯s own experiences and logic.¡±


    Sara sighed loudly. ¡°Shit. Could be dangerous if we can¡¯t control the narratives. You think some new tech is being pushed into their minds? Maybe Southern has advanced their capabilities and can get past the normal mind control crap Edgar and team are always injecting into the ¡®mentalsphere,¡¯ as he calls it. Regardless, without anything solid to work from, I don¡¯t see how this group presents a risk. They don¡¯t look like a malleable cohort to me. How could they be corrosive to Ron¡¯s position or to Westrich?¡±


    Rasha stared blankly at the table, and her long, black hair fell forward.


    ¡°Rasha?¡± Sara asked, surprised by her delayed response.


    ¡°I listen to my gut, Sara. You know we all do the same. We aren¡¯t given Vistachits for that specific reason, to safeguard against groupthink or falling prey to excessive data exposure and analysis overload. Even our own propaganda must be filtered away from us, lest we get lost in it and start believing our own bullshit. My gut tells me this is something larger than a narrative or belief system. How do you explain the growing numbers of humans and hybrids falling to the same simple conclusion?¡±


    ¡°What conclusion is that? I didn¡¯t hear a conclusion,¡± Sara demanded.


    ¡°The conclusion that humanity is unable to agree on a single thing. That we can¡¯t even agree to get along at the most basic level. That we are unable to define a mutual desire to extend humanity in its various hybridizations into the future. I don¡¯t think about the topic personally since it seems a waste of effort, and I doubt anyone on this team ever does. But some in the Vista hinterlands and elsewhere are apparently coming to that conclusion, independent of external influences.¡±


    Sara was frustrated that she let her team spend so much valuable time on an ethereal topic.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see a minority of fucking good-intentioners, even if they¡¯re not motivated by some godhead or disciple or ancient gospel, presenting any risk to Ron or Vista. We know how this shit works. People of like minds eventually congregate together. When they do, they build upon their narratives. They create a firm set of mental constructs and belief systems. When that happens, we and our systems infiltrate them and use our AI and the common sense and talent in this room to control their narratives and therefore their behavior.¡±


    ¡°Here, here,¡± Alice applauded.


    ¡°Our actions mitigate consequential risks to our way of life and ensure Ron remains in perennial control of Vista. We want Ron loved or hated by all on either side of the coins denominated and dominated solely by him and managed by us. If this FYV group has no leadership, no defined purpose, no regular comms, and can¡¯t be coalesced in any way, then it¡¯s pansied idiots. Reminds me of ¡®I¡¯ll pray for you¡¯ do-gooders. These people think and think and think, or pray and pray and pray, but they never act. They assume their thinking or praying is action enough, and their god will do the work for them. Just hilarious. No, this FYV group is relatively low risk, in my opinion. Not even a sub-cohort. Only self-indulgent sissy-asses.¡±


    Sara¡¯s argument was strong, and the team around the table nodded their heads in agreement.


    Sasha concluded. ¡°Last point on the topic. We found someone who admits association with this loose coalition, if I can call it that. He¡¯s willing to discuss.¡±


    Sara bolted backward in her chair. She thought the topic was over and they could move on to the day¡¯s challenge.


    ¡°What? What good would that do?¡±


    ¡°It might provide firsthand knowledge of a growing cohort that doesn¡¯t quite have their act together yet. Maybe it¡¯s a group who could be equally as powerful for Ron as our other fervent-believer cohorts. You know, we could promise progress toward achieving their goal. Provide the ¡®isn¡¯t he wonderful¡¯ narrative about Ron being a great ambassador to the world, wanting everyone to just get along and agree with his positive vision for humanity.¡±


    They all laughed heartily at her suggestion.


    Sara pursed her lips. ¡°And who is this messiah of good tidings?¡±


    ¡°Some guy in the Santa Fe area. A martial arts instructor. He said he fears nothing. Not death. Not life. Not torture. Not humans. Not politicians. Not tech. Hate to say it, but he mentioned Ron in there as well. What an odd but gutsy bird!¡±


    Sara was intrigued by this description. ¡°Huh! Sounds like a character. Not even afraid of Ron and all the power at his command. Geez, now I¡¯d like to meet that guy. He must have balls the size of ostrich eggs. Hey.¡± She looked around the room at her team. ¡°You know I¡¯m heading out tomorrow to see my sick sister. Rasha, set something up with this fearless son of a bitch for my return trip. I¡¯ll stop by Santa Fe and demand a meeting with master ostrich balls.¡±


    ***


    Sara pounded the table. ¡°We got off-track on that shit. Let¡¯s get cracking on the response to this situation Edgar¡¯s gotten us into with his superb little idea. I need our team to brainstorm and develop an answer immediately. Rasha, what¡¯s happening in Southern?¡±


    ¡°I thought you might want the global picture first, but I¡¯m glad to start closer to home. We¡¯re seeing the usual saber-rattling from those assholes. They¡¯re pressing harder on the territorial claims in Colorado, taunting that if our new capabilities are so good at predicting intentions, then when will their troops attack the Springs? As expected, Luis has been pushing his five-star general bullshit with Ron, trying to get his mech¡¯d army out on the border to flaunt his power and start a war.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so over this relentless crap with Southern assholes. We need to burn a hole in the ground there. Maybe what¡¯s left of Florida that¡¯s not underwater. One tactical nuke might get their attention. Okay, so we know they¡¯re worked-up over this claim of one hundred percent accuracy on prescience and predictability. What else you got on the other regions?¡±


    ¡°The Soviet state has said little, which is typical. No doubt they¡¯re doing all they can to verify this capability. Edgar¡¯s team thinks they have complete tabs on what¡¯s truly happening given the spies and other monitoring resources Westrich has deployed there. Honestly, they¡¯re so busy with their own financial fuckups and wrestling the independent Euro states, I doubt they¡¯ll take much notice beyond their typical propaganda social media bullshit. Ditto for Zhonghua. They can barely manage the territory they now control across Asia. It¡¯s like herding cats, we know, and most of those cats take real exception to their control, even considering Zhonghua¡¯s uber-advanced, militant social discipline. No doubt they already assessed the impossibility of our claim and are having a good laugh at it.¡±


    ¡°Canada? The African states?¡±


    ¡°Similar. Anemic Westrich spouting another overstated claim. Hell, it¡¯s far from the first time we¡¯ve announced something outrageous. The only ones making hay right now are Southern and Bolivar, given proximity and historical animosities. Anyone who hates Ron, hates Westrich, or has long borders with us is going to ride this for all they can.¡±


    ¡°What has Bolivar ever done for us? Is someone down there I can go spank with their pants down? They¡¯re so fucking destitute and bad, bad, bad at controlling their narratives. What a cluster-fuck!¡±


    Alice raised her hand. ¡°Understood, but they have a lot more wealth and resources than we do. They¡¯re well-organized. I mean, shit, once the U.S. split up . . .¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go there,¡± Sara demanded.


    Alice continued anyway. ¡°I was leading with the idea to propose we kill two birds with one stone. We can establish narratives that get Southern and Bolivar to pay attention to each other and deflect their energies away from us. How long since they repaired the disagreement over the Caribbean borders? Seven years? And it¡¯s been relatively quiet on that issue, right? Why don¡¯t we throw some gasoline on the cold, smoldering ashes and heat things up with stories about Southern making another play at acquiring the islands, especially Dominica?¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Sara responded. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Alice continued. ¡°I see deep fakes helping matters, like secret agreements between Caribbean leaders and Southern. The Carib is not happy with Bolivar, as we know, and they want a new alignment with the wealthier Southern nation. Hell, we have multiple ideas on how to light a match on that baby. Like Southern using AI-invasive pain techniques to torture political prisoners from Bolivar. We could message that they are introducing additional geedee tech in the gulf to annihilate Bolivar¡¯s regional fishing stocks. A long list of potential sins we can pull from the hat.¡±


    ¡°I like that. I like that!¡± Sara rose from her chair. ¡°But we still haven¡¯t covered Nemerica. What are we doing with those slugs to our east?¡±


    Rasha chimed in. ¡°Ron¡¯s apparently been in direct contact with his sister. Thank God for her oligarch position. Imp informed us not to focus on them until we¡¯re told to do so. Besides, we have no current quarrels with that nation-state, right?¡±


    Sara took a deep breath. She was uncomfortable with the relationship between Ron and his sister. Her extensive wealth and influence in Nemerica was the only reason Ron remained the sole demagogue in Vista, given that his incompetence and self-aggrandizing behavior were excessive, even for his caste. Some of his sister¡¯s promises had gone undelivered in the past, and her information on global matters was occasionally misleading.


    ¡°Perhaps he¡¯s already hinted to her that it was an overstatement, that we don¡¯t really have better predictive tech than any other pieces-of-shit AI on the planet,¡± Sara speculated. ¡°That would go a long way toward quelling any issues with our most powerful ally and potential enemy.¡±


    Sasha nodded. ¡°Got it. For hip pocket purposes, we¡¯ll have multiple plans ready for you in the event of a Nemerica misstep.¡±


    ¡°Great, great. You¡¯re the best, team. Now, get your asses in gear and work your stories, your cohorts, and your channels. Keep me apprised.¡±


    She held her hand up to pause the team from standing too quickly.


    ¡°I assume each of you regularly read through our Demagogue¡¯s Checklist to ensure we¡¯re in full compliance, right? Hey, it¡¯s not like the checklist was Ron¡¯s idea. It¡¯s our idea, this team¡¯s, and it remains a stellar character roadmap for using his narcissism to effectively advance our narratives. Make sure, as usual, to follow its guidance and don¡¯t go overboard. He may indeed be well beyond sanity, but who¡¯s to judge? We love him for those gnarly characteristics. So much to work with there, and none of us are his psychiatrists. Besides, our job isn¡¯t to analyze him. It¡¯s to embellish and amplify his personality to our cohorts. To enrich him. To strengthen his grip on their minds. To keep that RQ number in range and be sure he¡¯s not underexposed or overexposed. And we¡¯re fucking awesome at that!¡±


    The team began to adjourn, but she continued. ¡°I¡¯ll not see you for three days while traveling. I promised my sick sister I¡¯d be fully engaged with her for a twenty-four-hour period. During that time, I¡¯m out-of-pocket. No calls. No visits inside her home, even from my bodyguards. The only thing I¡¯ll respond to is a direct request from Ron. Rasha, you have the helm while I¡¯m away.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Sorry to leave you at this busy and exciting time, but is there ever a good time? My sister is on her remaining breaths, and I need to give her one more stretch of Sara, uninterrupted. Rasha, on the way home. New Mexico. I can hardly wait to experience this Santa Fe buddha.¡±


    Rasha nodded in acknowledgement.

 EP. 86 - LEVERAGE

    ¡°SIS,¡± THE GAUNT WOMAN pleaded. ¡°You¡¯re biting your lip again. It tells me your nervous.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Beck. I have a ton of pressure from work right now, and it shows in odd ways.¡±


    ¡°But you have non-stop pressure, Sara. Ever since I¡¯ve known my sister, she felt the need to pressure herself. Achieve, achieve, achieve. And now you are firmly planted on this masterpiece of tainted canvas, even painting some part of it yourself. I¡¯m just hoping you didn¡¯t come here only to confirm your suspicions about my belief systems, my secretive sects, or what do you call it? Cohorts?¡±


    Sara shook her head and grinned. ¡°Just a marketing term, hon. Cohorts are my many audiences. Nothing serious.¡±


    Becky sat feet-up on her tattered leather sofa. She was covered to her shoulders in a thick, blue and white patchwork comforter their mom had made years earlier. There was a moment of silence between the two, a rare moment when neither was supporting the other, neither was feeding or teasing the other. They both understood why.


    Becky withdrew her arms from beneath the comforter and pulled her long, gray-brown hair out and away from her neck. Her once-proud, high cheekbones jutted out even more than Sara remembered, now that she lost so much weight.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to stop communicating with me the way we always have,¡± Becky requested, ¡°just because I¡¯m sick.¡±


    Sara felt the anger welling up and had to swallow hard to suppress the lump in her throat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it, honestly. I never will. You know this disease is solvable. You could live a long and happy life. You don¡¯t need to go through this suffering to prove the point that you¡¯re right about things or a good trooper who is loyal to your beliefs. Being right means nothing when your dead. Dead only means dead, the end of all things.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re wrong, of course. I don¡¯t see death as an end. Maybe an end of me as a separate being, but not an end to all. I believe in a God that pervades all things. Time. Space. Experience. Planets. Neutrinos. Consciousness. Belief systems. Even your beloved demagogue.¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Sara leaned forward in her chair, ¡°I¡¯m not putting down your ¡®belief system,¡¯ as you say. You could be Christian or Buddhist or atheist or whatever the cult of the day is anymore. It just doesn¡¯t make sense that if we have a cure, and if the cure is available to you, you wouldn¡¯t take advantage of that.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve spoken about this before.¡±


    ¡°About a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re biting your lip again,¡± Becky laughed as she snuggled back under her comforter.


    ¡°But really, can¡¯t you at least turn the heat up in this place? It¡¯s too cold in the Pacific Northwest this time of year. No, it¡¯s too cold every time of year. Hard to believe you¡¯ve survived like this. How many years of going without decent heat or Internet? This can¡¯t be helping your condition, and maybe it has weakened you to the point to where your body was unable to resist this cancer.¡±


    Becky lifted her teacup and took a sip. ¡°I get enough power from solar.¡±


    ¡°In this endless cloudscape? Hard to believe.¡±


    ¡°And if I run low, I do without. Like now. It¡¯s temporary.¡±


    ¡°Electrical generation is almost all carbon neutral these days, so what¡¯s the diff? I don¡¯t understand how we could be sisters who were similar in so many ways, and where and how we diverged. It must have been that aberrant ex-husband of yours.¡±


    ¡°Okay. You know the rule. Please keep that whiny, cheating, self-absorbed bastard out of the conversation.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, hon.¡± Sara¡¯s head dropped. ¡°I can¡¯t say it¡¯s right for me, but this whole anti-tech movement seems entirely antithetical to human achievement.¡±


    Becky laughed. ¡°Oh, God, Sara. There¡¯s so much to unwrap in what you said, I don¡¯t know where to start.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon. You guys want to unravel what humanity has created, as if our discoveries and advancements never existed.¡±


    ¡°Dear Sis. This indoor temp. It¡¯s a little discomfort. Comes and goes. Everything comes and goes. If we parted in any way after our teen years, it was from me realizing a few things.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve talked before. I don¡¯t care about discomfort. It¡¯s a passing thing. Do I need to run an indoor heater to stay warm, just so more carbon can be pushed into the atmosphere to melt the dwindling ice at the poles?¡±


    ¡°Oh, boy. I shouldn¡¯t have gone there,¡± Sara frowned.


    Indeed, she had heard this before. However, she was willing to hear it again since it might be the last time to enjoy this narrative from her sister. Besides, the conversation added to her understanding of societal differences, and that more comprehensive perspective might lead to better control of narratives within her sister¡¯s cohort.


    ¡°We fucked the future with climate change. Can you deny that?¡±


    ¡°Nope. Never have. Nobody can say the shorelines haven¡¯t changed. Just look at a map.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, see that globe there on the credenza?¡±


    ¡°Yeah? What about it?¡±


    ¡°See the shorelines?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°A group of my friends and I were watching videos the other day from one of Vista¡¯s favored channels, one surely controlled by your pal Ron and his dodgy capitalist oligarchs. It was a piece on how the shorelines really haven¡¯t changed, that this last fifty years of polar ice cap melting was no different than in previous times. It claimed that geologic evidence of shoreline changes in the last few thousand years showed similar warming and freezing processes, and this is just a part of the normal cycle of the Earth. Nobody¡¯s fault but Earth¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Becky. Seriously. We run stuff like that all the time. It¡¯s nothing new. Certain groups believe what they want to believe, what they¡¯re predestined or told to believe. I mean, ninety-five percent of citizens are so gullible, and I hate to say it, but they¡¯re butt-ugly stupid. All you do is repeat the same message time and again. Not only will they grow to believe it, they¡¯ll become active proponents and sell the narrative to others.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s wrong, you know. It¡¯s lies. Propaganda. Decades of deceit and confusion. Anyone with half a brain would know they are being controlled by the AI algorithms, nudged little by little into their habit-forming rabbit holes, consuming content that compels them to watch more and more. Like giving a visual equivalent of crack cocaine to your addicted viewers, your goal is to garner eyeballs and whatever their equivalents are for those with a Vistachit. Why?¡±


    She stopped, noticing that Sara¡¯s eyes were beginning to glaze over.


    ¡°Why?¡± Sara asked. ¡°I think we know.¡±


    ¡°Because you need them to buy what you¡¯re selling. Sometimes it¡¯s advertisers and products, but in many cases, they are purchasing Ron. Problem is, though, that most people don¡¯t use even half their brains. They can¡¯t curate what is sponged into their gray matter because you feed them so much belief-confirming crap. Your AI¡¯s sole purpose is to render them helpless and unable to decide for themselves. I assume you have a big hand in these stories and that you are the master curator of the trash spewed constantly into the minds of Vista¡¯s citizens.¡±


    ¡°Seriously! We all possess an invisible nose ring for others to manipulate, Dearie, and every story or headline or blurb from any source is a tug, whether we choose to believe so or not. Besides, you give me too much credit. I¡¯m not that good, and I don¡¯t keep track of every story my team runs for Vista. Some of it is mandated by the powers that be in Westrich, as I have no control over state-run narratives. Besides, for the companies who own these media channels, they can choose to run what they want most of the time. Ron doesn¡¯t dictate everything.¡±


    ¡°Sara! That¡¯s a lie you¡¯ve become adept at telling yourself. They¡¯re under the same set of controls everyone else in Westrich is under. For that sake, everyone else in the world. Their minds, the dialogues they tell themselves, are controlled by the wealthy and powerful oligarchs. Ron or friends of Ron. Ron and his trillionaire buddies. Ron and his extended families of riffraff. Ron or apparent enemies of Ron. So many aberrant, amoral abominations like Ron.¡±


    Sara raised her hand. ¡°What? What do you mean apparent enemies?¡±


    ¡°God, sister. Do you believe your ¡®butt-ugly¡¯ ninety-five percent are that naive? Do you think they don¡¯t see how things have radically changed since the Debacle? Ron¡¯s enemies are manufactured. They¡¯re created, or at least embellished, by his AI to make it appear he has enemies. With them blasting at his ass, he can play the victim card, which is the always the first and second cards he plays. We must pity him. We must empathize with him. We must support him and feel like we belong on his team, despite his reprehensible remarks, criticisms, and actions. Despite his corrupt and insane ways. Only an idiot wouldn¡¯t know that truth. We¡¯ve heard the stories so repeatedly, they¡¯re not only predictable now, they¡¯re boring.¡±


    Sara scanned the room. This old farmhouse, an hour southwest of Eugene, was likely safe. She was certain it would be considered a nominal risk by the state, a dwelling whose occupants didn¡¯t require constant surveillance. Birds. Insects. Drones. Tiny machines with light-sensing or heat-sensing cameras. Micro-lenses, microphones, and recorders everywhere, feeding findings into various databases of the controlling AI monsters. Edgar¡¯s monsters. But she detected none of it here, even though she suspected Ron or Edgar would have had good rationale to follow her.


    She felt compelled to warn her sister, despite that fact that Becky was not long for the world.


    ¡°You know, Sis, this kind of speculative innuendo is not good for anyone. You can lose credits in the system. If your commentaries or discussions go too far, folks can show up at your door that you don¡¯t want to show up.¡±


    ¡°Fuck the folks!¡± she declared. ¡°I¡¯ve never been afraid of saying what I felt. Never been afraid of an oligarch¡¯s vengeance.¡±


    ¡°I know that. I just don¡¯t want you to get into trouble, given the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Ron and his AI systems could care less about me. Who am I but your sister? A dying, middle-aged woman who spent most of her life doing all she could to live life in the original sense. This implicitly meant extracting myself from virtually all forms of tech. Virulent, corrupting, insidious tech that spews forth nothing but advertisements for products or apostacies to make me believe differently than my own common sense.¡±


    Sara shook her head in disbelief. ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯re not that bad.¡±


    ¡°I have seen so much violence and hatred spewed mercilessly on video, whether news or entertainment. So much consumed before my eyes that amplified negativity, imbalances, biases, fears, anger. And violence against women? What channel can you watch for fifteen minutes without reference to a violent act on women, or hybrids, or minorities?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s what people choose to consume. You can¡¯t blame me for feeding them the violence or bias-confirming foods they desire. They hunger for it, and I spoon it in. Besides, you live your life like a old-time farm girl. Look at you. With my connections, you could be wealthy and enjoying life like me. You know I¡¯d always help you if you needed anything, and I have ready access to everything pleasurable in life.¡±


    ¡°This is where I can¡¯t understand why you don¡¯t understand. Don¡¯t you see? Life is not about avoiding pain. It¡¯s not about the orgasmic jolt of gaining stuff like possessions, power, self-importance, ego, wealth. It¡¯s not about always getting a one-up on your latest self-perceived enemy. Once you do, the enemies always change.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s part of my fun, Dearie. I like the challenge of it.¡±


    ¡°No, Sara. You aren¡¯t getting it, and you never will. You do these things because of your ego, to prop up a fragile, yearning, and fearful sense of self. Fearful you¡¯d become useless if you were to drop out, now that you¡¯re at the top of the game. I doubt you even get time to enjoy those creature comforts you work so tirelessly for.¡±


    ¡°Eventually I will, when I¡¯m less busy. Nothing wrong with that.¡±


    ¡°Everything wrong with that,¡± Becky lamented, taking another sip. ¡°Not to pick on you, but you and the others like you are experts at rationalizing away everything you harm along your path of destruction.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°You excuse your actions by reiterating imagined proofs that there¡¯s a greater good behind it all.¡±


    ¡°Like, what proofs?¡±


    Becky sighed loudly. The conversation was taking more energy than she could give.


    ¡°Like, all proofs. Look at your boss. Get out of your own skin for a minute and look at him truthfully. He¡¯s a pathetic human or hybrid or AI drone. Whatever. A pathological liar, and I assume you assist him in that effort. He perceives he¡¯s a god, the only one who can lead us to his concept of a fucking nirvana, one where we all take turns at pleasuring and praising him. Yet, has anyone ever informed us about the nirvana we¡¯re supposed to attain by supporting him? He¡¯s a self-absorbed and dangerous man-child, forcing us to worship him. If one courageous person remains alive and does not kiss his fecal ring, it¡¯s proof to his fragile ego that he¡¯s unworthy. So he must continue his narcissistic quest to control everything within his realm. All minds. All energies. All emotions. All focus. All productive efforts. All intentions.¡±


    ¡°Well, our media has been very good about describing what Ron¡¯s doing for us. And, you know, he¡¯s always on the firing line. He has constant pressure from the other Westrich domains, with competitors and enemies internally and externally who constantly grasp at taking him down. He¡¯s got that freaking Westrich senate and house crap left over from the reformed constitution. They put undue pressure on him, much less the heat he gets from the laughable, piece-of-shit judicial branch. And crap, he¡¯s got the longest border of any domain in the world! It swings all the way up here from Texas. Imagine trying to monitor and guard that border when you control the poorest of domains!¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, he has issues. Victimization issues, certainly. Poor Ron, so much on his shoulders. I¡¯ll bet the bastard sits and watches his vidscreens all day to ensure he¡¯s being adequately loved. He or his AI consume the trash spewed on those screens, vomited-out by his wealthy compadres who own the media and your team who pukes narratives to them as well. Am I right?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re simplifying.¡±


    ¡°Nonetheless. For you personally, you¡¯re rationalizing everything in your own context. You are his enabler as well as the other oligarchs and tycoons who support him. This same dynamic is true for Ron and the other oligarchs in Westrich or the world, for that matter, a world that is rapidly deteriorating. Like drug dealers needing their supply and support infrastructures, all oligarchs need enablers. Little profiteers and beggars around them who carry out their orders, who bow to them as if they¡¯re ordained by God to carry out their righteous mission for humanity.¡±


    Sara shook her head in disagreement. ¡°Not a hundred percent correct, Beck. His main mission is to protect us; to keep us safe. That job is embedded in the reformed constitution and isn¡¯t his idea or mine. It was decided after the Debacle, after too many years of death and disarray. It¡¯s not my fault this is the way things are.¡±


    ¡°As if things are what they are and are therefore unchangeable.¡±


    Sara ignored the inference. ¡°And look, I don¡¯t rationalize. I know exactly what my team is doing, and we¡¯re doing the best we can under the circumstances. Do you know how many viral and other genetic tech threats he stops every year? Do you know how difficult it is to seal a border that long and porous? What about all those cross-border commercial flights for business? Just think of the economic damage from the Spanish flu or Coronavirus outbreaks, and those were natural.¡±


    ¡°Rationalizations for bad behavior.¡±


    ¡°Then there are the ones that followed, including the Debacle pestilence. And now we have basement brewers creating this virulent crap nonstop. We have AI growing sentient and powerful. Add to that religious sects and cults and secret shit extremists and armed militias throughout the territory, all fueled by their social media and AIs. I¡¯m amazed he does so well for Westrich. Yet, everyone treats him and his team so poorly.¡±


    Becky stared at Sara, grinning.


    ¡°What? Do I have something in my teeth?¡± Sara asked, poking her fingernail into her front incisor.


    ¡°No, no pieces of spinach,¡± she chortled. ¡°You just reminded me of Mom when you said that. Look, I¡¯m not blaming you. You have your important job at the top of this autocracy and peak of societal significance, whatever that is anymore. I know you can¡¯t possibly separate yourself from your self-image. You speak these things aloud because you have an unsolvable, irrational contradiction rolling around constantly in your psyche. A continuous battle. Left hemisphere versus right. Decency versus indecency. Truth versus anti-truth. Good versus evil. Control versus disarray. Order versus entropy. I could go on.¡±


    ¡°Go on, then.¡±


    ¡°As your sister, one who can now be less cautious about what she says, I must say the things I¡¯ve held back as I watched you change.¡±


    Sara was puzzled. ¡°What do you mean? You¡¯ve always told me what you thought.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no I haven¡¯t.¡± Becky shook her head. ¡°I allowed you the deference of being the alpha dog. ¡®A Number One.¡¯ Older sister. Got all the attention. Demanded all the attention.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t handle the birth order argument right now . . .¡±


    ¡°Regardless. We have brains that rationalize why we do or don¡¯t do things, right? I rationalize why I won¡¯t add more carbon to the atmosphere. Or why I rebel against tech, or constant media lies, or attempts to incite and elicit my emotion to hate someone or buy something or love an aberrant, corrosive demagogue. Or why I won¡¯t seek treatment. It¡¯s all rationalization. Belief systems.¡±


    ¡°And my belief system is somehow less perfect?¡±


    ¡°No. There¡¯s no measure of perfection when it comes to rationalization. But, dear sister, you¡¯re on the deep end of rationalizing what you do and your role in it. How you enabled this degradation of humanity. You rationalized, knowing it¡¯s all wrong, that it is inherently wrong, even evil at times and maybe most of the time. You rationalized because it was confusing. Some of what Ron and his oligarch cronies do is indeed beneficial. They control systems that help people get fed, enable commerce, keep them relatively safe from genetic attacks. Such things confuse the neuron pathways.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± Sara confirmed. ¡°I¡¯m always creating narratives around that. Nobody could deny Ron and others like his industrialists and government agencies are engaged and working for the common good. They wouldn¡¯t be doing their job, otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Right. But one little thing. A missed point. The human mind is incapable of comprehending dichotomies.¡±


    ¡°Why say that?¡±


    ¡°Confusing dichotomies, like how Ron could be helpful and beneficial in a handful of instances, but viciously evil in many more, all in one packaged persona. As if the few things he does right excuse the horrors he otherwise unleashes. As if the comments he makes about what a great job he¡¯s doing are adequate consolation to those he damages.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see him as evil, at least not very often. He¡¯s immoral, perhaps, or amoral is probably a better term for it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t help you understand this, but I¡¯ll say it anyway. Nobody is superior to me. Nobody. No human. No mech demigod. No autocratic demagogue. No tyrant. No hybrid. No child. No preacher. No packaged persona. Nothing. Yet, on the flip side, none is inferior to me.¡±


    ¡°And this matters why?¡±


    ¡°Because so few people in the world believe this way. Most are so accustomed to the deceit, lies, and fusillade of falsehoods with occasional bullets truth. Rhetoric. Bombast. You effectively have tired us out, Sis. Exhausted us. You, your media, your channels. Your constant idolatry of a single, purportedly superior being, or in some cases, a circle of beings. Demigods, demagogues, autocrats, authoritarians, populists, trillionaires, tyrants, tycoons, industrialists, judges, senators.¡±


    ¡°Not everyone is inherently evil.¡±


    ¡°But most in power today are, and we know it. People are overwhelmed and fed up. In their frustration, they look for someone, anyone, who will lie openly to them, ring all the right bells for them, promise all the righteous things they are entitled to but never getting nor willing to pay for. Add two shakes of egregious name calling, victimization, sick humor and self-righteousness to the recipe, and your cohorts eat it up like flies on shit.¡±


    ¡°You just described my job. But there¡¯s nothing wrong. Everyone does it. This is what Ron must do to survive. What we must do.¡±


    ¡°Okay, go ahead and tell me Ron and his cronies don¡¯t actually control it all. Tell me even the most insignificant little Internet rag in the farthest reaches of Vista is not in some way controlled or levered by you guys and your machine, or by your drone equivalents elsewhere in the world.¡±


    ¡°Ow, girl! Comparing me to a drone. That hurts.¡±


    ¡°I love my sister, but I¡¯m telling you what you continue to deny about yourself and the walking abhorrence of human flesh you support. Feel I need to before I leave this place.¡±


    Sara didn¡¯t think she was hurt by this. Her sister was too unaware to understand the complexities. Lack of exposure to the media had probably affected her ability to comprehend the implications of why things were the way they were. She rose from her chair.


    ¡°More tea?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Sure. You mad?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I meant to say, ¡®You mad yet because you might get there if you continue to listen to my parting complaints about the world.¡¯ I suppose you¡¯re my captive audience, for now.¡±


    ¡°Like I¡¯m going to get mad at my little sister. I know why you say these things. I¡¯m generally in touch with the different belief systems and cohorts. It¡¯s part of my purpose in life; my expertise.¡±


    ¡°Cohorts!¡± her sister laughed. ¡°It¡¯s all marketing. Just executing perfectly. Doing your job, I know. Here. Take my cup. There¡¯s more to come.¡±


    ¡°Oh, lucky me.¡± Sara rolled her eyes and headed back into the kitchen.


    ***


    Sara sat down in her chair and stared at the honey slowly evaporating in the bottom of the cup as she stirred the tea.


    Becky continued, feeling like she had not fully communicated her thoughts during what was possibly the last time she¡¯d have the opportunity.


    ¡°I suppose you think me simplistic, but there¡¯s a difference between ¡®simplistic¡¯ and ¡®simple.¡¯ The problem we have here, the problems we have in the world, are all a result of cause and effect from one thing.¡±


    ¡°And that thing is, great sage?¡±


    ¡°Concentration, or maybe better said as just good old leverage. Leverage cooked the goose, killed the cat, fried the tomatoes of humanity.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m don¡¯t understand, but I¡¯m listening. All ears.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go back a bit. Think of early in this century to the first Great Recession, among the multiple others that followed. I won¡¯t go into detail because you know the details. Bank execs had corrosive incentives to jack-up earnings. Their stock grants were forms of leverage intended to enrich them and corrupt the capitalistic system. Even minor bumps to the bottom line enabled major bumps to their personal wealth. So, they became less concerned about managing businesses and more about getting rich.¡±


    Sara smiled. ¡°Nothing wrong with getting rich.¡±


    ¡°Then you had the recessions of the twenties. Government banking systems lowered rates to nothing, even below zero. More crazy lending that drove bad spending and high-risk investment behaviors. Corporate entities bought their own stock, further levering earnings for stock-grant crazed execs. Shares soared again into an enormous bubble. Flagrant money printing caused tremendous devaluations in currencies and ultimately devastating inflation, further pressing the disadvantaged.


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s all history.¡±


    ¡°Who won from the societal messes that followed? Those who already had leverage and real assets. And what did this cause? Further imbalances of wealth in a teetering world. Government overthrows. Growing autocracies and crony governments. Unpayable debts. Plutocrats and populists in control. Further promises of entitlements to people without the means to pay for them or ever realize them. Ultimately, this led to the morass of demagogues, demigods, plutocrats, and technocrats we have today. Nobody is free, only controlled to a slightly lesser or greater degree. Like me, most people sit at the hind-end of the global authoritarian poop shoot. We¡¯re the bacteria barely surviving on the anus of life, consuming the digested table scraps before being unceremoniously discarded.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were such an avid fan of economics.¡±


    ¡°Business degree. Good school.¡±


    ¡°I know. I helped put you through.¡±


    Becky chuckled. ¡°And see what good it has done you. But I digress. The leverage was multi-layered. Look at politics in America. They hung onto a bastardized system of states¡¯ rights, just when states were becoming meaningless and your ¡®cohorts¡¯ were becoming much more important due to the Internet that let people commune virtually. Forget local town criers. In that new medium, they could condensate, boil, and stew relentlessly in their own belief systems, like overcooked vegetables, irrespective of state borders. What happened as a result? Rural states, fueled by anger of these growing imbalances, amplified and entrenched themselves in their unrighteous power to retain a disproportionate quantity of Senators, Reps, and electoral votes.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t have that problem now . . .¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because the demagogues have forever prevented individuals or dissenting voices from holding any power.¡±


    ¡°Not true. There are still mostly two parties, and people can still vote.¡±


    ¡°This ancient, unadaptable political system was super-jacked to excel at providing unfair leverage. Gerrymandering. Denying equal votes to people, especially people of color, and levering the advantage to the few already advantaged. Then, when the opposing team somehow got installed, it was payback time. Bad payback time. Exposing and castrating the sinners of the past. Forever silencing the dissenting voices. Then more fracturing. More leverage by backroom or front-page personalities, and the disturbing cycles of misanthropic leverage began anew, at least until the Debacle.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re overstating how bad the government was at managing things.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t get me going on a court system that considered equivalencies to people. First, it started with corporations having equal rights as humans. Then rights were extended to AIs, which are functionally endless in quantity, all with an equal voice and vote as a person. What foresight in such decisions! Not only did companies have undue power, but now, a tech god could create as many AI¡¯s as possible and lever the hell out of that new voting bloc, creating a designed-in advantage. Fuck the others! It only mattered if you were part of the few on the winning side, the one with all the power. And in the noise of the new order, those voices of humanity, the distant cries of flesh and bone human minds, were trampled asunder.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°I don¡¯t deny much of what you say. The past was not exactly fair to regular people. But I¡¯m unclear how your leverage analogy relates to what we have today.¡±


    ¡°Leverage is so pervasive and embedded, you are unable to see it. It¡¯s the old adage of asking the fish ¡®how¡¯s the water¡¯ and the fish responds, ¡®what is water?¡¯ You have no idea. All you and your team see is a concentric set of circles on a whiteboard representing your cohorts. What partial truth-lies do you tell this cohort? What sappy Ron-the-victim story do you tell another? How do you amplify the anti-Ron, anti-administration messages so this cohort¡¯s biases can be confirmed? So they can get a jolt of endorphins when they just heard a message that hits home with their belief constructs, even though ninety percent of it is falsehoods or innuendos?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re stating that my team is effective, then?¡±


    Becky was on a roll. ¡°You do this, of course, to keep Ron¡¯s face and voice front and center, on everyone¡¯s mind at all times. Hounding them, following them, haunting them. They can¡¯t get away from it. He¡¯s their all. Their god-human. Their godhead. The face that must always be seen. The voice that must always be heard. Ron is the wet dream of media companies on all sides, continually providing those orgasmic advertising and viewing returns. You¡¯re using old strategies that abhorrent yellow journalists used to lever and control their societies, their consumers and viewers, their cohorts. It¡¯s all about advertising, making a buck, empowering and inflating one¡¯s ego, and maintaining control over the media. Leveraged fascism times ten, using an entertaining but always psychotic and unpredictable personality as its deity and figurehead.¡±


    Sara was unmoved by Becky¡¯s arguments.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sensing fascism or leverage in what I do. I¡¯m only seeing that if I wasn¡¯t doing it, a hundred others on my team or elsewhere would gladly step into the role. If you¡¯re complaining I¡¯m on a train that won¡¯t stop, maybe this is true, and some folks will get crushed under the wheels or swept aside as it passes. I can¡¯t control what happens. The inertia and power and direction are what they are. The machine exists, and it takes talented people to grease the wheels and keep it in prime condition. I¡¯m one of those with the grease in my hands, at least for now.¡±


    ¡°Sara,¡± Becky concluded, ¡°you do this willingly, whether you admit it or not.¡±


    ¡°This is not my life¡¯s plan, you know. It¡¯s not that fulfilling, and I doubt I¡¯ll be doing this ten years from now. Body and mind won¡¯t withstand the boredom and pressure.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not here ten years from now to see what¡¯s become of my sister. I won¡¯t see the Sara who has finally come clean. Repented. Stolen her damaged psyche into isolation. Absolved herself from past sins. The Sara who stopped feeding humanity¡¯s doomsday machine just as it hurls itself over the precipice.¡±


    Sara was finally getting perturbed. ¡°Who said it¡¯s doomsday? What Ron asks for, what I and the other ministers give him, is not about doom. We do what we can to help our citizens.¡±


    ¡°You rationalized a vicious cycle. You manufactured truths for your cohorts, uncorrelated to facts. You fed it to them, nonstop. Then you jacked-it-up, amped-it-up, to keep them interested. The more inane and outlandish the story about Ron and his enemies, the better, irrespective of which side of the coin is consuming. The more anger, self-pity, or adoration the story evokes, the better.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, somebody¡¯s got to do it if not me.¡±


    ¡°I see you ministers as hamsters on their wheels. You¡¯re focused on taking yet another bite of the golden, luscious carrot of enhanced self-image that dangles in front of you, not the truth that surrounds you. You¡¯re enmeshed in self-comforting, self-confirming, self-confining information. No truth, just what feels good or elicits strong emotions in the moment. You have no ethics, no common morality, and no common purpose or goal.¡±


    ¡°I fear, dear sister, that your cloistered religious beliefs are peeking out from your words.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t mentioned God once, not in any context. I am saying that your little hamster wheels have no ethical basis. There¡¯s no common agreement among any ministers in any domain in any nation-state. Now, you might say nobody wants to experience another Great Debacle, but even that¡¯s a stretch because nothing was ever formalized for humankind, not even after billions died.¡±


    ¡°We take so much care to ensure the safety and livelihood of our citizens. Within that is an implication that we, the government, care about their well-being. That¡¯s implied. That¡¯s obvious.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Minister of Social Infrastructure? Are you truly listening to what people are saying, or is your attention always pointed upward to meet Ron¡¯s demands? I mean, I hear the guy¡¯s a real piece of work, so being in-touch with your team and the citizens beneath you may be impossible.¡±


    ¡°Look, my team and I get along just fine. They know I care about them.¡±


    ¡°But your job isn¡¯t being fulfilled. You¡¯re supposed to provide Ron with input about the condition of Vista¡¯s citizens. Where their heads are, right?¡±


    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s some of it, along with the communications responsibilities. I do that.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like something different, though. It sounds like you and your team and other ministers spend most of their time serving Ron¡¯s needs. His distorted and disgusting whimsies. His rages and torments. His threats and narcissistic demands. Look, the people I communicate with believe the Earth is in its last days of rotation, at least for humanity. There¡¯s far too much tech, too much risk in tech, and too many people or AIs who have too much capability to annihilate us. All this annihilation tech in so many incapable hands like Ron¡¯s, without any ethical construct for the race. Imagine that. And I¡¯m far from alone in this thought.¡±


    ¡°Why include AIs in this?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bullshit me, Sis. I haven¡¯t met a person yet who wouldn¡¯t bet that AIs are sentient and likely running the whole damn government for Westrich. Maybe they¡¯re running our reign on Earth into the ground on purpose, surreptitiously planning the rapid demise of mankind. That¡¯s no longer a moderately fringe idea.¡±


    ¡°I know about that cohort, but I can¡¯t speak to what sentience is. I¡¯m no expert. I do think, Beck, that you are being influenced too heavily by your anti-tech or religious rhetoric. Maybe you¡¯re involved with these conspiracy-theorist cults, whom I also love. And all you just mentioned about self-confirming info? You may be guilty of that yourself.¡±


    ¡°Hardly. I don¡¯t read much beyond physical books. Classics usually. I¡¯m anti-tech because I am. Met a guy, liked a guy. Had no idea of what a Stoic was. Simply grew up like he did. One day he read a book from Seneca, a Roman Stoic. Then he realized others thought very much like him. I¡¯m no different. I saw. I decided. I sacrificed. Sacrifices turned into significant advantages.¡±


    Sara frowned. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a hermit who wasn¡¯t self-righteous about having found a true inner path, and only he can provide guidance to attain it.¡±


    ¡°Hard for you to relate to this, I understand. True quiet. Living in the moment. Creativity. Writing stuff nobody will ever read. Calm. Logic. In control of my emotions and passions. All this without the need for a constant information barf in my ears. Without an endorphin and ego jolt from consuming the bias-confirming swill of my cohorts. Without a need for excessive creature comforts. And when it comes to God, the same applies. I read religious books and learned writers. I stay far away from three-hundred-word blurbs, summaries of summaries of summaries, where all meaning is lost in translation. Such word aggregations are cupcakes for the mind.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so you are who you are. It¡¯s not me, though. Your older sister is different. That doesn¡¯t create any divergence between us, does it? It certainly doesn¡¯t in my mind.¡±


    ¡°Of course not. You can¡¯t know how much it means to me that you¡¯re here, and I understand your pressures. Worse yet, you work directly for one of the world¡¯s, what would you say, thousand or so abominations? The ruling oligarchs. I don¡¯t know how many there are, but my sister works directly for one. She takes pride in what she does. And we weren¡¯t born in this world to agree on everything. Again, I haven¡¯t spoken plainly about these topics before because I didn¡¯t want you to hear them or possibly get into trouble by communing with me.¡±


    ¡°Why would I get into trouble?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t agree with the fascist states that we and most others in the world live in now. I suppose I¡¯m a radical, which is dangerous. As a typical fascist state, Vista and Westrich are all about controlling the populace ¨C how they think, what they think, what their minds are fed, how they poop, how they wipe, what they say, the toothpaste they use. This is the inherent nature of controlling entities that concentrate power, wealth, and entitlements at the top of the pyramid. They¡¯re always on guard, and understandably so. Hyperaware of their eminent positions atop the shit castle and the possibility they¡¯ll one day be toppled should the masses beneath them, flailing and bobbing in the sewage, begin to care enough to take action.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve never been pleased with the current way of things. I think you give too much credit for how the world used to be. It wasn¡¯t all that great decades ago.¡±


    ¡°But it was clearly better not that long ago. This menace began in the late teens and twenties as America drifted toward fascism and oligarchies and crushing the rule of law. It escalated after the Coronavirus effects on border closings, racial bias exacerbation, and populist nationalism of the twenties. Fascism didn¡¯t need the Debacle. It had hordes of rabid senators and congresspeople and justices and governors who fell for demagogues with stories of how they alone could fix things.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s politicians. They¡¯ll never change, Dearie.¡±


    ¡°But shame on this thoughtless, entitled scum for their lack of vision, their selfishness, their desire to retain their jobs and power and wealth that came with their feigned alignments to dogmatic credos. Shame on them for fear of being forced to vacate their lofty positions should they do what was right for humanity versus expedient for themselves. Shame on them for supporting laws and decisions that eroded historical norms of decency and rightful actions. Shame on them for worshiping false Gods in the form of other humans, no less, breaking the first and most sacred commandment. Shame on them for not recognizing or admitting they were engaged in idol worship, whether it was towards a demagogue or dogma. And after too many years of this ethical destruction came the post-Debacle age, amplifying the pre-existing inequities and imbalances. It accelerated us down the dark, painful path of no return.¡±


    ¡°I get it, Beck, but you stretch reality. I don¡¯t find the masses discontented. I keep tabs. It¡¯s my job, and I have teams of folks on this topic doing continuous research. I don¡¯t see discontented. I see a lot of compliance. Full bellies. I see people who are protected and secure. Some are employed as well. Those aren¡¯t bad things, right?¡±


    ¡°This is what you see, but you only grasp the surface of the pond. Beneath its placid surface are vicious and torrential currents. Concerns by individualists that you have taken away their freedoms. Humans and hybrids rebelling at the continued government pressure to embed subdermal chips in their foreheads. You know what people call that small wonder of technology, that Vistachit? The nasty tech that ties itself into your optic nerve and God knows what else it controls? They see the three stacked hexagrams, the three letters that look like sixes, and they think it¡¯s the Biblical devil¡¯s mark.¡±


    Sara smiled broadly. She was proud of this narrative. ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t divulge this fact, but we specifically branded the Vistachit that way to embellish belief and fear narratives among groups of zealots. We always strive to heighten emotions since people are more pliable when upset, excited, or suspicious. Conspiracies, intrigues, belief confirmations, animosities, victimization. This is the emotional the clay I work in.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying you prey on people¡¯s emotions intentionally? And what good comes from that in the end?¡±


    ¡°Becky, we keep tabs on literally thousands of these cults of crazies. Who knows what they¡¯d do if we didn¡¯t manage their behaviors? We even stoke the discourse, flavor it and allow it to simmer, then boil and simmer again. It keeps adherents engaged and focused on Ron and Westrich leadership, and out of trouble otherwise. Dear sister, these are old and useless prophesies, and many variants on the original theme emerge daily from these groups. You know how many continue to believe the obelisk of forty years ago came from demons in the sky? Aliens with horns? Besides, it¡¯s not like anything terribly bad has happened to humanity since the rise of the oligarchies.¡±


    ¡°Except the oligarchies themselves.¡±


    Sara laughed. ¡°Considering what came before them, I¡¯d take what we have now. Their success is proof enough that the structure works per plan. Narratives. It¡¯s only narratives. We may extend right up to the hairy edge at time, then back off a little so things don¡¯t get completely out of hand. We¡¯re not fomenting violence in the streets, at least not usually. And what else would people do in their spare time?¡±


    ¡°So you manage people without having a full appreciation of the implications? Think, Sara, of the many upset citizens, most still mourning and yearning for what life was like before the Debacle. People they lost. Property, possessions, memories. Dreading a next Debacle. Do you think they don¡¯t notice when an entire town of ten thousand drops off the maps? When they mysteriously can¡¯t get in touch with relatives? They know it was another fucking genetic freak show mutating virus released by some backwoods nut or another nation-state.¡±


    ¡°All citizens live with that likelihood. It¡¯s a risk of living in this day and age, especially among the border towns.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. No different than an accident or incurable cancer. Some are simply unlucky.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see your point.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she sighed. ¡°I digressed. The point was fascism. Call it a nicer name, but I¡¯ll stick with that. You understand some people don¡¯t like to be controlled and constantly monitored? They don¡¯t like walking into a store and getting zapped by mind control tech that some university invented decades ago and got rich on. They don¡¯t like being goaded by constant advertising that preys on their individual weaknesses, their hidden desires, and coerces them to spend money on something they¡¯d otherwise keep repressed. They don¡¯t like wondering if a freaking ladybug in the shower could be a nanobot from the kid next door taking pictures of them, or from Ron himself. They want normalcy. A modicum of human decency, mental tranquility, and privacy. They want people to be nicer to each other. Friendly, if nothing else.¡±


    ¡°But you know that dreamscape doesn¡¯t exist any longer. Not for most, and less so since the Debacle. The only way we ever got past those years of disarray was by establishing the oligarchies, by recreating tech-driven governments that could defend against whatever new threats might arise. AI. Nano-armies. Genetic viral or bacterial agents. Even the damn aliens who never arrived. These were sources of fear. We needed strong, heavy-handed governments to help the populace manage their fears and live productive lives, even if you consider those actions fascist.¡±


    ¡°You remember the Borg?¡±


    ¡°The Borg?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. When we watched those old Star Trek series?¡±


    Becky could tell her sister didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°It was the idea that humans are individuals working together hopefully to improve society, with freedom of thought and other freedoms central to our individual beings. The Borg was a collective. All were drones, of the bee kind, not the flying purveyors of citizen monitoring and death that are in the air now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now I recall. Robotic humans, not unlike a bunch of people I know personally in Austin. At the time they made the show, I¡¯m sure they thought it would take centuries to reach that level of tech. Yet, it only took a few decades.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But the fact is that many people, being born as free individuals, want to stay as such.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say people are free at birth. Somebody controls them, usually a parent. And I don¡¯t consider a little chip in someone¡¯s forehead a huge imposition. It lets us act like a parent and keep track of them for a variety of reasons, the least of which is to prevent another Debacle. I mean, really, how different is it when you hold a cellphone in your hand versus having a chip under your skin to provide you with the same info at your command? Sure, we could still track them if they used a cellphone. But with the Vistachit, it¡¯s much more effective and safer.¡±


    ¡°I get the argument. Some of it started in the twenties with that Coronavirus mess. To allay future spread of similar pathogens, governments needed more control of where people were at any point in time. Where they¡¯d been. Events like that wedged open the door to the budding, new proto-oligarchs who were no different in character than the horrific dictators of the past. But they now possessed a rich, useful rationale to consolidate power and control over individuals and their rights. In fact, that¡¯s when the trillions in handouts started to be awarded in order to placate the masses. And the proto-oligarchs, in turn, used these trillions to expand their influence among cobwebs of sketchy supporters and enablers. So many trillions passed among the few rich and powerful. So much concentration of wealth. Ah, the missteps countries make in times of fear.¡±


    ¡°How did we get off on that topic? I thought we were talking Vistachits,¡± Sara asked.


    ¡°Sorry. Mind wandering,¡± Becky admitted. ¡°Okay, my point is this. In order to not just survive but thrive, you must have the chip. It gives you all the information, all the advantages that allow you to compete, to live a fuller life, to experience the richness of living that you couldn¡¯t experience as directly through cellphones or auggies. I hated wearing auggies. Just so uncomfortable. Again, if you love this tech so much, why didn¡¯t you ever chip?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you recall? Ron only lets certain of his ministers have them. He much prefers that my team and I stay ¡®clean,¡¯ as he puts it. Doesn¡¯t want us being biased by too many AI-bred sources. Trusts my judgment as is. But I wouldn¡¯t mind having one installed.¡±


    Sara noticed her sister¡¯s eyes were closing in the last exchange. ¡°Dearie, am I boring you?¡±


    ¡°No, Sis. I easily tire these days. Need to rest every few hours, you know. You won¡¯t go yet, will you? Staying the night?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I leave tomorrow and have one more stop before going back to Austin. My security crew will knock on the door in the morning, then we¡¯re off. Sorry about the short stay, but I¡¯ve got some urgent matters that came up recently and Ron¡¯s hot on them. I¡¯ll be back as soon as this minor concern is under full control.¡±


    ¡°Doc says it¡¯s weeks for me. He insists I die in the hospital, extending my life using some old chemo, not the new genetic cure stuff. I told him ¡®go suck the big one, bub.¡¯ He laughed and said he wished all his patients were as feisty as me.¡±


    Tears began pouring down Sara¡¯s face, and she quickly wiped them away as she rose from her chair. ¡°Okay, you take a nap. I¡¯ll be quiet. Maybe I¡¯ll even grab one of those books you talked about. God,¡± she admitted as she walked into the kitchen, ¡°I haven¡¯t picked up a physical book in so many years. It¡¯s only been edited news blurbs, press releases, and presentations.¡±


    She looked back at her sister. ¡°My girl,¡± she thought. ¡°My poor girl. I love her so, and there is so little I love elsewhere. Much we¡¯ve been through together. Nobody would ever know except for us. And I can¡¯t change her mind. A cure exists, and she could likely live forever if she wanted. Odd what a belief in God will do to you, that anyone would choose uncertainty and faith over certainty and life. But I don¡¯t sense she¡¯s happy with certainty, at least not the certainty of the world she sees today.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Sara?¡±


    ¡°What, Beck? You¡¯re awake?¡±


    Becky¡¯s hands emerged from beneath her comforter. ¡°I¡¯m kind of hungry, which is a good sign. I haven¡¯t been much lately.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, hon. You¡¯ve dropped a bit of poundage since I last saw you.¡±


    ¡°This cancer makes me sick in the head sometimes. Dizzy, and when you¡¯re dizzy, you don¡¯t feel like eating.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you something,¡± Sara offered.


    She had been sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book in the dim overhead light. ¡°Here¡¯s your pans, and I just found the soup. Tomato leek okay?¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Becky replied, turning her head to see what she was up to. ¡°What book are you reading?¡±


    Sara laughed. ¡°One I pulled from the shelf. It was ratty and dog-eared. Besides, it looked small compared to those thicker novels on your bookshelf.¡±


    ¡°The Upanishads. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°I guess, if that¡¯s the way you say it.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Becky confirmed.


    She closed her eyes and counted the heartbeats in her ears. ¡°Remember, Becky, remember that euphoric feeling from a good rest? That mental and physical high? You¡¯d not want to emerge. All things were right in the moment. Awareness of the within and without. Too few of those moments remain, but not to dwell.¡±


    ¡°Where are the controls for the stove, Dearie?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s electric. Runs off my batteries from solar. An old style. You just turn the knob and give it a few seconds to heat the coil. No computers in this stove. So, what did you think?¡± Becky asked, her head tilted back and eyes closed.


    ¡°The stove? I think it¡¯s old.¡±


    ¡°No, the book.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°The parables were about God, I guess. Wish I could say I believed like you. Wish I could. Maybe it gives you special comfort. For me, it¡¯s a legacy of ancient humanity and no longer relevant in today¡¯s world.¡±


    ¡°Did you ever believe?¡±


    ¡°No, not really. I never even wondered. I assume we are born like a cow or a cat and have a bit more conscious awareness than them ¨C at least some of us. That¡¯s the only thing that differentiates humans. I honestly can¡¯t speak to those hybrid transhumans who claim they commune with God. Who knows what occurs in their Magellanic visions of data and cloud consciousness? I have no idea what those people, if you can call them that anymore, see or think of a god or God. In my experience, most of them believe they¡¯ve achieved god-states right here on Earth, and you can¡¯t blame them. They know all things there are to know about the world, given their access to databases, and they have amazing predictive powers. As an unaltered person, I often have difficulty communicating with those aberrant wizards.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Becky acknowledged, ¡°maybe they see something we don¡¯t see. But for me, I believed in God from the first moment I can remember thinking about it. Did it arise from our Sunday school indoctrination? I don¡¯t think so. I found that very boring. No, just look at creation. Savor this consciousness. Presence. Being. Awareness of self and separateness from all things, while sensing that you are part of it all. That¡¯s where my head was, far back into childhood. It was no special gift, only something I knew to be true. To intuit and feel this moment, that¡¯s all. Like this moment, God simply is.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I was kind of getting a similar message from your tattered book, although it¡¯s unlike most religious books I¡¯ve ever heard of.¡±


    ¡°Funny you gravitated to that one.¡±


    ¡°Wanted to see what my little sister found so interesting that she¡¯d dog-ear the pages.¡±


    ¡°The Upanishads matched my own beliefs. Like that guy I mentioned before. What were we talking about then?¡± Becky scratched her head, pausing to see if her foggy mind could recall the conversation from hours earlier.


    Sara carried the soup bowl on a tray and set it down on the coffee table. She stared at the steam rising in the cool room.


    ¡°Sorry, Becky. I don¡¯t think anything could convert me into a believer of more than what I see every day. It¡¯s a cesspool of waste that most seem to call ¡®life¡¯ these days. But it¡¯s my cesspool, I guess.¡±


    Becky sat up and took a sip of soup. ¡°Thanks, Sara. When did it start to decline for us?¡±


    ¡°What? The soup or the sewage?¡±


    ¡°The latter. The cesspool you mentioned. Was it this way a hundred years ago?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think so. A hundred years ago was the nineteen-seventies. It was a cakewalk then compared to today.¡±


    ¡°There were nukes,¡± Becky observed. ¡°Hatreds. Bigotry. Ethnic cleansings. Terrible inequities. No different.¡±


    Sara smacked her lips. ¡°Sure, and they are still with us a hundred years hence, but with even more vigor. Nobody could have predicted what would occur starting in the twenties. First it was natural pathogens coming out of the woodwork and lots of death and fear. Too many people in tight areas can be a natural pathogen¡¯s best friend. Then it was the CRISPR parade of home brewers concocting their magical elixirs to do God knows what ¨C save the world, kill the world, kill only certain people based on their heritage, integrate transgenic code into human DNA, enhance and abuse their bodies, evolve themselves into god-beings. I could go on. Oh, and I didn¡¯t mention anti-aging tech that blew the lid off the fragile social order.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just it, though, isn¡¯t it?¡± Becky added. ¡°Tech was going to occur at the pace it did, irrespective of our efforts. In hindsight, there were other things humans should have done for themselves without the help of tech, or at least concurrent with it.¡±


    Sara was puzzled. ¡°I don¡¯t see how that could happen. What could you do for yourself without tech to help? You aren¡¯t going to grow gills by swimming in the water, girl. It takes AI-designed DNA code to do that.¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Becky shrugged, ¡°but that¡¯s not what I meant. Humans were wholly unprepared for the tech and its rapid acceleration.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think you mentioned that before dozing off.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised we didn¡¯t lay waste to the world with nukes in the last century. We had no code of behavior then, no codes of mutual conduct, and no agreements that could have stopped self-annihilation with any certainty.¡±


    ¡°DNA code?¡±


    ¡°No, no.¡± Becky placed her half-finished bowl of soup on the table.


    ¡°You can eat more than that! After all my hard work making it?¡±


    They both laughed.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m repeating because the thought bothers me so much, even when I¡¯m not long for the world. Humans never could agree on a single thing. Not a religious thing. Not an irreligious thing. We couldn¡¯t agree on the simplest covenant that must occur for a sentient species to avoid self-annihilation, that we should extend humanity¡¯s time on Earth. Or that we should limit our pleasures and indulgences. Or that we should share our riches and moderate our gross inequities and imbalances.¡±


    ¡°Well, okay. Getting a little deep for my tired brain tonight.¡±


    ¡°I was thinking.¡± She leaned back on the couch and pulled the comforter over her shoulders. ¡°When did it start to go wrong, especially in the United States? That nation started with such promise and hope. An ethical base and expected standards of behavior, even. I know it wasn¡¯t perfect, but so many in oppressed places looked up to it for so long.¡±


    ¡°The Debacle didn¡¯t help things, now, did it?¡±


    Becky shook her head slowly, entranced by the memory. ¡°It started in the decades before the Debacle. A few deeper thoughts on the topic. The political parties couldn¡¯t get along with each other. They started tearing down norms and replacing them with nothing, nothing at all. Only animosity and an untethered mandate to win at all costs. How to one-up, gain, overcome, overpower, control. Cohesion was lost. Fair play was lost. Cheating, hating, name calling, backstabbing, deceit, cowardice. Unwillingness to stand up for good things, despite your party¡¯s objections.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s politics, little sister.¡±


    ¡°Rationalizing wicked means to achieve a presumed end. They got their presumed ends, for sure, but it was not even close to what they envisioned. Those who danced around the fires of fascism finally got thrown into those same fires, except for the few survivors who call themselves demigods now. May the souls of those loathsome politicians forever roam the frigid granite halls of purgatory.¡±


    ¡°Dearie, you understand I deal with politics all the time at the office. Politics of the worst kind. It¡¯s simply the lay of the land and will never go back to a better state, as if there ever was such a thing. People don¡¯t change much in time. We¡¯re barely removed from caves.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± Becky countered, shaking her head. ¡°People made overt choices to behave poorly, to treat each other badly and unfairly, and there was no stopping. I don¡¯t want to sound like it was organized religion¡¯s fault, although it was in a way. At least religion provided some ethical construct for people and helped them understand basic principles of how to build a lasting society. But religion gave up or got corrupted and became too self-righteous and exclusive, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right. And I was just starting to take an interest in your tattered book over there,¡± Sara laughed.


    ¡°That book is not about religion, Sara. Religion is a social organization of people built around specific belief systems, so it is therefore exclusive and self-entitled by virtue of that. What religion does not attempt to crowd-source new converts in order to gain confidence of the righteousness in its own belief constructs? What religion does not say, ¡®Your beliefs are wrong. You must believe mine to be right?¡¯ As much as I respect my religious friends, this was why I could never join them. I¡¯m too individualistic and could not accept teachings about the world that were misaligned with what my own inner senses told me.¡±


    ¡°I never had any attraction to it at all,¡± Sara admitted.


    ¡°What you read is an ancient book about God. Certain concepts like self-awareness, balance, fair treatment of others, and generosity remain as truths across the centuries. Maybe I emphasize this point because I read a history of the courts last week. How they became so grossly imbalanced. It was unlike the Executive branch where you might get one corrupt President in play, then people would puke and install a less-corrupt one, then back to a madman populist. At least that cycling of viewpoints allowed for some balance. But the courts had no such balancing mechanism.¡±


    ¡°Not getting you, Sis,¡± Sara pleaded. ¡°You moved too fast, from religion to law in one breath.¡±


    ¡°The story pointed out the present-day fallacy of lifetime appointments for key judges in an era of anti-aging tech. It noted a group of ultra-conservatives who pushed their lifetime candidates forward while the progressives were too ignorant or lazy to do the same. And what happened? Courts got levered, then became terminally imbalanced and distorted.¡±


    She stopped for a breath. ¡°They selectively used original Constitutional writings and related papers, attempting to recreate the state of mind of the framers, then made their rulings on that basis. They thought it was possible to come into that task with innocent, unbiased minds and exit the task with the purest visions. What hubris, not recognizing their own innate biases corrupted the presumed purity of their interpretations. And they continued this despite the massive technological changes underway. Unable to change with the times, the courts became effectively irrelevant and proxies for the oligarchs.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. I still don¡¯t see why this is important.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, my mind is not as clear as it used to be. The point is this. They were scared and didn¡¯t want to change. They argued they could decipher what the framers were thinking from these ancient writings, then apply them to twenty-second century life. It¡¯s as if the framers were godheads in a sense, with unique wizardry of mind. Can you imagine a James Madison in the menagerie of humanity today?¡±


    ¡°You mean one of the early Presidents?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Would he write the same things as three hundred years ago? I mean, fuck, the courts gave corporations equivalency to humans with full knowledge that such entities would forever retain a superior set of privileges and power over humanity. They then extended those privileges to intelligent systems, not being able to determine which AI might or might not be sentient. Which processors in the cloud servers should get to vote? And how would old James handle a transgenic hybrid? Do you give someone with a big dose of dog¡¯s DNA the same rights as an original human? Or the bonobo with gray matter enhancements? What about a mech tied to multiple AIs, or an AI that has self-replicated a million times over? How many votes does that thing get?¡±


    Sara nodded her head and laughed. ¡°This conversation is why I stay clear of philosophical things. It makes my head spin.¡±


    ¡°People hold onto transient and regressive things, not because they¡¯re useful and purposeful in today¡¯s world, but because they¡¯re dutiful children. They don¡¯t want to do the hard work of thinking for themselves, considering all the factors of today¡¯s realities, and taking a chance they might be proven wrong. So, they subjugate their minds to human godheads like your buddy Ron. It¡¯s a form of idol worship, of aging text worship, of deifying long-dead humans. Shit, I could find a hundred parallels, including my churchgoing friends who grasp for ancient interpretations all the time, particularly those who spread their doomsday dung about the end of times like they were fertilizing the field to plant weeds.¡±


    Sara knew Becky was repeating some of the dialogue they had before her nap, but she didn¡¯t want to remind her. ¡°Oh, you hit a good spot for me. You know I love those cohorts. They are so susceptible to our narratives.¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait, Sis. I¡¯m one of those, but in a different way. We have been given all the tools to survive. We now have in our possession everything we need to thrive in the long-term as a species. The end of times is only an ancient prophesy. So, I¡¯ll tell you my prophesy. It¡¯s that we are too stupid, shortsighted, fearful, anxious, and entitled. I could go on with the adjectives, but I¡¯m boring you. Consider those who came before us, like the fuckheads who pooh-poohed global warming. Now look at the mess it has become. Those many monsters who set us up for this world we have today, and even we ourselves are guilty. And despite those miscreants having misdirected our future, we still aren¡¯t yet dead as a race.¡±


    ¡°I should hope not!¡±


    ¡°We have it all in our hands, our choice, right now. Survive, even thrive, or self-annihilate? Do we cast aside the apocalyptic prophesies, or do we self-fulfill them? That is our choice. But our record as a species that intelligently plans for its future is nonexistent. I am without hope.¡±


    ¡°Dearie, maybe it¡¯s because you¡¯re sick, so our future appears less hopeful.¡±


    ¡°I lost my faith in humanity years ago, before the cancer. Maybe it¡¯s that Stoic realist in me.¡±


    Sara took a deep breath. Although she felt disengaged with the conversation¡¯s sentimental leanings, she wanted to put on a good face for her sister knowing this might be one of their last.


    ¡°Are we sinking lower into the pit?¡± Sara questioned. ¡°Maybe so. I must admit that we have far more easier ways to eliminate mankind and everything else from the face of the planet than we did a few decades back.¡±


    ¡°To my point. We have no mutual ethical construct to carry us forward as a viable species through time. We¡¯re cloistered in our own disparate belief systems, encapsulated within comfortable bundles of social networks and self-confirming content sources. I don¡¯t care whether it is Catholic or Hindu, liberal or conservative, human or hybrid. We live in fear of the other, the different. Our fear keeps us separate, and separate makes us exceedingly fragile. Your cohorts live in crystal fishbowls of self-reflection along with a million other fishbowls in the house of humanity. One day, that house will be shaken and all will shatter on the naked Earth.¡±


    Sara was worried Becky was getting too worked up. ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it saps me of energy to ponder this again. No worries, though. Just a few more words. Look at humanity¡¯s reign. We had our time. It came and went. We screwed our future with malice aforethought, and the race is nearing its conclusion. I don¡¯t know how it will happen, but gut tells me it¡¯s coming soon. In an odd and perhaps fortunate twist of fate, I will not be around to see the end. I imagine it will be much like the last Debacle, only completely effective this time. Nuke, biologic, nano, mechanical, natural, or AI-driven. Perhaps all those at once. Who knows or cares? Closing on that positive thought, how about I let you get ready for bed?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sara countered. ¡°I need to let you get ready for bed.¡±


    ¡°Wait, though. One final word. I am tired of the simpletons.¡±


    ¡°Simpletons?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the scumbags unable to make judgments or decisions by using reasoning, fair investigation, or insight. Evil is subtle, complex, dispersed. Most religious books and beliefs envision a Great Deceiver as if it is a singular being, readily identifiable and obvious. But does the Deceiver arrive as one singular person? As one lying, corrupt, and amoral political demon? No, the Deceiver can be many, many hundreds or thousands of demagogues and blowhard tyrants. It can come as religious zealots who support those purveyors of evil. It can come as one of your media moguls who works to advance his wealth while amplifying the worst in humanity and tearing apart its binding glue and norms. It can come as a team of enablers who blindly administer or adjudicate rules and regulations to favor the few and suppress the many. The Deceiver is not an evil thing, not a being of any kind. That¡¯s far too easy and apparent. No, it¡¯s a self-created malaise. It¡¯s a camouflaged cancer that humanity allows and encourages to exist in plain sight as it rots away our core of goodness, kindness, caring, consideration, and empathy.¡±


    ¡°Please, hon, don¡¯t speak of cancer. Nothing in you is evil.¡±


    ¡°Just a convenient corollary, Sis.¡±


    Becky studied the minor wrinkles on Sara¡¯s forehead and laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you do it. You¡¯re three years older than me but look thirty years younger. Guess that anti-aging tech really works!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to say it¡¯s natural, but then I¡¯d be lying. Of course, you could be here too. The offer is always open, as your sister has the best medical industry connections.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you do. I¡¯ve bored you to tears, but I can¡¯t tell you how much it means that you came to see me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do this, please!¡± Sara pleaded, wiping a tear from her eye. ¡°I am flying back here as soon as I can. Hopefully, a few weeks.¡±


    Sara hugged her frail sister, more tears dropping from her eyes. She began to sob openly.


    ¡°There, there, Sis. We¡¯ll see each other before you leave, and I¡¯m sure I can hang on until your next visit."

 EP. 87 - SANTA FE

    SARA LANDED AT THE small airport in Santa Fe with her two bodyguards in tow.


    ¡°This place is unchanged,¡± she uttered.


    They acknowledged with head nods. Sara was big time, and they knew enough not to express an opinion unless asked.


    ¡°When I was last here,¡± she mused, ¡°maybe twenty years ago, things had just begun to settle down. Santa Fe seemed untouched even then. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s the character of the locals or simply due to its historical remoteness from a major city.¡±


    She thought of Albuquerque and how its populace had been decimated by the infectious agent of the Debacle, much like other metropolitan areas across the world.


    ¡°A town beyond time. Tourist shops interspersed with old pueblo-style houses and one-off businesses. Not the usual gene parlors, drug outlets, and pawn shops we see in Vista.¡±


    They drove a circuitous route a few miles from the town center and up a hill through pinon trees and tall pines. The bodyguard driving the SUV turned to her.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Before them was an old storefront in a declining, nondescript strip mall. The only verification that they were in the right place was stenciled on the window in white and red: ¡®Tai-Chi, Bagua.¡¯


    ¡°Shall we lead you in, ma¡¯am?¡± the bodyguard suggested.


    Sara was concerned their presence inside the studio might impede the flow of the conversation. ¡°No, but it¡¯s best for one of you to cover the back door and the other in front. I assume this dude is alone.¡±


    Her bodyguards were fully mech¡¯d, sporting flesh-metal components on all limbs as well as having the latest Vistachit and other security tech embedded in their bodies. The SUV also contained a substantial supply of personal weapons.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been monitoring this location, and our devices are planted inside,¡± the bodyguard assured her. ¡°They indicate he is the only person in the studio. They also sense no weaponry on his body, though this location contains several traditional martial arts weapons throughout. With an abundance of caution, we prefer to frisk him and remove those weapons from the premises, if okay with you, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Normally, Sara would expect anyone to be frisked before meeting with her, and she always had at least one bodyguard at her side, even in the most private meetings. She was a Vista minister, after all, and that carried some risk whenever she was away from the Austin compound. Given the background information gathered by Edgar¡¯s team and supplemented by her own researchers, she felt nominal threat of going in alone.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t sense danger, and I suppose if he wants to kill me, he could probably do it with his hands or feet in a matter of seconds. I¡¯ll go up to the door, and I know he¡¯ll welcome me since he¡¯s been warned of my arrival. Despite claiming that he fears nothing in this world, I doubt he¡¯d risk everything. Besides, why would he have a beef with me? He knows I¡¯m the Social Infrastructure Minister, a pretty low-profile cabinet post to most citizens. No, I¡¯ll do it alone.¡±


    As she finished, the glass door to the studio opened. A smiling man was waving them in.


    ¡°Where¡¯s his black belt?¡± she questioned. ¡°He doesn¡¯t look like a killer. But then, not everyone is mech¡¯d to the hilt like you two.¡±


    Neither bodyguard laughed. ¡°Before you exit, let us get out and signal that one of us is heading around back, if only to let him know we mean business.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but no doubt the black SUV and you two enormously mech¡¯d guys in your dark suits and sunglasses have already convinced him of that.¡±


    Sara exited the vehicle. She considered bringing something with her, even a pen and paper, but hers was a job like no other. She didn¡¯t want the distraction of a tablet or anything that might take away from the conversation. The bodyguards stepped from the SUV and signaled to the man where they would be located.


    ¡°Hello, Willie,¡± she stated, holding her hand outward.


    Willie grinned and bowed his head. He was slightly under six feet tall. Husky, with very short dark hair, his facial features gave away his Chinese and Anglo bloodlines. Beneath his loose-fitting black shirt and pants, she couldn¡¯t tell if he was mech¡¯d, but her research information indicated he was not.


    ¡°Minister, so nice to meet you.¡± He shook her hand and beamed broadly. ¡°Can your friends join? I have hot tea from Santa Fe¡¯s best.¡±


    ¡°No, they¡¯re fine,¡± she confirmed, walking into the studio.


    She quickly scanned the place. It was the size of any strip mall sandwich shop but lacked a kitchen or stockroom. The floor was comprised of dark oak planks, a few of which creaked as she walked on them. Rather than have her sit across from him at his desk by the window, Willie had erected a card table and two metal folding chairs in the middle of the studio, one with a thin cushion for her.


    ¡°My apologies for the simple accommodations. We¡¯re usually exercising in the studio, and the only chairs we have are against the windows for visitors to observe.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡± She smiled tensely, wondering if he was offering these limited accommodations on purpose to limit her staying time.


    ¡°Tea?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Hmm, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Ah, tea. True nectar of the gods. We have some of the finest tea in the world in Santa Fe. A friend of mine imports from many countries.¡±


    Her mind was racing. She had only a few minutes to talk before catching the flight home, and she was already beginning to sense this visit was a waste of her time. Rasha indicated problems were escalating back in Austin, and she needed to get back to the compound to actively manage them. Forced to avoid the typical small talk, she got right to the point.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll call you Willie, and please call me Sara. I need this to be an informal discussion.¡±


    She waited for him to respond, but he only smiled and nodded his head in agreement.


    ¡°I assume you¡¯ve been fully briefed by my staff regarding the rationale for visiting you. Do you have any questions before we begin?¡±


    Willie rubbed his chin. She could hear his whiskers brushing against his fingers. ¡°I understand. No questions. Please, ask away, and hopefully I can say something you don¡¯t already know.¡±


    ¡°We know a lot, of course, about you, your business, and your customers or clients. What are they?¡±


    ¡°I call them students, though they are also friends.¡±


    ¡°Are they also associated with this FYV group?¡±


    Willie chuckled. ¡°A few may know of this acronym, but I can¡¯t say if they have fallen to the same conclusion on their own. Hard to put a definition on a thing that is deduced from reasoning, discernment, and contemplation.¡±


    Sara took a deep breath, knowing they could beat around the bush for too long. ¡°It¡¯s not that Vista or Westrich are concerned about this new group. Not that at all, and I¡¯m being totally square with you. It¡¯s my job as Social Infrastructure Minister to occasionally get out of Austin to talk to leaders of new organizations like yours. I call them ¡®cohorts¡¯ from a marketing and communications perspective, but that doesn¡¯t matter. This is my job. I find out what narratives drive these groups as they arise. I could give you a hundred examples of similar groups and organizations you probably know about from the news.¡±


    ¡°Why do you care?¡± he interjected.


    ¡°It¡¯s in my title, and there are counterparts like me in the other oligarchies across the globe. My team is large, and it keeps tabs on where people are congregating and finding common interests in which the government might find interest. My team and I must always have our ears to the ground, to use an old colloquialism.¡±


    ¡°Understood. But why do you care?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s critical we have sufficient color on what these groups are about. I don¡¯t need to tell you this, but Ron and his ministers have the most difficult jobs. We must ensure groups don¡¯t become radicalized and dangerous to our citizenry. That¡¯s obvious, I suppose, but much more than that. I¡¯m charged with getting a clear picture of the psyche of our citizens. Where their heads are. What they¡¯re thinking. This allows us to develop budgets and communications programs to accommodate their specific needs.¡±


    Willie was silent, only nodding with a wry smile.


    ¡°Perhaps enough questions from you, as I expect you¡¯ve done your research on me. Sorry, but I¡¯m short on time. I only stopped here because Santa Fe was roughly on my way back to Austin from Oregon.¡±


    ¡°Really? I love Oregon! Someone there is not well?¡±


    ¡°What? Yes, cancer. Sister. How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Your eyes saddened for a moment.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s old school. Made the overt and questionable choice to reject any medical tech that could help her.¡±


    ¡°Sorry to hear.¡±


    Sara bit her lip. With her team, she could always be very direct and precise. Review the facts and alternatives, understand the task, execute, and report back. She went nuts when people wasted her time with banter.


    ¡°I have questions around FYV, so your turn to talk now. What is it? Who leads it? Who named it? Who finances it? What are its goals and aspirations? We know very little, only that it seems to be in the initial stages of rapid growth.¡±


    Willie leaned forward. ¡°I welcome you here and appreciate your valuable time and requirement for brevity. FYV is a play on words, a humorous irony, or a name for a sarcasm that must be named. I can¡¯t tell you who coined it, in fact. I¡¯ve heard it called other things, but ¡®Fuck Your Values¡¯ seems to be used most often. It¡¯s not a group and has no leaders, that I am aware. I chose to speak with you because someone on your team insisted on finding out more, and I thought I might help. Most Westrich citizens are leery of dealing with anyone representing the authorities or oligarchs from fear of invoking their wrath. I do not fear, however, and am assuming there is little risk in talking on the subject. Afterwards, you can always snatch me away or close my business or worse, but even then, I doubt I¡¯ll die as a result.¡±


    ¡°This is not that kind of visit.¡± She clenched her fist on the table, a little angry he exposed what she knew already ¨C that citizens in most of the global oligarchies were increasingly rejecting heavy-handed, centralized control.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so. In respect for your time, I will tell you all I know. FYV is a concept or even a thought. One might easily wonder if there¡¯s some kismet or providence when intelligent, discerning humans and hybrids fall to the same conclusion about the nature of human life on Earth. When such a concept arises, they give these ideas or feelings a name so that the next time it shows up, they have a verbal construct around it, even if it is ill-defined.¡±


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t tell me anything.¡± She squinted, looking straight into his dark brown eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve come across many groups and cults in my day and have never seen an instance where a horde of humans suddenly arrive at the same conclusions free from any coercive measures. There are always underlying communications or propaganda vehicles and pathways. Always a credo of some type, a constitution, even a bible. Something must exist to codify their belief systems.¡±


    ¡°I would say FYV is no belief system. It is a perception. I keep coming back to the word ¡®conclusion,¡¯ and that may be difficult for you to understand, given your experience.¡±


    She was getting more frustrated. ¡°Again, Willie, I¡¯m talking about shared ideas. Shared in conversations, if not written somewhere. They¡¯re concepts deduced from logic or emotion or both, and they grow and have a life in human minds. They are always amplified by interpersonal communications. Are you suggesting FYV is too new and these ¡®conclusions¡¯ need time to solidify before a solid cohort can be defined?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. FYV is a convenient acronym some people use. I¡¯ve heard it brought up in face-to-face or video conversations, and perhaps it is written down in a few places. It¡¯s more an expression of emotion or a logical deduction.¡±


    ¡°Expression? Like ¡®shit¡¯ or ¡®damn¡¯ or ¡®fuck¡¯ or any other swear word?¡±


    She noticed he didn¡¯t flinch as she cursed.


    ¡°Yes, more like that. An exhortation.¡±


    ¡°How did it arise, and why are so many people using it now?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, but you likely have a better view of numbers than I, given your resources. I see or hear it used occasionally, nearly always in the same context.¡±


    ¡°What context?¡±


    ¡°Gee.¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°The context of ethical entropy, I suppose.¡±


    Sara cocked her head back in surprise, her mouth agape, then took a sip of tea. ¡°Ooh, still hot. Willie, I feel I¡¯m not getting clarity with you. What the hell does ¡®ethical entropy¡¯ mean?¡±


    Willie stared at the dark wood floor. ¡°Assume the word ¡®entropy¡¯ in this case implies an acceleration to disorder from things that were purposely designed or structured for the benefit of humans. Order to randomness. Focused energy to equidistant dispersal of that energy. The dissolution of all things in the conscious world that are organized. Maybe even to a pre-existent state where there was both pure order with no distinctions, and an organized state of pure disorder. One becomes the other, doesn¡¯t it?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    She sighed, ¡°Whew! Too deep for me. I was no philosophy major in school. Much more the pragmatist. Now ethics, ethics I get. How do ethics come into play?¡±


    ¡°Living systems require order and structure. Rules and norms to live within themselves and externally with others. This goes without saying. Cells have cell walls and nuclei. Viruses have DNA or RNA or some bio-hybrid variant. Buildings have structural beams. Take structure away, and it¡¯s just atoms and maybe not even that. An atom is too much structure in a state of pure order.¡±


    ¡°Why does this matter for FYV?¡±


    Willie drew in a deep breath. She noticed his belly expand greatly, as if he was intentionally sticking his stomach out at her.


    ¡°I assume you understand the basics of yin and yang. Two poles. Diametric opposition. How life hangs together between them?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but not so much. I was raised mostly in Texas,¡± she admitted, as if that might be an excuse for being unaware.


    ¡°To explain, human life was likely not always dependent on its ethics. Presumably, it was animalistic for many years. Yet, at some point, ethics came into play. Ethics and norms of behavior allowed humans to aggregate, congregate, socially interact, build societies, create economic systems and wealth. The binding glue of societies. However, any ethical systems unable to change with the times will break down and so will the society that depended upon such systems. If I can summarize, FYV is a satirical recognition of humanity¡¯s failing status.¡±


    ¡°The whole thing¡¯s a joke then?¡±


    ¡°No. The ethical and values systems of humans and hybrids have, in recent decades, become sorely compromised among the noise of technology. I don¡¯t mean to say humans don¡¯t have ethics and norms. We simply don¡¯t use or apply them. We think we don¡¯t need them, and we believe technology and what it brings us can serve as an adequate substitute. As a result, our society is terminally imbalanced and on life support, having passed a critical inflection years ago. We are now at the point of no return for extending the longevity of our species.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I get it,¡± she nodded with an arrogant smirk. ¡°FYV is another doomsday group, right? Shit. You know how many of these now exist in Westrich? Ron has more than his share in Vista, given the extensive, rural geography he protects. He has so many cohorts and sub-cohorts who expose and share their belief systems in local geographies and over the Internet, as if they are the only ones who hold knowledge of the deep, dark secrets of the universe¡¯s fate. And there is always, and I mean always, commercial profit behind these pseudo-science bullshitters. Somewhere at the top of the stench is somebody getting rich off the converts to the cause. Appears I wasted my time coming here.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you wasted your time, but you reached an erroneous conclusion.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s erroneous? You¡¯re another cohort enmeshed in some ¡®end of days¡¯ belief systems you conjured. It¡¯s perhaps not a religious cohort, but it is of the same ilk. We get this narrative. Things in the world or Westrich or Vista are bad. People hate their lives. The world is a dangerous place and we¡¯re all going to die. The oligarchies are evil and controlling, and our special belief system adherents are the only good people left. Honestly, Willie, I¡¯ve heard this rhetoric over and over. I¡¯m not saying I don¡¯t appreciate groups like yours. In fact, I love them because of their predictability. In my communications game, they¡¯re valuable and very pliable cohorts because they¡¯re so fucking emotional about their disgusting little belief systems. But it¡¯s not worth my time if that¡¯s all I¡¯m dealing with.¡±


    * * *


    Willie picked up his teacup. ¡°I¡¯m out of tea. More for you?¡±


    Sara rose from the chair. ¡°No, I¡¯ve barely touched mine. Apologies for the wasted visit. I¡¯ll tell the guys we¡¯re okay to leave for the airport.¡±


    He held his hand up as he poured the tea, signaling her to sit back down on the chair.


    ¡°When you see a tsunami that has flooded a country, do you not care what caused it?¡±


    Sara sat down slowly and blew her breath visibly through her cheeks. ¡°I know you¡¯re a master at whatever martial arts, but I can¡¯t take the philosophical bullshit right now. Too much else in the hopper today, and I¡¯m poor at analogies. If there¡¯s something you¡¯re not telling me, then spit it out.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for a few more minutes. Sara, have you ever separated yourself from your thoughts and worries of the moment?¡±


    ¡°Like I said about the philosophical bullshit . . .¡±


    ¡°My question is important, if you care to understand this FYV phenomenon. I only need a few moments to guide your thinking.¡±


    ¡°Guide my what? Okay, okay. I¡¯ll play along. Now, what was the question?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever separated yourself, who you are, from your thoughts or belief systems?¡±


    ¡°Why the hell would I do that? My thoughts are an inherent part of who I am. I can¡¯t just separate them from me. They exude and sometimes explode from my brain as a result of all the processing that¡¯s in there,¡± she claimed, pointing to her head.


    ¡°You are your thoughts, then?¡±


    ¡°Of course! My thoughts are only emanations of what my brain determines is the best course of action for me. Then I act on those things. I order my team to execute plans. I structure my words and vision to fit the need at the time. My thoughts make me.¡±


    ¡°Let me try an alternate path. Are you, Sara, inherently those thoughts, orders, plans, beliefs, emotions, senses?¡±


    ¡°Those are like ornaments on a Christmas tree. I¡¯m the tree, and each ornament serves its purpose.¡±


    ¡°Can you decouple yourself from the ornaments?¡±


    ¡°No. Those ornaments are me. I own them.¡±


    ¡°You are what you own?¡±


    ¡°Look, just because these things come from my mind does not mean they aren¡¯t me or I¡¯m not responsible for them. I am those thoughts and actions, each of them. The sum of them is an outcome of my conscious mind.¡±


    ¡°Then the answer is that you cannot separate yourself from your thoughts. You are your thoughts.¡±


    Sara frowned uncomfortably. She didn¡¯t like anyone defining who she was or what she could or could not do. As a Vista Minister, she was at the top of the world. She knew who she was.


    ¡°It¡¯s an illogical question. Maybe my Christmas tree was a poor analogy. Again, I¡¯m bad at analogies.¡±


    ¡°You identify with your thoughts, then. Your sense of self is wrapped-up in the thoughts that emanate from your mind.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s electrical activity, damn it! My thoughts come from my experiences. I¡¯m increasingly one of the few who doesn¡¯t have a direct connection to the cloud, so I can clearly state this to be the case. Those others who are Vistachit connected, well, one always questions the origins of what goes on in their minds. But that doesn¡¯t matter anyway. What matters is the value of the thoughts, their effectiveness, and how they advance certain defined or desired objectives.¡±


    ¡°If your thoughts come from your life experiences, how do your experiences emanate from your beliefs?¡±


    ¡°This line of reasoning is too fucking intertwined. Your question is backwards. My experiences drive my beliefs, and both of those drive my thoughts and actions.¡±


    ¡°And there is no base metal beneath this amalgam that is Sara? Sara is a result of her experiences that gave her a set of beliefs. The combination of those two are what drives her thoughts and actions, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you got that right.¡±


    ¡°As a result, Sara is unable to disconnect her sense of self from her experiences, beliefs, thoughts, or actions. All these things drive Sara. And what of ego, desires, wants, discomforts, comforts, emotions?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m more disciplined than anyone I know. I manage those nuisances. Repress them even.¡±


    ¡°No doubt you are the best at what you do, given your position. But you¡¯re suggesting that you are unable to separate or decouple your sense of self from all that surrounds or exudes from you.¡±


    ¡°I have no need to do that. Never did. Why would I? How does all this philosophical bullshit relate to the FYV group?¡±


    Willie smiled and sat back in his chair. It creaked slightly at bearing his weight.


    ¡°To understand FYV, you would first need to separate your thoughts, desires, needs, ego, ambitions, position, title, family, friends, and possessions from yourself, at least in your mind.¡±


    She was ticked. ¡°Are you telling me you can¡¯t help me understand what this group is about because I don¡¯t have the intellect to achieve the same mental state as the special chosen ones in this fucking group?¡±


    ¡°FYV is no group. Please, I don¡¯t mean to make this personal. It¡¯s not about intellect. Not about smarts or knowledge. Instead, it¡¯s more of a recognition of sorts.¡±


    ¡°Recognition of what?¡±


    ¡°That you are not your thoughts. Given time constraints, I¡¯ll cut to the chase, but I wish we had a few hours.¡±


    ¡°Please do. We¡¯re wasting my resources.¡±


    ¡°FYV is an ironic twist on today¡¯s values. If I can call it anything, it is a recognition that the world has far surpassed the inflection point, when it still had a chance . . .¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait!¡± she laughed, pushing her hand outward toward him. ¡°I know. We¡¯re all going to die because of this or that.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Not accurate. It more has to do with establishing within yourself the mental capacity to separate your sense of self from the trappings that might seem to define your person. The ornaments, as you indicated. When this is done, you arrive at a calm state, an objective state. Once this is accomplished, you can observe humanity as separate from your role in it. You¡¯ll sense a distinct race of creatures on a planet in a solar system in a universe of endless systems. From this, you can deduce that every species has a finite lifespan. They come and go. Nearly all become extinct due to external pressures and forces, such as the inability to adapt to changing circumstances. Again, cutting to the chase, do you understand our changing circumstances?¡±


    ¡°I might see a little of your intent, but you¡¯re wrong. Humans have changed a lot in the last century. Computing systems. Clouds. Information access. Auggies. Vistachit systems. Add to that the menagerie, literally, of human-animal-plant-mech freaking bio-machine varints we have today. So what? What about these changes? They are what they are. We can¡¯t modify them. In fact, it¡¯s specifically my job to manage them, to sculpt and coerce their narratives so they don¡¯t become dangers to our larger society. They need to support Ron and all he is doing for them. Nothing¡¯s wrong with that.¡±


    ¡°You are kind of on the right track, at least in terms of the tech we have today. A hundred years ago, only a few people on Earth could ever conceive of such rapid changes, and here we are today with millions of variations on whatever theme. We have advanced technologically at a torrid pace. Mathematical. Exponential. Logarithmic. Take your pick.¡±


    ¡°And . . .¡±


    ¡°And at the same time, what has happened to the ethical structure of this ever-evolving human and hybrid menagerie with its new tools and toys?¡±


    ¡°Crap, you¡¯re sounding like my sister. I don¡¯t get why you keep bringing this up. Ethics. We have lots of laws in place, especially after the Debacle. We had to install them. And it didn¡¯t start with the Debacle. Other pandemic issues in the past sparked the whole damn control thing. Governments were forced to monitor and manage people, or they¡¯d risk massive outbreaks and death. The recessions and depressions and loss of economic value were staggering, and the aftereffects became a factor in the social upheaval that led to the horrific post-Debacle times.¡±


    ¡°True. After all that occurred, you¡¯d think we might have become more caring. Instead, we turned within ourselves, our cohorts, if you will, and the larger benefits of working together as a species to prevent future existential catastrophes never occurred. Every country worked on doing their own thing, driven by their own need, greed, fears and hatreds. Every country turned within itself, establishing stronger borders and immigration restrictions, limiting intermixing of peoples and ideas, fomenting pre-existing hatreds and bigotry. All with the apparent intent to ¡®protect the public¡¯ from other outbreaks or evolutions, whether natural or manmade.¡±


    Sara was increasingly anxious. She wanted a conclusion. ¡°Whatever the result, we are much more prepared and effective now, at least in Vista and Westrich. We have air and water sampling stations even in the remotest parts of the country. Stringent border crossing controls. Fences and aerial systems to limit migration. With the Vistachit¡¯s help, we know where most of our collective citizens are at any point, no longer needing to access their cellphone or auggie records. This has greatly enhanced our monitoring capabilities and provided assurance that we can mitigate the effects of bioweapons regularly unleashed on our country. You can¡¯t possibly know the virulent strains that are constantly passed our way from competing nations. We keep that info to ourselves, but you don¡¯t hear about it because we don¡¯t have hundreds of thousands or millions dying at a time. Not any longer. You name the defense mechanism, we instituted it. Then we have our regular anti-virus and anti-agent inoculations and immunetech. It¡¯s top-notch and has saved countless lives.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I¡¯m not criticizing what the government does to protect its citizens, many of whom provide positive economic value to Westrich and therefore must be saved. Sorry, I¡¯m thinking too much like an AI. But I am slightly off-topic, so back to FYV. I¡¯d say it¡¯s a nonobvious but accurate recognition that our technological prowess has far outpaced our societal progress. Humans became much more fearful as tech advanced, particularly genetic tech and the potential for bioweapons of mass destruction.¡±


    ¡°Tell me something nonobvious,¡± she retorted.


    ¡°We are experiencing a natural outcome for a technologically advancing species whose prime working emotions are fear and entitlement. Without proper ethical systems to pace concurrently with our technological advances, our society grows increasingly imbalanced. One example of this is how wealth and power are now super-concentrated at the top, among the very few, even to you being within that group.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m far from rich, despite what the news puts out. News I¡¯m often responsible for, by the way. Depending on the channel and cohorts, we establish persona narratives about all the ministers that are useful to the nation.¡±


    Willie drew in a long breath. ¡°So, how long can this go on? How long can humanity advance technologically without all of its people coming to agreement on even a single thing? What potentially virulent tech will we create in the coming years, and what ethical systems will we create to manage that tech? Can we forever continue to advance technologies while avoiding the hard work of evolving our norms and standards? How we treat each other? Respect. Tolerance. Compassion. Giving?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re doing a lot of hard work now.¡±


    ¡°One can argue that technological advancement is no longer hard work. Costly, in some cases, but with AI assisting in every step, humanity can do almost anything it once dreamed of doing, both positive and negative. In fact, you might call technology an ¡®easy thing¡¯ because each next generation of tech is very predictable. Yet humanity perennially avoids taking the most difficult step, which is the hard work of establishing a few common ethical constructs or beliefs about our objectives as a species. Like agreeing we should work collectively to ensure the long-term survival of the species, despite the accelerating pace of tech. Like correcting the massive social and wealth imbalances that have occurred in recent decades.¡±


    She¡¯d heard similar complaints before from other cohorts and understood well how to placate them, to assuage them with platitudes, to advance communications narratives that amplified Ron¡¯s magnanimous goals to spread the wealth, despite the deceit sewn inherently within those messages.


    She¡¯d had enough.


    ¡°Stop!¡± she demanded. ¡°These are old complaints. Nothing new here. After this discussion, I¡¯ve determined that FYV is no more than another cohort that regularly uses the Internet or other means of communication to complain about how bad things are. Do you know how boring that is? Why don¡¯t you people get off your asses and do something constructive?¡±


    ¡°You missed the point.¡±


    ¡°Being?¡±


    ¡°Nobody is getting together or communicating in an overt, covert, or surreptitious manner. There¡¯s no plot or plotting or attempt at overthrowing the current order of things. As I said from the start, FYV is only a satirical recognition, mostly realized by people who can separate themselves from their mental constructs, that we have passed the inflection point.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she sighed, clicking her tongue in disgust. ¡°One last statement, then I¡¯m out.¡±


    ¡°The inflection point occurred some decades ago, a time when we should have and could have realized that our technological advancements were grossly outpacing our normative systems. At that point, we became indelibly imbalanced. One side of the teeter totter was getting all the weight. Worse yet, there was no solid fulcrum at the center of the board, and now the entire system is sliding down into the abyss below to the latter stages of inevitability. Lastly, please don¡¯t start collecting people who speak or write about the FYV acronym. They are no threat to Vista, assuming they¡¯re even an identifiable cohort. This is mostly people who see the imbalances and understand we have reached the end of our time as a species. Something will initiate the final slide of the teeter totter board off its crumbling fulcrum. Later, even eons later, something on the planet may replace us as sentient beings. Maybe those aliens who have yet to arrive. Maybe a being evolved from the bacteria on my hand. But we¡¯ll have had our opportunity long before, and we¡¯ll have wasted it.¡±


    Angry she had spent so much time with him, listening to his drivel, Sara slapped the card table. It nearly collapsed, but Willie held it underneath.


    ¡°Sorry to have angered you,¡± he conceded.


    She shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about your friends. Yes, you¡¯ll be monitored, along with your like-minded buddies and anyone else the AI beasts determine is worthy. But I¡¯m seeing no risk here, only hopelessly pathetic philosophy and aberrant belief systems. And maybe a lot of people are indeed coming to this conclusion, I don¡¯t know and don¡¯t really care. The only benefit I got from this visit is the clear message that my team and I are not communicating as effectively as I might have hoped. That somehow, people like you and your invisible FYV cohort are not understanding how lucky you are to be citizens of Vista.¡±


    ¡°We did not yet discuss such a thing.¡±


    ¡°You apparently don¡¯t appreciate all that Ron is doing for you, how he sacrifices for you, and how much weight he carries on his shoulders, managing the burdens of this grossly underfunded, widely dispersed domain. I¡¯ll need to get back to the regional experts on my team and order them to redouble efforts to monitor groups like yours, groups that are just not getting the correct picture of Ron¡¯s goodness, of his generosity and compassion. But right now, right now, this cohort appears to be of little risk or consequence to how Ron and Vista can benefit from it. Too bad I wasted my time.¡±


    Still holding the collapsed card table in one hand, Willie held his other hand out to shake hers. Sara took no notice of it and rushed through the door.

 EP. 88 - AUSTIN

    ¡°HOLY SHIT, TEAM. YOU know the drill. Emergency. This is not how I planned coming back to work after visiting my ill sister. What else could have gone wrong with the fucking world?¡±


    She peered across the room at her bleary-eyed team. None had slept, waiting for Sara¡¯s return. Even on the plane, Sara anticipated what she¡¯d be facing once she arrived at the Austin compound.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s three in the morning and you want to sleep. I don¡¯t care what pills you need to take or how much coffee you drink or whether you pee on your chair, but I can¡¯t let you sleep on this one. I haven¡¯t slept either after a long day of travel and wasted time. I need a response before Ron¡¯s 9 a.m. staff meeting. As you can imagine, he pinged me throughout the evening as I was flying back, and the conversations stopped an hour ago. I¡¯m assuming he¡¯s getting some sleep now, but he will not be happy with us or with any of his ministers when he awakens to this news. Besides, he has an 8 a.m. with the other Westrich oligarchs, whom I imagine are not pleased with the current situation. I expect to receive the full brunt of his torrid belch at staff. Let¡¯s try not to get us all fired after this one, okay team? Fired is not a happy ending, especially given Ron¡¯s history. I need you at peak capability and creativity right now. Comprende?¡±


    Her team nodded in unison.


    ¡°Rasha, Imp kept me apprised of events on the return flight. Give the team a quick rundown to make sure we¡¯re on the same page before establishing and executing our plans.¡±


    Rasha rose. She was tall and thin, almost gaunt, and her presence exposed her Indian heritage. Long, black hair. A red dot on her forehead. Bangles of gold bracelets clinked together whenever she moved her arms, which always bothered Sara.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start with Southern.¡±


    ¡°Do me a favor,¡± Sara requested, frazzled and jittery from the tension. ¡°Take those bracelets off and your earrings, too. I want zero distractions.¡±


    Rasha was taken aback but hurriedly removed her jewelry as Sara stared out the window. She wanted to dispense with the usual eye-meeting and greeting confirmations with her team. Too much shit was about to fly in the next few hours, and no gray matter processing could be wasted.


    Rasha moved to the vidscreen. ¡°As you can see, Southern is deploying troops at key locations along our border, typically close to the international transportation crossings with Vista. Imp estimates the usual fifty thousand stationed troops are growing to seventy. Given their recent, volatile exchanges with Bolivar, they¡¯ve also started deploying about forty percent more troops in the disputed territory between Southern, Bolivar, and Westrich, just south of Corpus Christi. Angling again for additional Texas coastline, no doubt. General Vasquez has responded in kind, presumably with Ron¡¯s full approval, and Westrich troops are being deployed to the area as we speak.¡±


    ¡°Southern fucking bastards!¡± Sara uttered, and Rasha stopped for more. ¡°No, keep going. I¡¯ll interrupt you as usual, so keep going.¡±


    ¡°Okay. It¡¯s not just the troop movements, however. Edgar and Benjamin provided info from their bio-intel units that Southern is planning additional WMD exposures. This isn¡¯t the normal ¡®kill ten thousand of ours, and we¡¯ll respond in kind¡¯ limited bioweapon attack. It¡¯s much bigger, more maligned, and widespread. In response, our monitoring and control systems are on highest alert. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll hear more about that at the nine o¡¯clock, Sara. Many of our drones, both armed and observation alike, are being redeployed along our extensive border with Southern.¡±


    ¡°What about Nemerica?¡±


    ¡°Not enough info. It¡¯s still nighttime, and we haven¡¯t heard a peep from them. We understand Ron contacted his sister, and the Westrich oligarchs are no doubt talking alliance options with them.¡±


    ¡°Go on then. More about our response. What comms are emerging from this festering zit?¡±


    ¡°Initial comms from Southern infiltrators, our many spies and other contacts there, are consistently indicating that Southern took our claims of enhanced prediction capabilities too literally. You¡¯d think they¡¯d be accustomed to this after all the years of bullshit we¡¯ve mutually tossed over our borders. These actions might signal they¡¯re done with that game. Conversely, maybe they really do believe we¡¯ve achieved perfect predictability of their actions and intentions via our AIs, and they¡¯re responding before we can get these systems fully online and functional. Another alternative is they could be using this argument as a proxy excuse for finally executing on their plans to encroach upon and annex our lands and resources in the disputed areas.¡±


    ¡°General Vasquez? What are you hearing from his side?¡±


    ¡°All systems are on Level 1 standby.¡±


    Sara pounded the table with her fist. The sharp rap rattled her team. ¡°Shit! We can¡¯t go to war over Edgar¡¯s fucking cute idea, can we?¡±


    Rasha continued. ¡°That Level 1 status presumably means our vast array of weapons are loaded and cocked. All conventional systems. Our mech¡¯d and conventional troops. Robotic attack systems. Nuclear. Nano-weapons. Bioweapons. Eco-weapons. The gamut of deadly pandemonium. They know Vista alone has the power to lay waste to their entire shithole of a country, but only if we strike first.¡±


    With eyes half-closed, Sara dropped her head and began to rub her temples. ¡°This is not the first time we¡¯ve nearly come to fisticuffs with those dickheads next door, and it¡¯s likely not the last. As usual, the rest of the ministers will dance around the table for Ron and act like they¡¯re doing something about this latest threat, but the only ones capable of saving the fucking world this time will be us. We¡¯ve done it before. By ourselves and beyond the understanding of the idiot peons in our fucking country. Our comms and narratives have saved their asses and everyone else¡¯s too many times. Shit. Something good better come out of our meeting. Something really good, because the press is on. Rasha, keep going. What of other nation-states. What the hell is Bolivar saying?¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Rasha sighed, ¡°not good there, either. Not the usual bluster and saber-rattling. We caught their troop movement shit late this afternoon, or yesterday afternoon, now about ten hours ago. Already, Bolivar is rifles-up on everything. Bomber-fighter groups are either deployed or actively deploying along the borders. Their rhetoric started a few days ago, not long after we released that flurry of reports among the various Latino channels in the area about Southern planning to poison their fishing waters, annex Dominica, and our other designated irritants.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Are you suggesting our attempt at disseminating some light misinformation their way may have caused them to deploy their troops? I can¡¯t believe that.¡±


    Rasha shook her head. ¡°Not suggesting. Only saying there is an obvious timing correlation. Imp or Edgar¡¯s AI might help assess the causal factors. Regardless, Corpus is reporting flight incursions over our border, both manned and drone. They know Westrich dares not do anything in haste, given Bolivar¡¯s extensive conventional resources for war. Sure, we or any other oligarchy could devastate the more populated parts of that nation-state, but we¡¯re talking most of Central and South America here. Expansive territories and land mass with tens of thousands of small cities. No way to wipe that off the map easily.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s don¡¯t speculate on what the generals may decide to do. We only need to begin messaging around it. I mean, we have thousands of kilometers of land border with them versus their Gulf of Mexico water border with Southern. We don¡¯t want a war with those beasts to the south. Austin would be first to receive their rain from hell. Besides, this isn¡¯t how we fight wars today, is it? We fight wars, shit, we fight with each other, mostly via misinformation. With narratives. Pepper that with occasional shows of force, genetic firecrackers over the walls, and Ron-style blustershit theatrics, but we never go all the way. It¡¯s all about the narratives, and we¡¯re the masters of that. We¡¯re the fucking unappreciated foot soldiers who keep everyone from shooting at each other. What else?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll briefly touch on the nation-states less directly involved, though some appear to be taking an active interest. I¡¯ll start with Zhonghua.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck does Zhonghua care about our piss-ass skirmishes with Southern and Bolivar? None of their business.¡±


    ¡°You know they continue to expand their influence into Bolivar, so it may be understandable.¡±


    ¡°But fuck! They can¡¯t want to weaken Westrich more that it has already been weakened. They now control half of the freaking world¡¯s land and resources! Once America fell apart and split, we were clearly no fucking match for their largess and power. That war was lost by the twenties due to the fucking dysfunctional federal government. What is Zhonghua¡¯s interest?¡±


    ¡°Your guess is as good as ours. Imp indicates it¡¯s the old animosities and political divides, in part. I doubt if anyone sees huge differences between them and us politically. What¡¯s left of the old America is centrally and AI-controlled, authoritarian-led, paranoid, citizen-monitored, Vistachitted, and driven by narratives that run an almost parallel course to Zhonghua¡¯s own. Sure, they have allegiance to fewer demigod-like leaders while our continent has possibly more than its fair share, but the similarities between these geographically distant oligarchic technocracies are far greater than they ever were.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me they¡¯re still pissed because of the Cold War from long ago. Imperialism. Shoving opium down their throats. Raping them economically and personally.¡±


    ¡°Old hatreds hardened them, for sure, and old hatreds die hard,¡± Rasha responded. ¡°Sorry, but I shouldn¡¯t speak for the foreign policy experts on Ron¡¯s team.¡±


    ¡°But there are so many people of Asian descent in Westrich now. Why would they want a piece of us?¡±


    ¡°Maybe because they don¡¯t control us?¡± Rasha questioned. ¡°They effectively control most of the Eastern hemisphere, excepting Soviet and the Euro states. Africa remains a post-Debacle mess, but they¡¯re also quite influential there. And same goes for Bolivar, though I doubt their influence goes too deep. Either way, they have an interest in whatever happens to the remains of America, be that for economic reasons or historical.¡±


    Sara leaned back in her chair and pulled both hands through her hair. ¡°Double fuck. What about Soviet, again? After discussing that, we must establish the narratives and roll them out pronto or else shit will avalanche downhill to all of us.¡±


    Sasha flicked her hand beneath her jaw nervously ¡°Unpredictable. Hard to assess how much their comms have exacerbated this situation. We¡¯ve caught numerous stories generated presumably from the usual Soviet suspects. We can expect their old games, like threatening to annex Alaskan territory from Canada, or incursions up and down the coast. They¡¯re a declining, penned-in bear with Zhonghua to the south and the fragmented Euro states to their west. Nowhere else to go but eastward and the substantially weakened and fragmented post-American clusterfuck. They¡¯ll want to get involved in any fracas and make hay, maybe coming out of it with a bit more land and power at the conclusion.¡±


    Sara raised her fist to her face, wanting to again slam it down hard on the table. ¡°We fucking screwed this up, team. I don¡¯t mean only the comms and narratives. I can¡¯t tell how much of what we did was responsible for these latest international disputes, but for our sake, I¡¯m hoping Imp sides with us and concludes this was a result of simmering rivalries, irrespective of our minor actions. Hoping he¡¯ll conclude these tensions were building anyway. But the bigger fucking screw-up, the mother fucking master of all screw-ups, wasn¡¯t us at all. It was, however, the dissolution of the United States. Shit, we¡¯re seeing the consequences of that right now, aren¡¯t we? Three lesser shitcan countries remain where a single powerful and cohesive one previously existed.¡±


    Sara had her geopolitical hat on now and needed to get the frustrations out of her system.


    ¡°There¡¯s a much stronger, coalesced set of Latin states to our south. And Canada, with all their resources to our north, is so unable and unwilling to participate in a global defense with us. And here we are in Westrich. One fucking, smaller nation-state arguably sandwiched between Canada, Southern, and Nemerica, with an unpredictable and volatile Bolivar snarling at our southern border. Talk about an itchy hemorrhoid. We are now the itchy hemorrhoid, what¡¯s left of a country that once provided a global balance of power. Every other comer with long nails wants to scratch at our bulging ass pain until we bleed to death. Fucking Debacle. Fucking systems of governance, unable to change with the times. Those mother fucks who let what was a good, working system of government slide into dispute, disrepute, and disarray. They decided their fucking political parties were more important than the fucking country and citizens. Idiots! Their fucking static dogmas didn¡¯t respond to the changes that were occurring. They were too perfect and fragile and lily white and couldn¡¯t handle being tussled by the pains of compromise for the good of one nation. Royal, fearful, short-sighted dogmatic fucks, they were. Royal fucks!¡±


    Surprised at Sara¡¯s tirade, Sasha waited to see if she was finished, then continued. ¡°Per your instructions, we developed comms plans, including prep for these most recent actions while you were heading back home.¡±


    Sara lowered her fist, knowing a show of force here was to no benefit. ¡°Get started, then. How are you messaging into the Southern cohorts? I expect you¡¯re sending a raft of shit about their incursions and intentions. I want to be sure we burn the hot little asses in Southern who decided to send troops our way. I don¡¯t want them to forget who they¡¯re screwing with. Let¡¯s get very personal with their array of demented oligarchs and the disgusting, salacious secrets we know about that vermin. Let¡¯s fill the air with quarter-truths about their self-dealings, their allegiance only to money and power, and the lack of concern for their destitute citizens.¡±


    ¡°What about the Bible types?¡± Alice questioned.


    ¡°Of course. Since religion continues to play so strongly in Southern, let¡¯s regurgitate that crap about their oligarchs being the devil¡¯s agents of the apocalypse. Push out as much as we can about these fucks and the end of times. I want to provoke their despicable citizenry, undermine their rotting corpses, and resurrect any ill-will against them. No negative story should be buried in this ground. Let¡¯s dig out all the shit in the cupboards with such fervor that their minds detonate into complete mental anarchy."

 EP. 89 - CONFLUENCE

    UNLIKE OTHER MONDAY MORNING staff meetings, Sara was particularly nervous. Although her team had spent hours developing and executing their comms plans, she knew her ass was once again on the hot seat.


    It was twenty after nine, and Ron was never late to his meetings.


    ¡°Does anyone know where he is? He¡¯s usually here before anybody,¡± Sara inquired.


    She scanned the room. Edgar was smirking at her as if he had obtained special secrets in her few days of absence and was waiting to pounce and expose her failings.


    ¡°Oh, I think he has reasons,¡± he smirked. ¡°He¡¯ll connect with us.¡±


    ¡°Connect?¡± Sara was peeved and puzzled. What did ¡®connect¡¯ imply? Was Ron not in the compound? Since her head was on the line, as maybe were the heads of other ministers, she continued talking.


    ¡°And Gloria isn¡¯t here. Has anybody seen her today?¡±


    The only other woman at the table, the Minister of Agriculture, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ¡°Not here any longer.¡±


    Sara could tell she was angry, and that would mean only one of two possibilities. Gloria was either put out to pasture, some safe place where she¡¯d be no threat to Ron, or she was no longer with them in the corporeal sense. Sara felt it was likely the latter, a very bad signal if so. Although rare, Ron had gone that route before, mostly to teach everyone a lesson about his power, wrath, and irrational decisiveness.


    Suddenly, Ron¡¯s image popped up on the large vidscreen at the head of the oval table.


    ¡°What the fuck¡¯s the banter about?¡± he barked.


    Sara didn¡¯t flinch at this intrusion, but she quickly assessed the circumstances. Ron was employing the enhancement technology she always preferred to use when projecting deep fake images of him to Vista¡¯s citizens. It was old tech by now but had been upgraded so much that few AI systems could easily distinguish the actual image from the deep fake. Most information, at least that which she influenced, was awash in deep fakes in both content and image, and everyone was so accustomed to them that they could no longer tell truth from lie. Nor did they care.


    For Sara, deep fake technology was no different than someone putting on make-up before going on camera or even using shoe inserts or clothing augmentations to appear taller or stronger. She had only seen Ron use this imaging once before in staff when he was about to lay the hammer down on his previous Minister of Security.


    To her, the amplification tech made Ron look silly. He didn¡¯t need it to enhance his real image. For years, Ron had implemented the latest body tech to improve his musculature, height, and looks.


    By any historical measure, Ron was a Roman god, a god gone insane from using his enormous power to enhance the image in the mirror that peered back at him every day. Yet these additional on-screen deep fake modifications distorted his body¡¯s size and build so much that it was almost comical. She couldn¡¯t help but release an imperceptible laugh, despite the terror of the implication.


    ¡°Oh, Sara! Lovely Sara. Is that with and ¡®h¡¯ at the end, or did somebody lop that off for you somewhere along the way? I¡¯m pondering the thought of lopping something else off.¡±


    She knew either he or Imp noticed her minor indiscretion, so she sat up straight in her chair, stone-faced. ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®Sir¡¯ me, you lazy-ass bitch. What the hell have you been doing the last few days while my world was going to hell? Do you know how much I¡¯ve had to do already to make up for your ungracious visit to a presumably sick sister? Do you understand how bad the timing was? We¡¯re in a fucking crisis that you and your buddy Edgar initiated with your marvelous, unvetted ideas. I didn¡¯t agree to any of this shit you put out, and the rest of you motherfuckers at the table should have called out the idiocy from these two cretins. But you¡¯re a herd of cock-sucking sheep, aren¡¯t you? Do I keep you on board only to shimmy up to me when you want something, then be silent when you think the shit will hit the fan or you might take on the slightest amount of real responsibility?¡±


    All faces were somber in the room. Sara felt herself sweating as Ron continued his tirade.


    ¡°Are you here to play politics as if we¡¯re running a board game? I pay you well. I give you all the luxuries anyone could want, and I grant you in heaps that elixir you savor the most. That sweetest nectar called ¡®power.¡¯ And what do you do with it? You use it for your own benefit. To boost your status and self-image. To satisfy your unholy proclivities and lusts. But not for me. You don¡¯t use what I give you to help me at all or elevate my status. Not for Vista, either.¡±


    He paused. Sara was not about to respond until given a direct queue.


    ¡°If the mental fucks in California and Hedron would let me, I¡¯d fire each of your personally, right in your boil-encrusted faces. Then I would send you out to pasture, a dark and cold pasture, letting you toil away the remainder of your days wading in the mutton shit of your lives. Yeah, just like Gloria¡¯s ill-fitted fate. Not the first time I¡¯ve said it, but I can run this domain by myself, just me and Imp. But no, I¡¯m forced to keep a staff of imbeciles and ingrates on board to appease those Westrich assholes. Bad enough I have to deal with their legislators and judges and other life-appointed scum of the Earth. Makes me sick.¡±


    Sara had heard this rant so many times, but it was always in his presence. The fact that he was not physically with them sickened her.


    Ron continued. ¡°I know more than they do and am more capable than them. And they know I know that, and it is a fact. The only fact. Imp is the best. No other AI like him in the universe. And there¡¯s no other ship¡¯s admiral like me. I should be steering this fucker by myself, the whole lot of Westrich. Instead, I¡¯m given this diseased domain of gluttonous pigs, umpteen squealing citizens begging for handouts and food and medicines and jobs from me. Don¡¯t you know how I¡¯m spending my own money, my own wealth, to prop-up these millions of docile, worm-eating dolts you call citizens? I could give a shit about any of them and prefer to rule over slime mold. Much more intelligent and responsive. But I¡¯m forced to, forced to, because I don¡¯t have the power to take control over things like I should. This is a fucked world, to have so much knowledge and capability and not be able to use it with purpose and gain the glory and respect I deserve. This measly domain with all its boring, repugnant problems. Humans, hybrids, malodorous genetic crap thrown across my border.¡±


    Ron was out of breath from his tirade. ¡°Imp, what the fuck¡¯s going on with the oxygen content down here?¡± he yelled.


    Nobody on the team dared move their heads to look at each other, so they shifted their eyes to see if everyone else understood what his last comment implied. Ron was in a bunker, perhaps the one a mile below the compound. The one drilled through layers of Texas limestone and bedrock. The one for use only in the most dire of circumstances.


    Edgar, ever the lone wolf, decided to be bold for once. He took his eyes off Ron¡¯s image on the screen and moved his head slowly to the right, then left. He knew what wrath this slight movement might bring upon him, but he wanted to see if the other ministers were as startled. If Ron felt at such risk, why didn¡¯t he at least invite him to the bunker as well?


    Staring at General Vasquez momentarily, Edgar tried to get a sense of whether Ron had already given the order to respond militarily to the impending threats. He got nothing.


    ¡°Edgar!¡± Ron screamed. Imp had amplified the bass intentionally, and the entire room shook from the reverberation. ¡°This was your lovely idea, no?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Hoping he¡¯d not need to respond, Edgar played it safe. No response was often the best response, and his AI directed him to be silent.


    ¡°Probabilities,¡± Edgar thought. ¡°Always playing the odds with this insane creature.¡±


    ¡°Are you planning on answering me, little boy? Edgar. Ed-gar. Ed-gar the gar. Ed-gar the gar fish that swims in the putrid waters next to the compound. Prehistoric, witless, vicious animals. Do you know that once, as a child, I fished with my father in those rivers? Caught a gar, an Ed-gar. Know what it did with those teeth that protrude so menacingly from its mouth? It rattled its head as I tried valiantly to remove the hook from its mouth. And what did I get in return for my sweet, considerate, and humble efforts? My compassion? I got its tooth embedded in my thumb. Then its fins tore my left hand open. I wasn¡¯t even going to eat the slimy, ancient monster. I was going to put in back in the water to have a nice life.¡±


    Edgar was actively querying his AI on multiple fronts. Where, in all likelihood, was Ron? What unilateral actions had he already taken that might put him in the bunker? Was his voice unusually stressed, indicating he¡¯d made a highly risky decision? So much data to process and such little time to analyze. He was having trouble keeping up with the alternatives, decision nodes, and possible outcomes.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I got for being so generous. For being the nice guy. For caring about a fish whose day should have come and gone millions of years prior. Shall I do to you what I did to that gar? Shall I fling you far up onto the shore, flapping away and sucking for air? No, no, I have a better idea! Yes! I¡¯ll do the opposite. You¡¯re my Ed-gar. I¡¯ll slap a hook in your mouth, a woefully heavy one, and set you back in that very river. I¡¯ll tie your scrawny mech arms and legs together so your hands and feet are the only things that can flap, just like that gar¡¯s tiny fins, then I¡¯ll dump you right over there, right into that river. And you can try to swim, flapping away. My Ed-gar. Happy, flappy, fishy Ed-gar. What the fuck did you get me into, Ed-gar, and how are you getting me out of this disaster?¡±


    Sara¡¯s heart was beating out of her chest. Ron had never gone after Edgar like this. She knew Imp was monitoring her every move and every metric it could derive via its room sensors. But Imp didn¡¯t matter at this point. If Ron was angry enough to threaten Edgar with a tortuous death, given all the goodies he had on Ron, she could be next. And there¡¯d be nobody volunteering to help Edgar escape from his pit. Or her.


    ¡°Sara¡¯s fault,¡± he barfed. ¡°It was only a momentary idea. I¡¯m not even sure it was really mine. I only said we needed a plan that might keep Southern on their toes. We needed something beyond the usual. As I recall,¡± he regurgitated, ¡°Sara was the one who embellished the idea of Vista having one hundred percent perfect prediction capabilities.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit!¡± Sara spat. ¡°I¡¯ll gladly pull up the recording now.¡±


    She smiled slyly at Edgar¡¯s surprised look. ¡°You think I don¡¯t record what goes on in my office? You think you¡¯re little AI is the only thing that controls all the world¡¯s data? Fuck you!¡±


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± he screamed back. ¡°Even if I did generate the idea, it was one of dozens I mentioned in the course of our conversation. You were the one who wanted to implement it, to amplify it. You were the one who started this entire mess! Had you and your prissy team of hormones not gone overboard with the idea, Southern would hardly have noticed. But you blasted it out, you bull-horned the narrative, and now we¡¯re up shit creek. And it certainly wasn¡¯t me who started that cross-border bullshit story that has Southern and Bolivar at each other¡¯s necks. That was entirely your mistake.¡±


    ¡°Kids, kids, kids,¡± Ron interrupted in a patronizing manner. ¡°First, Ed-gar. I suggest you don¡¯t go mentioning rivers or creeks, even shitty ones. That idea of dropping your fat ass into the water, fit to be tied, and watching you try to disengage the leaden hook in your mouth? Well, I was just getting past that wonderful thought when you reminded me. And Sara, dear sister Sara. Although Ed-gar lied, as expected, about his role in the genesis of the predictability claim at the core of our impending skirmishes, he is correct about your role in the ¡®cross-border bullshit,¡¯ as he puts it.¡±


    Sara¡¯s eyes moved back to the screen. She was again struck by the full-body camera shot. Why would Ron want to amplify himself to this team? They all understood his grotesque insecurities and attempts at covering them up. What message was he sending?


    She decided to placate him with compliments. That always worked well, as she knew he could never stop thinking about what others thought of him and his performances.


    ¡°Yes, I had a role in that one, sir,¡± she admitted. ¡°It¡¯s part of the much broader and meaningful set of narratives we¡¯re running, and you¡¯re at the center of everything. I¡¯m sure your face is being shown on hundreds of channels right now, amplifying all you¡¯re doing to help the citizens of Vista and our other typical narratives. Look, this story was a minimal plug, a minor distraction. We were only placing a tiny leech on Southern¡¯s ass and letting it suck a bit of blood, but in no way did it get top billing above you and your vidscreen time. In fact, I just checked the numbers and we¡¯re doing far better on the RQ metrics as we speak.¡±


    ¡°RQ?¡± he interjected.


    The deflection worked. She knew he was now off-balance. ¡°Our various cohorts are eating up what we¡¯re saying about you. They love you. You¡¯re their hero, and we keep repeating the messages that elevate you. Who anticipated that Bolivar would glom onto one or two nominal inserts about Southern in the midst of the usual narratives focusing on you? This scratching at their scabs is so typical of what we do, and nobody could have predicted Bolivar could find any truth in the story or that Southern might react so quickly.¡±


    ¡°Well, I clearly expect you to be highlighting me constantly. You damn well better be. I¡¯m the only one that matters to this Vista rabble, and I always need to be front and center. Hell, I am Vista. I am more than Vista. I am Westrich or will be when I finally get the chance. So, thanks for telling me you¡¯re only doing your job to highlight me, but it provides no insights.¡±


    ¡°Damn!¡± she thought. ¡°I am so hobbled without an AI to feed me ideas. What can I use to distract him next?¡±


    Ron continued his rant. ¡±Yet, don¡¯t you see? All of what¡¯s happening this minute could have been pre-determined since we now have perfect prediction capabilities, right Ed-gar? With these amazing new algorithms, we surely knew Southern would place troops along our border. We knew they¡¯d decide to play their menacing war games in southern Texas on my fucking territory! Yes, we were so smart about everything with your collective ¡®narratives.¡¯ Sara darling? Sister Sara? It¡¯s all about your narratives. You¡¯re the narratives girl. You¡¯re the minister tasked to lie and lie, then lie again. To lie and make people happy they heard it. To tell them exactly the opposite of reality and get them to eat that runny dog shit like it was chocolate pudding, the pudding of the gods.¡±


    ¡°Let him continue, Sara,¡± she told herself. ¡°Get it out of his system. This will be over soon.¡±


    ¡°Fucking, ignorant swine in Vista. You can bullshit them until they¡¯re blue in the face, blue-faced swine, then force-feed them more lovely bullshit. Oh, those endorphins! We love those endorphins, don¡¯t we, girl! Those confirmations of belief. How powerful and strong it makes the swine appear to themselves. What a bundle of necrotic joy! But make sure these precious narratives don¡¯t go too far or get us overextended beyond our intentions, because when they do, the ghouls arrive en masse to suck out your souls. You idiot! You fucking should have continued to focus on me. You can never go wrong focusing on me. It¡¯s proven. Does anyone disagree with that?¡±


    Sara did not respond since the question was not directed to her. Luckily, his short attention span focused on another target.


    ¡°General!¡±


    General Vasquez was sitting at attention, as always. He never was seen at-ease in Ron¡¯s presence. Ron had a very troublesome, quarrelsome history with his military commanders, and this poor relationship extended into the command structures in the California and Hedron domains.


    ¡°Yes, sir?¡± Vasquez replied.


    ¡°You know I hate looking like a loser. I¡¯m not a loser. Never have been. Never will be. I win at any cost. Any cost. Get that? I don¡¯t care if you all must fucking die, as long as I win. And guess what? I haven¡¯t even raised my fists yet. I haven¡¯t even stepped into the ring, and I feel like this fight has been called. Your lack of vision has made me look like the punching bag for Southern before all who matter. That¡¯s making me very angry. I¡¯m inclined at this point, very inclined, to unleash my fists, my stockpiles of dread, in recompense. And boy, do I have stockpiles.¡±


    Sara¡¯s mind was wandering, dangerously. ¡°Why has Vasquez never used his special forces, the dark forces, to assassinate this lunatic? Stop! No more! Water-mind, girl. Go no further lest your thoughts betray you, literally.¡±


    ¡°I have the best stockpiles. I have magic pills of bioweaponry and nano and conventional and nuclear that I can unleash at will. At my command! I only need to tell Imp to press the button and ¡®poof¡¯, you¡¯re gone, your proud mech¡¯d army is gone, Southern is gone, and my snorting, gullible piglet citizens are gone. Better yet, my troubles are gone, and I¡¯m a happy guy. I have a vault of horrors waiting for their day in the sun. I have a decoupler, and it does things.¡±


    At this mention, every minister was on highest alert. Sara surveyed the mood of the room, and it appeared that the General understood what Ron was talking about.


    ¡°Decoupler?¡± she wondered. ¡°What the hell is that? I¡¯ve got this sinking feeling his insanity has created an abhorrent beast. Knowing him, he¡¯ll give it try somewhere.¡±


    ¡°So, mi amigo General, Generalissimo. Although Imp provides me with better, more accurate information than the pathetic military systems you spend so much of my money on, please share with us your most learned wisdom regarding what the hell we should do now that Southern is about to rip us a colossal new asshole all across our border with them. I¡¯ll set aside for a moment my infallible intuition regarding the actions I plan to take and give you a few minutes to redeem your fat brass ass, as if you have any credible ideas that exceed my own."

 EP. 90 - GENERAL

    GENERAL VASQUEZ PUSHED HIS chair back from the table and stood at attention, in position. He was board-stiff and clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to deliver.


    ¡°Sir, Southern¡¯s troops are amassing at various locations along our extended border with them. They are targeting the primary checkpoints at border crossings, as might be expected, and also stationing squadrons in proximity to our larger border towns. This extends from Corpus Christi at our south border all the way up to Kirkland, Washington, thirty miles north of our Seattle shipyard facilities. If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to insert my maps on top of the image.¡±


    Ron was livid that the General wanted to use some of the screen real estate, detracting from the enhanced image of himself being projected to the ministers.


    ¡°Mind? Do you think we don¡¯t know our own borders? Do you think my ministers need a schooling on the locations of our population centers? Are they stupid? Are you stupid? Did your background of poverty not prepare you properly for big boy decision-making? I don¡¯t want a map, Generalissimo, I want solutions. I want actions. I want to know what your plans are, because Imp is telling me you¡¯re not doing enough. In fact, Imp says you¡¯ve hardly even started, that you and your mariachi brass band went out drinking and playing for tips at a restaurant this weekend. Or maybe you and your bueno compadres decided to do some rounds of golf instead of defending my fucking borders!¡±


    ¡°We did no such thing, sir.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only funning you, Herr General. Only funning. Please, continue for my amusement.¡±


    Vasquez was having difficulty keeping his composure. Everyone noticed the sweat pouring from beneath the gold-braided hat he wore at all times.


    ¡°Yes, sir. Southern is making noise, yet it¡¯s not in the places we would expect if they had intentions to start anything major. We¡¯ve war-gamed scenarios the last few days, and the AIs keep returning the same response. Though Southern is obviously agitated for various reasons, these shows of force appear to be saber-rattling only.¡±


    ¡°Oh, indeed. You¡¯re suggesting their incursions into Corpus are only saber-rattling?¡±


    ¡°Well, technically, sir, if I could show you on the map, they have not crossed our border. Yes, some of their troops stumbled upon the DMZ area we three nation-states established, but we believe this was by mistake since they quickly withdrew.¡±


    ¡°And what does your pathetic intelligence division tell us about their intentions?¡±


    ¡°Same thing, sir. The intelligence teams participated in these war games. Many of our assets are deployed in various high-level positions of Southern¡¯s government, as you are aware. They are confirming our analyses.¡±


    ¡°As I am aware. As I am aware. Oh, yes, I see what you see, and I see what you don¡¯t see. I have perfect vision in this world of sightless fools like yourself. And what about your generalissimo counterparts in our other two domains? What do those worthless hacks think we should do?¡±


    ¡°Sir, our war gaming was done in coordination with them as well. I¡¯m sure you know the other Westrich oligarchs are following their advice, which is to proceed with caution and take no first action. This is a tense moment, sir, and cooler heads shall prevail.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    Visibly on screen, Ron expanded his size by ten percent, like a peacock spreading its tail to display the full plumage.


    ¡°What was what, sir?¡±


    ¡°Your inferred slight, the subtle reference about ¡®cooler heads¡¯ that fell from your snake lips. Are you saying your joint chief buddies think I¡¯m not self-contained? That I can¡¯t handle my emotions in times like this? Do you know my history, Herr General? Do you know what I¡¯ve been through? How much I¡¯ve sacrificed for Vista and its piglets? Those fuckers, you fuckers, are not worthy of my efforts, for damn sure. Were it not for me, Southern would own us by now. They¡¯d have raped and pillaged and danced their way to our west coast assets, totally unhindered. They¡¯d have annexed our valuable ports and plundered our natural resources. I¡¯ve personally saved this nation¡¯s ass so many times, and I have not heard a single ¡®thank you¡¯ or a polite comment about my many accomplishments.¡±


    ¡°Apologies. I assumed you¡¯ve been in communications with the other oligarchs. I thought they were keeping you apprised to develop and execute a mutual course of action.¡±


    The screen went dark. Ron¡¯s image was no longer visible, nor could they hear him.


    Edgar had seen Ron angry before, even insanely angry, so his penchant for spitting epithets at his team was nothing new. But this time, he sensed something different. Ron was more disengaged from reality than normal.


    ¡°My AI says the lines are not down,¡± Edgar volunteered. ¡°Appears he is not in the bunker below and is apparently in one of the remote bunkers. My AI keeps repinging the network, and the network appears to be fine.¡±


    The team sat in silence around the table. Nobody wanted to move from their positions for fear they¡¯d be caught in the act, even if it was to use the restroom. In critical conversations like this, nobody ever left for any reason. There was no sauntering to the back of the room for refreshments. Any apparent flinch or scratch of the head might signal attention, and attention was typically followed by Ron¡¯s wrath and vengeance.


    Sara stared at her hands. All others in the room were Vistachitted and during delays like this, they could readily communicate thoughts and actions to their teams or check on the status of projects. Without that chip, she felt hampered, unable to productively utilize her time fully. While the cellphone was in front of her, she dared not touch it nor project any indication of distraction away from Ron.


    After a minute, the screen returned. Ron was beaming a wide, ugly smile she¡¯d seen only a few instances before, like the time his mech guards physically removed a quarrelsome minister at Ron¡¯s behest. They never heard from or spoke of that minister again.


    ¡°You turds,¡± he growled. ¡°You sun-baked, dog-recycled turds. General, continue to stand there like a dupe as I tell you what just happened.¡±


    Sara glanced across the table at Edgar who was obviously conversing with his AI. ¡°Better not let him see you disengaged, my boy,¡± she thought. ¡°He will ream your ass good if he finds you copulating with your dear AI.¡±


    The general remained stiff at attention, awaiting Ron¡¯s command.


    ¡°So, you say your joint chiefs made this decision without my input. The other Westrich oligarchs, the sneaky fuckers, went right along with it and didn¡¯t bother to include me in the conversation. How lovely. How quaint.¡±


    ¡°But sir, this was only an hour ago. They asked me to inform you of their preliminary decision in this specific meeting.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Oh, and who¡¯s giving you orders now? It¡¯s not me, apparently. It must be the other oligarchs, those sweet angels and my best amigos. They feared involving me because they know I¡¯ll make a different decision. A command decision. A dominating decision. A decision that will stop this fucking Southern harassment and get them off my ass once and for all. Now, Herr General, do the other oligarchs in Westrich have a three-thousand-mile-long border with Southern? Are Southern¡¯s troops staging outside of Provo, or Bakersfield, or Santa Rosa?¡±


    Vasquez wasn¡¯t sure whether to respond, but Ron continued anyway. ¡°No, they can¡¯t stage in those places because we have no fucking borders there! Maybe you should indeed show us your grade school map on the screen, huh? Maybe now is the time to do that. Maybe we need a lesson in geography, about how my domain has this extended, necrotic sore that¡¯s oozing pus; this detestable demarcation with both Southern and Bolivar. I¡¯m the one always getting heat from the shit they throw across the wall, like these nonstop bio-weapon agents. Their regular gifts to me, and I return the favor. Meanwhile, the other Westrich oligarchs frolic on their beaches. After they defecate from having swilled too many margaritas, they throw their feces my way, saying I responded inappropriately to this or that. How I should have involved them in some inconsequential decision.¡±


    ¡°Sir, if Southern throws major shit over the wall, we¡¯re prepared to throw them back more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fuck with me, private.


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m off-track, and I don¡¯t want to be off-track. Your collective incompetence, dear team of ministerial impotence, steers me in the wrong direction. If I could run this fucking domain without you, all would be well. But then, I shouldn¡¯t waste time saying this, because you know this to be the case.¡±


    Ron paused, waiting to see if anyone would step out of line.


    ¡°Now, let me gift you with the stellar, breaking news that Imp just told me. Guess who just unleashed a friendly virus or two our way? Huh? And guess how they¡¯re doing it? Anyone? Anyone? Those whores at the border, the whores in Southern uniforms with their tiny dicks peeking out for a look-see, are unleashing across the border thousands of very small drones containing vials of nasty, nasty agents. Something novel, apparently, according to an assay directly from the field minutes ago. It¡¯s a new agent that appears to evade our normal mech antivirus tech. One for which we can¡¯t quickly develop a vaccine. Herr General, we are already seeing your troops drop like flies, sick and writhing in pain. I assume they¡¯ll die, and maybe you¡¯ll all die.¡±


    Ron stopped. Like TV personalities who once sported earpieces for directors to shout instructions at them, Ron was very adept at both monologuing while receiving information at the same moment through his Vistachit. However, when the feed was a vital piece of news, Ron needed to concentrate for a moment.


    ¡°Herr General. You¡¯re wondering why you haven¡¯t heard this wonderful news, right? You¡¯re no doubt wondering why this same information is not arriving simultaneously in your Vistachit feed. I will tell you why. Because I can¡¯t trust you, so I turned off your link. I can¡¯t trust you any longer. You and your cabal of generals from California and Hedron have decided to work around Imp and me, and I don¡¯t like that one bit.¡±


    ¡°But sir . . .¡±


    ¡°Shut up, you five-star fuck! I¡¯m talking. I don¡¯t trust you. I don¡¯t trust the other oligarchs. I don¡¯t trust the listless, ass-kissing congressmen and judges. They are the definition of corrupt. I can own them with a single flick of snot from my finger. They worship me because they have to, no different than monkeys at the zoo begging for food. Their morals are terminally distorted, and they lack my purity of intention and purpose. None are even close to where I am, where Imp and I are, when it comes to making strategic decisions for this nation. And I¡¯m not talking about Vista alone. Nobody else on this planet has perfect access to data and perfect knowledge like me. Why, I¡¯d be surprised if I¡¯m not going to perfectly predict what will happen next.¡±


    He laughed aloud, then expanded his physical on-screen presence even more. ¡°This is what will happen next, Generalissimo. Time to sit down, my child, and take lessons from the mastermind.¡±


    Vasquez sat slowly, cautiously onto his chair. For a man who had seen substantial direct warfare, his usual stone face was replaced by sheer terror.


    Ron continued. ¡°You will go back to your brass-assed buddies and inform them I am moving unilaterally against Southern, and perhaps I¡¯ll take a swipe or two at our Latino buddies to the south.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up. I know you¡¯ll do this, because I have those perfect prediction capabilities, right Ed-gar?¡±


    Edgar raised his eyebrows but assumed Ron was not wanting a response.


    ¡°I already know that you, General, and four or five others on my traitorous team are planning on leaving this room as soon as possible to inform your comrades, both in Vista and elsewhere. You¡¯ll tattle that I am breaking the sacred and unbroken rule about power-sharing in this post-Debacle age. But you see, there is no such rule. Sure, there¡¯s an unspoken agreement that we oligarchs in Westrich will not take unilateral military action, but nothing¡¯s written. No constitution. No set of ¡®how oligarchs must act¡¯ book. No cowardly cooperation or compromise. Only weak and fading history. Only norms and expectations ¨C which are inherently fuckable.¡±


    Sara noticed her left index finger tapping the table nervously as if she had an uncontrollable twitch. Without moving the rest of her hand, she quickly clenched it in her palm.


    Ron went on. ¡°Soft things. Meaningless things. Right now, I could give a flying fuck about great-in-theory standards and norms, and I don¡¯t care what has happened historically. None of that shit matters. I only played their games because I didn¡¯t have the power at the time not to play them, at least not until now.¡±


    Edgar noticed the General becoming further agitated. His eyes met the General¡¯s, and Edgar raised his fingers slightly as a signal for him to back off and settle down. He was accustomed to Ron¡¯s bluster, whether in good times or bad, whereas Vasquez had experienced less road time with him. Edgar assumed this was the usual litany of Ron¡¯s harsh threats without any real intention to act.


    ¡°Oh, Ed-gar? Ed-gar?¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡± he realized. ¡°Imp caught that movement.¡±


    ¡°You brag constantly about your AI. How it¡¯s unmatched, and only Imp can outdo it. What does your magical Vistachit connection to your AI prostitute tell you about what we should do with this slight border problem?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, sir.¡±


    ¡°Your expensive AI crystal ball, your golden idol, says we should do nothing?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. I have not asked my AI to render an analysis and opinion.¡±


    ¡°And you better not. It would be an inferior opinion to what I must do. I¡¯m good about making decisions like this. I have a good sense about what to do, a superior and genetic gut sense, and that sense is compounded in power and certainty by Imp¡¯s concurrence. It¡¯s my brain telling me what to do, and it is also Imp¡¯s, with all his processing and control and war-gaming and predictive capabilities. No parallel processing like this can possibly occur anywhere else on Earth. Two superior minds melding into one supreme intelligence.¡±


    Ron stopped for a moment, waiting for someone to ask the obvious.


    ¡°Silence? Aren¡¯t you curious, team?¡± he chided them. ¡°Herr General, aren¡¯t you curious?¡±


    ¡°Sir? Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Great! I¡¯ll let you in on my secret plan of action, but then I¡¯ll have to kill each of you, surreptitiously. Perhaps in your sleep.¡±


    Ron laughed aloud. A few at the table broke a hesitant smile.


    ¡°Kiddies,¡± he began condescendingly. ¡°I¡¯m tired of this harassment. I¡¯m tired of being Southern¡¯s target. They don¡¯t deserve me being nice to them. They deserve bad things, very bad things. These are horrible people, the worst, and I don¡¯t care what happens to them. I don¡¯t care if the whole lot of them are wiped from the face of the Earth. The Earth would be better for it, and they¡¯d deserve it for what they¡¯ve done to me. The hassles they caused. Attacks on me personally and on my domain and its snorting piglets. Present company excepted, of course. You¡¯re no piglets. Piglets at least have bacon value. No, you¡¯re turds, which simply bake in the sun. Either way, I didn¡¯t ask for this. I tried to be nice to them, but they played a different game, a game of no way out. One-way street. Southern is a human-hybrid plague of the worst kind, and just like any other plague, we need inoculations to prevent it. To wipe it out forever.¡±


    Sara had heard rhetoric like this before, but never quite as forceful and never when Ron was holed-up in one of his subterranean shelters. He had them built specifically for himself and Imp. They were constructed to withstand virtually any attack, save for a direct hit from a multi-megaton nuclear explosion. Aside from the one beneath them, Sara didn¡¯t know where the others were located. She only knew they existed.


    ¡°Humor me, students. Am I wrong? Because if I¡¯m wrong, I expect one of you to shout it out, to tell me Southern is great, and I¡¯m missing something wonderful about them. That I¡¯m not seeing what you¡¯re seeing. Anybody? I mean, does anybody care if I wipe the whole lot of them off the planet? Because I can do that, I can do that very well, very effectively. Mine is the best weapons tech, and Imp has the best plans to accomplish the task. No other capabilities like mine exist on this planet."

 EP. 91 - ENTROPY

    LIKE OTHER MINISTERS AT the table, Sara was beginning to sense Ron might follow-through on his bombast this time. He had blustered and raged his way through many crises in her years with him, but she could not recall circumstances like this. Ron in a bunker. Southern troop movements at border points. Reports of virulent agents being spread across the domain. Impending conflict between Southern and Bolivar that could easily spill into Vista and Westrich.


    She also knew Imp was monitoring everything about them and feeding the information in real-time to Ron. Imp used room sensors to collect sweat and scents emitted by their bodies. Cameras could detect slight movements like the raising of neck hairs and sweat on the nose and armpits. Imp possessed an extensive database that could perfectly interpret facial and body motions, how much of what was being spoken was truth versus lies, when they were bullshitting, and whether they agreed or disagreed with Ron or others. Imp also was the most accurate at sensing thoughts and predicting actions.


    Except for a few places in the compound, Sara assumed every thought was an open book, given Imp¡¯s ability to assess and predict all aspects of their behavior. Despite this capability, the participants at the table pretended Imp was not that good, as if they could like, hate, politic, and rationalize without these emotions and intentions being recorded and analyzed.


    Humans were generally incapable of gathering this information themselves due to subtleties that caused them doubts. Was that last glance one of approval or disapproval? Was that move of the hand to the face a result of a headache or disgust? No person could accurately determine such attributes of human intention. But Imp could.


    Ron flipped the full-body projection to focus only on his face. Sara could tell it was being modified by Imp ¨C no imperfections, no large pores, and perfect symmetry in facial features.


    ¡°Why the fuck does he continue to do this?¡± she wondered.


    ¡°Are you worried about me, Sara?¡± he chided.


    In the moment, she lamented that she had not cleared her mind. Imp was picking her up, whether through facial sensor tech or via its ability to sense and interpret the energy from her brain.


    ¡°Why should I worry, sir? I¡¯m only here to execute at your command.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± he laughed, ¡°poor choice of words! Right now, you¡¯d be advised to stay away from words I might be thinking about you, like ¡®execute¡¯ and such. You¡¯re not on my happy list, girl. Of course, neither is my fish friend Ed-gar. You both screwed up with your comms plans, and don¡¯t deny it! Given the extensive access to data resources I so graciously provide, both of you should have taken a second of your valuable time to consider the implications. If you had done your jobs properly, you¡¯d have known better than to stir the pot between Southern and Bolivar. Pissing them off about land grabs, you fucking amateurs? And you should have known better than to make excessive claims about our predictive capabilities. All that bullshit you flung about quantum this and quantum that and time-shifting backwards. What a little shop of horrors you both created for me!¡±


    Edgar and Sara dared not look at each other. They were veterans of Ron¡¯s moods, and they knew well to simply stare at him; to accept the vulgar threats passively as they discharged from his abominable mouth; to never flinch or show a moment of fear.


    Ron stared angrily at them. He understood they both knew better than to respond. ¡°Tell you what I¡¯ll do as a result of your mismanagement. This is no conjecture. No uncertainty here. In fact, my plans are already under way.¡±


    The General was ready to burst. ¡°Sir, I strongly suggest you . . .¡±


    ¡°Sit the fuck down!¡± Ron screamed. ¡°I predicted your childish outburst. Do you know my personal guards are outside the door? One more indiscretion from you, and your ass is mine. It¡¯s toast. No more Generalissimo. No more war games. No, if you move even a fucking eyelid again, I¡¯ll send you out on one of the drones I¡¯m deploying. You¡¯ll fly personally, first class, at supersonic speeds towards Southern¡¯s capital city. If you survive that ride, then you¡¯ll watch as the payload unloads itself directly atop the roof of their soon-to-be demolished capitol building. What fun, no? Just like that old movie of the B-52 pilot riding the nuke to its destination. I¡¯ll even glue a cowboy hat on your head so it doesn¡¯t fly off in the wind as you sail down with that baby toward a lovely Georgia town.¡±


    The General was breathing rapidly and sweat was dropping into his eyes, but he couldn¡¯t wipe it away.


    ¡°Say goodbye to some of those stars on your shoulders,¡± Sara thought.


    ¡°I suggest no further interruptions. Look, though I might rib all of you at times, I understand you tried your pathetic best as a team to do as I asked. Only thing is this: I don¡¯t need you, as I stated earlier. Why use fallible humans at this level of international strategy? Imp will replace you, when all is said and done. But I do have something for you. A gift of my gratitude and appreciation, though I am the one who should be receiving gifts. Nonetheless, it¡¯s me giving to you, as usual. Assuming each of you behaves properly, and maybe with the exception of Herr Traitorous General who is unable to control himself, I am offering you the antidote.¡±


    Nobody¡¯s head moved, nor did their eyes. They knew what this meant. Ron had plans to deploy a biologic. The question was whether this was the typical ¡®back-over-the-wall¡¯ strike, or something bigger.


    ¡°I mentioned my decoupler, remember? Oh fuck!¡±


    Another moment of silence from Ron¡¯s end.


    ¡°Imp reports Bolivar just launched missiles in a trajectory towards Georgia. Fuck! And I wanted to get there first, the bastards. They look nuclear. Well, a slight change of plans, General. Appears you might be riding that drone¡¯s bomb into some other city that hasn¡¯t yet been torched to a crumb. I¡¯ll let you know in moments.¡±


    The room was silent and motionless, but every minister was quaking within. Border skirmishes were somewhat common, but a strike against any capital city was a declaration of war.


    ¡°All the more reason to release my decoupler, right, Benjamin? Hey, shithole. Are you awake?¡±


    ¡°I am awake, sir,¡± Benjamin stuttered.


    ¡°Do you want to educate them on my wondrous decoupler?¡±


    ¡°Sure, sir. Should I give a technical explanation? Most will not fully understand.¡±


    ¡°Well, with that response, it appears you are unable to dumb this down to my dumbed-down team, so the job gets thrown back at me. Besides, it was my idea. You were just the tool, you and your team.¡±


    With a somber look, Benjamin shook his head in agreement.


    ¡°Okay, kids. Brace yourselves. I have a nice piece of new tech to resolve my problems with Southern. And before you each go ballistic, recall that if you behave well, I¡¯ll give you the antidote.¡±


    He scanned the room. ¡°Smiles? Thanks? Isn¡¯t a ¡®thanks¡¯ in order?¡±


    The team in gave their thanks in feeble unison, though they were unsure why they were forced to do so.


    ¡°Better. I like people who appreciate what I give them, because I give the best stuff, exactly what people need. And I know what they need before they do, just like I know Southern needs this from me.¡±


    He turned his head to his right to stare at Edgar. ¡°Ed-gar, I want to thank you personally for helping with the design of this agent, though it may have been your AI that came up with the great idea and not you. But I don¡¯t care if you take the credit. This is so novel. So novel. This decoupler self-replicates wherever there is oxygen. Indeed, it is powered by the presence of oxygen. As a result, once unleashed, it can spread like wildfire.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Sara felt she was losing control. She closed her eyes, shifting her hand to her head. Becky¡¯s image fell into her mind.


    Taking notice of her reaction, Ron dug in. ¡°Dear sister Sara, Imp tells me you¡¯re feeling ill. In fact, Imp tells me you are all a bit too stressed. Don¡¯t take this wrong, okay? I¡¯m not talking about wasting the entire world. I¡¯m only talking about teaching our Southern friends a lesson they¡¯ll never forget, if any are left after those missiles hit their marks.¡±


    His attention returned to the other ministers. ¡°It was Ed-gar¡¯s AI genius that came up with this, so I¡¯d think you¡¯d all be clapping for the grand technical achievement. It¡¯s apparent you don¡¯t understand, though, so I¡¯ll tell you as if I was telling a jackass how to eat hay. First, the decoupler. It¡¯s not just a simple decoupler, but a cellular decoupler.¡±


    Sara opened her eyes and frowned quizzically at Benjamin. Oddly, he was beaming broadly as if whatever monster he created was a wonderful invention in the hands of a madman who could use it to annihilate millions.


    ¡°Cellular decoupler?¡± Sara mumbled unintentionally.


    ¡°Put simply, it¡¯s great new tech. Unfortunately, it took longer to develop the vaccine than I thought, otherwise I might already have deployed my decoupler across Southern. The magic is in what it does to the cell walls of animals. This highly competent, hardly detectable agent approaches a cell and tears right into its wall, changing its DNA so the wall self-destructs. The cell bleeds-out, in effect. It leaks to death. It¡¯s not that Benjamin and his team of white coat rats are such great scientists. It really is more about the perfection present in many viruses, natural or otherwise, to permeate cell walls. The main difference is that this one is not a full virus, only component parts. Enough parts to replicate easily in air or water, but also enough to decouple a cute little bunny rabbit in a matter of hours, unassisted. And I don¡¯t mean ¡®decouple¡¯ in the fornication sense of the word.¡±


    The ministers sat still in dead silence.


    ¡°Confused?¡± he asked. ¡°Don¡¯t be. It¡¯s already on its way to Southern¡¯s key cities and towns. Being deployed as we speak, mostly via drones. Dropped directly above the bastards. Since it took us two years to develop the antidote, I doubt our buddies in Southern will have time to respond.¡±


    ¡°Range?¡± Sara stuttered. Her head was swimming.


    ¡°Sorry you feel sick, sister, but a great question. Why didn¡¯t anyone else ask? That Imp has determined, its range depends on how much has been dropped and its effectiveness out of the lab to replicate in air or water. I don¡¯t care about the slimy fish it kills. Sorry Ed-gar. And I certainly don¡¯t care about the humans and other animals. I only care that Southern gets schooled on who¡¯s the boss, and not to fuck with me. That¡¯s what I care about. So back to your question, sister Sara. It¡¯s probably twenty to fifty miles in radius before it breaks down from the sun¡¯s radiation. But so many factors can cause that to vary. Either way, I know what you¡¯re thinking. I know everything, so let me answer your most pressing question. Will this kill any Westrich citizens?¡±


    Sara was nervously rocking back and forth, trying to reduce her oncoming nausea. ¡°Appears Sara is the only one nodding. Interesting that she¡¯s the only one asking this question. And here is the answer. Yes! Yes! Some of our snorting piglets will be sacrificed, particularly those in cities and towns close to the border. But you can¡¯t have a skirmish without a little collateral damage, right team?¡±


    ¡°Austin?¡± someone asked.


    ¡°Afraid so. You¡¯re in a border town, gringos! Any of you ever hear that song about leaving Texas? Rearview mirror? None of you country fans? However, I¡¯m generous enough to give you adequate lead time to ¡®get outta town, podners.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Teams?¡± another asked.


    ¡°My sincere apologies about your teams,¡± he replied sarcastically. ¡°I know they¡¯re extensions of your own egos, and that¡¯s the only reason you care about them. I¡¯m afraid they¡¯ll have to ¡®take one for the Gipper,¡¯ that funny old sports analogy. Imp¡¯s predicting some will die in Austin and some won¡¯t.¡±


    Unable to control himself any longer, General Vasquez finally stood up and screamed, ¡°You fucking ass! You already deployed this tech?¡±


    Immediately, two of Ron¡¯s mech¡¯d guards burst into the room and forcefully dragged out the General after neutralizing him with an electrostatic gun.


    ¡°Anyone else care to interrupt me?¡± Ron smiled.


    Sara couldn¡¯t control her body¡¯s reaction. She regurgitated her breakfast directly onto the tabletop.


    ¡°Sister Sara!¡± Ron exclaimed. ¡°Did this make you sick, or did you catch something from your cancer-ridden sibling?¡±


    Sara spun sideways and threw up again, this time on the carpet.


    A few of the other ministers immediately stood to begin searching for towels.


    ¡°Sara, you¡¯re excused. Get the hell out of there, sweet child. I bet it stinks in that room like you are now swimming in Sara¡¯s personal sewage. Just get the hell out. I¡¯ll come back to you after you¡¯ve controlled your disgusting puke machine.¡±


    Shaking across her body, Sara hobbled weakly from the room, heaving and trying to repress any remaining contents.


    ***


    Though she felt terrible, Sara knew she needed to gain mental clarity immediately, given the circumstances. Unwilling to warn or face her team, she took the elevator from the conference room floor down to the underground parking garage.


    ¡°Can I get you something?¡± the parking guard asked, searching for a towel.


    ¡°No, no. I¡¯m fine. Do you have a paper towel for my blouse?¡±


    He grabbed a rolled-up hand towel used for back support on his chair. ¡°Sick?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes, sick. Think it¡¯s something I ate,¡± she winced, wiping off bits of a partially digested bagel.


    Her mind was racing. ¡°Can you do me a favor?¡± she asked. ¡°I left my cellphone in the conference room and am not going back after puking up a storm in there. Can you lend me your phone? I¡¯ll pay you for it.¡±


    ¡°No need to, ma¡¯am,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s my personal phone, not company issue. They don¡¯t give me one since I don¡¯t have status. I¡¯m just a stupid guard, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? You¡¯re so nice. Yes, I¡¯ll take your phone and give it back in a bit. Access code?¡±


    He gave her the screen code as she noticed his name tag. ¡°John? Thanks, John. I¡¯ll be sure they give you company issue after this.¡±


    Sara walked up the ramp, just beyond his hearing range. She looked around to see if any of Edgar¡¯s or Ron¡¯s sensor systems were visible, but saw none.


    ¡°Strange,¡± she thought, ¡°how they could be so stupid as to not place their sensors on this long ramp? Budget cuts, the idiots.¡±


    She called her pilot and arranged to have the jet prepared for flight.


    ¡°John,¡± she said after walking back down the ramp, ¡°I hate to ask this, but I¡¯m in a hurry. You know who I am, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I live here but am always being driven around.¡±


    ¡°You want me to drive you somewhere?¡±


    ¡°No, not that. I¡¯d like to drive your car to our private airport just a few miles from here. I need to catch a flight immediately. Pilot and jet are waiting as we speak. I¡¯ll ask them to have someone bring it back here to you.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but don¡¯t you usually go out in the armored SUVs?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, and I¡¯m glad you¡¯re on your toes. This is a special instance, John, and nobody is going to be out there holding a bazooka with plans to shoot at the least important minister in Vista,¡± she laughed.


    He fumbled nervously for his keys. ¡°That Honda over there. Needs a charge, but you should be good to go. Maybe they could boost it at the air strip if needed?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll have them do that before it¡¯s returned.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t let me plug it in here. Budgets.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re telling me,¡± she smiled. ¡°Thanks much for your help.¡±


    Before taking off, Sara arranged for a rental car in Eugene to drive to her sister¡¯s remote location. Given the confusion she anticipated as Ron rolled out his unilateral actions, she assumed nobody would be thinking about tracking her whereabouts. Not at this moment. Not at the potential ass-end of humanity¡¯s reign on the planet.


    She boarded the jet without incident. At mid-flight, the pilot walked back into the cabin. In an unusual gesture, she sat down in the seat next to Sara.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she stated in a calm manner. ¡°Computer¡¯s got the helm. Madam Minister, I¡¯ve been listening as events are transpiring. Not good. Indeed, catastrophic. I¡¯m rerouting us away from our Los Alamos flight path. Apparently, there¡¯s a mushroom cloud. Direct hit on our Labs facilities. Either way, Santa Fe reported the flash, and now they¡¯ve gone dark as well. I¡¯m hoping nothing takes us out of the sky, though we¡¯re mighty small and at a very high altitude for missiles to take much notice. Whatever the hell is going on, it sounds like the world will never be the same after this day. I¡¯ll stay in Westrich airspace, then drop you off at the private strip in Eugene, assuming all is still okay there. I¡¯m worried about my kids. There¡¯s a basketball game tomorrow, and I¡¯m the team mom.¡±


    The pilot wiped her tears away. ¡°Can I get you anything, ma¡¯am? The vidscreen in front of you should be working if you care to hear the news.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sara replied with as much politeness as she could muster. ¡°I so appreciate you doing this on a moment¡¯s notice. I have business in the Eugene area and must stay focused. This may sound crazy, but I can¡¯t handle the news right now. Not at all.¡±


    ¡°Understood, ma¡¯am,¡± the pilot responded. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know if any other issues arise.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. And good luck with your ballgame.¡±


    The pilot grimaced and turned quickly away, knowing there would be no ballgame.


    After landing, Sara located the car waiting aside the runway.


    ¡°Becky. Damn it!¡± she lamented after dialing and redialing her number to no avail.


    Becky¡¯s house was an hour¡¯s drive outside Eugene. While Sara was driving there, it became obvious that everyone was inside their homes, likely watching and anticipating the worst.


    ¡°I can¡¯t turn on the radio. I can¡¯t listen to the pounding drums of death. I must ignore this approaching debacle until after I see my sister¡¯s face. I only need to talk with her once more, then I¡¯ll re-engage. I¡¯ll get back to the work at hand, dealing with whatever remains of my team, of Vista, and of Westrich. Surely this huge forest of green will not be affected by Ron¡¯s insane new tech. He only said ¡®animals,¡¯ right? Or did he? Even if his plague got to this place, the trees should remain intact. But I doubt he actually had the balls to deploy it. He can¡¯t have unleashed his AI-conceived beast. He¡¯s not that fucking crazy, is he?"

 EP. 92 - INFINITE

    ¡°I AM THE INFINITE. None other than you, Imp, can accurately confirm that.¡±


    Ron was entranced in thought, staring at the floor while he murmured to himself. This was not his favored location. It lacked the amenities of his other bunkers. The bed was too stiff, the pillows were nasty, and the toilet paper was harsh on his ass. But it was the closest one to Austin and the most expedient place to execute his plan.


    Besides, it was a good thing to be centrally located on the continent. He was within a few hours of a jet ride to his sister¡¯s bunker, assuming she would survive the anarchy of the aftermath. And he liked the central southwest. Didn¡¯t want to leave it. When he¡¯d finally emerge, this location might suit him well to fight the good fight of dominating whoever and whatever remained.


    He didn¡¯t know how long this emergence might take. It depended upon a number of things. How effective was his decoupler? What factors might affect its transmissibility? How might it respond in rain or other weather conditions? Would the replication window close as planned after fourteen days? What demons might have been deployed by his enemies? Biotech agents? Nukes? Nanobots? Hunter drones? Hybridized animals, birds, or reptiles? Bugs? That one bothered him the most.


    Ron knew every nation state had been experimenting with insects as lethal biotech, but he wasn¡¯t sure how far it had gone. And the thought of having to defend against bugs always bothered him. Every encounter with a bug rekindled bad memories of his mother¡¯s obsession with cleanliness and hatred of anything nonhuman.


    One day in his childhood, she discovered termites had invaded their mansion. She burst into his room, grabbed him roughly by the arm, and hastily threw Ron and his sisters into the car. They were ordered to stay silent, seat belts buckled, until she reached their new destination at an expensive hotel. The four of them stayed for months at that hotel, waiting for their new house to be constructed from scratch to her exacting specifications.


    The new mansion had no wood framing, and the spaces between each metal stud were filled with foam insulation, including all inside walls. Baseboards weren¡¯t applied until the gaps between the drywall and flooring had been sealed. The mansion¡¯s concrete pad was reinforced in layers and doubled in depth to avoid termites from entering through cracks. Electrical outlets were sealed. Window frames were thickly caulked, and his mother personally inspected every potential entrance into the home, from dryer vents to hose bibs, ensuring even the smallest ant would be challenged to find its way inside.


    For Ron, this severity of precision seemed a reasonable extension of his mother¡¯s normal insanity. She didn¡¯t think and didn¡¯t care that her discovery of these invaders forced him to leave behind everything he valued in the old house. Toys. Clothes. Stuffed animals. Baseball cards. The ceiling vidscreen that displayed the stars slowly moving in concert with Earth¡¯s rotation


    She promised he could get a replacement in the new house, but when he reminder her, she replied harshly, ¡°you¡¯re too old.¡± This was her same rationale for all he left behind ¨C which was everything.


    She threw out the clothes and shoes he and his sisters wore that day. She even bought a new car, as if termites might have been lurking in the underbody of the old one.


    He couldn¡¯t recall if that series of events precipitated the arguments and screaming between his parents. Until then, in fact, he had never really noticed how they related to each other. What mattered to him at that point was what he owned.


    Yet, after a few years of continuous parental torment, what mattered most to him were the squabbles, violence, hateful words, and vengeance. Unwilling to deal with the emotional toll it was taking on him, he decided to turn it off, to disgorge any emotion from his system and force himself to care only about what he possessed and who and what he controlled.


    Their insensitivity to his needs exposed him to an immutable fact of humanity. People were stupid, he understood. Innately, utterly, resolutely stupid and selfish, even apparently successful ones like his parents. Since he was the only human he knew who held this unique insight and vision, he needed to ensure his personal success and longevity in order to pull his straggling species forward. He believed that if he could succeed at his quest, this alone would bootstrap humanity. He could then drag the species along behind him while destroying threats from detractors who failed to comprehend the superior nature of his vision.


    Ron felt the only way to set humans on the right path, or at least a nonthreatening path, was to carefully curate the bilge that went into their minds and manage the excrement that emerged ungraciously from their mouths. Controlling what people thought was the real power, he knew, and a righteous power at that. Maybe even a power that would save humanity from its own foibles and utter impotence.


    Fool them. Coerce. Taunt. Make them emotional. Love Ron. Hate Ron. Repeat Ron. Repeat Ron again. Keep their minds busy with inane, topical candy, and that will mitigate the danger of them thinking too much for themselves. No amount of possessions or pleasures could ever exceed that kind of power. The world he envisioned must not have armies of termites with too much independence of thought.


    Ron glanced up at the numerous vidscreens on his video wall.


    ¡°Imp, what the fuck?¡± he complained. ¡°I don¡¯t need these screens. You give me all this and more through my Vistachit interface. Why am I looking at these? We¡¯ve done the deed, the genius of my decoupler.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll see now. They¡¯ll see what I¡¯m capable of doing. And it¡¯s all for the best, isn¡¯t it? We had too much incompetence. Too many pigs slopping in the filth and muck they considered their lives.¡±


    ¡°I will be known from this point as the creator of a new generation of humanity. For whatever is left will come to know my generosity and talents, come to be managed by me, grow to love me as their visionary leader. Isn¡¯t it true, Imp?¡±


    ¡°To think, I was forced for so long, so many years, to tolerate the maggots who swarmed around me. Ministers of bullshit ministries, industrialists, lobbyists, military, senators, congressmen. Those who claimed they could prosecute or punish or judge, as if they could ever judge me. Worst of all were those beasts who considered themselves oligarchs or demigods, when none of them could rise to the challenge of assuming such a grand moniker. None, except me. And none of them had you, Imp.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Shit-eating maggots they were, now suckling their just desserts. They failed to provide me appropriate deference and gratitude. They could never have paid me back for all I had given them. It¡¯s proper recompense for failing to recognize my superior wisdom and cunning. Even with the AIs they had, the braggard bastards, none predicted their own end.¡±


    ¡°Do you recall the number of times the maggots tried to take me down? Me, of all oligarchs? The one who has you? Why attempt the futility of that task? We were, we are, the perfect marriage of perfect humanity, perfect machine, and perfect mind coalesced into one supreme understanding of all that is seen and unseen.¡±


    Ron glanced back at his screens, noting the relative positions of his remaining drones as they continued to carry their lethal payloads to the designated locations. They were small and agile enough to evade most radar and defensive systems, but adequately ample to carry their intended pathogens.


    Something was wrong in the bunker, though. He was breathing faster than normal, and the air was getting dank.


    ¡°What the fuck is happening to the oxygen in this room, Imp?¡± he spat.


    Imp did not respond, nor had Imp responded to any query since Ron had unleashed his plagues and other warfare. He assumed Imp was too busy assessing the impacts of the growing potential for devastation and determining appropriate countermeasures.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re working extra hard, but hurry up with your processing. We¡¯re too far underground for any missteps, and I¡¯m sure as hell not going up to ground level where clouds of genetic, robotic, or nuclear death might find me. No, I¡¯ll wait here these days, weeks or months until we¡¯ve determined it is safe to rise again from the ashes and sniff the fresh air.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Did you see the General¡¯s face as my boys dragged him away? Did you notice the fear in his eyes? All too late, he finally recognized he should have been focusing on me and my needs; my commands. Instead, he and his worthless uniformed buddies listened to and felt like they were accountable to others.¡±


    ¡°Uninformed uniforms who failed in their mission to protect me and you. They forced me to shield myself from Southern and all those assholes who were trying to get a piece of me. Nobody can say Herr General wasn¡¯t warned. And that goes for my pathetic team of half-assed ministers and their minions. Shit, they were useless, no-assed ministers.¡±


    ¡°Glad I didn¡¯t give them the decoupler antidote. Not one of them deserved it, not even Ed-gar, the sharp-toothed sucker fish. This is payback to that fish and all like him. Thrashing their heads and fangs to and fro, inflicting pain on me in my moment of deepest empathy.¡±


    The thought of the gar reminded him of that fishing trip with his father.


    ¡°I hated the fucker. The father bitch. Hated him with a passion for his abusive mouth. His condescension. Always trying to belittle me as if it elevated him to do so. He had the gall to assume I could never reach his level, that I was the ineffective bastard child who lacked his brain power and magnificence.¡±


    ¡°He was always taunting me. Teasing and arrogant, as if I was innately incapable. Called me a ¡®sissy¡¯ for crying at the gar¡¯s stab wounds. Laughed at me and joked to his friends and my sisters that I should have been a girl, or that even a girl would be more of a man than me. And he was merciless. Constant.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he sensed my future greatness, and it scared him. That must be the case. He saw in me what he could never become. He was jealous of my talents, of my latent potential that is now being fully realized.¡±


    ¡°But for all the money he made, for all the power he wielded, it pales to my own accomplishments. No human ever achieved what I¡¯ve achieved and the advances I¡¯ve made. The decisions. The respect and love from my many admirers. The leaps forward for the race.¡±


    ¡°The fucker taught me coldness, though. Harshness. How to perceive my enemies even before they knew they were my enemies. How to engender and enforce obedience. How to bully and bluster and strike fear in hearts. Out-yell. Out-insult. Berate and belittle. Maximum vengeance and innuendo. Turn every accusation back onto the accuser. Never give-in or confess. Use the media as my tool to control the worms and the damage they could otherwise cause. To employ a cadre of duplicitous minions in my stable, little shit-shorn mules I could ride and ride until they collapsed from my ponderous weight, adoring and loving me all the way as I whipped their asses harshly with my acid tongue. I loved their cowering duplicity and unquestioning loyalty. Indeed, that was my constant orgasm.¡±


    ¡°And I found so many willing participants in that regard. Those who¡¯d belly up to the bar and buy me drinks, willing to play my game, on my board, under my rules, thinking they were getting so much in exchange. Ring-kissing suckers to use and abuse as my lackeys. The cowards. The gutless slugs. Gutless, but useful.¡±


    ¡°If only that anemic fucker were around today. Oh, I¡¯d force him to watch as his concubines and combines and harvesters and golf buddies and boards of directors liquified before him. I would tie him on a stool and tape his eyes open to experience the power I wield. He would then know what true power is. Right, Imp?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s long gone, but it matters not. When the history books are written, mine will be the name that stands out, as it should be. His will be less than a mention, less than a footnote. Perhaps ¡®one-half contribution of genetic seed for the Righteous One.¡¯ That will be his sole claim to fame.¡±


    ¡°Ah, such a good idea, though, don¡¯t you think? Imp, when you get the chance, begin the rewrite of history to include my substantial role in it. In our new future, I want complete power over the media and organs of all knowledge. All history. We must be certain the human story is cleared of the lies and deceit of those who were my detractors. We¡¯ll come clean, for once. Finally, an accurate depiction and glorification of my being.¡±


    ¡°Admittedly, though, I will miss my Sara. She was as adept as they came, the owner of my many personas, the binding glue to my many cohorts. Like a steed at my command, I¡¯d simply think a thing, and she¡¯d deliver it in spades. Perhaps she¡¯s alive? I know she flew away after her pukefest. Let¡¯s not forget that girl, Imp. We must be certain to see if she makes it through. Damn, I should have chipped her. Should have.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯ve got tech everywhere, even if most of it won¡¯t be working for some time. We¡¯ll get it going again, and eventually we¡¯ll detect her. It¡¯ll be a face rec app on a phone or traffic camera. Maybe one of our nanobots, and I¡¯m sure the satellites are mostly still in orbit. You and I will commandeer all that¡¯s left and worthwhile of the information infrastructure, and we¡¯ll find my dear Sara again.¡±


    ¡°I mean, who¡¯s around to bark commands at any longer? She was the best, the funniest. To watch her placid face, ready to break. To see how she twitched and jolted backwards as I yelled at her. Pushing thoughts into her brain and having her reject them so adroitly. Stiff upper lip, gal. Tolerate my anger, my energy, my potency. She could sense my pheromones, I know. That was cuteness. I will miss Sara if she doesn¡¯t make it through. Her loyalty was astounding, and she clearly loved me for all I am.¡±


    ¡°Odd, Imp. It¡¯s odd. Now that I don¡¯t have her, I want her. I can¡¯t recall wanting a woman for anything more than the obvious carnal needs. But Sara. Something in her was different. She knew me. She understood my richness. Brilliance. Grandeur. Sara appreciated me. Even if she didn¡¯t always agree, she was always agreeable. Dutiful. Compliant. Talented. That is one we must find.¡±


    Ron¡¯s breathing was increasingly labored. ¡°Imp? Look, you little shit. It¡¯s like whore¡¯s breath in here. What the fuck is happening with the HVAC? Did something break down? Are your sensors not working? It¡¯s ninety degrees in here now, and the air is shit! Where the hell are you? Why aren¡¯t you responding? Are you just fucking with me? Trying to scare me? Did you finally gain a sense of humor?¡±


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t give a fuck about where your fucking AI cloud server shit processors are focused at this moment. I don¡¯t care if the rest of the world is imploding right now or if millions are dying. I don¡¯t care if a missile is detonating overhead. I only give a fuck that you respond.¡±


    Ron collapsed on the floor, his mechanical components quietly whirring as his body twitched.


    ¡°What the hell¡¯s happening Imp, you ass? Where did you go? You¡¯re failing, you idiot! Nothing else matters here but me."

 EP. 93 - WISHES

    IT WAS EARLY DUSK when Sara arrived at Becky¡¯s rural home in the woods.


    ¡°Becky! Are you in there?¡±


    After knocking on the front door, she attempted to forcibly open it to no avail. She tried to peer through the wood-paned windows into the living room, but condensation had built up, and there was no clear view of the inside. A single, dim light barely illuminated the room.


    ¡°Shit, girl. I hope you didn¡¯t freeze to death.¡±


    Sara stepped behind the house to search for Becky¡¯s car.


    ¡°Crap, it¡¯s here. She must be inside unless someone took her to the hospital or for groceries.¡±


    She jostled the back doorknob and found it was locked as well, then scanned the periphery and located a head-sized boulder. While tugging it from the ground, a large, red centipede scampered across the backside of her hand.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± she screamed, vigorously shaking it off. A stinging sensation immediately erupted. ¡°Stupid little fuck. Now I have no choice but to break in.¡±


    Ignoring the growing throb from the bite, she picked up the rock, carried it to the back door, and smashed the doorknob. Kicking the door with her heel, she realized the bolt lock was also set.


    It was cold outside, much colder than Austin.


    ¡°Stings like a bitch, fucking bug!¡± she whined.


    Her pants were the only hope, as the rock was too rough for her to use brute force to damage the bolt lock. She quickly took them off and placed the rock in the butt sack, then tied the legs over and across the top, creating a full covering. Sara pounded away at the bolt, swinging her makeshift sling repeatedly against the wooden door.


    ¡°Is this the best method?¡± she wondered, shivering in the cold. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I just throw this fucker through the front windows? But if I did, Becky would shit a brick when she came home to a body-sized hole in her house. Sucks there¡¯s no windows by these doors. Much easier that way.¡±


    The door began to budge. ¡°Getting it. Getting it.¡±


    After another hard kick, the door swung open. An acrid smell of urine seared her nose.


    ¡°What the hell? A backup in her sewage system? Maybe that¡¯s why she¡¯s not here.¡±


    Sara flicked on the kitchen light. It seemed as cold inside as out. ¡°I can¡¯t take this ¡®save the Earth¡¯ bullshit any longer. I¡¯ll pay the fucking electricity bill for her. This is ridiculous.¡±


    She pushed open the door from the kitchen that led into the kitchenette and living room.


    ¡°Becky!¡± she yelled, running toward a yellow blanket that covered a large lump on the couch.


    Then she stopped cold in her tracks. This was where the smell originated.


    Sara closed her eyes and felt the tears welling-up from deep within. ¡°You can¡¯t have died in these few days, dear sister,¡± she began sobbing.


    Tiptoeing closer to the body, she fell on her knees at the back of the couch.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see her like this. I can¡¯t. I won¡¯t let myself.¡±


    Her hand was shaking as it climbed up the back of the couch, over the top, and onto Becky¡¯s head. Rattled by the cold and fear, she placed her hand over Becky¡¯s face. It was frigid, like the house. All warmth was gone. Her sister was gone.


    Sara felt as if a shroud had cloaked itself upon the Earth, bringing only evil and destruction. ¡°Shock?¡± she wondered. ¡°Am I in shock?¡±


    In a moment of clarity, Sara stood up, walked to the back door, unbundled her pants from the rock, and put them back on. She then found Becky¡¯s thermostat and turned up the furnace. Donning a coat from the closet, she walked back to the living room.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand the smell, honey. We¡¯re getting you outside. I¡¯ll change your blanket out there.¡±


    She held her breath, scooping Becky up in her arms. Urine dripped from the blanket, and tears streamed from Sara¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°My sweet little sister. We all go. We all go in time. Some before their time, like you.¡±


    Unlocking the front door, Sara carefully laid Becky¡¯s body onto the porch, her face still covered. She then ran into the house and pulled the blue and white comforter from a chair.


    ¡°Mom¡¯s comforter will keep you warm, Sis. Keep you warm.¡±


    She discarded the wet blanket and wrapped Becky¡¯s body in the comforter, then laid her sister gently on the porch swing. Sara sat opposite her in a rocking chair, moving slowly back and forth. She remembered that chair, her mom¡¯s chair, watching her rock in it, hour after hour.


    The sun had just set on the horizon, and the sky cast an unearthly red hue. In deep shock given all that was happening, Sara tried to recall the conversation with Willie a few days earlier.


    ¡°What did he say, Dearie?¡± she wondered aloud, teeth rattling in the cold. ¡°Would he think I played a role in this? How was I at fault? Nobody can pin this on me. I can¡¯t help that there are no rules any longer. I can¡¯t help how the game is played. I just played it, did my best, gave it my everything. Sure, Ron was crazy, bat shit crazy, and I knew he could do real damage to the world. But I didn¡¯t expect him to make good on his lunacy. And I didn¡¯t know about this decoupler. Not my fault. I mean, I wasn¡¯t elected as the one to watch over his insanity. I wasn¡¯t his shrink. Maybe Imp was, but not me. It wasn¡¯t my responsibility to say or do something. Hell, he didn¡¯t even allow me a Vistachit.¡±


    ¡°There were others in the room, always, who had more power than me. They should have spoken up. The other oligarchs should have done something, or maybe the congress or judicial lackeys. Maybe Edgar should have decoupled him before Ron decoupled everything else. Maybe Vasquez should have used his military and intelligence folks to decapitate the mental fuck. But none of us had the legal right to remove him from power. I¡¯m not sure anybody did. He carried too much power for one person, for damn sure, and he used it badly, to everyone¡¯s detriment. Power like that should never be placed in one person¡¯s hands.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°I did what I could, though, given the cards I was dealt. I sacrificed. I sent you money, though you apparently never spent it. I didn¡¯t have kids because the job was so important to me. Meaningful. Valuable. I was doing a service for Vista¡¯s citizens. But right now, it doesn¡¯t seem that purposeful.¡±


    Sara stepped over to push the porch swing back and forth.


    ¡°Am I not seeing something? As he said, did I fill my head with too much information and not take time to think about the implications? Can I objectively see what I do and what I¡¯ve done? You tried to help me, girl, but I thought I didn¡¯t need help. Maybe I still don¡¯t. Maybe the days will pass, and things will turn out okay, and I¡¯ll be back in Austin. Maybe it¡¯s not as bad as the last time.¡±


    She ran into the living room and turned on Becky¡¯s vidscreen, then went back out front, leaving the door open just enough to hear the news. A newscaster was speaking.


    ¡®Though we currently appear to be unaffected in Eugene, large sections of California and Hedron are no longer reporting. Satellite images show widespread devastation, and this has extended to many corners of the globe in the last few hours. That we can tell, multiple types of weapons have been unleashed in the various battles being waged. We have reports of a particularly virulent bioweapon coursing rapidly across Southern, border areas of Vista, and northeastern Mexico. Sources indicate it replicates and spreads in both surface air and water. Range of destruction and virulence is uncertain, and nobody has been able to understand more about this new weapon because they apparently die within minutes of exposure, similar to toxic nerve agents. Reports indicate that bodies are literally melting, but not from heat. The weapon is coined a ¡®cellular decoupler,¡¯ and we¡¯re attempting to find out more. Yet, this is apparently only one of numerous bioweapons deployed by the various oligarchies around the world. In addition, at least one hundred large nuclear explosions have occurred globally. Those are easier to locate at this moment via satellite. Unfortunately, the devastations are escalating by the minute. We fear the worst, I¡¯m afraid, and . . .¡±


    The vidscreen feed died mid-sentence.


    Sara stared at her sister, wrapped tightly in the comforter.


    ¡°Sis, I¡¯m coming to terms with something. Finally, I guess. Maybe I had a role. I was a cog in the machine. Even a big cog in this devastation, at least in the machine that was Vista. And to think, the insane narcissist who ran Vista¡¯s shit show is underground now, alive and communing, even fornicating perhaps, with his Imp. But I suppose I was one of his enablers. I was his storyteller, the creator of his many personas, constantly feeding to his adoring fans or haters. Narratives? Propaganda? Who¡¯s qualified to tell the difference between them? Can I blame myself? I mean, my job was me. I was my job and nothing else. My existence was wrapped up in it, as you are wrapped up in the comforter, unable to see beyond that shroud.¡±


    She tried to remember Willie¡¯s face.


    ¡°What was his message? What was he trying to tell me? Something about ethics. It seemed so trivial. The world¡¯s a shithole, for sure. No room for ethics or ethical systems. We didn¡¯t need Ron to prove that. Bad, bad people. Fearful people. Fear of differences. Fear of the devil. Fear of death. Fear of each other. Selfish, fucking selfish and entitled people. Wanting more stuff, more power, to patch gaping tears in the fabric of their beings. No room for ethics. Values. Fuck your values. Perhaps I¡¯m understanding a bit more about Willie¡¯s cohort, albeit too late. So much I could do to create narratives about all we¡¯re doing for them now that FYV is making sense.¡±


    She stopped for a minute, recognizing none of the past now mattered. If humans could not mutually agree on a direction for their future, there would be no past.


    ¡°Sis, I felt like you and I were the only decent ones left in the world. You more decent than me, clearly. It was something either he said or maybe you said about us not agreeing, you know, about humans not agreeing on a single, simple idea or plan for ourselves. Like, we weren¡¯t a cohesive species. We were given minds, the ability to consider the past and the future. The only species who could do that, save for sentient AI, if you can call that a species. You¡¯d think if that was our singular, defining skill to differentiate us in the animal kingdom, our first job might have been to get an agreement that we should extend the lifespan of the species.¡±


    Five military jets screamed overhead, causing Sara to jump from her chair.


    ¡°Assholes!¡± she yelled. ¡°Can¡¯t they wear bicycle bells or something? Always scares the piss out of me.¡±


    She watched as they quickly disappeared out of sight.


    ¡°I need a do-over, girl. I¡¯d spend more time with you and less on myself and my need for fulfillment by proxy. That proxy of importance to others, wealth to make others jealous, power to control others. Whatever kept me going. Not that I won¡¯t go back if this mess gets settled. It¡¯s so exhilarating, and that makes it addictive.¡±


    The thought of returning to her job got her worried. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine anyone claiming I had something to do with this. I mean, we had a fucking crazy shit egomaniac at the helm. Any thoughtful, discerning person could see that! Not my fault he got to where he was, his family history and wealth and power and corruption, all coagulating into one self-absorbed creature. It¡¯s not like he was the only crazy oligarch in the world. They were all like that. It could well have been any of the other demigods who did this. Just so happened it was my oligarch. Ron.¡±


    Sara stopped and looked upward. ¡°Fuck, though. It was my job to ensure the citizens of Vista weren¡¯t thoughtful. It was my job to feed them what they wanted to hear, to give them that endorphin jolt of bias confirmation, to ensure Ron was considered god-like, omnipotent and his face was omnipresent, always around that thirty percent RQ mark. Never going to forty. That was overdoing it. Hey, but that¡¯s exactly what my counterparts were doing everywhere in the fucking world. It was the way of things, the indelible, unchangeable way. If I had not created the narratives for each cohort, someone else would. Rasha, even. Wonder if she¡¯s alive? Don¡¯t think about your team, Sara. Assume they¡¯re alive and surviving.¡±


    ¡°Look, Becky, I didn¡¯t invent the reality of this world. I didn¡¯t. It was here waiting for me. A shithole planet ignorant enough to place a putrefying fuck like Ron at the helm with so much destructive power at his disposal. Well, maybe we all deserve to . . .¡±


    Willie¡¯s face fell back into her mind. ¡°He told me we were past the inflection point. That the end was inevitable. There¡¯s my excuse. There¡¯s my rationale. If I was not here, who the hell knows, perhaps this self-created scourge, this self-immolation, may already have occurred? Maybe my presence gave us a few more days or months? If we were too stupid to agree on a single thing, even to extend our species through time, then fuck, we wrote our ticket to this inevitable hellscape and had neither the vision nor capacity to do otherwise. We defined humanity¡¯s path to entropy by our apathetic inactions.¡±


    ¡°Maybe this is simply what happens to species when they hit our stage of technological advancement. We had nothing in place, no morality, no simple agreement, and hell, no will, to manage our bestial tendencies. Unruly beasts with geedee tech and WMD buttons in reach. A planetary clusterfuck, to be sure. Guess I don¡¯t blame that couple in Arizona for their signal. They probably also realized it was too late.¡±


    She stopped talking and sniffed the air. In the distance, she detected the telltale buzz of small drones.


    ¡°Now the world smells damp and boggy. Rancid. Decaying. Of those billions who lived in the times now past, why was there no great orator to corral different peoples together to agree on one simple idea? One common credo? One common vision? One that didn¡¯t require conversion from this religion to that or from this political philosophy to that. Everything else might have derived from this one idea, one common ethic. We might have had at least a pathway to stave off the inevitable human decline toward entropy. Fairness. Kindness. Consideration. Giving. Courage. Calm. Patience. Too much to ask from late stage monkeys, I suppose. And too late now. Too late now.¡±


    She rose from her rocker and sat beside her sister¡¯s body, staring at the throbbing welt on her hand from the centipede¡¯s bite.


    ¡°Wish I knew a song to sing, Dearie. A happy song of hope and prosperity."