The Ministry for the Future

by Kim Stanley Robinson

  Yes, I was a little drunk, a little high. A little giddy. I mean think about it, a worldwide moment during which all sentient beings aware of the project were to sing praise together to the one planet we stood on, to perform the noösphere created by this so-vast and complex biosphere, while standing on the lithosphere and contemplating the hydrosphere and circulating the atmosphere in and out of us, breath after breath— it’s great, but it’s a little hypothetical too, right? It’s hard to know how to feel it. What could we do in that moment but try? As a linguist I naturally think of the words involved, but there was more to it than that, so I tried all that too, I drank and I looked around at the faces of the other people on the ridge, all of them also trying, and many of them had their dogs with them there, the dogs too were trying, trying to understand it, very aware that something unusual was happening, such that some of them barked or howled, which some guys instantly took up, of course it was time to howl, howl at the moon like wolves. What a great language! And besides we were like wolves! We turned wolves into dogs and they turned us into humans— we were something like orangutans before, solitaries who didn’t know how to work together, it was the wolves who taught us that, who taught us the idea of friendship and cooperation. So we howled at the moon and hugged the people around us, if they were hugging types, and the dogs, and I kept looking at all the faces, so vivid and real, and I kept coming back to saying Mamma Mia. As one does when in awe. Hugging Gracie in particular, as always. We’re lucky that way.

  This went on for about fifteen minutes. Then we quieted down. Time to get back down in the bowl of the concert space and dance to the music for what was left of the night. Had we done it right? Had we joined with every sentient being on the planet, brought into existence a new Earth religion that would change everything? Were we all brother and sister now, as they were always telling us we should be? Hard to tell. It felt like a lark. But larks are beautiful. All these bird and animal names we use for our moods and actions, of course they’re always perfectly apt. We are all family, as the new religion was telling us, and as every living thing on Earth shares a crucial 938 base pairs of DNA, I guess it’s really true. So yeah, we went down there and danced all night long, feeling very high, and when the sky lightened and dawn approached, and they sent us out to greet the day and go home and do whatever we were going to do that day, they played Bruddah Iz Israel Kamakawiwo‘ole’s medley of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “What a Wonderful World,” a great piece of Hawaiian schmaltz that we could sing along with on our way out, and hum the rest of the day. Later I read that people said they really felt it, that moment when everyone worldwide sang the same song of praise and devotion, it was said to be like an electric pulse filling you or like that. I must admit I didn’t feel anything like that in the moment itself, maybe I was too drunk or too aware of Gracie’s hand on my ass, but that morning I caught the longest left of my life at Point Panic, with Bruddah Iz’s pair of tunes running in my head the whole time, what a wonderful world indeed, and I flew out of that wave just before it closed out, and up there in the air over the wave, suspended weightless with the offshore spray and not seeing the ehukai rainbow because I was right there in it, yes that’s when I felt it. Of course it doesn’t come on command or to a schedule, grace isn’t like that, it touches down on you in unexpected moments, a matter of accidents, but you have to be open to it too, so maybe that was it for me, a slight delay after the sacred ceremony, which maybe was the riding of that wave anyway— anyway I felt it then, hanging in the air, then I crashed back down onto the white hissing backside and swam head up, laughing out loud. Yes, it worked. Mamma Mia!

  104

  Back in Zurich, Mary told the Swiss that she was going to move out of her safe house. Retirement had changed her security status, she didn’t need to occupy a safe house that was probably needed for others, and so on. They didn’t object.

  They didn’t want her to move back to her apartment on Hochstrasse, but neither did she. That faded blue apartment block was now part of her past, it wouldn’t come back. It was time to move on. And she had an idea anyway. There were housing cooperatives all over Zurich. She didn’t want to move into the one Frank had lived in; that too was the past. Anyway it was Art’s place too, and so for multiple reasons she felt it wasn’t a good idea. But there were other housing co-ops in Zurich, a lot of them it turned out, and so she spent some time visiting a few.

  During these visits around the city, she realized that she liked her neighborhood. Fluntern, it was called, there on the lower slope of the Zuriberg. She liked it there. It was her neighborhood. So, in a less strongly felt way, was the district behind the Utoquai schwimmbad. She liked that part of town too. So she focused on those two neighborhoods, and then the area between them; they weren’t that far apart. Of course the whole city was compact.

  There were some cooperatives that were all right, but most didn’t quite suit, and almost all of them had waiting lists that would take quite a while to work through to her. The more she looked, the more she realized how much she had liked her old place. But she needed to change.

  Finally she found a place because Badim knew she was looking for one. Someone who had been working for him in the ministry had to move back to Ticino to care for her father, and when she heard from Badim that Mary was looking for a place, she wanted Mary to take it. It could be an informal arrangement, she said, a kind of sublease; the board had heard her appeal concerning this plan, and liked the idea of having Mary Murphy among them, and so had approved it. It was just several blocks from her old place, south past her usual tram stop at Kirche Fluntern and along Bergstrasse to an odd three-streeted corner where the co-op took up one wedge of the intersection. A little twenty-apartment co-op, four stories high, well-maintained like every other building in Zurich, all except for the old wreck across from the tram stop one down from Kirche Fluntern, which was some kind of special thing.

  The woman subletting it to her met her at the door of the place. Trudi Maggiore, she said.

  “Mary,” Mary said, shaking her hand. “I’ve seen you around the office.”

  The woman nodded. “I worked two buildings down, but I took notes for Badim at a lot of your meetings. I sat against the wall with the other assistants. And I went with you on a trip to India.”

  “Ah yes, I remember now.”

  Trudi led her up the broad stairs of their stairwell. On the top floor she unlocked the door of her place. “It used to be the attic,” she explained as she opened it. “I hope you don’t mind. You get used to it.”

  It had been a very small and low attic, Mary saw at once. It was a single room, tucked under the big roofbeam of the building such that only under the roofbeam itself could you stand upright. To left and right of it the ceiling sloped down until the walls to left and right were only about two feet high. The left side of the room did have an interior wall sticking out into the room, and a door in that wall opened on the bathroom, which likewise sloped down to a low wall. It was hyperclean, like any Swiss bathroom, of course, but as with the rest of the place, about half its volume was far less than head high. The toilet was located past the sink; kind of a woman’s apartment in that sense, in that you could sit on it, but if you stood before it you would have to duck.

  “I like it,” Mary said. “It’s funny.”

  Trudi looked pleased. “I like it too. I’m sorry I have to leave. But I’m glad you’ll be the one in it. I admire what you did.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said.

  She walked up and down the midline. Past the bathroom the room widened again to the left, and there lay the bed, set right on the floor. To lie down on it, it would be easiest to sit first on a short chair set next to it, and then roll on. Once in bed it didn’t matter how low the ceiling was, as long as you didn’t leap to your feet in a dream or something like that.

  The kitchen was back against the wall next to the front door, just a counter with a sink in it, and to the left a stove and a short refrigerator. All ve
ry functional.

  “I’ll take it, of course,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Me too,” Trudi said.

  After that they went out for coffee in a bakery next door, and traded a bit of their stories. Trudi watched her curiously, as if trying to correlate her with the minister she had known in the office. Mary resisted an impulse to explain herself.

  So she had a place. Her Swiss security team helped her to move, checking out her room as they did so. Priska and Sibilla were none too impressed. Thomas and Jurg thought it was funny.

  Once settled in, she tried to form a new rhythm for her days. No more going to work; she didn’t want to intrude. She hoped they might ask her for help in some capacity or other, but in fact, now that she had seen how things had gone at the meeting in San Francisco, she realized that there was probably little help she could give. The authority of her position had been a big part of her effectiveness. That was a little chastening, but no doubt true. Now that she was a private citizen, it was an open question what she could do to help them, or anyone.

  Well, she could always get her habits back. Up in the morning, tram down to Utoquai, walk to the schwimmbad, into the locker room, go to her locker, into her swimsuit, kissing the ghost of Tatiana, so beautiful, feeling the pain of her death and then encysting it again, chilling it off by stepping down the metal steps into the water, brr! and out into the lake. Thinking of someone gone kept them just that tiny bit alive, maybe. The Zurichsee, blue and calm, cool and silky. Offshore swimming freestyle, until she could look back and see the near shore properly; then a few circles of breaststroke, to see the whole city, now looking so low and far away. It was a big lake. If she felt strong enough, she could join the swim across the lake at the end of the summer, see what that felt like. It felt good to be out there. Of course this part of her habit set would only work from May or June through October. In the other months both water and air were just too cold. But as a summer thing, a beautiful way to start the day.

  Then back up to her place, join the communal lunch in the co-op, talk to people, if they wanted to, but it was important not to impose English on them, and as the talk around her was usually in Schwyzerdüütch, guttural and sing-songy, she didn’t start conversations much. She liked being in the midst of their talk without being part of the conversation, it was soothing. She could feel her body, relaxed from her swim, slope down into her chair like a cat, satisfied just to be among people, unconcerned with the content of their chatter.

  Later that year she began to go to the UN Refugee Agency, the UNHCR, which was headquartered in Geneva but had a small office in Zurich. Issuing UN passports to refugees, closing the camps, or rather opening them, emptying them, had made for a lot of work. Naturally the Swiss were intent to get it done, so when she presented herself at the Zurich office they were happy to give her things to do. In fact they wanted to use her fame to rally more volunteers, and she agreed to that, but only if she could do some basic work too. The local work also kept her carbon burn low. Because that too was a project she wanted to pursue.

  Almost everyone in the co-op was part of the 2,000 Watt Society, so staying low-burn was not that difficult. The communal meals were vegetarian for the most part, and calculations were made for everything they did, so that she could keep a personal count easily enough, and always had people around to answer her questions. If she stayed in Zurich, if she traveled in Switzerland, in Europe, even around the world— they had all these rated for energy costs and also carbon burn, though the latter was getting lower and lower, especially if you stayed in Switzerland and used public transport. Together the occupants of the place owned one electric car, and there was a sign-up sheet for it, often almost empty, but not always. Most of the people living in the co-op actually traveled quite a bit in Europe, but factoring that in they still came to the end of the year having used well less than the amount of kilowatt hours the 2,000 Watt Society was calling for. The whole country was getting closer to hitting that usage goal; the world would then have a model to follow. Her housemates were sure other countries would then match them.

  Mary was not so sure, but did not argue. She just lived the life. Quickly her habits clicked into place, day after day the same. She lived through the week trying to feel if she liked it, trying to figure out how to do more at the UNHCR, and so on. Day after day, week after week. Never had she been so immersed in Swissness. Before she had been an international person living an international life. Now she was a foreign-born Zurcher, living in Zurich.

  Recognizing this change, she added a German class to her days. Turned out that would be easiest in the evenings. The city offered free classes, the people who signed up for them were from all over the world. She joined a class that met nearby on Monday nights. The language was wicked, the teacher kindly: Oskar Pfenninger, a white-haired man who had lived in Japan and Korea, and knew English among other languages, but would not speak any of them with his students, at least not in class; nothing but German in class. So they blundered together through the hours of his lessons, and went out afterward for pizza. There they spoke English. As the months went on they even tried speaking German to each other, shyly and with much laughter. Turned out they were all taking the class to fit better in Switzerland.

  The days grew short, the air chill. The leaves on the lindens turned yellow and the west wind swept them away. The fire maples on the lanes running down to the ETH went incandescent red. Up on the Zuriberg the views got longer as the trees got bare-limbed and the air chilled and grew clear. She took walks up there around sunset, trudging up the hill, wandering the paths, then clumping or floating back down, depending on her mood. The nude concrete woman holding up her green loops of garden hose always regarded the weather stoically. Mary liked the way she held firm her position. I too will be a concrete woman, she said to her as she passed.

  The year turned. She got through Christmas and New Year’s without going to Ireland, and without thinking much about anything. The ministry’s team invited her to their holiday parties, and she went to them.

  Once at one of these she stood out on a balcony with Badim. They looked down on the lights of the night city, elbows on the rail.

  How’s it going? she said.

  He considered it. Pretty well, I guess.

  I had a good time on Gaia day.

  He laughed. That wasn’t us. But I did too. Where did you go for it?

  I was out on the lake, swimming with some friends from my club. We made a ring and held hands.

  He smiled. Did you feel the moment?

  No. It was too cold.

  Me neither. But people seemed to like it. I think it was worth supporting. I still think we need a religion. If others feel the same, who knows.

  I think it was good. And I’m sure you’re following on.

  We are. But it’s something that has to come from inside.

  Mary regarded him curiously. Even now she knew so little about him, really. Her man from Nepal. She had heard things recently, not to her face but around the internet, rumors to the effect that the Ministry for the Future had been thousands strong and had waged a savage war against the carbon oligarchy, murdering hundreds and tipping the balance of history in a new direction. Bollocks, no doubt, but people dearly loved such stories. The idea that it all happened in the light of day was too frightening, history being as obviously out of control as it was— better to have secret plots ordering things, in a realm without witnesses. Not that she completely disbelieved this particular tale. Her man had a look that could freeze your blood, and a lot of money had disappeared into his division without explanation.

  Do you have someone now like I had you? she asked him curiously.

  He looked over the side of the balcony. Bare linden branches below. Someone to do the dirty work, you mean?

  Yes.

  He laughed. No, he said. No one I trust the way you trusted me. I don’t know how you did it.

  I don’t either. Actually, you made me do it. Right? I me
an what choice did I have?

  You could have fired me.

  I suppose. But I never even thought of that. I’m not that stupid.

  He laughed again. Or you were entirely deceived.

  I don’t think so. But now, for you— it must be a problem. You need someone you can trust.

  He nodded. I know. It’s my problem. But I don’t know. Maybe the need isn’t as great now? Or I’m doing both, and I don’t let my right hand know what my left hand is doing?

  She shook her head. I don’t think that’s possible.

  No, I suppose not.

  What about your team? I mean in the darker side of things. There must be some people there who could do what you did.

  I suppose. I’ll have to think about that. I don’t know. What I think now is that what you did was way harder than I thought it was.

  What do you mean?

  You trusted me.

  She regarded him. She wondered if it were true. Maybe it was.

  Sometimes you have to, she said finally. You just throw yourself out there. Throw yourself off the cliff and start making the parachute.

  Or start to fly, he suggested.