What the hell is this?
“Good morning, Austin. It’s Wednesday, August 16, 2066. You have a meeting with Thomas Rosenberg at 11 a.m., followed by Ration 2 with Camila Dominguez.”
“Where’s the 11 a.m. meeting?” Austin asks.
Another ad appears. “With the recent prohibition of land burial, cremation has become as popular as ever. Here at Custom Cremation, we strive to meet the needs of your loved ones. Ask about our flexible payment plans. Call today—”
Austin grinds his teeth. “Isaac, stop these commercials immediately!”
“Your ads cannot be disabled.”
He throws his hands in the air. “What are you talking about? I’m the head of Google’s A.I. department! I should be exempt from the update.”
“Unfortunately, the only way to stop advertisements is to subscribe to an ad-free platform.”
He bangs his hand against his forehead. “This is ridiculous. How can I work with these constant interruptions?” He sighs and comes to terms with his fate. “Fine, you leave me no choice. Subscribe me to it.”
“It will cost $999 per month. Would you like me to charge your credit card?”
“$1000? Are you kidding me? I’m not paying that!”
“Registration for the ad-free service requires a payment.”
He punches a wall. “This is bullshit. You mean I’ll have to watch commercials all day long?”
“Yes.”
Another ad begins. “Instabath: the best soap-free…”
“Turn off the volume,” Austin shouts.
“…bathing formula for infants. Just apply the gel and rub with a towel. Seconds later, your baby will be fresh and clean all day long. No water needed. Order today.”
“Isaac, I can’t stand these ads! Can you at least mute the sound?”
“There is no way to do that.”
Another clip begins. Austin takes the smartglasses off and lifts them in the air, cursing to himself.
I invented these glasses and now they’re useless.
He growls at the speaker. “Where is the leasing office manager? You said he would be here.”
“Please stand by,” the A.I. replies.
A buzz comes through the smartglasses—an incoming call. Austin peeks through the lens and spots the caller ID, then accepts the request. He places the glasses back on his face. “Anil, what’s up?”
“Dr. Sanders, do you have a minute?”
“Yes, just one.”
“I have an idea for Project Titan.”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Can we discuss this at work?”
“I have a solution for the power source.”
A leasing office employee enters the room and Austin raises his finger at him, mouthing one second. “Anil, I don’t have much time. What’s your plan?”
“I know how to kick-start the reactor.”
Austin’s eyes widen. “How?”
“Remember the countdown from Barnard’s Star?”
“Yeah…”
“Last time it ended with a gravitational wave, remember? What if we can harness that energy to trigger fusion?”
Austin rubs his chin. “That sounds interesting, but there’s no way to convert gravity into heat.”
“What if we built a machine to do that?”
“You mean an engine?”
“Yes, a gravity engine.”
Austin’s brow rises. “Wow, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He chuckles. “Have you drawn up the plans?”
“…not quite, Dr. Sanders, but I think I can make it work.”
“Listen, I have to run. Let’s discuss at our next team meeting. Come prepared with answers.”
“I’ll be ready. Thank you, Dr. Sanders.”
Austin ends the call and smiles at the leasing office supervisor, a middle-aged man with a cheap suit and a nametag. “Hello, Jake, nice meeting you.”
Jake keeps his distance. “I was told a disgruntled resident wants to speak with a manager. What happened to the banner?”
Austin shrugs. “No idea. Listen, my rental contract ends this month and I don’t want to move.”
“We have robots that will transport your belongings.”
“That’s not the issue. Every year you force me to move to a more expensive apartment on a higher floor and I can’t afford more rent. I want to stay where I am.”
“That’s not possible, sir. We can’t renew your lease.”
“Well, why?”
“We have to evacuate the Section 2 residents on the lower floors. Every so often, we close a bottom floor and open a new sky level.”
“So you force all your residents to move to new units?”
“We have no choice. We have to keep up with the rising water.”
Austin frowns. “It seems like a scheme to me, Jake. What a great excuse to upcharge your residents and make a handsome profit.”
Jake shakes his head. “Sir, we’ve operated at a loss for years.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Construction isn’t free. Do you know what it costs to add a story? I’m sorry to trouble you to move, but there’s no other way to accommodate the turnover of our apartments.”
Austin scratches his head. “Well, can I move to a lower level with cheaper rent?”
“There is no availability below your floor. In fact, there’s a waiting list for residents trying to move out of Section 2.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t be of help. Blame it on climate change.”
Austin nods goodbye and leaves the office, taking an elevator up to the Hyperloop train station. He approaches the entrance and catches a view of the San Francisco Islands. A grey fog enshrouds the red steel cables of the Golden Gate Bridge peeking out from the bay. Its once famous concrete thoroughfare lies under water.
He enters the terminal as a fierce wind shakes the platform, then zips his jacket and digs his hands into the pockets. As he waits for the train to Mountain View, his smartglasses vibrate and he places them on his face, accepting an incoming call.
“Dr. Sanders?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Sara. There’s been an emergency.”
Austin stands upright. “What happened?”
“I received an urgent call from Beth. She’s somewhere in Livermore. I think she’s in trouble.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Can you please find her?”
“You want me to go to Livermore and find Beth?” He cocks his head. “The East Bay is a jungle. I haven’t been there in years. Can’t you call the police?”
“We can’t involve the authorities. She wants you to find her and bring her back home.”
“Why me? I don’t understand.”
“I cannot discuss over the phone. It’s an emergency, and she needs you right away. She’s near a riverbank. Please hurry, Dr. Sanders.” Sara disconnects.
The train to Mountain View arrives. Austin waits for it to pass and crosses the platform to the outbound track. “Isaac, there has been a change of plans. Cancel my meetings for today. I’m going to the East Bay.”
13.
A PRIVATE JET lands at the Reagan National Airport in Washington D.C. It comes to a stop on the tarmac next to a black limousine and a staircase emerges below its entryway. The plane’s door opens and Manos steps out wearing a pinstriped luxury suit.
Nice to be back in the nation’s capital.
He spots a concrete wall of levees protecting the island from the rising water. Anti-aircraft guns and artillery rockets line the perimeter, the Lincoln Monument and the Capitol Building jutting out from the fortifications.
Gareth Allen emerges from the car. “Welcome to Washington!”
Manos walks down and shakes Gareth’s hands. “Nice to see you. When does the Energy Summit start?”
“In an hour. The President will be there.”
“I’m ready. Let’s get going.”
They step into the limou
sine and Gareth offers a cigar. “Cuban?”
Manos waves it off. “No thanks. I’m not in the mood.”
“Is everything okay? You seem upset, Manos.”
They ride to the entrance of Washington D.C., hitting severe traffic as they approach a levy gate at the end of the Lincoln Bridge.
Manos opens a window and stares at the floodwater. “I’m not happy with the tariffs.”
Gareth turns. “I wired money to GoldRock yesterday. You’ve made a handsome profit. Why the long face?”
“That’s not the issue. Your taxes are killing the stock market. The Nasdaq is down 8 percent today. GoldRock’s investments are getting clobbered.”
Gareth grabs a tablet and loads a browser. “Did you see China’s equities?” He shows Manos a chart. “They’re down five percent today. The Dow Jones is only down three percent.”
“And?”
“The Chinese are getting smacked much harder than we are. The moves are working, Manos!”
Manos clenches his fist. “How are we winning if our markets are also down? We’ve just shot ourselves in the foot.”
“Do I need to remind you that we are at war? Our rivals are trying to destroy us. We have to strike first. Look at the big picture!”
Manos frowns. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s losing money.”
“When we win the War, our economy will soar to the sky. Have some patience.”
The car nears the end of the Lincoln Bridge and approaches a military checkpoint. The windows roll down and a bird-sized drone flies into the vehicle and scans the passengers’ retinas. Seconds later, a checkered barrier lowers and they drive into the city.
Gareth leans over. “I understand you’re upset about Google’s stock price, Manos. Can I help you turn the corporation around?”
Manos turns and stares at his partner in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“Let me ask you this. If you had the opportunity to run Google yourself, could you do a better job than the current management team?”
“Is that even a question? I can absolutely run that corporation and make it great again. It’s managed by a bunch of imbeciles.”
Gareth whispers into Manos’s ear. “How would you like to be Chief Executive Officer?”
“What about Andrews?”
“Let’s just say she has been neutralized.”
“She’s no longer CEO?”
“Not exactly. She is still chief executive but her time is limited. We have evidence that she sympathizes with the enemy.”
Manos gleams. “I knew it. That was my suspicion all along. When will you oust her?”
“We don’t plan to unless you’re interested in the job. The fruit is ripe for the picking, if you know what I mean.”
“Interesting,” Manos says with a smile. “Let me discuss this with my staff, Gareth. There is definitely an opportunity here. I’m very interested in becoming CEO of Google.”
The limousine drives down Pennsylvania Avenue, an empty thoroughfare devoid of pedestrians. Empty shops sit idle and silence overtakes the city. Above, machine guns rest on concrete platforms rising every city block. The car approaches a military checkpoint and stops at a scanner.
Gareth taps his pal. “Are you excited for the summit today?”
“Yes, it’s my first time meeting the President. I came prepared with innovative ideas like you asked.”
The vehicle passes the checkpoint and heads to an underground parking lot below the White House. Army robots line the passageway.
Gareth grabs his briefcase. “The President wants new ideas, Manos. He is obsessed with energy.”
“I’m eager to share my thoughts. You will be impressed.”
“Good. As you know, oil prices rise even though we seize more Russian crude and cut back on domestic fuel consumption. We need radical solutions.”
“Trailblazing is my currency, Gareth.”
They exit the vehicle and a cyborg escorts them across the dark parking lot to an elevator. They take it up to the White House security room where a security drone performs a full-body scan. Granted clearance, they pace along a marble hallway past portraits of American Presidents. Near the West Wing, they take a staircase down to the War Room.
Manos enters the bunker and feels his knees buckle. Several high-profile government officials, including the Secretary of State, Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staffs and the CIA Director, stand a few feet away. He grows pale. “Gareth, are you sure I belong here?”
Gareth grabs his arm. “You’re one of us. Just relax.”
Manos heads for the back of the room and sits in the corner, taking out his documents and pretending to be busy. He avoids eye contact and mutters to himself.
You can do this, Manos. Don’t panic.
“Please take a seat,” a staffer announces. “The President will be here momentarily.”
The generals and cabinet members stand above an oversized mahogany conference table. They wait in silence for their leader, who soon enters the room and takes a seat.
“Let’s get started,” President Hughes says before everyone sits down. “I’ve called a summit here today to reform our energy policy and develop a strategy for the future. This is our most vital national security concern. A prosperous country needs a reliable fuel supply.”
Manos’s heart races as he scans the room. The Vice President and Defense Secretary whisper to each other. Manos makes eye contact with the CIA Director and quickly looks away to his notes.
The President leans forward. “Here are the facts. China’s Mars colony is ten times larger than ours and the Chinese control all transport hubs on the red planet. If we want to defeat our enemy in space, we must have more energy. We’ve spent trillions of dollars on rockets and missiles, but what good will it do if we can’t power those systems? We need new solutions for this crisis.”
The Defense Secretary raises his arms. “Mr. President, I’m proud to report significant military victories against the Russians. We’ve seized their oil platforms in Greenland and we’re taking back our natural gas fields in Alaska.”
“I know that, Carl,” the President says. “Oil inventories are up two percent in the last month thanks to our military, and yet crude prices continue to rise. Markets ignore our supply gains.”
The Vice President shakes his finger. “Markets are focused on the short term, Mr. President. As long as we continue the offensive and capture hydrocarbons, fuel prices will eventually fall. We have to stay the course.”
“I disagree,” says a deep voice. All eyes turn to Stan Klein, CIA Director, who commands the room. “Mr. President, the push against Russia is important, but let’s not forget that China is the world’s largest energy consumer. To make a dent in oil prices, we must cripple their demand.”
The President leans back. “How do we do that, Stan?”
“We already have, Mr. President. Our Information Tariffs have slammed Chinese technology infrastructure like mortars blasting the Great Wall. We’ve eliminated their access to the internet and stopped their copycat technologies, which rely heavily on American-made innovations—artificial intelligence, mobile operating systems, and computer software designed here in the States. A weakened enemy will use less power, and the reduced demand translates to lower fuel prices. We must double down and expand the tariffs.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” the President says. “We’ve increased our hydrocarbon supplies while dampening worldwide demand, but we need more. What else can we do to improve our strategy?”
Gareth Allen raises a hand. “Mr. President, I would like to introduce someone who has the answers. I’ve invited Manos Kharon, CEO of GoldRock, to provide some solutions for us, sir. He was instrumental in designing and implementing the Information Tariffs.”
Heads turn to Manos, who sits in the corner staring at stock charts through his smartglasses. A wave of panic overcomes him as his heart beats madly in his chest. A deafening silence fills the room.
Breathe.
He fumbles his notes and slouches, trying to remember his speech. His mind goes blank. Flustered, he beams the image on his display onto the opposing wall. People look to the projection and chatter arises in the room.
Get it together. Calm down.
The figure is a chart of oil prices from 2040. It shows a sharp spike in 2042 and steady increases every year to the present day.
Manos falters. “…thank you, Gareth. It’s an honor for me to be here…” He coughs and breathes rapidly. “…I’m showing you the price of oil over the last few decades.” He buys time to gather himself. “What do you notice about this chart?”
“It has skyrocketed,” the President says, “and it’s hurting our economy.”
Manos settles down. “Exactly, Mr. President. If you look closely, you will see that energy prices accelerated higher in 2042, precisely the year that global energy supplies hit their peak. In fact, 2042 was the year of Peak Oil—”
“That’s just a theory,” the Defense Secretary says. “There is no evidence to support that claim.”
Manos beams another image on the wall. “Respectfully, sir, it’s more than a theory. Take a look at this chart of our oil reserves—you can see that the supply has declined every year since 2042.”
“You’re mistaken. Do you know what else happened in 2042? That’s when the War began. You can blame all of this on our enemies.”
Manos projects another picture. “Here’s a plot showing the quality of the fuel we process today. You can see that it’s getting harder to draw high-quality fossil fuels from the ground. We have to pump more to extract the same content as previous years.”
“This is interesting,” the President says, “but we need solutions.”
Manos calms as his pulse returns to normal. “Absolutely, sir. We need revolutionary technologies that will synergize with the war strategies and drive the price of oil down.” He flips to a title slide. “I’m here to introduce America 2070, a vision for the future and a new approach to tackle this crisis.”
Gareth turns and winks at Manos, saluting him with a thumbs-up.
Manos scans the room. “First, we need to drastically cut energy demand, which must go back to pre-2042 levels. I propose new rations to lower national power usage. We must reduce train and motor vehicle services and encourage citizens to walk and ride bicycles. We must slash household consumption and eliminate manufacturing that is not essential for the War.
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