The young researchers will discuss this, walking the streets of the park, preferring walking to renting an electric cabin, gradually meeting fewer people in the park. By the time they arrive at the African savanna, it will be past four in the afternoon.
“... To limit the problem of overcrowding on earth or limit the growth of the numerator, that is, either control births or increase the value of the denominator, the capacity to produce food per capita. There are no other ways,” the overweight man will speak a little breathlessly. “If you prevent the denominator from growing, with the same population growth, the problem gets worse.”
“That is, Ricky’s author argues that someone or something would have had an interest in making sure that the use of innovative technologies in agriculture didn’t develop to limit the growth of food production, is that it?” Whiley will ask. “But what’s the point?”
The two men will occasionally stop to argue, forgetting everything, in that corner of the reconstructed animal world. To their right, at the bears’ corner, they will observe a magnificent brown bear approaching the net.
“... Control the social structure. In my hypothesis, this may have conditioned the structure of the world’s population.”
The brown bear will scratch at the ground, without dignifying them with a glance.
“For relatively very few centuries, humans have begun to move from the countryside to the cities,” the little man will add. “Now, let’s assume that this author is right.”
The brown bear will lift a grassy clod.
“It means that son of a gun,” the professor will beat theatrically with the palm of his hand on the table, “will have closed an access node for you and opened one on which you lose the connection, so your fellow cops will not be able to find his true position in real life. They won’t be able to break in because they won’t find the signal.”
“Very ingenious. So, your student never broke into his holographic space.”
“No. And do you know what his holographic programs look like, what image they have, and how they are known by intruders?”
Again, the man with the blond sideburns will shake his head, like a diligent schoolboy.
“A key and a stick. The doormen, the gatekeepers. The two sides of the entrance and exit. Virtual life,” the professor will explain, toasting, “and the real one.”
The young man will in turn raise the goblet to the elderly mentor.
“In that case, I can’t wait to meet your student.”
“You will meet him very soon,” the professor will promise, taking a sip. “We have a holographic appointment. Tonight. At 10:00 p.m. In my room.”
The evening will be cool, and the two men will spend a few minutes on the veranda of the room, on the fifth floor of the hotel, in front of a crystal table, illuminated by a ball of amber light. The elderly man, holding a glass of cognac, will follow his youngest companion back into the bedroom, ordering the device to close the window, and observing the hour, twenty minutes to midnight.
“A real shame.” Holden will point out the lights of the tower, illuminated in the background. “I would have stayed to watch Paris at night a little more, and chat about the old days.”
“Yes, it’s always a good show, isn’t it?”
The curtains will descend slowly, gradually taking away the view of the city lights until the large base of the tower also disappears.
“But now let’s get to work,” the older man will say. “Put on your holographic helmet and sit here next to me. We’ll travel together.”
“If someone has prevented the spread of technologies that could make vast agricultural areas of the globe energy- and food-independent, then the consequence would condition the development of a model that is not agricultural, but industrial. As a result, it would have encouraged the development of a model of urban agglomerations in place of so many small towns, scattered around the world.”
“But for what purpose?” Whiley will ask.
“Keep control. Hold power. Feed diversity. If you consider that all this would have made it possible to eliminate the so-called borders of the world...”
The sun will begin to set behind the trees, its rays coloring the leaves of the tall maples that line the reptile house.
“... just think only of the African continent, of the poor countries of East Asia. Do you have any idea how many people have starved to death in recent decades? It would probably have been possible to prevent this. But we wouldn’t have had the newest metropolises. The world’s major governments have developed models where millions of people have depopulated the countryside to populate cities.”
“That’s why Rick wanted you to join the meeting,” Whiley deduces.
“Probably. And he suggested to me that very old book from the beginning of the century on the aging curves of the population, and on the predictions of moving from the countryside to the cities. It was Rick who put me on track to formulate this theory...”
The two will arrive in an area of the park called the “swamp.” On the banks of an islet, a couple of crocodiles will be basking in the last warm rays of sunshine.
“... and so Rick wanted to signal that someone prevented such an essay from becoming public knowledge,” Whiley will add. “But who has an interest in preventing the spread of technologies that would increase food production in the agricultural areas of the planet through the reuse of waste for fertilizer use?”
“I don’t know. I imagine anyone who has an interest in maintaining the gap between rich and poor countries.”
The two men will put on the equipment, helmets and gloves, sitting on the armchairs positioned in the approximately three square meters of holographic space of the green carpet.
“Where are we going to meet?” Holden will ask.
“Virtually at the university bar.”
The program will have loaded a typical student bar, almost deserted.
“I don’t see anyone yet.”
A couple will be chatting a little awkwardly at a corner table; the holographic gloves will seem to be conveying to the young man some pleasant feeling. The girl will be keeping the male’s primal instincts at bay, more out of embarrassment than will.
“Well, that’s normal. We’re early. He’ll will come.”
“Too bad they haven’t invented the possibility of drinking on holographic journeys yet. We would spend the time more comfortably,” Holden will note.
“As far as I’m concerned, I drank too much tonight. And we have to be lucid and quick. Our friend does not like to waste too much time in holographic space. He knows that the less you stay here, the less you’re traced in real life.”
“How do you know he’ll take the job?”
“I don’t know, but I suppose so. Our university tuition is quite expensive, about twenty-five thousand Eurodollars per year, and not everyone has the opportunity to spend a hundred thousand Eurodollars for a diploma. Least of all our friend, who seems to be from a poor family. So far, he’s maintained himself by selling his services for a few thousand Eurodollars, but these are mostly kids, university students. With you, he’d jump.”
For a few minutes, the two men will watch the holograms of students entering and leaving the bar, mostly people who meet to make dates in real life, or to exchange information about educational activities.
“Here he is,” he will say suddenly, pointing to a young man with a thick dark beard coming through the door.
“Good evening, King,” the young man will say in a baritone voice.
“King?” Holden will ask, turning to his mentor.
“But if poor countries don’t develop, the rich’s sales market shrinks.”
“It’s an acceptable cost for those who want the borders of the world and empires to always exist.”
“Acceptable to whom?”
“For those who have an interest in developing one model of social development over another,” the overweight man will respond, pushing his long black hair off his forehead.
They will sit on a bench, looking at the swamp. By now, few visitors will be crossing the avenue.
“If I wanted to control large masses of people, I would prefer to have them piled up in large points of aggregation, and not to make them free from human’s two primary needs from the Stone Age.”
“And that would be...?”
“Eating and staying warm. Food and energy.”
“Not to mention everything else you do with energy.”
“Precisely. And that you might have in the world’s countryside, making people self-sufficient. And so, no migrations from the country to the cities.”
The two men will look at each other, sharing their thoughts.
“Look, John” the overweight man will say. “I’ve practically arrived. I have to go that way I have my flying car in a silo behind the south door. So we agree. If you really don’t trust going back together, let me talk for you. I’ll say I saw you, and you’re willing to come back, if they give me written assurances that you won’t be indicted. They have nothing against you at all.”
“I don’t know, let me think about it. The last time they wanted to talk to me, they broke into a club with guns blazing. It’s a strange type of dialogue.”
The overweight man will raise his arms. “We’ve been talking about this all afternoon. There’s nothing more to say, and I see no other solution. Then let me try, I’ll talk to you about it. Trust me, everything will be fine, they will understand. And then we’ll do as you say.”
“On the top floor of the tower. Tonight, at 8:00 p.m.” Whiley will say, looking around. “If I don’t see you by 9:00 p.m., it means it didn’t work. And then...”
“My name in here,” Kane will reply, “and this is my friend, who I told you about.”
The young man will move his chair until he is within a meter, in the virtual space of the bar.
“You need a design. For path integration. Long distance.”
“Precisely,” Holden will answer.
“Do you have the specifications of the object?”
“Certainly.”
“Software delivery region?”
“Southeast Asia.”
“Is the object standard or original?”
“Original.”
“Has the route been tested over that distance yet?”
“Never. The prototype is still under construction.”
The young man will move his hands on the bar table, as if using a dial-up video connection.
“It’s not safe here. We need to see each other in person. But first we have to establish the compensation.”
“How much do you want?”
The young man will think about it for a moment.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand. Pay into this account. Fifty thousand within three days. The rest at the end of the work,” he will finally say, sending the account number of a German bank.
King will whistle. “Boy, you’ve gotten greedy,” he will comment, clapping his hands on his knees.
“It’s fine for me,” Holden will say. “Where do we see each other and when?”
“My place. Istanbul, in three days, Monday at noon. In Hagia Sophia.”
The bearded young man will get up, leaving the bar without saying goodbye, dissolving into the holographic space.
The two men in the hotel room will take off their helmets and gloves and get off the green carpet, closing and opening their eyelids to get used to the change in brightness.
“You’ll see me. Trust me, John, I’m going to get you out of this mess.”
Some visitors will be heading to the exits.
“So, promise not to do anything stupid and to trust me. I’m going to move seas and mountains, but you’ll be out by tonight.”
Whiley will notice that his friend’s voice expresses more hope than certainty. “And that’s fine. But see that you’re there tonight,” he will say, sighing.
“At 8:00. Top floor.”
The two friends will say goodbye with a hug and a forced smile. Whiley, with a hint of panic, will watch his companion head to the park’s south door, slowly, like a large bear. In the almost deserted park, the last rays of sun will be descending behind a hill, and the first artificial lights will come on. Only when his friend has disappeared behind a curve will he turn, raising the collar of his jacket, and take the avenue in the opposite direction, while a slight haze rises from the meadows in the distance.
The professor will approach the table in the living room between the burgundy cloth armchairs and open a small bottle of champagne.
“Eh, it’s no longer like in my day. Today’s kids have become more venal. I had no idea it was so expensive,” he will comment, pouring the champagne into a glass, which he will offer to his guest.
“That’s fine,” Holden will say shortly, taking the glass. “Thank you for mediating.”
The professor will raise his cup.
Holden will think that the old fox would have suggested the price to his pupil and negotiated ten percent for himself. The equivalent of a year’s university tuition, but paid to his mentor, tax-free. He will raise his glass in a toast and smile.
Wednesday, 5:05 p.m.
It will be an unusually calm evening with little wind, and a slight haze will rise with the drop in temperature, enveloping the streets and buildings in a milky blanket. The overweight man will exit Brookfield Zoo in the Chicago suburbs and walk down the street among visitors leaving the park, heading to public transport from the south gate, with the phlegmatic gait allowed by his heavy body stuffed into the black jacket. He will pull a portable communicator, bought in the afternoon for a few coins, from his pocket to avoid interception.
“Hi, it’s me.”
He will cross the street with a family, a father, mother, and two children, male and female; the boy is about ten, the girl maybe a couple of years less. The little girl will look more mature than her brother, who will tease her with a primate mask purchased at a park store.
“I saw John this afternoon,” the man with the black jacket will say, walking into the tunnel that leads to the silo, a large round tower with twenty-two floors, entirely dedicated to sheltering flying cars. “Yes, John’s fine and sends greetings.”
The tunnel, full of people, will extend about thirty meters above the road surface on which dozens of electric cars and magnetic gravitation will flow, with distinct smooth oval shapes, producing curious buzzes, as if a swarm of hornets had passed.
“Yes. By the way, I can’t be back for dinner as I promised you.”
The tunnel will have large windows entirely in the open air. A double set of mobile passages, a few meters wide, will allow people who prefer not to walk to be transported to the commercial area and parking lots.
“... I know I promised you I’d read the stories. I just can’t get back... No... John got into a mess, and he needs my help...”
The overweight man will follow the line of people to the tills.
213 days earlier
Once again, on that spring morning, the sun will warm the white buildings of the city that the Greeks called Byzantium, the Roman’s Constantinople, and then, as the capital of the Ottoman Empire, it became Istanbul. The man will dress like an American tourist, with athletic shoes and white pants, a red floral shirt, sunglasses, and a white hat to shelter from the sun, unusually warm for the season.
Let’s hope the old man isn’t wrong about his student.
He will cross the square full of people, looking at the spires reaching into the sky, like so many missiles pointed in space, white as the walls and curved roofs of the building above him.
He’s never been wrong so far.
He will turn left past modern hotels with architectural structures greatly contrasting with the buildings of the pedestrian street of Istiklal, in which he will have entered, between old red electric trams and new white solar-powered public transport.
If he’s as good as he sa
ys, we could succeed.
In the morning crowd, he will stop to observe the old circular stone towers topped with spires immersed in the most recent buildings, bars and restaurants among the typical houses of the ancient city, the gateways to the east and west, mixture of types and food tastes, languages and smells.
The shooting assistance goes directly into the rifle compartment.
The man will walk without haste, enjoying the morning like a normal tourist. At the Istikal terminal, he will climb to the Galata Tower, stopping to admire the view of the Bosporus and the city.
The software will have to automatically modify the collimators and crosshairs.
Beyond the roofs of the houses, the blue of the strait within the city will be traversed by dozens of boats of all kinds and types. From the slow boats of the early century to modern hydrofoils, the white boats standing out against the blue of the sea.
People will stop at automatic devices, pull the virtual tile out of their holographic space, and move it into the hand of a kind female figure. The girl suspended in the air will thank them, greeting them and pointing to the take-off ramp and the floor on which to pick up their vehicles. At the same time, the robots will pick up the flying cars on the silo floors, mechanical arms bringing them to the parking area according to the passengers’ order of arrival.
“... It’s complicated, an emergency. You know what John’s like. There’s some problem with him, but this time it’s not really his fault, I assure you, and I have to help him out. He would have done it for me, you know...”
He will enter the elevator cabin with the family, while the little girl complains to her mother about her brother pretending to scare her with the gorilla mask.
“... I can’t talk louder, I’m in the elevator. All right, when I get back, I’ll correct her homework...”
An elderly couple, apparently annoyed by the jokes of the two little children in the elevator, will seem relieved when the family gets out on the seventh floor.
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 1 Page 16
