Neoliberal Economists Must Die ! (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 3)

by Timothy Gawne

  “And the chickens? I don’t think that I’ve ever had real eggs, or chicken.”

  “No, nowadays the chickens are reserved for the elite, and they are what they call ‘free range.’ They live in spacious hangars with simulated sunlight and simulated skies, and they are free to run around to their heart’s content. The oligarchs, you see, feel sorry for chickens and want them to have rich and fulfilling lives (chicken-wise) before they are eaten. It’s only people that don’t count.”

  They passed over a hundred square kilometers of clear plastic-sheet covered greenhouses. “Hey, now I get to be the know-it-all!” said Chen. “Even with fusion power, sunlight gives you a no-cost kilowatt per square meter and that’s a hard freebie to turn down! So we still have greenhouses!”

  “Touché, my charming power systems specialist. Touché. We will make a pedagogue out of you yet.”

  “Flatterer.”

  The greenhouses were mostly dark, but here and there were little pools of light as maintenance teams worked on some isolated task, or a lone security guard made the rounds with a flashlight. They started to drift closer to the glowing towers of the elites. Some were near a kilometer in height, with armored glass windows shining like day, bubble-covered terraces a hundred meters long, glimpses through tinted screens of extended parties with thousands of guests. “This is just the surface manifestation of the oligarchs,” said Vargas. “Their main warrens are tunneled kilometers deep in the bedrock. We should veer off now, these buildings may look gaudy and frivolous but they are protected with enough weaponry to impress a cybertank. With the aliens closing in their security officers are a bit trigger-happy.”

  The heavy combat remote curved smoothly to one side, angling away from the domain of the oligarchs. True night had arrived, and the sky had darkened enough for the stars to come out. “Look,” said Vargas. “That’s the milky way, a part of our own galaxy. We are only a few light years from old Earth, so it looks the same as it has throughout human history.”

  “I’ve seen it in person before, but it was a while ago. Who has the time to get out? It’s beautiful, though.”

  “So few people have the leisure to look at it with their own eyes. The oligarchs have the time, and the opportunity, but such things don’t interest them. So we’re lucky.”

  A pair of bright points, small as stars but not twinkling, moved gracefully across the dark sky. “Defense satellites?” asked Chen. “Are they from our directorate?

  “Not a chance. The orbital systems that we build cannot be seen by the naked eye. Same for the products of the space combat and exotic weapons directorates. Those are older types, obsolete, but it’s hardly worth the energy cost to bring them down for recycling. At least they can draw fire.”

  There were a few faint flashes high up in the sky over to the east. “Nuclear weapons? I peg them as fusion bombs, megaton yield at least, probably over 10,000 kilometers off. A battle? Did we win?”

  “You are a good judge of nuclear explosions. You know, it’s a well-kept secret, but men find that women with an eye for nuclear weapons are really sexy.”

  “Really.”

  “Tell me about neutron absorption cross-sections.”

  “Another time.”

  “I demand that you explain incident particle energy dependence to me I cannot stand it anymore!”

  “Can we stay on topic?”

  “I thought I was. Oh, wrong topic. Anyhow. As regards the recent space combat, I don’t know who ‘won’ – I’d have to look it up – but yes, somewhere a few tens of thousands of kilometers out from here some of our weapons systems encountered some of the aliens’ weapons systems and stuff happened. They are moving closer if we can see them with the naked eye. The aliens have been wearing away our distant outposts. They are waging a war of attrition against us, but so far have not seriously attacked the main planet. We think, when all of our peripheral defenses are gone, that that’s when they will attack in force, and land ground forces. It’s hard to know what the aliens will really do: first because they are alien, and second because they are intelligent and not likely to act too predictably. Still, this seems like the probable course of events.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Dear lady, you accuse me of trying to seduce you? I assure you that I would never do anything so crass, so un-gallant, as to try and seduce you. I am, I believe, actually seducing you. To do less would be unworthy of you.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you were a piece of work?”

  “Have they? Why yes they have. I believe that the current count is 23 times. The last time was two weeks ago when I had this most frank and outspoken exchange of views with this woman from the personnel department of central administration. You have not actually accused me of being a piece of work, correct? Otherwise that would make it number 24. One does so want to be precise in such matters.”

  Chen started to say something, but was laughing so hard that she couldn’t get it out. The conversation settled down, and Vargas and Chen sat on top of the heavy combat remote as it slid through the darkness, lit only by starlight and the even fainter glow of the occasional artificial light on the surface below. The temperature was continuing to drop. Chen snuggled against Vargas and he hugged her closer.

  Vargas maneuvered the heavy combat unit back to where they had started. It floated into the external bay, the doors closed, and a complex atmosphere-scrubbing process was initiated. For many purposes the fact that Alpha Centauri Prime had a decent atmosphere was quite helpful, but in some cases a vacuum would have made things easier. If the external bay had been filled with vacuum (that is ‘filled’ with nothing - that is, not filled at all), they would only have needed to let the air back in. As it was, the bay was already occupied with non-breathable gases, and so in order to re-introduce terrestrial air you have to process the existing atmosphere and it can get complicated.

  The combat remote settled onto a support cradle, and then its systems powered down. Vargas and Chen helped each other down onto the floor, checked the oxygen content of the air, and removed their safety harnesses and respirators.

  “That was quite enjoyable,” said Chen. “Thanks for the trip. I designed the power systems of these remotes, but I never got to ride one before.”

  “Not at all, the pleasure was mine. Could I tempt you with a glass of wine? It’s a decent vintage. I made it just last month, with help from the people in the hydraulics division. It would be a shame – a minor crime, even - to force me to drink it alone.”

  Chen looked skeptical. “Oh please,” said Vargas. “Your employment contract allows you to consume alcohol. Join me.”

  “Why not.”

  “Why not? Hardly the most effusive statement of consent that has ever been stated. But so far superior to “no,” that I will take it. My modest abode beckons!”

  They walked out of the sub-hangar, stepping over cables and ducking under gantries and the outcropping struts and gun barrels of the larger combat systems. They left the external bay, and a bored-looking security guard waved them on.

  “I am surprised at how mellow the local guards have been lately.” said Chen.

  “Not too surprising when you consider that they all work for me now. I did the usual opera-and-ballet about the urgencies of the war effort the need for a unified command yada yada and now they are part of the happy extended family of the cybernetic weapons directorate. I believe that their attitude has much improved.”

  Chen’s eyes widened. “You have taken over the local security? Where did you get the budget for that?”

  “Well you might ask. The oligarchs deal with sums so vast that a few billion dollars here and there for personnel costs does not even register with them. They have forgotten that no matter how many sextillion pretend-dollars you have in your pretend-accounts, the real world is what matters. The funds are not – to use a technologically quaint expression – even on their radar screens.

  “I wouldn’t laugh at money. Pretend or not
, the tiniest fraction of those sextillion dollars could buy any soul on this planet.”

  “Good point. That does need to be considered. Nevertheless, I have taken control of nearly all of the employees that are associated with our directorate. We are almost at the political and economic level of an independent city-state.”

  “But... but… security? Isn’t that playing with fire? Central administration can’t be that stupid, can they?”

  “Well yes I assure you that they can be and they are that stupid, and worse. The challenge lies with the layers of sycophants they have surrounded themselves with – some of them are quite sharp, and strongly motivated to defend their wealthy patrons to preserve their own status and positions. So the federal police, the various secret services, and the regular military, remain out-of-bounds to me. For now. One thing at a time. That’s what I always say when I can’t get it all at once.”

  They walked through some more corridors, passing storage facilities and workrooms. Even this late at night there were a fair number of people fiddling with equipment. The war was getting closer and the pressure was being felt. They all bowed or said something respectful to Vargas. Some recognized Chen and did the same for her.

  They passed a small room with a half a dozen haggard looking people staring at computer monitors. “Who are they?” asked Chen.

  “Oh, them? They are members of the local wargaming society. They’re helping to keep our cybertanks tuned up and challenged, strategy-wise. They are surprisingly good for indolent entitled second-generation offspring of wealthy oligarchs. They might be the only humans on this planet who are not either total idiots, or so enslaved to their jobs that they have no time for anything truly creative. I wish that I had more of them.”

  They passed the senor staffs’ quarters, and moved off to a dark side-corridor. “Isn’t this going the wrong way?” asked Chen.

  “I have a lot of enemies,” replied Vargas. “You didn’t think that I would sleep where just anyone could sneak up on me, did you? So I have created a sort of private little retreat down here. I must warn you, though, the security can come across as a little fierce, but it’s mostly bluff.”

  The side-corridor appeared to be abandoned, but there were video cameras and remote stun-pods spaced along the length. As they turned a corner, they encountered a two-meter tall metal cockroach-robot-thing. It was made of a dull blue-gray metal, had multiple segmented legs, and a single minigun mounted where the upper chest would be on a human. It sprouted a variety of optic sensors and antennae, which immediately centered on Chen.

  “INTRUDER,” it intoned. “INTRUDER. AUTHORIZATION LACKING. LEAVE NOW.” The minigun swiveled to bear on Chen, and she could hear its internal mechanisms spooling up its ammunition feed. To her credit Janet Chen did not scream or faint, but she did turn pale.

  “Harvey: stand down. This is Janet Chen. Janet Chen is authorized to be here. Janet Chen is a friend. Acknowledge.”

  The large metal cockroach robot-thing maintained target lock on Chen, but it bent over and scanned her with its various sensors and antennae. Chen stood absolutely still, as one might when a particularly large and powerful dog is sniffing you. “AUTHORIZATION ACKNOWLEDGED,” it announced. “WELCOME FRIEND JANET CHEN.” The robot cockroach thing powered-down its minigun, and backed off to the side of the corridor to let them pass.

  It took Chen a moment to catch her breath. “A friend of yours?”

  “Yes. Quite a good one in fact. This is ‘Harvey,’ an early project of mine. He is self-aware and has human language ability but his psychology is limited. I am somewhat embarrassed though as I created him when I was young and full of myself. I have since realized that it is inappropriate to create self-aware beings and not give them full cognitive capabilities. Someday I will have to do something for Harvey, if I live long enough. In any event, he’s not as capable as a modern front-line combat system, but he is totally loyal, and as one of my first creations he also has a certain sentimental value. It’s OK, you’ve been introduced. I think he likes you.”

  As they passed by ‘Harvey’ in the corridor it did not remain motionless, but constantly shifted position, twitching its antennae and swiveling its optics around. After they passed it started to follow them – which Chen at first found to be incredibly creepy. When Chen turned to look back at it, it stopped, lowered itself onto the floor, and looked up at her.

  “I almost expect it to start wagging its tail,” said Chen.

  “Sadly I never gave Harvey a tail, but once you learn to read his body language you’ll see that he can convey the same idea. Come on, you two can play later.”

  Chen wasn’t sure what sort of private living quarters to expect of Vargas, but she did not expect this. It was a cube-shaped room, three meters on each side. One wall was lined with shelving and computer monitors and printouts. The opposite wall had a heaping mass of blankets and pillows that looked more like a rat’s nest than anything that a human being would sleep in. The rest of the space was a clutter of technical manuals, electronic parts, cables, and discarded food containers. There were a couple of plastic chairs – both stacked high with printouts – and a small table, oddly clean in the mess, on which sat only a large Erlenmeyer flask filled with red liquid and two empty 100 ml beakers.

  “It’s… it’s… it’s an absolute pigsty. You live here?"

  “Well, um, yes. But matters have been pressing and maid service is expensive and good help is so hard to find.”

  “This,” announced Chen, “is not acceptable. We are going to clean this out.”

  “We are?”

  “Certainly. Come on, first thing it to take all this old bedding to recycling, and get you a proper mattress. Then we can start sorting out the technical manuals.”

  Vargas stood up straight and saluted. “Yes ma’am.”

  Chen bustled about, first cleaning out the old pillows and blankets, then using a borrowed mop from a janitorial closet to wipe the floor. Vargas sorted through his printouts and stacked them into a rude semblance of order. Harvey stayed out in the hall but followed the activity with obvious interest. Chen went back out to the main hangar and returned with a new mattress and some fresh sheets from stores, which she dragged along on a small hand trolley. After about an hour the place was, if not spotless, at least much improved. Vargas and Chen sat down on the chairs, and Vargas poured some of the red liquid into each of the two beakers. Harvey was sprawled out flat in the hall, with only his antennae sometimes twitching back and forth.

  Chen tentatively sipped the red liquid. “How is it?” asked Vargas.

  “I’m not sure – I don’t know wine. It’s good, I think. You say it’s from the hydraulics division?”

  “Definitely. Things have been slow in hydraulics lately, and they have some more than decent chemists with them. The waste and recycling division is alleged to have some even better brews, but they get few takers. It’s a reputation thing.”

  “I can imagine,” said Chen. They clinked beakers. “To your health!”

  “To yours.”

  They sipped their wine for a bit. “So what’s the plan for after the aliens are beaten back? You bioengineered going to take over?”

  “A decent question. First of course, we have to actually beat the aliens. But if we do, well, then we shall see. One thing I can assure you of is that ‘us’ bioengineered humans have zero intention of ‘taking over.’ What a silly idea. Why should we do that?”

  “Well, because you are faster, stronger, and smarter. Why wouldn’t you take over, aren’t the rest of us obsolete?”

  “Such narrow thinking. I remind you that people of talent and ability are not generally motivated to rule others. They have better things to do. It is only the second-rate that crave power, because that is the only way that they can achieve distinction. We bioengineered have no desire to spend our time telling other people what to do, and we are not the human race’s replacements. We are an improvement, at least in some respects, but still very much people. W
e are blazing the trail, working out the bugs, and doing the hard work of pioneers. When we are done, assuming that there aren’t some really big flaws that we haven’t realized yet, our genes will be free to the entire species.”

  “Flaws? Like those psychotic rages you are so famous for?”

  “Psychotic rages? That’s harsh. Well, maybe a little harsh. I admit that the current generation of bioengineered could be a little slower to anger. I need the right term: less likely to resort to violence? A higher activation energy?"

  “How about: a heavier trigger pull?”

  “An excellent analogy! Yes, we need a ‘heavier trigger pull,’ well said. We’ll get the balance right in the next generation, probably. Still, I am as congenial and easy to get along with as anyone when I get my own way. Just because I hit back when someone hits me is hardly psychotic. I’d call it sane.”

  “You don’t believe in pacifism?”

  “Pacifism? What a stupid and masochistic pattern of beliefs that is. Ask yourself: who keeps pushing for ‘pacifism’? It’s the oligarchs. If you have the effrontery to even talk back to them they will order their guards to bash your head in. A long time ago there used to be peace marches, and the riot police would stomp the demonstrators flat, until people got the message and stopped trying. Let the people with guns and truncheons practice this ‘pacifism’ they are so ardent at jamming down our throats and I’ll think about it. Or possibly not.”

  “But surely society could not function if everyone felt the way that you do?”

  “This society, with people crushed into the mud, could not. But in another society, one with more space and resources and freedom, people like me could fit in nicely.”