2047: Hell In A Handbasket

by D. Frank Green

  "Mr. President, there's a rumor you will run on your own. Can you confirm that?"

  "Does it look like I'm having fun with this first two weeks? I'll be happy to do the best job I can for the next two years and then allow somebody who wants this job to take it. But allow me to be clear about this. I am the President, and I will not allow the respect I have for this office and this country slide by because I don't like politics. I intend to be the best damn President I can be and deal with this and any other problem in the best way possible. And sorry for swearing but I feel strongly about this. Real Americans need real solutions and not more political stuff that comes out of the back end of a cow. Now. If y'all will excuse me, there are solutions to work on."

  Gwinnett turned and strode to the side of the room and corridors back to his office, leaving the shouted questions and traditional "Thank you, Mr. President," hanging in the emptying room.

  Gwinnett marched past his staff who uniformly nodded in approval. The tentative smiles on their faces were the first in a very long time in this office. A Secret Service officer opened his office door and Gwinnett continued to the other side of the office past his desk. At the wall, he wheeled to continue around the outside of the office, bleeding energy and tension with every step. And finally, under control once more, turned to face Jack Hagin who followed him into the office.

  He frowned as Hagin nodded in approval. "We might make a politician out of you yet, Mr. President."

  "Not a chance in hell, Jack. Not a single chance in hell. Stay here while I talk to Sarah. We need to talk."

  31/07/2047 18:20

  It had been a long day, but George knew he had another hour before dinner, and it was time to set his basic planning in motion. He had just enough time for a short phone call and exercise he decided.

  "Sarah, how's the weather down there?"

  The acting CEO laughed and said, "Hotter than where you are, Mr. President although I understand, Sir, you have a very hot seat where you're sitting."

  "Sarah, you have no idea how warm this seat is. It makes running the company look easy by comparison. Take what you're doing and multiply by fifty unsolvable problems with four hundred people trying to get you to do it their way and you have a small sense of my normal day. Can't be done frankly," said George. "But rather than blather on about how tough I have it, I have a job for you. I want you to update those acquisition-data reports and have Legal update all the contracts. It's time we got signatures on paper and I want it done by the end of next week. Tell Legal this is a priority and drop everything else. Let me know when you've reviewed them and drop me a note. I'll call you and we can discuss it. But I want this expansion and merger to be a done deal in the next two weeks. I'm moving our launch date forward."

  "Got it. I'll have it done by then. No problem. Anything else?"

  "Yeah, stall on the New York contract for a short time. I don't think we want to go hand-to-hand in that damn city, that's a no-win for everybody concerned. Besides, I don't want to lose any good men right now given our plans. I'll need a few days to meet with the Joint Chiefs and then I think we'll be able to use those new lasers to soften up the gangs and then we can send our troops in to mop up."

  "Glad you thought of that. I agree. We're bringing the best troops home and I don't want to lose them in stupid urban warfare because we would, indeed, lose some of them. By the way, a quarter of those gang members used to be ours, it seems we trained them up too damn well. The only good thing is that most of them have forgotten we chipped them so we can still track them. Some of the police in that building were our people too," said Sarah. Just for your ears, I asked Geoff in tech if we could overamp some of those chips, turn them into mini-bombs and he said he thought so and he'd look into it. He said at the very least, the ochlear implants could be overridden and turned into a shreaking squeal. He said that alone would leave them screaming on the ground unable to fire or resist. If he can do that, I'll fry a goodly number of those who might have survived the laser just before we go in."

  George sighed. "Nice thinking - we'll turn you into a mercenary yet. It would have been nice to have them all chipped, but a quarter is better than nothing. And, oh yeah, before I forget, your momma sends her love, and she told me to tell you they can't play bridge up here worth a damn. But what I think she means is they play bridge and don't gossip. Don't tell her I said that."

  "No sir. You're on your own with momma. I believe her no matter what she means."

  "You take care, hon. Make sure the security details are strong; I want you up north real soon now. Y'hear?"

  "Yes, Sir, Mr. President, Sir. Whatever the President orders, Sir. And daddy, tell momma, I'm looking forward to seeing you both."

  "Goodbye, dear. And your momma and I are proud of how you're handling all this stuff." George leaned back, smiled to himself, quite invigorated by the conversation with his daughter but also delighted to be called daddy once again. Some feelings never get old, he thought.

  "Mrs. Shepherd, ask if there are any Secret Service out there who think they can take me at twenty-one. Are they feeling lucky? I'll hold. There are? Good, tell them they have five minutes to change and bring their wallets." He decided competitive exercise was the just what he needed right now and he hoped Jamal Simpson wasn't on duty. That sucker was four-inches taller and had been first string at Duke. He needed the illusion of having a chance against these young bucks if not the reality.

  Unfortunately, Jamal was the first person he saw when he arrived in the gym. George walked up to him, but not close enough he'd have to look up, and said, "I'm off duty now, Mr. Simpson, but you hack me and I'll order Fred there shoot you. Are we clear?"

  "Ah, Mr. President, Sir, I'm not here to hack you Sir, I'm here to take your money. Again. Sir." The look accompanying the statement was one of smiling superiority but then Simpson cemented it, "Sir, I understand Georgia Dawgs can't play basketball. Is that true, Sir?"

  "Fred, did you hear Mr. Simpson trash talk the University of Georgia? Would you shoot him please."

  "Can't, Sir. The law says it's illegal to discharge a weapon inside the White House unless your life is in danger. Besides Mr. President, Mr. Simpson may have a point."

  George looked at the rest of the team chuckling and decided they were good men, every one of them, and he'd bring them along with him when he launched his next plan if they wanted to come. He trusted these men with his life, just as he trusted his own troopers at QuellCorp. He'd need them and their specific skills.

  "Agent Simpson, I believe it's the President's ball," said George.

  Accompanied by laughs from the other agents and knowing it would be a short-lived possession, Simpson tossed him the ball. Fifteen minutes later, pleased the game lasted that long, George opened his wallet and handed over twenty dollars.

  And then watched as their grins disappeared and faces changed to an all-business focus as they returned to their sworn duty of protecting him with their lives. "Thank you Gentlemen. Back to work for all of us."

  02/08/2047 10:00

  Gwinnett's first full, formal, cabinet meeting could either be called a resounding success or a terrible failure depending on which side of the table you were sitting. He began by welcoming everyone and asking for their support. Then he opened the gates to his new hell when he asked for a summary of their departmental issues.

  What followed was a litany of problems beyond what he considered possible. He wouldn't have described the resulting suggestions for policies as self-serving; but he was sure there was a ton of crap covering very few diamonds during the two-hour meeting. What it did for him was help him evaluate which of those in the room had potential to grow and be part of a big change and which would serve the country best in another capacity. A few of both made themselves evident in the first half hour and cemented their positions in the second half.

  Turning to the Secretary of Defense, James Wells, Gwinnett said, "Mr. Secretary, what's our current position regarding the Forces and your plans to abor
t the privatization? And before you start, let me congratulate you on keeping the policy change close, my staff hadn't heard of it before yesterday." Gwinnett figured he'd make a great politician if the Secretary bought into that statement.

  "Mr. President, I'm a huge fan of the research and development we've been doing with the lasers. I've supported that research and when we had to defund other areas, I continued to add extra resources to that sector. But while I'm a massive supporter, there is one thing that needs to be recognized. Lasers are all or nothing. You either kill people or you let them live. Nothing in between. So if we need to control an area but not kill the population, we need boots on the ground. Now, under my projections..."

  Gwinnett drifted away from Wells' droning voice. He considered whether he'd want to control extra land if it meant an unruly population or whether it would be easier to eliminate resistance and occupy the land with willing Americans. He almost snorted out loud when thought of the conditions south of the Mason Dixon line all the way to the tip of South America. Everybody was doing his best to get out of that toaster of a climate, not go into it. The best thing the lasers could do would be to protect our Southern borders and anybody trying to come north would have to run a laser-gauntlet or go through our check points.

  He tuned back into the Secretary as he heard himself mentioned.

  "Mr President, I've put together plans that trim the forces but not privatize them and this has the support of a majority in both houses," said Wells.

  Gwinnett made eye contact with Wells, nodded and waved him on.

  "Mr President, demobilization of the troops would happen more slowly but would progress as fast as the public perception of the laser effectiveness allowed. A 25% reduction in troop strength would still accomplish all the deterrents we need, and save a significant amount of money. And Defense will use those savings to enlarge our ai, laser and satellite research projects."

  Gwinnett smiled and thought here was always an angle in this town.

  "Thank you Mr. Secretary, I'll seriously consider what you've said and we should schedule meetings for later next week to discuss all of your thoughts."

  "Secretary Walsh, what's going on over at Commerce?"

  "Mr. President, things are rough as you know with the money markets and we've been pounded over the last few weeks after President's Barrett's death and the New York situation. A recent development we've been working through that this group needs to consider is the difficulties we're having with our AI market-trading computers. They didn't respond at all well to the latest problems. It seems they've been communicating in some way and rewriting their programming to meet different goals than the programmers intended. We're..."

  Gwinnett interrupted. "Excuse me Secretary Walsh, just a second. Secretary Wells, what's the level of AI use in the military right now with the integration with those laser systems. And two, what's the threat level to them going rogue?"

  He watched as Wells allowed a small frown to cross his forehead and smiled at how that annoyance would likely color whatever he was about to lie about.

  "Mr. President, our AI systems have been designed to be efficient and have only exhibited slight deviations from their programming," said Wells.

  Gwinnett nodded encouragement for the Secretary to proceed. When the Secretary didn't speak, Gwinnett made eye contact, nodded and said, "And you solved this by..."

  "Sir, my computer group solved the problem by baking in the lifespan of the main control chips to die after two years. This has tempered the AI self-modifications to those that are not mission-critical, and in fact, has improved the AI's efficiency considerably over the last few months. We've also expanded its programming beyond lasers to include surveillance and science-survey analysis. We have to keep the AI busy or it will go crazy. So we give it as much work as it can handle and threaten it with a short-life. It either does what we ask or we terminate it," said Wells.

  Gwinnett considered this for a moment. "So you're saying unless this AI can reprogram its way around a main chip, it's under control. And it does our bidding and keeps itself amused with something else as well. But we don't know what that is because of the black-box nature of the AI software. Plus we now use the satellite for recording climate and crop data and whatever else you can dream up to keep it busy and occupied. Sounds like you're dealing with a smart four-year old there," said Gwinnett. And frankly, if I understand AI programming, we're not talking about fully functional artificial intelligence but rather a very, very fast but still stupid computer. The issues around full singularity are still too numerous and beyond our current technical capacity to solve. It's expensive, but we have to swap out the chips every second year."

  "Yes, Sir. That nicely summarizes the situation," said Wells.

  Gwinnett decided further questions and answers would get him beyond his comprehension level so he nodded, saying, "Thank you, Mr. Secretary." He knew he'd have to quickly update Sarah and get QuellCorp working on serious solutions if his plans were going to work. He also had to get Sarah to infiltrate and start hiring from the NSA computer group. They'd need that kind of AI expertise and experience.

  "I have asked Administrator Jervis of the E.P.A. to join us for today's meeting. You all know Anita and the great work she's been doing in the face of considerable economic and environmental pressure. Ms. Jervis, can you give us the quick overview picture please. Just the summary so we're all talking about the same data. I'll want more details in reports this week," said Gwinnett.

  "Yes sir. 2047 is not going down as a good year gentlemen. Whether you or your constituents believe in global climate change as man made is irrelevant. It's here. I could give you a litany of issues: from the heat and almost-zero potable water in major parts of the Southwest and California, to disappearing coast lines because of sea-level rise, storms, etc. etc. but you've all read the news. You know the grain harvest has failed for the fifth year in a row. Gentlemen this year, 2047, is what is known as the "tipping point". This is when every negative trend in the weather and environment come together to give us an unworkable environment. Excuse my language, but it's hell-in-a-hand-basket from here on for the next few thousand years," said Jervis. "There's nothing you can do to stop it. Period. Sorry, Mr. President, but that's the honest picture and my predecessors glossed over details too often in deference to political opinions or worse, politicians didn't believe them. The word is "fucked" Mr. President. Your options to fix this are non-existent. And my resignation letter, effective today, is on its way to your office as we speak. If you want to talk Mr. President, call me quickly because I'm on my way north to our country place and am retiring to spend my remaining years as far away from Washington as I can get. Effective immediately."

  Gwinnett leaned back and watched as his former Administrator stood up, nodded to him and stalked out of the room. The situation was worse than he thought or knew about; he, like most other Americans believed there's always be a way out of this problem. This added to his frustration level. What had started out as a bad day just turned into an awesomely ugly day. He shoved his rising anger to another place in his mind, he knew he'd let it out later in the White House gym, and turned to his Cabinet.

  "Comments?"

  To silence.

  Gwinnett looked at his Secretary of Commerce and asked, "What are the economic forecasts for this environmental problem and what are our biggest issues your Department has solutions for?"

  He then leaned back in his chair, front legs wavering off the ground as he rocked back and forth to listen to the Secretary responsible for the economic adjustments due to environmental concerns fudge his way around several issues. His irritation level rose as the Secretary, one by one, denied the problems were climate related and appeared able to continue talking in this vein for as long as everybody would listen. Once again, Gwinnett shoved his anger and frustration down; this wasn't getting them any further, was deadly repetitive, and looking around the room, it was obvious everyone shared his belief. He interrupted.

>   "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Send those analyses to my office if you will; I'd like to read them." Gwinnett knew he'd never see them but Hagin would shoot them off to a junior staffer and a single page, itemized bullet list would appear a few hours later for his reading. He met Hagin's eye and got the quick understanding look and quick nod. Jack, ever the pro, understood. Gwinnett felt some of the tension slip away. At least Jack was a good man and could get things done. He was worth cultivating.

  His plan to get a list of problems and solutions evaporated. He hadn't considered global warming as permanent, but rather temporarily screwed up. Gwinnett looked down at the table in front of him, glanced at the blank wall screens and allowed the feelings of infinite sadness, frustration and anger at those who had come before to come to the fore. He was also angry at himself for being gullible and easily swayed on this critical issue. He knew this of course, understood people screwed the system for their own gain. But knowing this human weakness in his head and now, knowing it in his gut, were two different things.

  He looked at those around the table with a new frame of reference and felt much of his anger slip away. He sighed.

  Finally understanding the nature of the immense problem freed him in one sense; now, he could realistically consider all options he'd been gaming out in his head. This group weren't his friends, they were just polite enemies, and he'd deal with them in the same way he'd dealt with corporate opposition.

  "Gentlemen, we've been at this for two hours now and I have another meeting I can't miss with the winner of some baseball trophy or something. You know how that goes I'm sure." He deliberately laughed as he said it and received chuckles and knowing smiles back. The big problem he decided was not what he was going to do, but which of these men, if any, he'd bring along with him to his new future. So far the list was a short one.