Visions of the Future

by Brin, David

  THE CHILDREN OF MEN

  j.m. porup

  Jens is a journalist and futurologist who studies how exponentially-increasing innovation disrupts the social and political order. He has covered computer security for The Economist, bitcoin for Bitcoin Magazine, and the Gringo Trail for numerous Lonely Planet guidebooks.

  His award-winning novels and plays include The Second Bat Guano War, Dreams Must Die, Death on Taurus, and The United States of Air.

  Read his Dreams Must Die at http://amzn.to/1Mq4s0m.

  “Machines birthed by men will set fire the children of women.”

  —Infosec Taylor Swift

  https://twitter.com/SwiftOnSecurity/status/503410281285165056

  The dragonfly drone followed Kaybe all the way to school.

  She skipped along the broken, crumbling sidewalk, the chill autumn air biting through her patchwork shawl. The other kids don’t get drones, she thought to herself. They’re too stupid. Kaybe passed the boarded-up hardware store and waved to the greengrocer. In a fit of mischief she skipped into the middle of the street, dancing around the rusting hulks of cars and trucks. The dragonfly buzzed in her ear.

  Kaybe climbed back onto the sidewalk and trudged the rest of the way to school. More how-to-obey this and what-to-do-if that. Why can’t we do some math for a change? She loved math. She tried to hide it, but her teacher was embarrassed and gave her a calculus textbook in the hopes it would shut her up. Kaybe had finished the book in a week and came back asking for more.

  “You had to go pushing the limits,” her father had scolded her. “And now look what you’ve done!” And waved at the dragonfly.

  The drone followed her everywhere. At school it clung upside down from the ceiling, watching her. Watching everything. It buzzed at shoulder level when she went out of doors. It watched her in the shower, on the toilet, eating dinner. It even slept in her room—or rather, it watched her sleep. She supposed a drone didn’t need rest.

  The school bell rang, and she dragged herself into the schoolyard. Around her, other students laughed and joked, grabbing their backpacks and heading to class. They ignored her. Or if they saw her, they didn’t go anywhere near her. Because of the stupid drone.

  Why did I have to go asking for more math homework? What was I thinking?

  Kaybe slunk into the back of Mrs. Gatter’s class and slouched in her desk. The desk rocked back and forth on the uneven linoleum. Plaster dripped from the ceiling. At the front of the class, an ancient chalkboard hung on the wall. And when it rained they might as well have been outside.

  Brian turned in his seat and flashed her a grin. “Hey, droney.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She scowled. “Hey.”

  “Doing anything after school?”

  Secret project. Not going to tell you, though. “No. Why?”

  “Go down the creek and neck, you want.”

  Other students whooped. “Meet the new lovebirds.”

  “Brian likes the freaks!”

  Kaybe flushed. “Go neck yourself.” Wondering what it would be like to feel his lips on hers. She’d never kissed a boy before. She wanted to.

  “Anthem, people.” Mrs. Gatter rapped her desk for silence.

  The gun drone left its place in the far corner. Music played from its speakers. The Federation anthem. Yay.

  Kaybe held four fingers to her temple and sang of unity, austerity, survival, obedience. The gun drone circled the classroom, its lens zooming in on each of their faces, the barrel at ready. Algorithms searched the footage for signs of disloyalty, she knew. You couldn’t hide anything from them. Not for long anyway. As she had learned the hard way.

  When the anthem finished, Mrs. Gatter rapped the desk again. “Today we have a special visitor,” she crowed, in that grating voice of hers. “He has come to talk to us about austerity.”

  Kaybe groaned inside, but had the good sense not to make any noise. A student two rows up sputtered and shook his head.

  Mrs. Gatter was on him in an instant. “Is there a problem, George?”

  “No, no problem, ma’am.” He sat up straight. “Just something in my throat. Is all.”

  “I’ve got my eye on you, young man,” she said. “You don’t want me to send you to the principal’s office. Do you?”

  He gulped. Students sent to the principal’s office rarely came back. And those that did… “No. No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Then you can open the door for our guest, if you please?”

  That morning’s speaker was a rotund gentleman from the Department of Austerity. His triple chins jiggled when he talked, the wheezing no doubt caused by so much blubber. Kaybe wondered how anyone could get so fat. It must have cost a fortune.

  “Austerity,” the man began. “We must have austerity. We must not consume more than we produce. It is not sustainable. Or the human race will not survive much longer.”

  The pep talk turned into a boring re-hash of things they all knew perfectly well: the energy crisis, the rising sea levels, the GMO plague that poisoned much of the world’s arable land, the desperate move to Global Federation, the declining population, the food shortages.

  Mrs. Gatter led the chant when he finished: “Unity. Austerity. Survival. Obedience.”

  “You are the future, children,” the fat man wheezed, his hand on the door. “The human race relies on you to carry the torch.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Will one of you invent the solution? Innovation is the way forward! We need new ideas, fresh ideas, strong ideas, ideas that will change the world! Toodle-oo, for now!”

  Kaybe shifted in her seat. That last bit was true enough. Someone needed to come up with something, soon, or civilization was over. That’s what her father said, anyway, and he was a history professor and everything.

  “You think your kids are going to go to school?” Dad said over his third glass of homemade blackberry wine. “You think there’s even going to be a school to go to? End of the world, baby.” He’d lifted his glass. “To going out in style!”

  Dad could be so depressing sometimes. She wished he didn’t drink so much. She wished Mom was still alive.

  Kaybe sat forward in her seat and covered her face with her hands. Don’t let them see you. Don’t let them know you. Don’t let them in.

  It’s not fair, she thought. It’s just not fair.

  After school Brian came bouncing up to her. “So you up for that creek expedition, as planned?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Creek expedition?”

  He threw his arms out wide. “Come, now. Are you saying you don’t want to neck with me? You’re hurting my feelings, here.”

  “For a fourteen-year old boy, you’ve got a lot of balls,” she said. “I’ll grant you that.”

  “You think so?” He lowered his voice. “You want to see?”

  She frowned. “See what?”

  “My balls.”

  Kaybe pushed him away. “Dick.”

  “That too.”

  She made a beeline for the gate, and home.

  “Come on,” he said. “I was only joking. It’s not like your droney-drone is going to let us do anything serious.”

  True enough.

  She sighed. Home meant hiding from her father’s drunken depression. And she could work on her secret project once he was snoring on the kitchen floor.

  “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  The dragonfly followed. Kaybe sometimes wondered who the person was who watched her through those tiny cameras. Flew the thing. Although it probably flew itself, mostly. Cause whoever it was, watched her in the shower. Naked. Taking a dump. Getting dressed.

  Talk about pervy.

  And now the damn thing was following them down to Make Out Creek.

  Brian took her hand, and a jolt of electricity shot up her arm. She glanced his way, and he smiled. He really did have a nice smile. He’d kissed other girls before. Everyone at school knew that. But no harm in a little kissing, was there? Even the Federation couldn’t object
to that.

  They stepped over rotting tree limbs and around great looping roots of the creek-side willows. The pungent air of autumn filled their nostrils, and Kaybe pulled away, plunked down her backpack on a soft patch of leaves. Play at least a little hard to get, she thought. Can’t let him think I’m desperate, or anything.

  “May I join my princess in repose as she admires the mighty river?” He gestured at the creek, a thin trickle.

  Kaybe giggled. “I’m not a princess. Sit down, silly.” She patted the ground next to her, glanced up at the dragonfly. It had stopped following them, and moved out over the creek, facing them.

  His body thunked down against the tree trunk next to her, his elbow touching hers. He stretched out his legs. “Well,” he said. “Here we are.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Here we are.”

  He turned to look at her. “So. Do we neck now?”

  “Um,” she said. “Um. Um.”

  Brian’s fingertips held her chin and turned her to face him. His nose was inches from hers, his eyes soft, his scent… confusing. She gasped as his lips brushed hers, screamed when the electric jolt hit her.

  She jerked away, her body in convulsions. The dragonfly drone hovered a foot from Brian’s face, zapping him, his body twisting, the smell of burned hair, blood drooling from his lips. He bit his tongue. Oh shit!

  Kaybe grabbed for a stick, a rock, anything, and found her backpack. She swung it at the dragonfly, and it flew off, buzzing angrily. It zapped Brian again, but she swung a second time. Again it flew off. She was never going to hit it, she realized. The thing had detectors and everything. You needed those things outlaws used to take down a drone. And she was a lot of things, but not an outlaw.

  “Just leave him alone!” she screamed at it. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

  The drone buzzed her face and bit her nose. She flinched back, blood streaming down her lips. She opened her mouth to cry out, but the world went gray. What was happening? Why do I feel so—

  The last thing she remembered was slumping to the ground, and landing, her head on Brian’s chest, thinking, why can’t I hear his heart beat?

  When she woke, it was dark. Her whole body hurt. Kaybe groped for Brian, but he wasn’t there. She fumbled for her backpack, got unsteadily to her feet.

  Where was the dragonfly?

  Lifting her feet to avoid tripping, she returned the way she had come. Only a sliver of moon lit the night. She wondered what happened to Brian. Couldn’t be his heart had stopped, or else how did he stand up and walk out of here? The ass. Ditch me like that without even waking me up first.

  Now I’ll never find a boy to kiss me. When Brian tells them what just happened.

  She made her way back into to town, the street deserted as usual, and went home. She unlocked the front door as quietly as she could and left the keys on their hook.

  “Honey-bunny-bun, that you?”

  “Just me, Pa.”

  Kaybe rummaged around inside of the cold box until she found some leftover rehydrated kelp powder. She wolfed down half a bowl before her stomach turned, and she had to take deep breaths to keep it down. Wouldn’t want anyone to see you vomit up, you know, food. Austerity, and all that.

  Where was the dragonfly? she asked herself again. It felt strange not to be watched, for the first time in how long? But her gut told her something was wrong, terribly wrong, and she could not fathom what it was.

  “Kaybe Maybe,” her father called out, using his pet nickname for her.

  “Yeah, Pa.”

  “Can you come in here for a minute, please?”

  She sighed and jammed the seaweed back into the cold box. Austerity means prosperity… right?

  Kaybe ditched her backpack and sauntered into the living room. “Pa, you are never going to believe what just—”

  Three men and a woman sat on the sofa. Not the biggest sofa in the world. She wondered how they fit. Especially considering how fat they were. The woman stood up. She flipped open a badge.

  “Kaybe Baxter?”

  Her mouth went dry. She could taste the seaweed again in her throat. “That would be me,” she said, and flopped down into an empty, if threadbare, armchair.

  “They want to sterilize you,” her father interrupted.

  Kaybe knew what that meant. “What? Why? What have I done?”

  “The Department of Austerity has algorithms that prune unwanted branches from the tree of humanity. As you know, there is not enough food and too many people.” This last bit sounded almost apologetic.

  “But why me?” she whined. “What have I done? All I did was kiss him—”

  “You what?” her father asked.

  “We were down by the creek. We meant no harm. Me and Brian.” Kaybe turned back to the woman. “What’s the big deal?”

  “You have already been flagged as a disruptive influence. You and your… math. Such disruptive attitudes are frequently passed down from generation to generation. We cannot take that risk. Humanity cannot take that risk.”

  Kaybe stared at the woman. “You think Brian is going to get me pregnant? With a drone watching us all the time? And speaking of which, where is my drone, anyway?”

  A quartet of dragonflies descended from the ceiling, one in each corner of the room. “To ensure no further… incidents.” The woman held out a pill on her open palm. “Take this. Now.”

  “Is this… what I think it is?”

  “It will free you from the burden of having children, and ensure that only the obedient reproduce during this time of great species stress.”

  The three men on the sofa had not spoken, moved, or gotten up. Nor did they do so now.

  “What do you think, fellas?” Kaybe asked.

  They said nothing.

  She picked up the pill from the woman’s outstretched palm and looked at it. So tiny. But big enough to scar her ovaries for life.

  “I’m so sorry,” her father whispered. He reached for her, but his arm fell short, and he sat back again in his chair. “I’m so sorry.”

  She lifted the pill to her mouth. Stopped. “What happened to Brian?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “Brian?”

  “The boy,” one of the men said. “Down by the creek.”

  “Oh, that Brian. He is no longer with us.” The woman smiled. “Now please. Take.”

  “You mean, he’s dead? Why didn’t you—”

  “No no no no no.” The woman held out her hands. “He is not dead. Merely that he is no longer part of our… immediate community.”

  “Is he coming back?”

  “If the algorithms permit.”

  “And… if not?”

  A shrug. “Then, not. Now take your pill. You are not our only client this evening.”

  Kaybe thought about running. She could get outside before they could stop her. But the dragonflies would follow after her. Even if she managed to shut the door in their faces, she’d heard of drones breaking windows and drilling holes in wood to get to their targets.

  And then what? You’ve escaped with your ovaries intact… and you’re living in the woods like an outlaw with no food in the middle of winter.

  Yay.

  She popped the pill in her mouth and swallowed. Waited. Nothing.

  “But I don’t feel anything.”

  “Nor will you,” the woman said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I took my medicine when I was your age,” the woman explained. “And now I must go. We must go.”

  The three men stood in unison. One held out a piece of paper.

  “Genetic injunction,” he grunted.

  Pa took the paper and lay it at his side. “I thank the good people at the Department of Austerity for taking such a close interest in our family circumstances.”

  “Oh—almost forgot,” the woman said. “Here you go.” She held out a pill to Pa.

  He stared at it from under hooded eyes. “What is it?”

  “Chemical vasectomy. Pai
nless.”

  “So I should sterilize myself to suit your algorithms?” he said quietly.

  Uh-oh.

  “The algorithms never lie,” the woman said. “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Pa said. “I’m fucking saying it.” He threw his glass against the wall, and it shattered in a spray of blackberry wine.

  “Disobedient,” the woman hissed.

  The dragonfly drones buzzed around father’s head. Kaybe screamed, “Dad, stop it!”

  For a moment it could have gone either way. Then he sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes. He held up the pill so we could see. He put it between his lips, and swallowed.

  When the Austerity people were gone, father took her in his arms and held her. The four dragonfly drones watched from a distance. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter.”

  But it did matter. It mattered very much.

  When her father passed out for the night, Kaybe made her way upstairs and into bed. She still had her secret project that nobody knew about. But she had to keep it that way. Hiding it from one drone was barely doable. Hiding it from four was going to be a lot harder.

  She played movie star for the cameras, bathing and changing and brushing her teeth. She yawned, stretched. Crawled into bed and turned off the light.

  Count to one thousand. Make them think you’re asleep.

  She counted.

  Slowly, slowly she reached under her pillow. Still there. She found the pencil and paper and headlamp, too, and turned on the latter, cupping one hand to the light to keep it from seeping through the covers.

  Now. Where was I?

  Squiggly equations swept across the page in a blinding smear. She worked in a hurry. She had little time. More than a few minutes of this every night and the drones would surely get suspicious and start monitoring her serotonin levels or something.

  Demanding more math homework had been… awkward. She saw that now. But she had been desperate. She could re-invent the wheel, but what was the point of that? So much better to learn what others had done, and explore the empty territory on the map. But stealing that paper on abstract mathematics by Dr. what’s-his-name from the library… that was the no-no.