“No! Pig fucking has nothing to do with it! Yes, the stupidity, the narcissism, the arrogance of these people is intolerable. But, it’s really something else, Norris.”
“Ah, you and your principles. Fine. Keep it underground. I'll help you. Hire contractors. Open the door for a peaceful, voluntary counter economy. Would that satisfy your conscience?"
“No, it really is something else, Norris.”
Blake seems lost in thought.
“Chief? Are you okay?”
He's stepping over to the Aztec wall. We both sit down. Blake pours another round.
“Norris, she was beautiful. It was four AM and we had just made love on a swing set beneath the full moon and embraced in the still, cool air. We admired it together, the large white ball hovering just above the horizon. Breathtaking. Supreme peace. A sublime and mystical harmony. Our lives were just beginning. The moon was unusually large that night. It was so bright, in fact, we were spotted by the local authorities, who rudely interrupted our activities with a floodlight and megaphone. We were promptly arrested for indecent exposure and detained at the local jail.
We would have been released in hours, but our fingerprints connected us both with The Present Society, a hugely popular gift-giving exchange that was as successful as it was illegal. Our mutual generosity was mistook for a series of barter transactions, and none of us had filed 1099s, of course. Kiki and I went to prison for two years for tax evasion and lost everything—our food, our silver, our houses. Thousands of fellow gift givers were also arrested, relieved of their property, and released to the homeless shelters, or incarcerated themselves in ‘re-education centers.’
Everything went downhill from there. By the time we got out, The Present Society was gone. Employment was not an option—no one hires a felon. We were blacklisted and destined for poverty. It was over. There was nothing left for us but the misery of waiting for death as hopeless dependents of the state. We lived off chicken broth and government sausage. All we had was each other. Then, one day we discovered Kiki had unexpectedly conceived, and we had to face the prospect of bringing a life into this horror story...this democratic gulag...born a slave to the 51 percent...the violent, omnipotent, kleptomaniac majority. After she helped the child escape this fate, I guess she realized the inescapable tragedy of our romance. We would never have the capacity for the only thing she ever wanted—a family. That afternoon she rolled her taiko out the door and left forever. That’s when I knew it had to go.
He's staring down at his drink. He looks morose. I'm not quite sure what he means. What had to go? I don't really know what to say.
“I'm sorry, Chief, really. Kiki sounds like an exceptional woman."
"She is."
"She would be proud of you...of your accomplishments.”
He's nodding.
"She must have been quite an inspiration for you."
"Quite."
“Tell me...would any of this work exist without Kiki? The inventions, the breakthroughs in science and technology, fusion power?”
He's hanging his head, shaking it from left to right..."No."
"So all of this...this is really a sort of memorial, isn't it...a tribute to Kiki."
He's looking up at me. He seems uncharacteristically sincere.
"Now, my friend, you have seen a glimpse of the universe through my eyes. Yes, it’s all for her. Everything. And now, it is time to realize my dreams, our dreams."
"Indeed. We shall unveil Kiki's legacy...it is time to unleash humanity's potential!"
"Stop doing that! Answer me this question: The arrest, the detainment, the incarceration...what could have prevented it?”
“Um, if you were not naked and having sex outside in a playground?”
“Try again.”
“Well, I suppose if public nudity were legal during cert...”
“The moon, Norris.”
“Excuse me?”
“The moon. If it had not been out that night, none of this would have happened. I would still have Kiki. If there was no moon, Kiki would still be here.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“It has to go.”
“The moon?”
“That's right. The moon has to go...”
“I have the drills. I have the transportation. The problem was the force of 30 trillion megatons of TNT required to completely obliterate it. Stardust was the last piece of the puzzle. Now I can do it. I can finally destroy the entity that destroyed my life, destroyed Kiki's life, my child's life, and whatever children we may have had. I am bringing the moon to justice by transforming it to a disparate cloud of dust.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“It’s just a moon, really.”
“Well, it's not like it's going to just vaporize, right? You’re talking blasting it into millions of pieces.”
“Yes. And, necessarily, with enough force to ensure the fragments don't just coalesce again into another moon-like object.”
“What about the consequences? That’s going to mean some serious shit.”
"Nope, legally we have..."
“No, I mean for our species. I’m not helping you with this. I like the moon.”
“Such defiance is seditious in wartime, Norris. As I was going to say, we have a legal, even patriotic duty. The U.S. declared war on the moon last night upon passage of the omnibus spending bill. The Constitution provides no specific format for legislation constituting a "declaration of war," so page 1776 of the spending bill is sufficient. The declaration was introduced in the final version of the bill proposed yesterday morning by one of our swine-friendly partners and passed through Congress yesterday afternoon. Now that the document bears the Commander in Chief's signature, official mobilization has begun. What The People want is a dark, barren, moonless sky, and I am just the one to provide it. Eternal vigilance! All that is required for the tyranny of the moon to take hold is for good men to do nothing!”
“Chief, island-sized moon boulders will rain down on our cities. This means the extinction of our species.”
“That's absurd and entirely speculative. Don't pretend like you can predict the vastly complex, interdependent consequences of a government program, much less one of this magnitude. There will be billions of tiny moon fragments bouncing off one another. Trying to map them in advance would be entirely futile. We must focus all our effort on the singular objective of decimating the enemy. Then, and only then, can we contemplate our utopia."
“As members of this species, you and I will also become extinct.”
“Well, I ran an exhaustive analysis of potential outcomes for us, of course, and our odds of survival are pretty good. I estimate it will take well over three hundred years before The Bunker is breached. We’ll be dead by then. Long dead. Relax. And, in case you're wondering, if you tamper with anything, or if I am somehow harmed in any way, accidental or otherwise, the launch sequence will begin, automagically.”
Christ. Is this thing still recording all of this? Good.
[paraphrase]
[Subject consumes 32 ounces of lager and goes to bed].
[/paraphrase]
[End Transmission]
12/18/2048 20:48:06
###
[Resume Transmission]
12/19/2048 06:58:34
I've just opened my eyes. Blake is creepily crouched next to my bed, whispering something.
“Norris. So, um, how’s your thing coming?”
My head hurts.
“My thing? What do you mean?”
“You know. Your thing. Your project. I know you’ve been up to something.”
I honestly don’t know what he’s talking about, except that he can’t know about my project.
“Norris, I stumbled across some of your longevity stuff. With Stardust done, I need stimulation. I'm bored.”
How the fuck does he know about that!?
I really don't feel like helping Blake. This whole moon thing is a betrayal...l
ike I've been set up. I mean, he's always seemed crazy during development, then he teleports something, or turns on a fusion reactor, and suddenly his ideas are textbook. But this...I don't see how a war on the moon can end well. It’s like some sarcastic nod to the "War on Drugs" or the "War on Poverty" he's always railed against—destructive and meaningless, but good for ripping off the electorate to bribe your political partners. Already ripped off, with no pretense for social responsibility, I guess it only makes sense to get straight to the destruction and meaninglessness, if you share Blake's psychopathic sense of humor anyway. Kiki would find it seemly that the legal document starting "We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union" now ends with "hereby declare war on the moon, which shall be blown to bits." Such an honest and expedient demonstration of the inevitable outcome of government—just exchange the gradual pilfering of life, liberty, and property by regulation and taxation with the incessant pelting of supersonic moon chunks—but, all this seems too political for Blake. He's a pragmatist. Even if he was the romantic sort, the poetry will be lost. State propagandists will blame the terrorists…”They blew up the moon because they hate our freedom!” The legislative 'oversight' will be reversed quietly, of course. All this is more like something I would do, actually. In fact, I've had similar plots every April 15th, before I cool down and forget about them. Wait. Could this be a test? Holy shit, he's testing me. It's all complete bullshit."
"Stimulation? Let's blow up the moon first, Chief. I've had some time to think, and I’m totally with you."
"Initiating launch sequence in 5...4...3..."
"Wait, wait! Jesus, Blake."
"Something wrong?"
"It's just, well, you're right. Wait for the full moon tomorrow night...better show."
He's stopped the countdown at 1.01234467. Now he's looking at some readouts and tweaking things. The drugs might be getting to him. Or maybe he really is nuts. Anyway, I need to be careful.
As far as my project, I know what he's after. He can't know much. I developed a new cryptographic paradigm specifically to lock down that research. He must have found some very early work. Damnit. If he discovered that's basically all I’ve worked on all these years, he'd fire me, wipe my brain, and kick me onto the streets. I really don’t want Blake to wipe my brain.
God. In case he does I'll need some sort of backup reference to get started again. This thing still transmitting? Good. Alright, my second PhD was in gerontology—prolonging life and making death a bit more comfortable. I decided all that work was a waste of time and researched regenerative medicine—preventative therapies for age-related illnesses to end aging altogether.
[paraphrase]
Aging=damage from metabolism from free radicals=obstruction to normal regenerative function. Telomere shortening from cell division=DNA vulnerability=susceptibility to age-associated symptoms (loss in bone density, cataracts, heart disease). Activate telomerase gene for cellular senescence. Est1–TLC1–Est2 preassembly complex. Vectors AAV9-mTERT to reverse neurodegeneration with restoration of proliferating Sox2+ neural progenitors, Dcx+ neurons, and Olig2+ oligodendrocyte populations.[yada yada]Blake![subject frustrated]
[/paraphrase]
I administered the gene therapy to myself. It was so non-intrusive I also secretly administered it to Blake. We both achieved negligible senescence, the lack of aging symptoms, but degradation noted ten years later—improved therapy developed. Life expectancy 175 years. I’d need to do better.
Next generation of politicians also dug swine and furnished state-of-the-art biotech lab. Kept it secret from Blake. He never would have approved.
[paraphrase]
Addressed cell loss/cell atrophy, mitochondrial mutations, death-resistant cells, extracellular crosslinks, extracellular aggregates, and intracellular aggregates. (Recommend: Thoughtwire DeGray in prison.) Only 2 aspects solved. Life span≈ 350 years. Both 67 chronologically, 41 biologically. Breakthrough still needed.
[/paraphrase]
Blake?
My research has appeared on Blake's console.
Blake! Are you reading my thoughts?
"Ahem. Yes. Sorry. There was a security vulnerability in your autocensor 'bug-fix.' I couldn't resist eavesdropping. I really had you going with the whole moon thing. While you were droning on about telomeres just now the security algorithms drifted close enough to your consciousness, so I swiped them. I’d almost cracked the code when the actual passwords came through. Don't worry, I'm not going to wipe your brain. Certainly not now. And, my sense of humor is dry, not psychopathic."
[End Cerebral Transmission]
###
"Oh, come on!"
"You son of a bitch!"
"Put it back on for just a few more minutes. Things were just getting interesting."
"What about your precious fourth amendment?"
"Ah, but you consented when you meddled with my property...my stolen property, no less."
"U.S. government property."
"Same difference. Or rather, all our property, right? Hehe."
“Anyway, don't even bother with all this, Chief. Senescence is hopeless. All I have are dead ends.”
“No, I believe you've done it. ”
“You are mistaken, Blake. I was optimistic for years, but...”
"You have, seemingly unintentionally, solved the hydrophobicity problem preventing transport from the cytoplasm to the mitochondria. That's where I was stuck. Now, with allotopic expression protecting those 13 rogue proteins, all the DNA for mitochondria can be copied completely within the bomb shelter of the cellular nucleus, eliminating the mitochondrial mutations that I have confirmed are the cause of most progressive cellular degeneration. I've just verified all this with my bio simulators. Well, the evidence is highly suggestive, anyway. All 8 billion human genomes in our database have regenerated entirely and are about to pass year 400,000 with no signs of age-specific illness. A few hundred million have knocked off from health issues, probably due to the highly toxic environment. They are all alcoholics and heavy smokers with horrendous diets. I wouldn't exactly call this immortality. But, I figure we'll have some time to perfect the therapies to address whatever environmental anomalies we might happen to be exposed to. In any case, I'll draft up an order to the VA for the drugs and equipment we'll need to begin producing the therapies matching those of the bio-simulation.”
"I knew there was no declaration of war against the moon. That's just silly."
"No you didn't. You know, if you weren't so damn paranoid I would have just asked for the passwords. No wonder the government doesn't trust you."
"But how did you know I was working on longevity in the first place?"
"I haven't aged in 30 years. Seemed kinda strange."
"Oh."
"And I woke up one time while you were administering the therapy."
"Ug. Just, please stop doing that."
"No. I think it's funny."
"So, what do we do now? You know, instead of waging war on the moon."
"Right, well, I've considered that. My analysis of the cumulative SETI data reports two intelligent civilizations within 100 light years. Let's visit one."
"Yeah, I noticed those too. Hm. Space travel. How did your bio simulation do with the interstellar radiation?"
"Pretty well, actually, but a non-issue. The fusion reactor was actually designed to help transform the sun into a stellar engine. We’ll use that big drill to mine Mercury for hematite, which can be polished into foil-thin reflective material. The armies of space-faring vehicles will use the polished hematite to manufacture and install a colossal, arc-shaped mirror at some distance from the sun, probably somewhere between the orbits of Earth and Venus. It’s called a Shkadov Thruster. We'll use it to migrate our solar system through our arm of the galaxy, right to their front door."
"Sounds like a long trip."
"If we shoot for Kapteyn-b, at 13 light years, we're talking 20 million years. The bio simulator just crosse
d 2 million, so it's conceivable our age won't be an issue."
"It’s done? So, you designed and built all of this before you even knew about my longevity work?"
"Right. I figured I might as well pursue the novelty of visiting an alien civilization. If you had failed I'd be no worse off for the effort."
"What about everyone else?"
"Who else?"
"You know, the population of humans living on Earth."
"They’ll hitch along undisturbed, until they prove problematic."
"No, I mean, what...are we just going to hoard fusion and longevity technology for ourselves and our celestial road trip? I mean, when you look at it from our new perspective here, everyone on earth is living a horrifically inefficient life, awaiting their certain and relatively imminent death."
"Yes, well, we have precedence for that. And it’s tradition. They really seem okay with it."
"Okay with it!? You can’t know that. You can’t read everybody’s mind."
"I pretty much can, actually. I had the Thoughtwires miniaturized. They have been injected into all citizens of industrialized nations since governments started compulsory vaccination. I have a complete cerebral record of about 4 billion. Wish I had it earlier—would have made finding you a hell of a lot easier."
"Finding me?”
“Yeah, I had to harass your unemployment counselor.”
“I was never hired for compliance or quality control, was I. Even from the beginning..."
"Of course not. My systems flagged your laptop...they revealed a sufficient curiosity in longevity research, an aptitude in biotechnology, and a remarkable fascination with thigh-high boots. Thank the NSA and their compulsive, warrantless invasion of privacy. Your profile was complementary to my goals, so I ‘recommended’ you for the position.”
“Why haven’t you told me any of this?”
“A criminal mastermind doesn’t burden his friends with secrets, and I didn’t want to have to erase your mind. You did really well once you finally automated your duties and started to get some work done. I didn’t want to mess anything up. Then, of course, you had to go all crypto on me, hence this whole moon charade. I do love Kiki though, that’s entirely true."
Anarchy Rising: The Clarion Call, Vol 1 (Volume 1) Page 5
