What to do?
His phone dinged.
Who’s winning? You or Fang? Marla’s text read.
Very funny, he typed.
Sorry to hear that, she responded.
Admitting defeat was clearly not an option.
Chapter 14
Be Careful What You Ask For
Television screens across Russia switched abruptly from their regular programming to the news studio of the Public Television of Russia network. An announcer behind a news desk promptly began to speak.
“Welcome to this special broadcast from the Kremlin. In just a few minutes, we expect the president to emerge from a meeting of the Council of Ministers.”
As he spoke, a video clip shot earlier in the day played on a large screen behind the announcer. The footage showed Sergei Denikin, president of the Russian Federation, striding through the gilded halls of the Kremlin, guards in ornate uniforms snapping to attention as he passed, their backs arched into almost impossible angles of deference. As intended, the spectacle recalled the glory days of the Russian Empire. It also linked Denikin to the absolute power of the czars who for centuries had held the fate of the Russian people in their hands.
The announcer continued as the last pair of guards closed a set of enormous, golden doors behind the president.
“According to a statement issued earlier today, the president convened today’s meeting to discuss the latest joint efforts of Western enemies to damage the Russian economy. Specifically, he is informing the ministers of the actions he will take in reaction to Western efforts to artificially depress oil prices.
“It appears that the meeting has just ended. We will now turn to live coverage of the president.”
The camera switched to a full screen shot inside the Kremlin where the uniformed guards were reopening the doors of the council meeting room. Denikin walked out as decisively as he had entered, the cameras following him as he stepped behind a podium flanked by Russian flags. Gazing into the eye of the camera, he began to speak.
“Citizens of Russia! I have summoned the council today in connection with a development that is of vital, historic significance to us all. At issue is the continuing effort by the United States, together with its NATO allies and certain oil-producing countries, to destroy the economy of Russia and the well-being of you, the Russian people.
“These provocations clearly violate established norms of international law, as well as the explicit terms of treaties of which we are common parties, including the agreement establishing the World Trade Organization. The United States would have other nations believe it is responding to prohibited Russian deeds. But, every one of our actions has been a normal and necessary exercise of the sovereign rights of the Russian people in defense of our legitimate interests and historic borders …”
* * *
Later that day, President Yazzi clicked the pause button at that point in the Russian president’s speech, freezing Denikin in mid-sentence. “So, what do you think he’ll do?” he asked Carson Bekin. “Did you catch that last bit about ‘historic borders?’ Which ones do you suppose he’s referring to? The Soviet Union’s? The Russian Empire’s?”
“I don’t know for sure, but it sounds like he’s planning something – it would be hard for him to walk back from such a tough speech. If we keep the pressure on, he’ll have to act, or he’ll look weak right before his election. The question is, what does he have in mind? It’s not like he can impose trade sanctions on us or the other countries involved. There’s almost no trading going on with Russia right now – at least through legitimate channels. Recalling some ambassadors wouldn’t make any difference to anybody at home or abroad. And China’s the only UN member that might support him if he brings a protest before the security council.”
“Agreed,” the president said. “You’ll recall he ends his speech this way –” Yazzi picked up a transcript from his desk and flipped through to the last page. “Here we are. He says that ‘he will consider all means of retaliation to be appropriate and available to me in this crisis and that the United States and its allies must not underestimate the will of the Russian people to respond in kind to the outrageous behavior of its enemies.’”
“Sure,” Bekin said. “But that’s pretty much what we would say, too.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Yazzi said. “Anyway, we’ve come way too far to back down now just because Denikin stages a photo op in the Kremlin.”
* * *
Crypto was halfway through college when his dis-infatuation with communism set him intellectually and motivationally adrift. He met that crisis by switching his major to computer science, for which he had both an aptitude and an interest. The former made it easy to excel, and the latter provided a safer and more practical intellectual pursuit to immerse himself in. Unlike political philosophy, mathematics and science were reliable. X plus Y always yielded Z, regardless of human frailties or failings, and no demagogue could make it otherwise. For the rest of his college career, he largely left his fascination with ideologies behind.
Then he stumbled on a book about anarchy in a used book store. Not anarchy as in chaos but in the ideological sense. He bought it and was captivated by the idea of a society free of central governmental interference. With no leaders, there would be no one to delude and betray the people. He decided anarchy provided the only rational antidote for the insanity he’d observed in his own life. Why shouldn’t a modern society try it?
Why not indeed, the voices agreed.
He began to study the history of anarchism and discovered there were almost as many theories as there were theoreticians. He particularly resonated with an extreme branch that favored returning to the purity of tribal life. At that level, equality and fairness could rule rather than advantage-taking and oppression. Anthropologists and archaeologists agreed the tribal form of self-governance had been universal and must have worked quite well for ninety-five percent of the time the human species had existed. In some remote jungle areas, it still did. That sounded promising.
He delved deeper, looking for examples of more complex societies to see if the same principles could hold true, and was surprised by what he found.
Iceland in particular intrigued him. For almost four hundred years after its founding by Scandinavians during the Middle Ages it had existed as a commonwealth with no army, no taxes, and no central government at all in the modern sense. Instead, each local community selected its own non-hereditary leader. Only at intervals of several years did representatives of these communities convene to address issues of common concern. The closest thing to national leaders that existed were individuals charged with memorizing and reciting the laws for the benefit of the non-literate Icelandic society.
And in Russia, before communism there were communes – villages governed by the serfs, who were otherwise the near equivalent of slaves during the autocratic age of the czars. These lowest of the low were nevertheless empowered to allocate land among themselves, settle local disputes and otherwise administer their own society.
Even Thomas Jefferson had agreed with the general premise, arguing for an agrarian democracy based on local control. That most democratic of all founding fathers had believed a central government was a dangerous necessity at best that should have as few powers as possible and no standing army at its command. Even then, it must be monitored with suspicion by the yeoman farmers that were the best exemplars and truest guardians of the virtues of the people.
But perhaps Crypto was deluding himself once again. Now there were billions of people, complex trade relationships, and competition for resources. How could such a community-centric system suffice today?
Perhaps technology could provide the answer. Look at open source development, and Linux in particular. Thousands of programmers all over the world contributed time, effort and code to the Linux kernel, all for free. And there were no elections or bu
reaucracy. Advancement was based purely on merit and by recognition of one’s peers. And look at the Wikipedia – another common enterprise to which thousands of volunteers in scores of countries contributed their time and efforts. Again, for free. And once more, without any complex trappings of governance.
Or standards? Voluntary organizations to create those had existed for more than a century now. By now they had created more than a million technical, health and safety standards. Businesses, individuals and even governments everywhere voluntarily complied with them, with no need for police forces, courts or prisons to achieve that end. Legislatures around the world had adopted tens of thousands of those same standards. With the substance of so many laws already created without the participation of government, why have legislatures and government agencies at all? The enormity of that realization left Crypto’s head spinning.
Very good! The voices were jubilant.
It was a stunning realization for Crypto. With it, at long last, came a goal and a purpose to which he could dedicate his life.
But there were limits, of course. Anarchy wasn’t something you could talk about in twentieth-century America with anyone other than the voices in your head; people would think you were crazy or dangerous and most likely both.
Especially if you suggested it might be necessary to blow up all the governments in the world – metaphorically at least – so every person could make her own way forward in the resulting wreckage.
Yes! The voices loved the idea.
Crypto eased off on his medications to pursue a dialogue on the topic further with the Bees. Perhaps the communists had it half right but then lost their way. Maybe small collectives were the answer? Individual communities, each the master of its own destiny as of old?
A return to Eden before the fall!
He followed that train of thought enthusiastically for a while before once again concluding he was a fool. Anarchic theory was a pointless mental exercise. Even if his vision could succeed, there was no conceivable way to persuade a democratic government to disband to allow anarchism to take over, or to wrest control from an authoritarian regime, or even to sell an anarchic utopia to modern voters.
Forget it. Back to his computers. The voices were not happy, and for a time, he banished them by raising the dosage of his medications, leaving him teetering for a while on the brink of black depression.
But he never quite gave up on the dream that an anarchic society might somehow, someday, be possible. The world was becoming ever more dependent on technology. Perhaps that dependency could be exploited to thrust humanity into such a state of chaos that anarchy could rise from the ashes?
It was an interesting thought. That time was not yet. But perhaps in some distant tomorrow.
* * *
With Crypto’s desire on hold to lead the world to ruin and then reason, he occupied himself exploring the expanding riches of the internet. From the beginning, he’d visited bulletin boards on every topic imaginable. Anyone could find like-minded individuals with odd aliases, like Yoda. With the invention and build-out of the web, Crypto’s technical horizons and interests widened. His distrust of governments and every other type of institution led him to investigate concerns such as security, privacy, and anonymity. In his computer science master’s thesis, he proposed a new method of authenticating identity online while preserving anonymity.
After graduate school, he followed technical advances that might allow computers to take over roles governments had often abused in the past. Happily for him, the marketplace had a strong interest in privacy and security for commercial rather than philosophical reasons. He found his developing skills were always in high demand and short supply, giving him his pick of opportunities. He gravitated to the creative havoc of the startup companies that emerged endlessly in Silicon Valley.
Over the next ten years, he switched jobs more than a dozen times, working for a company for as long as it held his interest, and then moving on to another that offered more challenging problems to solve. He cared not at all about money or material goods and lived in rented rooms. Most of his pay piled up in a direct-deposit index fund that was easy to ignore.
One day, he received an official-looking envelope. A huge information technology company had paid an enormous sum to acquire a company he’d worked for when it had a half-dozen employees and no money in the bank. That startup had granted him a generous sign-up bonus of vested stock. According to the letter, he was now a millionaire many times over. He shook his head in wonder. He’d worked there such a short a period he barely remembered its name.
Now he did not need to work at all. When he deposited the check in his long-ignored index fund, he realized with a shock from its balance that this had already been true. What to make of that?
He let that question percolate for a few weeks before deciding to quit his current job and take some time off to decide what to do with his life. He toyed with going back to school to study political philosophy. But why bother? He already knew which governing theory appealed to him most.
He’d taken up running years before in an effort to combat his depression, and spent the summer competing in marathons. The long stages gave him plenty of time to think, and the voices left him alone.
As he ran through the golden grass of the hills bordering Silicon Valley, he wondered what to make of all he had experienced and learned. His life was a tapestry of contradictions: he was a wealthy man who despised capitalism. A former true believer in one of the most controlling regimes on earth who now embraced anarchy. Even his brain hosted a debating society of thoughts and voices. The passage of miles beneath his feet was not matched by any progress in his mind.
Partway through his stint of politico-economic navel-gazing, his mother died after a long illness, the seriousness of which she had never revealed to him. The impact of her passing took him by surprise.
He hadn’t visited her often in recent years, but she’d always been there for him. She satisfied the few needs he had for human contact, and she believed in him without reservation. Always had, no matter where his thoughts led him or what he did. Listened to him patiently, admiringly, even, as he delivered his earnest monologues. Now she was gone.
He had long prided himself for his ability to be solitary. Now he realized he had once again deceived himself: his mother had filled a greater need than he had been willing to admit. Now, that space was empty.
It did not help that he was not working, with nothing but his own thoughts to occupy him. He turned his attention to wrapping up her meager affairs and disposing of her few worldly goods. Among them was a stack of letters from his father, tied with ribbon. And he found diaries.
He debated burning them unopened. Would it violate her trust to read them or be a betrayal to dispose of them unread? She could have destroyed them before she died, but had not. Alone and lonely, he decided to see what they would reveal about her sad, quiet life.
Reading them, all in German, plunged him back into the throes of his fall from privilege in 1989 and the emotionally turbulent years that followed. Worse, they provided new and upsetting details. He learned his father had been an ardent Hitler Youth member. To his astonishment, he also found that the cold, indifferent man he remembered had once been passionately in love with Crypto’s mother. He learned, too, that his mother’s grandparents on one side were Bulgarian, which explained her dark complexion and hair.
All too soon after her marriage, the tone of her diary entries grew insecure, and then anguished, as it became obvious her husband’s affections were withering on the altar of his ambitions. She had lost her figure and looks early, and her blond, blue-eyed husband no longer wanted to be seen with her. The Nazis might be gone, but the same biases lived on in the post-war government hierarchy. It struck Crypto like a brick to his head that the same would have applied to him – dark as his mother and pudgy and unathletic back then besides. His father must have been
ashamed of them both.
The revelations were enough to throw him once again into a deep depression. He struggled to regain his mental balance, but this time, it was harder. To function at all, he was forced to dramatically reduce his medications, accepting that the voices would play a larger role in his life. They seized the opportunity to harass him into devising strategies to bring anarchy, finally, to the world.
At first, that seemed like a harmless if time-consuming request, a theoretical puzzle without a workable solution. But the voices were insistent, and the problem had always intrigued him. One day, an idea came to him that made achieving that unrealistic aim seem possible.
For several years, he’d taken part in an online forum dedicated to developing a way to anonymously transfer money outside the banking system. Many interesting proposals were offered that inched toward that goal, but all had fatal flaws.
The technical approach that occurred to Crypto addressed each of these issues. He called it the blockchain and decided it might provide the means to achieve the ends the voices insisted he pursue. But to do so, he would have to be cautious. He adopted a new online identity – Satoshi Nakamoto. It amused him and gave away nothing. The rest, as they say, was history.
It took two years of hard work before he decided bitcoin was firmly enough established that he could disappear from the scene. Establishing bitcoin as the first alt coin was, after all, only the initial step toward achieving his ultimate goal, and his need for secrecy was paramount. Bitcoin’s progress from that point forward was not constant, but the long-term trend line was always positive. Five years after his disappearance, the results exceeded his highest hopes.
But not those of the Bees. You must go further, they insisted. Don’t stop now. Seize the opportunity. Complete your strategy and launch our attack!
The Blockchain Revolution Page 12
