by M. D. Cooper
PRESSING THE FLESH
STELLAR DATE: 07.01.3189 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Sonali Opera House, Sonali, Capital of El Dorado
REGION: El Dorado Ring, El Dorado, Alpha Centauri System
“This is Travis Jamieson, coming to you live from Parliament Hill, inside the Maglev Loop. I’m here at the Sonali Opera House, where people from both sides of the aisle are putting aside their differences to come together for a worthy cause. I see several members of the Cabinet are with us tonight, as well as a few from the private sector. It promises to be an interesting evening….”
Rosalind Bianchi, Minister of Home Affairs for the Commonwealth of El Dorado, nodded and smiled absently as she wove her way through the charity dinner’s crowd of attendees. Her assistant followed in her wake, dutifully reporting to her via Link the names of people as they approached; people she could not be bothered with, under ordinary circumstances.
She nodded with satisfaction as a servitor divested her of her empty glass and handed her a fresh one. She trusted that her assistant would have ensured that the drink was made precisely to her specifications. If not, he’d follow in the footsteps of her previous assistants—she’d made that clear long ago.
Her assistant surged ahead as Rosalind turned away. She could just make out his quiet voice as he apologized, saying the Minister was needed on the other side of the hall. The mining representative’s voice rose in frustration, and Rosalind smiled inwardly as she heard, “Convenient, don’t you think, that she’s always on her way somewhere else every time I come around?”
Rosalind dismissed the rest of the conversation and called up her talking points on her ocular implants’ overlay. She had carefully engineered a chance encounter this evening with El Dorado’s top news reporter, and she intended to be fully prepared.
As she put more distance between herself and the mining representative, Rosalind spied Anthony Davies, the senator from the Boroughs District, standing by an ornate bay window. Anthony was a calculating bastard, but he had a keen eye for shifts in the political terrain. It wouldn’t hurt to check in with him before her interview—in case he had fresh gossip she could use to her benefit.
She studied him as she approached: he was the quintessential politician with a trustworthy and capable face, and eyes that could turn warm and approachable at will. The man had buckets of charisma and wielded the stuff like an expert marksman.
“Senator,” she greeted, “Are you enjoying the party so far?”
“Indeed, Madame Minister,” he responded. “Although, it looks like not everyone approves.” This he said with a slight tilt of his head out the bay window, indicating the protesters in the streets below.
Rosalind followed his gaze and repressed the desire to roll her eyes in disgust. She could clearly see the line of picketers, followers of George Stewart and his Humanity First organization.
Many of Stewart’s followers were extremists, denounced by all political parties. Several members of Parliament—those who were AIs and those who supported AI rights—had received death threats from people claiming to be Humanity First initiates.
Stewart had been harshly criticized for allowing local HF protests to become violent. Yet the movement had grown, as it appealed to those who were afraid of change. Giving AIs the same rights as humans was a type of progress some humans still weren’t comfortable with.
The placards tonight’s protesters waved had slogans that said, ‘Human Lives Matter!’ and ‘AI = Annoying Imitation’. Some had cartoonish drawings depicting an AI with a red slash across its face.
Then there was the brilliantly incisive ‘we were hear first’.
Someone hasn’t bothered to exercise their right to a free education, she thought in disgust. “Odious bastards,” Rosalind muttered under her breath.
Then she turned a critical eye to Senator Davies. “I don’t see why you didn’t shut them down years ago, when that ridiculous man first incorporated.” Her tone took on a disparaging edge. “And a non-profit, no less. Really, Anthony, you should clean up your district and get rid of such nonsense. It doesn’t reflect well on you.”
“Indeed,” Davies murmured. “But those ‘odious bastards’ represent a good twenty percent of your would-be constituents, Rosalind. You would do well to remember that.” He gave her a calculated smile. “Besides, better to be in bed with a jackass than with a viper, I always say. It all depends on what kind of north star you use to chart your course, wouldn’t you say?”
Rosalind’s smile froze, and her eyes narrowed. She triggered a security shield for the briefest of moments, just long enough to hiss warningly, “You overstep, Anthony. Watch yourself.”
The shield winked out of existence as she turned and walked away.
He acts as if his hands are lily-white, she thought snidely, as she moved toward the next expanse of bay windows. Anthony knows as well as I do that politics is about compromise.
As she reached the windows, she glanced out, taking in the view of the city’s sprawling expanse. The buildings glowed, reflecting the artificial ‘setting’ of the sun provided by the ring’s giant mirrors.
Rosalind’s eyes followed the skyline as it stretched into the distance, then she allowed her gaze to travel up to the view of the planet that loomed over the ring’s inhabitants.
The denizens on the streets below, rushing about doing stars knew what, their minds occupied with the petty urgencies that filled their lives...those people were so staggeringly unqualified to make the truly important decisions.
Governing required someone capable of playing the long game, an individual with the clarity of thought to envision a great destiny for this very first and oldest extra-solar colony.
This government was forging its place in the annals of time—an exceedingly relevant chapter in the history of humanity, right here and now.
They were the ones who would be remembered as those who braved everything to master life, orbiting the first binary star that humans would claim as home.
There were so many more weighty matters that should occupy her time than whether or not an AI had ‘rights’.
Virtual wusses, the lot of them. As if they could even have feelings….
But heaven help my career if I were ever to voice such a ‘speciesist’ opinion.
* * * * *
Terrance Enfield stood in a far corner of the room, sipping a whiskey sour and wishing he were anywhere else but the opera house. He hated politics. He despised the ambiguity, the maneuvering, and the endless posturing. He considered himself to be more of a ‘tell it like it is’ kind of guy.
If anyone cared to ask, Terrance would have told the whole world to cut the bullshit and run its government the way he did his own company: clean, straightforward and with clear-cut goals. That kind of approach worked just fine within Enfield Aerospace. He saw no reason why it couldn’t work that way within Parliament House, too.
Yet here he was, one of three Enfields in attendance in a room filled with politicians and lobbyists. Hiding his Link conversation with Enfield Aerospace behind a tumbler filled with whiskey. At least the liquor was top shelf.
As Chairman of the Board overseeing the Enfield Conglomerate’s vast portfolio of businesses, Sophia Enfield was more than just Terranc
e’s grandmother. She was his boss as well.
He watched his aunt Margot join the conversation, her face alight with interest. She was far more suited to these events than Terrance was; where he loathed social gatherings, she thrived on them.
Her occupation suited her, as well. Margot was CEO of the Enfield Charitable Foundation. That role required two things Terrance lacked: tact and finesse. He knew Margot applied her powers of persuasion to the occupants of Parliament House quite often, as she championed one cause or another.
All in all, Terrance found this little soiree to be damned inconvenient. It was the night before Enfield Aerospace’s presentation to the El Dorado Space Force, and his team was hard at work putting the last finishes on their bid to build the new fleet of Mark IV fighters. He would far rather be watching that process than rubbing elbows with the upper crust.
He disconnected just as his grandmother, Sophia, reached out to him.
“Terrance, have you met Travis Jamieson?”
“The reporter, right?” Terrance smiled, extending a hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“As does yours.” Travis returned both the smile and the handshake. “Scion of Enfield Enterprises, the head of Enfield Aerospace, and rumored to be the one to succeed the Matriarch.” He paused and bowed to Sophia. “That is, should she ever become bored with running her empire and decide to retire. Oh yes, Mister Terrance Enfield, I’ve heard of you.”
Margot burst out laughing. “Oh, Terrance, if only you could see your face!” She got her laughter under control before turning to the reporter. “Well, that was worth all the grilling you just subjected me to.”
Travis clutched his chest in mock dismay. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch! Was I that transparent?”
Terrance smiled, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Well, if it has anything to do with one of the Foundation’s pet projects, I can assure you Margot didn’t mind.”
Never one to miss a cue, Travis turned to Margot and asked, “Speaking of pet projects, how is that bill you're lobbying for?”
That was all it took to get Margot's undivided attention. Terrance hid another smile behind his tumbler of whiskey as his aunt's face grew animated, and she launched into her favorite topic. Terrance watched, admiring his aunt’s passion.
Margot was the eldest of Sophia’s two children. Her younger brother, Bradford, had remained behind to manage Enfield’s interests in Sol. But Margot had chosen to come with Sophia when she moved Enfield’s headquarters to the first FGT colony world.
The company Margot ran was a private philanthropic organization, dedicated to enhancing life on El Dorado—all life, human and AI alike. At the moment, Margot’s top project was supporting a bill currently under consideration in Parliament. The bill was known as the Job Shadowing Act. It was a law that would declare it illegal to exclude AIs from certain positions, ‘As a way to ensure all safety standards are met’.
The Foundation’s position was that this was unconstitutional and in violation of the Phobos Accords—which El Dorado had adopted recently, though they were not a signatory. Such practices constituted discrimination. The bill’s passage was necessary to guarantee equal rights to all individuals, as promised under the law of the land, and to codify those elements of the Accords.
The current Prime Minister had been instrumental in slowing the bill’s passage, suggesting its wording be softened and the issue addressed with restraint, out of respect for all personkind. Terrance hoped that the majority party would shift during this next election cycle, allowing for a prime minister who’d be willing to address the tough issues head on.
He wasn’t sure the opposition party would be able to seize the majority vote—though he fervently hoped they would. Nor was he sure that the governor general would appoint an AI to the position of prime minister, even if he did win the position of majority leader.
The people of El Dorado stood a chance of seeing how those maneuverings would play out. If the polls were accurate, Senator Lysander—a well-respected AI—could very well become the next majority party leader, and thus the prime minister.
Politics made Terrance’s head hurt. All he knew was that the AI had his vote.
As he ruminated, movement caught his eye, and he shifted his gaze from the reporter toward an approaching figure.
Margot and Travis both saw his eye movement and turned to see Rosalind Bianchi headed their way, her obsequious assistant in tow.
“I hear she hasn’t vacated her offices yet,” Travis murmured to Terrance as they watched her approach. Terrance didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
“Anyone remind her that public servants have to quit their job, once they announce?” Terrance queried the reporter. “She has announced she’s running for Senate, hasn’t she?”
“Officially? No. But implicitly?” Travis sounded disgusted. “If I hear another veiled innuendo from the woman about running, I may just break my own impartiality rules and tell her where she can stick her candidacy.”
Terrance coughed to suppress a laugh.
Margot didn’t bother to hide hers.
“Well, Mister Jamieson, if I had to guess,” Terrance’s aunt said with some asperity, “it’s because she doesn’t want to give up the perks of her position and move into a campaign headquarters she’ll have to fund out of her own pocket.”
“Her pocket, or her benefactor’s, I wonder?” Travis mused.
The reporter’s voice held an odd quality that had Terrance wondering what Travis might know about Rosalind Bianchi’s backers that the rest of them didn’t. He filed it away for future reference.
* * * * *
Rosalind instructed her assistant to work his way toward the reporter, Travis Jamieson, who she had glimpsed as the crowd parted.
Rosalind considered herself a well-seasoned woman, wise to the ways of politics on this side of the Maglev Loop. So seasoned, in fact, that she could ‘press the flesh’ practically in her sleep.
Hah! she thought, I’d like to see Lysander try to do that.
Fortunately, she was also adept at hiding the fact that she couldn’t care less about anyone at the event. This meant she could spend most of her transit time mentally rehearsing her talking points for when the reporter turned on his holo recorder.
Rosalind nodded and smiled in a generally vague manner as she passed through the crowd. As she grew closer, a wave of annoyance passed over her to see who the reporter was chatting with.
Margot Enfield. Rosalind sighed. Well, there’s no help for it. There was no graceful way to extricate herself, now that Travis Jamieson had spotted her.
* * * * *
“...and I look forward to continuing the traditions of governance that our esteemed Prime Minister has exemplified over such an illustrious career,” Rosalind concluded, smiling for the holo recorder embedded in Travis Jamieson’s eye implants.
A blinking red light projected from that implant appeared to hover between them, above and a little to one side of Travis’s shoulder.
The reporter nodded judiciously and opened his mouth as if to ask another question, but Margot Enfield beat him to it.
“And will you be supporting our
efforts to pass the Job Shadowing Act, Madam Minister?”
That bitch.
Tenacious, too. Margot had ignored every attempt by Rosalind’s assistant to get her to relocate.
Rosalind forced herself to project an air of poised confidence. “When I am elected, we will give that legislation due consideration, I assure you.”
“Yes, but surely you can see that this law is necessary to abolish discrimination against an entire segment of our population,” Margot persisted.
“And I can assure you that every El Doradan will have the full protection of the Commonwealth behind them, regardless of race or creed,” Rosalind felt her smile grow stiff as she frantically sought to compose a follow-up statement. She needed something that wouldn’t alienate those who feared change, but that would appease those bleeding-heart AI lovers.
Damn that Enfield woman!
That idiot is fired, she thought furiously. Margot Enfield will pay for this.
Enfield was fast becoming her least favorite corporation.
Ever.
VICTORIA
STELLAR DATE: 07.02.3189 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: NorthStar Industries’ Yacht Sylvan
REGION: El Dorado Ring, El Dorado, Alpha Centauri System
“…when pressed, the Security Council admitted they had no hard evidence to link NorthStar Industries to the Norden Cartel. When asked to comment on the allegations, CEO Victoria North said that it was merely an unfortunate circumstance that the cartel and her own company shared a similar-sounding name….”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sylvan, the ship’s shackled AI, announced over the comm in Victoria North’s executive suite.
