Perfectopia - Part #6/9
In an ideal world, YOU are the imperfection.
PREVIOUSLY:
Sigmund, having spent last year and a bit in a supermax prison for his crime—releasing a potentially dangerous substance in a crowded supermarket—is released as part of ensuing mass pardons. He emerges into a wholly different world of no conflict, plummeting crime and flourishing wellbeing—the accomplishments he is quick to self-attribute. Yet, something is off, and Paul who came to greet him outside does not seem to be too excited about the state of the world, either.
Part #6
The next day - August 2031 | Edmonton, Canada
“You ready to meet the gang?” Asked Paul, putting his car in park and casting a quizzical look at his friend.
“Yeah, let’s do this.” Shot back Sigmund, reaching for the door handle.
They emerged into a small parking lot and beelined straight at The Bs. The area around their once favorite hang out bar was oddly deserted, save for a single person, aimlessly milling about.
Paul pushed the door open and snuck inside. Sigmund followed in, but before the door could slam behind his back, he felt arms grab his shirt and pull him back outside.
With a sharp jerk of his shoulders, he wriggled himself free from the grasp and turned towards the attacker, ready to deal damage. If the months spent in the supermax prison has taught Sigmund anything, it was that you simply don’t turn the other cheek or you’ll be running out of those in no time, and not just the ones on your head.
The hands that were about to curl into fists relaxed as soon as he saw the eyes of the man he was now facing. There was no aggression or even a slightest trace of malicious intent there, further corroborated by empty palms raised in front of a stubbled face, almost in a surrender gesture.
“Wake up!” Pleaded the attacker in a trembling voice. “Can’t you see they took away your free will? Wake up before they take your whole mind, too!”
“Dafuq man?” Began Sigmund, but before the stranger could reply, Paul stepped in between them.
“You don’t want to get involved with this.” He said, gently nudging Sigmund towards the entrance. “Let’s go inside.”
“So sorry about that!” Exclaimed the bartender, pressing a phone to her ear, as soon as they were in. “I told that fucking stray to keep his sorry ass away, but he just keeps coming back. That ends tonight—he won’t be bothering clients anymore.”
Ignoring the silent question on his friend’s face, Paul motioned towards the back of the bar. Sigmund started following, but stopped short, pulled in by a muted TV screen above the bar, headlines running beneath the news anchor, talking into the void.
“U.S. politics: Both Democratic and Republican parties are to be dissolved.”
“Hey,” Sigmund called out to the bartender, “can you turn that up for a minute?”
“This month marks the end of the United States’ longstanding bipartisan political system. Members of both the Democratic and Republican parties, saying that their goals and the means to achieve them are now in alignment, have voted to merge and form a single governing body, bringing an end to centuries-old political rivalry.” intoned a woman on screen, like she was reporting on a rural council’s decision to increase annual budget for public bathrooms by half a percent.
“The European Union, meanwhile, has gone a step further.” Continued the host unpassionately. “Citing efficiency concerns, the EU Council has agreed to dismantle local governing bodies and suspend universal elections, replacing them with appointed administrators selected for their technical qualifications. Certain lower-level functions will also be delegated to AI-based management systems. Speaking in a press conference, the president of European Commission expressed hope that the world’s political entities will follow its innovative approach to efficient governance.”
It was a few moments before Sigmund realized his jaw had dropped a while ago, leaving him standing there open-mouthed like a complete fool.
“Hey, Sig.” A voice he’d tried to forget so many times pulled him out of a daze. “You’re just gonna gawk at that TV or give an old flame a hug?”
“Gabs!” The reply came out a bit more enthusiastic than he was aiming for, taking the carefully pre-meditated play-it-cool charade with it. “Um, hi.” Smooth.
She just laughed in reply, took his hand and turned to walk.
They were almost at the back, when two sharp drum beats pierced the low hubbub of the bar followed by the penetrating chords of Free as a bird from The Beatles. Paul was standing by an old-school jukebox, not even trying to hide his grin, while Emily slid out of the booth next to it, shining a welcoming smile.
Well, crap, Sigmund thought to himself, you’re gonna make me cry, you little shits, won’t you?
***
“Four beers and a family plate of dirty fries.” Rattled Paul when the waiter finally wandered to their tucked away table. “And please make those the real thing, not that PanCrop slop.”
“Four large IPAs, coming right up.” Replied the woman. “I’ll have to check about the other stuff, though. The Reseeder supplies were somewhat patchy lately.”
“What’s that about PanSomething?” Asked Sigmund, once the waiter shuffled away.
“World hunger, eliminated!” Recited his friends in unison, bursting out laughing.
“Haha, thanks ad nuts.” Hissed Sigmund. “Care to let me in on the joke?”
“Right, sorry, Siggy.” Emily spoke up. “It’s a sort of a wonder crop, GMOed to perfection. Resistant to drought, heat waves, flooding and all plant diseases. All known pests find it disgusting, making it virtually invulnerable. And at almost three times the yield than any other grain culture, it’s also indispensably efficient. Apparently some lab in Mexico was sitting on it from, like, 2028 with no takers. I suppose everyone expected children to start growing horns from it or something.”
“That is, until a bit after your little stunt.” Gaby cut in. “Suddenly, it’s all the rage. Governments licensing it left and right, converting millions of acres of unused land in South and Central America, Africa and China into PanCrop fields, harvesting mere months later.”
“World hunger, eliminated… tadaaaa”. Emily picked up the thread of the story again. Nobody laughed this time.
“So that’s, like, good, isn’t it?” Wondered Sigmund.
“On paper, yes.” Confirmed Paul. “Until it started killing traditional agriculture. Apparently, it turned out it was dramatically cheaper to use various modifications of the crop to replace a wide range of foodstuffs, including meat. The entire farming industry went titsup basically overnight, shouldered out by cheap supplies from centralized breadbasket regions serving entire continents. More than 70 percent of our calorie supply comes from Mexico, Western Africa and China.”
“So here we are now,” he continued, “forced to choose between putting up with the cheap PanCrap or grossly overpriced natural products, grown in the few remaining local farm holdouts—the Reseeders they call themselves. They see themselves carrying the flag for humanity when this whole PanCrop initiative explodes into our faces.”
“This is fucked up.” Exclaimed Sigmund. “I want my steak bloody, and nobody will stand in my way, including this piece of shit new world order.”
Three pairs of frowning eyes around the table shot up to glare at him. Instantly tense, Gaby raised a finger to her lips to silently shush her ex-boyfriend.
“Careful what you say, and especially where you do it.” Warned Paul, his voice subdued, nervous. “Trust me, you don’t want to be labeled a mindstray like that poor sap outside.”
As if on cue, a noise of commotion wafted in from the street. Heads started popping up from the booths, swiveling towards the bar’s large panoramic window. Beyond the glass, four linebacker-shaped young men in civilian clothes adorned with red arm bands were dragging Sigmund’s wriggling new friend towards an unmarked van.
Instinctively, Sigmund jumped up, only to be pushed back into his seat by Paul’s heavy hand.
“Stay. Out. Of. It.” He mouthed, silently.
***
“Okay, someone explain it to me. What the fuck?” Sigmund finally snapped, unable to bear the gloomy silence anymore. The dreary mood seemed to have carried over all the way to Paul’s house, where all four of them filed out into the relative privacy of the garage lab—the birthplace of the Neurils.
“Remember how neurobots were supposed to flush out of the people’s systems if they didn’t hit certain identifying markers?” Paul asked rhetorically, knowing perfectly well that nobody in this rag team needed a technology refresher. “Well, the algo I came up with did not work. Neurils stuck around, started firing those synapses like there’s no tomorrow. In presidents’ and average Joes’ heads alike. Only a very small portion of the population seem to be immune.”
“Small as in…?” Asked Sigmund, his words seemingly weighted by gravity.
“As in less than one percent.” Came back a heavy reply.
“Hell of a chance all four of us made the cut.” Mused Sigmund.
“Not really.” Replied Paul. “I hardcoded our personal identifying markers we distilled while playing with the scanning gear. They seem to account for the small control group of the immune—our identificator sets must overlap theirs. The unfortunate schmucks are now left with a choice of going full on mindstray crazy, find shelter in some Reseeder commune or, like us, just fake it.”
“Awesome. You chose a good algo to fuck up, my friend.”
“Hey!” Shot back Paul. “You didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to debug this shit before you took it upon yourself to spray-paint a packed supermarket with it.”
“Boys!” Gaby raised her voice. “The past. Can’t change it. Drop it, okay?”
“Fine, my bad.” Blurted Sigmund, semi-apologetically. “Anyhow… how come nobody detected the outbreak and did something about it?”
“They did.” Replied Paul. “The shit started showing up on clinical MRIs and biochemical analysis of blood tests, as clusters of engineered structures in tissue during microscopic observations or as unexplainable spikes in ECGs, you name it. Though, by the time labheads began connecting the dots, the society as a whole was too enthralled in its newly-found bliss of progress. Investigations were squashed and swept under the rug. Research findings classified and buried as ‘destructively counter-productive’. Nobody objected.”
“Right.” Said Sigmund. “And what about you three?”
“I went straight to Director Gagnon when things started smelling.” Cut in Gaby. “He just gave me the official ‘for the good of humanity’ spiel and sent me home. I was let go from the NRC the next day but not before they gave me a full NDA dress down. I’d be toast if I even mentioned Neurils to anybody.”
“Well, shit.” Sighed Sigmund. “We’re fucking fixing this mess! Right?”
Before anyone could reply, Emily shot up from her chair where she was tapping on her phone absentmindedly just a moment ago. “Guys! Look!!!”
All four heads pushed together, encroaching space over a small screen of her iPhone, a CNN news article on it.
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BREAKING NEWS
Earlier today, following a closed-door session, the United Nations General Assembly voted unanimously to initiate formal procedures toward the dissolution of the United Nations, citing the absence of armed conflict, large-scale crime, and systemic international disagreement worldwide.
In a statement released after the vote, UN Secretary-General Carlos Guterres described the decision as the natural conclusion of a historical mandate that has, in effect, been fulfilled.
“Established in 1945 to prevent global war, manage conflict, and mediate between competing national interests, the United Nations was built for a world defined by division and instability,” Guterres said. “Member states have now determined that those conditions no longer exist. In the current global reality—characterized by sustained peace, coordinated governance, and consensus-driven policy—the organization’s core functions have become redundant.”
The resolution authorizes the drafting of an amendment to the UN Charter under Article 108, outlining a formal mechanism for terminating the Charter and winding down the organization’s remaining administrative structures.
The proposed amendment must now be ratified by UN member states, including all permanent members of the Security Council. Upon ratification, which is expected to take place later today, the United Nations would formally cease operations, bringing to an end nearly a century of institutional global governance.
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Oh man, this is getting intense!