“YEAH?” SARA MOANED, ANGRY at being awakened by a vidscreen popup so early in the morning.

When Ron’s meeting ended, Sara gathered her leadership together for a status check and to ensure the execution plans were in progress. Exhausted by 2 a.m., she fell into bed.

To ensure order, discipline, and ready access to his ministers, Ron made them live in his fortress compound on the outskirts of Austin. There was risk in that concentration, he understood, but he’d rather all of them die in one simultaneous event than allow a few to live and perhaps undermine his legacy with their undisclosed knowledge.

If Ron was going to die, his ministers would come along with him. To avoid such an untimely demise, however, security measures at the compound were without equal anywhere in the world, or so Imp informed him.

After the release of the deadly pathogen responsible for the Great Debacle of 2037, the world changed considerably. In years prior to the Debacle, governments and industry were already well along the path of complete control and monitoring of all human activities.

The world’s finance, social media, distribution, and information companies were constructing mesh cloud networks for personal data sharing, the first step towards universal consolidation and concentration of behavioral profiling. Many of these networking capabilities were initiated in the aftermath of the Coronavirus plague of the early twenties, once nations realized they lacked the basic tools to track infective agents, their carriers, and quite possibly their creators.

Years later as the post-Debacle anarchy was subsiding, there was a clear mandate to finish the job. Paranoia was at its peak, and most humans were far more concerned about a repeat pathogenic devastation than the philosophical or moral implications of government monitoring and loss of personal freedoms. In the new world of virulent, democratized technologies, simply being alive meant more to people than freedom, privacy, or control.

By the early 2000’s, data storage capacities, monitoring capabilities, and cloud computing advancements had substantially reduced the cost of acquiring and retaining information. Data and social networking companies grew into global monoliths which, post-Debacle, were given full freedom to gather, share, and capitalize on personal data without the previous constraints of monopolism, data privacy, or human rights actions.

In the decades that followed, these massive companies merged or morphed into global centers of information about every human or hybrid on the planet. This centralized infrastructure worked perfectly for the oligarchs as they came to power, enabling them and their AIs to own the data and all that it allowed them to control.

The unanticipated laser transmission from Northern Arizona was proof, though, that not every individual had yet been properly reined-in, monitored and controlled. Such an event would normally have been a substantial embarrassment to both Ron, Vista, and Westrich.

That’s where Sara’s talents came in. She was mission control for messaging. She was spin, truth, lies, and innuendo, amalgamated in a luscious concoction of narratives and storytelling. From her viewpoint, it was a creative role, a challenging role, and certainly a powerful one.

She consumed it, and it consumed her. As a result, Sara didn’t think twice about not residing in the compound. In fact, she welcomed it as confirmation of her importance to Ron and Vista’s citizens.

“It’s Rasha,” a voice from the popup indicated. “Apologies. I know you were trying to sleep.”

Sara immediately scanned the multiple screens that activated above her bed. “Oh, shit! I see it.”

“Yes,” Rasha continued. “Just our luck that it was Southern, of all nation-states, who claimed to pick up the signal. They’ve deciphered some of the content, or so they indicate.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can read. Good they say they caught it. Works better into our narrative, like, ‘you know about this event because you caused it, and you’re now reporting on it per your treacherous scheme to discredit Ron. You and your fucking band of traitorous infiltrators on our sovereign territory.’”

She paused to read further.

“Wow. It appears the whole freaking encyclopedia of human history was embedded in that signal. You’ve obviously consumed more info than I have on the topic, Rasha. What’s the gist? Where’s the magic? Who’d want to secretly superfart a history of humankind out into the sterile galaxy? Anyone receiving that planetary puke would either get a good laugh or a bad case of heartburn.”

Rasha was one of Sara’s veterans on the team and always knew to choose her words carefully.

“I don’t know which feeds you’re looking at right now, but they’re claiming two primary components of information were included in the transmission. The encyclopedia of human history was one part. Then there was a commentary of sorts. An extensive opinion piece on the state of the world.”

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“I’m getting that, and I’m seeing the spin from the other nation-states already. Damn, freaking AI narrative-creation systems. You know, you used to have the luxury of a few free minutes to counter this bilge. Now it’s instant vomit-splatter of AI-generated pulp fiction across all relevant channels, and nobody believes any of it. Getting damn more difficult to spin our own bullshit narratives when ten thousand others are out there in the time it takes to spit.”

Rasha paused to see if Sara was done.

“What else, and what’s your plan, Rasha?”

“The opinion piece appears to have been a warning to its recipients.”

“A warning? To what recipients? What the hell?”

“Indeed. A warning that humanity is in its final death throes. That we’ve reached a juncture where technology advancements have rapidly outpaced social values, resulting in an irrevocable imbalance. In other words, we’re stumbling headlong toward the inevitable death of the species.”

“Huh? I assume you means our species. Humans.”

“Right.”

“And what’s your interpretation of the implications?”

“We’ve already created narratives and just need your nod to execute on them. The implications are that it was intended to embarrass the global oligarchies and the current structure of society. This fits well into our anarchist narratives, that radical, liberal groups continue to denigrate all the advantages Ron brings to them.”

“And the anti-tech idiots?”

“We’re accusing them of creating this mess. The content of this laser message proves they’re Ron-haters, even to pushing their caustic narrative beyond the planet to unknown, unseen aliens who could give a shit when they see it a million years from now. We’ll amplify our current narratives that the anti-tech cohorts are living in a 1950’s fantasy world, as if we could easily ignore the ominous personal risks to life in these post-Debacle realities. This ties-in well with our usual narratives that state and industry cooperation, control, and management over the citizenry is a positive thing; a great thing. These are only two of the multiple messaging paths we’re ready to release at your approval.”

“Okay, Rasha. I get it. Execute, then, and I’ll be over with you as soon as I shower and dress.”

Rasha let out an audible sigh. “Will do.”

“Just one more thing,” Sara wondered. “How real was the message? How much truth is in it?”

“It’s an opinion piece only. No credible evidence was provided by this lone wolf.”

“I get that. But how much truth is in the opinions? Occasionally, that matters to some of our cohorts.”

Rasha smacked her lips. “Straight out? One hundred percent, from my read thus far. Whoever wrote this crap, this crap about technology reaching its infinity curve while societal norms continue to decline, had a fair handle on reality. It’s a broad, if not boringly repetitive and mundane, treatise on why the world is going to hell soon.”

“I don’t get it, though,” Sara posed, vexed at the rationale for such a stupid venture. “This message wasn’t intended for us humans? It was meant for other presumed recipients in space? Or was it more targeted?”

“Don’t know. Our AI analyses show the message contents to be broad and general. The creators emitted this short laser burst of personal rubbish for anyone or anything to hear. Unbelievably, it appears to be a warning to other sentient life forms about a declining race and how to avoid similar degradations and cataclysms in their own societies.”

“Interesting. For about ten minutes, anyway. We should assume this crazy-ass laser blast issue will last just that long; ten minutes. I’m always amazed so many people have nothing better to do than complain about the state of the fucking world. This idiot would have been happier consuming the rubbish we feed him every day. If people don’t like the sewer they’re swimming in, then change the effluent or find another sewer. Hey, that sounds like a pretty decent counter-narrative. On the other hand, the more we counter-narrative around this, the longer the story might stick around and perhaps raise real questions about Ron’s adequacy. We are Ron, and Ron is us. I must say that a thousand times a day.”

“Yes,” Rasha confirmed. “We are Ron.”

“I’d like to read the entirety of this guy’s schtick if I get the time. For a good laugh, if nothing else. I’ll ask our AI to give me the highlights.”

“Our comms metrics show this as the top trending discussion topic on most socials. Lots of social going on around this, even at this early hour. Off the charts. It’s scoring a seven of ten right now. Ron isn’t looking good, either, but maybe it’s his turn.”

“Shit!” Sara bellowed. “Ron won’t like a turn at something like this. I can expect an unpleasant ass-jolt from him any minute. Go get this worked, and I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Tell the team we’re meeting again when I arrive. Wake anyone who’s asleep.”

Sara ended the call and slumped back on the bed, her head hanging low.

“I need to cut back on this hyper-fluid crap. Gets me jittery. Maybe I should go back to simple, black coffee. Now, where were you before she called? The dream, the vicious dream. I had a long knife in each hand. Running in the jungle, or was it Austin? Bare feet. Bleeding everywhere. Stabbed at a lioness, then a raccoon, or was it a civet? Something, some animal, had its jaws embedded in my back, and it kept evading my stabs.”

She rubbed her side as she pondered. “Jesus. Is Imp pushing this dream shit into my head? Damn AI control freak. Do I need to wear a disruptor cap now when I sleep? I’ve never had nights of a repeating dream like this. It must be Imp and Ron, that fucker. Playing around with his mind control tech. That shithead is in total control, whether he tries to be or not. And I can’t trust Imp at all. A proxy system for Ron’s insanity and a dutiful servant executing his deranged commands. Or hell, maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, I must be vigilant. God, I need a few weeks away from this perversity, this abhorrence of reality, and these walls. I must get my grip on things and find some joy in this job again.”

She dropped her nightshirt to the floor and turned on the shower. “But I do love it, I can’t deny. Influence. Power. Recognition. I’m not a self-bullshitter. I am this good. I am Ron’s voice. The voice to Vista’s millions. I create reality for them, a reality they crave in all its glorious bias confirmation and carefully designed malevolence. And I’m damn well the best at it in Westrich. Maybe in the world. Fuck those who’ve tried to fuck me reaching this pinnacle. I’ve dodged their bullets and swords. I am steel-plated. No, not just plated. I am platinum-gold alloy, just like that old Canadian obelisk. Pure metal. Impenetrable. I’ll never wear down."