SARA SLAMMED THE CONFERENCE room door after she entered, angry that she had to cover for Edgar’s missteps.
“Team, apologies for the delay. Before we go any further, someone please summarize the current status of global comms on this issue.”
The conference room was large, too large for the eight team members who sat a few chairs apart from each other, most busily typing away on their keypads. As with Sara, Ron insisted that none of her team could be fitted with a Vistachit, so they suffered the inconvenience of using the decades-old keyboard tech.
Rasha rose from her chair and clicked on her tablet. “If I may, I’ll cover the larger regional reactions first, then those from the continent.”
“Fine,” Sara agreed. “Start with Southern first. They’re always the troublemakers and no doubt will be the progenitors of our pain. And what is this I hear about some ‘vivid proof of life beyond death’ bullshit? Where’s that coming from?”
“We suspect Southern is behind it. A brand-new narrative, one we believe was designed to disrupt or even deplete the ranks of our strong religious cohorts.”
“Deplete?” Sara repeated in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“How are they disseminating the message?”
“This story has spread widely across the religious cohorts, and not just the evangelicals. Spreads in a very devious way, even devious for Southern. Rather than using typical media channels, they rely on real people, individuals, who attend the various religious meetings. These proselytizers either claim or infer that distinct proof has been found of life beyond death. A life of heaven and joy just as described in their scriptures.”
“Nothing new there,” Sara observed.
“One minor issue, however. You must die first. But there’s a certain way to die, like a defined process to get you on the glorious road to heaven. No willy-nilly hitchhiking your way. More like renting a car to get there. Shit like that.”
Sara was visibly pissed. “Fuckers! So, they avoided our usual means of scraping the net and other monitoring sources by going directly to these groups and spewing this vomit?”
Rasha clicked her pad to expose a photo of a woman at a podium, hand in air and overhead projections behind her. “Yes. All participants in these gatherings are proactively scanned for external devices like cellphones. If they have flesh-integrated components like Vistachits, they aren’t allowed into the meetings at all. Everything is as secretive and discreet as possible, which makes the experience seem especially unique and inviting. They often do it revival style, erecting tents in the middle of nowhere. Then they release an array of scan-bugs to ensure nobody is snooping, which obviously limits the efficacy of Vista’s standard nano monitoring tech. Hard to get inside a tent if they don’t want you there. This photo shows a rough image of one of the Southern plants preaching her monologue of death.”
“Who is she?” Alice asked, Sara’s chief editor.
“A nobody. Not traceable by face rec as a Vista or Westrich citizen. Another red flag. But we have some potential matches from our database of Southern citizens.”
“The fuckers!” Sara repeated beneath her breath. “Why the hell didn’t Edgar’s great tech catch this crap going on? It’s not up to our team to scour this kind of localized, cultish insanity.”
“Our source is indeed from our friendlies on Edgar’s team,” Rasha confided. “However, it was also based on our own research of unusual suicidal activities along our border with Southern.”
“What the hell?” Sara was gritting her teeth. “You mean people have started killing themselves as a result of this horseshit gospel?”
“Yes. That’s what we believe is happening. We’re working with a few of the more amenable people on Edgar’s team to infiltrate the various religious groups who are at the highest risk of falling prey to the narrative. Not all of them are susceptible, of course. Some sub-cohorts use good old reasoning and rationale to reject outlandish narratives like this.”
“Explain to me what the hell the narrative is, please. What could convince people to off themselves in apparent secrecy, and why is Southern pushing this down the throats of Ron’s strongest cohorts?”
Rasha noticed Sara’s eyes widen. “Well,” Rasha nodded, “I believe you came to a conclusion just as you uttered those words. This is what we are thinking as well. Southern would love to find a way to weaken Ron’s strongest supporters, the religious cohorts. So many of these groups sprung up after the Debacle. Most continue to base their rhetoric on an assumption that the uber-religious will die soon and be vaulted to the gold-gilded heaven. Meanwhile, all others, and that generally includes the irreligious like ourselves,” she smiled, panning the room, “will rot in hell or on Earth, which is increasingly a corollary for hell in their minds.”
“You know how many centuries this fucking ‘I’m more special than you’ narrative has been used by such power-hungry scum to manipulate the gullible masses?” Sara observed in disgust.
“In fact, many are quite disappointed they haven’t been exalted to the promise land yet. I’m always amazed by the fact that these cohorts purport to be so caring and giving, yet their doctrines are drunk with exclusivity and entitlement, assuming only their believers will experience these optimal eternal outcomes. That overused and abusive narrative seems so in conflict with the teachings of their prophets. That same mantra of selfish entitlement makes them inherently vulnerable to this new narrative.”
Sara knew she needed to get beyond her personal disgust at such dogma.
“Does Southern seriously think they could infiltrate Ron’s strongest cohorts, convince them with some shoddy testimonials and pseudo-science that people should waste themselves, and there’s some guarantee of eternal grace for them when they do so? Will the idiots never learn?”
Rasha clicked to her next slide. “You can see the numbers showing nearly two thousand in Vista have done the deed in the last thirty days. We’d expect less than a hundred suicides in normal instances. They’re instructing converts to avoid performing their ordained finale en masse to stay under the radar of Westrich’s monitoring tech. This is performed one by one. Very stealthy. Either way, it may not be the deaths that are so corrosive.”
“Dying sounds pretty corrosive, Rasha. What then?”
“The message is corrosive. This cohort, the whole lot of them, are beyond patience, and the message is feeding off that. Think about it. Their anticipated messiah never arrived, but a Great Debacle did decades ago and killed many of them.”
“And I suppose they have some way of determining whether a dead person met a good or bad end? How ignorant! Never mind. I’m just pissed. Go on.”
“Despite the extreme wealth at the top of Westrich’s population, many citizens from this large cohort live in relative poverty. They turn to religion for hope and guidance. They usually don’t partake in anti-aging tech because they’re afraid of living longer lives in anger and destitution. We know from our research they may be Ron’s most loyal group, and some of them could even be considered cultists, but overall, they feel Ron has not delivered effectively on his promises. Nor has Westrich. Nor has the world or their god, for that matter.”
“Nor will anyone ever, unless those prophetic aliens from the obelisk arrive and either help us or fry us,” Sara added.
Rasha continued. “This makes them perfect targets for messianic messages of death and glory. Many of the unemployed and unengaged in Vista, a large part of the population, in other words, spend their time and energies consuming narrative-confirming channels like the ones we substantially influence. They have little sense of self or purpose beyond their religious belief systems and our crafted narratives. This makes them sitting ducks for any message with exciting revelations, promises, and certainty. By and large, we know, these are good people, good citizens, loyal fans of Ron for all the right reasons we convince them to be. But some in the cohort are clearly more susceptible to that pernicious salvation message.”
“Southern. Those fuckers, fuckers, fuckers.” Sara motioned for Rasha to sit, but she held up her hand.
“Not yet. One more item. There’s also FYV, a new group gaining traction in Vista and elsewhere.”
“Shit. These new groups seem to extrude from the slime every day. I saw something on these idiots last week. Who are they?”
“Fuck Your Values. They’re a values group. If you can believe it, they appear even more firmly entrenched in a self-righteous vision than our salvation cohorts.”
“I find that hard to believe. Is this FYV group religious or anti-religious?”
“Neither, apparently, not in any real sense. In fact, one of the reasons we have so little data on them is that they seem to be a loose coalition of people arriving at the same conclusions simultaneously. We’ve been monitoring the comms of individuals associated with this group, if you can call it that. Beyond what we capture in occasional emails, texts, or face-to-face meetings, our AIs can’t find any sense of organization or centralization. No heads of state. No fervent leaders we can manhandle. No pulpits or preaching. No holy books, or maybe all holy books. I suppose that’s the same thing.”
“By what possible means could they be a coherent organization if they never organize, hardly ever communicate, and have no doctrine? Damn, if the religious cohorts had this same behavior, they’d be shit-hard for us and the AIs to find.”
Rasha smacked her lips. “You just identified the problems we are having in gathering data about them. We hoped they’d congregate like other cohorts, create consistent narratives, and develop deep complexity and fervor in their belief systems. If they did this, we could infiltrate them, manipulate the narratives, and put into effect our subtle coercion that all good things in the world always begin and end with Ron, just like what we do with the other cohorts. But we see none of this.”
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Sara was getting angrier. Not at her team, but at Edgar who was likely hiding key information to embarrass them.
“Then how in the hell do they even have a name? How does a cohort establish itself or exert power without a structure?”
Alice leaned forward. “This conversation frustrates me to no end. How do we know they exist if they don’t have a fixed narrative? What is their narrative?”
“Glad you both asked.” Rasha clicked the next slide and referred to the first bullet. “There’s not much to say about them, which is one of our problems with controlling them. See the first bullet? The one that says, ‘Humanity is doomed due to the lack of even a single agreed-upon ethic or wish to extend its race into the future.’”
“I get it. This is one of our racist cohorts then,” Alice offered. “They’re usually highly volatile but definitely controllable.”
“Different meaning. The word ‘race’ in this instance refers to humans. The human race,” Rasha added.
Alice shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “They’re against hybrids? Between the augmented and nons, we already have scores of sub-cohorts who hate each other. We do a ton of work to keep that anger and energy high and well-directed, as long as it benefits Ron and our RQ numbers.”
“No evidence of any racism,” Rasha replied. “Here are the challenges. You can’t find them. Their simple belief system is one that seems to befall humans or hybrids naturally. It’s not apparently influenced by outside factors like religions, belief in obelisk-related aliens, or hatreds and biases around politicians, hybrids, gun rights, or anything else. They possess none of the typical attributes that bind people together and allow them to be controlled and managed by our approved narratives.”
“Every cohort has narratives,” Alice observed.
Rasha continued. “We believe individuals fall to this conclusion of their own accord, as if something is whispering into their minds during sleep. In the few conversations we’ve captured between such converts, we find no secret encryptions, no mind control, and worse yet, no underlying devious or controlling intentions. No consistent dogma. As odd as it sounds, the FYV belief system appears to be an outcome of one’s own experiences and logic.”
Sara sighed loudly. “Shit. Could be dangerous if we can’t control the narratives. You think some new tech is being pushed into their minds? Maybe Southern has advanced their capabilities and can get past the normal mind control crap Edgar and team are always injecting into the ‘mentalsphere,’ as he calls it. Regardless, without anything solid to work from, I don’t see how this group presents a risk. They don’t look like a malleable cohort to me. How could they be corrosive to Ron’s position or to Westrich?”
Rasha stared blankly at the table, and her long, black hair fell forward.
“Rasha?” Sara asked, surprised by her delayed response.
“I listen to my gut, Sara. You know we all do the same. We aren’t given Vistachits for that specific reason, to safeguard against groupthink or falling prey to excessive data exposure and analysis overload. Even our own propaganda must be filtered away from us, lest we get lost in it and start believing our own bullshit. My gut tells me this is something larger than a narrative or belief system. How do you explain the growing numbers of humans and hybrids falling to the same simple conclusion?”
“What conclusion is that? I didn’t hear a conclusion,” Sara demanded.
“The conclusion that humanity is unable to agree on a single thing. That we can’t even agree to get along at the most basic level. That we are unable to define a mutual desire to extend humanity in its various hybridizations into the future. I don’t think about the topic personally since it seems a waste of effort, and I doubt anyone on this team ever does. But some in the Vista hinterlands and elsewhere are apparently coming to that conclusion, independent of external influences.”
Sara was frustrated that she let her team spend so much valuable time on an ethereal topic.
“I don’t see a minority of fucking good-intentioners, even if they’re not motivated by some godhead or disciple or ancient gospel, presenting any risk to Ron or Vista. We know how this shit works. People of like minds eventually congregate together. When they do, they build upon their narratives. They create a firm set of mental constructs and belief systems. When that happens, we and our systems infiltrate them and use our AI and the common sense and talent in this room to control their narratives and therefore their behavior.”
“Here, here,” Alice applauded.
“Our actions mitigate consequential risks to our way of life and ensure Ron remains in perennial control of Vista. We want Ron loved or hated by all on either side of the coins denominated and dominated solely by him and managed by us. If this FYV group has no leadership, no defined purpose, no regular comms, and can’t be coalesced in any way, then it’s pansied idiots. Reminds me of ‘I’ll pray for you’ do-gooders. These people think and think and think, or pray and pray and pray, but they never act. They assume their thinking or praying is action enough, and their god will do the work for them. Just hilarious. No, this FYV group is relatively low risk, in my opinion. Not even a sub-cohort. Only self-indulgent sissy-asses.”
Sara’s argument was strong, and the team around the table nodded their heads in agreement.
Sasha concluded. “Last point on the topic. We found someone who admits association with this loose coalition, if I can call it that. He’s willing to discuss.”
Sara bolted backward in her chair. She thought the topic was over and they could move on to the day’s challenge.
“What? What good would that do?”
“It might provide firsthand knowledge of a growing cohort that doesn’t quite have their act together yet. Maybe it’s a group who could be equally as powerful for Ron as our other fervent-believer cohorts. You know, we could promise progress toward achieving their goal. Provide the ‘isn’t he wonderful’ narrative about Ron being a great ambassador to the world, wanting everyone to just get along and agree with his positive vision for humanity.”
They all laughed heartily at her suggestion.
Sara pursed her lips. “And who is this messiah of good tidings?”
“Some guy in the Santa Fe area. A martial arts instructor. He said he fears nothing. Not death. Not life. Not torture. Not humans. Not politicians. Not tech. Hate to say it, but he mentioned Ron in there as well. What an odd but gutsy bird!”
Sara was intrigued by this description. “Huh! Sounds like a character. Not even afraid of Ron and all the power at his command. Geez, now I’d like to meet that guy. He must have balls the size of ostrich eggs. Hey.” She looked around the room at her team. “You know I’m heading out tomorrow to see my sick sister. Rasha, set something up with this fearless son of a bitch for my return trip. I’ll stop by Santa Fe and demand a meeting with master ostrich balls.”
***
Sara pounded the table. “We got off-track on that shit. Let’s get cracking on the response to this situation Edgar’s gotten us into with his superb little idea. I need our team to brainstorm and develop an answer immediately. Rasha, what’s happening in Southern?”
“I thought you might want the global picture first, but I’m glad to start closer to home. We’re seeing the usual saber-rattling from those assholes. They’re pressing harder on the territorial claims in Colorado, taunting that if our new capabilities are so good at predicting intentions, then when will their troops attack the Springs? As expected, Luis has been pushing his five-star general bullshit with Ron, trying to get his mech’d army out on the border to flaunt his power and start a war.”
“Oh, I’m so over this relentless crap with Southern assholes. We need to burn a hole in the ground there. Maybe what’s left of Florida that’s not underwater. One tactical nuke might get their attention. Okay, so we know they’re worked-up over this claim of one hundred percent accuracy on prescience and predictability. What else you got on the other regions?”
“The Soviet state has said little, which is typical. No doubt they’re doing all they can to verify this capability. Edgar’s team thinks they have complete tabs on what’s truly happening given the spies and other monitoring resources Westrich has deployed there. Honestly, they’re so busy with their own financial fuckups and wrestling the independent Euro states, I doubt they’ll take much notice beyond their typical propaganda social media bullshit. Ditto for Zhonghua. They can barely manage the territory they now control across Asia. It’s like herding cats, we know, and most of those cats take real exception to their control, even considering Zhonghua’s uber-advanced, militant social discipline. No doubt they already assessed the impossibility of our claim and are having a good laugh at it.”
“Canada? The African states?”
“Similar. Anemic Westrich spouting another overstated claim. Hell, it’s far from the first time we’ve announced something outrageous. The only ones making hay right now are Southern and Bolivar, given proximity and historical animosities. Anyone who hates Ron, hates Westrich, or has long borders with us is going to ride this for all they can.”
“What has Bolivar ever done for us? Is someone down there I can go spank with their pants down? They’re so fucking destitute and bad, bad, bad at controlling their narratives. What a cluster-fuck!”
Alice raised her hand. “Understood, but they have a lot more wealth and resources than we do. They’re well-organized. I mean, shit, once the U.S. split up . . .”
“Don’t go there,” Sara demanded.
Alice continued anyway. “I was leading with the idea to propose we kill two birds with one stone. We can establish narratives that get Southern and Bolivar to pay attention to each other and deflect their energies away from us. How long since they repaired the disagreement over the Caribbean borders? Seven years? And it’s been relatively quiet on that issue, right? Why don’t we throw some gasoline on the cold, smoldering ashes and heat things up with stories about Southern making another play at acquiring the islands, especially Dominica?”
“Hmm,” Sara responded. “Go on.”
Alice continued. “I see deep fakes helping matters, like secret agreements between Caribbean leaders and Southern. The Carib is not happy with Bolivar, as we know, and they want a new alignment with the wealthier Southern nation. Hell, we have multiple ideas on how to light a match on that baby. Like Southern using AI-invasive pain techniques to torture political prisoners from Bolivar. We could message that they are introducing additional geedee tech in the gulf to annihilate Bolivar’s regional fishing stocks. A long list of potential sins we can pull from the hat.”
“I like that. I like that!” Sara rose from her chair. “But we still haven’t covered Nemerica. What are we doing with those slugs to our east?”
Rasha chimed in. “Ron’s apparently been in direct contact with his sister. Thank God for her oligarch position. Imp informed us not to focus on them until we’re told to do so. Besides, we have no current quarrels with that nation-state, right?”
Sara took a deep breath. She was uncomfortable with the relationship between Ron and his sister. Her extensive wealth and influence in Nemerica was the only reason Ron remained the sole demagogue in Vista, given that his incompetence and self-aggrandizing behavior were excessive, even for his caste. Some of his sister’s promises had gone undelivered in the past, and her information on global matters was occasionally misleading.
“Perhaps he’s already hinted to her that it was an overstatement, that we don’t really have better predictive tech than any other pieces-of-shit AI on the planet,” Sara speculated. “That would go a long way toward quelling any issues with our most powerful ally and potential enemy.”
Sasha nodded. “Got it. For hip pocket purposes, we’ll have multiple plans ready for you in the event of a Nemerica misstep.”
“Great, great. You’re the best, team. Now, get your asses in gear and work your stories, your cohorts, and your channels. Keep me apprised.”
She held her hand up to pause the team from standing too quickly.
“I assume each of you regularly read through our Demagogue’s Checklist to ensure we’re in full compliance, right? Hey, it’s not like the checklist was Ron’s idea. It’s our idea, this team’s, and it remains a stellar character roadmap for using his narcissism to effectively advance our narratives. Make sure, as usual, to follow its guidance and don’t go overboard. He may indeed be well beyond sanity, but who’s to judge? We love him for those gnarly characteristics. So much to work with there, and none of us are his psychiatrists. Besides, our job isn’t to analyze him. It’s to embellish and amplify his personality to our cohorts. To enrich him. To strengthen his grip on their minds. To keep that RQ number in range and be sure he’s not underexposed or overexposed. And we’re fucking awesome at that!”
The team began to adjourn, but she continued. “I’ll not see you for three days while traveling. I promised my sick sister I’d be fully engaged with her for a twenty-four-hour period. During that time, I’m out-of-pocket. No calls. No visits inside her home, even from my bodyguards. The only thing I’ll respond to is a direct request from Ron. Rasha, you have the helm while I’m away.”
“Of course.”
“Sorry to leave you at this busy and exciting time, but is there ever a good time? My sister is on her remaining breaths, and I need to give her one more stretch of Sara, uninterrupted. Rasha, on the way home. New Mexico. I can hardly wait to experience this Santa Fe buddha.”
Rasha nodded in acknowledgement.