Chapter 5: The Conference

It had been three years since Anders Askeland last headed a press conference. At that time, the world was taken aback by his simultaneous debut of the Pseudo Gill, which allowed humans to breathe underwater for an indefinite amount of time, and the Smart Weapon, a weapon that was trained to identify any user that was a threat to the shared goal of the owners of the weapons. The Gill had a straightforward result, though required near-magical engineering. It required both a maximum absorption of oxygen from passing water and a chemical agent to gain more oxygen than would be normally available. The Weapon was easier to explain scientifically, but the biggest challenge was having those who might purchase it understand the benefits. The Weapon was not only limited to targeting other groups or countries, but the one who had it in their possession as well. The product came with a malleable set of moral rules, such that it would distinguish good from evil actions. His logic was that a weapon so well-informed and unbiased would keep everyone in line. What was most important, and what often went by without discussion, was that everyone who could buy the Weapon needed to buy it. It was the most advanced tool of destruction ever made, and being left out of this select group would be too dangerous. Both of these inventions changed the world, and while Anders maintained they were both for the good, most of humanity was hesitant to support the latter.

Therefore, it came as a surprise when the CEO of Antler informed the press that it would be him, not a trained substitute, who would unveil the newest work of genius. Some felt excitement, some felt dread. All eyes and ears wanted to hear what he was going to speak about. No journalist had much time to prepare, as Anders had only given them one day to gather in Echo City. Ordinarily, this meeting would take place in Antler Headquarters, on their dedicated floor for such events, but today was different. A crowd gathered outside City Hall, the chosen destination.

I walked into the venue ten minutes early. The fervor of the citizens outside was nearly matched by those inside, even those whose jobs were to report calmly and objectively. I found my seat in the second row, only behind world leaders and billionaires, of which there was predictable overlap. The noise was deafening, such that I saw some who wisely wore headphones. It didn’t bother me much. I was too busy thinking to listen.

Much to my shock, I saw Will scampering across the stage, lifting the microphone to the appropriate height for the speaker to come. After he brought his arms down, he spotted me. I waved and he smiled. I didn’t know he was so close to the boss, but it was true he was an excellent receptionist. Will ran back off, and the crowd continued to develop their theories.

It was a curious thing, the public perception of Anders Askeland. How is one to gauge what a populace thinks of a man who makes their cars, their houses, their lives? He had fans, as did anyone who appeared on a television screen. He had his critics too, but their criticisms were strange. They could not comment negatively on the quality of his products, nor on his difficult-to-reach character, but they still commented. When a critic runs out of tangible evidence and stories to cover, they become a philosopher. Those who disliked Anders did so because of instinctual fear, but they could only explain it by saying his very presence was a calamity waiting to happen. This, of course, was less persuasive than desired, so it was safe to say that the CEO of Antler was beloved.

“One minute remaining,” rumbled a voice through the speakers. Perhaps expecting the cacophony happening as the audience waited, the volume and depth of voice was loud enough to cut through the noise. Everyone fell silent, though the stage was still empty. They readied their cameras, made by Antler, and readied their hands to type as quickly as could be. I waited.

Then, he entered. His pinstripe suit was an off-white, an odd combination that surprisingly matched his demeanor. Anders was beaming. Well, as much as he could beam. For him, that meant his eyebrows were unfurrowed and his posture relaxed. I was the only one in the room who knew what he was about to say, but considering my current state of mind, it was wise of him not to bring me up where the cameras could see me.

He finished his long stride to the microphone and paused. Everyone was already quiet, but he was doing this to remind them that he controlled this event. He studied the room, unfazed by the sure-to-be millions of viewers. To him, such a number was fair. Finally, after fifteen seconds of silence, he spoke.

“All of you are here to learn of what I have made.” He looked down at the front row, and it seemed as though his eyes shifted to me for a fraction of a second. “I won’t keep you in the dark for much longer. I’m not a fan of a prolonged preamble. First, let me thank you for making your individual treks here, whether you are from Echo City or are not so fortunate. The reason for the sudden nature of this conference is a personal choice. I was told by some that I should wait to share this information. However, I thought it best that there be transparency.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

At those words, my mind shifted to Amahle. She wasn’t in the first row, nor was she standing near Anders. She was the COO of the company, so I knew she had to be in the room. I realized there was a pause in the speech, and I turned my eyes to see Anders Askeland staring right at me. Fear spread through me in an instant. Just as quickly, he returned to his explanation.

“What I will show you is not only the most impressive invention yet created, but one that stretches the mind to a new height. I’ll ask a question, but do not feel the need to say anything. What is the most important problem to solve?”

A new sort of silence fell over the room. I heard mumbling from those attempting to come up with an unassailable truth. To many, such a question had to have an answer. For even more, it was a tempting proposition to match Anders Askeland in such a game. In all that time, he stood there, unmoving. I imagined that for him, such a sight was analogous to dropping fish feed into an aquarium.

“If you’ve come up with an answer, hear mine. If you weren’t able to come up with one, realize that this question is more important than any you have ever heard.” He drew in a breath. “You might have said that what is crucial is helping those who suffer, or perhaps that we should distinguish happiness from suffering. To make it broader, you may have said that we must answer what an ideal life looks like. After we do such a thing, we can work to make it come true.” Some people nodded their heads. “The issue with philosophers is that they get so stuck in their problems that they fail to answer anything, while the rest of humanity waits and suffers.”

Going against my better judgement, I let my eyes drift around the room, searching for Amahle. This time, Anders did not stop.

“I will save us all the trouble and say what is obvious: damage. The real problem, which causes all pain and suffering, is damage. You can damage a countries’ infrastructure, a computers’ hardware, or a person’s ego. You cannot have suffering without damage.” He let that thought sit. He had no papers in front of him, so I could only assume all of this was spur of the moment.

“I expect rebuttals, though they won’t be convincing. What I am here to reveal to you all is the first product that recovers from damage. Perma Tech.”

With that, there was finally talking behind me. No matter how imposing a figure Anders was, this news was more mind-boggling than being able to breathe underwater. He seemed content letting the masses discuss. I heard a man near me say it was impossible, while another asked what it even meant. While they spoke, a woman walked onto stage wearing a yellow dress. My eyes did not deceive me. It was Amahle Imada. I wondered how I wasn’t able to notice her before, but it hardly mattered. In her hands she carried a phone.

“Quiet,” commanded Anders. The audience obliged. “This is our COO, as you are all aware. You might notice that the phone she’s holding is not ours. It’s an old, flawed phone. The reason I chose this is because it is quite difficult to break one of our current models.” Amahle handed him the phone, which he showed to the audience as one might show a toy to children. Then, he snapped it. As everyone tried to inch closer to the demonstration, they saw the device mend itself back together. This was the third kind of silence I had heard that day. First, it was curiosity, then a challenge to their thinking, and finally awe. Contrary to what many might believe when there is a miracle, the witnesses were silent. It could be that such a disparity between expectation and reality causes the brain to shut down temporarily, or it could be a more boring reason. Either way, it fell upon Anders to continue.

“You might be asking what this means, or how it was created. All of that will be detailed in the coming future. For now, make do with what I have given you.” After he stopped, a multitude of hands shot up. Unlike his last appearance three years prior, Anders pointed at an audience member. The individual stood. They were a few rows behind me, but it was easy to tell they were nervous.

“Does this new technology have wider applications than repairing phones?”

Anders closed his eyes, as if picturing the different paths he could take.

“Such an invention is certain to invite these questions. However, I am slightly disappointed. Not by your question, but because I have already answered it. I told all of you that it was damage I am trying to fix. A phone is not the only thing that can be damaged or broken. Whatever grand ideas you may have about this technology, they are real. They will happen. They will be grander than what you are imagining. That’s all.”

Anders gave one last look, lingering on no one in particular, then walked off stage. Amahle followed suit, and just like that, it was over. The reporters and citizens all got busy writing their articles and discussing their thoughts. I was the only one who had already processed this information. I had other worries.

I got up from my seat and navigated through the crowd. I headed for the area Amahle had walked to with Anders. I showed the security my credentials and they let me through. The two of them were already leaving the building, with Anders sitting down in his private car. He saw me immediately, said something to Amahle, and closed the door. Before he left, I saw him smile.

“Amahle!” I exclaimed. It had been more than a month since my first and brief meeting with her. She turned around, laying eyes on me. A shiver washed over me. “Amahle?”

She did not smile, nor frown. She was more calm than I thought a human could be.

“Nathaniel, it’s good to see you,” she replied. Seeing my annoyed expression, she continued. “I suppose we should talk."