RoboNomics

Chapter 76 - 2016

As I promise Austin, I go straight to work at the iTronics tower. I ride the elevator to the top floor and walk into what used to be Donald's corner office.

I look out the bank of massive windows that wrap around the room. The city sprawls below me, a gem of faux ancient ruins and shimmering feats of architecture that litter the landscape.

"Hello?" A voice calls into my expansive office.

I turn around. Mitra Karimi is standing at the glass door to my office, tapping gently on its surface.

"Oh, Mitra. We had an appointment, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did."

I turn back to the windows as she approaches. "It's quite a city, isn't it?"

We both look down on it.

"Yes, it is," she agrees.

Just like some of the great cities of Earth, the metropolis has neighborhoods that are enclaves of certain specific places. Each country or region of the world seems to have its own corner of the city, complete with notable monuments rendered in Martian rock by the quick working tools of automated machinery.

But the most unusual part of this tangle of streets and statuary, this living museum to a world not yet dead, is its inhabitants. Many of them are, like me, members of the corporate world -- the only people who work anymore.

But there are also members from old dynasties living here. There are princes and queens, and emperors whose names I've never heard before. There are the heiresses of fortunes, inventors who've long since retired.

And then there are members of the creative class, of whom I knew nothing until Austin told me about patronage. Some of them made their fortunes back on Earth, but others live on Mars on the whim of the rich.

The creators are the ones whose lives are most perilous here. As long as the monied reject the products of their machines and crave human-made goods, artists can live here. But what happens to them, I wonder, when trends change?

For the most part, I see that the wide piazzas are filled with people who have bots and money. They have nothing to worry about.

At 87 million people, this city contains only a tenth of humanity. That's it. A thin slice of what we once were, skewed economically upward. And now I'm one of them. I command instant respect where a year ago I was faceless, nameless.

I finally tear my eyes from the view.

"So, what's on your mind?" We both approach my desk and I gesture at a chair in front of it.

We scheduled the meeting a few days ago, and I've been dying to know what she wants to talk about. She's my Chief Information Officer.

But like my Chief Risk Officer and my Chief Data Officer, I'm not entirely sure what the title entails. Part of me suspects that some of the dozen or so positions bestowed on my employees were given by Donald as a result of the political sway these people hold in the New Roman business community.

"I want to help you," Mitra declares as she sits down.

"Pardon me?"

"With the foundation. I hear what you've been saying during our meetings. And I agree with you. I want to do anything I can to help."

It takes me a moment to process what she's telling me.

"Really? But I thought everyone agreed it was a bad idea."

"I didn't agree. This is important -- this issue. I understand that."

"Go on," I say.

She is younger than most of the other members of the executive team, but is still a decade older than me. She's a short, compact woman with frizzy dark hair gathered into a simple clip. None of the members of the corporate world, I've noticed, sport the complex hairdo the bots are capable of creating on a human head.

"You just went about your plan the wrong way. I'm not talking about using corporate funds here." It's as if Mitra can sense my trepidation. "But this company can't tell either of us what to do with our clout and our own money."

"I see what you're saying. But I'm new here. Wouldn't it be better if I kept on everyone's good side?"

"I thought this was important to you. I thought you actually wanted to do something about it."

"Of course I do!"

She suddenly reaches across the desk and snatches one of my hands.

"Please, Andrea. Please. I need to do this. There's no other way. Please..."

She looks at me with deep brown eyes, her mouth working as if to find the words. Suddenly her face creases into sobs. It's like looking into the face of a newborn.

"I left family there," she says between sniffles. "Aunts and uncles, cousins. They haunt me every day. I left them down there, but I have no idea what's happened to them since."

My mouth hangs open. "I...I'm sorry."

I don't know how else to respond.

But I know exactly what she's talking about, that feeling of being haunted by those we left behind. I wonder, as I often do, what happened to my friends. Elizabeth, Henry, Miriam. Even Lilly, the neighbor who helped us when we couldn't rely on anyone else.

We went our separate ways when the subways flooded. There was illness, there was panic. Everyone crawled into holes, concerned only for their own lives. Including me. Only here in New Rome do I have the luxury of thinking about them.

Her weeping gradually subsides as she visibly struggles to fight back the tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean --"

"Don't be. It's fine." I had no idea anyone here was ready to admit that leaving people back on Earth was a problem.

"I just, I just need this to work. I need to help you. I need to do something."

"Is there really no other way? I hope you don't think this is too personal a question, but couldn't you just pay to have them here?"

She shakes her head, gazes at the glossy surface of my desk. "I've been trying to figure it out, but it's harder to emigrate to Mars than it was once to North Korea."

"And you think mine is the way?"

"I think it is." She pauses as if weighing each word carefully. "You have power. If you start something, you could be persuasive. I know you're not Donald, but you do have his name. You are his daughter. That counts for something here. More than a little."

Moments later, we stand and shake hands. It's agreed. We're going to look into starting a foundation. 

We're going to build a presentation together and when it's ready, we'll introduce our idea to the shareholders, totally circumventing the executive members and the board.

"But the executives were so opposed to my plan," I point out. "Isn't it risky to go over their heads?"

"Maybe. But now you have at least one of us on your side -- you have me."

"Yes, I guess so." My eyes drop and I stare at the desk.

"And once you let the cat out of the bag to the shareholders, the executive won't be able to suppress the idea anymore. It'll be out there, and we can finally start drumming up support for it."

We don't have much time. We decide that we'll present the new Foundation for Earth at the annual shareholders' meeting. But that's only a few weeks away.

Before she leaves, Mitra turns back for a moment. I smile at her, joyful that I finally have an ally. 

"Can you do one thing for me, Andrea?"

"Of course, anything!"

"Let's not reveal my reasons for this. I've told no one here about it, and I don't want to raise any suspicions."

I nod, and she slips out my office door. But as she does, a thought occurs to me.

What suspicions?

(Continued in Chapter 77...)