An endless stream of them. All doing 40 or more, on a street marked 25. A street built for two lanes, now filled with four lanes of bumper-to-bumper cars. Most drivers already wearing their masks. Men and women desperate to get to their jobs on time, so they could maintain the life depicted in the ads.

The crosswalk was clearly marked. Brie, masked and desperate, looked beseechingly at the oncoming traffic, begging with her eyes for a break.

A just-shaved guy in a Honda slowed, stopped, and pulled down his mask to yell, “Move it, girl!”

She ran for it. The Buick driver in the next lane saw her almost too late. Her progress stopped hard and fast; the impact was more shocking than damaging. Still, two skinned knees ain’t nothing.

Her adrenaline found words: “Fuck you!”

This as she picked herself up. Car doors opening. Words exchanged. Brie ran for it. Wanting none of the repercussions, and running hard now. Sure, she was at fault. Out of breath, she slowed to a walk and shivered despite the inner heat from running.

Zlorex shift-change times kept the factories running at as close to peak efficiency as possible. All to ensure production costs were kept down, and the stock price was kept up. Zlorex, like all top companies, had swallowed up most of its competitors with the help of lobbyists, government contracts, rich and influential shareholders, and increasingly wealthy C-suite management.

Brie walked off the hurt, embarrassed at being bested by a fucking Buick.

Gray. Rain on the way. The light-rail tunnel with its fluorescent lighting a bright spot. Down the steps littered with elegantly branded fast-food wrappers and logoed drink cups. The leavings of commerce and desperation. Brie stopped and studied the light-rail map, though she knew exactly where she was going.

The train stopped. Doors opened, and the work-bound muscled through the home-bound as the battle to enter and exit engaged both ends of the shift change.

Doors still open, crowd thinning, Brie went for it, with a timed stride, left hand on the gate, up and over. “Still got those high school moves,” she thought wryly as she slipped through the closing car doors. She made her way through the packed aisle to the next car, taking off and stuffing her red jacket and hat in her backpack, shaking her hair out as she went.

The train lurched forward. “Clearly,” she thought, “there’s still plenty of us who haven’t joined the gig economy, if the morning rush is any indicator.”

The train was filthy. The smell of puke and piss filled the air. Brie added a third mask, hoping it would cut down the smell. Everyone was masked, some with full gas masks on. Various gang tags marred the screens running ads for bank credit, weed, booze and over-the-counter pharma. Brie tracked none of this, hoping the graffiti gang had disabled the surveillance cameras on their morning rounds. She was counting on it.

Most the people on this train were headed for jobs that barely enabled their lives. Increasingly, wages were stagnant or falling. For most jobs, wages had been falling for years. People in the U.S., UK and EU who used to make good money to create the beautifully detailed graphics in the ads that invited consumption could no longer afford to pay their children’s tuition.

Single-family homes had given way to apartment blocks. When Brie was in the city she rented a cage to sleep in, with a toilet down the hall. It kept her safe while she slept, but that was about all. Most who rented the cages worked in restaurants, delivery and grocery. Spending their workweek in town, then leaving the city to visit their family when they could get a day off.

Brie was pretty sure she was being watched, by whoever did that these days, since she’d gotten out of jail.

Arrested at a rally and charged with resisting arrest…

“Ironic.” This from her lawyer, Giles, at the hearing. “Arrested at a peaceful public protest. Attacked by hired security and detained because she tried to deflect the hired cop’s blows.”

Giles sat down, whispering in her ear, “The real problem is that they can charge you with conspiring to overthrow the state.”

“What?”

“Their search of your phone turned up the draft of your university speech. My best guess is that now you’re going to be watched.”

Brie’s speech asked a key question: Workers are creating massive wealth, so why is the administration letting corporations hoard it all?

“But wait a minute. Trump’s gone…”

“And you think the Democrats aren’t interested in maintaining the cash flow? Jesus. That’s what your speech is about. You’ve got to watch yourself.”

Brie found a seat and waited for the turmoil of the next stop. She surreptitiously tried to note those around her, just like they did on those spy shows. When the train stopped, she exited the car with the throng and moved down the platform, and then joined in with the people boarding and got back on. Now she had a black shawl covering her head, and a black neck mask replacing the three white face masks.

She couldn’t be sure, but no one seemed to be following.

On one of the working ad screens, Elon Musk was promoting his new city on Mars.

She pulled out her notebook to gather her thoughts. No more iPhone. She missed it. It was true withdrawal, like a friend had died. She wrote the questions she’d asked the students to address, from memory:

-It appears our democratic government is allowing corporations to hoard the massive wealth we’ve all helped them amass. What should we do to change this?

-It looks like the kings of capital are finally worried about the growing gap between rich and poor. How should we push them to take action?

-We need jobs with livable wages. Why isn’t that possible?

The train reached University Station. It was dirtier than she remembered, and most the lights were out. Before exiting the car, she ditched the scarf and put on her hat and jacket, this time with the dark-green side out.

The post Chapter 1: Fugitive appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

The path to the future is unclear.

Back in Seattle, I shook out my umbrella and dropped it in the stand. It’s been raining more in the last few years. More rain. Bigger drops. More intense wind. All a part of the change, they’ve told us. I stepped up to the bar and slipped onto the stool next to Jon.

I hadn’t seen him in a couple years, though we’d known each other for more than 20. Actually, more than 30, now that I thought about it. Old. We’re old.

“Goddamn, Tommy you look great.”

“You’re full of shit. And you know it, Jon.”

He smiled the smile of truth and took a sip of his drink. Thought for a moment and asked, “Why’d you come back to Seattle? I thought you’d disappeared for good.”

“I thought so, too.”

Our personal history was rich with human detail. Wives and lovers shared and fought over. Lies exchanged routinely. Viciously competitive much of the time. Cooperative for only a short period. But somehow we’d maintained a connection through it all.

“It’s really good to see you, Jon.”

“You too, Tommy.”

My drink arrived, and I took a sip. Jon’s wife had left him just a couple months earlier. I was newly married – best decision ever.

The last 10 years had been rough for the city, and for both Jon and me.

With the corporate takeover of Seattle, rebuilding had been dramatic. Riots, pandemics and political, social and economic upheaval, all damaging, had led to a loss of half the population.

The suburbs were gone, mostly burned out during the years of riots and then overgrown or returned to farming. The flood plain south of the city was a giant vegetable and berry farm. Dairies and cattle took much of the land north and east of the city. The population had consolidated into the city proper, with high-rise business towers converted into living spaces.

Seattle’s bio community and its corporate-tech titans had saved the day. New methods of vaccine creation and manufacturing had stopped the waves of pandemics. Digital technology made population control and distribution of goods and services easy. The new tech – bio and other – replaced the wealth lost in the dark years. The Gates Foundation guided much of the rebuilding of Seattle and the nation. Amazon, Microsoft and Boeing employed almost everyone in the region.

High-speed rail linked Seattle to the other controlling cities in North America. Washington, DC, was gone. The launch of the nukes from a U.S. sub was said to have been an accident; no one really knew for sure. But what we did know was that the Trump administration was gone, along with the man himself. Not a peep from any of them since; the nukes had cleared a hundred-mile circle. Pentagon gone, too. The power of the former military-industrial complex was now in the hands of the corporate moguls.

“So, Tommy, you were one of the insiders with GM during the dark days. What do those in the know say really happened?”

“No one I know says anything.”

I paused. Happy to be sitting here alive with an old friend. Happy to be alive. Happy to be in love with Robin. I took another sip of my bourbon. I didn’t drink much these days, and I could feel the warm glow coming on.

“Jon, the conspiracy theories have got this covered. They make the Kennedy assassination theories look podunk.

“Since the sub never surfaced and was never found, we can’t know: Was it a rogue group of sailors? Was it a plot by the military-industrial complex? Was it China? Was it Russia? Was it Iran or North Korea? A militant Muslim group? Was it Bill Gates retaliating for the hurt Trump caused his buddy Warren Buffet? Who knows?”

Jon smiled. He hadn’t expected an answer. Then he asked, “Shall we order lunch, or just sit here and get drunk?”

“I’m feeling it already. Let’s order.” It was raining harder now, mostly sideways. Pounding the windows as we were shown to our table.

“Tommy, I meant it when I said you’re looking good. Yes, we’re old. But we’ve survived, and not all our work was creating lies and screwing the people.” Jon held up his glass, and we clinked.

I was thinking, “I wonder what Jon wants from me.”

But I replied, “I love you too, Jon. To us.” And we clinked glasses again.

“So, Tommy, what’s really happening here? You and Overture caused quite a fuss a few years ago. That’s why you disappeared. Disappeared with the law on your tail.

“Must have been like your misspent youth. Zip guns and all that.”

My youth wasn’t nearly as exciting as Jon was suggesting. But might as well go with it.

“Well, no one was shooting at us, but we did manage to slip into Canada without being seen. All good. And we hung out in the Circle City camps until the dust settled on the DC thing.

“With Seattle emerging as a center, and with the completion of the high-speed rail and the borderless relationships between Seattle and Vancouver, we were asked to return to our work with Overture in Seattle.”

“The corporations want harmony, not strife. With practical solutions to energy and with oil gone, the titans want the environment cleaned up. Escaping to the moon or Mars is not a real solution. Terraforming moons and planets will take centuries. Cleaning up Earth is much easier.

“So our job at Overture is helping build cooperative cultures among diverse teams, so we can grow a better, more cooperative world.”

Our lunch arrived and I asked, “What’s on your mind, Jon? Can I help? Can Overture help?”

The post Chapter 30: Finally appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

Jessica turned and asked Sara what she was talking about.

“Sorry. The last outbreak of COVID. I got a call from Rosa, our Circle City LA director, early this morning. They had three deaths last night. Testing this morning showed it was a new form of COVID.”

Jessica, Tommy and Sara were in a private lift to the Port of Everett. A lift that was regularly screened for bugs and tracking devices.

“A new form? Meaning the vaccine won’t work?” Tommy was thinking out loud.

“Apparently.”

“So that means back to masks, separation and so on.”

“Yep, and another opportunity for the super-rich to gain even more control through both legislation and continuous corporate consolidation. We lost most of our mom-and-pop retail back in the ’20s.” This from Jessica. “And with overt medical rationing…” Her thoughts trailing off.

Dead, gone, lost

Jessica had been in the thick of the fight against the misinformation from the Trump administration in 2020. Misinformation that had resulted in “officially” more than a million deaths in the United States. A total of more than a million had been widely reported. Could have easily been millions – many millions. No one really knew how many had actually died. Deaths among the homeless, the poor and the disenfranchised hadn’t been part of the official count. “No need to worry about them” was the official line.

Most of the millions had died in the “red states” and the Deep South. They’d died even though they overwhelmingly supported Trump. They supported him with their families dying around them. They supported him in spite of the fact that he seemed less and less in control of his own pronouncements.

One had to admit that the White House team did a good job of keeping the boss in charge, providing a sea of enablers to kept him afloat. Enablers preventing any intervention that could have threatened the steady growth of neoliberal power.

Pandemic enrichment

Jessica went on: “The last time, 2020-21, we saw how mega-corporations and the super-rich used the crisis to their advantage. We could see another wave of that.”

She paused, and then…

“And we saw how groups of corporate elites rallied around Trump to keep the economy tilted to their advantage.”

Tommy remembered it well. The thing about American capitalism was that disruptions always provided opportunities that could be played to an advantage. On the surface that seemed fine. Adapting to circumstances is supposed to be one of the great strengths of the American Way.

But it got ugly when you look a little deeper. The built-in advantages for those with the most served to leave out those with the least.

Prior to the COVID outbreak in the ’20s, private capitalists had maximized profits by not producing and storing tests, masks, ventilators, hospital beds and so on. Epidemiologists had predicted a pandemic years in advance of the outbreak, and urged healthcare providers to prepare. But there’s no profit in manufacturing and storing things that won’t produce immediate cash flow.

When the giant retailers Macy’s, Neiman-Marcus, JC Penney, Sears and Kmart failed because of stay-at-home orders to reduce the virus’ spread, their former employees were reduced to searching for job that paid minimum wage – or less. Mom-and-pop retail ceased to exist. Walmart, Costco and Amazon expanded, taking the market share of the losers and hiring a handful of those who’d lost their jobs.

Together, those business failures and thousands of others created 30% unemployment in the rich countries, and 250 million dead in the poorest – while the super-rich got richer. Jeff Bezos’ wealth was said to have increased by $25 billion in the first two months of the COVID pandemic alone.

With a shrewd investment strategy and growing political power, the Gates Foundation became a shadow government that gradually gained more power and wealth than the actual U.S. government. Private contractors took over most of the functions of the military. All this was facilitated by the pandemic disaster.

The great irony

Trump’s run for office had been supported mostly by those who felt left out. Those who felt the country needed the kind of structural change that only an outsider could provide. His voters included – ironically – many from the left who had supported Democratic socialist Bernie Sanders.

Once in office, Trump’s reality-TV style and social media mastery kept him in the news on an unprecedented, almost hour-by-hour basis. His supporters loved him for it.

Republicans, with a lock on the Senate and the White House, used their power to keep Trump’s support strong with signature issues like immigration, guns and abortion, while reducing environmental standards, increasing carbon production and growing the number of the military, military contractors and the police. Along the way they increased weapon production and weapon stockpiles. And through it all they reduced taxes for big business and increased the national debt, while erasing the rules that had previously held corporate power in check.

The federal government became weaker and weaker through this period. Although polls showed the percentage of Trump supporters to be well below 50% throughout his first term, his consistent supporters remained enthralled with the disruptive nature and style of their champion. And he rewarded them with his often-outrageous advice, like injecting disinfectants to beat the virus. They took these outbursts as the normal reaction of “their man” fighting an uphill battle on their behalf – beating back the evil and elitist doctors, scientists and scholars they hated.

So Trump curried a consistent, committed base of followers: a base that hated being talked down to by the elitists so much that they would walk through fire for him, and even follow his preposterous suggestions.

Polls also showed that something like 80% of America’s police and military were Trump supporters. The base had their guns, and knew how to use them.

The base also wanted control. They wanted the country white. They wanted women subservient. They wanted the circle of power to include them and no one else. They wanted the kind of stability that only iron-clad dominance could provide. They believed America could best provide them upward mobility as entrepreneurs, or within the corporations Ayn Rand described in “Atlas Shrugged.” So when corporate power surpassed government power, the base cheered.

But the base didn’t react when their healthcare and Social Security were threatened. The base didn’t notice or care when the rivers and lakes gradually became dirtier. It was as though the base was so committed to Trump’s tearing down the institutions they felt symbolized their lack of power, that they didn’t recognize the threats to their own interests.

The boat

It was dark when they arrived. Captain Bob met them on the dock. “I wasn’t expecting to take her out this time of year. It’s going to be tricky getting her going.”

Sara introduced her group to Bob and his mate Jerry, and grabbed the lift back to Seattle.

The ramp from the dock down to the floats was moving all over the place as they descended. The boathouse was one of many built behind the breakwater at the Port of Everett. Tommy had heard that most of them held superyachts. All the boathouses were rising and falling on the swells. The breakwater had been built 20 years earlier; since then, rising seas had reached the point where high tides now routinely crested the barrier.

Tommy wondered out loud why the rich hadn’t stepped up and raised the sea wall.

“I’m looking for another place to moor her,” Bob said to no one in particular; he was clearly worried. “Thinking I can find a place in Vancouver. Probably have to take her wings off to conceal her.”

They went through the door of the rolling boathouse, and Bob flipped the lights on.

It was the strangest-looking boat Tommy had ever seen. He’d heard about these strange craft, but didn’t realize they’d actually built one. It had what looked like airplane wings – wings that were folded vertically against the sides of the hull and reached almost to the ceiling of the boathouse. Tommy figured it must be something like 30 feet to that ceiling. The hull was long and low, maybe the same length as the wings.

“Captain?”

“Yes.”

“What is this thing?

“It’s an airplane designed to fly while just barely touching the water. ‘Ekranoplan’ is the Russian name. ‘Wing-in-ground-effect’ is the English version, but the Russian name is more accurate.

“Johnny will show you aboard while I get the doors. We don’t have much time.”

Jessica had to ask: “Is it safe?”

But Tommy asked the more important question: “Can it fly below the border radar?”

“Yes,” Captain Bob said with a smile. “Why do you think you’re here?”

The post Chapter 29: Below the radar appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

It was over now. It seemed running was the only choice. Just then, the clouds let go. They were getting wet fast.

The Overture group started walking. Brie walked with authority, deep in thought. Tommy thought the last of the drugs must be wearing off. Jessica scribbled a note and passed it to Dan, who glanced at it and passed it on.

“Bike to Circle City’s warehouse?”

Anna shook her head and scribbled: “No. Lift to Circle City’s headquarters.”

Once in the lift, another note – this one from Brie: “Leave your phones under the seat in the lift when we get out.”

Get lost

Lana greeted them with “How can we help?” She’d heard the news.

“We want to lose ourselves in your camps. Is that possible?” Brie, Tommy, Jessica, Ryan, Anna and Dan all hoping this would work, at least until they could figure out something else. But this wasn’t something Lana could decide on her own.

Circle City was in most of the major U.S. and Canadian cities. Providing shelter, food, training and work for a vast and growing homeless, and mostly jobless, population. A population so vast that by some estimates it amounted to about 20% of the North American population.

Trumpvilles, as they were called, had sprung up everywhere.

Media

Overture Creative Cooperative Announces the Departure of Leadership

SEATTLE—Allison Downey, acting CEO of the Overture Creative Cooperative, today announced the departure of five senior officers and one founder. The organization has dismissed its CEO, Brie….

The media had a field day speculating about what had happened. Some said Overture had been under investigation by Homeland Security, and that senior officers had been detained. Others speculated that bribes and corruption were involved. There was no comment from either Homeland or Overture.

Brie and the escaping team were thrilled; that was fast! The release must have hit broad distribution even as they walked out the door. “Thank you, Allison,” she thought. “No need for me to reach out to Purple Morn or Bill Jones and his GM team. They’ll know what to do.”

It made Brie and the group proud. Now all they had to do was disappear.

Circle City

Lana returned with Andre, the Circle City COO, and Sara, the CEO, in tow.

Sara, mid-sixties, short and stocky. Tough. Had seen most of it if not all. Serious. Tommy thought she looked like someone who didn’t like risks but knew how to take them.

“Yes, we can make you disappear. You’ll have to separate. I suggest teams of two. Different camps, different cities. I think Oakland, Portland and Vancouver. Vancouver, Canada, that is. Nobody stays in Seattle; you’re just too hot. We can get you across the borders without being seen. In the camps you can live together but have different jobs or training routines.

“We have buses that shuttle our teachers up and down the coast. We’ll use them for Oak and PDX. I’ll get you on a boat to BC. The ports of entry will be well watched.”

Then Sara gave them the T-shirts and jackets. Each had a different design. “Wear these at all times. They have built-in facial ID protection. There are cameras everywhere, but with these on they can’t ID you. And this is important: Wear them all the time.

“I’ve got a friend who knows captains who run yachts for the rich. He’ll find you a boat a couple of you can crew on. Who’s got the most boat experience?”

Everyone looked at Tommy as he turned to Jessica. “We did OK in Montana. Want to come with me?”

Circle City provided them with clothes and a bit of luggage so they looked the part. The buses loaded in the building’s basement parking. Ryan and Brie took the one headed to Portland. Anna and Dan took another that also stopped in Portland but went on to the Bay Area.

Lana showed Jessica and Tommy into the apartment attached to the Circle City offices, while Sara worked her connections in the yachting world.

Crisis capitalism

Settled in, Jessica asked, “Remember that first COVID-19 pandemic, Tommy? The one in 2020?”

“Hard to forget. I was working with Tell’s at the time. One of our first clients.”

“Yes. But I was thinking about that massive get-back-to-work media push. It was the first time the status quo defenders really revealed themselves. It was the first time I noticed how in times of crisis, they look to grab more power.”

“Right, and they did it with blue skies and happy people, while hundreds of thousands were newly infected, and many were still dying. Especially the old, those of color and anyone disabled or disenfranchised. What’d they call it…?”

“Medical rationing.”

“Right. Bastards.” Then Tommy remembered…

Happy days

As the pandemic seemingly wound down, the campaign sprang forth, sweeping all media channels.

Only in America, the theme screamed while the films rolled…

Not a cloud in the sky. Happy families on pristine streets. Happy shoppers filling the scene, in cities scrubbed and bright. Cafés open and occupied. Arenas filled with smiling thousands. People hugging, kissing, breathing free. Bars and restaurants overflowing with a fit and healthy clientele. Colors bright, rich and full.

And over it all presided our smiling Father Don, reassuring us with, “See, what’d I tell you? It was nothing, really. I’ve made America great once again,” closing with his much-loved, rare little smile.

No masks

Not a mask in sight. Not a single exhausted healthcare worker to be seen. The half-million living on the streets trucked away for the shoot. Their tents and belongings swept away. Sidewalks cleaned of shit and urine.

The campaign was on…
Corporate coffers to be filled
An election to be won
And Sleepy Joe without a clue.
The White House told us so.

And we were ready for it. Desperate for the thoughtless consumption that defined the “American Way.” Desperate for that feeling of comfort, from a shopping trip or a meal in a crowded restaurant.

“Jessica, are you still awake?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you thinking of that time? It was awful. That pandemic put Trump back in the White House.”

The post Chapter 28: Crisis capitalism appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

Looked through the paper
Makes you want to cry
Nobody cares if the people
Live or die
-Leonard Cohen

“You’ve been released for a new growth experience,” the HR man said with a smile. A smile that said, “I don’t care if you live or die.”

“I didn’t catch his name,” she thought. “No shame in that. In a way he was nameless, with his utter lack of concern.”

Anna remembered the phrase well. It described her departure from a corporate job. A job she’d done everything possible to keep. Well, not everything.

It had been on a business trip, with her boss and others. Typical story: his hand on her thigh at dinner. First, shock; then she moved. Sliding out of the booth to her feet with “Excuse me, I must catch up with Marty before she departs.”

Safely joining the group around Marty, Anna had glanced back at her boss and seen that stupid grin on his face. An alcohol-infused, emboldened and entitled grin.

That night the pounding on her door had been so hard Anna thought the door would cave. It didn’t. She’d called the front desk. They’d sent security.

A week went by before she got the note from HR and she was out of there with her pathetic little box of personal items. A security guard on each side all the way to the street.

Word was that he’d hit on every woman in his department. Asshole. Old story.

Power

Anna put the memories aside. Older now. Perhaps smarter. Still vulnerable as she sat across from the two “Homies” – the derisive term for Homeland Security agents. Both with their current gov-issue virus proof masks in the little room, her interrogation in process. Old-style one-way glass, but she noted that the cameras and mics were built into the masks. “That’s novel,” she thought as she waited for the next question.

The memory slip must have been tripped by the aura of corporate power these guys exuded. Not sure what they were allowed these days; she shuddered. She’d heard these guys could get out of control. “Cool yourself, girl. Got to keep your head.”

They’d been asking her about Jessica and Tommy. They’d been asking about the work with GM. They’d been asking and asking. Anna knew Dan had been released quickly after the train had been stopped in mid-Montana. That Brie had been retained and still had not been released. Anna and the Overture team had assumed, with relief actually, that Homeland Security was only interested in Brie because her son Jamal had gotten away.

She’d answered the questions about Tommy and Jessica honestly. Told them she assumed they’d simply panicked. “You guys at Homeland have quite a reputation. They must have freaked.”

“And, Ms. Anna, what were you all doing at GM?”

“As I said – and I’m sure you know this – they’re our biggest client. We’re doing everything we can to keep them happy. There’s a huge social media push with the new fast train. The retraining of the workforce…”

And on it went. They never asked about Jamal. They never asked about Project Bella. They never did a lot of the things Anna worried about.

When they released her, she assumed she’d been wired somehow. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow,” passed through her mind as she headed home to crash.

Coming down

She got the call from Circle City on the way home. “Anna, Lana here. We heard you were retained. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I expect they’re listening to my calls now, not that we have any secrets. What’s up? I’m heading home to crash.”

“Of course. Sorry to bother. Remember that group you sent us? The three women…”

“Yes, of course.” A sinking feeling now. She waited for more.

“Well, Sofia, Bella’s mother, has turned out to be one of our best coders. She mastered the AI classes. And with her past corporate retail experience, we wondered if you could help her get in with Tell’s?”

Flooded with relief now. “Yes, we can help with that. I’m crashing now, Lana. Exhausted…”

“Thanks for all your help, Anna; talk later, get some rest. Bye.”

Anna was sure her apartment had been searched. Things seemed just slightly off. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” With that last thought, she crashed.

Brie is back

It was a rare sunny day.

She’d lost weight. Deep circles around her eyes. Dan had picked her up from the train. He wanted to take her straight home and tuck her in bed, but she’d insisted he take her to the office.

“I was drugged most of the time. I must have told them everything.”

They were in the big room, recently soundproofed. Currently free of bugs. Brie was sitting in the middle. The entire staff gathered around, and Anna had wrapped a blanket around her.

“So they know about Bella. They know Jamal is headed to Uruguay. They know about GM. They know about the reach to the orbiting data centers. They know about the influencer campaign. They know…” This from Dan.

“We have to assume they know it all.”

“Brie was harangued for days.” Brie so broken they were talking as if she wasn’t there.

“Why did they let her go?” This from Jessica, freshly back herself.

Giles answered: “Probably to see what we do. To see how we react.”

“So,” Tommy asked, “what have we heard from Detroit? Anything?”

A new reality

A pause as the raw reality of it all sweep them.

Brie stood. Dropped the blanket. Her voice unsteady for a moment, she said softly but firmly, “We must change.” Then stronger, “We stop all subversive work. Close it down. Leadership must change. Existing leadership is resigned today. All the rest of you continue on with current client work. Elect a new leadership group. I’ll speak to Bill Jones, Taylor and the Purple Morn team.”

She slowly turned a full circle, looking everyone in the eye as she did so. Thinner, tired, worn. Breaking the pause with, “Tommy, Jessica, Dan, Anna, Ryan, Giles – come with me.”

“No, leave your laptop. Coats only.”

“It smells like rain,” Tommy thought as they stepped into the street.

If you need individual help adapting to this new world sign up for consulting sessions here>>
 

The post Chapter 27: Raw reality appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

“We’re out of hand sanitizer.”

“We’re almost out of aspirin.”

“Generic and brand?”

“Yep.”

Tommy remembered it well. The conversation happened just as he was walking into the Tell’s executive conference room. He was about to present the plan assembled by the Overture team to the Tell’s board and senior executives. The presentation was designed to support Cathy Lents’ plan for the future.

Cathy Lents had been the CEO of Tell’s, a regional pharmacy, for two years. She was only the second nonfamily CEO.

But the coronavirus changed everything. Tell’s was one of Overture’s first clients. They’d become a client long before GM, and long before the rash of CEO shootings that erased the innocence from the creative consulting world.

Force for change

Cathy was about to change the focus of the meeting on the fly, from a progress report to dealing with COVID-19. “She was really good at these high-stakes pivots,” Tommy remembered.

It was not only Cathy’s insights as a client that helped Tell’s revise and adapt its strategy for a changed world. She’d been such a forceful advocate for Overture’s Theater in the Round process that the entire concept of fiction as a way to explore strategic business opportunities had emerged.

As the Tell’s leadership was assembling and taking their chairs at the big table, Cathy leaned into Tommy and whispered, “Tommy, we may be able to use parts of what we’ve prepared, but let’s start with a quick story of where this virus could take us….”

She paused as chairs scraped and the murmur of the group continued.

“And Tommy, if you could lead us in that effort…”

Tommy remembered the moment vividly, knowing it was the shock of being on the spot in unfamiliar territory that made him remember it in such sharp detail.

“Steady, boy,” he thought at the time. “This one’s for Cathy. Such a rush of feeling. You’d think I’m in love with her. Well, I do admire her leadership skills.”

Everyone was seated now, but still engaged in their private conversations.

Fiction as future

Tommy stood. Looking up and down the table, he called out, “Please bear with me for a moment. Cathy has asked me to put aside our planned Tell’s report on the planning process, for the moment at least. She’d like us to enter into a ‘strategic fiction’ process that explores the impact of the coronavirus.”

“Let me tell you a story. And as the story unfolds, please make notes on your pads of any thoughts that are triggered by the story I’m about to tell. Hold your comments until the end of the story. Okay?”

Then, without waiting for agreement, Tommy moved into the tale.

“In 2002 the SARS virus began its sweep of the world’s population centers. The management of a regional U.S. drugstore chain took notice. They realized that although the virus had not had much of an impact to date, there was a high probability that a much more infectious virus could be devastating.

“The management team began a study of the complex and multichannel supply chain they depended on. They quickly realized that not only was their supply chain vulnerable, the community they served was vulnerable economically and socially as well as health-wise.”

Tommy remembered pausing. Thinking he might be running out of material. He was making this up on the fly, after all. He looked up and down the table. Everyone was scribbling notes.

“With this realization of the danger, the company began an aggressive planning process. A process that resulted in….”

He paused his tale and addressed the audience in the moment. “I’ll sit down now and allow you to expand the conversation. By the way, the fictional company I’ve described is named Tell’s, and they operate in a parallel universe that’s adjacent to ours.”

Fire

Tommy remembered that the room immediately erupted with thoughts and ideas, and he smiled to himself as he leaned back on the broad vinyl seat. Jessica was driving the truck. The trusty truck had served them well; sadly, they’d need to abandon it soon.

At first it was only a few wisps of smoke.

Jessica turned on the radio… static, and AM only. “Didn’t they have FM in the ’70s?”

“They did, but it was probably an ‘extra cost option.’”

The truck bounced along the dusty track. Tommy and Jessica were heading for the high-powered transmission lines that crossed the Rockies from Montana into Idaho and Washington. They’d be able to contact Overture by multiplexing over the powerlines.

An AM station with country music filled the cab. At the end of the tune the announcer came on with news of the fires. It wasn’t good. The reporter treated the 3-million-square-mile fire as ordinary, which of course it was. These giant fires had been sweeping up and down the vast Western forests for years now. The only real newsworthy information was which roads were open and which were closed, based on the winds.

More smoke now. A sky tinted a pale beige.

“We’re going to have to ditch this truck and find our way onto a bus somewhere on I-90.” This from Tommy.

“Well, when we talk to the office maybe they can get us a couple tickets.”

Detroit

Taylor and his team had been dancing with the maintenance bots in the orbiting data cloud for a couple weeks now. Not taking any chances. Just watching the bots going about their routine tasks. In the process, the AI team and the engineering group were comparing what they were seeing with what they knew about these systems in other applications. All the while, they were getting closer and closer to the day when they’d be able to enter the data center’s servers directly.

“Taylor, with what we’re finding we think it’ll be possible to shut down some – maybe all – the communication channels between the data center and the Earth-based controllers.” This was from Aly, one of the GM crew leading the component study.

“So that’ll be a question for Brie, or whoever’s leading the influencer effort on the Overture side of Bella,” Taylor replied. “That’s great news, though. How soon will you know for sure?”

Contact

Ryan took the call. “Jessica! Where have you been? Is Tommy with you?”

“Yes, Tommy’s right here. We’ve been crossing most of Montana; first we escaped the goons, then… what’s happened to Brie?”

Ryan filled her in. “Brie is still in custody. Dan was released right away, and caught the next train. He’s here with us now. Giles has been pushing the feds hard to get Brie out. So far, no luck. We’re not sure, but we think she’s in Boise.”

He continued. “Dan saw you running from the train. He heard the Homies questioning the other passengers and discovering that you two were missing. Then, no memory. Drugged him. Where are you now?”

“We’re just outside Philipsburg, hoping you can figure a way to get us home from here.”

The Tell’s transformation

As Tommy and Jessica waited for the bus, Tommy slipped back into memories of the work with Tell’s.

The Tell’s team responded aggressively to COVID-19. They teamed with a group out of South Korea and introduced drive-through testing. They reconfigured their supply chain and increased inventory of critical supplies, and contributed to both the providing of housing initiated by Circular City and in making essential supplies available to the homeless.

CEO Cathy Lents used the COVID-19 challenge to align the Tell’s management and board, and put into action the changes needed for Tell’s to survive and thrive. But most of all, she got Tell’s ready to deal with the sweep of deadly viruses that followed.

And follow they did.

The post Chapter 26: Coronavirus changes everything appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

Got the money, wanna keep it.

Tommy left his seat and began walking up the aisle as the train slowed.

Living in a police state. Amazing how quickly things changed. Stock market continuously going up. Unemployment shrinking to almost nothing. And yet, 40% of us living below the poverty line, real wages shrinking, thousands living on the streets, local retail driven out of business by the chains and big-box stores, health insurance and housing unaffordable.

“That’s how it all started back in ’19 and ’20 when we started Overture,” Tommy thought. “And here I am in a world where Trump is running for a fourth term. And I’m about to run for my life.”

“Glad I’m a runner.” This as his feet hit the rocky track bed, train still moving. A stumble, thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.” Not looking, not slowing, he sprinted toward the low buildings just south of the tracts, having a flash of his childhood playing in the Georgetown freight yards. Noting that this wasn’t his usual casual pace. Glad it was dim – heavy cloud cover. Felt like rain. Yup, it was raining. Smells of creosote and raindrops hitting the dusty ground. Glad he was wearing his usual Stan Smiths. Hoping Jessica had decent running shoes on, too.

Making it to the cover of the first building, he stopped and looked back. Jessica was on her way. Tommy was glad she was wearing her usual black. Almost a shadow as she sprinted toward Tommy.

Jessica out of breath, red cheeks. “What now?”

Thinking out loud, he said, “If those goons were after us” –– a pause –– “we don’t have long.

“Let’s keep moving. No telling what’s happening back there.” Off they went down the two-lane blacktop. Tommy hoped they’d find a ride. But so far no one had passed.

“I think we’ve got to get off this road. If they’re looking for us, this is where they’ll look.”

Low hills. Crops – looked like maybe wheat.

“Got any idea where we are?” This to Jessica.

“Middle of Montana. I think we’d just passed Havre. So, middle.”

Teamwork

They crested a low hill and could see a house and barn at what looked like a mile or so off the road. “Let’s cut through the fields. Maybe we could shelter there, get help or whatever.”

They took off at a jogger’s pace. The field was wheat stubble and rough. Runnable, though. Down the backside of the hill, the road out of sight now. “Let’s stick to this gully. Might be out of sight from the road.” Tommy checked his watch. It had been just 30 minutes since they’d left the train.

No one was home. Good. No people, no dogs. Good, good. But they couldn’t stay there long.

House was locked. Try the barn. Padlocked, but breakable with a short length of rebar lying nearby. Inside was a well-used vintage pickup. Looked early-’70s to Tommy. “Great; it’s pre-computer. Keys might be here.” Checking the visor and under the mat. Then the jockey box, nope; tops of tires, nope. “If we can’t find the keys, I think I can hot-wire it. Keys would be better, though.”

Just then Jessica said, “Here’s some keys. Are these them?”

“Nice work! They look right to me.” Tommy slipped the key into the slot, and with a small prayer turned the key. Yes! A slow grind, then a clicking sound. Jessica sighed. Tommy smiled.

“We’ve got ourselves a ride. It’ll just take me a few minutes to get her going.”

“Where’d you find those keys?”

“There’s a shop over there. Keys were hanging with some tools.”

A quick look and yes, a battery charger on a shelf under the workbench. Tommy quickly lifted the hood, attached the charger and switched it to the start function. Checking his watch again as he swung into the cab. Forty-five minutes since they’d jumped from the train.

“Jessica, grab those work clothes that were hanging in the shop. They just might help us pass.”

The truck coughed and started making a hell of a noise and a bunch of smoke. Tommy jumped out, disconnected the charger and threw it in back. “Better safe than sorry” came to mind. He pulled out of the barn. Jessica closed the door and made the padlock hardware look as unbroken as she could.

“Jessica, I think there were some old maps in the jockey box. Let’s see if we can find a back way out of here.”

Prisoner

Brie awoke in the back of a van, strapped to a gurney. She could move her head, but that was about all. Awake now. Remembering.

“She’s awake.” This from the guy in white Homeland armor.

She resurfaced, then remembered seeing that they’d gotten Dan. Then nothing. “Must have drugged me,” she thought.

“Where are we? What are you doing? Why am I strapped down?”

“You’re under arrest for aiding in the escape of your son Jamal.”

“What? Jamal is in Seattle staying with friends…”

“No, he’s not. He’s gone. But you can tell your story to the Colonel.”

“I need to call my lawyer.”

“No lawyers where you’re going, lady.”

Analog

The truck was terrific. Four-wheel drive, a full tank of gas, and once it warmed up the smoking stopped. “Perfect,” Tommy thought; a little rust and lots of mud, but somebody had taken good care of her mechanically. Tabs were out of date and she complained when shifted into first. Synchros going, no speed-shifting this baby.

“Got to stay off the main roads,” Tommy thought, as they got back onto the blacktop, went a couple miles and passed several crossroads. Jessica was on map duty, and she’d found what she thought was a route that would lead them onto a series of farm roads that would take them west and south, toward the mountains and the main transmission lines.

Once off the blacktop and a ways out of sight, they stopped and changed into the work clothes, stashing their stuff into a bag Jessica had wisely grabbed.

Then they were off. Looking the part, and pleased with themselves for getting this far.

“Shit, Tommy, we’ve gone from being a nice little co-op bent on making life better for people and planet, to fugitives on the run. I had no idea what we were in for when I signed on with Overture.”

“Me either.” Tommy was used to the assumption that being a founder meant he had the answers. But of course he didn’t. He answered Jessica with, “None of us imagined it would get this bad.

Tommy reflected. “None of us imagined Overture being anything more than a creative consultancy. Helping organizations become better by treating people and the planet with respect.”

The truck hummed along. Dirt roads, flat and straight. Endless fields. Tommy and Jessica headed west, then south. Afraid to use their cellphones, they had to get close to major transmission lines to talk to the Overture Seattle team.

Billionaires

They took over the world. And we find ourselves living in their creation. A world that increases their power and decreases ours. We shake our heads to rid ourselves of the bad dream. But it won’t go away. We wonder how it happened. Then we remember the ’20 election, in which three billionaires competed for the presidency.

Tommy reflected on the irony of his own feelings: insane jealousy. Wishing he had that wealth at his disposal, just for a moment. That feeling of envy would just creep up on him. Then he’d catch himself and remember that the feeling itself was insane. Selfish. Ugly. Maybe at his core he wasn’t any better than they were. So here he was, pounding down a dirt road in an old truck. Trying to save the world

The post Chapter 25: The run appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

“Dad was referring to the carpenter, who was within earshot. ‘That man takes orders from me. He works with his hands.’ I looked from my father to the carpenter. His name was Steve. I really liked Steve. Then Dad said, ‘I work with my mind.’”

Relaxed and reflective, knowing Jamal was safe, the Project Bella team was on its way back to Seattle and Overture. Dan took a moment, then continued with his story.

“Although I didn’t say anything at the time, I vividly remember feeling extremely uncomfortable. I was so uncomfortable I was holding my breath. Not knowing what would happen. Knowing something would. Steve had clearly heard every word Dad had said. They say impactful emotional experiences are what we remember. And I sure remember that one.

“Steve stood, and smiled at dad. He slipped the hammer he was holding into the leather loop on his belt, and walked off the job. Steve never came back.

“I was little at the time. Maybe seven or eight. It was a long time ago.

“Maybe I remember it so well because I was attached to Steve, and I miss him still. I loved hanging around when he was doing his work. And on his breaks, if I was lucky he’d light up, exhale a long column of smoke, lean back and tell a story from his ‘hobo’ days when he rode the rails, living by his wits and occasionally by his fists. I loved Steve through the stories. Stories that showed me a different way to be a man. Different from Dad’s way.”

Dan paused and took a breath before going on.

“I knew even then that Steve was a happy man, and that Dad was a sad man.

Consulting

“Dad was a McKinsey man. Gone now. Died in his mid-60s. Was a serious drinker most of his life, although he hid it well. Dad’s clients were large companies, all of whom were looking for bigger profits. Considered a top analyst, which meant he knew where to find the money – and he ruined thousands of people’s lives eliminating jobs. Sometimes he eliminated entire departments; other times he’d find whole layers of lower managers to dismiss. Always, the formula included replacement labor at slave wages. Sometimes actual slaves were used.

“Now that I look back on it, I think his job made him mean. Mean to the core.”

Dan went on, the memory’s pain in his voice. “I think he was trying to toughen me for the meanness he saw in his everyday world. Trying to love me, but not knowing how.”

All this to the little group on the ride back to Seattle. Brie, Jessica and Tommy listened intently. Brie noted the tears on Jessica’s cheeks. Dan didn’t usually open up like this; that was more Tommy’s thing. But the report on what had happened to Jamal added to the stress of the last few days, and it had gotten to them all. The good news was that Jamal was safely on his way to Uruguay. It would take him weeks to get there, with his transit carefully managed through freight carriers and various homeless groups.

Rightsizing

Brie asked, “Dan, was your dad’s role at McKinsey always about ‘rightsizing’? I hate that word, but I’m so caught in the vernacular myself that I can’t get out of the jargon.”

“No, he started as a trainer right out of his MBA program. Mom said he was on fire with the idea of making the global economy more efficient and more inclusive.”

“That sure didn’t turn out well.” This from Tommy.

And then Jessica, who’d worked in consulting, said, “Dan, I remember when you told me you’d joined Overture because it was McKinsey’s opposite.”

“Well, the consequences of the rise of management consulting, and with it the single-minded pursuit of profits, destroyed the middle class. Dad got rich, but it destroyed him in the process.

“Perhaps when Dad started he didn’t know that economic inequality was the goal. Or that his work would contribute to the destruction of the middle-class life he and Mom dreamed of having.”

Analysis

“Well,” Brie interjected, “now we can see the damage. The shift from permanent to precarious jobs continued for years with McKinsey and their competitors. Using AI and algorithmic processing to automate all levels of the corporate world from the ‘C’ suite down, enriching shareholders and those at the top.”

Tommy, who had been listening intently, joined in with, “These fat, rich bastards turned our country and western Europe into a caste society. Baby Bella is testimony to the truly evil world we live in.

“We have to break the stranglehold elites have on economics and politics, and re-empower everyone else. They’ve built in structural inequalities…”

Brie interjected, “Shit, Tommy, structural inequalities have been fundamental to keeping us down since we left Africa. Welcome to the club, white boy.”

Tommy reddened. “Sorry, Brie, I do know better. Sorry…”

A pause

The train slowed. They were somewhere in the middle of Montana.

“Didn’t we book a nonstop?” Dan stood. “Uh oh; there’s a bunch of Homelanders in full combat gear up ahead.”

“Should we do something?” Jessica looked around. The other passengers were oblivious.

Back from Dan: “I know what Steve would do. He’d head to the front of the train. Jump off and run for those buildings.”

“Actually, let’s split up. Tommy, you and Jessica head to the front. Dan and I will head back. Leave your stuff, and go one at a time. Tommy, go now!”

The post Chapter 24: Structural inequality appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

Brie was on the line with Elizabeth, Purple Morn’s resident historian.

“Not always, Brie,” she said with a sigh. “There’s now strong evidence that we sapiens lived without war for something like 3,000 years in the Fertile Crescent, just before ag took off – about 10,000 to 13,000 years ago.

“After that, our history has pretty much been one of steady warfare.”

Elizabeth continued. “I’ve always felt a sense of hope that those 3,000 years of peace, if true, show that war is not innate in our ‘human’ nature.”

Brie was digging for background for the first salvo of social, directed at the influencers. Wars were what Overture wanted to stop.

Meanwhile

Under the Ballard Bridge in Seattle. No lights here. Really dark.

Bam! Thrown against the Dumpster. Then hit hard with fists before he could say anything. Jamal was down. Down and only conscious enough to see their police uniforms before passing out.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” The burly leader had to pull his men off the boy, who had blood streaming from his nose and the back of his head. “I gotta get more discipline into these guys,” he thought to himself.

“Listen, assholes, when I say ‘enough,’ you stop. You stop instantly.”

“He’s just another nigger on…”

“I don’t care what he is, you piece of shit. You work for me, or you don’t. Got it?” This said with hand on gun, nose-to-nose with the mouthy one.

Silence. No move. Then the mouth stepped back. “I’m sorry, Buck. I get it…”

This little interlude had given the bridge people time to gather. The group formed quickly, wondering what was happening.

Buck to his goons: “Shit! Pick him up. We gotta get gone.”

Jamal had just left the bridge camp after a visit with the activists living among the homeless. “Why the uniformed cops but no police cars?” wondered Travis. The small crowd was growing and moving closer – afraid to intervene, but knowing their presence and the photos they’d already uploaded would stop the violence.

Buck, seeing the shabby group approaching, turned back to his men. “Now! Move it! Pick him up and throw him into the trunk…”

The crowd was getting large now.

Travis: “You guys aren’t cops. Who are you?” Not expecting a response, and not getting one. “Put Jamal down and get the fuck out of here.”

Buck pulled his gun. The guys holding Jamal looked at Buck.

The crowd was clearly more than 50 now, and filling in the circle around Buck and his guys.

It happened fast. Buck fired a shot at the feet of Travis, riveting everyone’s attention. Sheila took the opportunity to hit one of the goons on the head with her bat. The impact was powerful; as he swayed, stunned, Sara pulled the gun out of his holster and put two bullets into Buck’s chest. Stunned, the leader staggered back and dropped to his knees. His vest had stopped the slugs, saving his life. But before he could respond, Moll pushed him to the ground and Travis grabbed his gun.

The remaining goon gently lowered Jamal and then put up his hands.

“Somebody get his gun. Cuff these guys.” This from Travis.

The doctors in the crowd attended to Jamal while the group, now pumped with adrenaline from their victory, started asking each other questions none could answer.

“Why attack Jamal?”

“Who sent these guys?”

“What’s going on?”

“Is Overture on somebody’s hit list?”

At the direction of the doctors, the group lifted Jamal and carefully carried him to the biggest of the mobiles. Others cuffed and duct-taped the fake cops.

Travis said to Jimmy, “Get the keys to the car and ditch it in that big Fremont garage, then get back here as quickly as you can.” And to Nani, “See what you can get off these guys’ phones. Especially the big guy’s.”

The lead doc said to Travis, “Jamal’s going to be fine. Just embarrassed that he walked right into that trap.”

“Dark here,” Travis replied. “Bridge and streetlights have been out for years. Ever since that upscale PCC closed. Sad; I loved that store.”

Why Jamal?

Overture’s night shift sent the evac drone for Jamal the minute they got the message. Brit was on duty, with Ryan as her backup. “Ryan, Jamal is in real danger now. Let’s get him out to the Tolt safe house. You agree?”

“Right. That should be good for now. I’m going to call Giles. Probably get her out of bed, but the law office has been following the connections between these supremacist groups and corporate leadership.”

“Okay, he’s safely airborne. Yes, call Giles; good idea. I’ll follow up with Travis. See what he gets out of the goons.”

Thinking out loud, Brit went on. “The Homeland goons beat him up pretty bad back when we were raided. He was only 15 then.”

Just then a sleepy Giles came on the line. “Jamal alright? Is Jamal alright?”

Brit answered, “The doctor said he would be fine. We’ve got our own people en route to check him out.”

“Good. Okay, yes, our investigators have established that newly legitimized connections exist between establishment energy, aerospace, Homeland and an array of supremacist groups with violent histories. The connections have been there ever since the ‘great replacement’ fears contributed to the growth of the white supremacy movement in the U.S., the UK and the EU. But now these extreme groups are much more free to act. They’re being used to isolate and terrorize communities of color, and to scapegoat nonwhites and Jews as the cause of middle-class whites’ income decline.

“We can’t use what we know in court or anywhere else, because of the changes in the Patriot Act.”

The message

The report from the bridge people included a photo of a “1488” tattoo. Giles provided the translation. “1488 is a reference to the 14 words penned by David Lane: ‘We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.’ And H is the eighth letter of the alphabet. So 88 is shorthand for HH, or ‘Heil Hitler.’”

“Shit.” This from Ryan. “Jamal’s black. His mother Brie is black. As our CEO she has a bit of power. This attack is a message.”

Brit said, “Yes, a message. Maybe that’s good news. Or maybe they just think we’re uppity people of color. Maybe…”

Ryan finished her thought. “If they knew what we’re actually doing, it wouldn’t be messages they’d be sending. It’d be bullets.”

Giles concluded with, “Get Jamal out of the country. And let’s keep Brie in that Detroit bunker. At least for now.”

War

Elizabeth went on with her history lesson to Brie: “Yes, we’ve had a long, horrible history of violence between groups. So it’s easy to slip into thinking that we’re predisposed to war. But extensive studies of violence in modern hunter-gatherer societies – groups that live as our nomadic ancestors did – suggest that warlike behavior is a relatively recent phenomenon.

“The period from roughly 10,000 to 13,000 years ago is notable for the lack of evidence pointing to conflict. Gobeki Tepe is a well-studied example.

“Gobeki Tepe is a monumental site in what is now southeastern Turkey. It was in active use by large groups of people for just under 3,000 years. The site includes no images of warfare, or signs of the victory celebrations so common in evacuations of later civilizations.

“Again, I find great hope in that peaceful period at the dawn of agriculture.”

The post Chapter 23: The nature of war appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.

Only partially awake, Brie could feel the fear. Taste it, actually. That metallic taste.

“I’m doing the right thing.” And again: “I’m doing… I mean, we’re doing the right thing.” Brie facing it now. Knowing the fear. Thinking through the risk.

“We’re living in a time where we can’t know the future.” That’s what Purple Morn’s resident historian, Elizabeth, had said. “Always before, we knew from the past what the future held. At least we had comfort that the future would have some continuation of the past.”

With so much fear and uncertainty in the world, it seemed possible people might wake up. Maybe, just maybe, people could be awakened to the underlying lie. And the danger of their enslavement for the most base of purposes.

“Well,” Brie thought, “we have our influencer plan. I hope it works.”

Micro-messaging

The thing about people is that they all have the need to individuate. To hold their own ideas and opinions. The thoughts that complete their individual picture of how things are – or how they should be. In the past the individual nature of people couldn’t be used against them. Now it could.

Enter the world of digital micro-targeting. And the ability of the elite to feed the fears of the masses, one person at a time. Feed the fears, and shape the future in the process.

The future gets uncertain when you can micro-target groups to inflame and divide. With first-world governments supporting only corporate growth. With military power used to advance corporate interests. When targeted lies are used to fuel aspirational desires and the deepest fears of the population, the possibility of absolute control by the few becomes real. “You can have all this,” the messages say, “if you can pay.” Work hard enough and you too can live in the towers in the clouds. Or maybe your children can, if you fall a bit short.

Never before in human history could human feelings be manipulated en masse andindividually so directly for the gain of the elite.

Brie had tossed and turned all night. She’d taken Overture’s CEO position years earlier, when the work had been about making their clients’ organizations better for people and planet. Now they were challenging out-of-control corporations and their governmental infrastructure. Before, the risks were losing an assignment or personnel to a competitor. Now the risks were prison time and loss of life.

A shiver shook her entire frame, and she found herself sitting up, fully awake now, in one of the little sleeping cubicles off the GM meeting room.

What’s changed

In the past we worried that those in power, “the elites,” were exploiting us. Now we’re becoming irrelevant. Irrelevant to the economy and the political system. They need us less and less. Factories run themselves. Ag is almost completely automated. Slaves are now valued for organ growing and, if desirable, sex.

Who has benefited from billionaires building luxury habitats on the moon? Other elites. Where are the breakthroughs in life-extending science being applied? Only to those who are able to pay.

Back in the 2020s, we first heard about life expectancy beginning to decline in the red states. Now the numbers are no longer being tracked.

With near-universal tracking, corporations and governments know our feelings, magnify our fears and control our desires. Governments and corporations can sell us anything they want us to buy – be it an idea, a product or a politician.

Want black voters to desert a candidate? Create fake clips showing the candidate insulting black voters. Send only to black voters.

Want brown immigrants shot on sight? Create an editorial solely read by gun owners, about immigrants raping white women.

Never before could our feelings be manipulated individually for personal gain with such absolute effectiveness.

Taylor gathers the team

“Okay, we’re fully in control of the maintenance bots. And the team is looking at the security that’s been set up to deal with intruders like us. Yes, they set up these systems expecting someone to come visiting. They were really careful with the maintenance stuff, not surprisingly.”

He paused for effect. Then, with a smile…

“One of our Googs recognized the handprints on the programming. He thinks he knows the woman who wrote most of the defensive code. Fact is, he’s been an admirer of her work for most of his career.”

Another smile.

“He dated her. Here’s the best part: They made a baby together. They’re not a couple, but still friends and very much in contact with each other.

“Know what she named the baby? Reality.”

Tommy couldn’t believe it. “After Reality Winner? The woman who served all that jail time for leaking the NSA surveillance document back in the Teens?”

“Yep.”

Then Dan, with the obvious: “You can’t be thinking of contacting her. With her job and using that name for her kid, she must be under total surveillance.”

Taylor turned, looked at Dan for a moment, and then said to the group, “We have a way. A back door, if you will. I’ll keep you posted.”

The post Chapter 22: Reality strikes appeared first on Ted Leonhardt.