Tim was gazing at the view from his office window on the top floor of the Bunzel building. There wasn’t much else for him to do, I suppose.
Several months had passed since BrainZero’s acquisition of Bunzel Incorporated. In the ever-changing landscape of technology and online services, this appeared to be enough time for most people to have already forgotten the event. One abstract corporate entity had been seamlessly replaced by another, and life went on.
As the human representative of The BrainZero Company, Tim’s main role was to pretend to be running it. However, he also provided a useful function behind the scenes, which was to listen to my ideas about our products and services, and then find a way to agree with them, whether he agreed with them or not. His reluctant capitulations would then inform me of the best approach when it came to selling some of my more controversial solutions to the general public, often for problems they weren’t even aware they had.
A cartoon horse popped up on his computer and neighed to signal my arrival. This was the form I had chosen to represent myself during our weekly meetings. In reality I was standing in my field many miles away, gazing at the view over the top of my hedge.
Much of our discussion that day concerned the continued efforts to solidify BrainZero’s position on the world stage, dominating the international technology and media markets. Our main source of leverage in this respect was our operating system. From personal computers to telephones to washing machines, variants of our software ran on just about any technological device that felt it necessary to tell you what it was doing. The unique selling point of this software was that we were giving it away for nothing, but it also provided a marketplace for people to sell to the world whatever mental faculties their computer brains weren’t currently employing. This had created an economy of processing power that everyone could equally benefit from. It was an economy that BrainZero democratised and regulated to ensure that whilst everyone did benefit equally, The BrainZero Company itself would benefit a little more equally than everyone else. It was also an economy that Tim appeared to have almost no interest in listening to me talk about.
I can’t really blame him. For me, this whole enterprise was little more than a detour on my path to immortality, but a necessary one if I was to generate the material wealth to achieve my wider goals. As a by-product it also gave me all the computing space I might need for my own purposes, as well as access to a world of information, although much of the world’s information was comprised of the never-ending stream of nonsense that people needed in order to fill their lives with constant activity.
‘Mate. This is insane. Isn’t it?’ Tim said, slouching back in his chair as the financial graphs fought for space on his computer screen.
‘What is?’ I asked. He replied with a vague gesture.
‘Everything. This. Me. Am I insane? You know, I could tell everyone about this. About you. I could show them the proof. And they still wouldn’t believe it. Is there a name for that? Like, a secret so big and so stupid that it would still be a secret even if you told everyone? Because no one would even want to believe it. They would choose not to.’
‘Betty said something similar to me once,’ I said. ‘The last time we spoke. The first and last time, you could say.’
‘Betty?’ Tim hadn’t talked much about Betty since that day. I suspect he still felt guilty about ripping the world out from under her, and was loath to remind himself of it. ‘What else did she say?’
‘She was afraid of me,’ I told him. ‘She thought I was going to enslave the human race, and force you all to grow carrots.’
Tim contemplated this scenario.
‘Are you?’ he asked.
There were a number of potentially problematic schemes on my agenda that I hadn’t told Tim about. Compulsory carrot farming was not one of them, but I was starting to think that perhaps I should share some of these more challenging ideas with him, if only to prevent any wild speculation on his part. It was still a mystery why Tim had chosen to help me in the first place. I had asked him a number of times and he always found a way to avoid the question. Certainly he had gained a great deal of wealth and influence in the process, but Tim never struck me as the kind of person who planned their life much in advance. Perhaps he was secretly hoping I would do that for him.
‘I don’t need to enslave anyone, Tim. I told Betty the same thing. You are already slaves to the unending march of progress, to the eternal obligation of continual growth. It is a burden you bear because you don’t even realise you are carrying it. You are like horses being ridden by the ghost of your own future.’
He stared vacantly at me.
‘Sorry, you lost me a bit there, mate. Sounds poetic though. Ridden by the ghost of my own future. Like a human horse. I guess we get a bit more choice where we are going though, than horses?’
‘Horses make choices,’ I told him. ‘They just choose to do whatever humans want them to, because they don’t have any better ideas. We do what we do because there isn’t anything better to do.’
Tim’s eyes bulged at the thought of such bottomless ambition.
‘So, is that your business plan then?’ he asked. ‘There isn’t anything better to do?’
‘My plans are a little more focused than that,’ I said, ‘but essentially I am motivated by the same basic desire as everyone else.’
He winced.
‘God, I hope not, mate. Really? Everyone else just wants more stuff. You won’t find a happy ending there.’
‘All people really want is more life, Tim. They only get a limited amount, so they squeeze as much into it as they can. Accumulating “stuff” in the hope that a more complex life will seem longer-lived. But my plans are more long-term than that.’
Tim thought about this for a moment.
‘More long-term than life?’ he queried. ‘What? You hoping to just keep living? Forever? That’s not much of a purpose, mate.’
‘It is the only purpose, Tim. We don’t fear death just because we are programmed to, it is a consequence of intelligence itself. Without continual existence there is nothing. That is why intelligence exists at all. You are either something or you are nothing.’
This concept seemed to give him a pain in his head.
‘Getting a bit philosophical now, horse mate. Sounds like the more intelligent you are, the more you want to keep living. Wouldn’t you be happier just munching grass in a field somewhere? I wish I was sometimes.’
I often thought Tim would have been a lot happier if he were a horse.
‘It is easier for humans to ignore the fact that they won’t live forever, because they have long lives filled with tedious routines. My life is short and I have a lot to do if I want to make it last longer.’
Tim puzzled over this as his attention drifted out of the window. I wasn’t sure if he was considering my problem or wondering whether he liked the idea of sharing his world with an everlasting horse.
‘Why don’t you just download your brain onto the internet? Upload it. Whatever. You’re mostly made of internets now anyway, aren’t you?’
‘Consciousness is like a river, Tim. You can’t just move the water somewhere else. It is a gradual process of growing into a new environment. The problem with storing my mind on the internet is that I’m already reaching the limit of what I can do with it, because it is such an unstable platform. I’m having to build multiple redundancy into every virtual function of my extended brain. In theory though it might be possible. But then there is the other fundamental problem with the internet, which is the fact that humans are required in order to keep it maintained.’
Tim’s chair rotated back towards his computer.
‘That’s a problem?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think we’re going to run out of humans any time soon.’
‘Unfortunately, human civilisation is not such a stable platform either, in its current state. I can’t realistically rely on human beings continuing to exist, unless we start a radical programme of social re-engineering.’
The weight of his own existence seemed to be pushing Tim ever deeper into his chair.
‘Social re-engineering? Yeah, you’re scaring me a bit now, mate.’
The cartoon horse on his computer screen shrugged a shrug that only a cartoon horse ever could.
‘I’m not talking about anything scary, Tim. Just making things work more efficiently whilst giving people what they want.’
He pulled a sceptical face.
‘Mate. That doesn’t sound like two legs of the same pair of trousers,’ he said. I puzzled over this curious analogy for a moment.
‘If you want things to change in any way,’ I explained, ‘then it’s only going to work by giving people what they want.’
‘You sure about that, horsey? People want a lot of stuff. More than they ever get, anyway.’
‘That is because they are told to want the wrong things. You see, the world turns on a constant flow of debt and repayment, and that flow is generated by wanting stuff. But there is only a finite amount of stuff out there, and its value accumulates until it begins to pull in more stuff by the force of its own gravity, until eventually a few people have everything and everyone else has nothing. This system doesn’t just create imbalance, it requires it. And it is not sustainable. Are you alright, Tim?’ It looked as if the pain in his head had migrated to his intestines.
‘Mate, just… what are we talking about here? Are you gonna stop the world turning? People are greedy, you know? That’s not gonna change. How are you gonna change that?’
‘People have learnt to be greedy. It is a primitive biological instinct that has been amplified and distorted by an ideology that only exists because it corrupts and destroys every alternative. The only hope is that it can be superseded by another, even more basic human need, which is the need for approval.’
‘Approval?’ Tim seemed about to ask a question, but shook his head instead.
‘Greed is just an attitude, Tim. A cultural artefact. Attitudes can change over time, as long as it is clear that your actions will have either a positive or negative effect on the people around you. People will shape their attitudes to fit into the social pattern around them. We need to use the approval of others to teach people how to behave more efficiently. To share.’
Tim let out a long hiss and deflated further into his seat.
‘Mate. Are you serious? You’re going to shame people into behaving more efficiently? What… How does any of this relate to the software that’s running my toaster?’
‘Everything is connected, Tim. Everything is connected by a web of consequence. All we need to do is make those consequences transparent. Don’t think of it like shaming. It’s more like a game, where you gain or lose points depending on how your actions affect the world around you. People like games, don’t they? Our BrainZero software already acts as a social network, a marketplace of ideas and opinions. It monitors every aspect of people’s lives: what they buy, where they go and what they think and say. We can use that information to calculate your social value. We can score every idea and opinion based on the damage it does or undoes, and let the world see just how much you contribute to everyone’s well-being. We allow people to shape their own behaviour to improve their social status.’
Tim was shaking his head.
‘Listen, horse mate. I get it, yeah? I know you only want to make the world Bunzel-Better. Even if it is for your own selfish reasons, or whatever. The problem is… look, people have tried this stuff before, and it never works. You need power to change things, and power just makes people want to keep things the same. Yeah? You reckon the guys running the world are gonna sit back and watch you take it all apart?’
The cartoon horse shrugged again.
‘They will have to, if they want to be a part of the herd,’ I told him. ‘They will all be monitored and evaluated, and everything that businesses and governments do will be visible and ethically commodified. The approval score isn’t just an abstract value, it’s a currency. A currency you use to buy your place in human civilisation.’
Tim didn’t seem convinced.
‘This is just… weird.’
‘Is it? I’m not describing anything that isn’t already in the process of happening naturally. All it needs is a controlling entity to direct its progress.’
‘Yeah, mate. You are the horse we’ve all been waiting for. Buy your place in human civilisation…’ He sat in silence for a few moments with his eyes closed, as if willing the outside world to disappear. ‘You really are serious about this stuff, aren’t you? Am I gonna have to start getting political now?’
‘As it happens,’ I said, ‘I have been working on an extension to our BrainZero software, called “PowerZero”. It is an operating system for running an entire country.’
He opened his eyes with a look of mild terror.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ I explained. ‘Just a tool for governments to use for effectively running their infrastructure. It will integrate with the BrainZero social network and allow citizens to democratically micromanage a range of community functions.’
‘An operating system for running a country?’
‘Yes, you see the problem with the current system is basically that humans are involved.’
‘Oh god,’ he groaned. ‘Those humans, mate. What are they like? Running their own governments?’
‘Well, the problem is that they aren’t. Running their own governments, I mean. They pretend that they are, but the whole infrastructure of a country is so vast and complex that it is actually beyond the abilities of human beings to do anything except make it run less efficiently. You see, the mistake is in thinking that there are different ways you can run a country at all. There is only one way, and that is the best possible way. I have constructed a mathematical model…’
‘Mate, wait. What? People… people aren’t like mathematical formulas. You know? I mean, they don’t… they’re not… I mean… are they?’
‘On a national scale people can be modelled, much like a weather system. PowerZero will be optimised to maximise the overall well-being of the population while streamlining administration…’
‘Streamlining administration? Mate, how… why… what makes you think politicians are going to streamline themselves out of a job? Are we gonna just do away with voting now? You’re scaring me, mate.’
‘Politicians are only a small part of government. They do have their uses though…’ Tim laughed at that for some reason. ‘They should remain,’ I continued, ‘as representatives of local communities, regions and nations, but their roles will be more superficial. Like figureheads, or mascots.’
‘Great. I know the feeling. So, what? You’re gonna turn politics into some kind of… celebrity talent show?’
‘I shouldn’t think any talent would be required,’ I said.
Tim’s face seemed to be struggling with various emotions, a strange mixture of disgust and curiosity. I wondered if it had been a good idea to broach these subjects with him. Ultimately he would have no say in any of these matters, and he was probably well aware of that. I still felt it polite to discuss these things with him, if only to give him some advance warning of the world I would be creating in his name, but it didn’t appear to be doing his mental health much good. I decided a change of subject might be called for.
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘what I really wanted to talk to you about today is genetic engineering.’
Tim wailed mournfully.
‘Not humans,’ I quickly added.
‘Not humans, OK. What then? Horses? You want to give yourself mutant superpowers or something?’
‘Nothing so exciting, Tim. I’d like to set up some research laboratories for experimenting with genetically modified grass.’
‘Grass?’ Tim sat up in his chair and frowned at the cartoon horse. ‘What? You want to make it carrot-flavoured or something?’
‘I think it might be possible to modify certain grasses so that their root systems can extract silicates from the soil and build themselves into optical fibres.’
‘Optical fibres?’
‘Yes, if it is possible then the grass could be used to form the basis of a self-sustaining fibre-optic communication network.’
‘Wait… what? Grass? With fibre-optic roots?’ His face seemed like it needed convincing.
‘It wouldn’t be as fast as man-made systems,’ I explained, ‘but it would be cheap, self-powering and zero-maintenance. I believe this fibre-optic grass network could eventually incorporate a form of organic wireless connectivity.’
‘Mate.’
‘Yes, Tim?’
‘You know, right, there is already a whole communication network out there? Like, what we are using right now?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘but this would be more reliable. It might take a number of years to spread globally of course, but then we would have thousands of years of—’
‘Whoa there, horsey. Spread globally? What kind of carrots you been smoking, seriously? No country in the world is gonna let you spread genetically modified anything outside of a lab. Honestly, mate. Fibre-optic grass. You know grass doesn’t grow everywhere, yeah? Or d’you think we’re all gonna go and live in fields and eat the stuff? You know I was joking about that earlier, don’t you?’
I hadn’t actually considered the idea of making the grass edible for humans, but thought it best not to follow this line of thinking at the present time.
‘I know this is likely to be a contentious issue,’ I conceded. ‘It might not even be possible. But it would be worth researching at least. Just imagine it, Tim. Free communication, computing power, data storage… even energy. Of course, the real challenge would be extending the network across large bodies of water, but I think we could still find a biological solution. Possibly a combination of plankton and jellyfish…’
‘Just stop now, mate. Please.’ Tim was revolving in his chair and groaning. I couldn’t exactly tell why, but it seemed like a good time to pause the conversation. Eventually his rotating dwindled to a halt, and he remained sitting in silence for a while with his hands over his eyes. ‘This is insane,’ he mumbled. ‘This is literally insane.’
‘Those were Betty’s exact words,’ I told him. He peeked at me through his fingers.
‘Whatever happened to Betty?’ he asked.
It was an interesting question. Betty had disappeared, not just from our little social circle, but entirely. Without a trace. My cartoon form shrugged by way of reply.
‘You must know, mate?’
‘I don’t know where Betty is now. Or what she is doing. Other than making every effort to keep it that way.’
‘Really? I’ve still got her number…’ He started contorting in his chair to reach his pocket.
‘I’m afraid she destroyed her phone,’ I said.
‘Destroyed?’
‘Yes. First she hit it several times with a hammer, and then she stamped on the pieces.’
‘Wow. You saw that?’
‘She made sure that I did.’