FEDERATION Complete Trilogy (Federation Trilogy), page 68
‘Wow, Tirrin. This is wonderful. Not had skirrit steak for months.’
Emily was apprehensive about the first mouthful, remembering the rancid flavour of skrat. Perhaps all Hegrudon food tasted terrible to humans, but no, the skirrit steak was incredible. A little more like lamb than beef and then the yeen, like mashed potato, but with the subtle flavour of asparagus. Emily saw herself cutting into the katrolos. Brune scooped some gravy onto the blue coloured vegetable and ate it. Wonderful. If you could forget the colour it was like eating deep-fried sweet potato wedges.
All the time, Brune’s brother and sister-in-law were telling him about their lives, his latest novel and where they were going on holiday this year. To Brune, it all seemed like dreams. He couldn’t see any way he could ever afford to take his family away again.
Between mouthfuls, he said, ‘I’ve a plan to get fifty meckets, set up that paddock at the end of the garden for them and trade the eggs for produce others are growing.’ He swallowed another juicy piece of steak. ‘If we keep some of the eggs, we could maybe build up the numbers to a hundred over a year or two.’
‘I can’t believe you’d need to be doing that.’
‘No other way, brother.’
‘Sounds a nice idea,’ said Tirrin. ‘I’ve always loved watching meckets burrowing. You’ll have to watch they don’t escape.’
‘The burrowing is just for food, Tirrin. They never dig very deep and it keeps the ground turned over. We can swap the garden for the paddock every couple of years. Meckets make good fertiliser too. I’ve been reading up on them.’
‘You think it’ll work?’ asked Yarold. ‘Will it let you live better. I still can’t believe you ate skrat.’
Brune put his fork down. ‘There’s a problem. I’m short four hundred desos to buy the meckets.’ He continued to eat.
‘You want a loan?’ asked Yarold.
‘Well,’ said Brune, looking his brother in the eye. ‘It might take years to pay it back. You might have to take it in eggs.’ He laughed. ‘But I won’t be offering a quad-cycle delivery service.’ Tirrin and Yarold began laughing too.
‘Don’t want it back, brother. Not unless things change. And if the damn robots learn to concoct and deliver a proper plot, I’ll take it in eggs then!’ They all laughed again. ‘What’s the cost? Is four hundred enough?’
‘The meckets are four hundred. An extra hundred to keep us going until our crop is ready and the meckets start laying wouldn’t go amiss. Hind is at her wits end with feeding us all.’
‘That’s a done deal, then Brune. Call it a straight thousand.’
‘No, no, I can’t take that much.’
‘Well I never loan less than a round thousand, brother. Makes the paperwork less tricky, and I’ll expect five or ten eggs every now and then as interest, but only if you can do that without having to resort to eating skrat again.’
Brune stood up, pulled his brother off his seat and gave him a huge hug, tears rolling down his cheeks, leaving damp areas on his facial fur.
Tirrin joined in the hug and said, ‘You should have come to us much earlier. We had no idea things were so bad.’
‘It’s very general,’ said Brune. ‘We know many in a worse state than us. People with small crops like ours or a few animals have had them stolen. I guess people are that desperate.’
‘The government needs to do something,’ said Yarold.
‘But what? The way I see it,’ said Brune, ‘only a rich handful of people like you and business owners are buying anything, and what they do buy is provided by other rich people.’
‘We’re not rich, Brune. Just comfortable,’ said Yarold.
‘Not any longer, brother. No one is “just comfortable” anymore. You either still have an income or you are in abject poverty. To more than ninety-five per cent of the population you are stinking rich.’
‘It’s as bad as that?’ asked Tirrin.
‘It is. People who own the businesses are living a life of luxury, so are the people who invested in them, but when you see what happened to Gistik and his successful bakery, it seems to me that the millionaires who own the automaton companies will eventually take over everything else. The Gu Harone bakery is just one step from being put out of business by something bigger and better. Robots can even produce niche products. Nothing is beyond them, these days and, Yarold, their owners will be after your income sooner than you might think.’
‘I had no idea. Hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Tirrin.
‘It is only when it happens to you that you realise the extent of the problem. Even if the government does do something, it will still leave Hegrudon with two classes. The people who can still earn money and those who live in poverty. Such a system can only work when the number of unemployed is relatively small and relatively stable. Once almost everyone is in that situation, the system breaks down.’
‘But won’t lots of small businesses like your mecket project fill the gap? If you do well, won’t you try to get more land and expand?’
‘That is exactly the problem. If I do have some success and begin to expand, I’ll soon acquire robots and expand more and each time I do that, other mecket egg producers will be squeezed out, because, with my lower overheads after using robots for a while, I’ll undercut the other producers and start, perhaps, to bridge the gap with the wealthy, until, that is, one of the big egg producing robot-run companies sees my expansion as a threat and they’ll wipe me out. Back to square one.’
‘So, what is the answer?’ asked Yarold.
‘I have no idea,’ said Brune.
‘Give me your account details and I’ll transfer the cash,’ said Yarold.
‘No good. I’m overdrawn and they’ve closed my account.’
‘Really? That’s diabolical,’ said Tirrin.
‘All part of the problem, I’m afraid,’ said Brune.
‘How much overdrawn? You’ll need a bank account.’
‘Too much. Thousands and most of us are trading items rather than money now. If you can give me cash, that’ll get me up and running and I might try to open a new account with the remainder but can never go back to our bank. We’re lucky we paid off our mortgage two years ago.’
‘I was going to ask about that,’ said Yarold. ‘At least your home is safe. But won’t the bank come after it as an asset. What do you owe them?’
‘Eight thousand.’
‘Phew!’
‘We could do that, darling,’ said Tirrin.
‘We certainly could, but I hate to think of a bank taking all that money for doing nothing,’ said Yarold. ‘Brune, speak to them and ask them how much they’d settle for to write off the debt. If there are these sorts of debts throughout the world, they might take an offer. Tell them your brother has offered you two thousand if they’ll write the whole debt off. Worth a try.’
‘You’re so kind,’ said Brune. ‘Can you get me the cash?’
‘I’ll get it tomorrow and bring it over to you, and that two grand is sitting there if you need it. More if necessary, if the bank won’t play ball.’
‘Thank you, Yarold, Tirrin. You have no idea how much this means to me.’
‘You want to get back? I’ll call a pick-up to take you and the cycle home,’ said Yarold.
‘And I’m going to give you a basket of goodies. I’ll put in a couple of frozen meckets, half a leg of skirrit and some vegetables,’ said Tirrin.
‘No. Nothing frozen. We’ve no power.’
Tirrin and Yarold looked at him aghast. ‘No power? Have you got water?’ asked his brother, most taken aback with the news of the lack of power.
‘Water, yes. But it’s okay, with that extra money I can get power put back on,’ said Brune, ‘but it’ll take a couple of days.’
‘How much is owed?’ asked Yarold.
‘You can’t do any more for me.’
‘How much!’ said Yarold severely.
‘Three hundred.’
‘You’re sure? Is there anything else likely to cause a problem?’
‘No, brother. That’s it.’
‘Okay. I’ll bring thirteen hundred over tomorrow and no arguments. I’ll call that pick-up.’
‘I’ll still give you one of the frozen meckets. Hind can cook it tomorrow. I’ve also got half a mecket pie here, so I’ll put that in the box too,’ said Tirrin. ‘That’ll do you for tonight.’
‘You’re too kind. I hate needing charity,’ said Brune who began weeping again. Emily was sure she was crying too.
The blanket of blackness descended once more.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
As the veil lifted, Emily found herself seated at a polished wooden table, some fifteen feet long, surrounded by people of yet another species. They were not too “odd” from the human perspective, about two metres tall, slender and had the colour and shininess of a ripe rhubarb stick. Their features were human-like with a central mouth, two eyes above and ears on the side of their heads. Under the mouth, where a human chin would be, she saw four flared nostrils. She noticed that the nostrils were in almost permanent movement, as if continually sampling the air, like a rabbit or guinea pig. She found herself regularly sniffing and she could sense no end of complex odours. Some were being emitted by her neighbouring creatures. Usually pleasant, but occasionally slightly pungent. She wasn’t sure that she liked the idea of continually being aware of the odour of her two neighbours and the three sitting opposite.
She snapped herself back to the matter in hand and realised that, because of the distraction of the smells, she’d missed some of the conversation, or debate, or whatever this meeting entailed.
‘But there is nothing for people to do,’ said one of the creatures, further along the table.
‘We can’t do anything about that. We’re hardly going to shut automatons down so that some Fapfiian can have something to do!’
‘It isn’t that so much as the fact that people are no longer earning any money, and that they’re not spending anything either, and what they do spend is on absolute necessities, like food,’ said another.
‘And bartering is increasing,’ said yet another.
‘But while they’re not buying things, my business is producing fewer and fewer items. My income’s suffering from the fall in sales, but also because of the drop in profits it’s affecting dividends. It’s not just my business. It’s most of us in the same boat.’
‘It’s what I was saying, Prime Minister,’ said another near the centre of one side of the grand table. ‘All the income is now being generated by the companies who own the rights to the robots, and some large organisations who’ve weathered the storm, but even they are finding demand falling as the industries which employ the robots are finding their sales crashing too. The ordinary people are broke. It’s a downward spiral.’
‘Well, Chancellor,’ said the creature at the centre of one side of the table – Emily guessed that it was the Fapfiian prime minister. ‘What do we do about it?’
‘Get rid of the damn things,’ said the creature next to Emily.
The prime minister snapped back at him, ‘And I suppose, Onry, you are quite happy to return to doing your own lawnmowing, washing, cleaning, driving and managing your communicator production?’
‘Might as well, if I’m not earning anything much from it!’
‘Whatever you’re earning, it’s way in excess of the pay your ex-employees now receive,’ said another. ‘They can’t even afford food!’
‘There’s nothing for it, Prime Minister, we’ll have to pay people for being unemployed. A small sum, just enough for them to buy food and fuel,’ said the chancellor.
‘And where are you going to find that money?’ asked another member of the cabinet.
‘We’ll have to tax people who do earn money more, won’t we?’ the chancellor retorted. ‘The introduction of an income for the poor might stimulate the economy a little.’
One of the other ministers threw up his hands in horror. ‘What you’re suggesting is socialism. It doesn’t work… ever. Just let things find their own level.’
‘What?’ said the chancellor loudly. ‘Don’t you understand? The people are starving. We must do something, or we’ll be out on our snouts at the next election. A small increase in tax should do it.’
‘I don’t agree to that,’ said a louder voice from Emily’s left. ‘We’ve invested heavily in the production of electronic components. Increasing tax on my business will necessitate putting up the prices and we’ll be in the same downward spiral loop all over again.’
‘Ahem,’ accompanied a cough from an individual to Emily’s right. ‘I have been doing some quite detailed analysis.’
‘Statistics never helped anyone,’ said the protesting person at the left end of the table.
‘Quiet. Let’s hear what he has to say,’ said the prime minister. ‘We agreed this would be a no-holds-barred meeting.’
The statistician started again. ‘The brutal figures show us that the number of people earning over one hundred thousand per annum has been growing rapidly. Four years ago it was four per cent, then five, seven and ten per cent. However, the number of people earning under ten thousand has been growing even more rapidly. Four years ago it was only five per cent. The last three years have shown it grow to eleven, eighteen and thirty per cent. These are people living in abject poverty. Automatons were supposed to improve life for everyone, but thirty per cent are now starving. Even more surprising is that the percentage earning between ten and one hundred thousand has fallen even more rapidly. Ninety-one per cent, then eighty-five, seventy-seven and now sixty per cent and that sixty is crowding at the bottom end of the scale, sliding over the ten thousand barrier, hence the continual rise in the ultra-poor. If the statistics maintain their current direction, we’ll have ninety-nine per cent of the population with nothing and one per cent living in absolute luxury. How do you all feel about that?’
‘But I don’t see how my wealth is growing in that way when sales are continually tumbling,’ said the protesting voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the statistician, ‘that you were not educated in mathematics, but it is obvious. The income pot is falling so there is less to go around. Even worse poverty for the poor, but fewer riches for the wealthy. We’re in an economic depression and we need to do something about it, before the people themselves do.’
‘How do you mean, “before the people themselves do”?’ asked the prime minister.
‘If they can’t wait to vote us out of office, they might revolt!’ said the statistician.
Several ministers laughed.
‘You think I’m joking? I assure you that I’m not. This same problem is being faced on countless worlds in the empire. If nothing is done about it, people will, most certainly, revolt. We could all end up as very wealthy dead people!’
The scene faded to black and Emily removed her mask. She was sad to be told to wait forty-eight hours for the next scenario as she felt fine. She’d have to fit another session in before Allan returned from Grimsby on Thursday. She couldn’t wait.
29 Mass March
Peter Stone, the computer guru who had helped Free America achieve many of their most spectacular attacks upon the Slimbridge regime, had not been idle while time had passed after the near-miss execution of Mayne, Beech and co. He’d been gradually building up an enormous online army, recruiting people who had realised that Slimbridge had been lying and that the Federation, although with a strangely anti-American economic policy, were actually an improvement upon what they had now.
Through social media, Stone circulated information films, explaining the true difference between Federation economics and socialism or communism which had been so hated by many of the American population since the fifties. One of his interviews went viral and swung a lot of support behind the Federation.
‘Mr Stone, you are a supporter of the Federation system, can you explain why? As a billionaire, why would you want to see communism replace the American system where you can live in luxury?’ asked the journalist.
‘Firstly, I think it is important for people to realise that having a huge fortune is not an overriding desire for many businessmen. Many of us, and I include myself in this number, are quite happy to give the money away if it is going to provide a better life for others, elsewhere in the world. Until the Federation took over the rest of the world, I was paying more money into African and Far Eastern charities than I was earning.’
‘I can understand that, but to give so much away that you end up with no more than the people you’re supporting is crazy, surely? Your personal fortune has been estimated at four hundred billion dollars!’
‘It all depends how it is done. There are charities in America who help the homeless, the disabled, and the poor, but they are ineffective, throwing money at temporary relief which, in most cases, fails to raise the living standards of the beneficiaries. In Africa, it was different, but also a failure. Over forty per cent of the money I ploughed into giving help to African nations, was either stolen or taken by corrupt officials, including many within the charities.’
‘Exactly,’ said the journalist. ‘It doesn’t work, just like socialism and communism. Great idea, but not practicable.’
‘That is because it relies on distorted systems within the great nations, but before dealing with that I want to correct you. Almost every European country works on a form of socialism. Free health care, adequate social services, substantial state pensions, free education, and so on. So don’t tell me socialism doesn’t work; there are billions in Europe who will tell you it works just fine. Communism is a different matter, but I get really annoyed at the misrepresentation of socialism in the US.
‘Anyway, back to charities. Many people give money to charities because they can see that people are worse off than them. It is a great trait in humankind, to want to help others, but while it might give them a good feeling to give five dollars to prevent starvation in Sudan, that represents less than one per cent of their income. To the people they are helping it is a lot because they only earn a dollar a day. Now, if you can feel good about helping someone earn a dollar a day, while you earn two hundred dollars a day, something is badly wrong with your individual scale of justice.’
