Like surface justifications for society’s new direction, with varied messages tempered and adjusted for different social sectors, castes, and interest groups.
Marching orders for the politicians and bureaucrats that each group already had locked in, plus plans for collecting more.
Also on the agenda-though less pressing-were methodologies for good governance once control was achieved. The presence of this topic made Hamish feel better about the whole thing. If humanity was fated to slip back into traditional patterns, then the new lords should take their duties seriously.
Or, at least, they want to seem that way. It costs little to put some intellectuals on your fealty payroll and get them exchanging papers about newblesse oblige-the aristocratic duty to rule wisely. We’ll see if the coming feudal order really goes that way. Tenskwatawa had better keep his wits about him, for all our sakes!
The morning filled with presentations and panel discussions. Sushmeeta, the sociologist from Dharamsala, avoided eye contact with Hamish as she gave her speech about “neo-Confucian” social structures. Recalling their time together last night with mild fondness, he grinned openly when her eyes seemed about to pass over him. But there was no moment of contact. Perhaps she felt embarrassed, or piqued that he did not stay the whole night… or else anxious not to have their mini-affair revealed by gaze analysis. If so, the act of avoiding contact could betray that something was up between them… not that he cared much who knew.
There were all sorts of possibilities and Hamish admitted to being curious. A bit. Maybe, after all, it’s simply a matter of professionalism. She had her way with me-collected a bedded celebrity-and now she’s concentrating on business. Carolyn had seemed to do that, when first they met, exhibiting a combination of passion and self-control that Hamish couldn’t help but find impressive. Only later, when laughter became a big part of it, did the relationship move toward love.
Toward. But did it ever really get there? he wondered. And if so… why couldn’t it stay?
Sushmeeta’s presentation was, in fact, pretty good. An excellent appraisal-steeped in impressive historical evidence-of how oligarchic rule might be made sturdier, more effective and last longer, by lacing it with meritocracy.
Naturally, the intellectuals liked that part. They would. There was appreciative applause when Sushmeeta finished and sat back down in the second row. Hamish preferred to observe from farther back, where he could get up and stretch his legs.
Ah well. Maybe during lunch…
Of possibly more interest to the First Estate were talks on “Swaying Mass Opinion Through Ubiquitous Ambient Persuasion” and “Verifying the Loyalty of Retainers Through Personality Tomography.”
A panel on intellectual property law sought common ground between the patricians, who viewed patents and copyrights as profitable rents, and the Renunciators, who saw tight licensing of ideas as tool to control “progress.” Advisers for both factions reached consensus-to seek legislation ending all expiration dates on patents. Intellectual property should be forever.
A side bonus: that might help corral some sci-tech types into joining the alliance.
Hamish noted that those giving papers seemed jittery-perhaps due to boffin drugs they sniffed, popped, or sorbed through skin patches. Out in the world, they might be discreet, but here among peers they spoke openly of the latest mind-accelerating substances. Was that what kept them agitated? Or was it lack of World Mesh access from this closed and secret conference?
It’s hard to believe that a hundred years ago folks seriously talked about technocracy-putting the world’s top scientists and intellectual elites in charge.
Of course, the people in this room weren’t “top.” The greatest members of the Fifth Estate kept their distance from the superrich, and especially from Tenskwatawa’s movement. Still, the very idea of technocracy always offended Hamish. And it would surely never happen now. Ironically thanks to methods that these experts were concocting, for their employers in the First Estate.
Hamish listened and took mental notes-half for the sake of the Movement but also as grist for future stories-two goals that pulled, deliciously, in opposite directions. For, while he approved of these proposals in real life-(they might save the world)-he couldn’t help also coming up with great ways to set them in tales of villainy! “Ambient persuasion” and “personality tomography” were euphemisms for mind-control-a dark vein that he had mined in novels, films, and games like Triumph of the Force.
So? Some of this stuff was just too cool not to portray in his next tech-bashing tale. Used by some enemy conspiracy-a government agency, or cabal of eco-nuts-instead of allies of the Prophet. Such was the art of fiction. Pick an authority figure as the nearly omnipotent bad guy-the choice depended on your grudges-but anti-authority had been the ongoing theme ever since the invention of Hollywood.
His hand ached from scribbling ideas on the permitted pad of old-fashioned paper. If only I had access to some vidrec or gisting tools.
Alas, even Wriggles, the mini-ai in his earring, was shut down by some kind of high-tech jamming system. Well, these are dangerous topics. Mere hearsay or rumors were harmless. It didn’t matter if millions believed terrible things about the Movement or the clade, even some that were true! But they must never be verified.
Around eleven, during a ten-minute break, Hamish was returning from the profligately perfumed men’s room when a conference manager announced the next talk: “Eugenic Refinement of Bloodlines and the Enhancement of Nobility.”
The title struck Hamish as creepy and-if truth be told-sort-of quasi-Nazi. Others in the audience seemed to agree, as dozens drifted away to get coffee or converse in antechambers. The speaker stepped toward the podium, but Hamish was watching Tenskwatawa, along with two key aides, join Rupert Glaucus-Worthington at a side exit, along with Yevgeny Bogolomov, Helena duPont-Vonessen, and other top moguls. Rupert, in particular, had a distracted, worried demeanor. Something weighed heavily on the old man.
Hamish took a swift scan of the auditorium and saw that all the top people in both factions were leaving, or had already left. This must be it. The real gathering, he thought, and started forward…
… only to stop as the Prophet, sharp-eyed, glanced his way. With a simple head shake and apologetic smile, Tenskwatawa told Hamish-No. This is not for you. Then, the Movement’s leader seemed to dismiss all thought of Hamish and turned away, following their host to some other meeting place. One presumably even more private and secure, where deals could be struck and humanity’s future decided.
Hamish sat down heavily as the eugenics talk was delivered-appropriately, it seemed-by a frumpy little man with an Austrian accent. But Hamish felt too stunned and hurt to pay much heed.
Well, what did you expect? Especially after the way Rupert treated you yesterday. For thousands of years, actors, storytellers, and enchanters knew their place… generally little higher than acrobats and courtesans. Even when famous or beloved, they did not hobnob or discuss policy with kings. Only our recent, adolescent culture exalted entertainers or men of ideas, and that’s sure to change when things settle back to the human norm.