The Irk Explained

essay

In a previous post I covered a topic similar to this one. It was called 'Why We're PETRIFIED Of The Perfect World', and the bottom line was, it's because we all hate change. We like to know that when we wake up in the morning things will still be like how they were when we went to sleep.

The problem with wanting nothing to change is that it's an impossible concept. We live on a living planet, one for which change is the norm. But since humans can and do exercise limited control over our environment, it has been possible to create a semblance of static behavioral conditions which last (at least for awhile) under normal conditions. The traffic lights still cycle through red, amber and green. McDonalds still serves hamburgers. We don't have to wonder when we get into our cars in the morning if the roads still go to the same places they did last night. We feel comfortable knowing that things don't change-- even though they all do, incrementally, all the time.

The last post wanted you, when experiencing something new, to bravely face the uncertainty and embrace the vigorous slap of fear.

But this post is different. I'm going detail. I'm going to show you what's been bothering you about the Perfect World.

When it works like it should, Perfect World should be somewhat like living in the middle of a vacation resort, with occasional responsibilities. Hungry? Delicious food is served 24 hours. Want to be entertained? The choices are legion. Human contact? Where better than a resort, my friend?

Okay, so you have to make your own bed, and occasionally, you have to work in the kitchen. Or clean the pool filter. But that amounts to about one day a week, with the rest of the time being your own for pursuits of pleasure and growth.

So why are you irked about this concept?

I'm going to explain the irk. And now you know where today's title comes from.

Here's the deal. We live in a society with clearly laid out goals, and clearly laid out methods to achieve those goals-- we get jobs to make money to pay for things we need to survive.

Wait. 'Need to survive'? 'Need to survive'? Many of us walk around with all the world's information in our pockets in the form of PDA's and internet-capable cell phones, such is the nature of our advancement. But with all that, we still have to worry about survival? Why is that even an issue?

Think about it... how much does it actually take to survive? Food, water, clothing, shelter. That's it. And if the shelter is sheltery enough, then not even clothing! I mean, people live on the Serengeti wearing loincloths fer crissake! Bottom line, survival seems to be in the cards. The Earth is one big survival machine, containing everything anyone needs to continue living. Why has humanity (at least American humanity) created a social system that makes survival difficult?

My belief is that we have let a simple method of trade (barter) morph into an angry monster (money), and like a snowball rolling down a mountain, it has become so ponderously immense it threatens to crush us all. I speak of Capitalism (big 'C'), which is the power plant which enriches greed. Stand back and look at modern American society and see if you can find any interactions which don't have a stand-on-the-scale, tit-for-tat arrangement with money. It's pretty difficult to find-- about the only ones are the emotional actions of love and family and friendship, and the innocent actions of children.

In American life money is essential, and being greedy helps you make money. Only problem is, being greedy is also socially unacceptable. Ironically, it is completely acceptable in business, which is why one friend can steal from another and feel justified, saying "It's just business."

In a nutshell, Capitalism is bad for society, even as it helps society grow. I prefer to say that Capitalism has had its place and done its job, and now it's time to move on to a system which thinks of the nation of man and the planet first, not the individual.

To do that, some of our long-standing beliefs will no longer fly. People who have achieved a measure of success by obtaining more money than their peers may feel they deserve whatever they want because they can pay for it, but this attitude is unhealthy for a crowded planet with finite resources.

Perfect World seeks to correct this behavior by inducing a measure of respect for each other and a justified sense of awe at the planet which supports us. Our cavalier filthiness (which runs deep in industry) threatens to poison us, and yet Capitalism says "That's okay. Poison all you want. Don't stop as long as you can convince people to buy your stuff." Perfect World asks us to take a step back and reevaluate the way we live. It asks questions like 'Is it really necessary to have a hundred million cars involved a rush-hour dance every day'? Is that the best way to make the country run smoothly? What about stealing from the naive or innocent? Should 'let the buyer beware' really be an acceptable credo in an enlightened society?

Say Perfect World takes hold as a social system. We will be making radical changes to the way things work. What do I mean by radical? We discard money. We eliminate politicians and politics. We discourage public displays of religious apparel and behavior. We educate everybody, house everybody, feed everybody and keep them healthy or make them healthy. We try to find each person's natural strengths and teach to those, so they may serve society (society being us) in the way they most enjoy. We eliminate the unnecessary jobs and add many more people to the important ones. We stress culture, art, science, literature, active lifestyles and entertainment. We eliminate outmoded and backward sexual repression.

We use all the free time we now have, and the freedom from monetary restrictions, to redesign cities, transportation, and housing, then dismantle the old and replace it with the new. We put a thousand times as many people on solving a problem as we did before and give them the freedom they need to learn life's most valuable answers. We bring the planet back to healthy. We unlock the secrets of the oceans, and the inner planet, and outer space. We defeat our own biological weaknesses.

We have a lot to do. On the bright side, there's no time limit. We have lots of time.

Let's look at how American society is organized now using Democratic Capitalism (DC), and see how it will be organized differently in the Perfect World (PW):

Work Structure and Obligation

DC: The nine-to-five. Sometimes second jobs, sometimes third. Total worktime 40-80 hours per week or even more.

PW: 10 hours a week. Additional work accrues credits for limited use of luxury or rare items.

Commuting

DC: People crawl like ants from home to work and back all day, every day.

PW: Work designed to be close to home if not at home. Some live at work temporarily.

Having Children

DC: Anyone can, anytime, anywhere. World resources are already overtaxed and yet the population is rapidly climbing.

PW: Prospective parents must pass classes to have a child. One. Population drops to 1 billion.

Housing

DC: Whatever you can afford. Some housing substandard, some opulent. Plenty of homelessness.

PW: All housing by choice. Opulent mansions converted to lovely hotel housing. No more substandard housing-- all are dismantled and replaced by clean and comfortable quarters. Large percentage of people live in hotel environment due to active lifestyle.

Shopping

DC: Unbridled. At holiday time, frenetic. Most households contain 50-75% rarely-used products. 98% end up in landfills; only 2% are recycled.

PW: None. Whenever a citizen has a need they enter it, and the computer supplies a long list of possible solutions. Rarely used products are refurbished and used elsewhere or dismantled and recycled.

Transportation

DC: Private cars or uncomfortable crowded public transportation.

PW: Mostly public transportation, designed for comfort. Locally, self-driving electric private vehicles. Long distance use high speed subterranean trains (15,000-20,000 mph). Planes & boats still used for crossing oceans.

Schools

DC: Overcrowded classrooms, unhealthy student hierarchy, underfunded, generalized lesson plans taught to all.

PW: Private one-person classes, interactive computer instruction, specialized lessons directed to each person's innate talents.

Administration

DC: Politicians, Congress, President, electoral college, corruption & influence by corporations.

PW: Software-organized society, new projects voted on by all affected citizens, merit-based hierarchy.

Competition

DC: Encouraged. Tends to cause socially stunted humans.

PW: Eliminated, except as a method for self improvement.

Sports

DC: Daily, worldwide. Competitive, creates a fanatic base which is often violent and self-serving.

PW: New sport types, cooperative, focus on exercise & coordination, encourages citizenry to join.

Gambling

DC: Yes. Exciting, even though it is designed to guarantee losing.

PW: Yes. Exciting, although there's no incentive, since whatever you need is already available to all.

Religion

DC: Largely celebrated. Often the root cause of racism, intolerance and violence.

PW: Minimized, especially overt actions of faith. Considered private, down to a person (not a family) Religious proselytization strongly discouraged, especially to children.

Nationalism

DC: Encouraged (We're number one!)

PW: Eliminated-- a World Family shows no favoritism. It would be like rooting for your favorite room in your house.

Television

DC: Rampant. Overwork leaves people exhausted at night with energy for nothing more.

PW: Rare. The structure of Perfect World allows many more people to practice their hobbies, play games and sports, have rewarding sexual gratification more often, interact with humanity more, vacation more, try new activities... live life.

Traditional Family Living

DC: Almost exclusively. Parents & children and sometimes grandparents under one roof.

PW: Exists, along with many other options for cohabitation. Group families, singles hotels, multi-partner parenting, or whatever creates a feeling of well-being among all members.

Humor

DC: Interjected everywhere, sometimes cruel, often crude and insulting.

PW: Not used everywhere. Not cruelty-based, often silly.

Halloween

DC: A fun holiday for kids. A religious contingent claims it's pagan and dangerous.

PW: A fun holiday for kids... a sexy holiday for adults.

Sexuality

DC: Repressive. Everyone does it, everything alludes to it... but if YOU allude to it, you're a pervert.

PW: Permissive. Judgement ceases with sexual Glasnost and whatever makes you giggle becomes the rule of the bedroom (or the broom closet, or wherever).

Healthcare

DC: Expensive and for-profit, meaning when you're sick, they make money. Chilling.

PW: Free. Linked with healthy lifestyle, stress is on prevention. Free. Latest knowledge and techniques for the unavoidable illnesses. Did I mention it's free?

Art

DC: Widely practiced and available. Artist often spend life in poverty, suffer for their art.

PW: Widely practiced and available. Artists are equally displayed (a la internet) for all to see. Interested patrons rate their favorites. High ratings inspire public showings. Produced art pieces are always 'owned' by the artist, who allows it to be displayed in anyone's home, or publicly.

Marriage

DC: Attempted by most, abandoned by half. A contract enforced by the state determining primary ownership or division of material possessions and childcare.

PW: No such animal. Respect for all humans suggests a couple split long before anger dominates a relationship. Childcare is a Perfect World primary responsibility and as such parents always have a lot of help with children, from birth through adulthood, so split ups are not painful for the children. Also, the city has a large number of dual-family residences, where the parents live in separate, side-by-side suites with a separate entrance and the children live in their own bedrooms between the suites. Suites can be shut off from the rest of the house by a quiet hallway. One parent is always available.

Restlessness

DC: Ever-present. Ultimately tolerated because complex situations or money issues prevents anything being done to solve the problem.

PW: Rare, but when it happens, walkabout (so to speak) is recommended. Perfect World is designed so people enjoy the activities in life and rise to the challenges those activities present. If restlessness occurs, change is instantly suggested.

One-Upmanship

DC: Practically a rule of the game. Starting in childhood, pecking orders are established. In adulthood this continues via economic viability. Having the best stuff signals a climb on the ladder of success.

PW: Cooperation is the rule in Perfect World. People compete with their last best record only. Nobody is considered superior, even though they may have a superior talent, or talents. The whole package is all that matters, and there's always a balance. All people are gifted in some areas and suck in others. It's just fact, and it's fine.

Fast Food

DC: Everywhere, preferred meal for many. Unhealthy. Advertised heavily. Cheapest food to eat.

PW: Nowhere. Restaurants are all run by chefs preparing delicious and healthy food. 24 hour cafeteria serves healthy food as well, and is preferred meal by many. Home cooking always available.

Possessions

DC: Lots and lots, and a huge deal is made about them. Locks, security devices, rent-a-cops, real cops, the national guard and the army all safeguard us and our stuff. Punishments have been devised for people who try to take our stuff. We're permitted to kill (!!!) someone who comes on our property to take our stuff. We buy bigger homes to store our stuff. Egad.

PW: A few. Personal possessions, mostly. Pictures, mementos, awards, self-made art, gifts... little things. Anything we need to make our homes dope, to trick out our rides, that's available in the 'stuff depot'. All neatly organized and immense, it's a warehouse for each community where people bring their old things and get new things. A cross between a Macy's and a thrift store (with a machine shop), anything refurbishable is done so, and anything too old or too far gone is dismantled and recycled.

Advertising

DC: Everywhere. Seen on television, heard on the radio, visible on every website, or on billboards wherever you look, or in every magazine. There are even successful television shows about advertising. People can advertise on their cars, or rent bizarre vehicles as drive around billboards. Everybody's selling something.

PW: Virtually none. When a new product is designed it gets a news report and becomes available immediately through the Perfect World website. That's all the press there is. Oh, and word of mouth.

Christmas

DC: A big thing that goes on for months, sometimes religious in nature, largely secular. Trees are cut down and displayed in every house, then the carcass is thrown away.

PW: A big thing that goes on for months, never religious in nature, always secular. Trees are simulated, reusable and beautiful.

Trash Pickup

DC: Once a week, unless there's a strike, and then it could be months, as the piles of trash get higher and higher. So at its best, filthy garbage and old food get to hang around for seven days to attract vermin and bacteria.

PW: None.

You thought I'd leave it there? I was tempted, to see what you'd think after the whole 'months on strike' comment, but I really mean it... there is none. Perfect World knows there's no real advantage to the way we overwrap things, especially small expensive things, so it cuts out the practice. Wham, tons less garbage and draw from the environment. Second, new cities are built with an entire underground utility center. Gone is the digging and street disruption. These are long tunnels containing cable, computer, DSL, water, gas, phone, power and others with facilities for the constant worker presence like cafeterias, lounges, the works. To fill the vast construction, more services are added... like a high pressure air line, milk line, beer line, coffee line... and automatic trash moving and sorting. Put your messy stuff in one chute and your clean dry stuff in another, is all that is needed. It drops out of your dwelling, never to be seen again... except as another product, weeks or months later. All the sorting and processing will be done automatically.

Of course, old food matter or any biomatter goes into a processing building where it makes great fertilizer... eventually.

Prisons

DC: Crowded and building more. It seems inevitable that certain behaviors, many which have been brought about by the holes in society's treatment of each other, will be punished by banishment. Can we at least take a page from England and put them on their own island instead of caging them and ruling them into submission?

PW: The holes in society have been filled. Aberrant behaviors are caught early and behavior modification techniques bring social acceptance, so no adults think it's okay to fling feces in the cafeteria. Nobody is hungry, or homeless, or jealous, and you won't believe the number of crimes which are brought about by those negative emotions... crimes which are unthinkable in the Perfect World.

Differences

DC: We try to welcome all diversity, but there's just some which makes the hair on the back of your knuckles cringe, isn't there?

PW: There's no cringing here. Being raised from birth not to give a rat's ass about people's differences really pays off in the Perfect World, so the circus people can finally live in town with the rest of us.

Possessiveness

DC: Being raised to meet and marry a mate for life sets up unbelievable strains in society. Suddenly you feel you have to protect your mate from other people's interest in them. Ouch!

PW: Nobody belongs to another, finally. And having a relationship (which will still happen) means giving your partner the space to have other intimacies. Think about how what you learn in a new sexual congress can be brought into the lovemaking you share with your partner! It becomes like having different partners when playing tennis... it may be fun and you'll learn new things, but it's great to get back to the partner who knows you inside and out... and for sex, we're talking literally.

That's just a small cross section of Perfect World differences. Does it still seem so different to you? Maybe the few changes which are made will help us live a nicer life, and would be worth the effort of change. I mean, to walk through a neighborhood and never see telephone poles? Or tall lit billboards? That's the kind of 'getting used to' I would love to experience! Hey, to never hear your spouse or parent yell 'take out the trash' anymore is enough... sign me up!

And take solace in the fact that, should Perfect World ever begin to take root, there will always be a place for people who just can't bring themselves to agree to some of the new guidelines. That place will be called 'the outside'.

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman

Maggie's Unfortunate Confrontation

Perfect World story (The NOW) Maggie Larter chapter 2

Prologue:

Maggie Larter was a shining star in the field of Astrophysics-- she had a gift. Ever since those summer nights of her youth at the summer home upstate with her dad, checking out constellations in the inky black sky, Maggie was in love with outer space and longed to be closer to it.

Years passed and Maggie received a scholarship to a prestigious university, earned her degree, then got offers by a number of space research facilities, choosing one close to home. She loved her job but was less interested in Brown Dwarves or minor planetoids than in her one burning desire-- to look back, before time began. Maggie had a theory that the Big Bang wasn't the beginning of everything, only the latest version of everything. She wanted to see more.

She proposed a new type of telescope design, but it was far too expensive and ambitious for her employer, the ailing US government, to research or build, but her superior was convinced she should build the thing she had dubbed the Magmatic Coronascope so graciously tore up her contract so that she might sniff out a deep pocketed private investor.

It became apparent to her, before too long, that most investors couldn't visualize the benefit of seeing so impossibly far back in time that they would be observing the previous Universe. That left her exactly nowhere. She needed to work-- her money was drying up but couldn't find another science program interested in her. She turned to gambling at the local card club and did well, for awhile. Then her luck went south and she was in debt to a gang and on the run, so reluctantly asked her sister a few states over for a place to crash. Loading what she could into her hi-tech backpack with all its fancy gizmos, she set off on the road.

And then came Aden.

Chopper got the word from his Collector almost instantly and overturned a heavy oak table in his ire. "Find the bitch!" was all he said, sending his entire gang off to task. This was fun for them- it was a hunt, and the reward at the end was a plaything which would be chained to a bed in their clubhouse outside of town for weeks before eventually getting broken, and then buried in the woods with the rest.

Clues began trickling in. She had not cleaned her apartment thoroughly in her haste and had left receipts on the floor and a few old pictures stuck to the wall, one with her and her sister in Omaha. "She's probably headed there," one grizzled biker grumbled into the phone. "Time to take a road trip, then, boys," Chopper smiled, revealing crooked crumbling teeth. That bitch would pay hard because she had made a fool of him, harder because she'd skipped out on him, and because she was cover girl material, he wanted to squash her face like an overripe tomato and let the gang tear into her.

They shook her old apartment manager within inches of his feeble life until he revealed which direction she had gone, then left him for dead just for fun. Forty thunderous motorcycles and riders headed off in her last known direction, revenge on their bloodthirsty minds.

Maggie awoke from her first good night's sleep since losing her job, and it was all thanks to this fantastic city she had uncovered. Peace of mind came easy here in Aden, she thought. She was ready to start her first official day in Astrophysicia, having met the Nerds yesterday. She was surprised to learn they already knew about her. "How?" she had asked.

"Come on... seriously? You made no secret of wanting to know what came before time began. How many astrophysicists wonder about that?" lead scientist Douglas Doughtry had asked incredulously. "I can't wait to see the design specs on that beauty! We've all decided," he smiled, gesturing to the other dozen brilliant minds in the room, "to put all of our projects on hold and help you with this one, Maggie. What do you need?"

She had been shocked. A day earlier she didn't even know this place existed, and now, just like that, she had been handed her lifelong dream! She had gone from unemployment to relative superstardom, receiving a big laboratory, vast equipment she barely recognized and best of all, anytime access to Hubble! She refused to pinch herself because if it was a dream, she never wanted to awaken.

After last night's debacle with Aden's unique shower she forced herself to take just a short rinse. The bathroom might become her go-to vacation spot from here on out-- the shower was just that good. She wanted to marry and have kids with it... but held off on reserving a chapel just yet. Instead she called out, "Morning, Connie! Can you send up a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of joe, please?"

"Sure, Maggie."

"I want to call my sister and tell her the news. Will that be a problem?"

The computer cautioned, "For now, Maggie, just tell her you got a job working at a research facility owned by FutureTech. Say you met a company representative while hitchhiking, and impressed the heck out of her. Mention there's a research facility you're working at with quarters in Southeast Idaho. Okay? Say it exactly that way and it is utterly true-- Aden was built by FutureTech and technically everybody in Aden works for them. I am an authorized representative for the company whom you met while hitchhiking, and you are working in a research facility that has quarters in southeast Idaho... even though the facility itself isn't. Don't mention that last part, okay?"

"I get it... security, secret city, magic talking cars, the whole works. No problem."

The computer chuckled. "I'll assume you're kidding." Maggie heard a dial tone, then ringing, and her sister answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tess!"

"Mook! Are you on top of a mountain? Your reception is great!"

"No. I'm not camping, and am no longer hiking. Long story short, I got a job!"

"What? Last time I spoke to you, you were hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere-- how did you get a job? What job?"

"I got a ride by a rep from FutureTech Corporation. Did you know they have a research facility in Idaho? We drove all night. Pook, I get to look through Hubble any time I want!"

Her sister screamed, then Maggie screamed. Tess shouted, "You have got to be the luckiest person on the face of the Earth, Mook! But, does that mean you're not coming to stay with me?"

"I'm sorry, big sis. This opportunity was just too good. Hey, they say I can go anywhere in the company jet three times a year-- I'm gonna come and visit you in about a month, once I'm settled in here, 'kay?"

"I guess I can wait. I miss you! Call me soon! Bye!"

With feigned disapproval Connie said, "Tut, tut... lying to your sister, Maggie? Drove all night? And who said anything about a company jet?"

"I'll get there somehow, Connie."

"True. You can take the VeeStreak and be given a vacation fund when you accumulate the credits."

"Credits?"

"You fulfill your obligation to the city by working ten hours a week. Any overtime earns credits for things like vacationing, fine wines or gourmet food, or anything found in limited quantities."

"Oh. Cool! What's the VeeStreak? You've mentioned it before."

"The Vaccu-Streak is a method of transportation unique to Aden. It's an underground maglev train running in a vacuum through a pin-straight tunnel, allowing it to move at up to 18,000 miles an hour. We have tunnels drilled to four main cities, and more tunnels to other cities from those, spiderwebbing their way through most large urban centers."

"I guess I won't need the company jet."

"We have those, too." Connie was suddenly silent for a moment, then said, "Do you know a man named Mr Sperenza?"

"Yes, my last landlord. What a nice old guy!"

"I'm sorry to report he was badly beaten by bikers, Maggie. Bikers who were looking for you."

Chopper watched Hemrage, his second in command, pull up alongside of him. He handed Chopper the photos from Maggie's apartment. "The kid recognized the girl. He said she stopped here. She was pretty chatty, too. Said she was gonna visit her sister."

"Tess, in Omaha. We got her address. Lemme talk to him."

Hemrage lifted his shades. "Too late. He didn't wanna talk. I had to convince him-- hard."

"Dumpster him, then. Did he point a direction before he croaked?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Gas up and let's go. We're ridin' hard today."

Chopper entered the gas station convenience mart on that lonely stretch of road. He kicked down the door with a jackbooted foot and cleaned out the register with a prybar from inside his leather jacket, sliding in the fresh blood on the floor. He motioned to Hemrage. "Hey, grab the smokes and booze and fill the saddlebags-- this place is loaded for bear." Hemrage nodded.

Chopper waited until the last motorcycle was gassed, murmured to his lookout man and mounted his hog. The gang pulled out of the station in noisy formation-- Chopper first, with Hemrage alongside, then the wicked Cleaner and Doubleslash, then the rest according to fight rank. Pulling out last was Kindle the lookout, who lit an oily rag and threw it over his shoulder back towards the station... which exploded in flame, lofting a black and gold fireball into the night sky.

They sped off into the night as the nearby propane tank exploded, propelled like a Saturn booster into the black, moonless sky.

Tears welled in Maggie's eyes. "Oh, my god! Poor Mr Sperenza... who's going to take care of his cats? He's all alone." Her eyes hardened. "That fucking Chopper! I could kill him!"

The computer chided gently, "There'll be no killing, Maggie. There are other, better ways. Are one of these men Chopper?" The wall TV came on, displaying a picture of two bikers kicking the landlord on the ground.

Maggie winced and turned away. "No. Chopper doesn't usually get his hands dirty, from what he told me. Those two are, I think Kindle, and for sure Hemrage-- Hemrage has the phrase "Fuck You" tattooed on his forehead, backwards the way ambulances do."

"Charming. How about this man?" Another picture came up of the lead driver in a bike pack.

"That's him! He runs the crooked gambling joint where I lost money. He's looking for payback." She scowled. "I'll always pay up on any legitimate loss, but since his decks were spiked he cheated, and I see no reason to pay him back."

"Me neither. I'm going to send out flyware to see if local law enforcement can take care of this, Maggie. I would not like to see any more people get hurt by this man and his dangerous gang."

"Flyware?"

"I send out an automated flying drone in the direction of their last known location. Along the way nanocams drop out to capture relevant images and sound I can use to coordinate with outside authorities. Many precincts are very cooperative."

"Nanocams?"

"Miniature cameras the size of flies with legs and wings for mobility. Solar powered, they can run indefinitely with a light source, sending images back through a daisy chain, one camera to the next, to the next, etcetera, and ultimately to me. What is his gang called?"

"The SkullCrusher Motorcycle Club."

"Delightful human beings. Go to Astrophysicia and work, Maggie... there's nothing you can do right now. Let me see what I can get done. Technology is a wonderful thing."

All around Aden a thousand people received the message via their bone conduction earwigs alerting them to report to Security level, on the double. People dropped what they were doing in shock-- it was the first such alert not preceded by the drill code-- this was the real thing! The Security arena filled quickly as concerned Adeners assumed their duties, receiving individual updates directly into their ears. Quietly people turned to their stations, making defensive preparations. Weaponry was assembled and distributed-- so was protective armor.

Modern materials prevented even Teflon-coated bullets from piercing the gear, and new computer-aided designs allowed full-cover armored body suits to have near-optimal flexibility. Their similarity to Star Wars storm troopers was eerie.

Wave after wave of strongly protected, interlinked defenders began training exercises, brushing up on an almost forgotten and completely distasteful duty-- quashing and securing other human beings.

In another part of Aden, live viewers at Central Brain were assisting the overworked city ICPU filter through thousands of images coming in from nanocams all over the county. The gang was spotted and the cameras optimized their view. Direction and speed was calculated. Priority images were fed to the face shields of security personnel for location and identification.

Aden was ready. They hoped nobody would get hurt.

A late night diner's flickering sign beckoned the SkullCrushers-- revenge was hungry work! The bikers necklaced the diner with their hogs and filed in, forcing out the few late-night patrons with leather gloved slaps and threatening shoves.

They sat everywhere as Chopper strode into the kitchen and grabbed up the cook's apron, lifting until the man's feet were dangling. "Rustle up some grub, boy, you wanna live to see sunrise. Breakfast for everyone. Keep it coming. We're not picky. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, muffins, gallons of coffee... and get Kindle a fruit cup."

The dining room roared with laughter as the ruffians pounded on Kindle's back. Brimming with spirit, Kindle's small frame nonetheless guaranteed a loss with every fight challenge, giving him the unenviable caboose position when traveling. Good thing he had a gift with explosives and fire. "Don't forget I have a gift with explosives and fire, motherfuckers," he shouted, swinging his fists to retreat the crowd of violent but playful bikers. "Let's see how much fun you are when I blow your fuckin' legs off." They roared again, bouncing him between them like a charged up pinball.

The pretty young waitress walked out of the bathroom, ignorant to the goings on of the past few minutes, and into an apparent ambush. Two bikers picked her up and laid her on the counter, began tearing at her clothes, her screams trapped in the building. "Not yet, not yet... if you kill her now, who's gonna serve us? Wait til after," Chopper roared, striding over to brush off the huge but smaller men. He scooped her up and set her down on her feet. "There you go, little lady. You'll service me first... after we eat," and gave her a wet kiss on the lips. She squirmed away, wiped her face off with disgust and ran into the kitchen. "Kindle, watch the back door for escapees. Cookie, how's that food comin'? You ain't dealin' with gentlemen here."

"Almost done, s-sir," the frightened cook called out, working furiously.

"Work slow, Chet...They're gonna kill us after we feed 'em." Suze whispered shrilly.

"Actually, little missy, we was just gonna fuck you raw and leave you for dead... you'd probably survive. Now Chet here," Chopper whispered into her ear. "Now Cookie here, his future is more uncertain. If he sucks as a cook, well, then this is his last meal. Last meal! Haw! Usually you get served a last meal, not serve it!" Chopper seemed genuinely amused with his accidental joke. "If you cook good though, well, we may bring you to the clubhouse, give you a job. Pay you in life. Every meal you make is another meal you are alive." The dining room again erupted in laughter, sounding eerily like the grumble of passing choppers.

"Serve this up, Suze... and hurry, girl," Chet said, worriedly. "Don't forget the salsa."

The waitress whispered to him, "I ain't going back out there, Chet. Them's the gang Maggie was runnin' from... the Skullcrushers."

Chopper swung around abruptly. "What? What's this? You know my good friend Maggie? Well, forget waitressing, girl! You and me, we've got some conversing to do. Doubleslash, bring this food out. Cookie, you got a back room?"

"Sorry Suze," he gulped, pointing, as the muscled and angry biker dragged her into the room by her neck.

Maggie couldn't think about anything in the Astrophysicia except the SkullCrushers and poor Mr Sperenza. Tears kept spilling. This was her fault!

Douglas Doughtry came over, put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Maggie. All of Aden is mobilized and ready for this. We take care of people here."

"But I'm not even supposed to be here!" She blurted out, sobbing. "I found Aden accidentally and wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for that driverless car coming out of the field when it did!"

"Maggie, Maggie, look at me dear," the kind older man comforted. "Do you really think that car came out in front of you accidentally? Or that you aren't somehow wanted here in Aden?"

She blinked and looked at him, startled.

He straightened. "No, we most definitely orchestrated it. We were in touch with your former bosses and knew your plans. We've been keeping an eye on you since you got on the road with those little nanocams." He put a warm hand on her shoulder and said softly, "You are Aden, Maggie... as much as any of us are. So I repeat, we take care of people."

Eyes wide as saucers, she turned to look at him, and the other Nerds who had gathered in support. Gratefully, she hugged him, hard, forcing out his breath. "Ooh, I'm sorry," she giggled. "Thank you, thank you all so much. But those bastards are dangerous. I couldn't stand to see another injury."

In her ear she heard a voice. "Maggie, it's Connie. I'm afraid I'm going to need you on the roof right away. Take the Astrophysicia elevators, quickly."

"Gotta go, guys. I'm needed on the roof." she ran to the elevators, jammed the roof button.

Connie continued. "The Skullcrushers are at Chet's diner. They have Chet and Suze. I've come up with a plan. Climb the steps and get in the SuperChopper. Hurry up, girl!"

Not Chet and Suze, too! Maggie's conscience was weighing heavily on her... all this trouble for a few grand! She should have paid the money.

She was crying again and could barely see when the elevator doors opened onto the windy roof. Wiping her eyes she was startled to be in front of an enormous helicopter, easily three times the size of any she had seen before. Hooked to its belly was the driverless car where she had first met Connie. The computer said, "The police were a dead end-- seems they're scared of the Skullcrushers, though they didn't put it exactly like that. Come on. I'll explain on the way. We're going to solve this problem, and end it tonight!"

Maggie entered the huge helicopter and was surprised to see a platoon of men in full dress armor seated left and right along the walls. One gestured to an empty seat, motioned her over, helped her into the safety harness. He was surprisingly nimble despite his gear. He lifted his face shield and smiled. "This will be so gratifying! Its been years since I took out the trash!"

"That sounds very un-Aden-like. Are you really going to kill them?" she asked, a little afraid.

The interior rumbled with men chuckling. "We don't kill, Maggie. We use nonlethal weapons, and put offenders in our Department of Corrections."

"You have a jail in Aden?" Maggie was shocked.

"It's more like a Podschool. A very, very secure Podschool." More chuckling.

"Prepare for departure!" the pilot rasped over the intercom, and they were airborne. Maggie felt pressure in her chest as the craft gained speed like a jet.

Connie said, "Now Maggie, here's what we're going to do. Your part is the most important. Listen up..."

Chopper's face was close to Suze's, very close. She could smell whiskey and rotting meat on his breath, adding nausea to her terror. "Tell me what you know about Maggie Larter, and you might live. Cross me," he bared his teeth and exhaled slowly, appearing like the devil to Suze, "and I'll take you on a ride, fifty feet behind my chopper with a rope around your waist. I promise you, you'll prefer the gang rape. Spill it!" he shouted, and punched her in the stomach. She vomited and passed out, and he dragged her into the kitchen and tied her arms and legs to a prep table with wire hangers.

Chet yelled, "Leave her alone!" and ran towards him, brandishing kitchen knives.

Chopper swung his long arm and beaned him with a flat pan, sending him across the small kitchen and crashing into the condiment shelf, where he lay bleeding and stunned on the floor. Chopper walked past the man, kicked away the knives and slapped Suze, hard. She mumbled and shook her head, tried using her tied hands, then began struggling to no avail. "What do you know about Maggie Larter?" he yelled.

"Noth-nothing, mister. She came in one night and stayed til daybreak is all. We talked about her job. She looks at the sky." Suze quivered the words, tears leaking from her bruised face, mixing with blood and vomit. "What are you gonna do with me? I got a little kid, don't hurt me!"

He looked down at her bound body-- dirty, bloody, covered with puke. "Fine mother you are-- look at you! You're a stinkin' mess!" He reached over to the dishwasher sink, grabbed the hot water spray and trained it on her. The steaming water stung her skin and she screamed. "We gotta get you all purty for the fellas... some of them are ready for you. I know I am." He pawed at her shirt, tearing the buttons and ripping it open, exposing her bra. He pulled at her skirt roughly, which refused to yield because her legs were tied with hangar wire. He grabbed one of Chet's knives and showed her. She screamed again. "No! No! No!"

He laughed and plunged it down, hard. Her screaming stopped. He pulled it out of the wood and cut her skirt off even as she squirmed. "A bikini wax... nice! You must be fuckin' somebody or you'd have a bush like an afro. Maybe even Chet here." He retied her legs up over her head and left her, looking for a stick of butter like he saw in some old movie.

It was at that very moment that the balance of power changed.

The SuperChopper didn't land. First it stopped about a half mile away from the diner and released the clamps holding the car, which dropped about a foot onto the ground, bouncing on its springs. Then it hovered a few feet to the left and a door in the floor dropped to become a set of stairs. Maggie heard in her ear, "You know the plan. Walk down the stairs, get in the car's driver's seat. I'll be controlling the car-- you don't have to do a thing."

Maggie did as instructed, and the helicopter gained elevation. At about 300 feet it moved directly over the diner and a contingent slid down ropes onto the roof-- the rest scattered outside of the diner, moving silently. Then the SuperChopper left the area completely, blades whooshing in Stealth mode.

Maggie heard, "Okay... now!" The car floored itself and picked up speed, heading towards the diner. Maggie checked her seatbelt-- she was good. The car veered in and clipped the shiny motorcycle at the end of the row,

just hard enough to send it careening into the hog next to it, which fell into the next one. In comical slow motion all forty bikes, domino-like, came tumbling to the ground. Maggie's car, propelled by the computer, sat in front, revving.

The noise attracted attention as it was supposed to, and the first few angry bikers were now running outside with Hemrage in the lead, furious and looking for blood. Right about then the driver's side window slid down and, right on cue, Maggie shouted, "Looking for me, assholes? Come and get me!" The car sped away, shooting sharp gravel painfully at the bikers, distinctive pentagram taillights receding into the night.

"Get that bitch!" Hemrage screamed and reached into the pile for his hog, which at the moment seemed to be inextricably connected by handlebar to at least two others. More bikers streamed out of the bar and separated the bikes, forcefully pulling them apart, bending chromed spokes and scratching gas tank logos before getting on the road.

When the last biker had gone, the Aden storm troopers entered the diner and found the cook and waitress, injured but alive. They untied her and tended to both their wounds. Group leader reported, "Secured hostages. Alive, lightly injured. All bikers away. Repeat, all bikers away. They are unaware of our existence, according to plan," then turned to the two and said, "Maggie Larter sends her regards. Go home and take care of your son, Suze. These bikers won't be a problem for anyone after tonight."

The rest of the plastic-protected stormtroopers congregated. Suze looked at all of them, confused and said haltingly, "Why... why did you let... them go?"

Group leader responded, "This contingent is only here to insure your safety, miss... we have a surprise waiting for them down the road."

"Th-- thanks. Uhh... the leader Chopper got away... with his pet Kindle."

"We know, miss. We've got the area cordoned off."

"What surprise do you have down the road for them?" Chet winced, holding an icepack to his sore and throbbing head.

"I promise you," said group leader, "that they won't know what happened to them."

It took a few minutes, but Hemrage had almost caught up to Maggie's car, with several other bikers ragtagging behind him. That's when the black sports car laid down rubber and pulled away like cannon fire. Not to be outdone, Hemrage opened his own throttle and just about lost his hearing in the screaming din. The bike tore after the car in hot pursuit, traveling at double the speed limit.

'Where the hell is Chopper? He should be leading this charge.' Well, Hemrage was more than ready to step in as leader, and had thought about challenging the larger man more than once, but quite frankly was afraid of him. If Chopper met his fate another way, however, Hemrage was ready to take over.

Following behind were the rest of the SkullCrushers, valiantly attempting the lead car's speed, and bringing up the rear were the last two out of the diner, the Cleaner and Doubleslash, a mile behind the car. They too kicked their bikes into overdrive, but were unprepared for what happened next. A small 'POW' was heard beneath each seat and the bikes began to lose speed, all at once seeming to head downhill though the road was level. Then the front wheel left the ground, and both bikes rose up into the air, side by side! Doubleslash looked at the Cleaners' bike and did a double-take-- it had sprouted a red hot air balloon from the seat and was now floating calmly away! He gestured frantically. The Cleaner looked overhead, then at him and made the same gesture. They were both now hundreds of feet in the air and drifting higher, but could still make out the line of bikers pursuing the blazing sports car. One by one, each bike in caboose position also lifted off the ground and into the sky!

"Check the rear view mirror, Maggie," Connie said. Her mouth dropped open at the floating red balloons each supporting a petrified biker, clinging desperately to their undulating Harleys, trying to avoid the death drop.

She shrieked gleefully. "What did you do, Connie?"

"Our advance team hit the diner before we got there and attached surprises under each bike's seat. The 'explosions' are actually helium gas, rapidly expanding."

"Umm, Connie...?"

"Yes, Maggie?"

"Aren't we approaching our turnoff?"

"Yes."

"We still have a dozen bikers following us!"

"We have another surprise for them. Hold on tight!"

Twenty-five floating bikes as one suddenly made a sharp right turn, now heading towards the mountains flanking the road. Doubleslash was angry enough to kill someone, but he was holding on to the bike with every extremity and was afraid to free his shooting arm. Just then he noticed flashes coming from the top of each balloon. The bikes changed direction and Doubleslash figured with a sick shock that they had just been apprehended by high-tech police and were now being led to custody in the oddest manner he'd ever seen.

But from his vantage point he could tell that not every bike was floating. The first dozen or so were still following the car, and in fact were gaining on it. Smugly satisfied, Doubleslash imagined the punishment Maggie would endure when they caught up to her. He was just sorry he wouldn't be there to lend a fist... or a switchblade. Doubleslash watched Maggie trying to outmaneuver the more agile motorcycles by leaving the road and heading towards a wall of mountains. The car slowed, wading through the tall grass. She's trapped now, he thought with satisfaction, but was frustrated when he floated out of sight before witnessing her capture. Ahead was a range of mountains extending for ten miles at least, and in the distance a valley beyond that.

Prob'ly where the prison is, he thought glumly, and settled in for the gentle balloon ride, having no other choice.

"Are you sure this will work, Connie? You sure you want to lead them straight into Aden?"

"Aden can handle this with ease, Maggie. But stay low-- the glass is only bulletproof for awhile."

The car screeched to a halt, the bikers only a scant quarter mile behind them, and turned towards the gate at mile marker 238-- the secret entrance to Aden. A signal was sent and the gate sunk into the ground, letting them through. Connie said, "I'm going to raise the gate very slowly, so they all have a chance to get through. I imagine they have no idea what's going to happen next."

"I don't either, Connie. I'm just gonna trust you."

"Good call. By the way, I just found out they also torched a gas 'n' go you stopped at and killed the attendant."

"Oh, no!" Maggie wailed.

"Or thought they killed him. They threw him in the dumpster before blowing the place up, which probably saved his life when a fireball engulfed the station. He'll be fine."

"Thank goodness... those bastards."

The car ripped through the tall weeds. Maggie could just make out the last few floating motorcycles head over the peaks towards Aden when the car slammed through the hidden tunnel entrance. She said, "I hope they saw that... it'll blow the whole deal if we have to 'yoo-hoo' them again."

"Yes, they saw," Connie said confidently. "They're right behind us."

And they were. Suddenly the tunnel roared with unmuffled Harley motors and the car picked up speed again, playing keepaway with the enraged bikers. The ten-mile tunnel passed quickly at 140 miles an hour and Connie said, "This part's the trick, Maggie. Watch what pneumofoil lifters can do." A whining sound filled the cabin and the car rocketted out of the tunnel entrance, racing off into thin air as if the road had not turned abruptly left and the mountain had not fallen away to a deadly cliff.

Maggie punched the air, shouting, "Yes!" after realizing Connie's plan... tricking the bikers into thinking that the road continued straight after the tunnel mouth! She didn't mind at all that they would plunge to their deaths, wondering briefly if that was an un-Aden-like thought.

"Fuck 'em," she concluded.

The car was fast, but Hemrage's bike had been outfitted with some aftermarket gear to shred his performance including a nitrous booster, and the gap between them was closing fast. The other hogs were keeping up, just barely. "Good. I get to have first licks all to myself. Maybe I can tear her apart a little before we pass her around." Hemrage thought. His huge tool was the envy of the bike club and had been used to torture women (and men) for as long as he had been a member.

'What the fuck?' A look in his mirrors confirmed that most of the bikers behind him were airborne! Big red balloons carried them off into the sky, shutting down two thirds of the Skullcrusher attack force.

He had no time to ponder the plight of his gang; the car slammed on its brakes and shot off into a paddock of tall grass. Hemrage did the same, making sure the remaining bikers followed him offroad. The car ripped through tall grass, smacking Hemrage in the face on its way back up, and again for the other bikers.

Hemrage watched the car about to attempt a suicide maneuver. That bitch was crazy-- she was heading directly towards a solid rock wall, too fast to stop! He eased back on the throttle-- no point in dying alongside her. He did a mental countdown to the inevitable explosion as spark hit ruptured gasoline tank. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. One. One. No explosion, no nothing-- and the car was gone!

He drove up to the rock wall, close enough to see that it was a ploy-- he could push his hand right through. He waved the last dozen of his crew in, then passed through himself.

There was a smooth-walled, perfectly formed tunnel on the other side! He couldn't see the end, only the rapidly receding taillights of that goddamned sports car, so sped up to catch the gang.

Man that car was fast! He could see it pass the tunnel's mouth and continue driving in a straight line. Now he watched as the first of his men exit the tunnel... and then disappear from sight! What the fuck? More hogs leave the tunnel, then seemingly fall through the road.

It was approaching quickly so Hemrage jammed on his brakes and put the bike into a skid, and only his superior driving skills kept him upright as he passed the entrance and balanced his bike at the edge of a steep cliff! He could see now that the car was driving on air, floating only god knows how, and the bikes and bikers were nowhere to be found-- unless they were those dozen huge grey balls w-a-y down on the ground, surrounded by hundreds of white-uniformed storm troopers...

The men in Team Two below Aden's tunnel exit were waiting, and when they saw the sports car fly off the edge and hover away they knew it was time. Launchers had been prepared, a dozen of them, and were loaded with Aden's newest nonlethal weapon/restraint system. "Skeet shooting could never be so satisfying," Team Leader thought.

Then came the motorcycles. The first gracefully roared off the edge of the cliff, then awkwardly tumbled towards the valley floor 100 feet below. Death was in the cards for the biker unless Team Two could make good the plan.

"Fire." Team Leader spoke quietly into the earpieces, and with a 'WHOOM!' a dozen volleys hurtled toward the first bike. Most of them made contact, and stuck to the hog like basketball-sized wads of peanut butter. Immediately a foaming began and the 'peanut butter' rapidly became a flexible ball of semirigid foam four times the size of the motorcycle, completely engulfing machine and rider in the middle of it all. Hitting the ground, the ball plopped wobbily back up, then settled like a wad of wet paper in front of two hundred Aden security forces.

One by one each hog flew off the cliff, and one by one each landed safely, converted to a large grey ball of foam.

Back on the cliff, Hemrage watched the ruse work on the last of his men with grim efficiency, shaking his fists with rage. He heard a throat clear and was turning when a voice shouted, "You!"

Four storm troopers emerged from nearly invisible recesses in the tunnel wall and leveled what looked like T-shirt bazookas at him. One said, "Welcome to Aden."

He put his hands out in protest. They fired simultaneously, and baseball-sized globs of goo catapulted towards him. The force of contact knocked him over the cliff and he watched himself fall, horrified, until the foam obscured his vision and he was surrounded on all sides, immobile. Then came violent contact with the ground, and darkness prevailed. The attack was over.

Maggie went to the Intern Receiving Center of Aden's security arena, a tall cylindrical room accessible through a roll-up door in one wall. She sat above, staring through a row of windows encircling the room, ready to identify each Skullcrusher.

One at a time the large gray foam balls were pushed in, and the roll-up door was locked behind it. Solvent spray from the ceiling melted the gray ball away, revealing the bruised and disoriented biker, on the floor together with his machine. A hypodart shot into him from an outlet in the wall and he slumped back onto the floor, unconscious. His weaponry was removed and he was handcuffed onto a gurney.

"That's Dog. He likes cutting people. Connie, how is Aden going to handle these criminals?"

"Interns, not criminals. We do it with intensive retraining."

Knowing the computer's penchant for full explanation, Maggie asked guardedly, "...How?"

Never one to disappoint, the computer launched into her diatribe. "The highly successful Podschool program is modified to strip away an Intern's defenses and get to the root of their trauma while they are isolated in a comfortable but secure room. Their only human contact is spent with the psychiatrist Avatar on the wallscreen. Step One eliminates antisocial personality traits: Clothing is shredded, jewelry removed, they are shaved and trimmed, and their tattoos are removed and piercings are healed. They are required to follow an exercise and diet regimen. They are educated and their natural talents are developed.

In Step Two they move to quarters with trained Adeners who role play to 'work the conditioning' in sometimes grueling exercises until their personality is ingrained. Months or years from now they are integrated into Aden life as Step Three, as changed as any person you will ever see."

Dog was wheeled out, to be situated into his retraining quarters, and another gray ball was rolled in and melted, with the biker anesthetized and identified by Maggie. This continued until the last biker was secured.

"Wait... where's Chopper? Where's Kindle?"

"So far they've escaped capture, Maggie. But they don't know about Aden, and weren't with the other bikers when they left the diner. Don't worry... we're going to find them."

"Oh, I do worry, Connie. Chopper was the worst of the worst-- cunning, conniving and vicious. And certainly not to be trusted. Tell your Security he'll act all chummy, right up until the time he shivs you."

"Got it, Maggie."

But Maggie was certain the ICPU didn't get it... not by a long shot.

Epilogue

Night of the next day descended on Aden and the lights came up, bathing the city in beauty. Two lone figures sat on top of a mountain, staring down at it.

"What the hell are we gonna do? It's an entire fucking city!"

"We get them, that's what we do. They may have a lot of tricks, but we have tricks of our own. We don't need big red balloons."

"How come we didn't know about this place? It's big!"

"A better question, Kindle, is why doesn't anybody else?"

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman

Jake Reston and the Founder

Perfect World story (The ILLUMINATION)

Reprinted from The Encyclopaedia Galactica, AD 2295

Never has there been a more telling benchmark for the advancement of human civilization than its system of government, the reason being that an enlightened approach to administration results in an enlightened populace. Nowhere was that more evident, in modern times, than the advent of Perfect World theory in the late 20th century.

A book written by an author known only as 'the Founder' began the latest and final chapter in the evolution of human social development. The book was hand published and bore none of the traditional signs of technology found in books at the time-- no publisher, no country of origin; not even a date to place it among the annals of time. Research has shown the original manifesto was printed on a Hewlett-Packard inkjet printer manufactured between 1991 and 1998, and while it could have been published anytime after that, specific dates within the work place it at approximately 1993.

And 1993 is when Jake Reston (1957-2068) set about making it happen. While the Founder is the brainchild of Perfect World, it was billionaire Jake Reston who ultimately put the plan into action, building the first Perfect World city with his own funds.

The Beginning

Jacob Dylan Reston was born in the town of Pleasanton, Texas (pop. 4275) on March 4, 1957 to Jasper and Betty, the eldest of three boys.

The family made do with income from Jasper's recycling business, most of the products coming from dumpsters and trash bins located in and around the business district. His mother was a housewife, and knit scarves and sweaters to bring in additional money.

His early life was unremarkable, typical for small town life in the 1960's. He went to public school, spent time with friends (he was an avid softball player) and later, became an admired ladies man. To help with the family finances he would tutor math, english and science to students from his school. He graduated in 1975 and went on to local Coastal Bend Community College. It was there he met the Founder, who had been traveling the country gathering names from college campuses for people with the right temperament to be potential Perfect World inhabitants.

According to records they met in a local bar where Jake worked nights as a bartender.

He occupied Jake's attention all evening and upon closing, convinced him to continue the conversation at his motel room. That is when Reston first saw the Founder's Perfect World Bible, an overstuffed and worn tome containing stories and allegories written by the man, who

had been mapping out through time how human behavior had been adversely affected by selfish and inferior leadership, and speculated on how a fair amount of tweaking could fix the problem.

So began a friendship which lasted until the Founder's death in 2067, and in all that time, Reston kept the man's identity a well-hidden secret, if he ever knew it at all. Even after the Founder's death he would not confess, saying that the man's identity was bound together with his manifesto-- he was the Founder, and his actual name was irrelevant. Years after Reston's death DNA analysis on the original Bible found profuse evidence of Reston... but no other DNA whatsoever, causing speculation over whether the Founder even existed. Some believed 'the Founder' was just a handy identity Reston used to separate himself from the controversial pronouncements of Perfect World (the abolition of competition greed, and religion, to name a few), but there was abundant photographic proof showing the two of them together, and even though the Founder always appeared behind dark glasses, long hair, beard and overcoat, there was no doubt he was real.

Xiu-Xan Ximone (1999-2099), administrator of the Perfect World city Vivacita in Brazil, South America, repeatedly claimed to be the granddaughter of the Founder although refused to provide evidence, repeating this quote as her only explanation: "The Founder re-created man's relationship with planet Earth and probably saved the human race in the process. If he wants to remain anonymous I should think it would be his right." Further attempts at determining the Founder's identity have been met with resistance; to date, no concrete evidence exists of his origin.

Soon after the evening in the Founder's motel room the two separated, not to be seen together for some years. Within a month Reston dropped out of junior college and applied for three patents of designs for radical new technologies; one in microcircuitry, one for a rudimentary ramjet process and one for a new type of building material which, at the molecular level, was partly metal and partly stone. Each design was very well received and made their way into the products of the 1980's including the personal computer, which was a brand new concept at the time, and high-speed jets. Those patents helped Reston become a multi-billionaire. He created FutureTech, the company which was later responsible for building Aden, the first Perfect World City, as well as the highly successful long-distance underground transportation the VeeStreak, later called the BLUR (Bullet Levitating Underground Railway) line.

There had been some speculation as well about the patents themselves; while Reston had no extended training in any of those areas of study the plans were obviously designed by a skilled hand with great depth of knowledge, leading many to again find suspicious the relationship between Reston and the Founder. The wildest attacks came from splinter groups like The Solarmen (2015-2040), who were certain the Founder was not human but rather an advanced alien come to Earth to save humanity from itself, although no evidence of alien involvement was ever uncovered. To this date there has been no contact with aliens of any kind.

At fairly regular intervals Reston continued applying for and receiving patents for new technologies that he said were created by the Brain Trust, his think tank of geniuses, who were given free rein to come up with any 'left field' ideas they could (his words). This was very likely true, as most of the people in the Brain Trust were well documented inventors and inspirationalists. (See separate articles about Dave DuBois, Maggie Larter, Rick Payne, Joe Hobart, LaShamra Johnson and Raf Zellen).

Another inventor of the time period not at first connected to Reston was Professor Len Thackery (1961-2065), who also wanted to see Perfect World come about but chose more radical and invasive methods to attempt the change, believing the ends justified the means. Even though many of his inventions found good use in Perfect World cities (like the Time Television and the Nanocam), and Thackery himself would spend his final years living in Adenas a guest of Jake Reston, he was never considered good Perfect World material because of his sociopathic methodology.

Reston's path crossed the Founder's again when they, in a private meeting with sitting President William Jefferson Clinton in 1993,

presented the Perfect World concept to him. The meeting ended with Clinton's vigorous approval, suggesting that it be slowly implemented over the next two hundred years. Starting as a privately funded, unadvertised city to be built in a remote area on government land, Perfect World Concept would have to prove that it could not only be entirely self-sufficient, but also be able to contribute to the economy of the nation through taxation and with the production and exporting of goods and services. The president agreed the project needed to be kept quiet at first.

One of Reston's patents, a satellite-mounted ground-penetrating camera, allowed him to find an expansive series of previously undiscovered deep caverns under remote government farmland, and he began building the first version of the city Aden in the caves, over time amassing six hundred twenty seven linked buildings housing 130,000 people. It was nicknamed the Farm in honor of its soybean growing diversion some eleven hundred feet above. Silos were used to mask the equipment providing fresh air to the caverns, and an enormous barn was outfitted as an indoor runway and hangar for moving people and product, with a wide bank of elevators leading down to the city. The city's water was taken from an underground river,

as bank after bank of waterfall turbine generators provided over 900 times the city's requirement for power, which was sold to US power companies and became a rich source of revenue. In an interview Reston once admitted that although the Founder often spoke about his Master Plan, he rarely mentioned any detail that wasn't relevant to the conversation, lending profuse mystery to the man.

The Master Plan

After the Farm proved to be a social and financial success the Founder met privately with Reston to discuss his long term plan for the first leg of Perfect World Theory, which he called 'The Now', which he expected would take between 50 and 100 years (and ultimately lasted 79). They had already begun by building the Farm and now used its vast capital to sway leaders of several other governments to build additional Perfect World cities in remote parts of their countries. They would find and draft appropriate local candidates to staff them and have each city provide a different invaluable service to its country. One developed solar energy programs. Another worked on software, trying to attain a conversational and predictive relationship with computers. Still another was developing weightless transportation. Others concentrated on nanotechnology, medical manipulation, faster-than-light travel, food fabrication and cold fusion.

One by one each Perfect World city became the symbol, in its host country, for progress and logical design, and as that occurred each city began a new project, the next step in the Master Plan-- converting that nation's educational system to Perfect World Podschools.

The Founder surmised that after years of Podschool education, there would not be any person who did not know their own values and strengths, and as such would be ready and capable to join the workforce with talent and confidence. The Founder predicted that a strong contingent of political science students from the Podschools would one day be in position to influence the rest of society, and was correct. Over the course of a decade most had been elected as senators or congressmen. Once enough were in place, Perfect World resolutions began to be passed, slowly outlawing many of the day's 'necessities', like parking meters, stiff fines, jails, paying for government services, late and service and penalty charges, competitive games and sports in schools, large armies, nuclear weapons, bargain brands, lawsuits, insurance, lethal personal weapons and many more. They voted on improvements of the infrastructure. Acceptable building strength was quadrupled. Complex logistical movement patterns were developed to eliminate needless travel.

The government drafted and ultimately passed legislation to outlaw politics itself, once every citizen was trained and accountable to themselves and their city. It was the start of a golden age, although marred with violence and controversy caused by a rebellious and dangerous contingent of the only groups threatened with destruction by Perfect World, rich businessmen and outraged religious extremists.

Further along in the Master Plan, many more people would be trained as experts in early childcare and teaching. At the same time there would be a serious curtailing of childbearing, to reduce the world population over time to a billion, accomplished by following compassionate programs to ensure a natural population drop-off.

In retrospect the Founder was largely correct at every juncture. The new laws had their desired effect-- existing cities began to change over, which signaled the next stage of the Founder's Master Plan, a stage he called 'The Interim'. He predicted this would be a time of great turmoil, as the last desperate holdouts of the original system fought to maintain their antiquated power structure. The rich had no hold in Perfect World cities where money meant nothing, and so used their cash elsewhere to buy the loyalty of the stubborn religious, who could not let go of ancient traditions and false truths. They became the army of God that tried to take back the Last Cities, but because of the decades earlier destruction of lethal weapons and war machinery their attacks were feeble and easily quashed.

Rebel fighters were surprised to be quite literally frozen in their tracks when the nonlethal Perfect World weaponry was launched-- pellets which burst on impact, expanding into a thick and sticky foam which hardened into rock in moments. It was the last skirmish on Earth (to date) and not an injury was reported, except some strained muscles of captured rebels trying unsuccessfully to free themselves from the solid goo.

Ultimately it was decided to leave a few cities unchanged (The Last Cities) around the world for the nonbelievers, and to maintain a peaceful (albeit strained) business relationship with them. Anchorage Alaska in the north, Abilene Texas in the south and Provo Utah in the northwest remained as the Last American Cities, the last stanchions of Capitalism. Not surprisingly, over the next forty years the Last Cities were slowly consumed by the greedy rich. This had the effect of widening the lower class and destroying infrastructure until the dilapidated school systems were compelled to install Perfect World Podschool units because of their attractive pricing (free) and success rate (99.9998%). Over the next seven decades all Last City populations became 100% Podschool trained, and on September 4, 2144 the final Last City officially joined with Perfect World, at last creating the World Family and beginning The Illumination... the completed Master Plan, which foretold the full realization of human potential. It was the Founder's belief that creating a cohesively wired society would lead humanity to the next stage of biological development-- free-form sentience, allowing humanity to explore the universe instantly and safely and become indistinguishable from the gods they once revered. But in over one hundred fifty years since the Illumination began, that has not come to pass. Not yet.

The Final Days

Perfect World realized the potential for corruption and eliminated political figures and parties. Instead, leadership fell to the voting public, who gained the knowledge they needed to make wise decisions by consulting with panels of experts in their respective fields. In that way proposed projects were passed quickly and were built quickly as well, one of the more famous examples being a replacement Eiffel tower (but three times the size) which was taken from the voting stage through completion in 28 days, total.

Another was the famous Twin Figure Monuments, 37 five-story-tall marble remembrances of the man who conceived Perfect World, and the architect who built it. Placed at the entrance of every Perfect World city, Reston and the Founder stood together, welcoming visitors to the World Family. Although honoring individuals was deemed long ago to be counterintuitive (for the honored) these statues were placed after both men had passed.

This was fortunate, because Jake Reston would have been displeased at the undignified spectre. The Founder's thoughts mirrored Reston's; in the Founder was a man who was so strongly against accolades he wiped all trace of his own identity and actively prevented people from knowing his true countenance. At the end of his life he finally agreed to stop hiding and live among the society he created. He was offered a penthouse at the top of Thoreau Pinnacle, a two-hundred story tall megascraper in Aden, but insisted on a small apartment near the ground floor. His last years were spent beginning his final work, detailing the direction humanity could move during the Illumination. Sadly, he passed of apnea on December 28th, 2067, before he could complete this final treatise.

Reston was an exception to the rule of leadership and was respected more like a president or king of the World Family. He always denied the flattery, accepting only the title of 'inspirational leader'. Although in his life he personally oversaw the construction of every Perfect World city (37 worldwide with a total population of 290 million) he preferred to live in the first one, Aden, and made a habit of walking through the city every day. He did so until his death during a nap on June 23rd, 2068, at the age of 111 years, 111 days.

Many brilliant thinkers have come and gone since the time of the Founder and Jake Reston, contributing countless innovations, new fields of study, previously unthought-of sciences and revolutionary thought processes, and there is one thing all these bright minds had in common: They owe their very existence to the efforts of the Dynamic Duo of social reform, Jake Reston and the Founder, who foretold and averted the destruction of planet Earth by saving us from ourselves.

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman