AmEarth

“Ask, ‘What is the meaning of life?’” Peter ordered Sergio.

“That’s not going to work. I’ve tried philosophical types of questions before. Essie is not going to explain the vast dynamics of human emotion and unpredictability. She is best used for statistics and number-crunching. Also, on those types of questions, it tends to answer with a question, which can go back and forth for some time,” Sergio explained.

They sat at Peter’s desk playing with the computer like two children. Peter had called on Sergio to access level six clearance, and also because he felt more at ease with a civilian, even if he was an artist and a fraudulent mastermind.

“Try it anyway,” Peter said.

“Essie, what is the meaning of life?” Sergio said.

“Life is needed for the survival of a species. Reproduction is the method to multiply life. The meaning is intrinsic. All life is organic and reproductive from single cell organisms to complex beings. Are you asking in the religious sense?” Essie replied

“You see? A question,” Sergio said condescendingly.

“Try, Are you alive?”

“Are you alive?” Sergio typed.

“No.”

Peter scribbled a question as Sergio read and repeated.

“Where is Jimmy Hoffa?” Sergio asked.

“There are 437 Jimmy Hoffas in North America, 37 in Latin America and 3 in Asia. Which one do you need to locate?”

Peter wrote frantically and Sergio read as he did so.

“Where is the body of Jimmy Hoffa, deceased in 1975 and President of the Teamsters Union of the United States?” Sergio read out loud.

“There are twenty-three building foundations poured in a hundred-mile radius of the diner where Mr. Hoffa was last seen alive. There is a 97 percent probability that his body lies inside the concrete of one of these twenty-three buildings. The probability of finding his body increases as these old buildings are condemned, but the fate of the foundation is not always demolition. There is a 25 percent chance that his body will be found during demolition in the next ten years, 35 percent in the next twenty, and eventually an 89 percent chance that the body will be found by the end of this century.”

“How about that? You didn’t think it would know,” Sergio said, snarky again.

“A ninety-seven percent chance that he is in the foundations of an existing building,” Peter repeated.

“You’re not going to demolish twenty-three buildings just to satisfy your curiosity? Are you?”

“I might be the president, but I’m not an idiot,” Peter retorted.

“Good. Now ask something that you can really sink your teeth into.”

“Okay.”

.“Who killed John F. Kennedy?”

Sergio smiled with a wide grin showing his large white teeth. It was a great question.

“Essie, who killed John F. Kennedy?”

“John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated by two people with different motives in the same location. Lee Harvey Oswald fired two rounds from the Book Depository Building and hit President Kennedy from behind in the back lumbar region, which was probably not a fatal shot. The second shot hit Governor John Connally in the back. The third shot was fired consecutively with the second shot from a grassy knoll, hitting the president in the head from the front right side. This shot was instantly fatal. The fourth shot missed the convoy altogether, ricocheting off the pavement and nonlethally hitting an innocent bystander with a ricochet fragment. The United States House Select Committee on Assassinations was correct in its assessment that it was not a single shooter. Lee Harvey Oswald was a sharpshooter paid by those involved in organized crime with interests in casinos in Cuba. The other assassin was a foreign Vietnamese mercenary paid by the military-industrial complex with the intention of keeping the Vietnam War from ceasing.” Essie replied.

“Boy, that was a long answer. Had enough?” Sergio asked.

Peter thought long and hard in silence. He wrote a last question and slid over to Sergio.

“Why did AmEarth expropriate all fossil fuels on the planet?” Sergio asked.

“Fossil fuels were fast exterminating the citizens of the Earth via global warming and pollution. Most forms of cancer were derived from petroleum byproducts. Even medicine meant to cure humans was ignorantly fabricated with cancer-producing derivatives. The alien threat provided the perfect argument for the need to regulate the use of these fuels. The apparent scarcity of these resources helped prioritize their use for the launching of rockets. The real need was to use these fuels only for aging military ships, airplanes, and rockets, while forcing humans to use battery-powered vehicles and civilian airplanes. AmEarth controls this energy resource to maintain its power and control the greenhouse gas emissions on the planet.”

“Okay. Satisfied now?” Sergio said.

“Somewhat. Let me try one looking ahead, rather than back,” Peter stated handing him another note.

“Really?, Peter?” Sergio said after reading the note.

“Please.”

“How long will the AmEarth empire last?” Peter typed.

“The projected duration of the AmEarth system is indefinite, provided the directives are followed, and the human race remains psychologically engaged with the artificial enemy.”

“In other words, we’re here to stay,” Sergio translated.

“It seems that way…Of course, the caveat is the artificial enemy. Hmmmm…” Peter thought out loud.

“What happens if humans find out that there are no aliens threatening them?” Peter whispered.

“Essie what would happen if all humans knew there was no alien threat?” Sergio asked.

“There is an 80 percent probability of mass defection from AmEarth to the former border system of independent republics. There would be immense pressure to dismantle worldwide directives, and the immediate short-run consequences would be disadvantageous to humanity. In the longer run, new powerful ruling classes would rise to control their regional areas again. There is a greater than 70 percent chance that the Earth would become a small grouping of powerful AmEarth-style countries controlling large blocks of geography. The initial mass defection would be anti-American and would cause many regions to fall into conflict. The outcome would lead to violence and huge human loss of life.”

“Wow. I am impressed, Peter. These are things I’ve never thought to ask,” Sergio admitted.

“Pretty awful stuff,” Peter said, and then wrote again.

“Why does AmEarth need an enemy to continue?” Sergio read the note.

“Humankind is an evolved species, but it has many limitations. Psychologically, it cannot live without a higher purpose. The absence of a single religion and race requires a powerful uniting element. Survival of the species is an ideal goal. The threat to the entire globe is perfect for uniting and controlling the emotions of humans.”

“Which emotions?” Sergio asked of his own volition.

“Mainly the ones caused by freedom: anxiety, loneliness, societal anomie, lack of purpose, distraction, and the need to belong with others.”

“Why do some people profit more than others in the system?” Sergio asked again without a need for Peter.

“Directive Number 7. Private property shall be a core principle.”

“Just like that. Programmed in,” Sergio muttered.

“Would you have it any other way?” Peter asked him.

“Ha ha.” Sergio laughed.

“Is communism better than capitalism?” Peter showed another paper.and Sergiio asked..

“The system you refer to as communism has never been practiced. The human species has inherent emotions that make communism impossible—an important one being greed. There will always be different emotional reactions in humans, even under the same conditions, making a communal experience diverse. Capitalism is rough and lacks regulations, making it one of the most barbaric systems of governance ever devised by man. It is impossible to judge which is best—a chimera or a monster.”

“Turn it off,” Peter said, his mind overflowing with too much information all at once.

“Okay,” Sergio said.

They sat there in the private office of the president.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s probably the best coffee I’ve ever had,” Peter said.

“Would love one,” Sergio replied blankly, obviously considering his own new perspective.

Peter ordered the coffee from Rosemary.

“So you lived in New Zealand?” Peter said.

“Yes. Beautiful place,” Sergio replied.

“You were in the film business at Weta, right?”

“You obviously know my story, Mr. President. Is there something you really want to know about me?”

“I just want us to be allies.”

“You want to be my friend?”

“I do,” Peter answered honestly.

“You know that friends forgive.”

“What?”

“Friends are defined differently in your culture than in mine. Let me be clear. Where I come from, a friend never expects anything but friendship, and we pick up where we left off, no regrets or guilt trips.”

“I see that as the basis of friendship, too,” Peter said, unsure as to where this line of conversation was going.

“Good. Because last I checked, Anglo-Saxons like you are always trying to profit from relationships. You rarely smile unless there is some sort of profit involved.”

“I can’t deny that about our culture,” Peter admitted with a slight blush.

Coffee arrived and was served, and their conversation stopped as though someone had pushed the pause button.

“Do you feel sorry that you’ll never be famous?” Peter asked.

“Fame is not the end goal. It’s not equated with being happy. Do you know how many famous people commit suicide? Or are unhappy? What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

“You know what I mean, Sergio.”

“I do, but my motivations have never placed fame very highly.”

“I suppose I thought that all artists wanted some type of fame.”

“No, Mr. President. Many artists have no desire for it. Art is expression beyond the here and now; most of the accomplishment is derived from the actual process of creation. Anticipating riches and rewards in one’s lifetime is conceited. Most artists are appreciated in earnest only after a few centuries, when we look back and say, ‘tow! That guy really knew what he was doing.’ At that point, a name is just a reference to follow the work, and it’s the work that actually matters.”

“I see. A thankless job, one might say.”

“The same is true of politicians.”

Sergio drank his coffee. Peter thought about Sergio’s remark and realized that his own deeds were largely based on the decisions of a computer. Could there be a place for him to make his own mark? He guessed that Bri and Scott would be his legacy. Perhaps that was enough.

“Why aren’t you married?” Peter asked.

“I left my heart in New Zealand. Never met one as good,” Sergio said bitterly.

“Why don’t you go find her?”

“You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

“It’s part of my AmEarth contract. I can’t return to my former life. It could jeopardize the secrecy of the entire project. You know they like to keep the lid on TSings around here.”

“I’m sorry, Sergio,” Peter said compassionately.

“It could be worse.”

“How?”

“I could go back and find her married with three kids and no interest in me.” Sergio said it with a laugh, but he didn’t look amused.

Peter smiled. “Yes; that would be worse.”

“Women.”

“Women indeed.”

Peter was actually having a good time with Sergio, and he was not looking forward to all the traveling he had scheduled for the remainder of the month. He would love to sit here and chat with Sergio every day, and talk about things truthfully.

“Listen, Sergio, I have a proposal for you,” Peter began.

“I’m all ears,” Sergio said.

“I’m scheduled to visit four continents this month. I was wondering if you wanted to come? I may need your access to Sssie and I enjoy your company. A friendship has to start somewhere. We’ll start in New Zealand, sinceashey just entered AmEarth and completed the unity of the globe. We will then go to the Far East and return to America from Africa and South America. Mainly in Bolivia.”

Sergio felt his own blood rushing up to his brain when he heard the president say “New Zealand.” He drank from his coffee and hoped that his shock was not too obvious. Had Peter not listened to him? He was forbidden from traveling to New Zealand…

“I could come,” Sergio offered innocently.

“Do you have any work pending?”

“Nope.”

“None?”

“Nope.”

“What do you do all day?” Peter asked.

“Do you see this tan? I didn’t just wake up like this. I have a sailboat, and I’m keen to learn how to sail it properly.”

“Then come with me, Sergio. I’m not looking forward to so much travel and you could help me with my speeches.”

“Chen used to ask Essie for help in writing speeches.”

“No wonder he sounded like a machine half the time,” Peter joked, feeling good about making Sergio the offer of traveling with him.

“How true, but I’m not really a man of words. I’m more an ideas man.”

“Well, I happen to be a man of words, and I know that ideas can be helpful. I also need some extra help.”

“What do you mean, ‘extra help’?”

“Turn Essie back on.”

Sergio turned the computer back on.

“Ask about the technology for lie detection. How does it work?” Peter said.

“What? Why?” Sergio asked but Peter did not reply and just edged him to ask with his gaze.

“Essie, how does the lie detection software work?” Sergio asked.

“Lie detection is based on blood flow fluctuations between truthful answers and lies. Humans cannot prevent this change, as the brain shows greater activity when lying, which requires more blood in the cerebral cortex. The visual scan of the retina provides this with a precision that is 99.999 percent accurate within the first minute of a scan and 100 percent accurate within five minutes.”

“OK, Turn her off,” Peter said.

“What’s going on?” Sergio answered, confused but switching Essie off.

“Remember what you said about Anglo-Saxons? That we need to trade profit for friendship?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. I need you, and you need me.”

“I need you for what?”

“You do want to go to New Zealand, right?”

Sergio stiffened. Apparently the president hadn’t missed that overlap.

“What do you need?”

“I need my eyes.”

“What?”

“I need a pair of contact lenses that look exactly like my eyes when I am relaxed and comfortable. Can you do that?”

“I can, yes.”

“I know. I’m familiar with your alien eyes, and you are truly a wonderful artist. But can you make me human eyes, unflinching and undetectable to the camera software?”

“Absolutely.”

Sergio immediately understood where Peter was going with his request.

“This is because you know the truth….” Sergio mused to himself.

“Yes. I don’t want the computer to know that I know. I must be able to fool all lie-detectors.”

“That’s what brought Chen down. It made him too stiff.”

“Exactly. How long will it take you to make the contacts?”

“Let me photograph your eyes, Absent any problems I think I can have them to you in a couple of weeks. I’ll need the exact size of your eye so they can be comfortable. Let me see…”

Sergio took out his wafer and activated the camera app. He photographed Peter’s eyes from mere centimeters away. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and cut it into small circles with Peter’s scissors. He placed one directly on Peter’s eye.

“Don’t move. I need your tears to soften the paper. Don’t blink,” Sergio said, the director of his own mini-movie session.

“Easier said than done,” Peter told him as he fought back the urge to blink.

In a few moments, the paper was wet and Sergio folded it to make a tight fit on the surface of the eye, just like a contact lens. He took a pencil and made two gentle dots on the paper on Peter’s eye. Peter trusted Sergio and remained frozen in place. This was uncomfortably intimate, but necessary. Sergio removed the paper lens and picked up his things, carefully putting the mold for the new contacts into a small box for safekeeping.

Sergio nodded.

“A week. Probably even five good days,” he said.

The lenses became an unspoken pact between them. Peter arranged for Sergio to travel as a speechwriter, and Sergio was happy to have a relationship with someone in AmEarth who wasn’t a military type and actually appreciated his craft. In the American tradition, this friendship began by trade, but would grow through experience and trust.

For Sergio Ramirez-Bulatov, visiting New Zealand was a dream come true. This was a golden opportunity to skirt the travel ban that had been imposed more than a decade ago. He could think of nothing but his former love, and many repressed emotions began to surface as he left Peter’s office and walked toward the elevators. Peter evoked executive privilege to bypass Sergio’s ban and no one thought to question his override. Being the president did have some perks.