Bold War 2020 Read online

  =

  A bee landed briefly on her brightly coloured dress, clambered around busily, and flew on. She was fascinated, Sylvester horrified.

  "Let's talk about that bee," said Gramps. "The one that just said hello to you. Let's call her, say, Bzzt." Their eyes followed her path to the swarm. "How big do you think her brain is?"

  "Very, very small," said Jessica seriously.

  "This big?" queried Sylvester picking up a grain of sand.

  "Probably about right," said Gramps looking at the grain carefully. "And how big is your brain Jessica?" he asked, tapping her lightly on the head.

  She held her hands out from her head. "This big?"

  "Well, not quite twice the size of your head, but you could probably fit a million Bzzt brains inside yours."

  While she was pondering the fact, Sylvester asked "Does that mean she's a million times smarter than Bzzt?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Not her," said the boy with emphasis.

  "Not you either," cried Jessica, pouting.

  "Well, Jessica," he said, comforting her. "Even though the bee's brain is so tiny, it works so well to meet the needs of its owner. It's made up of cells, which are smaller still, and they're made up of molecules, which you can't see, and they're made up of atoms - which they can only just see under the very best of microscopes."

  V

  Distance and space. Measurement. They can measure down to as small as 1015 inches - that's so damned small they must be extremely clever, especially as they can also measure up to 1023 miles - the dimension of the explorable universe. It's a pity with all this cleverness measuring up and down the scale that they can't manage things better at the human scale, under our noses that is, to make a better life for us. Uneducated as he was, it was obvious that answers to man's problems had to be found in the human dimension of between one to eight inches, namely within the depths of the human brain.

  =

  "Now you two, another question - bees can't speak, so do you know how Bzzt will tell the others if she finds a good new patch of pollen or a place for a new home?"

  "No. How?" they asked.

  "By dancing in a circle in a special way and wiggling her bottom."

  Jessica giggled, and wiggled her bottom as he continued.

  "I reckon if we all could put in as good a day's work as these little critters - if we could be 'as busy as bees' - well we could probably be both advanced and civilised. If our brains could work ounce for ounce as well as theirs we'd have a fantastic world. With all our grey matter (tapping his forehead as he smiled at Jessica), I ask you - why do we seem to have so much trouble in our lives while these tiny, primitive things work hard from dawn to dusk, are very good at what they do and co-operate nicely - without any trouble at all?"

  V

  Beats me, he thought in answer to his own question. Earlier he had looked up a definition of 'wisdom', thinking he might find some hint, some direction. 'Wisdom: experience and knowledge together with the power of applying them.' He had a little knowledge, and some experience, but absolutely no power. Some people he knew were very knowledgeable (know-alls?) but had no experience or power. Others had bits of one or the other attributes, but none had a high score on all three. Maybe the bees had enough of the three to meet their needs, humans certainly didn't.

  There were exceptions. He read that Leonardo de Vinci's scientific investigations changed the way people looked at things, eventually leading to the Renaissance, the rise of science and, in due course, the Industrial Revolution. And Martin Luther, they said, was one of the greatest emancipators. These must be examples of what man could do, but how did they 'happen'?

  =

  "I don't know Gramps. I thought we asked the questions and you gave us the answers," said Sylvester disarmingly as they walked to the park gate, stepping to one side as a large white car revved through the opening. It stopped at the edge of the car park and two men hurried into the bushes. I wonder what they're up to, thought Hank looking back.

  V

  Black clouds were building in the sky, punctuated by shafts of sunlight. A brooding sky to match his brooding thoughts. He was unsettled, and increasingly anxious that he wasn't doing anything useful for mankind, for Jessica and Sylvester. He didn't know what he might do, let alone how. He had tried tentatively on occasions but the response from persons he thought might have been interested and able to assist or guide him - the librarian, a teacher, his minister of religion, a businessman, a politician, someone in the army - were all negative. 'Wishful thinking', 'dreamer', 'get real', 'don't waste your time and mine', 'impractical', it's not that simple', 'you don't understand', 'come back later' - condescending, dismissive, knowing chuckles and condescending glances. After trying for more times than he thought any of his acquaintances would he stopped - frustrated and impotent.

  As the sun burst from under a cloud he sensed another 'feeling'. Something, without in any way knowing what, may be imminent. And / or 'immanent' - another word he had looked up. 'Naturally present, inherent.' And immanence: '1 - a permanent abiding within, an indwelling. 2 - the doctrine that the ultimate principle of the universe is not to be distinguished from the universe itself, that God dwells in all things and permeates the spirit of man.'

  He shivered at the thought, the unknown. In all things? In us? In the bees, in time and distance? How might I understand? Maybe something was about to happen? A chronotype perhaps? He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, on which he had scribbled: "Chronotype: an arbitrary intersection of time and space - Michail Bakhtin, Russian theorist."

  =

  As they walked home he was brought half way back to reality by questions from his charges. "What is going to happen this millennium, Gramps?", and "What will people be like 4600 million years from now?"

  ~

  Meanwhile on the branch near the path Bzzt had commenced a communication dance, as best she could in the chaotic mass of bodies, to say she had found a good place to start a new home next morning.

  At the same time a passer-by on the other side of the river may have been surprised to see two streams of urine, shining in the afternoon sun, appear from the bushes and perform their trajectories into the water.

  "Aah, that's better," breathed the taller of the two men, Andrew Buchanan, distinguished academic and Professor of Social Analysis at Pinnacle University.

  Younger brother Kent was laughing, uncharacteristically for a serious mining magnate. "You always could project further than me, old man. But only because you've got a height advantage."

  "Not so," was the rejoinder, with a suppressed giggle. "It's all technique. Your decadent capitalist ways put you at a disadvantage in natural things."

  "Andy, I do believe you've had too much to drink," admonished Kent.

  "Listen, Kent,… little brother. 'Symposium' comes from the Greek word meaning 'party with wine'. Who am I to argue with such tradition?"

  "Of course, I should have known. Anyway, let's get back to the car. That conference was a waste of time, but I've got something important to talk about. Last back to the car is a dirty mongrel!"

  Laughing and elbowing each other as they scrambled through the bushes, they were temporarily closer than they had been for years. Two contrasting people with similar upbringing but vastly different outcomes, their views at odds in most fields, from politics to economics, from government to social affairs. For the moment their differences were forgotten, two young brothers sporting again.

  Andrew had always been 'gifted' as their mother put it. He sailed through school, college and university, graduating with honours. Conservative and quiet, friendly but reserved, he was highly regarded for his expertise in social and economic analysis and trend forecasting. The long hours he worked mirrored a strong social conscience.

  He was cautious by nature and apprehensive of making mistakes. The problems of the world were evident to him and he despaired of the trends but could see no solutions. Although he knew that fear and greed were maj
or determining factors it was his view that people ought to be able to change for the better - even though he didn't believe it would happen. He admitted to himself that he was successful only in his own narrow sphere, but resented Kent referring to him as an inept optimist, a theoretician who never did anything.

  "No, I'm a hopeful sceptic, whereas you're a cynical opportunist," which Kent took as a compliment. Aggressive and competitive, Kent had left school early, ill at ease, easily distracted. He was drawn to mining camps and through hard work, good fortune and not a little bastardy (Andrew's term) had accumulated serious wealth before the age of forty. He looked down on people who couldn't put in the hours or take the risks he did, and despised those who wouldn't try.

  Kent had no respect for authority or size of organisation He searched out the weaknesses of companies and systems and used them to his advantage, just as he preyed on the personal shortcomings of opponents to gain benefits. What they termed ruthless he called focused, their domineering - decisiveness. He was active, dynamic and practical where others were tentative, apathetic and theoretical. He believed individual capacity to be paramount. He sought power, influence and riches. Although successful in areas he thought important, he was unfulfilled, incomplete, unhappy.

  Only occasionally did he pause to wonder why wealth and influence were not enough. At such times he fumed that achievement didn't buy satisfaction, conquest didn't lead to contentment. Worse, he didn't know what would quench the yearnings that prickled within him.

  The careers of the brothers kept them mostly apart. On the occasions they met they revelled in animated discussion, each vigorously pushing his philosophy of life and attacking the other. They agreed to disagree on many things.

  There was no disagreement regarding the state of the world - it was woeful and getting worse. Crime, wars, overpopulation, underemployment, pollution, health and welfare problems were rife and entrenched. Society, in spite of its advanced technology and 'civilisation', was becoming increasingly dysfunctional.

  Andrew felt deep yearnings to right wrongs, to clear up 'muddles' as he called them and to rectify undeserved injustices. Kent took it all in his stride; he wasn't responsible for it being that way and didn't feel any compunction to clear up other people's mess. Besides, the troubles and difficulties of others presented opportunities for him to make money.

  ~

  In sharp contrast to people problems, the bees' world continued unabated. They achieved much with little, against harsh nature and predators. Primitive yet orderly, as opposed to humanity being advanced but increasingly disorderly, the contrast was marked, the paradox evident. They had the basis to continue for millions more years, except for one serious danger - humans. Pollution and insecticides were threatening their food chains, their fertility, and their very existence on a long-term basis. If unchecked, humanity might not only wipe itself from the face of the earth but take bees and countless other species with them.

  But by chance (or was it something more than that?) the bees' age-old and successful fight for survival was about to change all that. None of the participants of that Saturday - not Williams or his grandchildren, not the brothers and certainly not the bees - would have thought history was about to change and that by nightfall one of the small 'uncivilised' insects (a Y2K bug?) would trigger a protracted string of events that would culminate in momentous changes for mankind, of magnitude and impact unforeseen by man or beast. The seeds had been there a long time; all they needed was the right conditions to germinate. The first of what in later years came to be known as a 'concatenation of chronotypes' was imminent. A new and very different millennium was about to be constructed.

  CHAPTER 2 Dark clouds

  Earlier that week, Dr Cameron Dench had sat pensively in his laboratory, surrounded by extensive and expensive equipment.

  Why do science and medicine make such slow progress? There is so much to be discovered, the possibilities are endless. Yet petty administration and even pettier politics bog down researchers. Opportunities for advancement of knowledge and science are enormous but grown men are handicapped by infantile attitudes and emasculating emotions - and administration, damn it.

  As the Doctor laboriously filled out forms he worried on several fronts, which was not unusual as he always worried about something. Creative and resourceful, a brilliant researcher, his habitual angst was exceeded only by his ambition to rise to the uppermost ranks of his field.

  The subject of suspended animation had fascinated him since he was nine years old. On a visit to India his parents had taken him to see an ascetic put in a box and buried alive. He was upset to think the old man couldn't breathe, and had vivid nightmares of a voice calling to him from under the ground. The next day he begged to be taken back, and watched wide-eyed as the earth was casually removed. "Hurry, please hurry," he remembered saying under his breath, as if his thoughts would speed the dark-skinned workers who wielded their implements as if the old man had already died.

  When the box was lifted from the hole and the lid removed, he burst into tears at the sight of the still body. Then the dark eyes blinked. The man stirred, rose slowly and stepped from the box. He looked around with an air of calm and total assurance. He walked straight to the transfixed boy. Placing his hand lightly on the young head he said "Do not cry my son, the Almighty is with us all." Those images stayed with him through medical school and influenced his choice of speciality Did their bodies slow down? Perhaps time slowed down - for them or by them.

  He had been outstandingly successful in his research and was on the point of major breakthroughs. His patients were in various states of comatose - from strokes, drug overdose, auto accidents, near drowning, suffocation by strangling or general oxygen deficiency, or brain injury due to brutal assault. A gamut of tragedy. Radical procedures he had developed had brought three patients back to near-normal health from comas of up to three months duration. In other cases he had been able to improve significantly the health of patients in comas extending into years, although he hadn't yet been able to revive them to consciousness.

  In his hands was an object that filled him great pride. It was a handsome plaque with an inscription 'Best Young Researcher Of The Year - 2018'. He gazed at it lovingly before placing it on a shelf, between imaginary and much grander awards.

  One of his worries was the difficulty in getting funding for his research and in finding suitable patients. Why were the authorities so insensitive to new possibilities for patient recovery and why were relatives so sensitive to possible risks when the chances for recovery without his intervention were zero?

  Cameron Dench's way of thinking and approach to medical research was 'different'. He was able to look behind the obvious facts and problems, between the lines of received wisdom. Established conventions were secondary to him and he let it be known. So it wasn't surprising his superiors didn't really appreciate or were envious of his work, they didn't give it sufficient support, and they stole much of the credit when it was successful.

  He was thankful for Andrew Buchanan's support in advising and assisting where he could, encouraging when the going was difficult. His family had been close to the Buchanans since he could remember. He had grown up with the two brothers and his sister Sylvia had married Andrew after a romance begun in childhood.

  In many eyes Sylvia was the perfect marriage partner. Attractive, lively and sociable, a devoted charity worker and perfect hostess. Yet in twenty years of otherwise ideal marriage there had been no children, tingeing the couple's life with regret. Pity about that, thought Cameron. But then he hadn't any progeny either, despite several relationships.

  A year earlier he had nominated Andrew to give the keynote address at a conference on world solutions for the twenty-first century, and challenged Kent to be a panel member. Two months ago Andrew had sought feedback on his paper that summarised the major problems facing the world and commented on possible solutions.

  "I've read it and can't disagree with the problem side," said Camer
on. "Now give me the one page, five minute summary so you can consolidate it in your own mind."

  Andrew groaned. "You're always the same. Always practical. All right, here we go. I've collected problems into the following categories:

  Ten Major Problem Areas of the Twentieth Century (10P).

  1. Wars, crime and terrorism are on the increase.

  2. Substance abuse in the form of alcohol, tobacco and drugs continues.

  3. Population growth strains resources, communities and environments.

  4. Sickness, disease, famine. Extinction of plant and animal species.

  5. Environmental contamination, degradation of air, water and land. Pollution, acid rain, ozone layer depletion, global warming.

  6. Widespread poverty and increasing unemployment. Growing gap between rich and poor - people and nations.

  7. Rapid change and stress, instability, racism, religious intolerance.

  8. Social discontent and dysfunction, welfare dependence, family breakdown, youth suicide.

  9. Conspicuous consumption.

  10. Problems are urgent and getting worse and we don't know what to do.

  "Alone any of these problems is serious, in combination there is a strong multiplier effect which can, and I believe will, be crippling. Perhaps the worst problem is number 10. Society, and worse still its leaders, cannot see or admit the severity of these problems let alone do anything about them."

  Cameron had been listening patiently and nodding occasionally. "You don't have argument from me on any of that. Things are getting worse. If we project current trends the situation will be extremely serious. We are crapping in our world nest and oblivious of it. The more harbingers of doom, the less we seem to listen. The problems you refer to will be rampant and will jeopardise our future. Courts and jails will be full, we will all face daily danger, and law and order will cost us a fortune. However I have an unreasoned hope that won't be the case, that there will be a levelling out, a plateauing of the impact."