The Brave New World 55 Money Woes & Wishes

Kasper Weinberger sat in his wheelchair, staring at the coins scattered on the table in front of him. So did Nelson Odongo and Carlton Brock, seated across from him. But Odongo and Brock were smiling, while Weinberger's face suggested he was about to have a heart attack.

It was a big table, and it was almost completely covered by coins of different colors, shapes, and sizes. There were red coins, yellow coins, silver and golden coins, and coins in many shades of brown and grey. Most were round, but quite a few were hexagonal, octagonal, square, or elliptical. Some had edges that were ridged, and others edges that were smooth. Some were thick, and others thin; some were barely bigger than a pea, while others resembled drink coasters.

"This is crazy," Weinberger said.

"We live in crazy times," said Odongo.

Carlton Brock yawned, and turned to the window. It was a beautiful day outside; although it was the middle of February, it felt as if spring was right around the corner. He wanted to go for a walk, without being accompanied by a gaggle of bodyguards. He wanted to get away from all those people who talked and talked and complained all the time. He'd really had enough. He should be lying on a beach, or maybe putting in a round of golf if it wasn't too hot. That was what he usually did, at this time of the year.

He sighed and said silently to himself: hang in there, Carlton. A couple more weeks. Then you get to move into your new governor's residence. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a dozen other rooms, a three-car garage, tennis court, a nine-hole golf course, two swimming pools - one strictly private, for those moments when he didn't want to share his water with any visiting plebs. Set in nine hundred acres of woodland and meadows, atop a gentle rise that gave a view of the ocean over the swaying treetops.

All paid for out of his own pocket. And amounting to a handful of change, considering how much he'd be making as governor of United States territory in both worlds, Old and New.

Just two more weeks. He sighed again, clenched his jaw and turned back to the table covered with coins. Odongo was saying:

"... no problem at all. Everyone's making money already, don't you understand? Can't you see what's right under your nose, on this table? And we've already got a stream of coinage coming in from the New World."

He broke off and glanced at Brock and said:

"How much did you get yesterday, Carlton? I'm sorry. I know you've already told me twice, but I've forgotten the numbers. I've got so much on my mind."

"Two thousand five hundred and thirty eight coins," Brock said indifferently. "Amounting to nine thousand, one hundred and nine dollars, fifty cents. Could have gotten twice that, but we decided to go easy on the gold ten-dollar pieces. They won't be of much practical use for a while. Too valuable."

"There," Odongo said to Weinberger. "You see? And that's just a single transfer from a single administrative center in the New World."

"You don't understand," said Weinberger. "How do I manage all this? It's impossible. There are at least ten billion people eligible for the GIM payout on the first of March. I need at least ten million tax collectors. I need more time."

"You don't need ten million tax collectors," Carlton Brock said lazily, suppressing the urge to yawn again. "It's the governors that need the tax collectors. It's their baby. And they've begun hiring them already."

"Exactly," said Odongo. "It's not your concern. You don't have to manage any money. The money will manage itself, because it's got real value for a change. All you have to do is oversee the whole system, and make sure it works the way it's supposed to.

"But I won't know if it works," wailed Weinberger. "How can I know if it works? Who will tell me? The whole information network is down. And what about the bookkeeping?"

"You'll be getting a report from me on the tenth of March," said Carlton Brock. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me - "

"Just a minute more, Carlton. No more." Odongo turned back to Weinberger and said:

"You'll be getting a report from all the territory governors on the tenth day of every month. Don't tell me you can't handle two hundred simple, straightforward reports a month, Kasper. Knowing your abilities, you would get through them all by yourself in a couple of days. And you've already asked for, and received over twenty staff. All hand-picked by yourself."

"Let's cut to the chase," Brock said. "Kasper, do you want to quit?"

Weinberger licked his dry lips. Yes, he wanted to quit. This whole thing was madness. But then he didn't want to quit, too. As the new Finance Minster, he was going to be paid a tiny percentage: a tenth of a promile of the total global tax income to pay himself, his staff, and cover all the expenses associated with his office. He'd already calculated it would be enough to make him a billionaire within a couple of years. And Kasper Weinberger loved money. His entire professional life had been devoted to money. Correction: his life as such was about money. Money was the only thing that really counted, in his life.

And there was something special about those coins on the table. Something tables and numbers on a monitor screen did not have, something even the biggest four-digit banknote did not have. He focused on the reddish gold ten-dollar piece Brock had mentioned. It was a beautiful coin. It was beautiful money. Many, many coins like this would be his if he kept his job. He imagined himself seated in his private vault, surrounded by chests full of gold coins. Yes! This was what he'd always wanted, ever since he'd been a little boy.

"So you're saying all I have to do is relax and wait until the tenth and do some reading and report what I think?" he said weakly.

"Finally," said Carlton Brock, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The man's got it. Jesus, Kasper, you ought to drink some more coffee in the morning. Or something. Anyway, I'm outta here. I've got stuff to do. Good day, gentlemen."

And he strode out of the office, shutting the door behind him with unnecessary force. Odongo watched Brock depart; he shook his head when the door slammed, then turned to give Weinberger a cold, hard look.

"Well?" he said.

"All right," said Weinberger. "All right. I'll do it."

"Good. And now go and get some rest, and relax. It's all going to work out well. Goodbye."

Odongo left Weinberger staring at the coins and quickly went down a couple of floors, using the stairs. He'd always been in fine physical shape, and six weeks of running up and down the stairs had improved it even further. Of course he'd have preferred the elevator, but they hadn't been working until just recently, and now they did they were always overcrowded. But that situation had a nice side, an aspect that often made Nelson Odongo's day. He would never forget the day he saw a grossly overweight, feared and cruel dictator climbing the stairs on all fours in his dress uniform, his star-decorated cap askew on his head, sweating and gasping for breath.

Olaf Troll was waiting for Odongo in his office, as arranged. He was amusing himself by bending a long, thin metal ruler and releasing it with a twang. He produced a particularly impressive twang when Odongo entered, then pointed the ruler at him and said:

"He is staying on."

"Of course he's staying on," said Odongo, smoothly maneuvering himself into the wheeled armchair behind the desk. "We both knew he would stay. He loves money more than anything else, more than his own self. He will die happy as long as he's looking at lots of money when he does."

Troll nodded.

"Good," he said, and made the ruler twang a couple of times.

"I still think you should have been there," said Odongo. Troll shook his head.

"Bad idea," he said. "We hate each others' guts. If I had been there, he might have quit. No, Brock was the right man to take along. Weinberger respects Brock. He's also afraid of him. It's a combination that works wonders."

"You might be right," Odongo conceded. He frowned into space, then asked:

"You're sure that system will work?"

"Of course it will work," Olaf Troll said. "There'll be one big mess and hysterics all around at the start, but it will work. Needs a bit of time to work well, that's all."

"Maybe we should have waited an extra month or two."

"No," said Troll. "I wouldn't have been able to stand an extra month of bitching and complaining from all those idiots. Neither would you. There's going to be a mess to begin with, no matter when we switch. The sooner we do it, the quicker things will settle down.

"How much of a mess? And for how long?"

Olaf Troll shrugged and twanged the ruler and said:

"Maybe a couple of months. At the outside. You know, people are going to have other things on their minds. How many did you say are going to die from hunger and disease by the summer?"

"A couple of billion, easily," said Odongo. "Maybe more."

"There you go," said Troll. "You can't eat money."

"But what about trade? And paying people's wages?"

"People have traded without using money for tens of thousands of years," said Troll. "It's called barter. I give you this, you give me that. And everyone will be more than happy to work all day for a meal. Mark my words."

"I always do."

"Then I'll tell you something more. I can't work with this Worst asshole. You've got to get him out of my ministry, and shunt him somewhere else. If you don't, I'll just fire him. I'm the Minister of Economy, correct? I can choose my staff."

"Of course you can," said Odongo. "But I'm surprised. You said yourself Guido Worst is a brilliant thinker."

"Yes. He is. But he's not a doer. When it comes to actually doing something, he freezes up and starts making bleating noises. I can't stand him. I can do all the thinking that's needed by myself."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Have you come up with an estimate of the GIM payments needed in March?"

"The guaranteed income minimum money? Yes. About a billion, globally."

"Just a single billion?"

"Maybe less."

"Really?"

"We only pay the money to qualified people who register," said Troll. "A lot won't register, because they think they've still got a job. And a lot that register won't qualify, because officially they still have a job."

"But you said at least half of all the jobs worldwide will be wiped out."

"Oh, it will be more. Two thirds, maybe three quarters. Maybe ninety percent? Who knows. We'll see. Let the governors handle that. Let the people affected handle that. Let them bear the responsibility for their own selves instead of bitching about their rights with their hands held out for freebies. It's high time for a global reality check."

Odongo pondered this for a while. He remembered the time he'd visited a refugee camp, deep in the heart of Africa, when he was still a young man. There was a shortage of food and most of the people in the camp resembled walking skeletons. But they kept on fucking, and making babies that died within days of being born. Of course, it was the aid agency workers who ran the camp that got the blame for all that. It was basic human nature at work: I can do whatever I like, but if it goes bad the responsibility belongs to someone else. And help me! Help me right now! I have a right to be helped whenever I've fucked up!

Nelson Odongo knew there was nothing that could be done about that. And so he nodded, and said:

"You're right, Olaf, as always. It's high time for a reality check."

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