Free Shine by Jetse de Vries (ed) Page B

we're locked out of biomimetic and thinker-level technologies. The few that have come in the shipments are either not viable or highly unstable. We could end up with a moon carpeted with lush greenery, or we could grow it into a giant solar cell with a tritium laser aimed at Earth."
    "Those are thousand-year scenarios," Ani said, over the growing murmur in the room.
    "Unless Earth perfects Drexler-level nanomachines," Jared said.
    Ani grimaced. "I understand that's highly improbable."
    "Given current technology. But Earth is operating twenty to forty years beyond our leading edge, and advancing."
    Loud murmurs from the room.
    Ani drew in a deep breath. Damn Jared. He'd never learned when to STFU. "And this affects us how?"
    "Without biomimetic and thinker tech, forget the Europa Explorer."
    The room went silent.
    Ah, shit. That ship was the Grand Promise. It had eaten more voluntary half-shifts than any other dream. Dozens of person-years. Ani remembered those nights back on Earth. You can't have a perfect society without a promise--
    "We can't launch the Explorer?" someone yelled.
    Jared shook his head. "We can launch it. Chances of long-term success are almost zero."
    The room erupted in shouts. What are we working for? Why didn't you tell us? Where do we go from here?
    "Shut up!" Pavig Lok said, his voice booming on the raw steel. Slowly, the room quieted down.
    Ani looked at the frightened, angry faces in front of her. She didn't know what to tell them. Or if words would matter.
    If we could just talk to Earth , she thought.
    But she didn't dare say it.
    Because that was another thing. Another part of their perfect society.
    Roy Parekh found Nari Akimoto deep in a vineyard on the north end of Napa. She stood like a scarecrow, hands on hips, looking out over the rolling hills. The grapes had just been harvested; ragged vines exposed only a few sickly clusters, rapidly turning into raisins in the Indian-summer heat.
    "Good harvest," Nari said, as he drew near. She'd grown thin and severe since their USC days, but she was still beautiful, in an icy way.
    "Why do I have seven million dollars in my Fund of Last Resort?" Roy asked.
    "Good afternoon to you, too, dear Roy," Nari said, her eyes faraway, focused on the hazy valley below.
    "What have you been doing?"
    Nari just smiled and leaned against a trellis.
    "You actually have seven point one two million dollars in the FOLR account. One hundred thirty eight active clients and a monthly cashflow of one point two one million dollars, assuming a median policy cost of nine thousand dollars per month."
    "How do you know this?" Roy said, feeling his teeth grind.
    "A new datadigger. Quasipublix." Nari picked a bunch of grapes and shook it. Wrinkled proto-raisins fell off of it.
    "What have you done?"
    "So, you don't want this?"
    No, not yet, not yet.
    Nari snapped a quick, snakelike grin. "I saw that."
    "What?"
    "Your expression. You can thank me for giving the fund a little push."
    "Tell me what you did."
    Nari said nothing for a long time. "You think too small," she said. "The Rethink made things harder, but you can still play the big game. I have friends who rate policies. If you abstract the numbers on your FOLR, it looks amazing. No current debt, very low chance of payout, low investment, fits into catastrophic continuation plans."
    Roy remembered that Nari had worked for AIG before the Rethink. She probably had a lot of friends. Lots and lots.
    Roy shivered.
    "It can even be billed as completely carbon-neutral--a great way for an exec to up his social responsibility profile."
    "Only because everything's done off-world."
    Nari just grinned.
    "What happens when people figure it out?"
    "Who says anyone will figure it out?"
    When they really look at it--"
    A laugh. "They're looking at it. They're wishing they came up with it. But they're also signing it. Barring a complete meltdown of the world economy--enough to make all your plans moot anyway--there's nothing to worry about. So,