The GoldenCity

Michael Corrigan accepted a flute of champagne from a young woman with a silver tray and began to wander through the crowd that had assembled in the college cloisters. The Brethren’s annual meeting drew delegates from all over the world, and everyone wanted to talk to the young American who had just become the new Executive Director. Before he could cross the room, Michael encountered Mr. Choi, the delegate from Singapore, who wanted him to meet Mr. Iyer from India.

None of these people could be considered his friend-or even an ally. Michael knew he was in dangerous territory. A year ago, he was a prisoner of the Brethren, lying on a surgical table with wires in his brain. Now he was running the Evergreen Foundation, and many of the delegates seemed surprised by this sudden transformation.

Mr. Westley and the other half gods had told him what to do when he returned to the ordinary world. But Michael wasn’t about to reveal their plans. Instead of describing the wet crawlers and the executions on the visionary screen, he informed the Brethren that he had explored a rock-filled, uninhabited landscape and that he had heard gentle voices, like angels, whispering in his ear. He had asked these angels for technological knowledge, and they had transmitted the design for a memory chip that could store an enormous amount of data.

He made sure that Dr. Dressler sent the executive board an enthusiastic description of this new technology. Many governments and corporations had been overwhelmed by the personal information obtained by the Vast Machine. Now they would have the memory to store every detail about billions of people. Every recordable activity in a person’s life could be saved, evaluated and linked almost instantly.

While Michael’s description of the Fifth Realm was like a blurry photograph, his request for power was clear and explicit. If the Brethren wanted to receive more information, then Mrs. Brewster had to resign so that Michael could take control of the research effort. Of course, he would continue to be guided by the Brethren’s collective wisdom, but the change of leadership would make the Foundation more responsive and efficient organization.

Mrs. Brewster spent a week trying to organize opposition to his plan, but the corporate leaders serving on the board were tempted by the power implicit in the new technology. Within twelve hours of his victory, the Evergreen Foundation issued a press release that transformed Michael into a successful real estate investor and international philanthropist.

This conference in London was the next step in his plan. The Brethren’s annual meeting was usually held on Dark Island or at Wellspring Manor in southern England, but Michael wanted to stay away from the two locations where Mrs. Brewster still controlled the security team. Remembering that it was the 200th anniversary of Jeremy Bentham’s invention of the Panopticon, Michael came up with a new proposal. If the meeting was moved to London, they could hold the welcoming party in the South Cloisters at University College where the philosopher’s body was kept in a glass case. The Brethren’s executive board was so enthusiastic about this idea that even Mrs. Brewster was forced to smile graciously and make the vote unanimous.

After the Foundation made a generous donation to the college’s maintenance fund, the Board of Governors allowed them to use the cloisters for the evening. Michael volunteered to make the opening remarks to the guests, and he contacted the more powerful members of the board to get their suggestions. “I think we need to make a strong statement,” he said, and everyone agreed with him.

***

Michael finished his glass of champagne as another group of delegates prattled on about their fears and desires. Finally, he shook hands and turned away. In a few minutes he would begin his speech, and he wanted to get some inspiration from the dead man at the end of the hallway. Nodding to members of the board, he threaded his way through the crowd until Mrs. Brewster stopped him. Although he had taken her public role as the head of the Evergreen Foundation, she was still in charge of the Brethren. For this event, she was wearing a royal blue dress and pearls, but her face was a tired mask.

“It’s clear that I haven’t been informed of all the arrangements.” Mrs. Brewster’s voice had the clipped, precise tone of an educated Englishwoman who had just found something rotten on her lawn.

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s the chairs.” She gestured to the rows of chairs set up at one end of the long hallway. “Are they really necessary for a short welcoming speech?”

“The speech might be a bit longer than we discussed. I believe that this organization is at a crucial point in its history. We need a new strategy for the future.”

“And what is that strategy going to be?”

“I’m sure that you’ll support it,” Michael said, and left her alone in the middle of the room.