FUTURES RESEARCH

9012 - BUBBLES - 1998

It was one of the days I hated. Oh God, how I hated filling out forms! I was convinced that each box had been devised by some faceless bureaucrat just to torture me. Accordingly, I took advantage of any excuse to avoid the distasteful task. But the hated chore had to be started, my time had finally run out. At home, after a long hard day, the final deadline had arrived. My terminal - or at least the personal agent which lived in its software - was coaxing me, using every soothing word it knew, to make the task easier. And it was almost certainly protecting me from the much harsher sentiments being communicated by its counterpart in central admin.

For just a moment my mind wandered again. What, I wondered, was the conversation going on between my agent and the center? Did they argue with each other? Did they lose their tempers and use the binary equivalent of four letter words? It should have been a stupid question, computers aren’t supposed to indulge in such irrational processes. But recently many agents had been modified to give them a form of emotional response. This had been so they could offer a friendlier interface with their owners - ‘cuddly’ was the word often used in the ads - but it had added a new dimension of uncertainty. Before, you knew what they said was exactly true. Now, you were never quite so certain.

Prompted by the increasingly strident terminal, at last I tapped out my first words. For these reports I preferred the impersonality of the keyboard, rather than the intimacy of the spoken word I normally used. Indeed, the worst thing about these reports was precisely that I was required to put into words things that simply wouldn’t fit into neat sentences; and emotions, as much as opinions and the odd fact, were the substance of this aspect of my work. I sighed, and wished I could be doing almost anything else. I would even have volunteered to do my stint as team leader. Anything but this. But here I was, for my sins, doing the part of the job I hated. I consoled myself with the thought that the overall job - that of managing the interpersonal relationships of my home group - was the one for which I was better suited than anyone else. In fact, I generally loved this role; being a mother hen to the thirty or so people who made up my group. It was an essential role, for the individuals worked together in a variety of teams which regularly changed their purpose - and their membership - with resulting relationships that frequently shifted from one extreme to the other. Helping them cope with all these changes had, indeed, become one of the most important roles in management - and it was usually the most personally rewarding for people like me. I was lucky that my feminine talents equipped me for the job. Like any mother, I positively glowed with pride when my protégés did well. In truth, it was a joy to help them even a bit along the road to fulfilling their potential.

But, these damned reports regularly made my life a misery. The personal rights legislation was supposedly in everyone’s interest, and that meant that they simply could not be avoided - on pain of imprisonment. Funny how rights, of equality, had become so much more important when men found themselves on the defensive. So, the task had evolved into one of ensuring that there was no legal loophole through which a male employee - and it was invariably a disgruntled man who made use of the legislation - could claim that he was disadvantaged by his gender. There was no way of getting away from the fact that it was a thankless task. But it had to be done. It was one of the costs women in general had to bear in order to enjoy their new supremacy.

In fact, I had no such problem children. Maybe I was a good mother hen, or maybe I was just lucky. So, at least, I did not have even more unbearable chore of weighing every word to make certain of its legal implications. In many ways, indeed, reporting on the progress of my charges was enjoyable - it was a form of licensed boasting. But, then, the word limits - rigorously enforced by the computers - always stopped me in full flow. I had to go back and take out all the gems of insight I had inserted; and I really hated losing these. Above all, it was the obligatory, legalese jargon which killed the fun. On towards that pain barrier then, at least the start could be as I wanted:

Ann: a joy to work with, and - like many of the women in the group - a natural team leader. She was almost as good a hen-mother as myself, but Ann’s sense of humor better suited her to the task of managing the toughest projects. I was not alone in clamoring to be on Ann’s project teams. It was such good fun, I wished I could be doing just that instead of wrestling with these damned reports. But, at least, it was easy to describe Ann’s successes and, for once, the word limits proved to be no problem.

Josh: on the other hand, was much more problematic. In common with most new men, he had learned to control his most aggressive tendencies, and to fully participate in the cooperative new society. He would never be a member of MACHO. In any case, that ‘secret’ society had now degenerated into little more than a drinking club, and was more of a threat to its members' livers than to government. Yet I was all too aware that Josh was dissatisfied. He was undoubtedly the best communicator in the group, and obviously enjoyed that role - so I always placed him where he could use this skill to its best advantage, to the extent that some of the others were starting to resent what they thought was favoritism. His web work was a particular joy to observe; he was almost poetic in the way that he wove the words. Yet he was still not quite good enough to meet his own aspirations. He would never reach the level of net jockey - as a major web conference host - which would earn him the levels of income and - even more important - the adulation he desired. Men still seemed to hunger after status above all. Even so, I regretted that I couldn’t, this time, help my protégé realize his greatest dream. But, at this particular moment, I regretted even more that I had to find the words to do justice to my own attempts to persuade him to settle for second best.

Jay: was much more rewarding, even though he/she was symptomatic of the stresses which still plagued society. When he had first come to me and had explained that he wanted to become she - a transsexual - I had been genuinely shocked. I shouldn’t have been, everyone had the right to decide their own future, no matter what that might be; and, with women getting many of the best jobs, it was now much more common-place for men to take the surgical route to solving their problems. I had been shocked because I had not been prepared for the news, it was my first such transition. I did not know if I could cope with  - as a proto-daughter - someone I had known before as a proto-son! As it turned out, in the months following, I had found the process a real delight - reliving my own youth as I introduced Jay to her new life. I would write many words about the latest developments here. Fortunately, the system, which was much more tolerant of word limits when it came to such sensitive issues, allowed me the one chance I had to expand as much as I wanted to. The chore became, for a while, a pleasure once more.

But, then, back to those whose reports had to fit the rules......

It was while I was taking a side-trip, to get away from those hated forms, that I unloaded a bubble. I wasn't looking for one, even though there is known to be a statistically significantly higher chance of finding them on a side-trip; it's one of the system's ways of encouraging you to widen your personal horizons. I had taken the side-trip simply because - when offered to me by my agent, as a way of keeping me awake for the main task - it interested me. I didn't need any system designer, or even my agent, to tell me what to do. I had a natural urge to explore. My experience tells me that most people do, and the nerds - with their entertainment and prizes - are just gilding the lily!

Anyway, whatever the reason, here I was with a bubble unlocking in front of me. Even then it was not wholly unusual, I had experienced the same thing several times before. So I was quite prepared when the simulacrum appeared and started asking me the questions. I hit the 'print' button as soon as my reflexes allowed. Somehow or other I find the assumption that I am incapable of reading words rather patronising. Anyway, as the successful product of several speed-reading courses I can read far faster than any simulacrum can talk - and I enjoy racing the machine behind the screen to see if I can beat it. Of course I never do, but it is still fun.

To hell with the glitzy rewards the designer nerds think are necessary to keep you learning, the bubbles offer you a real chance to participate in government. Perhaps most people answer the questions because of the prizes available, but I was genuinely motivated to help government at whatever level it wanted. This bubble, for instance, was sponsored by the Federation. Now that was a surprise, for you were much more likely to find one from the local community government, where I knew some of the local politicians personally. I had crossed swords with them at a number of the public meetings they were obliged to run - both on the web and face-to-face - but, even so, I would still answer even their tacky questions when they appeared in a bubble. I had no such hang-ups at all with the Federation. It was such a swirling mass of day by day alliances, changing from topic to topic, that it was impossible to build up any real animosity towards those involved - they were never the same! You were always seeing the news-promos by the old political parties, bemoaning what they saw as the chaotic political life of the Federation. They couldn't see how you could run the monster, let alone give it a sense of direction, on the basis of such rapidly shifting alliances.

Like most people, though, I thought these critics were locked into pre-history. They might just as well have called for policy to be set by a joust between their favourites. The reality was that the Federation worked, and it worked much better than the times when they had been in power. It might have seemed to these members of the old-school that a miracle would be needed to get its three billion members to agree on anything. They missed the point, the more people involved the more stable the system became; a statistical fact regularly publicised by the Federation itself - no doubt to attract some of the smaller nations which still hadn't decided which of the big four to join. The real point, missed by the lumbering dinosaurs which were the old political parties, was that it was much easier to vote issue by issue.

Thus, I had supported the widely popular decision to expand the starship development programme, as it would protect humanity's future even against disasters which might wipe out the whole solar system. Then I had voted for it when it was put to referendum - as it had to be, in view of the large sums involved. I was less happy about the more marginal council decision in favour of seeking out wormholes, even the theoretical calculations about these were challenged. But - having downloaded the supporting papers and scrutinised the budgets to find that the sums involved were relatively small - I did not choose to support the call for a discretionary referendum on that. Of course, I was unhappy at some of the votes where I was on the losing side. Indeed, I was very unhappy at the council's decision to cut back tax breaks for the poorer counties in Southern Africa. I knew they were almost over the hump of take-off, and indeed were not far off  developed levels, but I felt they still needed some extra help. I was pleased, then, when the necessary third of congress supported a direct vote. I was one of those in the Northern Hemisphere to cast my vote; although I was disappointed that as few as ten per cent of my peers did the same. The crunch, though, was that more than seventy per cent of those in the southern hemisphere voted and, to my great surprise, voted - albeit by only a small margin - to support the measure. So it was not merely carried, but seemed to have some degree of popular support amongst those it most affected - which is always a good sign. Perhaps I was being too hard on my peers, though. Many, some people said too many, of the direct votes were on purely regional issues and even I - despite my overdeveloped social conscience - didn't bother to cast my direct vote on all of these. To be honest, I felt no guilt at ducking the vote on the changes to the statutory boundaries of the Gobi desert - which was the last one I recollect deliberately avoiding!

Anyway, here I was, with a Federation bubble in front of me. The questions were about the Federation's relations with the new nations proliferating in the asteroid belt. I guess for most people it could have been a dry subject, though it was one that fascinated me personally.  In any case, the question designers had done their best to make them interesting, even to those less socially and politically aware than myself. The question style, and graphics, constantly shifted; drawing you into the process, making you actually want to give your answer - and even looking forward to the next one. The questioning lasted ten minutes, but I did not begrudge the time; I even felt refreshed after it.

Even so, I was surprised when a new bubble opened the following morning; in the middle of my normal work - no side-trip this time. I knew my routine work would be re-routed to others, and my report was now put to bed on the system, so I was quite happy to spend an hour or more on this second-level follow-up. Employers, though, hated such intrusions, especially where they typically took out their key management - for, though second-level bubbles still had a random element, they took account of your ability to handle complexity. I guess that, like most people, I was flattered by this attention. It was the first time I had reached this second level, and I was itching to find out what it involved.

In fact, it was a much more complex process than I had expected. At each stage I wasn't just asked questions, but I was provided with information on which to base my decision. To my delight I found that there even were sidelines to explore, and accordingly took nearly three hours rather than the one hour more normally allowed. My colleagues were as fascinated as I was, clustering round my workstation - some of them even had to stand on chairs to see the host screen, until I duplicated this on a colleague's vidwall, and then daisy-chained to further bays as even more people joined in! Of course only I was allowed to use the input devices, and the computers constantly checked not just that I was sitting there but that the entry patterns were mine - personation is a crime but it still happens. Even so, I was now using just the keyboard, not just because I preferred this, but because voice input was impossible in the bedlam which now surrounded me; with my colleagues yelling their own views on every topic. Even so, the material, which was as well designed as the most modern game, fascinated me and I barely noticed the hubbub around me. Indeed, even though I found myself physically drained with the effort, I almost suffered withdrawal symptoms when the bubble finally closed.

That evening I had barely had the time to take a half-cycle rejuvenating shower, and change into my loungers, when the vidwall announced a visitor. As the wall formed itself into a three-dimensional image, which indicated a high band transmission, I found myself talking to a stranger sitting in a living room very much like my own. I was on guard immediately, for this was the way some money-handling clubs wormed their way into your wallet. But, before I could hit the 'identify' screen button, a glowing sign - Federation Pollster - flashed up. If I had never before taken part in a second level bubble I certainly hadn't dreamed of reaching the third level - and I didn't know anybody else who had. It was an honour indeed. Of course, there must be hundreds of these face-to-face bubbles running each day, but with three billion people to choose from, your chance of participating was less than that of winning the lottery. Yet here I was, face to face with one of the famed pollsters.

I can't remember much of what happened over the next three hours. Although the pollster looked to be informally relaxed in her own house, it soon became obvious just how professional she was, for she was wearing a very sophisticated glove set; and, as the interview progressed, her hand wove data pictures almost faster than I could follow. I soon realised why this interview was taking place in my home, with my contacts with the outside world shut down, for I simply couldn't have handled such complexity with an audience.

To my great surprise, when the interview had finished the pollster took some time to explain the next steps. I hadn't even realised that there might be a fourth level!

The main problem, it turned out, was ensuring my confidentiality. Thus, she carefully explained how paranoid the Federation was about participants being influenced by pressure groups - though she used less loaded words than those! Fourth level participants, it seemed, start to have significant influence on the government decision-making process, and it would be a disaster if this was suborned by special interests. Thus it was that the following week I simply told my colleagues that I was going on a vacation for a couple of weeks. Even this announcement had waited for several days, so that they would not link it with the second level bubble they knew about. I suspected such a high level of secrecy was probably unnecessary; my colleagues were almost certainly as ignorant of the fourth level programme as I had been. On the other hand, they might have suspected something, where the disastrous state of my finances was a regular topic for debate! But, of course, my winnings - this trip - from the stage two bubble explained that problem away. From then on, the pollster's staffers were nothing if not thorough. I soon got quite nervous about the amount of information they were pouring in my direction - and my ability to absorb even a small part of it. I was even more nervous about the amount of information about my personal life they were demanding to know. They were no doubt collecting even more from the various data-warehouses that capture every blink of your eyelid - and sell it to the highest bidder! I began to feel more like someone on a witness protection programme rather than someone who had won 'the holiday of a lifetime'!

But, as the event began it did seem pretty much like a high-class holiday. It was the first time I had been taken to the airport by limo, and that I had flown first class. Despite my reputation as the last of the big spenders, I would previously have considered anything above coach as complete waste of money. The official destination was one of the more popular resorts in the Caribbean. I had been rather surprised by this, where the Federation was based on the old Europe, but then most of the Caribbean states had chosen to join the Federation rather than AFTA which loomed - often quite literally - on their horizon. The US, which still ran AFTA almost as a personal fiefdom of the President, had not been amused; but there had been nothing they could do about it. They dared not risk the sort of political disasters that their various Cuban military adventures had eventually landed them in.

When we reached our destination, I had expected that I would be shepherded onto one of the buses taking visitors to the various resort hotels, but I - and a dozen other women - were taken instead to a small commuter aircraft for a second leg. That flight was breathtaking. I was used to flying at 100,000 feet or more, only able to see the cloud cover - and then only through minuscule windows. But for this flight the widows were almost landscape size, and we flew at just a few hundred feet; so we could see every detail of the strings of islands we passed over. I guess that the real reason for this low flying was to avoid radar detection, but I didn't care - I was having the time of my life. Dazzling white beaches, azure blue seas, perhaps I had gone to heaven.

The resort hotel itself also came up to my definition of heaven. It is impossible to describe the sheer luxury of everything. There were just a dozen or so of us, each with our own beach hut, if you can call a suite of rooms with every possible convenience a hut; though it was discretely hidden under a thatched roof. The central facility looked almost as modest, presumably for the benefit of any over-flying intruders. But, as we soon found out, most of the conference facilities were located underground. I respected the pollsters' worries about outside influence, but I had begun to think that they had gone over the top in their paranoia. Otherwise it was perfect. The 'work' was scarcely arduous, and the pleasure was out of this world. We met for a three hour group session twice a day, but apart from this our time was our own; to play tennis, to ride around the small island, or to dive deep into the seas around it. It was so peaceful, so relaxing in every way. I would never have chosen such a vacation for myself, because I always looked for intellectual stimulation, and didn't fancy the possibility of developing melanoma - now recognised as a very real possibility. This, though, was ideal; sand and sun - amply protected by sun-blocker - with six hours a day of the greatest intellectual stimulation I had ever experienced!

I have rather glibly described what was hidden under the central block as 'conference facilities', but they were far more than that - incorporating every state of the art communication facility. We were surrounded by three-dimensional vidwalls, and we used the most sophisticated gloves you have ever seen. At the flick of a finger you could create a different world, and that of course was the intention. It meant, though, that the work of our six-woman team, for we had been split into two groups, was a whirl of contrasting images. Each of us had our own adviser, and I recognised the facilitator in charge as a pollster who frequently starred in global-casts. The experience was magical.  After just a few hours of this, I found myself almost telepathically tuning into the thoughts of my teammates. Almost by sleight of hand we wove stories about the future which dazzled even us. I had initially complained that the women-only approach was sexist, but I had to accept the explanation that such single-sex teams produced different results from mixed sex ones - which were also used, to shed a different light on the topics. The approach certainly seemed to work in our case. And the bonds we created with our fellow team-members were so deep that I still talk to each of them on a daily basis.

The two weeks almost flew by, but the fun had to come to an end; as all good holidays always do. But the withdrawal symptoms, as the limo departed and I walked back into my house, were very real. It had been the most enjoyable, and fulfilling, experience of my life. I guess I would still rate it so, even though I was almost immediately hired by the pollsters to be one of their futurists; so our work must have been as fulfilling from their point of view too. Even though it is arguable that my work since has been even more fulfilling, it has never been such mind-blowing fun.

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