Анатолий Шигапов – EXPIRATION DATE (страница 4)

I don't feel sorry for them, - he answered. - They are doing well. In New Eden it will be clean, safe, stable. They will eat synthetic food - but at least they won't starve to death like in the state zones. They will breathe purified air - unlike those who stayed in cities where smog kills ten thousand people a year. They will be happy because they will be told they are happy. Isn't that better than living in fear, dirt, and poverty?

But they are not free.

Freedom, Li, is an abstraction. People don't want freedom. They want security. They want their children to have a future. They want not to be killed on the streets. They want stability. We give them that. And in return they give us... well, they give us everything.

He turned to her:

Do you think I'm a villain? No, Li. I'm a realist. We don't take away their freedom. They give it away themselves. We just offer a deal.

Li was silent. She looked at the construction site. Drones carried steel beams, excavators dug trenches, migrant workers in orange vests scurried like ants. Thousands of people were building a city for others. They themselves would never live in New Eden.

And what about them? - she pointed downward.

Josh shrugged indifferently:

They will get their due. Food, water, medical care. We honor contracts. They signed agreements to work for three years. After the term - deportation. Legally. We do not break laws, Li. We just... use them.

"Everything is legal." Those two words would haunt Li Chen for the rest of her life. She did not know it yet. She just nodded and returned to her tablet.

Josh looked at the horizon. The desert stretched to infinity, yellow, dead. But in a few months an oasis would grow here. Artificial, controlled, tamed.

Li, - he said without turning. - In five years you won't be able to find a single independent state on the map. Only corporate zones of influence. New Eden is just the beginning. We are building a new world. And we are building it right.

He paused:

Do you know what our strength is?

Money?

Patience. We do not seize power. We just wait until the states get tired. Until they go bankrupt. Until their citizens come to us themselves. We do not take away - we offer. And they take.

He looked at the construction site:

And when they take - they can no longer give it back.

SCENE 3. THE MORTGAGE TRAP

March 2042. New Eden. "Golden Gates" district.

Here even the air was different. Clean, transparent, with a faint scent of pine - real pines had been planted in the park, each tree costing two hundred thousand dollars a year to maintain. But who counted money when it came to the perfect world?

Daniel Miller stood at the window. From his living room there was a view of the central park. Green, neat, divided into geometric zones. In the center - a fountain that never stopped. The water in it was crystal clear, with a soft backlight. Gardener drones darted between the trees, adjusting branches, collecting leaves. A perfect picture. A picture for which he was paying.

Daniel's house cost half a million. He had taken out a thirty-year mortgage at two percent annual interest. It had seemed profitable - fifteen hundred credits a month. He earned six thousand. He had a wife, Sarah, a daughter, Emily. They were happy. They moved to New Eden in 2037, when the city first opened. Daniel believed. Believed it was the beginning of a new life. Believed he would work here, raise his daughter, grow old. Believed everything would be fine.

Now he looked at the contract. The very same. Yellowed, tattered. He had kept it in his desk drawer as a reminder of his own stupidity.

Three months ago he had been put on half-time. "Staff optimization," the HR manager explained. A young guy with perfectly styled hair. He spoke politely, with a smile. "The corporation is forced to cut costs. Your department is no longer needed. But we are not firing you - we are transferring you to half-time. You will remain in the system, keep your corporate passport. For now. We are a family, Daniel."

"Family." Daniel had heard that word so often that it had lost its meaning.

Now his salary was three thousand a month. Mortgage - fifteen hundred. Utilities - four hundred. Food - six hundred. Insurance - two hundred. Three hundred credits remained. That was enough for one trip a month to the corporate cinema. For a birthday gift for his daughter. For coffee. For everything else - no. He could not buy new clothes. Could not pay for the drone repair that took his daughter to school. Could not afford medicines not covered by insurance. He lived paycheck to paycheck. And he had already missed two mortgage payments.

Yesterday the notification came.

His communicator screen blinked blue, and Daniel opened it without thinking of anything bad. He was expecting a letter from his daughter. She had written to him from school - they were studying corporate history, and the teacher had assigned them an essay. Emily asked for help. He wanted to reply that he would help in the evening. But instead of a letter from his daughter, a notification appeared on the screen.

"Dear Daniel Miller. Your mortgage arrears amount to 4,500 credits. According to clause 14.3 of the contract, in the event of a delay exceeding 90 days, the corporation has the right to unilaterally revise the terms of the loan. Your rate is increased to 12% per annum. The new monthly payment is 5,500 credits. If you are unable to pay within 30 days, your home will be repossessed. Sincerely, the Solar-City Asset Management Department."

Daniel looked at the screen. Five thousand five hundred. That was almost twice his salary. That was more than he and Sarah earned together.

His hands trembled. He reread the message. Reread it again. Hoping it was a mistake. But the numbers did not change.

He opened the contract. The same one he had signed five years ago. He flipped through the pages, looking for clause 14.3. Page 47. Fine print. Almost invisible. It said:

"In the event of a payment delay exceeding 90 days, the corporation has the right to unilaterally revise the terms of the loan, including but not limited to increasing the interest rate, changing the payment schedule, and demanding full early repayment. The corporation also has the right to seize the pledged property without additional judicial proceedings, under the terms specified in section 18.2 of this agreement."

Daniel had not read that. He had not read anything beyond the first page. He had seen the number - two percent. Seen pictures of happy families. Heard the manager's voice: "Sign, Daniel. We are one family." And he signed.

He signed his own death warrant.

He sat down on the sofa. His hands hung limp. He looked at the white walls, the panoramic windows, the park beyond them. This house was a prison. He could not sell it, because the house belonged to the corporation. He could not leave, because the debt would remain. The corporate court would collect everything. He had no money for a lawyer. He did not even have money for a ticket to the border.

He thought about Sarah. She was a teacher at school. Earned two thousand. She did not know. She thought everything was fine. She believed they would manage.

He thought about Emily. She was twelve. She dreamed of becoming an architect. She drew houses, parks, bridges. She did not know her father was bankrupt. That her family was on the verge of disaster.

Daniel looked at his phone. He had Charles's number. An old friend from university in Kansas. Charles had always said: "Don't sign, Dan. Don't sign without reading. The fine print - that's where the truth is." Daniel had laughed then. Thought Charles was too cautious. Charles was always right.

He dialed. Ring. Ring. Ring. Voice: "Subscriber unavailable."

Daniel put the phone down. Closed his eyes.

He was thirty-five. He had twenty-five more years to pay for a house that was no longer his. If he was lucky. If the corporation did not evict him sooner. If he did not break.

He stood up. Walked to the window. Looked at the perfect city. The clean streets. The happy people walking in the park. They had also signed. They had also not read.

He said quietly, into the void:

Welcome to New Eden. The city-in-a-box. The best prison on Earth.

SCENE 4. STATES TAKE OUT LOANS

February 2045. Washington, D.C. The Oval Office.

Outside the window - snow. White, fluffy, like in old movies. It fell on the lawn in front of the White House, on the trees, on the tourist’s taking photos in front of the main entrance. The tourists did not know that in a few weeks this snow would be red with blood. Not literally. Metaphorically. The economy was bleeding out.

President Jonathan Woods sat at his desk. Heavy, oak, with the seal of the United States. He looked at that seal and thought: "How much longer will it last?" He had been president for eight years. He remembered how in 2037 he was elected - back then there were still elections, real ones, with debates, voting, hope. People believed in him. He promised to "restore America's greatness."

He had not restored it. He could not. Because America was no longer his. It was corporate.