Анатолий Шигапов – EXPIRATION DATE (страница 8)

The screen showed: "User DM-77342. Access level - 'standard.' Credit rating - 389. Mortgage - in process. Taxes - partially paid. Medical insurance - basic."

Daniel looked at his wrist. A small scar. He was no longer Daniel Miller, no longer a citizen of the United States, no longer a human being. He was DM-77342. He was a user. He had no rights. Only "Terms of Use," written in fine print, which he had never read. Now he was part of the system. And he could never leave it.

He left the center. Outside - sun. Artificial sun, shining over New Eden twenty-four hours a day. Perfect sun, like in the advertisement. He looked at the sky but did not see real stars. They were blocked by the dome. He pressed his wrist to the scanner at the metro entrance - the system let him through with a green light. "User DM-77342. Access granted."

He sat down in the carriage. The doors closed silently. Perfect stations flashed by. Perfect faces. Perfect smiles. No one looked at each other. Everyone looked at their communicators, checking accounts, checking rations, checking their lives. They were no longer living. They were existing.

He closed his eyes and thought: "When did I stop being human?"

August 2058. Cyber-Fund Headquarters. San Francisco.

Here, in a building that had once belonged to an internet-era giant, new gods now sat. The board of directors of Cyber-Fund gathered in a large hall. On the wall - a huge screen showing numbers. Numbers that indicated the world had changed. The world had become their property.

The head of Cyber-Fund - Markus Wolf. A German, fifty-eight, with cold eyes that expressed no emotion. He wore a strict black suit, and his face had not a single wrinkle - the result of work by the best geneticists. He looked at the numbers and allowed himself a slight smile.

Report, - he said.

The analyst - a woman with Asian features, in an expensive suit, with a communicator in her hand.

Sir, the Digital Passport 2.0 system covers ninety percent of the population of developed countries. In the US alone - two hundred forty million active users. In Europe - three hundred million. In Asia - four hundred million. Data on each person: biometrics, finances, medical records, behavioral patterns, purchase history, movement history. We know everything. We know what they eat, who they sleep with, what they watch, what they buy, what they think.

And what about states? Are they trying to interfere?

Attempts were made. In Germany, parliament tried to pass a data protection law. We simply turned off the digital passports of the deputies for two days. Without passports they could not enter the parliament building, could not vote, could not even buy food. The law did not pass. Deputies no longer raise this issue.

And in the US?

President Woods tried to introduce a national token to free the economy from our control. We sold a trillion tokens in three hours. The exchange rate fell by ninety percent. The country's economy collapsed. Woods withdrew the initiative within a week. Now he signs everything we give him. He is our puppet.

Markus nodded. He looked at the numbers. 90% of the population. 3.2 billion users. A database containing information about every person. What they eat. Who they sleep with. What they watch. What they think. What secrets they have. What fears. What hopes.

We know more about them than they know about themselves, - he said. - And that is our strength. They cannot hide from us. They cannot escape. They cannot even think of something we cannot predict. We know their future. Because we create it.

He paused:

In ten years, states will disappear. They will be dead. And we will remain. We are the only power. We are the future.

SCENE 4. ECONOMIC WAR

May 2061. Berlin. Bundestag Building.

This was no longer the Bundestag remembered from old holographic recordings from the early twenties. The building looked tired, like the city itself: the facade was covered in a web of deep cracks, through which wild ivy grew; the windows were covered in a murky film of dust, through which the sun broke in dull, sickly patches. The huge black-red-gold flag still hung above the main entrance, but no one had raised it in the mornings for a long time - it hung at half-mast, faded, frayed at the edges. No one cared about it. And it seemed no one remembered that these colors once meant hope, unity, and freedom. Now they were just fabric, slowly rotting under the Berlin sky.

Inside, in the spacious assembly hall, there was a hollow, almost cemetery-like silence. Rows of seats, designed for hundreds of deputies, stood empty. Only a few places in the front rows were occupied - about ten people, no more. Those absent were not sick and not on business trips. They had more important matters: private flights on personal yachts to the Maldives, closed meetings with Cyber-Fund lobbyists in the offices of Frankfurt skyscrapers, phone negotiations about mergers of assets, intimate dinners with representatives of exchange platforms. These people were no longer deputies in the classical sense. They were managers of their own fortunes, using their government mandates as passes into the world of tax-free deals and insider information. Their seats in the Bundestag were merely convenient showpieces.

At the rostrum, towering over the emptiness, stood the Chairman - an old politician with silver, unkempt hair, in heavy horn-rimmed glasses that constantly slid down the bridge of his nose. His hands, covered in age spots, trembled noticeably as he shuffled through papers. He was one of the few who still remembered the times when this hall shook with passionate debates, when the opposition and the coalition argued themselves hoarse, and television cameras broadcast every word live. He remembered how people followed the votes, believed in promises, and waited for change. Now his voice was the only living sound in this stone sack, and it sounded like a weak, lonely echo.

Gentlemen... ladies, your attention, please, - he began, coughing and adjusting the microphone, which slightly hummed. - We are obliged today to discuss the draft law on the introduction of a national settlement token. This is a matter of our survival. We must free the domestic market from the dictates of private digital currencies, regain control over the money supply, restore the sovereignty of fiscal policy. We must show the world corporations that Germany is not a colony, but an independent parliamentary republic. We can no longer afford...

He did not have time to finish. With a dull, solemn creak, the massive oak door of the main entrance swung wide open. In the doorway, contrasting with the semi-darkness of the hall, appeared a young figure: an impeccable dark blue suit, bow tie, shiny patent leather shoes, slicked-back blond hair, and a dazzling Hollywood smile that did not reflect in his icy, unblinking eyes. This man was not a member of parliament - he had no badge from the rostrum, but he behaved as if he owned the place. He was accompanied by a low hum of invisible camera drones, recording every movement. He was an emissary of Cyber-Fund - the main shareholder of the European digital economy.

Mr. Chairman, forgive the intrusion without invitation, - his voice was velvety, with a barely perceptible transatlantic accent, but there was steel in it. - I am forced to interrupt this session. Our analytical department strongly recommends against adopting this bill.

This is none of your business! - The Chairman banged his wooden gavel on the rostrum, but the blow was weak, almost pathetic. - This is a sovereign decision of the German state! We have every right to regulate our own monetary system! We are an independent democratic entity!

Sovereign? - The representative let out a short, quiet laugh that echoed through the rows. He walked slowly down the central aisle, his steps echoing loudly under the high vaults. - Mr. Chairman, allow me to remind you of some recent statistics. Seventy percent of your GDP is tied to contracts with our subsidiaries. Ninety percent of your population uses our biometric passports for payments, travel, and credit history. Your leading banks no longer issue loans - they manage our portfolios. You are not sovereign. You are our reliable, trusted partner. Twenty years of mutually beneficial cooperation. Do you really want to break this connection overnight over some outdated idea of "independence"?

I will not allow you... - The Chairman's voice cracked into a wheeze, his face flushed crimson, the gavel hit again, but now chaotically, - I will not allow you to dictate terms to us! We have a Constitution, we have the will of the people! We will vote, we will pass the law, we will... bring back our freedom!

The emissary stopped right in front of the rostrum, tilted his head back, and looked up at the old politician with almost paternal compassion. The smile disappeared from his face, leaving only a mask of calm calculation.

Then I recommend that in three hours you open the trading terminal and personally monitor the dynamics of your "national token." With your permission, we have already begun preparing for the new conjuncture. You will see what freedom looks like in practice.