Fifty Degrees Below. Kim Stanley Robinson

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       ‘That was Lord Acton.’

       ‘Oh yeah. But he left out the corollary. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and a little bit of power corrupts a little bit.’

       ‘I suppose that must be so.’

       ‘And everyone has a little bit of power.’

       ‘Yes, I suppose.’

       ‘So we’re all a little bit corrupt.’

       ‘Hmm –’

       ‘Come on, how does that not parse? It does parse. Power corrupts, and we all have power, so we’re all corrupt. A perfect syllogism, if I’m not mistaken. And in fact the only people we think of as not being corrupt are usually powerless. Prisoners of conscience, the feeble-minded, some of the elderly, saints, children –’

       ‘My children have power.’

       ‘Yes, but are they perfectly pure and innocent?’

       Charlie thought of Joe, faking huge distress when Anna came home from work. ‘No, they’re a little corrupt.’

       ‘Well there you go.’

       ‘I guess you’re right. And saints have power but aren’t corrupt, which is why we call them saints. But where does that leave us? That in this world of universal corruption, you might as well be President?’

       ‘Yes. That’s what I was thinking.’

       ‘So then it’s okay.’

       ‘Yes. But the sad part is that the corruption doesn’t just happen to the people with power. It spreads from them. They spread it around. I know this is true because I see it. Every day people come to me because I’ve got some power, and I watch them debase themselves or go silly in some way. I see them go corrupt right before my eyes. It’s depressing. It’s like having the Midas touch in reverse, where everything you touch turns to shit.’

       ‘The solution is to become saintlike. Do like Lincoln. He had power, but he kept his integrity.’

       ‘Lincoln could see how limited his power was. Events were out of his control.’

       ‘That’s true for us too.’

       ‘Right. Good thought. I’ll try not to worry. But, you know. I’m going to need you guys. I’ll need friends who will tell me the truth.’

       ‘We’ll be there. We’ll call you on everything.’

       ‘Good. I appreciate that. Because it’s kind of a bizarre thing to be contemplating.’

       ‘I’m sure it is. But you might as well go for it. In for a penny in for a pound. And we need you.’

       ‘You’ll help me with the environmental issues?’

       ‘As always. I mean, I’ve got to take care of Joe, as you know. But I can always talk on the phone. I’m on call any time – oh for God’s sake here she comes again. Look Phil I’d better get out of here before that lady comes to tell me that Abraham Lincoln was a president.’

       ‘Tell her he was a saint.’

       ‘Make him your patron saint and you’ll be fine bye!’

       ‘That’s bye Mr President.’

       Under surveillance.

      After he had come down from the euphoria of seeing Caroline, talking to her, kissing her, planning to meet again – Frank was faced with the unsettling reality of her news. Some group in Homeland Security had him under surveillance.

      A creepy thought. Not that he had done anything he needed to hide – except that he had. He had tried to sink a young colleague’s grant proposal, in order to secure that work in a private company he had relations with; and the first part of the plan had worked. Not that that was likely to be what they were surveiling him for – but on the other hand, maybe it was. The connection to Pierzinski was apparently why they were interested in him in the first place. Evidence of what he had tried to do – would there be any in the records? Part of the point of him proceeding had been that nothing in what he had done was in contradiction to NSF panel protocols. However, among other actions he was now reviewing, he had made many calls to Derek Gaspar, CEO of Torrey Pines Generique. In some of these he had perhaps been indiscreet.

      Well, nothing to be done about that now. He could only focus on the present, and the future.

      Thinking about this in his office, Frank stared at his computer. It was connected to the internet, of course. It had virus protections, firewalls, encryption codes; but for all he knew, there were programs more powerful still, capable of finessing all that and probing directly into his files. At the very least, all his e-mail. And then phone conversations, sure. Credit rating, sure, bank records, all other financial activity – all now data for analysis by participants in some kind of virtual futures market, a market trading in newly emerging ideas, technologies, researchers. All speculated on, as with any other commodity. People as commodities – well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

      He went out to a local cyber-cafe and paid cash to get on one of the house machines. Seating himself before it with a triple espresso, he looked around to see what he could find.

      The first sites that came up told the story of the case of the Policy Analysis Market proposal, which had blown up in the face of DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, some time before. John Poindexter, of Iran-Contra fame, had set up a futures market in which participants could bet on potential events in the Middle East, including possibilities like terrorist attacks and assassinations. Within a week of announcing the project Poindexter had been forced to resign, and DARPA had cut off all funds not just for the PAM project, but for all research into markets as predictive tools. There were protests about this at the time, from various parties convinced that markets could be powerful predictors, distilling as they did the collective information and wisdom of many people, all putting their money where their mouths were. Different people brought different expertise to the table, it was claimed, and the aggregated information was thought to be better able to predict future performance of the given commodity than any individual or single group could.

      This struck Frank as bullshit, but that was neither here nor there. Certainly the market fetishists who dominated their culture would not give up on such an ideologically correct idea just because of a single public relations gaffe. And indeed, Frank quickly came on news of a program called ARDA, Advanced Research and Development Activity, which had become home to both the Total Information Awareness program and the ideas future market. ARDA had been funded as part of the ‘National Foreign Intelligence Program,’ which was part of an intelligence agency that had not been publicly identified. ‘Evidence Extraction,’ ‘Link Discovery,’ ‘Novel Intelligence from Massive Data’; all kinds of data-mining projects had disappeared with the futures market idea down this particular rabbit hole.

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