The Boardroom

As is often said, “The Children may grow old and die, but the Names stay the same.” A more accurate truism has never existed in popular discourse, and I proclaim that with the utmost pride.

It was My first day on the Board, but I knew I needn’t be nervous. My many Grandfathers’ years of Accumulation had been in the service of My possession of this seat, and, My father perished, here I was at last. I was a Boardmember. I was now an Issuer of Decisions, not just a Beneficiary. Nor, of course, a helpless receiver of consequences. But need that even be said?

I smiled softly to Myself as I burst through the Boardroom doors with a sudden and necessary confidence about Me.

The other Boardmembers had already arrived. They sat on Their elevated seats, comfortably above the podium that marked the position of the coming Proctor. From the moment I entered They stared down at me. Their gazes were soft and unthreatening, for I was, of course, One of Them. Still, They were curious about this Neophyte joining the Issuing ranks, the highest of high honors. The Top Ten.

I stepped onto the lift to join the Others and admired My surroundings on the way up: the high-ceilinged skylights, and the banners of the Intercontinental Board of Shepherds hanging at regular intervals on each slice of wall in the decagonal chamber. White and gold.

The lift reached the elevated Boardmembers’ platform. Being the newest Boardmember, but more importantly the One of lowest stature, I took My place in the closest chair, the lowest chair. As soon as My body touched the seat, its soft, leathery material coagulated around Me, its cushions adjusting to ensure perfect harmony with each of My subtle curves. I allowed Myself a moment of complete relaxation.

But quickly, I needed to ready Myself. The other Boardmembers had stopped gazing at Me now, and a few of Them offered small nods, not directed at anyone in particular, but rather at the air, at the room.

Not a minute later, Our slim, well-dressed Proctor entered, wearing his wire-rim spectacles (no lenses, of course, style only — his eyes had been re-attuned). He approached the podium. Then, he directed his attention to Us, the Figures above him, Whose gazes were fixed confidentently though not threateningly on his position. He was a Jabber, a family with roots on the Board several decades back, and a steady spot in the Top One-Hundred for generations. They would bounce back. All longstanding families did. An inevitability of the ebbs and flows of currency.

“Distinguished Boardmembers,” the Proctor began, speaking firmly but with an air of reverence. “I await Your requests.”

A middle Boardmember, the Fourth, spoke up first, barely allowing a moment for the air to clear itself of the Proctor’s words. “Proctor Jabber, what is the status of the Palestinian refugees? The caravan off the border near Jericho.” The Speaker was Jak Kelos — who I knew to be nearly one-hundred-eighteen years of age, though He looked not a day over seventy. His voice possessed a razor-sharpness that could only be achieved through vocal cord re-attunement, a procedure perfectly understandable and respectable for a Man whose words meant so much. What a thrill to hear their weight in person.

The Proctor cleared His throat. “They are near, Mr. Kelos. Should they cross, or attempt to, our numbers indicate a sharp downturn in Exxon’s Gross Corporate Product, at or in excess of —”

“Shut them down,” Kelos interrupted. “Whatever needs to be done. Rescind their Existence Permits.”

Without pause, Proctor Jabber nodded, and gestured at Kelos’ pedestal — that signature, small, dignified point of his. One of Kelos’ fingers twitched, and He let loose a slight nod. It was done, the Decision Issued.

Amazing, nascent I could not help but think. The swiftness. The decisiveness.

The Issuing of a Decision, a practically mythologized process. And yet, here I was, mere yards from the Issuer, witnessing Him — and preparing to speak next. 

“Ah, Proctor Jabber,” I spoke up. A few heads turned. None of the faces’ expressions were shocked, for this was no great bucking of any trend. The Others were simply noting Me, as one must reasonably expect Them to. I was a new One, the newest new One, and this One, They realized, was One who was quick to speak up.

All of Them, after all, had been here for a while. I hoped to stand at Their Stature before long. I had no intention of being the final representative of the consistent presence that My family had enjoyed as Boardmembers.

As of then, We were the Tenth. I was not worried, but I knew that things needed doing to ensure the continuance of my family’s esteemed run on the Board. I had possession of a sharp new investment algorithm with a bold prediction whose direction went against the current common grain, but whose legitimacy I believed in wholeheartedly. A new strategy is all it was. They popped up every once in a while, shuffled around the order of the Thousandthers, then were learned by everyone and ceased to offer an advantage to anyone. Nonetheless, I happened to have one in My pocket at this particular moment, a lucky break inherited from My Family’s resources. I was happy to be its executor, to help My Family in this way, mechanical though the action was, dictated by an algorithm; simply regurgitated by Me, the Man. Regardless, I was confident that My next words would end up raising My Stature considerably.

In the moments before those words came, the couple of breaths, I glanced over at Who I knew to be Rich Vannis, on the other end of the Board. The First. Barely twenty-six, lucky prospector at the forefront of the latest gold rush. This one was a new implant, faster than any before. Vannis, by virtue of a sharp, Family-planned venture to turn a longtime spot in the Top One Hundred into a coveted seat on the Board, was the main recipient of the wealth such a bountiful technological wellspring provided. On the Board just over three years. A superficially exciting story, but one echoed throughout time, substituting in different Family names and technological breakthroughs.

A tale much more romantic than Mine, admittedly: the Boring Bentons, as We’re known. Yes, I was the latest inheritor of the Benton estate. Never had been a year without a Benton on the Board. Never had fallen from the Top One-Hundred, and barely a decade total absent from the Board. Our industry was a consistent one.

“I’ll sell the Manhattan Tenant Housing Project,” I said to Proctor Jabber. “Everything. To the highest bidder.”

A bold first Decision, some tenants might say. Those with any real idea what went on in the Boardroom would know that, really, this Decision was minor. The Manhattan Project was a good investment, sure. For a while. There was money aplenty to be made in the business of housing tenants. But, by now, this project had outlived its usefulness, plain and simple. Outlived its profitability.

“Mr. Benton,” the Proctor said. “The most recent Top Active Bids on that property are the Salam Peoples’ Co-operative Coalition for eight-hundred-sixty billion, — my, my, their largest bid in months — and Exxon at eight-forty. Nothing else north of seven-fifty active at the moment.”

It didn’t take a second’s thought. Twenty billion cash or the goodwill of a Kelos? The choice was simple. No Family ever left the ranks of the Thousandthers. The Gap was, mathematically, too great. It was effectively impossible, statistically speaking. So, we Thousandthers made friends amongst ourselves.

The closer the Top Thousandthers were, the more the Gap grew between the Stable and the tenants, the Thousandthers and the others, who live poor mens’ lives down below. Every Widening of the Gap was a step toward Our undying, ultimate goal. It was Our manifest destiny, but without an oceanic barrier to halt Our expansion. A beautiful ambition that We, the Families, would chase forever: the Great Widening. In Our eyes, it was but a further reinforcement of the tremendous tide of Natural Selection, silently hammering away at its course, disinterested in the development of consciousness in us great apes.

We were just apes, after all. Apes with a rather refined sense of a living, and a straight set of priorities in order to ensure Our continued and utmost enjoyment of this universe. Our pods of Sperm and Egg orbit the atmosphere now, I thought, somewhere above this Boardroom. Our offspring would live past Us, would continue representing Us, on the Board or on whatever future structure We deduced to be most effective and convenient in ensuring Our continued existence, Our continued contentedness.

With this outlook, both optimistic and realistic, firmly implanted in My mind, only friendships were worth making among Us. The Gap was never wide enough.

“I will entrust my stock in the Manhattan Tenant Housing Project to Mr. Kelos in exchange for His generous bidded sum.”

Kelos smiled softly in my direction, nodded and said, “Proctor, add a transfer tip of thirty billion to My total paid.”

Now, it was My turn to return the respectful smile. Thirty billion. An insignificant gesture in monetary terms, but one not worth politely insisting against, even for the sake of formalities: this was a Kelos, after all, a Man of the Family famous for Its transfer tips. Always enough to foster a small but measurable accumulation of goodwill as the tipped wealth grew in the vaults of the Friends of the Kelos Family. The Tip propelled the Kelos Family into one of the mainstay spots on the Board. It was a strategy since replicated by many Thousandthers, for who would not bet on a precedent set by a Family whose tenure on the Board had recently entered its six-hundredth year? But when a fiscal strategy became universal, it ceased to be a strategy. It became a custom. Still, I thought, The Kelos Tip, from a Kelos Himself — and a sweeping-aside of Salam. All on My first Decision. I could not help but feel proud. The moment was practically poetic. What smoother start could I have hoped for from My time on the Board? 

The other Boardmembers carried about their transactions, and, in My throes of satisfaction, I allowed a rare few moments for My thoughts to drift. I thought of Salam, and others like it. To think We beared living with them. I knew they were a necessary evil to keep the Tenant Existence Figures at their optimal levels. The numbers had been crunched and re-crunched. There was no avoiding their presence for the time being. Anyways, it was a minor inconvenience. No more than that brought about by, say, mosquitos — oh, those dastardly buggers from history texts. I recalled that, a long time ago, We could have eliminated them completely. Some sort of genetically engineered pathogen. We could have wiped out their entire population. No biological side effects. Just dead mosquitoes and comfortable sunbathers, unaffected by evening bites. But, the elimination of the mosquitos would have disrupted the continuance of the Great Widening, a priority that can never be abandoned.

Someday, the co-operatives would go the way of the mosquitos. When the numbers shifted and the Widening no longer relied on such obnoxious constructs with such annoying little bites. Then, hopefully, the last of the tenants could have their Existence Permits revoked, and we could spread their wealth, what little we were forced to allow them at present, among Us.

The others Issued Decisions, but I allowed Myself a period of respite during the remainder of My first Boardmeeting. I thought of My coming tenure; with the climate now stabilized, the shorelines congealed just enough to leave room for Our safely-elevated abodes — and those troublesome, temporary tenant barges — I estimated that Our Sperm-and-Egg pods wouldn’t need to blast off for a long time. For now, and for many eons, they could continue to orbit the Boardroom, as everything did.