to Noah, nursing a drink after work.
“That’s what your billionaire founder says. Of course he’s going to say that. The system is a vacuum cleaner that sucks up money for him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not far from it.”
“So what are you: capitalism with a human face?”
“You don’t think that’s possible?”
“Greed works, it seems”
“Bullshit. Untrammelled greed is what got us into this mess. A city with nowhere for people to live. Zero hour contracts. The whole thing.”
“What are you going to replace it with: the five year plan dreamed up by the central committee. Some breathless group of academics who have never seen a hard day’s work in their lives?”
“There is not one capitalism, the true faith. No such thing as a pure market. There are many capitalisms, all different from each other. Norwegian capitalism is not the same as American capitalism. We make our own capitalism. What’s stopping us remaking it?”
In the end, Noah had worn him down. Advertising was the sort of thing you could do as long as you treated it as some sort of intellectual challenge, or game. Once you looked at it, really looked at it, there was no point to it. It was pure, unadulterated crap.
Melbourne was a successful city. Like all successful cities, it attracted people. You looked at the numbers, at the jobs, and you started researching the life. On the surface it looked so attractive. Those images, that weather. If you were in a basement flat in Helsinki, or living in a cupboard in Tokyo it all beckoned. You bought an airline ticket. You came. But of course you had many companions.
Melbourne stubbornly remained a mono-centric city. All the high paying jobs were in the centre. Most of the new housing was on the periphery. In a healthy city some areas would change character. Go from suburban housing to higher density. Price of land pushes, system responds. Quiet suburban streets become quiet apartment block streets.
Except that it got clogged. In the middle suburbs the landholders didn’t sell up. Instead they erected signs that said “say no to inappropriate development”. The genteel version of “fuck off we are full". Try as they might, they couldn’t be dislodged. As sticky as plaque in an artery and just as dangerous.
Surely they would come to their senses? Not so. The semi rich were numerous enough to happily clog it up. They had the ear of enough in the government to keep it all at bay. All they had to do was sit tight. Successive governments of all persuasions pandered to the plaque. In part it was an age based divide. Those with the property, with the stability, were not about to surrender their place to those younger.
Footscray was ground zero for rental demand. This was the place. East, South, even the North were way too expensive. Here you could be at work in minutes on the new metro. Trouble was, everyone else had performed the same calculations and zeroed in on the same location. There were no pressure relief valves, so the pressure just kept building.
Jack walked slowly from Bourke Street down towards Degraves Street. The alleys of Melbourne, supposedly the secret to its liveability. Except that almost all of the population lived and died without ever setting foot there. It was like a symbolic place. Jack saw Noah, and gestured as if to show that, yes, he had gathered the agent, and yes, he had delivered him safely.
“I saved the parasite from the mob. I should have served him up to them.” Jack said
“Which would achieve precisely what?”
“Making me feel a whole lot better. Same feeling the renters would get.”
“It’s not about how we feel. Is it?”
“No. It’s about the plan.”
“The plan. It seems like a pretty slow plan to me. I’m not up for rescuing more of these bastards.”
“Coffee?”
“Desperate for one.”
They liked this place. It was austere. A tiny, almost hole in the wall cafe. He remembered that they used to have gas heaters fired up in the middle of winter.
“I miss the heaters.” Jack said.
“You want a planet, or the heaters?” Noah replied.
Then there was a silence. That stretched. As Jack caught his breath, and soaked in the familiar. The location, Noah. An anchor in his fast changing life.
“Who pays us?” Jack asked Noah. Out of nowhere.
He laughed.
“You really want to know? They are generous, isn’t that enough for you?”
“Don’t you find it a bit surprising that we don’t know?”
“I’m ambivalent. The backers. The supporters. The great engines of commerce. Well at least the enlightened ones. Those that recognise the roadblocks, and want to drive the bulldozers through them.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
Noah looked away.
Ruby meets the backers
Ruby's victory speech
"Somewhere between 1 and 2" an eager face responded.
Noah struggled to process that. Of course he meant somewhere between 1 and 2 million people. Where on earth do you put them all? Something like one fifth of the entire population of Melbourne. Spread throughout the city. For Ruby’s speech. A very important speech. Marking the new beginning, setting an agenda. Consolidating power.
"How do we fit them?" Noah asked the obvious question.
Jack turned towards him.
"As far out as Brunswick. On the street. Everywhere."
"Screens?" Noah asked
Those without the augmented reality viewers would gather in parks. But most had the viewers that projected onto glasses. You got the speech overlayed on top of the scene you were looking at. He almost hesitated to ask.
"Security?"
Ruby looked up. Glanced at Jack.
“If they fly anything in past the city limits we shoot it down."
Noah looked out the window.
"It only takes one person with a rifle.” He said.
Ruby gestured towards the military end of the floor. Lots of uniforms hustled in groups, rehearsing their roles. She continued.
"Confidence. It's all about confidence. We are so fragile. If we cower behind doors then our supporters will lose courage."
Noah
