Operation Red Read online

  ‘I saw it coming years ago,’ the vice President said, as he accepted a cup of tea from Bob, Cabinet’s android waiter. He took his place at the oval table used for Cabinet meetings and gazed into his milky tea. ‘Machines, computers—they do too much for us, it’s not healthy. They practically run the place you know. Humans will be obsolete one day, and then—’

  ‘Yes, yes, we all know your views on the evils of technology, VP,’ butted in Ms President. ‘Perhaps if we’d had less talk and more action this century, CyberCity wouldn’t be in this pickle.’

  Ms President shot a meaningful look around the table of assembled ministers.

  ‘If this emergency meeting of the Cabinet will come to order, we’ll begin to get this problem sorted.’

  Ms President sighed.

  ‘We have an unacceptable situation in the city, as we’ve just seen in the TechYES presentation. This little computer has done something that the government cannot ignore. We can’t have computers thinking and making decisions. Computers do practically run the place VP, you’re right about that. We have had our heads in a bucket, and we have allowed this problem to develop. It’s not too late, but we need to act, and we need to act right now.’

  ‘Excuse me, Ms President,’ murmured the Money Minister. ‘TechYES and the Terrific Technology departments will have some thoughts about the matter. Couldn’t we just leave it to them to sort things out?’

  ‘Really, George,’ stated Ms President. ‘Do you honestly think we would be facing this tech mess if that lot could tell the difference between a network and a nitwit? Especially Terrific Technology—that Department has only ever had one thought: that technology is terrific. It has had its day and is no more, from this moment. Goodbye and good riddance. Under the Fix Act—2017 ministers, if you wish to look it up—I am empowered to take charge of this situation, and I now so do. Civilisation, ministers, is racing towards a dark future. At best, we’ll live ordinary and boring lives; at worst…well... it is up to me, us rather, to see that the worst does not happen.’

  Ms President looked around the table at her silent and befuddled ministers and was reminded of something that had worried her for some time.

  ‘Over the years,’ she continued, ‘it has become obvious to me that people have got lazier and softer in the thinking department. Many of our citizens cannot follow an argument, they are malleable and apathetic, and, as we see every night on the comp-vision news, they show a disturbing lack of common sense.’

  The ministers harrumphed and shuffled their feet.

  ‘Now, I don’t deny that technology has its uses. No-one has suffered from cancer since 2021, due to discoveries in medical science. Wheelchairs have been obsolete since 2022. Androids do our scummiest work—sorry Bob. But, we must retain control of the technological systems we create. Are we agreed on that?’

  ‘Hear hear,’ muttered the ministers.

  ‘This is our wake up call. I’ve slept in but I am now hearing it loud and clear,’ said Ms President.

  The Media Minister waved a large manicured hand in the air.

  ‘Yes, Boris?’

  ‘I agree with you completely, Ms President. I’ve already thought of a campaign song to encourage people to think.’

  Boris suddenly stood up. The ministers looked startled at this display of initiative, as Boris, in a sing-song voice, recited:

  ‘People need to think,

  or our brains will shrink,

  and we’ll be back in the trees

  before you can sneeze.’

  Boris grinned like a playful child seeking approval. The ministers laughed and clapped, and Boris sat down bashfully.

  Ms President stared long and hard at a knot in the wooden table in front of her.

  ‘Well, it’s a start,’ she said finally. ‘Thank you, Boris. Use it or lose it as they used to say. Now, on with the action plan. I’m ahead of you here. I have been thinking about this for some time. This is what I propose we do.’

  In the Channel Blank studio, the Monochrome news team was in a flutter. A change in routine was bad news, they all knew that. Not one of them wanted to go live on comp-vision and announce the special broadcast from Ms President’s office. No-one ever went live on comp-vision. When the message came from the Presidential office, they drew lots to see who would play the announcer in this extraordinary break in the evening’s programming.

  At 6pm, Behnn Robertson-Tang Smith‘n’Jones hesitantly took his seat in front of the cameras. Gripping the printed announcement, the young newsman worriedly checked his hair and his speech yet again. The news director indicated five seconds to air.

  ‘Good evening ladies and g-gentlemen,’ Behnn said, precisely as he’d been instructed. He looked down at the slightly trembling paper. ‘Tonight there has been a ch-change in the advertised program. The latest episode in the How to… series: How to hang out your washing when the dryer breaks down, will be slightly delayed due to an important message from Ms President. Normal programming will resume after Ms President’s message. We will now cross live to the Presidential office.’

  ‘Good evening, citizens of CyberCity.’

  In Ms President’s living room, the conspirators cheered.

  ‘Today, in the city we have had a momentous event,’ Ms President said slowly, carefully pronouncing each word. ‘Today, the event which humankind has long anticipated, and long dreaded, occurred. A computer, my friends, had a thought. This event, although it was harmless today, cannot be allowed to pass uncorrected.’

  ‘Why is she speaking like she’s talking to a bunch of idiots?’ John asked.

  Kara and Ariel looked at him sternly.

  ‘It’s worse than I thought, isn’t it?’ John muttered.

  Ms President summarised the details of the event. She talked briefly about the Cabinet meeting, and how CyberCity’s government felt it necessary to respond with strong and immediate action. Then she paused dramatically and stared into the camera.

  ‘We must not delay. We must not falter. Tonight, I will tell you what we are going to do about this problem.’

  Ms President made a show of shuffling her papers and taking a slow drink of water from the glass on her desk. Across CyberCity, nervous viewers leaned in to their comp-vision sets. Some muttered ‘uh oh’ to their families. Ms President had the city’s full attention.

  ‘Now we’re getting to it,’ murmured Ariel.

  ‘Fellow Cyberians,’ Ms President began. ‘The government decrees that for one day, every month, CyberCity will have a day of critical thought. Humans will control CyberCity on this day, by exercising our powers of thought. We have called this: Operation Red. On this day, the city will use an absolute minimum of technology. There will be no computers used in the workplace, and no electronic entertainment. Arcade Town will close for the entire day. Your comp-vision sets are to remain off until the 6pm Monochrome bulletin. After 6pm, you may watch comp-vision, where the programs, I can assure you, will be stimulating and educational. I fully expect there will be no engagement with home entertainment of a technological nature during Operation Red, and this I leave to your goodwill. I trust I will not need to police this decree.’

  Again, Ms President took a sip of water for dramatic pause.

  ‘Wow, no technology for a day. She’s going for the jugular,’ said John.

  Ms President eyeballed the Blank audience, and continued.

  ‘Operation Red will promote good, solid, old fashioned thinking,’ she said. ‘It will also promote the skill of quick thinking. To ensure this, CyberCity’s traffic lights will operate in reverse for twenty-four hours. Red means go in Operation Red!’

  ‘Whew!’ exclaimed Ariel. ‘That’s a good one.’

  ‘Schools will suspend regular lessons for the duration of Operation Red. In the morning, students will be sent a set of questions and one main critical thinking problem. In the afternoon, students’ answers will be sent to the newly created Think Witted Team, for immediate marking and response that day.’


  ‘That could be fun,’ said Kara optimistically.

  ‘Mum’s enjoying this, anyway,’ said Ariel. ‘Look at the smile she’s trying to drown in a glass of water.’

  Kara chuckled, while viewers across the city braced themselves for the next Operation Red challenge. It didn’t come.

  ‘That will get us started,’ said Ms President. ‘Discussion amongst families and in workplaces is encouraged, but the government will stand firm on these moves. It’s for your own good. We begin Operation Red at one minute past midnight on July 28. That is in three days. Together, we will move into a brighter, better, human controlled future. Thank you, and goodnight.’

  The screen flicked immediately to the How to- series, and Ariel switched it off.

  ‘We did it!’ exclaimed Kara.

  ‘We really did it,’ said John. ‘Ariel, I have to admit I was skeptical—’

  ‘No kidding?!’

  ‘—but your plan seems to have worked extremely well.’

  ‘I was worried about that alarm though,’ said Kara. ‘Up to today, I thought we might have sabotaged ourselves, and that we hadn’t actually done anything to the computer. Most creative too, John, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said John. ‘I like red.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that alarm’ said Ariel. ‘And why it didn’t kick us out of the 2ZB. The bgates chip was the thing Microsoft really wanted to protect. We switched the wires to bypass bgates, so, hmm, we didn’t hack into bgates itself. Perhaps it was only alarmed a bit, not enough to shut itself down. Or maybe nothing happened because it was old, or it malfunctioned.’

  ‘I have another idea,’ said John. ‘The technoggins who put the alarm in the 2ZB are gone. There’s no one at Microsoft to answer the call.’

  ‘There is no Microsoft.’

  ‘Yeah, but, so?’ said Kara. ‘Computer alarms shut the works down. It doesn’t matter what’s happening anywhere else.’

  ‘It might, ‘said John. “Ariel told us it was a top secret prototype. Perhaps they set the 2ZB alarm to ring bells at technoggin HQ. That could also explain why the computer didn’t shut down. It kept working because its makers wanted to know if someone was tampering with it, and where they were, and what happened when it was hacked into. To find out just how good it was. They could have planned to remotely monitor any hacker.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ariel. ‘If you think like a technoggin, you might ask: what would they do to protect their baby?’

  ‘Not shutting it down when a hacker was into it would have given them more information. That’s my theory.’

  ‘So, what’s a william, then?’ wondered Kara.

  Ariel and John frowned.

  ‘King of England?’

  ‘A william could be the key that makes the bgates uncontaminable,’ said John. ‘Something so clever that no-one has ever figured it out. I’d like to take another look at that 2ZB. I’d like to take one apart.’

  ‘Quarantined,’ said Ariel. ‘All of them. President’s orders before the ink on the newsletters had dried. They were collected and packed off to a secret warehouse in the city. It’s unlikely they’ll get out of there out alive.’

  The conspirators laughed.

  In the Blank studio, Ms President shook hands with Behnn, and headed home in an excellent mood.

  Operation Red

  28 July 2029

  Ms President strode cheerfully into her office at 6.30am on the first day of Operation Red.

  ‘Morning all!’ she shouted at her bleary eyed staff, most of who were assembled around the coffee tower.

  ‘Hehheheh. Are we off to a flying start then?!’

  An aide handed her the initial report on the day’s progress, from its midnight start until 6am. Ms President had demanded hourly updates to monitor the day’s undoubted success.

  ‘Despite a number of minor traffic accidents, and night shift workers complaining of nothing to watch on comp-vision, things appear to be going well, Ms President,’ the aide reported.

  ‘Good work,’ Ms President enthused. ‘Make a note Tom, for the next day of compulsory critical thought.’

  Tom blanched.

  ‘The next one?’ he spluttered. ‘Already?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. One a month, remember? This will be such a success the people will clamour for more of the same. Next month, any night shift workers complaining of boredom will get the problems that Third Schools receive on the day. They might as well be doing something useful.’

  ‘Yes, Ms President.’

  ‘Now, Tom. I expect homes to run smoothly today, and workplaces to work it out, so I’d like you to pay special attention to what’s happening in schools. Mid morning, would you call a random sample of First, Second and Third schools, and ask them how things are going on the front line?’

  ‘Yes, Ms President.’

  ‘I’ll be in my office,’ said Ms President. ‘And Tom?’

  She spun around at her office door and gave her number one aide a generous grin. Tom had his pen poised for another note.

  ‘Cheer up. It’s a great day for the race.’

  ‘Race, what race Ms President?’ said Tom, aghast that there was an Operation Red event he didn’t know about.

  ‘The human race, Tom,’ Ms President said as she headed into her office.

  Ariel cut the power cell on his tri-bike with a sigh of relief. He’d made it to school unscathed after a twenty minute intersection adventure. He’d ridden his usual way to school, cruising through red lights and madly looking left and right hoping that cross traffic was stopped on the green. Green light runners shot through some intersections, but most intersections were a slow mess of confused drivers muddling along. Ariel zoomed down straight roads and joined some other tri-bikers taking a short cut across a park.

  At the school’s transport station, Ariel disconnected his titanium cranium and was folding the helmet into his bag when John rode in.

  Ariel grinned as John melodramatically slumped across the bike’s handlebars, his arms dangling and his head on the airsurroundbag.

  ‘I’m knackered,’ he wheezed. ‘That was awful!’

  ‘Hell of a ride,’ agreed Ariel, laughing.

  ‘I almost made it without getting hit,’ John grumbled. ‘Some idiot on a hover bike bumped into my head when I stopped at green light. After that I rode on the footpath. Phew!’

  ‘Bumped into your head! Doofus. Hover bikers should be making the most of being able to ride over the traffic.’

  ‘A learner I think.’

  John sat up slowly, but made no attempt to get off the tri-bike.

  ‘C’mon, we’ve got time for a juice before class,’ Ariel said, jollying his friend along.

  ‘Oh, yay,’ replied John. ‘Our thinking problems. I feel like I’ve done enough critical thinking to last a week, just to get here. Now I have to solve a bunch of artificial problems as well. Great.’

  ‘Not artificial,’ said Ariel. ‘The questions sent to schools this morning are going to be real. Mum wants us to have a go at thinking about some actual dilemmas facing the city.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say. I only know that’s what she instructed the Think Witted Team. They’ve set the questions, so we’ll both know what they are in about an hour. Shake a leg and let’s get to the juice bar.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Your Mum still has no idea how—’

  ‘Sssh,’ hissed Ariel as two girls from his Digital Dissembling class walked by. ‘Hi Joanne, Nita. Looking forward to this morning?’

  ‘What’s happening this morning?’ Nita asked, looking at Joanne.

  Joanne shrugged.

  ‘Operation Red,’ answered Ariel. ‘You know, the change in lessons for the day? The problems we’ll be working on this morning?’

  ‘Oh. That,’ said Joanne. ‘Nah.’

  ‘Nah,’ echoed Nita.

  The girls wandered off.

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said John wearily.

 
He swung a leg over the tri-bike’s sparkling solar panel.

  ‘Cheer up mate,’ said Ariel, hiding his despondency at this apathy. ‘Mum’s counting on us to bounce some enthusiasm and fresh ideas around. If the Second and Third School students don’t make today work we’ll all end up as vivacious as them.’

  He jerked his thumb at the two girls strolling into the school.

  ‘Good point,’ said John. ‘Let’s get that juice.’

  Ariel fielded some wry looks and a few friendly catcalls as they headed off to their first class.

  ‘Nothing to do with me folks,’ he called out to the hallway in general.

  ‘Not much,’ John whispered.

  ‘You know,’ said Ariel thoughtfully, ‘part of the problem here is that no-one is angry with me.’

  ‘Huh? What do you call “Ms President’s puffball” then?’

  ‘Yes, that’s very insulting.’

  ‘It’s the worst thing they could think of to tell you off. Or, hang on, is “doofus” worse than “puffball”?

  ‘Whatever. They’re both weak.’

  ‘Well, that’s what Cyberians do. We don’t do anger. I guess “Ms President’s puffball” is more like discontent, isn’t it? said John.