objects that would otherwise appear to be completely immovable. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand how a lever works,” the boy says, “but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
“I build levers to move objects that appear to be immovable,” Alexei tells the boy. “I orchestrate. I train individuals who I think will one day be in just the right position to change the entire course of human history with just a tiny bit of very carefully and precisely applied force.”
The boy is watching Alexei with a combination of interest and confusion. “I’m not just here to win a tournament, am I?”
“No,” Alexei tells the boy. “You’re here to do much more than that.”
“What?”
Alexei sips his tea as he considers where to start. “Your last name—Strasser—do you know where it comes from?”
“Other than my mother, no.”
“It’s a common name in West Africa—specifically Sierra Leone. Your ancestors were probably brought here as slaves between two and three hundred years ago. Do you know what the capital of Sierra Leone is?”
“No.”
“Freetown. Or at least it
was
Freetown. It was established in 1792 by British abolitionists as a home for former slaves. You want to see what Freetown looks like today?”
“I guess.”
“Emma,” Alexei says. The screen on his phone brightens. “Project the map of Xi Jinping Square. Satellite view.”
The pico projector in Alexei’s handset lights up. The image on the wall begins to glow as the particles react to the energy from the lasers. Alexei looks from the wall to the boy.
“What do you know about China?”
“I don’t know. I know they got a lot of people, and a lot of money.”
Alexei plucks one of his black cigarettes from the pack on the table and takes a moment to light it. As he exhales toward the ceiling, the smoke is drawn into the filter mounted above them.
“You know how they got all that money?”
“No.”
“Manufacturing.” He pinches a piece of tobacco from his tongue and deposits it in the ashtray. “China used to be the manufacturing capital of the world until its middle class got too big and there weren’t enough peasants to work in the factories anymore. That’s when the government started looking for cheaper labor markets. And guess where they found them.”
“Africa?”
“Africa. Specifically, the Republic of Sierra Leone. It’s rich in natural resources, it has plenty of coastline for shipping, and the government is easy to influence. Perfect for foreign exploitation.”
“Why didn’t they just build robots and machines and shit to do all their work?”
Alexei takes a long drag and rolls the ash of his cigarette into an orange cone. He exhales as he speaks. “As it turns out, it’s cheaper for humans to do the work of robots than it is to build and maintain robots to do the work of humans.”
The boy makes a face and shakes his head. “That’s fucked up,” he says.
“Yes, that most certainly is thoroughly fucked up.”
“How can the world let them get away with that?”
“Because it also turns out that there’s more profit in exploiting people than there is in liberating them. The world let them get away with it because most of the industrialized world—and in particular the United States—helped them do it.”
“What did they do?”
“They industrialized. They started with a seventy square mile region called the Western Area Forest Reserve, and once it was fully harvested and they’d built as many factories as they could, they started either buying up or otherwise appropriating the entire Freetown peninsula. You probably know that region today as New Guangdong—as in New Guangdong dollars, or NGDs.” Alexei gestures toward the wall. “That’s what we’re looking at right now.”
The boy squints at the projection. “Are those
people
?”
“About two million of them.”
“What are they doing?”
“Protesting. Demonstrating. Occupying. Basically
“I understand how a lever works,” the boy says, “but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
“I build levers to move objects that appear to be immovable,” Alexei tells the boy. “I orchestrate. I train individuals who I think will one day be in just the right position to change the entire course of human history with just a tiny bit of very carefully and precisely applied force.”
The boy is watching Alexei with a combination of interest and confusion. “I’m not just here to win a tournament, am I?”
“No,” Alexei tells the boy. “You’re here to do much more than that.”
“What?”
Alexei sips his tea as he considers where to start. “Your last name—Strasser—do you know where it comes from?”
“Other than my mother, no.”
“It’s a common name in West Africa—specifically Sierra Leone. Your ancestors were probably brought here as slaves between two and three hundred years ago. Do you know what the capital of Sierra Leone is?”
“No.”
“Freetown. Or at least it
was
Freetown. It was established in 1792 by British abolitionists as a home for former slaves. You want to see what Freetown looks like today?”
“I guess.”
“Emma,” Alexei says. The screen on his phone brightens. “Project the map of Xi Jinping Square. Satellite view.”
The pico projector in Alexei’s handset lights up. The image on the wall begins to glow as the particles react to the energy from the lasers. Alexei looks from the wall to the boy.
“What do you know about China?”
“I don’t know. I know they got a lot of people, and a lot of money.”
Alexei plucks one of his black cigarettes from the pack on the table and takes a moment to light it. As he exhales toward the ceiling, the smoke is drawn into the filter mounted above them.
“You know how they got all that money?”
“No.”
“Manufacturing.” He pinches a piece of tobacco from his tongue and deposits it in the ashtray. “China used to be the manufacturing capital of the world until its middle class got too big and there weren’t enough peasants to work in the factories anymore. That’s when the government started looking for cheaper labor markets. And guess where they found them.”
“Africa?”
“Africa. Specifically, the Republic of Sierra Leone. It’s rich in natural resources, it has plenty of coastline for shipping, and the government is easy to influence. Perfect for foreign exploitation.”
“Why didn’t they just build robots and machines and shit to do all their work?”
Alexei takes a long drag and rolls the ash of his cigarette into an orange cone. He exhales as he speaks. “As it turns out, it’s cheaper for humans to do the work of robots than it is to build and maintain robots to do the work of humans.”
The boy makes a face and shakes his head. “That’s fucked up,” he says.
“Yes, that most certainly is thoroughly fucked up.”
“How can the world let them get away with that?”
“Because it also turns out that there’s more profit in exploiting people than there is in liberating them. The world let them get away with it because most of the industrialized world—and in particular the United States—helped them do it.”
“What did they do?”
“They industrialized. They started with a seventy square mile region called the Western Area Forest Reserve, and once it was fully harvested and they’d built as many factories as they could, they started either buying up or otherwise appropriating the entire Freetown peninsula. You probably know that region today as New Guangdong—as in New Guangdong dollars, or NGDs.” Alexei gestures toward the wall. “That’s what we’re looking at right now.”
The boy squints at the projection. “Are those
people
?”
“About two million of them.”
“What are they doing?”
“Protesting. Demonstrating. Occupying. Basically
Similar Books
