buildings. Unpickable locks on the doors.” He walked to the nearest store window and pressed his hand against the glass. “Shatterproof glass.” He peered through the window into the empty store, then walked a little farther along the street, knelt and scraped the snow from a square meter of the pavement.
Reinforced concrete slabs, probably six inches thick or more.
Dioxin brushed the snow from his hands and returned to the car. “You’ve built this place to last and you’ve thought of almost everything. Phone lines, TV points and Internet connections in all the stores. Solar panels on all the roofs. Wheelchair access everywhere. Street signs all perfectly clear and legible. You even have smaller signs on every corner with the street names in Braille. Except…You know what’s missing?”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have many traffic signs. You know, parking restrictions and all that.”
“We won’t need them. The citizens won’t park illegally.”
“A town this size must have cost a couple of billion dollars. Who’s behind it?”
“Get in. I’m taking you to him.”
Dioxin climbed back into the car and they drove off once again. “So…You’ve built yourself a perfect, private town surrounded by an unscalable fence. You trying to keep people in or out? Or both?”
“We’re just providing a nice place for the people to live.”
“Why?”
Laurie steered the car along a wide pedestrianized street. “Because if we give them what they want, they won’t leave. This town is just the first of many.”
“Trutopians,” Dioxin said and laughed. “I thought you guys were just another dumb cult, but you’ve really got something here.”
“There are over seventeen million Trutopians throughout the world,” Laurie said. “That’s a larger population than many countries. There’s almost a million Trutopians in the U.S. alone, and we’re growing at a rate of about seven percent a month. By the end of next year we’ll have enough people to directly influence Congress. Four years, maybe five, and we’ll have enough political strength to elect any candidate of our choice to the presidency.”
“It’s not possible to eliminate the criminal class: if the Trutopians don’t allow criminals or undesirables to join, then the world will be seriously divided. On one side, the peace-loving Trutopians in their perfect, impenetrable communities. On the other side, the rest of the world in their polluted, crime-ridden cities. That won’t sit well with a lot of people. It’s basically apartheid.”
“No, it’s not. Anyone can join the Trutopians.”
“But those who don’t fit in are expelled. Trust me on this: you can’t save the world by turning all the criminals against you. You could be looking at civil war on a global scale.”
“There’s no progress without conflict,” Laurie said.
He drove the car down into the empty underground parking garage of a large apartment block and stopped close to a set of doors.
Dioxin grabbed his bag and climbed out. “No welcoming committee?”
“
I’m
the welcoming committee. Follow me.”
Laurie led Dioxin through the doors, along a short corridor and into an elevator. He slipped a key-card into a hidden slot, then the elevator began to rise.
The elevator doors opened on to a bright, well-decorated lobby. Laurie and Dioxin stepped out. “We have the top three floors,” Laurie said.
“And who is ‘we’?”
Laurie didn’t reply. He led Dioxin through the lobby, their footsteps echoing across the marble floor. They stopped outside a door that had a red light above it. “He’s recording,” Laurie said. Seconds later, the light blinked out. “All right.” Laurie opened the door and ushered Dioxin inside.
It looked to Dioxin like a small television studio. One wall was covered in monitors, all showing different television channels. Against another wall was a podium backed by a set of dark blue curtains and the Trutopian banner. Two
Reinforced concrete slabs, probably six inches thick or more.
Dioxin brushed the snow from his hands and returned to the car. “You’ve built this place to last and you’ve thought of almost everything. Phone lines, TV points and Internet connections in all the stores. Solar panels on all the roofs. Wheelchair access everywhere. Street signs all perfectly clear and legible. You even have smaller signs on every corner with the street names in Braille. Except…You know what’s missing?”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have many traffic signs. You know, parking restrictions and all that.”
“We won’t need them. The citizens won’t park illegally.”
“A town this size must have cost a couple of billion dollars. Who’s behind it?”
“Get in. I’m taking you to him.”
Dioxin climbed back into the car and they drove off once again. “So…You’ve built yourself a perfect, private town surrounded by an unscalable fence. You trying to keep people in or out? Or both?”
“We’re just providing a nice place for the people to live.”
“Why?”
Laurie steered the car along a wide pedestrianized street. “Because if we give them what they want, they won’t leave. This town is just the first of many.”
“Trutopians,” Dioxin said and laughed. “I thought you guys were just another dumb cult, but you’ve really got something here.”
“There are over seventeen million Trutopians throughout the world,” Laurie said. “That’s a larger population than many countries. There’s almost a million Trutopians in the U.S. alone, and we’re growing at a rate of about seven percent a month. By the end of next year we’ll have enough people to directly influence Congress. Four years, maybe five, and we’ll have enough political strength to elect any candidate of our choice to the presidency.”
“It’s not possible to eliminate the criminal class: if the Trutopians don’t allow criminals or undesirables to join, then the world will be seriously divided. On one side, the peace-loving Trutopians in their perfect, impenetrable communities. On the other side, the rest of the world in their polluted, crime-ridden cities. That won’t sit well with a lot of people. It’s basically apartheid.”
“No, it’s not. Anyone can join the Trutopians.”
“But those who don’t fit in are expelled. Trust me on this: you can’t save the world by turning all the criminals against you. You could be looking at civil war on a global scale.”
“There’s no progress without conflict,” Laurie said.
He drove the car down into the empty underground parking garage of a large apartment block and stopped close to a set of doors.
Dioxin grabbed his bag and climbed out. “No welcoming committee?”
“
I’m
the welcoming committee. Follow me.”
Laurie led Dioxin through the doors, along a short corridor and into an elevator. He slipped a key-card into a hidden slot, then the elevator began to rise.
The elevator doors opened on to a bright, well-decorated lobby. Laurie and Dioxin stepped out. “We have the top three floors,” Laurie said.
“And who is ‘we’?”
Laurie didn’t reply. He led Dioxin through the lobby, their footsteps echoing across the marble floor. They stopped outside a door that had a red light above it. “He’s recording,” Laurie said. Seconds later, the light blinked out. “All right.” Laurie opened the door and ushered Dioxin inside.
It looked to Dioxin like a small television studio. One wall was covered in monitors, all showing different television channels. Against another wall was a podium backed by a set of dark blue curtains and the Trutopian banner. Two
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