Alan followed the division supervisor’s rapid-fire analyses on the tablet he had been given. Charts, numbers and large blocks of text all had to be assimilated quickly and his alien apps were the only thing making that possible. He was grasping the essentials, the stuff he’d need for future dealings with investors such as Al Nasa, but it was a strain. However, when the time came he knew he’d be able to perform his duties capably and in a less fraught manner than this. The supervisor was certainly no skilled orator, droning on quickly in that flat manner; the sound reminded Alan of a bluebottle bouncing off a pane of glass. Imagine if this guy had to deal with the likes of Al Nasa directly, he’d confuse the hell out of them. This thought instilled in Alan a modicum of pride; he may well be the most human of the hybrids present but only he had people skills.
‘Alan.’ It was Bruce.
Shit, he’d lost the thread of the supervisor’s discourse.
‘The supervisor asked you a question,’ added his boss.
‘Will you be able to convince Helen Warner to start shorting the banks on this date, or will you require assistance?’ The supervisor repeated.
‘Yes,’ replied Alan, assuming he could handle it. But Helen Warner was never easy, she was another of those powerful players that this department ‘herded’ from time to time, but she was extremely smart and occasionally, inexplicably, didn’t always do what was required of her.
‘Good,’ replied the supervisor, apparently satisfied. He started off again but then paused, ‘Ah, our esteemed Prime Minister is receiving his conditioning as we speak.’
Alan knew from the material covered in this briefing that the British Prime Minister was to be a key player in all of this. By manipulating his limbic system, and planting a few subliminal commands, the PM would be made so fraught by this upcoming recession that at key moments, when it truly would be his call, he could be relied upon to make the wrong decisions.
The conditioning was most likely being administered directly by a thoroughbred Sponsor. The hybrids had many skills equivalent to mind control, but an important player such as the PM needed expert handling. How distasteful, thought Alan. Manipulating bankers and investors by giving them such obvious logical choices was one thing, but dragging the leader of the country away to be brain-fucked by an alien was quite another. At what point would humanity ever operate independently from these praying mantis beasts? Alan silently fumed, oblivious to the fact that the supervisor had stopped, and was regarding him closely.
‘Your persistent hostility towards our Sponsors is perplexing, Alan,’ he said, flatly.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I can understand how they have helped us, and continue to do so, but manipulation like this is... it is a reminder perhaps of how far we still have to go.’
The supervisor considered this for a moment and then placed his tablet on the table and swivelled his chair to fully face Alan. ‘You know that without them the human system would collapse?’
Would it? Thought Alan, it seemed like most of the time the Sponsors’ interventions just increased unrest and general angst around the globe, but he replied: ‘Yes, sir.’
‘They have also prevented a full-scale nuclear conflagration on more than one occasion: 1962, 1973, 1983, 20–’
‘Yes, sir, but why let us have nukes in the first place?’
The supervisor reached for his tablet as he replied to Alan’s question: ‘Because it’s a problem to deal with. Just like this recession. The human system as a whole learns slowly and only by presenting it with quandaries such as these can it gain wisdom, and overcome them.’
Alan considered this. It sounded logical, he supposed. Humanity was a young species; it was barely a dozen-or-so generations into industrialization. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I do understand, umm, please continue with the briefing.’
The supervisor studied Alan for several seconds before continuing with the day’s business. ‘…and by November 2nd the scale of household debt will become a focus for media outlets in…’ he trailed off and stared into space. ‘That’s odd,’ he said.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Bruce, looking a little concerned.
‘…An anomaly,’ replied the supervisor. And then he frowned!
My God, thought Alan. Either this guy’s on Botox or he’s never tried to frown before.