Read Vacant Houses - By Danny Mendlow and Zack Mitchell Page 2
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The alien and his spacecraft were back in flight now, far away from the square and the cube. Before long they were parked in sub-lunar-orbit around the moon. The trip had taken four minutes, as opposed to the four days it would have taken a human-built ship.
The alien noticed Carl's eyes were still painfully squinting from the transition between his dim square and the brilliant light of the spaceship.
“Are your eyes capable of viewing a sort of virtual-tour?” asked the alien.
“Yeah, I think so,” said Carl, groggy and not sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“There is a narrator for the tour,” explained the alien. “But you may also read along, if you find your ears are uncontrollably ringing from the foreign frequencies of our alien mechanics. Here is a pamphlet.” The alien threw Carl a light pamphlet entitled Investors Guide to Earth.
Carl hadn’t read anything in decades. He had mostly only learned the bare minimum of words required to read sink installation manuals, which were written in short-hand slang and contained a baffling array of abbreviations and acronyms. Besides, he would miss the tour if he was reading.
“No, my ears are fine,” said Carl as he threw down the light pamphlet.
The bright alien light of the spaceship gave way to a familiar darkness. Then a sort of spotlight appeared to land on a person standing miles away. The focus was incredibly clear, and as such Carl experienced the impossible sensation of being able to study with his own eyes the specific details of a face that was miles away. The face was human and spoke in English. It could have been any species in any language had the situation called for it.
“The current population of Earth is 11 billion people,” began the wise-sounding voice as a revolving image of Earth appeared overhead. The holographic globe was rapidly zoomed in on until tiny humans could be seen scurrying about the surface. “Every single one of them is a dedicated worker whose sole existence revolves around the construction and maintenance of housing units, each with a low cost, favourable entry investment level and sound returns for the savvy intergalactic investor looking to buy low and sell high...”
Ultra-realistic holographic images of human-workers began to appear throughout the room. Drifting around in 360 motion were sights of people hammering, wiring, drywalling, painting, furnishing and generally working feverishly at every other aspect of building a house.
“Due to being such a hot ticket, the Earth Housing Market (EHM) does suffer from bubbles that will burst from time to time, as all housing markets do. But only on Earth can you guarantee that your investment will not deteriorate because of wear and tear, as all Earth houses are uninhabited and built to last, thanks to the 11 billion house building and maintenance employees of the Earth Housing Market Initiative Inc. and their desire to instead sleep in small boxes rather than the houses they build all day.”
Suddenly, all around sprung up countless pie-charts and line-graphs documenting the nearly-assured success of the EHM. Images of the Earth globe showed green shading for all the land available to the building of full-size houses, while in red it showed the amount of land required for the squares of all 11 billion workers. Needless to say, there was no visible red. Whatever scant cube-based locations were swamped by the disproportionate allotment for house building and investment.
“I don’t understand,” said Carl. “Is this a joke?”
“This is not a joke. This is an educational and promotional tour for intergalactic investors. Step this way.” The Alien directed Carl towards the hub of the spaceship.
“Where are we going?”
“To see the main nerve,” said the Alien as he opened one of the infinite unmarked doors.
A blast of noise hit Carl. He peered inside the room, which was actually more of a gigantic domed arena. In the middle of it all were a seething legion of people participating in what looked like a crazed mosh pit. Everyone was busy shouting themselves hoarse and wildly throwing their arms in the air. Screens larger than anything Carl had seen projected a manic dance of numbers and charts. All eyes were always on the screen.
“What is this?” asked Carl.
“This is where all the trading and investing of Earth housing takes place.”
“The Market?!” said Carl with reverence. His eyes opened wide. They even seemed to shine with a teary-glaze.
The Alien shook his head in disbelief. “Why are you in awe of this horrible place?”
“This is The Market. One day if I work hard enough I'll be able to come here and invest in the houses... get a sound return and watch the growth come back.”
The alien paused the tour.
“Do you not understand this is the reason you and everyone you know has to work so hard for so little? These are the people who own the houses you could all be living in. Those graphs and figures up on the big screen are your houses. The ones you and your co-workers build... are just numbers to these people, they don't even care about the reality you live in. It's just a game for them to gamble on. Which is why you need to move your people into the houses. To take a stand.”
“But we can’t live in the houses, or else they won’t be invested in, and if they aren’t invested in then the economy won’t grow again.” Carl paused for a moment to reflect what he was saying, questioning the accepted reality of his people for the first time. “But if the market is in space and if the investors are aliens... then how would I even be able to get here if I did have enough money for investing?”
“You wouldn't. No builder will ever make enough money to invest in the market. That's how it all works. They keep telling you that so you'll keep working, so you'll think that one day you could be one of them. Not all of the investors are aliens. Most are human. I'm human.”
“But you have an alien spacecraft. You must be an alien.”
“I'm human just like you. But my ancestors were part of the wealthy class that enslaved your ancestors. Now I work for the even wealthier class of the ancestors of the wealthy class, selling the houses that you build to real aliens and a handful of only the richest of space-humans. Spaceship aside, I’m not in much better shape than you. I have to work non-stop just to keep my ship, which doubles as my house. I have no family and don't do anything but work. I'm told I should feel lucky just to be involved in the housing market and not be a builder, and that if I work hard enough... one day I'll be able to invest in the EHM. Sound familiar?”
“But why me? Why crash into the squares and kidnap me and show me all this?”
“You’re the only chance we’ve all got. You guys are the huge majority, the builders. There’s billions of you. There’s only a few thousand of them. All you have to do is move into the houses. Just stop believing the lies they tell you. Start talking to each other and realize you’re all in the same boat. You have to work together, all of you.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ll talk to the sink installers maybe, but not the countertoppers, those assholes can…”
“No! There’s no time for that. That’s part of how they keep you enslaved, by making you think you're enemies. You've got to tell everyone, okay? You've got to make them understand. Okay?!”