Extinction
by Gunnar Eklund
by Gunnar Eklund
At 3:44 AM, a distress call went out from Mr. Montgomery’s home. His biometric-monitoring bed had reported abnormalities in his vital signs, and had summoned one of the autonomous medic from a depot about a half mile away. Sirens blaring into the otherwise silent night, it reached the Montgomery residence, a gleaming palace of shining glass and steel on a vast compound of hundreds of acres. The doors, recognizing the medic, unlocked themselves and opened, and the healing drone flew into the house, dexterously dodging through hallways and doorways into the bedroom. Without a second’s hesitation, the drone deployed a multitude of mechanical arms, administering chest compressions, injecting drugs, and monitoring vital signs. After a brief period of furious activity, the medic withdrew its arms from Mr. Montgomery. It wirelessly submitted a report of the incident, noting the date and time, and called for a body retrieval drone to collected Mr. Montgomery’s cooling body.
The hearse arrived in the room a few minutes after the medic left. It hovered into the room, its aluminum chassis painted a somber black. Mechanical arms lifted out of the device and gently raised the body into the casket. The hearse slowly accelerated to a morgue several miles away, and Mr. Montgomery was laid on the cold metal slab. The Mortician/Autopsy machine, already loaded with the Mr. Montgomery’s details of burial, began embalming the body.
Mr. Montgomery was born 126 years earlier, in the early 32nd century CE. He lived a life of privilege from the day he was born. His great grandfather had bought out his last competitor, the last competitor on Earth, almost two centuries ago. From that point on, they were the sole owners of the world’s productive capacity, vast swarms of mechanical miners, factory workers, and farmers, capable of providing for thousands, but only needing to provide for an ever-shrinking few.
The Montgomery family’s quest to the top began in the 1970s, when Roger Montgomery, a California engineer, had an opportunity to invest in a small startup, Ganymede Microsystems. The company lacked the knowledge or business success to ever truly compete with the established businesses, but their designs interested IBM, who bought it for $120 million, turning Mr. Montgomery’s small investment into a sizable fortune, and giving his family a nice nest egg. His son formed a small technology with his inheritance, but only with his grandson came the Montgomery family’s rise. Roger’s grandson, Stephen, started when the company had one office and 9 employees, and retired with the third largest company in the United States, his machines automating thousands of industries. Through a ruthless business sense and keen eye for innovators, he had remade his family and America.
Outside of a few wealthy families, such as the Montgomerys, life had grown harder, however. Automation had caused the unemployment rate to rocket, and even in times of prosperity it was far higher than in the recessions of the twentieth century. A stock market shock in 2054 compounded the issue, and unemployment spiked over fifty percent. Thousands of workers took to the streets, desperate and destitute, and struck back at the cursed machines and their owners. Factories, stores, and restaurants were looted and burned. The property of the wealthy was vandalized. The police were unable to contain the rage, and struggled to even keep bricks and rocks from smashing the windows of their station. Only when robotics magnate was beaten to death after his car broke down among particularly radical company was the revolt put down. After that, the police and the national guard came in like starved wolves, beating or shooting any who stepped out of line. In total, over 200 were in killed in the month of unrest in 2054.
Over the next several decades, Stephen Montgomery’s son continued to expand the business, and the workers that his machines replaced took to the street again or again, each riot deadlier and more destructive than the last. 186 dead in 2057. 258 dead in 2061. In 2067 the violence finally could not be swept up and away like the ashes of burned out buildings. 811 were killed, including 32 police officers, and most importantly an entire neighborhood of the wealthiest was put to the torch. Finally recognizing that the riots didn’t appear from thin air, the wealthy finally backed help, and passed the Unemployment Relief Act, which would provide a universal basic income to those put out of work by the rising tide of the machines, and for a time the streets were peaceful.
Over the next few decades, the ranks of those living off unemployment income rather than wages steadily rose, as automation marched onward. More spending on welfare meant higher taxes on the wealthy, and the rich grew resentful of those they considered leeches, the men they put out of work. The repeal of the Unemployment Relief Act had wide support in the parlors of the mansions, and so had support in the halls of congress and legislatures around the world, but all remembered the terror and the chaos that had prompted the law, and none were bold enough to return to those days. In their wisdom, they found an acceptable compromise. Instead, they offered a cash incentive to anyone on government assistance who would agree to be sterilized. In the meantime, the price of food and childcare rose, making the offer doubly appealing, and a great many took it. In just two generations, the proletariat in the US dropped in number from 350 million to 25 million. Now the working class had no chance against the scores of law enforcement robots, and found their benefits cut again and again until the last few died, frail and sickly from poverty.
Perhaps surprisingly, the idea that those who didn’t own the means of production should not reproduce outlived the working class, and those of the bourgeoisie that sold their holdings to avoid the rancor of the business world would rarely have any more children. The Montgomerys, ever keen on growing their wealth money, never sold a thing. Their companies continued to grow, and their family continued to reproduce, and controlled more and more of the world’s wealth. By the 2700s, they controlled half of the world’s wealth. By 2800, a full three-quarters. In the the mid-2900s, they achieved the ultimate goal: to own everything. Of course, with this milestone, the last of the other families would disappear, but the final Montgomery children weren’t very much interested in romance.
As the sun rose over Mr. Montgomery’s now empty mansion, the nighttime security drones and maintenance and cleaning machines ceased work and returned to their charging bays. Outside, the streets remained quiet, the only activity the few repair drones, patching the wear caused by rain and frost. Elsewhere, activity continued, as stores of precious metals were replenished my mining machines and food was produced by automatic combines and slaughterers, and shipped to storehouses near to Mr. Montgomery’s home. There, the machines kept a monument to their makers in the form of mound of rotting food, unused materials, and empty houses, wasting effort pointlessly pursuing an outmoded goal. After all, every creation reflects its master.
The hearse arrived in the room a few minutes after the medic left. It hovered into the room, its aluminum chassis painted a somber black. Mechanical arms lifted out of the device and gently raised the body into the casket. The hearse slowly accelerated to a morgue several miles away, and Mr. Montgomery was laid on the cold metal slab. The Mortician/Autopsy machine, already loaded with the Mr. Montgomery’s details of burial, began embalming the body.
Mr. Montgomery was born 126 years earlier, in the early 32nd century CE. He lived a life of privilege from the day he was born. His great grandfather had bought out his last competitor, the last competitor on Earth, almost two centuries ago. From that point on, they were the sole owners of the world’s productive capacity, vast swarms of mechanical miners, factory workers, and farmers, capable of providing for thousands, but only needing to provide for an ever-shrinking few.
The Montgomery family’s quest to the top began in the 1970s, when Roger Montgomery, a California engineer, had an opportunity to invest in a small startup, Ganymede Microsystems. The company lacked the knowledge or business success to ever truly compete with the established businesses, but their designs interested IBM, who bought it for $120 million, turning Mr. Montgomery’s small investment into a sizable fortune, and giving his family a nice nest egg. His son formed a small technology with his inheritance, but only with his grandson came the Montgomery family’s rise. Roger’s grandson, Stephen, started when the company had one office and 9 employees, and retired with the third largest company in the United States, his machines automating thousands of industries. Through a ruthless business sense and keen eye for innovators, he had remade his family and America.
Outside of a few wealthy families, such as the Montgomerys, life had grown harder, however. Automation had caused the unemployment rate to rocket, and even in times of prosperity it was far higher than in the recessions of the twentieth century. A stock market shock in 2054 compounded the issue, and unemployment spiked over fifty percent. Thousands of workers took to the streets, desperate and destitute, and struck back at the cursed machines and their owners. Factories, stores, and restaurants were looted and burned. The property of the wealthy was vandalized. The police were unable to contain the rage, and struggled to even keep bricks and rocks from smashing the windows of their station. Only when robotics magnate was beaten to death after his car broke down among particularly radical company was the revolt put down. After that, the police and the national guard came in like starved wolves, beating or shooting any who stepped out of line. In total, over 200 were in killed in the month of unrest in 2054.
Over the next several decades, Stephen Montgomery’s son continued to expand the business, and the workers that his machines replaced took to the street again or again, each riot deadlier and more destructive than the last. 186 dead in 2057. 258 dead in 2061. In 2067 the violence finally could not be swept up and away like the ashes of burned out buildings. 811 were killed, including 32 police officers, and most importantly an entire neighborhood of the wealthiest was put to the torch. Finally recognizing that the riots didn’t appear from thin air, the wealthy finally backed help, and passed the Unemployment Relief Act, which would provide a universal basic income to those put out of work by the rising tide of the machines, and for a time the streets were peaceful.
Over the next few decades, the ranks of those living off unemployment income rather than wages steadily rose, as automation marched onward. More spending on welfare meant higher taxes on the wealthy, and the rich grew resentful of those they considered leeches, the men they put out of work. The repeal of the Unemployment Relief Act had wide support in the parlors of the mansions, and so had support in the halls of congress and legislatures around the world, but all remembered the terror and the chaos that had prompted the law, and none were bold enough to return to those days. In their wisdom, they found an acceptable compromise. Instead, they offered a cash incentive to anyone on government assistance who would agree to be sterilized. In the meantime, the price of food and childcare rose, making the offer doubly appealing, and a great many took it. In just two generations, the proletariat in the US dropped in number from 350 million to 25 million. Now the working class had no chance against the scores of law enforcement robots, and found their benefits cut again and again until the last few died, frail and sickly from poverty.
Perhaps surprisingly, the idea that those who didn’t own the means of production should not reproduce outlived the working class, and those of the bourgeoisie that sold their holdings to avoid the rancor of the business world would rarely have any more children. The Montgomerys, ever keen on growing their wealth money, never sold a thing. Their companies continued to grow, and their family continued to reproduce, and controlled more and more of the world’s wealth. By the 2700s, they controlled half of the world’s wealth. By 2800, a full three-quarters. In the the mid-2900s, they achieved the ultimate goal: to own everything. Of course, with this milestone, the last of the other families would disappear, but the final Montgomery children weren’t very much interested in romance.
As the sun rose over Mr. Montgomery’s now empty mansion, the nighttime security drones and maintenance and cleaning machines ceased work and returned to their charging bays. Outside, the streets remained quiet, the only activity the few repair drones, patching the wear caused by rain and frost. Elsewhere, activity continued, as stores of precious metals were replenished my mining machines and food was produced by automatic combines and slaughterers, and shipped to storehouses near to Mr. Montgomery’s home. There, the machines kept a monument to their makers in the form of mound of rotting food, unused materials, and empty houses, wasting effort pointlessly pursuing an outmoded goal. After all, every creation reflects its master.