Read Online Chicken Little by Cory Doctorow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cory Doctorow
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that ruin of a face.
"I had an idea," he said. "That many of the world's problems could be solved with a positive outlook. We spend so much time worrying about the rare and lurid outcomes in life. Kids being snatched. Terrorists blowing up cities. Stolen secrets ruining your business. Irate customers winning huge judgments in improbable lawsuits. All this chickenshit , bed-wetting, hand-wringing fear ." His voice rose and fell like a minister's and it was all Leon could do not to sway in time with him. "And at the same time, we neglect the likely: traffic accidents, jetpack crashes, bathtub drownings. It's like the mind can't stop thinking about the grotesque, and can't stop forgetting about the likely."
"Get on with it," Ria said. "The speech is lovely, but it doesn't answer the question."
He glared at her through the mirror, the marble-eyes in their mesh of burst blood vessels and red spider-tracks, like the eyes of a demon. "The human mind is just kinked wrong . And it's correctable." The excitement in his voice was palpable. "Imagine a product that let you feel what you know -- imagine if anyone who heard 'Lotto: you've got to be in it to win it' immediately understood that this is so much bullshit . That statistically, your chances of winning the lotto are not measurably improved by buying a lottery ticket. Imagine if explaining the war on terror to people made them double over with laughter! Imagine if the capital markets ran on realistic assessments of risk instead of envy, panic and greed."
"You'd be a lot poorer," Ria said.
He rolled his eyes eloquently.
"It's an interesting vision," Leon said. "I'd take the cure, whatever it was."
The eyes snapped to him, drilled through him, fierce. "That's the problem, right there . The only people who'll take this are the people who don't need it. Politicians and traders and oddsmakers know how probability works, but they also know that the people who make them fat and happy don't understand it a bit, and so they can't afford to be rational. So there's only one answer to the problem."
Leon blurted, "The bears."
Ria let out an audible sigh.
"The fucking bears," Buhle agreed, and the way he said it was so full of world-weary exhaustion that it made Leon want to hug him. "Yes. As a social reform tool, we couldn't afford to leave this to the people who were willing to take it. So we --"
"Weaponized it," Ria said.
"Whose story is this?"
Leon felt that the limbs of his suit were growing stiffer, his exhaust turning it into a balloon. And he had to pee. And he didn't want to move.
"You dosed people with it?"
"Leon," Buhle said, in a voice that implied, Come on, we're bigger than that . "They'd consented to being medical research subjects. And it worked . They stopped running around shouting The sky is falling, the sky is falling and became -- zen . Happy, in a calm, even-keeled way. Headless chickens turned into flinty-eyed air-traffic controllers."
"And your best friend beat your brains in --"
"Because," Buhle said, in a little Mickey Mouse falsetto, " it would be unethical to do a broad-scale release on the general public "
Ria was sitting so still he had almost forgotten she was there.
Leon shifted his weight. "I don't think that you're telling me the whole story."
"We were set to market it as an anti-anxiety medication."
"And?"
Ria stood up abruptly. "I'll wait outside." She left without another word.
Buhle rolled his eyes again. "How do you get people to take anti-anxiety medication? Lots and lots of people? I mean, if I assigned you that project, gave you a budget for it --"
Leon felt torn between a desire to chase after Ria and to continue to stay in the magnetic presence of Buhle. He shrugged. "Same as you would with any pharma. Cook the diagnosis protocol, expand the number of people it catches. Get the news media whipped up about the anxiety epidemic. That's easy. Fear sells. An epidemic of fear? Christ, that'd be too easy. Far too easy. Get the insurers
"I had an idea," he said. "That many of the world's problems could be solved with a positive outlook. We spend so much time worrying about the rare and lurid outcomes in life. Kids being snatched. Terrorists blowing up cities. Stolen secrets ruining your business. Irate customers winning huge judgments in improbable lawsuits. All this chickenshit , bed-wetting, hand-wringing fear ." His voice rose and fell like a minister's and it was all Leon could do not to sway in time with him. "And at the same time, we neglect the likely: traffic accidents, jetpack crashes, bathtub drownings. It's like the mind can't stop thinking about the grotesque, and can't stop forgetting about the likely."
"Get on with it," Ria said. "The speech is lovely, but it doesn't answer the question."
He glared at her through the mirror, the marble-eyes in their mesh of burst blood vessels and red spider-tracks, like the eyes of a demon. "The human mind is just kinked wrong . And it's correctable." The excitement in his voice was palpable. "Imagine a product that let you feel what you know -- imagine if anyone who heard 'Lotto: you've got to be in it to win it' immediately understood that this is so much bullshit . That statistically, your chances of winning the lotto are not measurably improved by buying a lottery ticket. Imagine if explaining the war on terror to people made them double over with laughter! Imagine if the capital markets ran on realistic assessments of risk instead of envy, panic and greed."
"You'd be a lot poorer," Ria said.
He rolled his eyes eloquently.
"It's an interesting vision," Leon said. "I'd take the cure, whatever it was."
The eyes snapped to him, drilled through him, fierce. "That's the problem, right there . The only people who'll take this are the people who don't need it. Politicians and traders and oddsmakers know how probability works, but they also know that the people who make them fat and happy don't understand it a bit, and so they can't afford to be rational. So there's only one answer to the problem."
Leon blurted, "The bears."
Ria let out an audible sigh.
"The fucking bears," Buhle agreed, and the way he said it was so full of world-weary exhaustion that it made Leon want to hug him. "Yes. As a social reform tool, we couldn't afford to leave this to the people who were willing to take it. So we --"
"Weaponized it," Ria said.
"Whose story is this?"
Leon felt that the limbs of his suit were growing stiffer, his exhaust turning it into a balloon. And he had to pee. And he didn't want to move.
"You dosed people with it?"
"Leon," Buhle said, in a voice that implied, Come on, we're bigger than that . "They'd consented to being medical research subjects. And it worked . They stopped running around shouting The sky is falling, the sky is falling and became -- zen . Happy, in a calm, even-keeled way. Headless chickens turned into flinty-eyed air-traffic controllers."
"And your best friend beat your brains in --"
"Because," Buhle said, in a little Mickey Mouse falsetto, " it would be unethical to do a broad-scale release on the general public "
Ria was sitting so still he had almost forgotten she was there.
Leon shifted his weight. "I don't think that you're telling me the whole story."
"We were set to market it as an anti-anxiety medication."
"And?"
Ria stood up abruptly. "I'll wait outside." She left without another word.
Buhle rolled his eyes again. "How do you get people to take anti-anxiety medication? Lots and lots of people? I mean, if I assigned you that project, gave you a budget for it --"
Leon felt torn between a desire to chase after Ria and to continue to stay in the magnetic presence of Buhle. He shrugged. "Same as you would with any pharma. Cook the diagnosis protocol, expand the number of people it catches. Get the news media whipped up about the anxiety epidemic. That's easy. Fear sells. An epidemic of fear? Christ, that'd be too easy. Far too easy. Get the insurers
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