Natural

"Honey, I'm going to a meeting of the Apathetic Futurists for a Synarchic Society."

"You mean you're going to the pub for a pint by yourself this evening?"

"Something like that."

"Well, don't be out too late. I'll catch my death losing winks waiting up for you."

"Really?"

"Of course not. Have a good time. Don't let the ladies peck you too many times. It makes me jealous."

"Is that so?"

"You go on thinking it and I'll go on pretending."

They kissed at the back door. He slid down into his motorized velociped and scooted along the roadway.

"Hmm, hmm, hum-hmm." His thoughts reverberated with the melody of an ancient tune. "A-twiddly dee-dee. A-twiddly dee-dum. A pint of draught and a pot of rum. 'Tis good for the belly... and for the achin'..., makes it loads more fun f'r makin' bacon!"

He turned off the motor and coasted down the hill to his favorite watering hole.

"Ah, looks who's here. Our local windbag, the Philosopher."

"And I'm always welcomed by my cohorts, Big Bottom McBride and Merry MacAverty."

"A round for the house!" they yelled in unison.

The barman looked up from a text setting up a late-night tryst with her lover to see how many mugs to pull from the dishwasher. "One, two, three, four, five...the usual lot." A sigh and then back to work.

"So tell us, Professor. Is all the noise comin' over from the States goin' to affect us?"

"How so?"

"Well, you bein' the expert and all, we figured you had the commotion sorted out by now."

"I do? Well, I suppose I do, yes."

"Is it between you and your bottle of whiskey back home or are ya goin' to tell us?"

"Dunno. Is the barman a bit off tonight? I don't see a pint in front of me."

The barman looked up. "It's a pint you want tonight?"

"Aye."

"You want your half dozen chasers now or later."

"A bit of both."

"Why do I ask? It's the same every evening."

"And it's the same response I get from you, too, when the evening's over. I'd gladly sleep off my fogginess at your port of call."

"From the likes of you? You who has no word for me when we cross at the markets? You who never acknowledges my existence in the university classroom?"

"You don't mean you're one of my students?"

"'The way to the top is not through your bottoms.'"

"Are you the shy one on the back row always got your head bent over a mobile."

"So you know me, then?"

"I do, now."

"We'll see where that gets you. Here's your pint. As for the rest of you sorry lot, I've got an appointment with the WC so you'll just have to wait your turn."

The talking head on the video screen above the bar broadcast the sad news about the recent cricket loss, followed by breaking news of a typhoon destroying parts of Formosa.

"You ever feel like we're repeating history, gentle friends?"

"You be the gentle one. We're all for a good fight. History's taught us that much, you know. For every quiet period some call 'peace,' the rest of us are reloadin' our guns for the next war."

"Indeed."

"So, Mr. Wise Ol' Owl, what's the score?"

"Sorry, I missed it. But we know who lost. Isn't that enough?"

"No, I mean across the Big Pond."

"You fellows are too old to read the fine print, aren't you?"

"Not me. I've got one of those things you call a magnifying glass. Works like a microscope."

"'S that so?"

"Aye. I use it pick my toes."

The barflies laughed and poked one another.

"As you know, I'm working on my next novel, a historical fiction, or hysterical, I hope, that takes place in the near future."

"A murder mystery! My wife eats those up."

"History, not mystery."

"A dust collector, eh?"

"Indeed. Anyway, I'm looking at progress around the globe to project past the next 50 years so I can look back at 10 to 25 years from now. A nostalgic point of view."

The barman returned. "Quiet as a church mouse in here. Is my instructor weaving another one of his yarns for you?"

The line of heads nodded in her direction.

"I see. In that case, I'll pour your pints and leave you alone."

"Where was I? Let's see...oh yeah, America and the loss of world economic power. As I was reading through the government policies of the U.S. presidential administration, including projected annual average salaries for the next two presidential election cycles, it occurred to me that I was missing part of the picture."

"You don't mean to say that the government lies to us?" McBride nudged the man next to him, a stranger before the evening began but a compatriot and fellow Army veteran now.

"That's not my point. What I saw was that the salaries were increasing without an equivalent increase in manufacturing and production rates."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. So I delved into the data a little deeper and discovered an interesting fact. While many Americans are making a great show over their current political crisis, a bevy of international organizations is moving a draft copy through the hands of local elected American officials that proposes letting the issue of universal health care coverage die in exchange for passing government legislation to give complete citizenship to what they call LLCs."

"Sorry, gov'ner, I don't understand. Are you referrin' to Elsie the cow, meanin' they're givin' bovine animals the right to vote?"

"No. LLC. Limited Liability Corporation."

"Never heard of it. What do they make? Milk products?" MacAverty winked at the barman.

"I can see what's on your minds. You're not milking me, fellows."

"What I'm saying is this. If they give corporations full citizenship, then the world courts will have to recognize companies as having the same rights as we have."

"I don't get it. Are you sayin' a barrister can just waltz right in here and get a company drunk before appearin' in court? If that's the case, this place'll be crawling with thieves."

"And fleas!" The silent veteran smiled at his rhyme and held up his glass for more.

"Not exactly. What I see is that 25 years from now, town councils will be run by corporations and partnerships."

"About bloody time. I'm tired of the quacks and whackos runnin' this world." MacAverty slapped McBride on the back. "Couldn't hurt to give some new blood a chance to clean this place up."

"Perhaps...perhaps."

A young man, sitting in a dark corner during the conversation, stood up and walked over to the bar. "So you're saying you do not think there will be an Indian prime minister in my life?"

"Nahbi. I didn't know you were here. Have a pint with us."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I do not drink with my superiours."

"Folks, this is Nahbi. He works as an assistant TA in my department at university."

"TA? Tits and ass?"

"McBride, sometimes you surprise me and sometimes you don't. No, he's a teaching assistant."

"I see. Any good pay in it?"

Nahbi shook his head.

"In that case, I'll keep my seat warm here."

"Nahbi, it may well be that a man of Indian descent will serve as prime minister here. But it's just as easy to see an Indian president and Mexican vice president in America. In fact, my novel will show just that."

"Very good, sir. My family wanted me in politics but I chose the purely intellectual route, like you. They would wish a Nehru or Gandhi in our family but I was not made for political compromises."

"Well said. But life is a compromise, Nahbi. With time, only you will know if you made the right choice."

"The choice is not mine, sir. The choice was made before I was born."

"I see. As I was saying, the shift in economic wealth will continue to build the Asian continent, and subcontinent, into the new powers of the world, run by corporations elected for their efficiency."

"But sir, how do you explain the disparity in intellectual property between Western nations and countries like China? Will there not be a gap that prevents total integration?"

"I think I need my chasers."

The barman nodded. "No problem...'sir.'"

"Gentlemen, what do you think about Nahbi's idea?"

"If you ask me, then I'll tell you. Everything's made in China, anyway, so what difference does it make if this property is intelligent or not, as long as we can get our pints while livin' on the dole."

McBride, MacAverty and the Army vet raised a cheer.

"Well, Nahbi, there's your answer. The regular Joe is happy as long as the alcohol is flowing."

"Is that what your novel will say, sir?"

"In so many words, yes. I'll go on about the means of production changing hands and the fine print in contracts being translated into all common world languages, how there will be occasional uplifting of protest as people adjust to sweeping changes that make them feel out of control, but yes, I'll conclude that at the end of the day or the start of a holiday, most people will be satisfied with shrimp on the barbie and beer in the fridge, no matter who or what runs their country and sells them their merchandise."

"Is this an optimistic novel, sir, or pessimistic? I cannot tell."

"Neither. As I said, it's a nostalgic point of view, seen from the future looking back. Folks like us will be sitting in a place like this, chewing the fat, so to speak, reminiscing about the good ol' days when you could tell a natural member of our species from a variant, when food was grown in people's private backyard gardens and you could keep your own seed for the next year's harvest, and where your DNA was your own and not patented for use in variant reproduction."

"So the distant future is pessimistic, sir?"

"No, Nahbi, the future just is. There will always be people who mistakenly compare the present to the past and project a terrible future, unaware that every moment of their lives is a miracle and should be celebrated, no matter what condition they find themselves in."

"That, sir, is why I work in your department. You remind me of my mother and father, who tell me that I am 'missing the boat' sometimes."

"And that, Mister Professor, sir, is why we let you in our club here, because you shovel it faster and deeper than any one one of us ever could..."

"Even in our prime!"

The barman joined the laughter and set six shot glasses on the counter. She looked at the clock and thought about the three or four hours left in the evening of listening to this group of guys, cackling more like magpies than the women with whom her mother used to drink afternoon tea. She texted her lover and demanded both a neckrub and backrub before they jumped into bed at two in the morning, sensing a headache in her near future.