The Problem With Immortality Ch. 09

The Problem With Immortality

Chapter 9

By Gary LM Martin

Chapter 9: Giving Back to the Neediest

"I don't know what we're doing here," said Jessica.

She and Anson were in the Cleveland offices The Helping Right Hand, one of the largest philanthropic for-profit companies in the world, waiting for the president of the organization, Alyssa Guttmacher, to get off the comm in an adjacent windowed office.

Jessica had stared at a long moment at a big holographic banner in front of them, of a smiling man holding a curved right hand in front of his waist, presumably the symbol of "The Helping Right Hand", as he prepares to welcome a long line of refugees in need of assistance.

"He's never going to go for this," Jessica complained. "The idea of Francisco Odour wanting to help other people? I can't even conceive of it."

"And that's your problem," said Anson. "You view the job of a Fixer as one where you take the stated preferences of the client, and you try to find a solution based on his preferences."

"Well, isn't that what you do?" Jessica asked.

"Not always," said Anson. "Many times the client doesn't always know what he wants. Many times a client thinks he wants one thing, but when he gets it, he discovers he never really wanted it. Conversely, sometimes a thing he thinks he doesn't want ends up being the thing he wants most of all."

Like Jennifer.

Jessica still looked skeptical.

"Remember Aukara of Arcadia, the famous painter?"

"Was that the one who went blind, who you encouraged to become a musician?"

"No, that was Jelal of Tenagra. Aukara was a painter who, after painting everything he could think of for 200 years, became seriously depressed when he realized he had nothing left to paint. Nothing new under the sun. He was so sad that he was thinking of having himself turned in for recycling at a Soylent Green Center. His wife called in me in a panic and hired me on the spot."

"So? Did you rekindle his interest in painting?"

"No. I encouraged him to become a construction worker."

"A construction worker? But robots do all those jobs now!"

"All minus one," said Anson. "It turns out Aukara had a great untapped desire to build physical, three dimensional things."

"The great Aukara, a construction worker! Who would have thought it!"

"Not you, if you were his Fixer," said Anson.

"All right, all right," said Jessica. "But just look at this goofy place. Look at that holobanner, with the guy with the curved right hand. It looks like he's masturbating."

Anson looked up to see Alyssa Guttmacher give them a sharp glance from the rear office, where she was still apparently talking to someone on the comm. "You know, it's common in situations like these for people to take the pulse, so to speak, of important visitors, by leaving the room to pretend to take a phone call while actually listening in on their conversation to learn more about them."

"Really?" said Jessica.

At that moment they heard a sound of a connection closing, and Alyssa Guttmacher marched into her front office, a smile pasted on her face. "So nice to meet you," she said, a hand extended. Her right hand.

********

Alyssa Guttmacher always felt she had been born in the wrong era. She wanted to help other people in need. But by the 28th century, no one needed any help. Fabricators produced anything that anyone needed. Robots did all the labor that people used to. Limitless fusion energy powered these wonderful devices. In the blink of an eye, destitute continents like Africa and South America became highly advanced consumerist societies just like their northern brethren.

Unfortunately, that left people like Alyssa who wanted to help others out in the cold. There simply was no further need for charity.

Alyssa, knowing that others felt as she did, started The Helping Right Hand, providing the increasingly rare outlet for people to help others.

"We help out sometimes in remote rural areas, but our primary area of labor is in aiding victims of natural disasters," said Guttmacher.

"I don't understand," said Anson. "I thought robots did all those things now."

"They do, mostly," said Guttmacher. "When advanced robots and Fabricators were introduced, in the 23rd and 24th centuries respectively, they basically wiped out the need for organized charity. The pool of those in need shrunk smaller and smaller. Charities actually fought armed wars for the right to help the dwindling few actually in need."

"Charities went to war with each other?" Jessica asked.

"It isn't well publicized in a lot of history texts, but the Do Gooder wars of 2454 and 2457 were as real as they were bloody," said Guttmacher. "40,000 good samaritans fought and died for the right to help hurricane victims in New Guinea. Thankfully, the World Government soon stepped in and restored order."

"And today, no one has any need for help, because of Fabricators and robots."

"Not quite no one," said Alyssa. "We have persuaded certain local governments to use A Helping Right Hand for their disaster and development needs, rather than robots."

"How did you persuade them to do that?"

"By allocating them a small service fee to make them comfortable with our services."

"In other words, you pay governments to let them help you," said Anson.

"Exactly," said Alyssa. "Which brings us to the topic of our fees. Our base fee is 40,000 credits a week to help others in need."

"40,000 credits! To help others?"

"Think of it as... a charitable donation," said Alyssa.

"To a for profit corporation?" said Anson.

"Exactly, Mr. Ford! That's very forward thinking of you!" said Alyssa. "For that very minor fee, we put you in a situation where you can help others in need. Think of it; where else can you go to help others who are in genuine need of help?"

"Nowhere," said Anson.

"Exactly," said Guttmacher.

"All right," said Anson. "We'll give it a try."

"Excellent! We have a wide range of volunteer opportunities available, tailored to your specific interests. First, what race of people do you want to help?"

"Blacks!" said Jessica promptly.

"Definitely black people," Anson agreed. Like most white people, he and Jessica were excited by the idea of helping black people.

"All right," said Alyssa. "But that will cost you triple our base price."

"Triple? $120,000 credits a week?" Anson said.

"Yes. Helping black people is in highest demand. If you were willing to spend $100,000 a week, you could help Muslims or Arabs. You could help Hispanics for $80,000 a week, or Chinese for $60,000 a week."

"What can we get for your base price of $40,000 a week?"

"Only helping white people, I'm afraid. There isn't much demand for that. That's why it's priced so reasonably," said Guttmacher.

"All right," said Anson, glancing at Jessica for confirmation. "We'll help the blacks. But can we do it... in a nice climate?"

"I have just the thing for you," said Guttmacher. "For an extra premium of $20,000 a week, you can help the victims of Tropical Storm Enrique, in the Bahamas. During the day you'll help the poor, the homeless, the smelly, the indigent, and in the evenings we'll put you up in a five star hotel with hot tubs, massages, holovision, circus shows, and dancing dolphins in a large tank in the lobby."

"That sounds wonderful," said Anson. "Sign us up."

********

"Blacks," said Jennifer promptly. "We definitely want to help the blacks!"

She and Carl were sitting in the San Diego branch office of The Helping Right Hand, talking to a sales representative who was making a pitch to them.

Jennifer had been a little off-balance since her experience on the USS Yorktown a few weeks ago. It had been bad enough seeing Anson there, but her experience of having sex with Mr. Sammock right when his ears came off had been even more traumatic. She hadn't stopped screaming until he explained that the whole thing was a hoax. When she found out she was furious. She had not only had had sex with Mr. Sammock, (whoever he really was), but also that pretender Captain Tiberius! They had both played her for a fool!

She had left immediately, not even bothering to warn Anson. Why should she?

Jennifer had gone home and stewed in her juices for a few weeks. Her daughter Judy said she should get out and reconnect with some friends. Her daughter always talked like a therapist, perhaps because she was one. One of the better ones, before most were replaced by robots.

And so she had commed Carl.

Jennifer had had an on and off relationship with Carl. First he had a girlfriend, and then he didn't, and then he did again. Jennifer knew little and heard even less about the mystery woman (or women?). For some reason Carl preferred to keep his affairs private.

But Jennifer always felt that there was something special between the two of them. If they hadn't gone separate ways after high school, Carl could have been the One, so she thought. And so now she invited him to go on a volunteer program with her under the auspices of The Helping Right Hand. Maybe helping others would distract herself from her own problems.

To her surprise, Carl agreed to go with her. Carl was a very handsome man, with brown hair (like Anson) and blue eyes (like Anson, but Carl's eyes were darker), and he was tall (like Anson), but thin (thinner than Anson). In short, he was a very different person than Anson. He was a part-time actor, but, like everyone else on the planet Earth, never had a want or need for anything.

Right now Carl sat with Jennifer in the San Diego offices of The Helping Right Hand listening to the sales pitch of a Ms. Jenny Pritcher.

"Blacks! That's so wonderful, excellent! You're really both quite virtuous! But you should be aware that there is a small markup fee for helping black people," said Pritcher.

"How much?"

"300% in price," said Pritcher.

"300%?"

"What can I say? Everyone wants to help black people," said Pritcher, throwing up her arms.

Jennifer considered. "I wouldn't mind helping black people... but is there any way to do it without going to Africa? All those snakes... and diseases...."

"Unfortunately, Africa is where most black people can be found," said Pritcher regretfully. She typed a few numbers on a holokeyboard. "I did have an opportunity in the Bahamas, but the last two slots just filled up moments ago."

"I really don't want to go to Africa," said Jennifer. "What about Hispanics, Carl, would you like to help some needy Hispanics?"

"That sounds great, Jenn-Jenn." No one else but Carl was allowed to call her Jenn-Jenn.

"Wait. I do have one other opportunity to help black people. In Bordeaux, France."

"Needy black people? In French Wine country?" Jennifer asked. "That sounds fabulous!"

"It is," said Pritcher, smiling. "Tropical storm Francois devastated some African villages there. They need help rebuilding. You can work with the black people by day, and by night relax in a charming French villa, with fabulous wines and cheeses and the best French cooking you ever had!"

"It sounds great!" said Jennifer.

"Just a moment," said Carl, raising a finger. "How do African villages happen to be in Bordeaux, France?"

"It's part of the global reparations movement. France, to repay Africa for its colonialist sins, ceded land in France to descendents of affected Africans."

"Oh, that makes sense," said Carl.

"And it can be yours for only $100,000 credits a week!"

"$100,000 credits a week!" said Carl.

"Oh, Carl, please, let's do it! Even just for a week, please!" said Jennifer. And she reached out and did the little hand thing that some women do when they want their man to do their bidding.

Carl couldn't resist Jennifer's longing expression, and the hand action he received was irresistible. He reluctantly nodded, and agreed.

********

"I'm Fannie Mandell, your volunteer coordinator. Be sure to let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

Anson looked at Fannie, wearing a tight string bikini, and a few things instantly came to mind. Fannie had large, pear shaped breasts, and a padded behind that provided wonderful curvature which was quite pleasing to the eye, mostly unobstructed by a slender bikini bottom.

Ms. Guttmacher had been quite truthful about their hotel in the Bahamas. There were dolphins swimming in an enormous tank in the lobby, although whether they were actually dancing was debateable. This was a ten star resort, and made Anson feel a little better about where some of his money was going.

Jessica, who had been cool to the idea of doing volunteer work, gave a wide smile when she saw their hotel. "Oooh, I think I could fall in love with the idea of helping others," she said.

Anson turned to Fannie, and looked at her string bikini, and said, "Thank you for meeting us. Should we also be dressed in a bathing suit during our volunteer shifts?"

"Oh, no, that's just me," said Fannie, giving a sly smile as she hooked a thumb under her bikini bottom, as if it had all of a sudden gotten just a little too tight. "I'm always running around here and there, and I go in for a quick dunk in the pool whenever I get hot."

"I'll bet you do," said Jessica.

Anson subtly stepped on Jessica's left foot. "We're eager to begin."

"You don't want to rest first at your hotel? Maybe enjoy a nice massage?"

Jessica said, "That would be-"

"Something that might interest us later," said Anson smoothly. "We're here to help others, remember?"

Jessica reluctantly nodded.

"All right," said Fannie, giving them an odd look. "Follow me."

********

It was not a long walk to a nearby beach, where a long line of people were waiting to be served food.

Anson was soon dishing out eggs to people, and Jessica fried beans. As promised, those in need were all black people. They wore scruffy clothing, as if it were somehow possible to still be poor in the 28th century. They smiled and gratefully thanked the people serving the food... who were all white.

Right next to Anson were two very animated blonde women who he later learned were sisters. Their faces were covered by polarizer shields. Their names, he learned, were Emilia and Ruby. Emilia was the one with the straight blonde hair; Ruby was the one with the curly blonde hair; that was the only way Anson was able to tell them apart, since their faces were entirely covered. Well, maybe that wasn't the only way to tell them apart. Emilia's string bikini was red, and Ruby's was blue. And Ruby had a much fuller breasts and buttocks, and looked much more spankable.

"Oh, look Emilia, that one has adorable kids!" said Ruby. "Emilia, Emilia, get a holo of me feeding soup to the little black boys!"

Her sister Emilia raised her datapad and aimed it at her sister. Ruby looked at the family, a black woman and two little boys, and said, "Ma'am, can you have your boys lean forward? I'm trying to get an image."

Instead of being angry that they were being used as such, the woman and her kids actually smiled, seeming to enjoy their role in making Ruby happy. The kids obediently leaned forward and one of them even put his arms around Ruby.

"Great! Great shot, got it!" said Emilia. Neither woman seemed bothered that the image they had taken showed Ruby with a polarizer shield covering her entire face.

"Ooooh, show it to me!" said Emilia, abandoning her job in the food line.

Anson had to take her place at the food line as well as her sister's while they looked at the image.

"Perfect, simply perfect! I'm uploading it to my profile page now! The gang back home is going to be so jealous!" said Ruby.

"And to think the gang made fun of us for paying extra to help black people. Where are they now?" said Emilia.

"Helping Hispanics in Honduras, ha-ha," said Ruby, and she raised a hand which Emilia eagerly slapped.

Anson was curious to explore the psychology of these rich bitches, thinking there might be some insight he could learn about Francisco Odour, who, he intuited, was not entirely different.

"What brings you girls to the Bahamas?" Anson asked genially, once they had returned to the serving line.

"We wanted to help the poor, the suffering, the needy," said Emilia.

"Do you?"

"Of course! All our friends back home in Santa Monica do! We simply couldn't be left behind, could we?" Emilia asked.

"No way!" Ruby laughed. She spooned some beans on a black person's outstretched plate, spilling less than half the beans on the beach along the way.

"But our friends, they were helping Hispanics, and Asians. They weren't able to shell out the big bucks to help blacks, like we were!" said Emila. She raised her datapad and spoke into it. "Hey Susy and Lori and Fiona, who's more virtuous now?"

And she and Ruby laughed hysterically.

Virtue. Now that everyone had unlimited material wealth, with the help of the Fabricators, people couldn't compete with material possessions. Now it was all about competing on the moral plane, competing to feel most worthy. It was an interesting motivation. But Anson simply didn't know if Francisco Odour would find it appealing. He suspected he wouldn't, but decided the concept needed a little more investigating.

********

"Oh, this is beautiful!" said Jennifer. They were at the Chateau Amirault, a beautiful French castle surrounded by luscious wineries. As they entered the lobby, a porter--a human porter!--took their luggage, and another offered them croissants from a silver tray.

Carl smiled. "I never knew helping the needy could be so... pleasant."

"Welcome," said a smiling blonde woman, dressed in a gorgeous blue French gown. "My name is Onnika Hansen. I will be your volunteer coordinator. I will be here to assist you with your volunteer assignments, as well as helping you arrange any vineyard tours, wine tastings, cheese tastings, massages, or any other facility of the Chateau you would like to experience."

"Thank you," said Jennifer. "But I think we'd like to start volunteering. You promised us black people. Where are they?" She looked around. Everyone--the guests, the servants--were all white.

"Oh, Blackie Town is just a few miles down the road," said Onnika. "I'll drive you there once you've dropped your baggage."

Onnika was as good as her word. As they drove down a picturesque road, Onnika said, "That tropical storm was terrible! It flooded all the huts of the African people."

"Huts?" said Carl. "They lived in huts?"

"They enjoyed communing with nature," Onnika smiled at him. Carl looked handsome, with his light blue eyes and rugged brown hair, but she wasn't quite sure if Carl and Jennifer were a couple, or merely friends.

"I don't see any evidence of flooding," said Jennifer.

"That's because we're higher up. They were down in the valley. Trust me, it's still a giant lake down there. So we relocated them up here and set up emergency facilities."

They reached a big, grassy field where they could see dozens of black people milling about. Some were being fed on a food line. Others were struggling to set up shelters.

"You can start by setting up tents for them," said Onnika.

"Tents, not autohomes? And don't the tents set themselves up?" Carl asked.

Onnika put a hand on Carl's. He was so suspicious, which only made him more delicious! She must see if she could separate the two at some convenient point.

"Of course we could give them self-setting-up tents. Or even self-constructing homes, for that matter. But then there would be no need for you to be here, would it? That's why you paid the big bucks, to have a real life volunteering experience, isn't it?" Onnika asked.

"She's right, Carl," said Jennifer, totally missing Onnika's lustful glances at her male companion. "This is what we paid for."