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    2023
    2023
    2023
    Ebook161 pages1 hour

    2023

    By Andrew Jennings

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Set in Melbourne, Australia, climate change is an everyday reality. Water is scarce, and food has to be imported. The green economies have reached the end of their patience. Now they have decided to shut Australia down.

    Colin is charged with destroying Kylie’s group. He has already killed several of Kylie’s group.

    Andrew and Phil are at a loose end. It is too late to flee the country. Andrew is recruited by Kylie into the group. As the situation deteriorates, a desperate fight begins. They are drawn ever tighter into the conflict.

    2023 is a thriller in the world of active climate change. It is not just environmental catastrophe that is center stage. It is the battle between the two economies.

    All proceeds from the sale of 2023 are donated to charities promoting renewable energy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAndrew Jennings
    Release dateMay 19, 2011
    ISBN9781458047021
    2023
    Author

    Andrew Jennings

    I am interested in the future, and how we get there. Much of the writing that involves technology is either alarmist (variations on the Frankenstein theme) or fantastical (most of science fiction, with a few notable exceptions). To me the interesting bit is the near future where we can at least understand what is happening. What are the forces at work? Is the yawning gap between the 1% and the rest of us inevitable? As a young person I read almost all of Isaac Asimov's books and they set me on the path I have followed. I was a communications research engineer in Australia and Japan. Later I became a University professor. I am a touring cyclist and like nothing better than spending my days pedalling, and my nights stretched out in a tent.

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      Book preview

      2023 - Andrew Jennings

      Chapter 1

      The number 96 tram was a monument to randomness – nobody really wanted to go from Brunswick to St Kilda. At least not unless it was a really hot summers day. Even the tram itself told you something about the city. A lurking irrationality. We all liked that.

      It snaked through the inner north. Slowly. Rattling and jerking. Riding the trams was like an initiation rite. As it accelerated away from the stop you were lucky if you didn't end up sprawled on the floor.

      More crowded on the tram as we approached the city. Revellers coming in to go to the New Year celebrations. Mostly young people. Expectations.

      On the flat as we travelled south from the river the tram got into open space. Not so many on now. It gathered speed. More a rat-a-tat than a slow clack-clack. Racing away towards the beach.

      I'd persuaded Phil to come. Took a bit of doing. We were both a bit insular now. Cliches. Fourties. Not married. On the way to becoming invisible. He had that ‘smartest guy in the room’ look. Think early Bill Gates. He had unkempt long dark hair that fell about his face. Even now that he was in his 40’s. Wore glasses. He looked like somebody who spent long hours sitting in a room starting at computers. Which of course he did. But if you looked closer you could see evidence of his hobbies. Most of which centred around late night drinking sessions.

      Phil worked at a software company. I called it the kindergarten. He was ancient for that industry. A manager of a small army of twenty somethings. Becoming a manager was one of those things that you did. For the money. He was by far the most skilled programmer I'd ever seen, and I figured that was what he'd rather be doing.

      I worked for a telecommunications company. The largest one. At the wall of lights I called it. Operations Center. Bit like a war room. On the upside, it was connected to everything that happened. Mostly it was leaden boredom interspersed with the occasional bout of total chaos.

      Phil and I went way back. We'd worked together for about ten years when I first started out. We'd become friends and somehow stayed friends.

      My pitch was ‘Female 30 somethings that are single will most likely go to the St Kilda New Year’s Eve beach event.’ I backed it up with some invented statistics and social research. It got his attention anyway. Enough to get him there. Once there I figured he'd just go with the flow.

      The next stop was crowded. People milling about. Most of them looked like they had been sleeping rough. Lights came on above the doors, and the doors locked. ‘Security countermeasures’ the sign said. White gas spewed out from the outside of the tram. High up. It sort of rolled out. Waves of white enveloped the crowd. Those it got fell to the ground. They were not moving. Nobody on the tram paid any attention to it.

      The lights went off and on we rolled towards the beach. Big sign as we approached the terminus. ‘Happy New Year 2023.’

      Party. Party. Party. I said.

      Ha. It looks like a pensioner's picnic.

      True. We were a bit early. I was sure it would pick up later. Not so sure about the 30 somethings.

      There was a band playing, with a precious few revellers huddled around the stage. So we went for a walk along the beach.

      How's the wall of lights. Still worshipping? Phil asked.

      Sure. Weeping. Wailing. Every afternoon we have a prayer meeting. I said.

      Keeping the universe balanced and smoothly working.

      How about you. Kindergarten going ok? Still getting them to sleep on their mats after lunch?

      Yes. So young. Frighteningly young. Breathlessly eager. All I need to do is point them in a general direction. Like greyhounds chasing a white rabbit.

      Why do we bother?

      Higher ideals. A moral purpose. The pursuit of excellence.

      We both burst out laughing. But why did we bother? It was not as if we had anybody to leave it to. Better to find a beach somewhere. Far away from the conflict, far from everything.

      Still got that beach hut reserved at Phuket? I asked.

      Sitting. Waiting. Just a phone call and a plane ride away. Make sure I send a Christmas card each year to the tax office.

      It was a little overcast. Even cold. Not that it really got cold at this time of year. Not anymore.

      As we walked we came to the perimeter fence. It divided the patrolled beach from the open beach outside. Razor wire on the top. On the outside the homeless sprawled. Since the beach was originally open public space, it was one of the first places to be camped out.

      Time to turn around and fight our way through the single 30 somethings. he said.

      So it went. The sun sailed into the horizon. The music got louder. We stood at the far edge of the crowd. As the night wore on I could even see Phil talking to a couple of quite attractive looking 30 somethings.

      At midnight the crowd surged. A big 2023 in fireworks lit up the sky, and everyone cheered. Then it was back towards the city on the brightly lit 96 tram.

      Chapter 2

      Stabbing light. Through the window, the blind. It was a tiny apartment. Really only two rooms - the living/bedroom type room and the bathroom. There was a cooking corner, but I’d long since given up cooking at home. I had a slight hangover from the new year celebrations.

      Brave new world. So it went. New year, new possibilities. Time yet for the brutal reality to kick in. For the moment I stumbled out into Gardenvale Road into the cafe. As a regular, I could just fall into my corner and it would all appear. Mohammed ran a tight cafe. He smiled at me, bringing a bowl of muesli.

      A great celebration for the new year. he said

      I grimaced.

      I went to the beach party at Elwood.

      Ah. The girls. The abandon.

      I expect Mohammed would have been in bed by 9. To open the cafe in the morning. I grinned. There was an element of regret in his voice.

      You stick with the family Mohammed. Much better.

      It was a lazy day. I stared out down the street towards the major intersection. Nepean Highway.

      I had a head up display on the glasses that gave me newsfeeds, or anything I wanted. All I had to do was think about navigating and it would shift the content and navigate. In my not quite competent state it was skipping a bit. Phil had posted some footage from the night before. It played in the background.

      I jumped about in the feeds. Usual stuff. Drought. They still called it that. What do you call it? Permanent shortage of rain? New climate? Still the vocabulary had to catch up.

      Crisis talks. Always. New permutations. China and India alternately hosted these talks. The western powers, UK, the US and a smaller and smaller Japan shuffled between Shanghai and Delhi. Resources. Climate. Antagonisms. The new world, losing patience with the old.

      Here on the street in Gardenvale that all seemed a bit surreal. It was peaceful enough. Crowds walking. Bicycles swarming. A car went past every minute or so. I looked at the traffic lights. They seemed a bit silly, overkill for the task at hand. I was almost sentimental about the time when they were needed more.

      Everybody planned their personal future. The blank sheet. I finished up breakfast and went back to head for the beach. Straight down Gardenvale Rd, only a few blocks away.

      It was magic. That you could just walk to the beach. As a kid it had seemed the ultimate luxury. Instead of an expedition, crammed into a car, or a train, you just strolled there. Did it feel like luxury still? Yes, it did.

      Down Martin Street. Serious mansions here. If you stood back and looked from a distance, maybe a bit out of focus, it all looked normal. Or at least as it was a few years ago.

      If you looked closer, it was clearly not. How many are still occupied? Some were clearly abandoned. Grass knee high, windows broken, or boarded up. Every second house was showing signs of lack of occupation.

      The smart money. The old money. Long gone. Not the new world order for them. Younger ones moving first. Stockbrokers. Managers. Off to Mumbai, or Shanghai. For the older ones it was a gated community outside of Auckland, or Christchurch. Hydro power. Most importantly, still plenty of ocean between you and the world’s problems.

      I liked the way the street ended and there you were on the beach. I walked a little further north, and stretched out on the beach not far from last night’s party. On the other side of the fence. There wasn’t as much sand now.

      On the beach, young families huddled in the shadows. Kids playing. Splashing. Then you scanned back, and there were the tents. For them this wasn’t a day out at the beach. This was home. I liked the way I could still leave my stuff on

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