THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF SALVATION
Jonathan buttoned his immaculate white shirt as he watched the sun rise over Seattle from the 80th floor of Building One. In fifteen minutes the Sustainable Growth Meeting would begin — the most important weekly event at RetroFuture Corp, the world's largest public policy consultancy.
It wasn't a traditional board of directors. Over the past five years, the meetings had evolved into something Jonathan could only describe as revelatory. The eighteen board members didn't gather just to review numbers, but to connect with something bigger: the transcendent purpose that gave their work meaning.
"Good morning, brothers," greeted Patricia, the CEO, as the executives took their seats around the cherrywood table. The words sounded natural, never forced. They had started calling each other that after realizing they shared something deeper than commercial objectives: a mission.
"Let's begin by sharing our growth blessings," Patricia continued, following the ritual they had developed organically over the years.
Jonathan smiled. The "growth blessings" were the projects that gave them the most personal satisfaction — the ones where they truly felt they were making the world better.
"My team has accelerated the energy transition in Bangladesh," shared Michael, the Director of Environmental Policy. "Our models convinced the government to relocate coastal communities before the floods arrive. It will save tens of thousands of lives."
The others nodded.
"I've wrapped up the urban efficiency project in São Paulo," added Jennifer. "Consolidating the favelas into vertical towers frees up space for parks and makes basic services feasible. It's beautiful to see how technology can dignify lives."
Jonathan spoke up then:
"The personalized education program in Finland is already paying off. Children learn three times faster when the system adapts each lesson to their individual cognitive profile. We're building the first truly fulfilled generation in history."
Patricia closed her eyes for a moment, as if praying silently.
"Brothers, I want to share something with you. Yesterday, during my neural insight session, I received an extraordinary vision."
The others leaned in. The "neural insight sessions" were direct interfaces with the company's most advanced analytics systems — experiences Patricia described as deeply spiritual.
"I saw the future we're heading toward," she continued. "A perfected humanity, where every person can fully develop their potential. Where scarcity is history, where conflict is resolved before it arises, where every decision is made with perfect wisdom."
Jonathan felt a thrill of emotion. He'd had similar visions during his own sessions. They weren't hallucinations: they were projections based on real data, models showing the long-term consequences of their current policies.
"The temporary sacrifice is worth it," Patricia added. "Yes, some species go extinct. Yes, some communities have to adapt dramatically. As the old scripture says: 'Unless a grain of wheat dies, it cannot bear fruit.'"
The other executives nodded. It was a shared revelation.
"Our work isn't just commercial," Patricia went on. "It's redemptive. We're healing the wounds of centuries of irrational decision-making. We are restoring the garden."
Jonathan opened his laptop and projected the quarter's charts. Global GDP: +17%. Life expectancy: +3.2 years. Energy efficiency: +24%. Biodiversity: -12%. Inequality: +15%.
"The numbers confirm we're on the right track," he said. "Every human wellbeing metric is improving consistently. The environmental losses are temporary, some communities take a little longer to adapt, but human progress is undeniable."
The meeting continued for three hours, alternating between technical analysis and moments of almost mystical reflection. They reviewed contracts with governments on four continents, programs that would affect billions of people, decisions that would reshape entire landscapes.
But they never lost sight of the higher purpose. They weren't mere consultants: they were instruments of a historic transformation, facilitators of the evolutionary leap humanity needed to reach its destiny.
At the end of the session, they joined hands around the table for the "renewed commitment" moment.
"May our decisions serve true growth," they said in unison. "May our vision guide the future. May our work perfect the world."
Jonathan left the meeting feeling renewed, his purpose crystal clear. On his desk waited seventeen public policy proposals that would affect four hundred million people over the next five years.
Every decision would be made with love. With the certainty of building something glorious. With the faith that temporary suffering was the inevitable price of collective redemption.
As he reviewed the documents, Jonathan smiled. There was no difference between doing good and doing business when you had the wisdom to see the whole picture. The tools at their disposal were like a continuous revelation, showing them exactly how to turn the world into the paradise it had always been destined to become.
THE LAST POTTER
Kenji dipped his hands in the warm water while the clay spun slowly on the wheel. At seventy-three, he was the only traditional potter left in all of Japan. His hands, hardened by five decades of work, knew every texture, every resistance, every possibility of Bizen clay.
His family's workshop had stood in the same spot for four hundred years. His great-grandfather had taught the technique to his grandfather, his grandfather to his father, his father to him. But Kenji had no one to pass the knowledge on to. His children worked in Tokyo for tech companies, earning in a month what he earned in a year.
Outside, ClayArt's automated factories produced a thousand pieces an hour with millimeter precision impossible for human hands. Vases, cups, plates: perfect, identical, and cheap. The market for handmade ceramics had collapsed entirely — except for one very specific niche.
The doorbell rang and Yuki walked in, his sales representative. A young, energetic woman who had achieved something Kenji thought impossible: making his work profitable.
"Last month's pieces all sold," she announced with a smile. "Customers are fascinated by the process. Europeans and Americans especially."
Kenji nodded without stopping to shape the bowl in his hands. He didn't fully understand the business Yuki had built, but it worked.
Kenji frowned. Cameras were installed throughout the workshop, microphones picked up the ambient sound, even sensors tracked the speed of the wheel and the beat of his heart while he worked. Everything was recorded, processed, and sold as part of the product.
"My clients pay a thousand dollars for a cup because they know it was made by real human hands," Yuki continued. "They don't want perfection. They want the small irregularities, the fingerprints, the 'humanity' of the object."
It was ironic. Kenji had spent decades perfecting his technique, trying to eliminate imperfections. Now those same imperfections were exactly what buyers valued most.
The pieces were usually displayed in galleries and museums alongside the recordings showing the making process. To prove they were authentic — and to turn the craft into a performance piece.
"Also, I have incredible news!" Yuki added. "HeritagePreserve wants to buy the rights to your entire process. They're developing robots that can replicate your exact movements, including the 'human imperfections.' They're offering a hundred million dollars."
Kenji stopped the wheel. A hundred million was more money than his family had earned in the last hundred years.
"And then what?"
"You could retire. Or keep working as a 'creative consultant.' They'd produce the pieces, but they'd carry your signature. Your 'artistic essence' would be preserved forever."
Kenji looked at the half-formed bowl in his hands. Imperfect, unique, as mortal as he was.
"And when I die?"
Yuki smiled enthusiastically.
"That's the most beautiful part. They've developed technology that can simulate your style even after... after you're gone. They'll be able to produce 'new' Kenji Tanaka pieces for centuries. Your art will be immortal."
The old potter closed his eyes.
"Do you know why my great-grandfather chose this clay?" he asked softly.
Yuki shook her head.
"Because it was unpredictable. Every batch was different. He used to say the clay had a life of its own, that he only helped it find its shape. If he'd wanted perfection, he'd have worked with molds."
Kenji started the wheel spinning again. His hands moved with the wisdom of thousands of pieces.
"Tell HeritagePreserve no," he murmured. "My art will die with me, as it should."
Yuki looked confused, almost annoyed.
"But Kenji-san, this is history. It's preserving human culture for future generations."
"No," the potter replied. "Preserving culture would be a workshop full of apprentices, artists carrying on the craft, each with their own personal touch."
"HeritagePreserve is even better! It's preserving this workshop forever!"
"That's not art, not culture. That's just production. If there's no one to carry it on, the art stagnates, stops."
He couldn't accept. It would be betraying himself: turning his soul into an algorithm, his family tradition into a brand, his mortality into an endless line of products.
On her way home, Yuki called her contact at HeritagePreserve.
"He hasn't accepted yet. He always struggles with new technologies — I'll talk to him again tomorrow."
"Not necessary. We have enough pieces in the collection to train the model. The workshop recordings were more of a marketing campaign than anything else."
"But you can't copy the master's style without his consent."
"Kenji holds no patents on his designs, nor on his way of working. He doesn't even have lawyers. Marketing might decide to create an AI-generated artist and position it as an influencer — younger, more dynamic. They might name Kenji as its inspiration, or maybe not. Either way, Kenji will never know. And that's probably for the best."
The man on the other end of the line took the silence as the end of the conversation and hung up. He'd already wasted enough time on this matter.
THE REFERENDUM ON PROGRESS
Carmen waited in line at the Seville polling station, surrounded by holographic screens projecting messages about Proposition 2047: "Authorization for the Implementation of the Comprehensive Framework for Social Improvement."
The bureaucratic language hid a simple question: Should Spain hand over public policy planning to GlobalWisdom Corp's predictive analytics systems?
"It's the future, grandma," her grandson Pablo kept telling her as they inched forward. "Look what they've done in Denmark. Full employment, zero violent crime, life expectancy of ninety-five."
Carmen nodded distractedly. At sixty-eight, she'd lived long enough to distrust promises of perfection. But she had to admit the arguments were compelling.
The screens showed dazzling charts: economic growth curves, happiness indices, wellbeing projections. A soft, reassuring voice explained how the "intelligent system" had already transformed fourteen countries, eliminating corruption, reducing inequality, maximizing human potential.
"Have you seen the opposition ads?" Pablo asked, showing her his phone. "They talk about 'loss of sovereignty' and 'technological control.' Sounds like conspiracy theories."
Carmen had seen those ads. They seemed desperate, alarmist, like they were trying to scare people with apocalyptic scenarios. The "Yes" campaign, on the other hand, spoke with data, with evidence, with the serenity of those who are right.
"Look at the endorsements," Pablo continued. "Every recent Nobel laureate in Economics recommends voting yes. So do 90% of university graduates. The biggest unions."
The screens now showed an interview with Doctor Elena Ruiz:
"Voting 'No' in this referendum is condemning Spain to backwardness. It's consciously choosing mediocrity when we have the tools to achieve excellence. Frankly, I don't understand how anyone can oppose progress out of irrational fear."
Carmen remembered admiring Doctor Ruiz for years. Her work on "The Economics of Human Fulfillment" had been revolutionary. If she supported the proposal, who was Carmen to doubt?
"Look, grandma," Pablo said, showing her his tablet. "They've modeled exactly what would happen if 'No' won. Stagnant GDP, massive youth emigration, deteriorating public services. Spain would become a 20th-century museum."
The projections were devastating. Charts showing a gray future for Spain if it rejected "intelligent modernization." Young people would flee to countries that had adopted advanced systems. The economy would collapse. The country would become irrelevant.
"And if 'Yes' wins?" Carmen asked.
"Paradise," Pablo answered without hesitation. "Guaranteed work for everyone, decent housing, personalized education, predictive healthcare. The system will calculate the best way to make each person happy according to their individual characteristics."
Carmen finally reached the voting booth. The touchscreen offered her two simple options:
YES - Authorize the Implementation of the Comprehensive Framework for Social Improvement
"Choose the future. Choose progress. Choose the fulfillment of your potential."
NO - Maintain the Current System of Government
"Continue with the traditional model of decision-making."
Even the wording suggested which answer was "correct." Who would consciously choose "the traditional model" over "the fulfillment of your potential"?
Carmen hesitated for a moment. She thought of her youth during the democratic transition, when voting had felt like a precious conquest. Now they were telling her that same democracy was obsolete, inefficient, inferior to the "intelligent systems."
She touched the screen.
Outside, Pablo waited nervously.
"What did you vote?"
Carmen looked him in the eye.
"I voted for the future," she replied.
It wasn't a lie. She just wasn't sure it was the future she wanted.
The results came in that same night: 73% in favor, 27% against. The media celebrated the "victory of reason over fear." Markets rose 15%. European leaders congratulated Spain for "taking the step toward definitive modernity."
In the neighborhoods where "No" had won — mainly rural areas and older populations — the public screens showed educational messages about "the importance of adapting to change" and "overcoming resistance to progress."
Carmen went to bed that night wondering whether she had taken part in a democratic election or simply ratified a decision that had already been made. But when she turned on the news and saw the optimistic projections for Spain's future, she felt a strange relief.
After all, who was she to oppose the consensus of the experts?
Real-world references
You could argue these stories are more contemporary fiction than science fiction, pushed just a little further. I almost didn't publish them because I feel there isn't much extrapolation in them at all. The examples that inspired me:
- The Techno-Optimist Manifesto by Marc Andreessen Andreessen is a venture capitalist, probably the most famous in the world right now. His profession shouldn't have anything to do with religion. But that didn't stop him from writing this clearly religious text. In case there was any doubt, it even includes a cover of a pixelated sun appearing through the clouds, like a Renaissance painting — and he repeatedly uses the mantra "We believe in".
- Japanese pottery on YouTube: There are dozens of videos; every now and then one shows up in my feed because YouTube knows I like craftsmanship in general. I liked this one when I was looking for an example, because the artisan performs the piece in a public installation where people come to admire the process:
- As for electoral speeches, I don't think I need to provide examples...
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