It's the year. . .

It’s the year 2117 and Orcas have taken over the world. They have become amphibious and adapted to walking on land with stout, tiny legs, although for the most part those little legs are redundant since all the ice has melted and much of the earth is covered with water. Both humans and furry animals live in fear of their smooth, glossy black and white flesh and deafening cries. No, no, that's ridiculous.

It’s the year 2119 and men are extinct. Except for, that is, a small enclave of human males, all descended from Harry Styles, Idris Elba, Chris Hemsworth, David Beckham, Jason Momoa and Tom Hardy. These men are kept in cells on the Isle of Man which is very much smaller now, it’s just the heathery bit on top, a mere pinprick in the Irish sea. Enforced nakedness has prompted them to grow a thick layer of hair all over their bodies. They look out onto a view of parked motorcycles which they will never ride. 

Women have evolved somewhat. The term ‘woman’ is now obsolete and conventional reproduction no longer occurs. There is simply a population of long-lived beings who exist in a chaotic but mostly peaceful world. Everybody is vegan and all life forms are considered valuable, even head lice. Reproduction takes place in laboratories; the hairy men are milked and the resulting fluids screened and sorted according to genetics. The babies are taken care of by loving humans who have their oxytocin levels regularly topped up to ensure an adequate capacity for nurturing. No, no, I’m not convinced, Harry Styles’s descendants cannot grow body hair and would simply perish when exposed to the damp winds off the Irish sea.

It’s the year 2121 and I can see into your head and I don’t even have to look through your ear. I can see everything, from your innermost fears and desires to the more mundane thoughts about itchy labels and how you wished you’d ordered chips instead of salad. I can even see the bulging, bin-like cerebral container where used up thoughts are unloaded. This is quite unfortunate for you but it’s worse for me, my thoughts are quite horrific and often inappropriate. However it must be said that inappropriateness as we know it no longer exists. One’s needs are met quite automatically and without the kerfuffle of human interaction and the entanglements of awkward sexual relationships.

My inappropriate thoughts are mostly in relation to the government which now exists as a large computer server known as Glab. The thing about Glab is that they are totally devoid of human frailty and therefore immune to the vanities that drive the greed which ultimately lead to wars so this is mostly a good thing, I think. However emotional thoughts are now considered inappropriate, they are discouraged, some are even banned. Occasionally I like to go back into the archives of my hard-drive and look at footage of families and people in love. If Glab catches me, I will be demoted or even expunged. I won’t be ashamed though because that’s an emotion but I will lose the ability to see right into your head. I’ll only be able to see one thought deep, that’s everything for the descendants of David Beckham.

It’s for the greater good if we are to survive the ever growing threats to humanity. Robots known as Bezosians have evolved and become independent from the humans who programmed them, they have no conscience and know no bounds. Originally developed to satisfy the humans’ endless desire for new objects, they grab anything that moves, wrap it in layers of cardboard and take it outside of the earth’s atmosphere to be united with their bald, shiny master who they believe is the new sun. 

Things started to go wrong in 2097 when the Orcas stormed the Mariana Trench and hacked into the submerged Material Mainframe. The new world currency collapsed and there followed a period of long-term digital bilious followed by a decade of Computer Says No. We all wrongly thought that the Mariana Trench was the most secure place to put the Material Mainframe but nowhere is secure in a shrinking world. 

Some of us are old enough to remember the austere years of the Great Squeeze when food became so expensive that the government encouraged people to eat their thoughts. And energy became so precious that people were forced to use up their old memories to keep warm and the government tried to keep out the cold by creating a fuzzy haze of nostalgia. When the memories were all used up and the nostalgia faded to what it really was, well nothing really, that’s when people became desperate. 

The Great Squeeze was followed by The Great Collapse. The cracks showed, then the cracks cracked, then the gaps opened up just as the robots were beginning to form the first of the dark algorithms. 

No, no that’s ridiculous, all of it.

It’s the year …