February 13, 2004
A Sci-Fi
On a small planet in the outer reaches of the Western Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy a small and insignificant group of human beings meet to discuss the relatively impoverished existence they face on their particular backwater planet. Far from the center of galactic action, and without the natural resources other civilizations possessed and saddled with a comparably low state of education, technology, and infrastructure they sat about cursing their ancestors for their state.
“If the damn Chinese would have opened up with their society and shared their knowledge with the rest of the world, man could have been on the moon in the 1500's. Their knowledge was a thousand years ahead of the rest of the world at the time. What were they thinking? We could be out there right now, moving and shaking in the galaxy. Instead, here we are stuck on this third tier planet. We might as well all be wearing bear skins and carrying Bowie knives.”
The speaker did have a point. Planet Earth was not a hot spot, or even a tourist destination in the galaxy. Many other planets had far better attractions.
“We need a hook.” spoke one of the members, The others turned with startled expression to the voice. This was something unusual, someone with something different to say? “We need a hook, something to put us on the map. A unique selling proposition, something to give them a reason to come, to trade.”
The others sat in stunned silence. An idea? Could it be?
“It’s time for us to forget about the past. We’re never going to get out of this mess and become a first line planet sitting around blaming our ancestors for their lack of foresight. We need to do something now to address the future. We need to figure out right now what we’ve got, or what we can do that they want. We need to hook them.”
This was a revolutionary idea. No one had ever spoken such words before. The members turned and looked around the room at each other with looks of dumbfounded astonishment on their faces. No one could find words to reply, the weight of the concept was so profound. Could it be that Earth, that most humble and primitive of planets, could possibly have something to offer the galaxy that would actually encourage trade and tourism?. To actually take some sort of action?
Revolutionary concepts indeed. So they killed him.
But the idea was not lost. In the back of the room that night was a small boy who overheard the entire discussion and witnessed the bitter end. The words that were spoken by the dead man resonated in his head, and the actions of the others found their place cemented in his being. He understood the words held the key, and the actions defined the price.
Asdf was the child of working class parents. His father, a PHD in economics worked as a janitor in one of the planets major financial houses, and his mother, with an MBA worked as a secretary in a large and successful advertising agency. Wise beyond his years, Asdf was an astute observer. His father’s musings on economics and his mother’s business sense combined with the dead man’s words to form a dim, but distinct picture of a world that could be.
Earth had been run for generations by bureaucrats and power brokers whose endless shuffling and redistribution of diminishing assets and resources had combined with rampant Nepotism and incompetence to leave the planet with real liquidity problems. No cash-flow to make it go, no ability to maneuver in the galactic economy. Without the necessary capital Earth was unable to mount an effective advertising campaign. As a result they could not attract a major fast food or sports franchise. Even Galactimart, the great galactic department store with their giant buildings in even the remotest parts of the galaxy had passed Earth by.
Even Asdf’s name was the product of bureaucratic bungling on the day of his birth.
“What’s the child’s name?” the clerk ask absently without looking up while reaching for the cup of coffee at the side of his desk.
“Sam.” said the father
The clerk’s hand hit the side of the coffee mug and sent it tumbling toward the floor. As he lunged to grab it the fingers of his left hand, still positioned above the keys, responded reflexively and depressed the underlying keys in order from left to right and entered the letters in the box marked ‘child’s first name’, Asdf.
The clerk recovered, flustered and distraught by the loss of not only the coffee, but the mug as well, “I’ve broken my mug.” he said holding the broken pieces as though they were parts of him suddenly disembodied, “ It was my favorite. Passed down to me by my father, and his father before him. We’ve all been here, at this desk, three generations with this mug. I don’t think I can go on.”
“I’m sorry.” said Sam’s father who had noticed the typographical error, “But I think you’ve made a mistake with his name.”
The clerk did not appear to hear, staring into space, lost in his own world, holding the broken mug in his hands. “I’m in shock.” He said. Suddenly his demeanor changed, “ This is grounds for a paid leave of absence.” He punched the enter button on his computer, leapt to his feet, ripped a copy of the birth certificate from the machine and handing it to the father said, “Asdf, interesting name.”
Before the father could say another word, the clerk had brushed by him on his way to the supervisor’s office to fill out the proper forms and secure his paid leave. And so it was to be. His parents always called him Sam, but everyone else knew him as Asdf.
Asdf had no desire to live on a third tier planet. He wanted all the galaxy had to offer. All those things he saw on the screens beamed in from those far away planets. He didn’t want to travel there, all those different gravities and atmospheres would be a distraction. But he wanted the stuff. And he understood that in order to get it here you must first get them here. The planet needed a hook.
They say the greatest ideas in history are accidents. Not so much found as stumbled upon or run over by. Asdf’s epiphany came in much the same way. While walking down the street one day preoccupied with solving the conundrum of finding Earth’s unique selling proposition, he was approached by a thin and frail homeless person. “Can you help me out?” The wretch asked, “I need money for a cigarette.”
“A cigarette?” replied Asdf coming back to reality from his deep contemplation and seeing the man for the first time, “It looks as though food might be a better idea.”
“First the smoke, then the food.” The man responded. “I’m hooked.”
In a flash the idea exploded fully formed in Asdf’s head. Earth’s unique selling proposition had been laid before him. The product unique to Earth that the galaxy would have to have, the ultimate hook that would bring the flow of commerce to his third tier planet, the product that could lift his world from obscurity and place it firmly among the first tier movers and shakers of the galaxy. The key he and the planet had been searching for was in his hand. Tobacco, tobacco was the key.
The other planets never knew what hit them. Asdf’s marketing plan was flawless. He didn’t start with the galaxy’s center, he was smarter than that. He started in the outer reaches, the wild areas of the galaxy. He understood the mechanisms of style, and the cache to be gained by a product that came from these exotic, untamed regions.
It worked like a charm. Starting one planet at a time Asdf introduced Tobacco across the outer reaches. Soon the ships were coming to Earth picking up and transporting product back to their home worlds leaving their treasure behind. The industry grew, the transport fleets grew, Earth’s wealth began to increase. Soon Tobacco began to show up at all the right parties and gatherings back in the galaxy center. Transported there in small amounts from the outer reaches by explorers and adventurers, the mystique was irresistible, all the right beings had to have it. Soon Tobacco was all the rage.
Earth’s near space quickly became congested with transport ships and the private luxury craft. Traders and holiday makers flooded Earth with all the latest the galaxy had to offer in exchange for the leaf. It became the must have product of the galaxy and there was only one place to get it. Thanks to Asdf and the words of a dead man, the galaxy was hooked and the planet Earth was on the map, a destination location.
Several generations followed with Earth becoming an economic powerhouse in the galaxy. Asdf’s decedents accrued vast wealth and power as a result of his brilliant two hundred year marketing plan. They became patrons of the arts and gave vast sums to universities and foundations, a global renaissance ensued. They were revered. Earth’s standard of living rose across the board. The farmers were happy, the production workers were happy. The wealth of the galaxy flowed toward the little planet. Major fast food and sports franchises vied for a share of Earth’s market. Galactimart brought their new headquarters, a complex of buildings so large it covered half a continent. Life on Earth was good, but other planets, seeing their own wealth and influence diminish became jealous.
“We’ve got to do something about this. They’ve been sucking us dry for far to long.” The speaker, barely visible through the cloud of tobacco smoke that filled the room spoke, “If this is allowed to continue, we’ll be powerless, totally without influence in the galaxy. If we are to maintain our place, we must find a way to stop them, to even the balance of trade.”
“What can we do? They control the leaf and it won’t grow anywhere else.” A voice replied and after a brief, but violent fit of coughing, continued, “The best scientists on our planets have been unable to duplicate it, or clone it. Every attempt to find a substitute has failed. It is a plant unique to Earth.”
“Then we must find another way.” There was a brief pause as a small red glow barely visible through the smoke intensified then faded. “If we cannot reproduce it, we must find justification in a different arena.”
“We must send spies. No system is perfect, we must find the chink in their armor. There has got to be a way for us to get to them.”
“So be it, it has been decided. We will send spies. They will find the weakness.” Said the speaker, fumbling through his pockets, “Anybody got a match?”
The effects of smoking tobacco had long been known on Earth. Over the generations many attempts to outlaw its production and consumption, or tax it out of existence had been tried. All had failed. Its hold was too strong, its economy too great. When the spies arrived, they soon noticed most of Earth’s natives tended not to use the leaf, they left it for the tourists and traders.
Perplexed by this observation the spies scoured the great libraries of Earth, many built with large endowments from Asdf and his decedents, to seek out the reason for this seemingly hypocritical social behavior. They found the answer deep in the ancient stacks. They reported back immediately.
“What do you mean it’s addictive?” The Chairman asked taking a long drag on his Super Premium Extra Long with gilded tip.
“Yes, Your Most Merciful One. With all, and more due respect, have you ever tried to quit?,” the spymaster asked, afraid to raise his eyes, “Do you know anyone who has?”
“Of course not. Why would anyone want to do that?” The Chairman snapped.
The spymaster rocked back from the force of the response, but gathered himself and continued, head down, “We’ve tested it, Most Resplendent One. We locked a few ‘volunteers’ in a room and denied them tobacco. It didn’t take long. The results weren’t pretty.”
The Chairman softened his response, he knew the spymaster’s information could be trusted, “Well, I have heard stories. People lost or stranded. We’ve always put their actions down to stress, or isolation.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Great Greatness.” The spymaster replied, “The results are conclusive beyond a doubt.” Determined to give his full report the spymaster continued, “And that’s not all.”
“Not all? What more could there be?” The Chairman was obviously upset.
“They are poison, Your Most Stylish.”
“Poison!” The Chairman threw down his half smoked Super Premium Extra Long with gilded tip, as if it were about to bite him, “What do you mean, poison?”
“Yes, Oh Spiffy One. From Earth’s own records we have the proof.”
The Chairman was distraught, he paced nervously back and forth in front of his throne wringing his hands, “What are we going to do, what are we going to do?” He stopped and plucked another
Super Premium Extra Long with gilded tip from the box beside his throne, sat down, lit up, and in a voice sounding almost hopeless asked again, “What are we going to do?”
The Chairman could do nothing, he was hopelessly addicted as were hundreds of billions of other beings across the length and breadth of the galaxy. The leaf had thoroughly penetrated and become a part of the popular culture throughout. It was the one ubiquitous product in the galaxy, found anywhere and everywhere, generating vast amounts of capital in every location, not only for Earth, but for the locals as well. It generated huge sums for governments and advertising agencies, fostered small businesses, and sponsored major racing series and sports franchises everywhere. Apparel manufacturers and creators of fashion accessories thrived on the wealth generated by such silly things as brand loyalty. Tobacco was the galactic freight train with seemingly unstoppable momentum.
But the power of jealousy should never be underestimated. Slowly at first, but with increasing fervor the forces that sought to bring Earth down mounted their campaign. They released the information the spies had uncovered and began to apply pressure to leadership. Slowly their message began to gain traction. The leaf was vilified in the popular press and soon governments were forced to take action. Using the information gained by the spies as justification, governments began imposing import restrictions and taxing tobacco heavily, raising the price to unaffordable levels for all but the wealthy. Soon smuggling and tax evasion became commonplace, crime, violence, and poverty increased as the price of tobacco was driven higher and higher. A viscous cycle began to take hold. Higher prices and limited availability lead to more crime, violence, and poverty. These, in turn were used as the justification for even higher prices and tighter restrictions, and so on and so on. It was a master strategy.
In the end their master strategy served no-good purpose. It was a free market galaxy. The financial gains the jealous planets had hoped to reap were more than offset by the increased costs of law enforcement and social unrest. Their attempts at prohibition failed miserably and made them look like idiots in the galaxy.
The spies had found and reported the facts, but they had not reported the history. They did not get to the reason why Earth’s natives tended not to use the leaf. They failed to report that Earth had learned that in the end what the people want, the people get. They did not report that Earth had abandoned the failed policy of legislation to achieve control in favor of the successful policy of education to achieve the same end. Tobacco was rarely used by the natives of earth, not because of legislation to make it criminal, but because years of education had made it socially unacceptable.