Like a Fox on the Run, стр. 12
After cutting his shaggy mop back into shape, the barber went to work on his beard, while Tiger fell silent, pondering it all. Applying a generous coating of organic-activated hot lather to his jaw, Rip went to work taking months off Tiger’s age with each swipe of the straight razor. On a small media-link mounted above the mirror, a gorgeous blonde anchor was doing the top-of-the-hour news.
“… and in China today, rioting continued in Beijing and other major cities, as hundreds of thousands of displaced workers once again took to the streets in protest over the continued cutbacks in China’s manufacturing sector due to increased use of robotic technology. Hundreds of factories across that nation were stormed by the rioters who destroyed or damaged robot workers by the thousands. In the past decade, almost fifty million workers have been displaced by the increasing implementation of A.I. technologies in manufacturing industries in that country alone …”
When Ol’ Mud had lost his job as a machinist to a robot, he never even bothered looking for another. He’d signed up for the Universal Living Allowance and spent the rest of his life hunting and fishing. The ULA, as it came to be known, was the monthly government stipend for people displaced by technology or outsourcing. It was supposed to be enough to provide for the basics: food, utilities, transportation and lodging. Depending upon how frugal you were and how “imaginative” you were in estimating your monthly expenses, it was usually more than generous. Tiger always found it ironic that the rich, the powerful corporate entities and their political lackeys in government railed against such excess, calling it another socialist handout, while, at the same time, they were the very ones putting people out of work, with little or no hope of finding any other gainful employment. Somehow, amidst much wailing and gnashing of teeth, the liberals were able to push it through. It might have had something to do with it being an election year.
The conservatives weren’t the only one who looked down on people who lived off the government. The fact that Mud had chosen to had always been a point of contention between him and Tiger’s Old Man. Tiger always felt his father thought it a disgrace to the family name that his brother had taken the easy way out. At least, in his father’s eyes he had. Afterwards, the relationship between the two siblings would always be strained. Tiger hated this, for he would forever after be torn in his loyalties. His father was his father. He couldn’t help but love him. But he loved his uncle too. He just couldn’t see him as his father did. He always wondered if that made him a slacker too.
As for Mud, he would simply defend himself by saying it wasn’t his fault they’d given his job to a bucket of bolts. He’d given the company the best twenty years of his life, been a model employee who never took off a day sick and always had glowing annual reviews. And yet, when the time came, none of that mattered one iota.
He’d always end his argument with a spit of tobacco juice and say, “If the politicians and the big bosses cared more about the working man, they wouldn’t be having to take care of so many of us now.”
Tiger gazed at his reflection in the mirror and wondered who he had the most of in him. His father? The practical, hardworking, independent Southern man. Or his uncle, the free-thinker and rebel, who was never afraid to be the man he wanted to be, regardless of what other people thought. Both believed in what they believed, of that there was no doubt. Both seemed happy with the paths they chose.
That wasn’t a claim he was all that certain he could make.
Rip was finishing up, using a hot towel to wipe his face clean. He then tidied up his neck with his whisk brush. Tiger was amazed at how the years seemed to fall off in just a matter of minutes. It was almost like watching one of those old horror movie transformations, the ones where the wolfman reverts back to human form. The mood-ring, hazel eyes seemed to shine a touch brighter, more blueish now under the brighter lights. The jawline looked so much better, smooth and squared up again. The only disappointment was the gray hair encroaching more and more into his thick head of caramel-brown hair.
“… little progress was reported today in efforts to avert a strike by sub-orbital shuttle pilots. Representatives of the Pilot’s Guild and the Shuttle Service are still unable to come to terms over a new wage and benefits package. The Shuttle Service says concessions are needed in the face of expected losses once the Space Authority completes its two new elevators. The union counters that completion and mandatory safety testing of the elevators are years away and that no concession are warranted now …”
At forty-one, it bothered him that it was so prominent now. Gray was something that should come much, much later. Especially since he’d always went to such lengths to maintain top physical condition. Living in space took a toll on the human body, especially long-term exposure. Only in the last few years had scientists really begun to understand the long-lasting effects that it would have on some of the old-timers like him.
“… The Space Guard announced today that it had placed a 500,000-point reward on each member of the ruthless McDougal Gang that has been terrorizing the Outer Frontier, especially areas of the Belt.