Page 111 - An Evening with Maxwell's Daemons
P. 111

Manna 2.0

        create  a  proteinaceous  substance  as  metabolic  by-product.  These
        biochemists  and  microbiologists  have  taken  themselves,  their
        families  and  their  laboratory  equipment  to  an  abandoned  lodge
        beside a high mountain lake. They have gathered a supply of food
        each  had  hoarded  in  anticipation  of  their  unannounced  and
        secretive  evacuation  from  a  devastated  university  town.  A  single
        road  leads  to  their  hideout,  passing  over  a  high  river  gorge  on  a
        bridge they dynamite after completing their crossing. This is the last
        redoubt of mankind’s survival as an enlightened species.”
          “I  envisage  this  crisis  coming  to  a  head  in  several  ways:  their
        canned food could run out; the fuel for their generator could run
        out; their joint sanity could run out, leading to destructive internal
        strife.  Or  some  of  the  family  members,  lacking  dedication,  steal
        food and head for the only known trail out of the mountains—it is
        the middle of the winter, of course—and others, including crucial
        scientists, have to decide whether or not to go after them. Or one
        of those cannibal gangs, after their leader remembers the old lodge
        and its larder, sets out to find it. In any event, given a truly nasty
        situation, I would ratchet up the tension even more before I resolve
        it.  I  know:  I  have  to  make  the  basic  decision  about  triumph  or
        failure. But even that could depend on coming up with a ripping
        yarn. Any inspiration here—or just repulsion?”
          “Wait a minute,” objected Bad Razeberry. “Supposing they do
        get this stuff miraculously to generate piles of food out of thin air
        and thick clouds of pollution—and even to be palatable: what then?
        How  do  they  get  it  back  out  into  the  world?  When  those
        approaching cannibals show up the next day famished, would they
        not  prefer  to  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  them  something  that  may
        look like seething Styrofoam? The unworldly scientists need to have
        some weapons at their disposal. Maybe a siege: the invaders are on
        the verge of overrunning the compound when the defenders set out
        bowls of—what?—manna, miraculous loaves, nectar of the gods—
        at night beyond the gates, and hope the fiends will give them a taste
        test next morning. All that followed by much rejoicing, forgiveness
        and the formation of a joint team to take the good news down the
        mountain to the benighted remnants of our once-proud nation.”

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