Whatever Lola Wants Read Free

for Benjie’s generation. Terramac would be dedicated to Benjie the day of its completion. An electronic city, a city in harmony. The city of the future, a manageable and managed environment. A whole and integrated city.
    An econovum: first projected, soon to be real. If it’s crazy to dream, call me mad.
    A few had laughed. At first. Funny guy, that John. And what’s an econovum, anyway?
    Funny to think life otherwise? Conceive an environment free of pollutants, of stink and damp? Free of pests, human and insect? Yes, he would create the consummate environment.
    But the econovum question was one he enjoyed. Econovum, born out of a meeting with Sven Zimberg and Edgar Latier, Columbia and the University of Toronto respectively. Three dozen years back they had built influential careers by evolving what the world came to call ecological thinking and strategizing. Publicly funded research was their game, private-sector consulting their scheme.
    John Cochan had outlined his dream. “I’ll finance young scholars. They’ll invent ecologies managed from the bottom up and the top down.”
    Latier puffed his dead pipe. “How d’you mean, managed?”
    â€œAn environment nothing gets into except what we bring to it. A pristine environment, built right.”
    Zimberg with his right pinky dug in his ear. “Environments aren’t built.” He showed his teeth with pleasant disdain. “They grow.”
    â€œThat’s been the practice. But now we construct.”
    â€œA kind of condo Disneyland for humans to live in, you mean? Nothing is real?”
    â€œNo. Far more real than the odious reality we live in every day. And no rot, no pests.”
    â€œA robot ecology, then?” A testy smile from Latier.
    â€œFor the first time, gentlemen, a fully human ecology.”
    â€œHow big?” Zimberg checked for the results of his mining.
    John Cochan smiled. “A small city, nineteen-twenty thousand.”
    â€œCan’t do it.” Latier shook his head. “You want to work with—with— I’ve got to neologize. You’re looking to create an econovum. A wholly new system.”
    â€œAn econovum? Econovism?”
    â€œRidiculous. No such thing.”
    John smiled. “Then you’re not interested?”
    Latier puffed his pipe loudly, and stood. “Not my line of work.”
    Zimberg rose, hitched up his jeans, shook his head. “Won’t hold water.”
    â€œToo bad, Cochan.”
    No no no. Too good. Couple of academics, boots laced so tight to the past they couldn’t walk into tomorrow. But they’d brought John a gift, a name to accommodate his project: Econovism. A whole splendid new thing. Of course environments get created, perfected managed environments; John had witnessed their creation. Among other places, in Idaho, sixty miles out of Boise. Thousands of acres. All for potatoes; potatoes pure and simple. No bugs. No weeds. Nothing in the soil except what the farmers put there. One hundred percent potatoes. Vaunted potatoes, potatoes indispensable for exemplary McDonald’s fries the world around. Enough insecticide and the farmer held full control. Perfect potatoes. Of course Terramac was a universe light-years beyond potatoes. But the principle was similar. An environment entirely created by man the planner. When magnitude beds with quality, what grandeur is conceived.
    QUALITAS ET COPIA, COPIA IN QUALITATE : motto of Intraterra, stainless letters a gleaming crown above the portals of its Lexington headquarters, embossed in silver across the brow of its stationery, announcing with pride the achievements of the young revolutionary multibillion-dollar enterprise. John Cochan, surrounded by superb talent tried and experimental, stood tall among the upstart giants of American techno-industry.
    He’d made the right choice, Merrimac County in northern Vermont, near to the Intraterra offices in Montreal, close as well