Song of the Seven

"This powerful current that connects Earth to sky

is made of me, and you, and millions more eyes.

I alone can bring forward the tide,

I alone can call all of my might.

This powerful current that connects Earth to sky

is the swell of our teardrops from endless cries.

I alone can decide to fight,

I alone can call all of my might.

This powerful current that connects Earth to sky

can will us to live for the next 7 lives.

I alone can avert my demise,

I alone can call all of my might."

That was the last thing I scrolled past on my feed, signaling the moment that the old social media would unplug forever. My phone's screen suddenly turned black, making my dimmed room comparatively more eye-catching. I switch my gaze from the despondent device to the only thing with a hint of color - the door of the room painted a burnt orange, fixed ajar with a grey canvas backpack slumped on the floor, papers scattered around it. Maybe the walls need new paint, or maybe my head needs new eyes; but I'm sure the walls have turned a musty grey. With heavy eyelids, I match the slit of my eyes to the narrow gaps of the blinds. The early daylight hasn't yet leered through my window, and I'm tempted to stay in bed until the sun demands that I rise.

I alone can bring forward the tide,

I alone can call all of my might.

The thought announces itself, unwelcome like the harsh beep of an alarm clock. But unlike my phone, I can't just hit snooze and blink away the discomfort. The rebellious chant has a keen way of making itself comfortable in your head - no matter what you plan to do that day. It's today - the day that you have to wake up. Today has been waiting for you. Another uninvited thought invades my head. I stare bleakly, awaiting for these thoughts to materialize in a way that is containable within the norm. Still the orange hue of the door beckons me, as if there was a world within the door itself that I could just walk into.

I lift myself up and onto my feet, where across from me I keep a neat row of shoes. Whether it's just a quirky trait of mine that I first plan my outfit based on what shoes I'm wearing or it's a behavioural solution to my tardiness, it serves a final reminder that nothing will get done if I don't get up and go. Between my combat boots and polished black clogs, I am forced today to choose the latter. Because today, we are presenting our research on an Artificial Intelligence Model of a Feasible Future to world leaders.

Studying my postured look in the mirror, I assure my outfit matches the tone of the day. In a room of shifting shades of grey, I stand solidly and starkly in all black. I can't help but chuckle when I think I look like I'm dressed for my own funeral.

I alone can avert my demise.

Somewhere, someone else is putting on their combat boots, as it also happens to be the day that a great oligarchy is tumbled. I know this for sure to have happened, because all the social apps went down. Although I will admit I did have some insider knowledge prior-to, I just didn't know it would happen this day. By now, streams of people would be joining into energized crowds, harnessing the momentum.

I turn the TV on and switch to the news channel for a glimpse of reality beyond my stuffy apartment. Over organized chanting, a reporter narrates the site: "The sea of bodies moving through the streets seems awfully stormy today, stirred up by the winds of change," revealing in his words the desire to go back to forecasting the weather. I don't blame him, life really is just too surreal, especially in the midst of political action. Despite all the duties, schedules, and untimely events we must harness in our everyday lives, there is still the chaos of the world unfolding beyond our view, simultaneously.

And so it is, that my audience with a very busy group of people happens to land on the same day of a fateful event. I know cancelling is out of the question; they all flew here to attend this summit, we better make it damn well worth their time. I must catch a train then meet with my colleagues before the big talk, so I grab the papers and my backpack and rush out the door; the TV still blaring a repetitive chant.

---

Over pastries and black coffee, the seven of us discuss battle tactics for presenting our research as a necessary plan of action. We all share the fear that officials will brush off the urgency of the matter, playing it down in light of what happened today.

"No! We can't imply any connection to the attack on the corporate oligarchs." snaps the lead researcher, known in publication as S. Priyam.

"We are scientists, not activists. Keep your hobbies out of your job, and I'll keep your hobbies out of question when I'm doing my job." He glanced at me sideways. Priyam is a business analyst, with a PhD. The work he funded us to do turned out to be a lot bigger than anyone could imagine, and a lot more worth than my paycheck could muster. Are we expected to keep it within the confines of the box he set out to put it in?

"Listen - our intention is very clear. Whatever we decide to do, we must make it apparent that in order for the AI-modelled timeline to work, we must take action NOW. We've had 2 full years of peer-review, we can't push the start of this project any further. The study has already made a household name for itself, and the summit has been oriented on the plan proposal, but we are the only ones who can give legitimacy to it."

When it didn't have to do with our research, Priyam was open to talking about anything and everything. He knew about the planned uprising against the oligarchs too, even if just from us all chatting. This research, however, is equally our child that all 7 of us treat carefully. We understood the delicateness with which he handles our project; just as we had done every step of the way to get it published without flaw.

Priyam sat forward on the edge of the armchair with his hands clasped. He spoke with a hint of defeat in his voice: "If we don't act now.. if we don't save the planet, our children will be dead well before their time. Generation Phase 1 needs to start this year."

A group of 3 programmers, 3 data analysts, and 1 lead researcher, we initially came together as a start-up tech company messing around with AI. We were all like-minded individuals with frankly too much time on our hands; to end up here of all places was a pipe dream. For a group of socially inept researchers and programmers, standing in front of a scrutinizing audience with no similar interests is not the most appealing idea. But at the very least, we don't get hung up on finessing our words with tactfulness and diplomacy. We stand as un-wavering as the data itself, with no beating around the bush. The discussion between a summit of high-profile world leaders and a bunch of determined nerds is sure to be curt, dry, and uninspiring at best.

We all travel to the summit together in a van, arriving at a conference hotel. The steps to the entrance is swarmed with people being held back by police. The energized crowd must have made their way here, in knowing that global leaders are making executive decisions without so much as a thought on how it affects our lives, our future. At the event registration desk, we were informed that event recording is still to continue, but may not stream live as previously planned.

---

The camera blinks orange at me. We've finished presenting our research, we've pitched our plan, and have moved on to questions. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of stress. The murmurs of disapproval carried throughout the room.

"How do you expect us to make change happen so quickly?"

"What are we supposed to do about our current energy infrastructure?"

"Gas vehicles?"

"Lithium mining?"

"What abou-

"IT'S ALL IN THE PLAN!" Priyam yelled, his jaw taut and a vein popping from his temple. He breathed a sigh.

"It's all in the plan. All WE need to do is just stick to Phase 1 of the 7-Generation Plan. The outcome of it won't be seen in our lifetime, but that's not what matters." Somehow, Priyam seemed like a maniac and the only sane person in the room, all in the same.

The Summit leader clears her throat, bringing the room to settle.

"And an excellent plan that is, Dr. Priyam. We are fortunate to bear witness to some excellent work using innovative technology, which will redefine economics as we know it. I assure you that you have captured the attention of all of us here in this room. But you've left us with just one impossible task. How will you convince everyone of us, and every individual person on this planet - to change the way that we live?"

Standing behind my chair, I stare at the orange blinking light of the camera; uneased by the situation, but unable to speak. Suddenly, the chimes of several phones go off across the room. This was no major disruption until, from the pocket of my pants, Neil Young shouts "KEEP ON ROCKIN’ IN THE FREE WORLD!" into the mic on the speaker table directly level with my hips, ending just abruptly as it started. The crowd all turned to look at me.

Oh god.

I fumble to switch the mic off, which beckons a daggered look from the Summit leader, who then utters: "Ms. Morgan, would you like to address the matter?"

"KEEP ON ROCKI-"

I pull out my phone to silence the notifications. Glancing at my screen, the banner reads "#G7Summit livestream on Chat-y has started." Amazing! The new social media Chat-y, a communication platform equally owned by the people, has gone live, it's being used.

In that moment, I know the perfect thing to say.

"Yes, Ms. Summit Leader. I would like to address the matter." In the same breath, I compose any decorum left in me.

"The table is yours."

Surveying the greyish sea of suits, I return my gaze to the orange blinking light on the camera straight ahead.

"This powerful current that connects Earth to sky

is made of me, and you, and millions more eyes.

I alone can bring forward the tide,

I alone can call all of my might."

"This message that circulated online reminds us what action is possible together. We've seen the chant in action just today. People can no longer live the way they are living. This chant is about challenging ourselves to take individual action, so that collective change is possible."

I continue: "And it's with individual action, that this plan we are proposing is possible. It's the unrest of the people, that this plan wants to relieve. It's the purpose we lack day in and day out, that this plan delivers to us. We always knew we wanted to live for the future, we just didn't know how. And now, we do."

Priyam interrupts: "The plan has to start this year. Our team has worked tirelessly to get your attention before it was too late. We have done just that. Now just as we played our role, everyone else must play theirs."

With no further questions, the summit was dismissed. The tide has started to turn.