Untitled Future, 1
A brief note: This is part 1 of a short story about a version of the future.1 If you enjoy it, do let me know since this is (primarily) a non-fiction blog.
Untitled Future, 1
a short story serial
by Anu Atluru
They were calling them Aicres.
A bit on the nose, I thought, but branding was never the government’s strong suit.
Officially, they were 'resource parcels'—units of computational land carved from The Great Machine Grid, the all-encompassing infrastructure that was supposed to power the world after the Singularity. Food, housing, transportation, art, even thought itself—everything would be tied to The Grid.
Aicres weren’t just about survival; they were about control. About power. About status. No one knew exactly how many Aicres there were, but we all knew one thing: they were scarce. Owning one wasn’t just an advantage—it was a chance to join the new aristocracy, the only way to matter in the world that was coming. Without it, you weren’t just poor—you were expendable.
The bids started on the 1st of the year and would run until the 1st of the next. The bureaucrats claimed it was to reduce chaos. Everyone else suspected it was buying time to tilt the scales.
The rich wasted no time locking in their bids. Their financial planners had been quietly draining portfolios, moving money into secret accounts locked tight until Distribution Day. It wasn’t subtle. They didn’t need it to be.
It was like the offshore scandals of the old world, except this time it wasn’t about hiding money or dodging taxes. It was about prosperity, and about entry—about buying into The Paxlands.
Rumors of early access swirled—private auctions, backroom deals, secret arrangements—but no one could prove anything. The government promised fairness, but fairness had a way of sounding hollow when you couldn’t define it. Everyone had their own theory, and nothing more.
Many were convinced there would be UBA—Universal Basic Aicreage—the only way to guarantee something for the masses. But even if UBA came, we knew it would be scraps. A fraction of a fraction of an Aicre. Enough to keep us alive, but not enough to matter.
Strivers filled public spaces with their own grand ideas, their own manifestos, performing them in displays of desperation, hoping to catch the right eye. But the Inner Circle didn’t worry; they would take care of their own.
For the rest of us, there was The Puzzle.
Liked part 1? Comment, like & share with friends!
If this gets enough love, I’ll share part 2 :)
Note: This is a draft; the final version may change before formal publication. Also, don’t let the loud techno-optimists come for me—I’m on your side!
Oh love this! Next part ?
This is great! Would love to read the next parts :)