Delta-v, page 2
Joyce had risen from middle-class obscurity to become a billionaire at a young age, first in cryptocurrencies and then when one after another of his tech startups (none of which Tighe had heard of or understood) were bought out by tech giants.
Now in his late thirties, Joyce had controlling interests in dozens of closely held enterprises in new media, real estate, biotech, aerospace, and renewable energy. He often made headlines by announcing grandiose, impractical business schemes. It was hard to pin down Joyce’s net worth, but estimates ranged from a few into the tens of billions of dollars.
Baliceaux Island shed some light on Joyce’s modus operandi. For centuries this place had been an undeveloped 320-acre speck in the Grenadines. Its rugged topography made development too costly for resorts and vacation buyers, but Joyce saw what others did not: the elevation necessary to cope with the rising seas of climate change.
Now with beachfront celebrity mansions up in the Exumas routinely flooding, Baliceaux had gone on to become one of the most valuable private residences on Earth. Even if the sea rose 5 meters, the party would still go on here.
The autonomous golf cart rolled to a stop beneath a grass-roof portico at the entrance to the Great House.
The Filipino butler dismounted. “This way, please.”
He led Tighe through a carven wood doorway, past dour, suited security men. The décor was rustic tropical, the rooms chilled and dehumidified into a climate approximating summer in Norway. It was surprisingly serene inside, given the enormous open-air discothèque not far off.
After guiding Tighe down the main hallway, the butler opened twin doors and ushered him into a sprawling, well-appointed study filled with mementos and antiques from around the world—scrimshaw, sextants, a large brass telescope on a pedestal, models of sailing ships, racing aircraft, rockets, framed ancient maps, and shelf after shelf of books.
It would have been a soothing refuge, except for the presence of a 120-inch, 8K flat-screen television on the wall above the fireplace—on which Tighe’s dirt-smeared face appeared in crystal-clear video, larger than life, filmed in POV from someone else’s helmet-cam.
A lone figure sat on the sofa watching the video. Even from behind, Tighe recognized the tousled brown hair and broad shoulders of Nathan Joyce, still wearing his white flight suit.
The study doors closed behind Tighe.
On-screen Tighe shouted into the camera, “We can’t stay here!” The bass rumble of cracking rock shook the study with the aid of impressive speakers.
A man shouted off camera. The helmet-cam turned to look—revealing a caver in an orange trog suit and light-bedecked helmet, clinging to a rock wall as it broke apart around him. A rope trailed from the man’s harness back along the rock face.
A voice. “Let go, John! The roof is collapsing! Let go!”
Nearby, Tighe unclipped his own rope line and then without hesitation leaped across the gap, over darkness, and grabbed the other caver—pulling him roughly from the rock face, even though the man didn’t want to let go. Moments after they swung back on the rope line, the entire cliff face and a large section of the ceiling fell away with a deafening roar. The camera captured Tighe and the caver clinging to each other, a human pendulum swinging over the void.
Tighe clipped in to the caver’s harness and then looked up at the camera. “Bring us up, Lars.”
The image froze.
The counter on the bottom right of the screen indicated the video had more than thirty-two million views.
Joyce spoke without turning. “Hell of a risk to take, to save a man you barely knew.”
Tighe shifted uncomfortably. “He was carrying batteries we needed.”
Joyce paused a moment to process this. “I see.” He stood and turned to face Tighe. “You were trapped in the Tian Xing cave system for four days after the quake.”
Tighe remained silent as Joyce walked around the sofa to meet him.
“Four days. Ropes and communications cut. Carrying wounded, few supplies, constant aftershocks, collapsed passages, flooding. No immediate hope of rescue.”
Tighe still said nothing.
“Yet you brought ten out of sixteen to the surface alive—and you weren’t even the expedition lead.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, I disagree. You made nothing but choices—life-and-death choices under intense constraints.” Joyce studied Tighe. “This is the only clip that’s made it to the Internet, but there’s over two hundred hours more from the expedition helmet-cams. I’ve watched every minute.”
Tighe narrowed his eyes. Had Joyce really gotten hold of the expedition video? Not even Tighe had seen it.
“Organizational psychologists will be studying the footage for years. You could make a solid career on the team dynamics speaking circuit.”
“Is that why you invited me here?”
Joyce laughed again. “God no. What a waste that would be.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nathan Joyce.”
Tighe paused, then shook his host’s hand. “Everyone calls me J.T.”
“J.T.” Joyce was tall and lean, with an intense gaze as he gripped Tighe’s hand firmly. A smile in the corner of his eyes. “Thanks for coming all this way. I think you’ll be interested in what we’re up to.”
Tighe heard a chair creak in the corner and suddenly noticed another man seated at a round table there—South Asian, in his sixties, with a trim gray beard and expensive-looking glasses. The man wore a jacket with slacks but was nowhere near as fashionable as the poolside party guests.
“This is Nobel Prize–winning economist Sankar Korrapati. Sankar, this is J.T., the cave diver I was telling you about.”
The academic approached and vigorously shook Tighe’s hand.
Tighe felt out of his league. “I don’t know anything about economics, but it’s an honor.”
“Mr. Tighe. The honor is mine. You are most daring.”
There was no reasonable reply to that so Tighe simply nodded.
Joyce offered the sofa. “Have a seat. Can we get you anything to drink?”
“No. I’m fine, thanks.” Tighe sat warily. Something was up. He just didn’t know what.
The professor retrieved a small remote from a nearby credenza and clicked it. The TV winked off and instead a hologram glowed into existence above the coffee table. It consisted of 3D words in bold white letters:
What is money?
Tighe was momentarily startled. He’d never seen an open-air holographic display in person.
Joyce noticed his reaction. “Pretty cool, eh? Software-defined light. I was an angel investor in the firm that pioneered it.”
Tighe gazed at the words: What is money? Their meaning started to sink in. He couldn’t help but think this looked like the beginning of the world’s most elaborate time-share pitch. “Mr. Joyce—”
“Nathan, please.”
“Uh, Nathan, I appreciate the invitation—”
“But why are you here? I’ll explain, but first, I’d like you to listen to a talk Sankar has been delivering in certain circles.” On Tighe’s attempt to speak he added, “Indulge me.” Joyce turned to the professor. “Doctor, if you will.”
“Of course.” Korrapati moved alongside the glowing hologram and stared intently. “Can you tell me from where money comes, Mr. Tighe?”
Tighe looked from the professor to Joyce and back again. Apparently they were doing this. “I . . . I guess it comes from a mint.”
“To be clear: by ‘money,’ I do not mean the physical instruments—the paper and the coins—but the unit of value that money represents. How does a given unit of money come into existence?”
Tighe was about to answer when he realized with surprise that he did not know.
“Do not be embarrassed. Many MBAs do not know either.”
The holographic words morphed into a US one-dollar bill.
“The reality is that only 5 percent of all money is created by governments in the form of cash in circulation.”
The holographic dollar shrank to a minuscule size against a backdrop of scrolling database records.
“The remaining 95 percent of money is created by commercial banks whenever they extend credit to a borrower.”
Tighe looked at Joyce quizzically. Joyce nodded for him to pay attention.
The hologram now transformed into a house with a “Sold” sign on the front lawn.
“For example, when a new mortgage is originated, that money does not come out of a bank vault. Instead, the money is created as a result of the loan. The bank supplies it to the borrower as a bank credit, with the borrower promising to repay the principal plus interest at a future date. This new debt is registered with a federal reserve or a central bank to the commercial bank’s account, allowing it to now loan out more money based on a multiple of that new loan—usually at a ratio of ten or more to one. So the more money the bank lends, the more it has available to lend.”
Tighe frowned. “Hold on. How can that be?”
“Because in the modern world money does not represent value, Mr. Tighe—money represents debt. And the more debt that is created in the world, the more money there is.”
Tighe looked again at Joyce.
Joyce gestured for Korrapati to continue.
“To be clear, it is very important that banks get back this virtual money they loan out—and with interest—or the bank will become insolvent. However, as long as loans keep getting repaid, a bank can continue creating new money in the form of credit.”
The hologram now depicted a bar graph with the arrow traveling rightward and ever upward.
“And so it continues, with new money being created all the time as more and more people, companies, and state and local governments borrow. But this system has a weakness . . .”
Another line appeared on the graph. It was labeled Payments Due and began well above and not far behind the rising debt line—chasing it uphill.
“Banks lend only the principal. However, loans must be repaid plus interest—and with long-term loans like mortgages, the total interest payments far exceed the principal itself. Unless the overall money supply keeps growing, there will never be enough money to pay back all the loans plus interest.
“This is why we see ‘growth’ as the central mantra of finance. Why consumers are urged to ever-greater consumption, why prices continue to rise—because new debt must feed ever-growing interest requirements.
“Most shocking to the layman is the fact that repaying debt destroys money. If most debts were paid off, far from helping the economy, it would increasingly paralyze it. No debt would mean there was no money.”
The hologram morphed into a line of people in tattered clothes waiting before a soup kitchen.
“Recall the Great Depression, Mr. Tighe. Between 1929 and 1933 the overall US money supply was reduced by nearly a third. As bad loans were written off, there was less money overall to meet interest obligations, resulting in a cascade of failure.”
The hologram now dissolved to show cartoon bank buildings toppling like dominoes.
“The Great Depression wasn’t a case of too much debt. It was a case of too little debt.”
Tighe raised his eyebrows, bewildered.
The virtual graph returned as the debt line resumed its upward trajectory.
“Debt powers modern economies, which is why it is constantly growing. The greater the debt, the larger the money supply, the more economic activity—but also the more interest that needs to be repaid to keep the system running.”
Korrapati looked grim. “So at the very time that climate change threatens to destroy human civilization, our economic system compels us to pursue ever-greater business growth—which will eventually become impossible.”
The holographic line of repayments finally overtook the debt line—and suddenly both lines plunged straight down.
“My financial model predicts that on its present course this unsustainable debt bubble will pop within the next decade, collapsing the entire global economy—with the potential for world conflict, mass starvation, and possibly the end of modern civilization as we know it.”
Tighe was speechless.
“However, there is a place where near-infinite expansion can occur—is, in fact, already occurring. Where our current debt-based financial system can expand for millions of years uninterrupted.” Korrapati pointed upward. “Space.”
Korrapati clicked on the remote, and the holographic display dissolved.
“Commercial exploitation of our solar system can expand the human economy beyond Earth to address the accumulated debt in our economic system, massively increasing the total amount of raw materials and energy without increasing carbon emissions or hastening climate change. It is the only sure way to avoid imminent, global economic collapse.”
Tighe sat numbly for several moments, but then he looked up at an expectant Korrapati. “Let me get this straight: you’re saying humanity must expand into space—not for the sake of science or exploration, but to stop the banks from going broke?”
“To preserve civilization.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just redesign money?”
“Redesigning the financial system is more challenging than you might think—especially with winners in the current economic system prepared to use all their power to preserve the status quo. And cryptocurrencies have their own energy- and climate change–related drawbacks.”
Joyce cleared his throat.
Tighe turned to look at the billionaire.
“I have two words for you, J.T.: asteroid mining.”
“Asteroid mining.”
“I’ve examined Dr. Korrapati’s financial model. So have my fellow investors. We’re convinced that unless something changes, our portfolios could be worthless within a decade.”
“Look, I’m not sure why you brought me here, but I think there’s been some sort of mistake.” Tighe stood. “I’m not an investor.”
“There was no mistake, J.T. I’ve launched an asteroid-mining company, and we’re looking to crew our first manned expedition. I’d like you to sign on.”
Tighe slowly sat back down.
“Asteroid mining will be a dangerous business. A job for the adventurous.” Joyce gestured to the television screen. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. We’ll pay all training expenses, and there’s a signing bonus—yours to keep even if you don’t make the final cut.”
“You’re sending people to mine asteroids?”
“Yes.”
“In space.”
“Correct.”
“Aren’t there already companies doing that with robots?”
“There are several in the preparation stages. Their tech is still unproven. We think that, despite the significant added costs, sending humans along with robots will give us a competitive edge—chiefly, the ability to iterate new designs on-site to accelerate innovation. As Dr. Korrapati demonstrated, time is a factor.”
Tighe pondered this. “Right. I see a couple problems . . .” Tighe peeled them off on his fingers: “One, I know nothing about asteroids, and two, I know nothing about mining.”
“I’m aware of that. This new industry is so speculative nobody’s sure how difficult it’s going to be. We have some idea, of course, but there are likely to be many surprises. For that reason, the primary qualification for our crews will be the ability to think creatively during a crisis—something you have amply demonstrated.”
Tighe pointed at the dark television screen. “You think I wasn’t afraid back in Tian Xing? I was scared shitless.”
“But you remained focused and took effective action. We want people who thrive on the unexpected.”
Tighe laughed ruefully. “People ‘who thrive on the unexpected’? I can barely cope with the expected. You’ll find that out soon enough. Look, my personal life is a mess. I wouldn’t pass a credit check much less a psych test. I’m not what you’d call a responsible person.”
Joyce studied Tighe. “I don’t want responsible people—I want reliable people.”
“What on Earth makes you think I’m reliable?”
“Because every caver we spoke with says they’d trust their life to you.”
Tighe was surprised Joyce had done so much research on him.
“It’s a sad fact that some individuals don’t function well in everyday life but excel under extreme circumstances. I think you’re one of those individuals.”
Tighe began to shake his head, until he thought more about it.
Joyce persisted: “‘Responsible’ people avoid unnecessary risks, but you regularly risk your life just to go someplace no one ever has. If you were a responsible person, J.T., we wouldn’t be talking. But then, if I was a responsible person, I wouldn’t be rich.”
Tighe met Joyce’s intense gaze.
“Why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Cave diving is one of the most dangerous activities there is. It requires courage, technical skill, intelligence, physical endurance. Yet you do it at your own financial expense and beyond hope of rescue. Why?”
Described like that it sounded crazy even to Tighe. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
Tighe searched for words. “When I dive an unexplored cave, it’s not a thrill. It’s almost the opposite. I feel in focus. It’s a heightened reality—like how you might feel if a tiger walked into this room right now; you’d be 100 percent in the present. The past and the future would cease to exist.”
Joyce considered Tighe’s words. “The Buddhist monks in Kopan call that mindfulness—a meditative practice that’s difficult even for the enlightened to achieve.”
