Henry Thomas a case study in the Moses Syndrome

Ever wonder what makes a multimillionaire? Thomas knew, he was one. It hadn’t been easy, he’d seen the worst times, and the best. As a young graduate in law from one of the not so well renounce colleges in the capital, he’d struggled for years.

It was an economic down turn in 2062, the robots prophesied by science fiction for years and decades had finally appeared, and were doing what they were supposed to do. Essentially, replacing the human work force. Of course, they weren’t quite as humanoid as Asimov had predicted nor quite as dangerous, or fast, or intelligent. But they were stronger, of course, and well, impeccable and doing the kind of things that labour did, pressing buttons, operating presses, working in disgusting conditions for low pay.

And He, Henry, as he was called, was looking for work as a legal consultant in these kind of times. Of course, his job wasn’t exactly threatened by the third wave of mechanisation as it was called. Still, the economy is pretty much a whole, and when one thing is out of balance, many others follow, and for some reason the legal practice too was suffering a downturn.

To cut a long story short, at the end of a year’s search, Henry, (his full name was Henry Thomas, in case you’re confused) found himself one of the many humans, who were arguing that it was there prerogative to work for low wages, in disgusting conditions, pressing buttons. This was because he was one of them. To keep himself of the streets, and his stomach full, Henry had compromised with fate, and an empty stomach.

To keep the machines out, men had resorted to all sorts of forgotten devices and turns of phrase, dignity of labour, had cropped up, and strikes, until, ultimately and inevitably a small shack outside the compound of the factory where he worked declared itself to be the office of the Marshall Steel Works Labour Union, while next to it, a more elaborate gate and sign declared the factory to be that of the Marshall Works Steel Works North division.

Inside in hulking sheds, barely held up by rusting fenders, and cross beams, stood several million tonnes of metal processing machinery. And just outside stood, today, on the fifth day of September the 300 strong human muscle that caused those hulking metallic monsters to breathe and belch and cough, and spit and glow red, and yellow, stood. Completely uninterested in those hulking monsters from which they derived their livelihood. It was a little ironic, if obvious, that there jobs were threatened by other not so hulking, but very metallic machines.

Somehow that seemed incongruous, because, well, metallic muscle had always been powered by organic muscle, and replacing the organic with metallic, sort made things monotonous, and more importantly, reduced the romance of it all. So naturally they were opposed to their employers making any such move. Of course it would be unfair to mention, that the move would also cost them their jobs, because, the reason they were opposed to it, was obviously on a higher plane, that of ideology.

No okay, no, they were only concerned with their jobs they weren’t like the feminists of the 21 early century.  And they were pretty sure, that their jobs, should in all essence remain their own, rather than pass on.

There had been three days of demonstrations, starting from the 2^nd, and a lockout, the factory had come to a completely standstill, and things weren’t going well for either the labour force of the capitalists. But, both groups were completely sure that sticking to their guns, while being open to discussion, and being desirious of finding a quick and friendly solution to the standoff, would work.

Henry, didn’t like this much, while he agreed, he wanted to keep his job, the point of a job was getting paid, and no one was paying them for standing around outside the factory, doing nothing, even if he’d bonded very strongly with the rest of the labour force, as they bummed cigarettes from him.

It was perhaps, as he was bitching under his breath, after not finding, his last cigarette, that an idea came to him. It was the same 5^th September, that this story opened with. It was so simple. The essence of his employment was getting paid right? Not necessarily doing the work, so let the robots do the work, as long as he got paid.

Of course something quite as simple as that, wasn’t quite practical, or possible. There would have to be compromises, first of all, he couldn’t expect to be paid the same amount, but then he’d have all the free time in the world. He remembered something about leisure time being a compensation for not getting paid higher, from one of his economics classes not that it seemed very relevant now, but still, this was a good idea.

Standing there, cigaretteless, huddled against the cold wind that had dramatically started blowing from the west, a little sharp and biting, he started thinking about the possibilities in which he would have unlimited free time, and at least not have to worry about his food and lodging, yes his ‘replacement fee’ would at least be that high. Replacement fee, that had a ring, yes, that is what it should be call. The labour force should be given control of the replacement. The company could decide the degree of the pay cut, or something like that, and terms etc.

Essentially, if they could bargain for a replacement fee which was just above the basic daily requirement index of each of them, and maybe more, in return for... hmmm... what? Once the company had robots, what would they need the labour force for? No more labour... but wait, what if they controlled the labour, did not do the labour, but control it. The robots... Genius he said to himself... and almost aloud. Think of the famous Eureka moment from pre-historic Greece. Oh yes, this could work, if... if... if... well, there were a lot of ifs, but, like all brilliant ideas, it worked out.

And it was a success, everyone concerned was happy. Except maybe Henry Thomas. He had thought, that once he’d gotten his people their robots, and fixed everything, he’d be okay. But to barter the deal, he’d been hired by the union as legal counsellor, his first job as a lawyer. The irony of it, wasn’t lost on him. But he only chuckled under his breath, and in every other way he was the image of professionalism. The deal bartered, and his co-workers set up for a life of leisure, or potentially much better pay, he thought he’d be free to enjoy the same privileges.

Instead, what happened was quite the opposite, once the story of his spectacular success, and the mutually beneficial nature of his model spread, he got innumerable offers from across the nation, to broker similar deals. First it was only labour unions that asked for his help, but as he came to be recognised, and the fact that he was only looking for the best deal, for both parties, rather than playing partisan towards the labour force, even capitalist started propositioning him.

They could obviously afford to pay him much more than unions. So he came to be, quite surprisingly one of the worlds most sought after lawyers, though he never went into court. Board rooms were his domain, and union offices, in shacks just outside the lavish buildings that housed the board rooms. His fortunes amassed.

Of course all this came at a price, and that was the only thing, he’d been looking to gain when he’d come up with the idea in the first place. Simply put, his time. He was swamped by deals across the nation, and though he flew first class to all his destinations, as part of his fee, he never chose them.

He grew to be rich beyond his wildest dreams, his wife bought them the house she’d always dreamed of. He sent his children to schools he’d always dreamed of... he himself, could barely remember all the things he’d dreamed of, as a labourer huddling against the wind, cursing the last cigarette, for being his last, and fumbling in his pockets against hope.

One day, his wife asked him if he was so dissatisfied with life, why didn’t he just chuck it, he had enough money, he could whatever he wanted. He thought about it, it made sense he had no obligation to broker the next deal, one in East Russia, a 12 hour very comfortable, but irritating journey away. Yet when the offer was finalised, and his now outrageous fee accepted, he simply packed his case and left. He’d never liked the cold, or snow, but well, he was going there, resigned to his fate.

Several people had asked him down the years, why he did it. Why not retire, but each time he looked at his bank balance, he knew he would do the next case, it was just to lucrative, too much money, too much pressure... and give it up for what? Sitting on his sofa the whole day?

No, he would lead others to greener pastures, for himself, he suffered from the Moses Syndrome.