Jeff Hecht: A Life of Its Own

Jeremiah stopped cold. He had used the E word. Professor Andrew Harrison Harding had warned him to watch his tongue. Senator Bowen, whose office had paid for their study, was a creationist. Fortunately, the senator himself was far too busy to visit the faculty club to receive their report, but he had sent his economic policy aide, Ms. Poole. Her power suit made Jeremiah feel the suit his parents had given him for graduation had “Goodwill” stenciled across the front.

The professor put down his fork and deftly filled the gap. “Let me assure you that I chose Mr. Braun-Higgins because he can provide precisely the right tools to model the comparative response of autonomous individuals in free or restricted markets. This makes it possible to simulate how people respond to different economic boundary conditions. This initial study is only a first approximation, which must be validated by more extensive projects, but it does demonstrate how eliminating the present minimum wage and welfare laws will stimulate economic activity.”

Ms. Poole nodded, unsmiling. “Professor Harding, you said on the phone that you had completed the study. The senator and I would like to see it. We already have scheduled a press conference to distribute the report and announce the senator’s new bill.”

“We had a little printing problem, Ms. Poole,” Jeremiah volunteered. Glancing toward the door, he was relieved to see the professor’s assistant carrying four copies of the report he had finished writing at 9 A.M. Wondering uneasily if he had remembered to run the spellchecker during the early morning hours, Jeremiah stood to receive four black spiral notebooks. He handed two to Ms. Poole and one to Professor Harding.

They turned first to the executive summary, as Jeremiah turned to his now-cold lunch. The professor looked pleased, as well he should. The summary was a slightly rewritten version of his original proposal. Ms. Poole looked pleased, too; without welfare, the A-Life organisms had taken on a life of their own, creating new economic activity.

Jeremiah hadn’t had time to analyze the nature of the new activity. That wasn’t his job, anyway. Professor Harding had hired him to write the software and run the model; the economics professor would get a follow-up contract to analyze the results. The model had automatically tabulated all of its own results, one of many details essential to completing the report on time that Jeremiah had not bothered telling anyone about.

The tables were impressive in their bulk. Jeremiah had programmed the model to generate fifty-five of them. The model itself had chosen the major characteristics to list in the detailed breakdowns. They had looked good when he spot-checked them at 5 A.M., even including the final occupations of the A-Life organisms that otherwise would have been on welfare. “Drown ’em with data,” was Jeremiah’s motto, and he knew he had done a good job as he watched the two flipping through the pages of densely printed tables. He relaxed, sipping coffee, enjoying the faculty club’s blueberry pie, and feeling thoroughly grown up. Now that he had impressed the professor, maybe he could get a real job so he wouldn’t have to go back to live with his parents in New Jersey.

“This is a remarkable study, Professor Harding,” Ms. Poole said, looking up from one of the tables. “The complete abolition of welfare and the minimum wage are rather drastic steps, but you show they would open whole new vistas of economic activity. This large increase in self-employment means that even the hardcore unemployed can become self-reliant. That certainly shows the moral strength of our position.”

She looked back down at the pages, a slight wrinkle creasing her brow. “You will have to make some minor format changes for the press release, though. We need graphs instead of all these numbers, plus better labels. I see a large jump in employment in certain categories in the entertainment field, for example, but the table doesn’t identify the types of new jobs created.”

Professor Harding glanced at his copy. “That’s just a formatting problem, isn’t it, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah automatically nodded agreement. “The categories didn’t fit in the columns, so we list them separately.” He flipped open his copy. “What do you want to know?”

Ms. Poole listed a category code. Jeremiah’s finger ran down the page, stopping at the code. “Gender worker,” he announced.

“Odd,” she said. “What about code 43?”

Puzzled himself, Jeremiah moved his finger to the spot. His eyes read the words “Controlled substance supplier,” but his mouth didn’t work. There had to be a mistake. Had he left something out of the model?

The professor had flipped to the page, and he glowered at Jeremiah when he had to look down to read it. “What?” he exclaimed, his round face blanching.

The model had taken on a life of its own, Jeremiah realized in the numb silence. He must have forgotten some boundary conditions. His mind raced as Ms. Poole flipped to the page and scanned the category codes.

Her eyes gaped and her cheeks colored. “Whores and dope dealers?” she sputtered. “What kind of model is that? We’ll have to cancel the press conference.” She slammed the notebook shut, stood up, and stalked off.

They hadn’t said anything about moral boundary conditions, Jeremiah remembered with the horrible clarity that comes only after the disaster. It was supposed to be a purely economic model.