Good morning in the domed cities

It was early morning, and Brigham got out of bed and started getting ready to go to the academy. It was a morning like any other. He removed the curtains from his one-room apartment and opened his window. From outside, the green sky illuminated the room, and this solar system’s sun pierced his surroundings. An impenetrable ceiling covered the green sky, shielding the planet from frequent meteor showers that ravaged this planet.

The glass was made of a special alloy designed for colonizing space and adapted specifically for the planet Brigham lived on. Loud noises from the city were heard from his apartment on the 5th floor: trains, footsteps, and the engines of cars that flew and cut through the sky. Tall white skyscrapers covered the horizon. Red leaf vegetation covered much of the walls and roofs of these white skyscrapers.

Crimson trees were lined up on the ground level. The vegetation, of course, was genetically engineered, but it produced oxygen. The redness of the plant life contrasted the emerald sky, a deliberate choice of the space colony’s government. It gave the inside of the domes the smell of freshness mixed with the smell of hot metal pavement that covered the streets.

As Brigham stretched inside his room, the 15-year-old turned on the TV. It didn’t feel right to get ready for the academy in silence.

On the TV, a news program was on air. A young woman was on the screen announcing:

“Today’s weather is the same ever present controlled at 25 degrees Celsius inside the dome cities and 120 degrees Celsius outside the domes. We are awaiting pleasant and clear skies for the remainder of the day. With me today are two guests here to discuss a pressing issue that has been debated in parliament.” The camera zoomed out from the young woman and showed two middle-aged men on her left and right side. The woman continued talking:

“To my left is Jagon Barjanovic, one of the chairmen of the CLIMATE NOW organization. He has been a fierce advocate for spontaneous climate legislation in the 16 years since the formation of our Nova Occasio colony. To my right Gargan Stunkovski the CEO of the Solatium corporation that operates the climate control in this colony. The issue at hand is whether we should keep the temperature at 25 degrees. Should we lower, or raise the temperature? What are your opinions? Gentlemen, the floor is all yours.”

“If I may start,” the CEO on the right raised his hand. “The reason we keep it at 25 degrees is a comfortable temperature for most humans. It’s not really a scientific number it just ‘felt’ right. There are debates if we should raise or lower a few degrees but I don’t see us coming up with a more empirical number. That is if my colleague here isn’t here to discuss radical and absurd ideas like abolishing the temperature control system. Surely he must understand that we would all die of the crushing heat that this planet has.”

“NONSENSE!” The man on the left raised his voice and shook his head. “What we from CLIMATE NOW argue is abolishing the set temperature of 25. The temperature should be spontaneous. Sometimes it's too hot, sometimes it's too cold, sometimes it's just right. Depending on the time of year that is. At least that’s how it was for us adults who remember life on Earth.” The man on the left solemnly lowered his head and continued:

“I am afraid we have deprived the youth who are born on Nova Occasio and other colonies like this one. They ought to be able to experience that. This is a sterile and soulless environment. Some might say the earth's temperatures are unpleasant and that this is ‘ideal’ but I would argue that some aspects of life should be a little unpleasant. We should have random temperatures and cycles that simulate the earth's seasons. It’s how humans have always lived. I feel sad for the youth who don’t get to experience warming up with a blanket because it's cold outside or wearing summer clothes because of the heat.”

The CEO shrugged and rolled his eyes. “And how would we decide on the temperature. How would we achieve this ‘spontaneity’? There would always be a person entering the value of temperature. Who gets to decide? The government? The Solatium corporation? Your organization? I also reject the idea that just because it was how humans lived we ought to continue it. So was famine, disease, and cruelty part of the ‘human condition’. Should we continue with those things?”

The activist smirked. “We both know that this is different from those things. As for the question of who gets to decide? We proposed in parliament that artificial intelligence be in control of the weather inside the city domes and it would have an algorithm that would simulate the Earth's seasons.”

The CEO frowned at such a suggestion. “Okay. Let’s say for the sake of argument that such an AI is created. What if it makes a mistake? Let’s say it randomly makes the temperature minus 15 degrees Celsius, or lower for let's say 5 years straight. It is a possibility for it to happen if the system is random. Such cold temperatures would be very uncomfortable to say the least but it would ruin our crops and it would ruin many industries. Who will be held responsible criminally if this AI makes such a mistake? Who will you sue for the damages?”

“We would design the AI in such a way for it to not make such a mistake and we would have human intervention if it makes the temperature too cold or too hot for long periods of time.”

“That’s very easy to say. Who gets to decide when we intervene?”

“Yes says you who gains to profit from the current system. You and your corporation have gotten extremely wealthy.”

The debate continued on the television and Brigham felt himself get engrossed in the debate. He wanted to just tangentially listen but ended up focused on such a question. The elite academy he was attending had an expectation of their students to listen and engage in these discussions.

As the program was getting to its end, the reporter woman came back on screen: “Well whatever side of the fence you fall on, this year is a special year. The first generation of children who were born on Nova Occasio are turning this year 16, taking their first steps into adulthood with new rights and obligations. Like the right to vote. They will be voting for the first time and I suspect this issue will be important to them.”

Brigham thought to himself, that’s me! I was born in 1973. I will be turning 16 this year! I am a part of the first generation. A lot of talk about this is going on at school. I am really excited. I can’t wait to be a real space army officer! I want to make a change in the universe!

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Brigham went over to his landline phone and picked up the call.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s me, Curro!” It was Brigham’s best friend on the other end of the line. They’ve been best friends since childhood. “Just making sure you have woken up and aren’t running late.”

“You kidding? I wouldn’t miss today even if it killed me.” Brigham excitedly said clenching his fists.

“I know I know. I called you just in case because I knew you would be devastated if you missed this. Even though you are not the type to sleep in, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Thanks man. Let’s meet up at the station and walk to school together.”

The two agreed on their meet up and Brigham went to the front door to leave. Before exiting he gave himself one more look in the mirror. He examined his school uniform, it needed to look presentable, especially for today. It’s design incorporated both solider and traditional school attire. The school he attended was a military academy after all.

He adjusted his dark blue hair, combing it to fit academy standard. To earthlings an unusual color, but to the first generation and the kids born after him it was not uncommon for these kids to have what Earth would consider an ‘unusual’ hair color. It was likely the result of being born in space.

He was of average height for his age, but he was very athletic. Expected of a soldier. With one final look of himself, he exited his apartment. Backpack at hand and he put headphones on his head. He placed a cassette into his Walkman and walked to the train station.

The sole city on planet Spark was the colony Nova Occasio. Home to about 2 million people. A city comprised many domes, each of them contained and provided different functions and services for the populace. A web of railways connected the different sections of the metropolis. Some railways were underground and others were in the sky. The only way to switch from one section to the next was with this revolutionary form of public transportation.

Brigham got onto his train and looked through the window while commuting and listened to his music. The sight of Nova Occasio truly was a reflection of the peak of 20th-century technology. Tall white skyscrapers, flying cars, artificial red-leaf vegetation, wealth, and opportunities at all turns.

Brigham got off at the station 98 to go to his school. He saw Curro waving at him.

Brigham took off his headphones and high-fived his friend. Curro had already turned 16 about a week ago. Although Curro was a few months older one would never be able to tell from looking at him. Curro was very short and looked younger than his peers. He had curly blond hair, wore glasses, and as many would say ‘he looked like a nerd’. He absolutely was. Curro was someone who smiled very often.

“I was barely able to fall asleep yesterday from the excitement!” Brigham said brimming with enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget we have class first,” Curro said raising his finger.

“Yes but after class, the real business begins. Today is the most important day of our lives!”

“The most important day of our lives so far.”

“Why do you have to be a literal Nancy?”