For seven centuries, humanity has lived under a single system of government: the Global Government.
This planetary institution, the product of centuries of political and moral evolution, is structured hierarchically but not authoritatively, with four presidents at its apex. Together, they form a governing council that deliberates and decides—always by unanimous consensus—the strategic principles shaping life across the planet. There are no public elections, no campaigns and no ideological confrontation. The system rests upon a principle both simple and profound: continuous dialogue until harmony is achieved. Decisions are made neither hastily nor under popular or media pressure, but only after lengthy, documented and open debates, accessible to anyone who wishes to understand how the world they inhabit is governed.
Planetary unification was not the result of conquest or external imposition. It was a gradual, organic transformation that began after “The Great Change”, when human beings, altered in the deepest reaches of their nature, embarked upon a process of drawing closer to one another. The old frontiers—geographical, ideological and cultural…—began to fade as the emotions that had once fuelled conflict dwindled. The ancestral mistrust between peoples gave way to a sincere desire to listen, understand and cooperate.
One of the defining milestones in that transition was the consolidation of planetenxi, a common language born from the harmonious fusion of the principal historical languages of the preceding era. It was not adopted overnight: the process required several centuries of evolution, adaptation and linguistic coexistence. Yet by the time it was proclaimed the official language, the vast majority of the planet’s inhabitants already spoke it fluently. Even so, some ancestral languages did not disappear. Quite the opposite: they were carefully preserved and regarded as living treasures. Today they are studied, celebrated and protected by institutes for linguistic conservation throughout the world, a mission Xara follows with almost reverential admiration, driven by her profound passion for the past.
Friday afternoons are sacred to her. There are no classes, no urgent commitments… only her father and long conversations about the planet’s distant past.
Robert waits for her in his floating red armchair, an antique piece of design that seems to defy gravity with timeless elegance. Although its colour can be changed with a simple command to his communicator, on these occasions he always keeps it red. To him, it is a warm colour, like the embers of the human mind. He positions it beside the great window that occupies the far wall of the sitting room and overlooks the garden behind the house. The smart glass adjusts the light automatically, filtering the sun’s glare without concealing the beauty of the view. Plants with geometric forms and vibrant colours grow in perfect harmony above a dense carpet of pale-green grass, carefully watered by the self-regulating irrigation system.
Xara glides along the large floating sofa until she is beside her father. She likes the gesture. As a child, she used to do the same whenever she wanted to sit closer while listening to his stories. Now an adult, she continues to do it with the same devotion.
—This week, I’ve been looking into the old forms of government —she begins, a spark in her voice.
—An excellent subject for debate! I happened to research it in depth a few months ago for a series of articles I was commissioned to write.
—Brilliant! —Xara says.
—Before our era, there were hundreds of countries, each with its own governments and languages —Robert explains in measured tones, his face illuminated by the garden’s soft light—. Some cooperated with one another; others existed in constant conflict. The fragmentation was absolute.
—It’s difficult to imagine —Xara admits, her brow faintly furrowed—. So many countries, each speaking its own language? With different systems of power? It seems absurd now.
Beyond the window, the evening light paints the landscape in shades of copper. The room’s sensors automatically regulate the temperature and acoustics, shutting out the world beyond so that father and daughter can immerse themselves without interruption in their weekly conversation.
—The leaders were also transformed by “The Great Change” —Robert adds—. Their decisions began to favour unity once selfishness, narrow interests and old wounds had been left behind. But the process was complex… extraordinarily complex.
Xara nods. She knows the period well. She has read about it, analysed it in class and debated it in virtual history forums. But hearing her father recount it gives the past a different texture.
—It must have been incredible to live through that time —she says, her eyes shining—. I would give anything to travel into the past and witness it. Not only as a historian… but as a person too.
Robert watches her with pride. He sees in her a spark that also burns within him, though in his daughter it seems brighter, hungrier for knowledge. That insatiable desire to understand, reconstruct and empathise with the human past.
—Yes, it was a fascinating time, but a terribly harsh one as well —he says, his voice growing graver—. The transformation was not instantaneous. For centuries, laws, institutions, educational models and ways of life had to be adapted… not to mention the isolated but horrific mutations caused by the virus. It was a transition fraught with challenges and even suffering. You know that perfectly well: “The Great Change” was no magic spell. It was a biological, social and emotional revolution, and it had its dark side.
—I know… it was an immense change —Xara replies thoughtfully, sinking slightly into the floating sofa—. But going back to governments: I’ve discovered that rulers used to be chosen through voting. It seems so strange…
—That’s how it was. In some countries, several candidates put forward different proposals and the citizens voted. I have read many of those proposals; some were surprising, even absurd from our perspective. But we must be careful when judging the past: what is obvious to us was not obvious to them.
Robert’s communicator projects an image suspended in the air: old ballot papers, campaign posters and crowds waving flags. Politics noisy and unequal, laden with promises and disappointments.
—Couldn’t they cooperate as we do today? —Xara asks—. Working together seems so easy now…
—For us, yes. Back then, however, it was a feat. They did try, of course. Many rulers genuinely wanted to solve their problems. But society as a whole was conditioned by genes that prevented them from succeeding. In some countries, not even that intention existed: leaders seized power by force and governed without so much as pretending to act for the common good.
—How dreadful! —Xara presses a hand to her chest.
—They called them “dictatorships” —Robert says after a brief search on his communicator—. Although there were also dictatorships disguised as democracies. If you’re interested, I’ll send you one of my articles. It contains plenty of examples.
—Yes, please —Xara says, making a mental note in her communicator.
Robert continues, projecting new documents and historical texts into the air.
—People, and therefore their leaders, imposed their beliefs, ideologies and religions upon others. Even in democratic countries, radical groups came to power and caused immense suffering. Wars were constant, particularly in certain parts of the planet. Some began over cultural or religious differences; others over control of particular natural resources. From our age, it all appears absurd, yet within its own context it possessed a certain logic.
—I think I understand… although it still seems incredible —Xara says—. What you said about radical groups coming to power: does it have anything to do with the Cycle of Ideologies that Ransy analysed in the second century of our era?
—Well… we could say that it does. Ransy’s cycle of ideologies is connected, in a sense, with what we’re discussing. Ransy described how most ancient ideologies followed a recurring pattern. They arose in response to oppression, proclaiming freedom, justice or equality. Yet once they gained strength and power, they became a new form of oppression. The cycle would thus close and could give rise to others in its wake.
—Yes, I remember now —Xara says—. And those cycles could last years, decades, centuries or even millennia, couldn’t they? The pattern repeated itself in every kind of ideology: cultural, climatic, religious…
—Exactly. Some researchers believe this pattern was already present in civilisations as ancient as Anticaria, more than twelve thousand years before our era. But they are only hypotheses. We have scarcely any reliable records from those times.
The afternoon has slipped away without either of them noticing. Outside, the sky turns indigo. The sitting-room windows reflect the first lights of night as the plants awaken their soft luminescence, like living lanterns.
And yet, surrounded by comfort, Xara grows restless. She still has not spoken of what is troubling her. At last, she decides to take the plunge.
—Father, there’s something else I’ve been thinking about this week that I wanted to tell you… It’s a completely different subject.
—What is it? —Robert asks, leaning towards her with genuine attention.
—Do you think anyone today could experience a violent emotion? I don’t mean committing an act of physical violence, but… feeling it. Do you think that’s possible?
Robert looks at her in silence. The question makes him uneasy, not because of what she has asked, but because of what might lie behind it.
—In principle, I would say no. But I’m not sure I’ve understood what you mean.
—It’s nothing. Forget it —Xara says with a smile—. It was only an idea that has been circling in my mind these past few days. I’m going to rest. It’s been an intense afternoon.
She rises from the sofa, leaving it gently swaying behind her, and walks away in silence. Her mind, however, remains alight, like a hidden engine that cannot be stopped. She knows that what she witnessed in the burger bar was not normal. And she also knows there is no turning back. She will begin to investigate. Not on a whim, but because she needs to understand. Because perhaps, concealed within that anachronistic outburst, there lies a story that has yet to be told.