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- Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
ilsa and her family become the catalyst for global transformation. It's about politics, artificial intelligence, and psychology; about the WHY of life, love, corporate success, systems thinking, and our everyday lives. The story is incredible yet now realistic. It depicts the intricacy of political challenges and the complexity of life. Still, it is compellingly woven into the life of an exceptionally empathetic family. On one hand, we can empathize with the lives of the protagonists, and on the other, there are many discussions surrounding the climate catastrophe, geopolitics, robotics, social cohesion, and the driving forces behind human actions. The book is not light reading, yet in many places it remains breezy enough to be enjoyed. The narrative leaves gaps, plays with pacing, and varies in style and focus. It will inspire reflection for many years to come and, hopefully, spark interest in the second part.
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Seitenzahl: 404
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Table of contents
1. After the bifurcation (atb)
2. Before the bifurcation (btb)
3. Motivation (btb)
4. Working to survive (btb)
5. Emotion (btb)
6. Existentialism (btb)
7. Vocation (btb)
8. The view from above (atb)
9. At home (atb)
10. Memes (btb)
11. The power of the guts (btb)
12. The spark that catches (btb)
13. Not a black swan (atb)
14. Too simple (btb)
15. After the bifurcation: The revelation (atb)
16. 'The dark side of the force'(btb)
17. Power (btb)
18. Responsibility (btb)
19. Intelligence (btb)
20. Artificial intelligence (btb)
21. Disruption (btb)
22. Pandora's box (btb)
23. After the Bifurcation .... AI-my (atb)
24. Before the bifurcation: The wave moves on (btb)
25. AI (btb)
26. Politics (btb)
27. Megalomania (atb)
28. Shared responsibility (btb)
29. Hate (bfb)
30. Final spurt (btb)
31. The election (btb)
32. The ghosts we called (atb)
33. 100 days (btb)
34. Everything under control (atb)
35. About four years later (btb)
36. The end of the wave (atb)
37. The island (atb)
A bifurcation or branching is a qualitative change of state in nonlinear systems under the influence of a parameter …
(Wikipedia according to Henri Poincaré)
1. After the bifurcation (atb)
From a seemingly absolute silence, as if an amplifier were being turned up without a music signal, but with a slowly increasing yet still quiet hum, ilsa wakes up—just like so many other mornings. There’s no reason for ‘the headache’—no excess the night before, no illnesses—just stress, ilsa thinks, briefly pondering what she did last night. Did she work? Just read? Or simply watch documentaries?
Michael—like seemingly always—jumps out of bed: "Did you work late last night?"
"Also," ilsa replies, in a way Michael finds full of meaning, and shuffles to the bathroom. There—at the source of inspiration— she murmurs to herself: "Exercise, gymnastics, yoga, meditation...?" She feels that ‘first the duty, then the indulgence’ mentality and simply heads to the kitchen to make her fair-trade organic cocoa and open her laptop.
"I’ll wake the kids," Michael says, almost cheerfully, and shortly after, they sneak into the kitchen. Given the early hour, they remain silent as they prepare their breakfast and, glancing frequently at the clock, apparently now start packing their school things.
ilsa skims through her list of emails—over 30, mainly from her bubble of international newsletters on sustainability and economics. "What’s on your agenda today, kids?" she calls into the kitchen, wincing at her own self-imposed volume. Then, with a slight smile, she follows up, seemingly unsurprised: "Julia?"—dragging out the 'u'.
"Nothing special—I’m going to Claudia’s after school," Julia replies matter-of-factly.
Max, picking up on the general mood of ‘not wanting to be bothered,’ simply says, "Math exam—no problem," and is already rushing out the door. Julia, as if seizing the opportunity, follows close behind.
"If you were going to ask me—I’m heading to the office soon and meeting with the developers today," Michael beams, giving her a quick kiss on the bridge of her nose before disappearing as well. Hearing the sound of the electric car, without taking her eyes off the screen, ilsa reaches for her cocoa.
She eagerly participates in online discussions, linking publications and cause-effect models, when suddenly her smartphone, smartwatch, and of course, her laptop start ringing. Briefly pausing with a sense of being interrupted, ilsa finally takes the call on her laptop. It’s Thomas, a research colleague: "Morning, figured you’d already be available. Wanted to discuss our workshop next week."
"Why not today," ilsa whispers inaudibly and, still immersed in the post she’s writing, replies, "Yep, that’s on my to-do list for today as well."
Thomas easily picks up on her mood: "Not awake yet, or already in the middle of it?"
"In my bubble—it’s frustrating. Thomas, why are we even still doing research? Everything is so clear, yet nothing changes. Maybe we should just say, ‘Science proves that we must not change anything,’ and suddenly the great transformation will begin."
"You know yourself that the ego-trolls and their troll-lemmings may be loud and are unnecessarily put in the spotlight by many media outlets just to make their reporting appear neutral. But ultimately, they are the minority—at least for now," Thomas responds, making it clear that all scientists should already be aware of this.
"And yet, we have to push back so that the false memes don’t take over the center of society," ilsa justifies herself—also to herself—for what seems like a futile effort. Then, almost sighing after an audible inhale, she adds, "It's the psychology, stupid." Of course, she hopes that Thomas recognizes the reference and doesn’t take it personally.
But Thomas—presumably out of empathy, and deviating from the reason for his call—follows up: "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I don’t know whether Clinton really said it to Obama first, or if it’s actually even older: it's the phrase 'It's the economy, stupid,' meaning that, in the end, the state of the economy determines political success. But if we keep asking why the economy functions the way it does, we quickly land at people’s basic needs—whether in consumption, economic striving, or the ideals shaped by our environment. So, psychological drivers are behind the economy and also behind our views, which, in turn, steer the fate of our society."
"And that means?" Thomas presses further—possibly to give ilsa a chance to phrase it more simply or because he didn’t understand it at all and doesn’t want to abruptly switch to his own topic.
"It means that we humans, like other thinking beings, strive for progress and integration through emotions—to adapt, to improve in competition and evolution, and to belong. For modern humans, every kind of consumption beyond basic needs is rooted in this. Clothes, cars, big homes, distant travel—it all feels good because evolution wants us to keep progressing. That drives the economy, and marketing fuels it. The reaction to us scientists, who now propose the idea that we can actually be happy without this endless ‘more,’ gives many people a sort of enemy figure. It’s not just about something being taken away— it’s about how good it feels to be against something, especially when others share the same opinion, and even more so when that opinion is conveniently simple."
Thomas is fully engaged: "That’s why politics that rely on science are labeled as idealistic."
"Exactly. The mass media don’t score points with factual headlines but with headlines that reinforce people’s roles—whether by framing something as a threat or by subtly making them feel that celebrities are actually much worse. That’s how we end up with so-called ‘bad bans’ that politics supposedly want to impose, even when they’re not bans at all. Or the car that the famous climate activist supposedly drives—which probably doesn’t even exist."
"Have you ever clicked on one of those?" Thomas asks, acknowledging that such sensationalist headlines, often placed as paid advertisements, keep showing up even in serious media.
"No. But the real danger is that it’s no longer just the people left behind by our high-performance society who are against everything. Even the middle of society isn’t just disengaged anymore— it starts going along with it, especially when conservative parties compete for political capital and spread these simple memes as well."
Thomas responds, "Ultimately, this is how extreme parties continue to gain support."
"And that’s exactly what makes them ego-trolls as well—reckless people who harm the common good and revel in the fact that troll-lemmings follow them on social media," ilsa is in her element.
"And that’s why you push back and ruin your own day with a bad mood," Thomas picks up on her argument, seemingly laughing a little, and adds, "You just need to keep it simpler..."
ilsa interrupts him: "Yes, the memes need to be as simple and clear as possible, carried by all of us and put into practice. But back to our workshop. I’ll create a few slides, and you can add to them, okay?"
"Good idea. It would be great if you could finish that today. I’ll take a look at them tomorrow. We should also go over the right memes again. And you should really appear on a talk show!"
"Sounds good. And every time I get frustrated, I feel like I am in a talk show—when people fail to explain in plain words that the economy ultimately benefits from sustainability and that everything is truly interconnected. But I suppose in a real talk show, I’d hardly get a word in or end up stumbling over my own thoughts. It’s easy in front of the TV—probably much harder in front of the camera. I’ll send you something later." ilsa is steering the conversation toward an end, especially as Bella, beside her, stirs with a reproachful look.
"Great, talk later," Thomas concludes the call.
ilsa closes her laptop, turns to Bella, takes her shaggy head in both hands, and gives her a full rubdown, making her eyes disappear into folds of fur as the dog lets out a satisfied groan. "Mommy is having an existential crisis," ilsa practically tells her dog. "I research the world, and no one cares. I’m power-less."
Getting herself and the dog ready for jogging, ilsa is visibly lost in thought. As they step outside, her neighbor pulls her out of her reverie: "Morning, ilsa—hard to believe, but your car is actually being moved today."
ilsa knows what’s coming and preemptively replies, "Touché. How about we share a car instead? You have so many that there’s always one just sitting around."
"We can still afford it—and so can you. And if we wanted to do something like that, it certainly wouldn’t be an electric car filled with child labor and coal-powered energy," Nick retorts, as if ready to spar with ilsa.
For a moment, she considers whether to just smile and leave it unchallenged or practice spreading the right memes. The latter wins: "You do realize that’s nonsense, right?"
"Oh? Are you denying that with all these electric cars, we still have to keep coal plants running, and that lithium batteries use up rare earths and involve child labor?" Nick asks confidently.
ilsa actually has a top ten list of common misconceptions about electric cars that she enjoys debunking, but these two are a bit tricky to explain: "The thing with coal isn’t about electric cars— it’s about the slow expansion of renewable energy. And even with coal, the carbon footprint is lower than your diesel’s— which, by the way, also runs on a lot of coal-powered electricity. And as for rare earths and child labor, that needs context: lithium isn’t actually rare, child labor is involved in cobalt mining, which modern batteries can avoid. What’s in your phone, by the way? And rare earths aren’t actually rare—they’re just distributed in small concentrations all over the world. But I’ll give you this: like all cars, EVs are massive resource guzzlers that we urgently need to move away from."
"I just watched a documentary about lithium mining yesterday— how small farmers are being ruined. In the end, diesel is the most efficient form of transport, or at least synthetic fuels," Nick insists.
"No question, when extracting raw materials, we have to factor in an additional cost to protect people and the environment. By the way, the impact on humans and nature per kilometer is significantly higher with diesel and gasoline than with lithium, which, once mined, can be recycled for centuries. And with synthetic fuels, we just need to accept the fact that they require more electricity than simply using it directly in an electric car. And before you say that we need too much of it and won’t have enough wind and solar, especially in winter—yes, we do need to produce hydrogen to generate electricity during lulls in wind and sun, and we do need to smartly manage EVs and heat pumps so that they help stabilize the grid. All of this is already possible."
"I'm just going to wait and see what future technologies emerge—we should all be more open to technology instead of dogmatically allowing only EVs," Nick grumbles.
"Well, maybe the XXL SUV will get a fusion reactor, and the world will be saved—I gotta go. See you later, Nick." And as if Bella had understood that they were finally heading off, she and ilsa take off at the same time. Nick waves wordlessly, and ilsa murmurs to Bella, "Oh boy, Bella, either he’s right, or he just doesn’t care..." A few steps later, she adds, "...and Mommy shouldn't be so preachy with facts—she should lead with questions and help integrate the other side."
They have barely made it 100 meters when a military vehicle pulls up, practically blocking their path.
"What the...?" ilsa mutters to herself—if Bella weren’t there, she’d be completely stunned.
A young man steps out of the vehicle: "ilsa, you are needed for an important matter, and we have orders to take you there immediately. We can’t say more at the moment—but it is important."
The young man looks serious, his sentence sounding rehearsed, and ilsa can already sense that she probably won’t be getting much more information.
She takes a careful look at the vehicle, the uniform, and the driver inside, making absolutely sure this isn’t some kind of joke. Raising her eyebrows in complete surprise yet responding with apparent composure, she says, "I need to take my dog home first. How long will this take? Do I need to bring anything?"
"We'll be waiting at your door," the soldier replies.
ilsa picks up her jogging pace behind the car, noticing how the adrenaline is making her both excited and weak in the knees at the same time.
Once at the door, the female soldier who had stepped out adds, "We can’t say how long this will take. Please hand us your smartphone, watch, and laptop. We will pack them in a box and transport them to another location—a seminar hotel in the countryside. We also have clothing and all the essentials you might need. We will now quickly draft a message for your family, explaining that you are covering for a colleague at a seminar where there will be no internet access. Please phrase it in a way that ensures your family doesn’t worry. The seminar will last several days, and you will be in touch soon."
The male soldier quickly adds, "Scientists are likely being picked up worldwide, and measures are being taken to ensure that this process does not become known online."
A whirlwind of scenarios rushes through ilsa’s mind as she hurriedly pulls on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, adds a few spritzes of her organic deodorant spray, and grabs her jacket. She looks at Bella and speaks—perhaps to the dog, perhaps to herself: "Kidnapping? But for what, and why bother returning the dog so considerately? Why is no one coming inside—apparently, they trust me not to sneak out through the back door. I’m not an expert in any security-related field—so why me at all?"
She looks down at a confused Bella, who clearly does not understand this abrupt shortening of their jogging route: "No idea, Bella, what this is all about. If this were a movie, I’d be saying ‘What a load of trash.’ But Mommy will be back soon." She feels a lump forming in her throat. "Hopefully."
ilsa gets into the vehicle, which starts moving immediately. She looks around once more to confirm that it really is a military vehicle and not just some old car from the used market. The weapons and the details of the uniforms also look real. She glances at the driver in the rearview mirror, and although she had resolved not to ask futile questions, she still formulates them:
"Of course, I’m wondering—why me? Is this a mistake? What is this about? Should I be worried about my family? If this were a war or a pandemic, would I be of any help at all, or wouldn’t I rather decide to stay with my family? What would you think if you were suddenly taken from your home without any further information? You mentioned multiple scientists—how do you handle those who panic and refuse to come along?"
The driver looks into the rearview mirror, meeting ilsa’s gaze. The soldier in the passenger seat glances at the driver, then speaks without turning around: "We have orders to bring you to the barracks without leaving a digital trace. From there, you will be taken further. That’s all we know. If we had to convince you, we were allowed to say that this involves a computer virus attacking scientists. If you still refuse, we leave without you, but you will be sworn to secrecy. However, we believe that—whatever this is—you would want to help."
ilsa notices that the route does, in fact, lead to a barracks, which at least dispels the idea of a well-executed kidnapping. On the base, there is no sign of urgency—everything looks routine. Two soldiers stroll along the sidewalk, laughing. If there were a war or emergency readiness, the atmosphere would surely be different. She assumes the same thought crosses her mind as it does ilsa’s, and the inner fear she hadn't wanted to acknowledge gives way to a growing curiosity and impatience about what will happen next.
"Hello, ilsa," a slightly older man, apparently an officer, greets her. "We will be flying you to a collection point shortly, where you will meet other experts before being transported to the location of the workshop. To ensure everything remains as discreet as possible, I’d like to ask you to put on a military jumpsuit."
‘Expert’ and ‘workshop’—these are words the two soldiers who had persuaded her to come along had not used. Before ilsa can respond, she is already surprised as another high-ranking female soldier gently touches her shoulder and guides her toward a building: "Come along, we have brand-new, stylish jumpsuits for you to choose from."
The way she says it makes it sound routine, and the shoulder touch—almost a technique of neurolinguistic programming— feels anything but military. For ilsa, the entire situation is becoming even more of a mystery, something that is reflected in her body language—a slightly tilted head and raised eyebrows.
As if the soldier had noticed this—or perhaps simply because it was the logical next thing to say—she continues: "You will be flown in a helicopter shortly—it’s quite loud inside. After that, you’ll meet other experts and fly in a plane, where you will certainly receive more information. Unfortunately, that’s all I know myself, and I’d love to be there just to find out more."
ilsa remains patient regarding the big secret, but she doesn’t want to be passively led around without question. So she asks: "Does the military train you in NLP techniques?"
The officer looks almost embarrassed: "Oh, right—I did touch you just now. We do learn things like that for certain situations, but in everyday life and in this case, it’s really not appropriate in the military. I must have done it completely unconsciously—I apologize."
"Oh no, you don’t have to apologize. I was just curious. Either it works subconsciously, or it hits a mental barrier. Or someone recognizes it, and then it depends on the situation whether they take offense or not. I found it completely fine... I also got the impression that it wasn’t an attempt at manipulation but something entirely natural. Outside the military, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it. So, all good."
By now, ilsa has put on the jumpsuit and placed her jacket into a backpack that was also given to her. The two of them then walk briskly toward a rather large helicopter, which is already starting up.
"I’ve never flown in one of these before!" ilsa shouts and then thanks the officer, who wishes her good luck.
ilsa is actually the only passenger, and the flight lasts only 45 minutes before they arrive at a military airfield. There, a large transport plane is being loaded, and several people in similarly "stylish" jumpsuits are boarding. Another helicopter lands at the same time, and, like its passengers, ilsa is waved toward the plane with urgent hand gestures under the roar of the rotors.
"Everyone on board, please! We’re ready for takeoff!" a soldier calls out.
ilsa spots two familiar faces—one belonging to a highly prominent professor in linguistics who also frequently comments on societal issues. And another, a professor she knows personally, whom she greets immediately: "Hello, Carol—a familiar face! I suppose you don’t know what this is all about either, do you?"
"ilsa! Great to see you. It looks like we’re quite the mixed bunch, so it actually makes sense to have a systems researcher like you here. What I’m doing here as a psychologist, though, is a complete mystery. And no one is saying anything. If the military weren’t real, I’d say there’s no actual case and that we’re just part of some experiment dreamed up by psychologists—after all, we do come up with the weirdest things," Carol says with a loud laugh.
The two board the plane, where they are assigned seats along the wall, facing sideways. They are helped with their seatbelts and handed headsets. Before putting hers on, ilsa asks: "How do you know we’re a mixed bunch? Do you recognize a lot of the people here?"
"Only a few, actually—but they asked around, and apparently, there are physicists, computer scientists, biologists, soldiers, and probably even more."
After taking a quick breath to be heard over the noise, Carol adds, "It’s almost like an Ark for experts from planet Earth."
ilsa raises her voice over the noise as well: "That sounds less like a computer virus and more like aliens. But for aliens, I’d assume they already have full-time experts and don’t need so many new people."
Both put on their headsets. ilsa notices that the other passengers display varying degrees of uncertainty, casting brief glances at one another.
"Hello and welcome," a voice announces in English over the headsets, even as the plane is still taking off. "I’m Major Marks, and I will be preparing you for your assignment—though even I don’t know what this is ultimately about. You have likely noticed that this operation is highly classified and cannot be discussed over phone or internet. That means neither I nor anyone else you’ve encountered so far knows the full scope of the situation. Our task is solely to gather designated experts and transport them safely and discreetly to various locations."
ilsa furrows her brows—this mystery just gained another twist.
After the plane has taken off, Major Marks stands up from his seat, gripping a handle for support, his expression serious as he addresses the group: "And that brings us straight to the point. You are being flown to a military base, where other experts from around the world will also be arriving. As far as I know, this is happening simultaneously on other continents as well. The goal is to form interdisciplinary expert teams to develop solutions in parallel to whatever this mission entails. I do not believe this is just a drill."
A slightly older man, whose body shape suggests he is more of a scientist than a soldier, fumbles irritably with his headset, which he has just torn off his head. The major explains that to speak, one must press and hold a button on the earpiece, which allows everyone to hear. The scientist's neighbor hears this instruction and relays it to him. He immediately follows the guidance and practically rants into the microphone: "What kind of nonsense is this? Can everyone hear me?"
He looks around impatiently, more demanding than truly inquiring, and receives nods and a thumbs-up in response. "If this is so important that we’ve all been practically abducted from our daily lives and transported at great expense and speed by aircraft, then why are we wasting time, and why is no one telling us what’s going on? Whatever this is about, we could already be putting our heads together!"
ilsa’s initial reaction is a subtle mouth movement, indicating that he might have a point. But then she speaks to herself: "The secrecy is a good enough explanation, and whoever came up with something this big would hardly build in such inconsistencies."
In fact, the rest of the group also holds back, neither supporting nor rejecting the outburst, waiting instead to hear from Major Marks: "The entire command staff has asked the same questions, and the answer is simply confidentiality. If you’re already discussing it now, and a crew member here or at the military base you came from picks up on something and spreads the information, then there is apparently some kind of risk—whether for you personally or for all of us. I hope I’ll eventually find out what this is about myself."
At that moment, Carol has a thought. She takes off her headset and motions for ilsa to do the same, then calls out to her: "What if this is an experiment—to study our reactions, to see how we respond to stress, how much we put up with, whether we remain passive or start organizing ourselves?"
ilsa nods but then thoughtfully counters: "Too expensive. The logistics, the use of military resources, the potential civil lawsuits for damages—I don’t think this is just an exercise."
"Pity," Carol says, almost pouting as she puts her headset back on.
Others have also briefly removed their headsets to whisper with their neighbors. The major quickly adds: "We will arrive at our destination in 30 minutes. I assume you will have some short nights ahead, so you might want to get some rest. If that’s completely out of the question for you right now, I hope you won’t hold it against me—I simply can’t offer more information at this moment."
Many people then fall into deep thought, staring into the space around them, while some continue whispering in pairs—though ilsa cannot hear what they are saying.
Fairly quickly, the plane begins its descent, and everyone looks as though they can hardly wait to get out of the aircraft and finally learn more.
It appears that others have just been flown in as well—around 100 people, guided by soldiers, stream toward a building next to the airstrip.
A colleague calls out to the group: "Wasn’t there a movie where a professor asked his students to stand on the desk, only to tell them that none of them were suited to be managers because nobody had first asked why they should stand up?"
He clearly doesn’t expect an answer, but many of those who hear him smile in response.
They enter a hall filled with rows of chairs, with about 20 soldiers inside—not appearing threatening in any way, but rather as though they, too, are waiting for information. Most of the experts seem to be speaking out loud more to themselves than to their neighbors as they take their seats. The tension is palpable, and the previously composed professionals can no longer contain their anticipation.
A seemingly high-ranking woman—dressed in civilian clothing, surrounded by seven others—stands at the front of the hall and speaks into a microphone, asking everyone to be seated. The two doors, which had remained open until now, are closed from the inside. It’s finally about to begin: "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being willing to help us. You will soon be divided into teams to face a major challenge for humanity."
Everyone stares intently forward, hanging onto her words. ilsa, unable to hold back, mutters just loudly enough for those around her to hear: "What could be bigger than the sustainability crisis— something we apparently can’t even mobilize this kind of effort for?"
No one reacts to her comment; all eyes remain locked on the speaker. The woman continues: "To finally tell you what this is about—it concerns what we would likely call aliens. We are about to show you footage from a surveillance camera. You will see what appears to be a person walking behind the corner of a house. Moments later, according to eyewitness reports, this person melts."
A collective murmur spreads across the room—a blend of monosyllabic exclamations and sharp intakes of breath. No one speaks clearly, but the shock is audible.
"In analyzing the footage, we found that the material involved consists of elements unknown on Earth. Experts continue to study it and strongly suspect it is of extraterrestrial origin. The material appears to be a combination of organic and mineral— possibly even some form of metallic—compounds. We have yet to determine who this supposed person was. However, when we attempted to investigate further, we encountered cyberattacks on our systems—attacks of a nature that should not even be possible."
"Vibranium from Wakanda," someone murmurs a few seats to ilsa’s right. She has no idea what they’re referring to, but she is oddly relieved to hear that others are also impatiently thinking out loud.
"Before any of you speculate that one of the billionaire moguls dabbling in both robotics and space exploration might have a hand in this—we’ve already ruled that out. Likewise, we have determined that no hostile nation or rogue organization has made a sudden breakthrough.
As for how we selected you—this incident occurred ten days ago. Since then, security experts and specialists in extraterrestrial phenomena, primarily from the U.S., have been working to assemble a team. We searched for chemists, computer scientists, disaster researchers, and even philosophers and medical experts who, in their work, have demonstrated an ability to think outside the box. We have made every effort to contact you without using digital channels. Even the IT specialists present here have been instructed to stay away from technology for now—though, of course, IT teams elsewhere are continuing to track digital traces."
At this last remark, several of the senior officials allow themselves a brief, knowing smile at the casual wording.
ilsa is thoroughly impressed. Leaning slightly toward Carol, she whispers: "Fascinating—how brilliantly thought out this is. Nothing like the trashy movies my kids watch and then describe to me in epic detail at the breakfast table."
"This still feels like a surreal dream to me—one where I keep wondering where it comes from and how it can feel so real," Carol replies.
Other experts are murmuring quietly with their neighbors as the speaker at the front continues: "We must admit that we’re relieved so many of you are going along with this and staying levelheaded. We’ve formed teams of eight or nine people and will be assigning you shortly. Each team will focus on a specific topic. Every two hours, we will take long breaks, during which you can also exchange ideas with members of other teams. You might want to stick with your topic until tomorrow. However, we hope not to need more than 24 hours—and, of course, we would be delighted if we had an explanation and a plan even sooner. Each team will have a designated moderator. Before we get started, we’ll take a few minutes for any questions. Fire away."
Surprisingly, only one person raises a hand—a young man with an extremely athletic build: "The question for me is, of course, what you haven’t told us. Are we going to rack our brains over this, only to receive crucial additional information later?"
A man from the leadership group, who had not yet spoken, steps forward: "Everything that can be said has been said. And yes, I would say that even if it weren’t true. You are now facing a dilemma—does this statement make us more credible, or is that precisely why it’s a trick? But why would we withhold information if the solution is that important?"
The young man doesn’t let up: "At least in movies, the cliché is that you opened Pandora’s box. And because the world must not know, you’re keeping information from us while hoping we’ll still fix your mistake. I’m not accusing you of anything—but we might not be able to afford to work without all the facts."
"Okay, fair point. If anyone here has withheld information, feel free to put them on public trial," the leader responds—showing no sign of irritation. "But you’re right. At least one group should seriously consider this angle—that maybe one of the agencies involved here did set something in motion and lost control of it." After that exchange, no one else seems eager to ask a question—most prefer to start working among themselves.
A woman from the leadership team steps forward: "Then let’s get started. This part of the base is completely sealed off from the outside world. We have enough supplies, accommodations, clothing, and hygiene products for everyone. The soldiers in the room are here to assist you and keep the base running. Now for the team assignments: Team 1…."
ilsa turns to Carol one last time before they end up in separate groups: "The introduction was really well done—it answered a lot of questions in advance, included some empathetic elements… just solid. We’ll catch up later?"
Carol nods, and both head to their assigned teams.
ilsa is placed in Team 7. A female soldier designates her as the moderator—a role she had half-expected: "Alright, let’s get started. I’m ilsa. My specialty is the systemic analysis of interconnections. I’m neither an expert on extraterrestrials nor IT, nor chemistry. I suggest that I take responsibility for guiding this group, but all of you should absolutely share your concerns and ideas at any time.
We should start with introductions. Also, I propose that we use first names. After that, let’s throw out any possible explanations—everything is allowed, and no idea is too far-fetched. Once we have a list of hypotheses, we’ll define a goal and systematically analyze the risks and key levers using a cause-effect model. We’ll use the flip charts—I haven’t worked with paper in a long time."
As a systems modeler, ilsa is well-versed in running workshops with vague objectives. The sheer surreal nature of the situation, as Carol described it, fuels her adrenaline, helping her project confidence: "And just so you know a bit more about me—I’ve worked extensively on sustainability issues, as well as digitalization, artificial intelligence, demographics, and politics."
She scans the group with a questioning look: "Does that sound good to everyone?"
Most nod in agreement, and ilsa feels a sense of relief—no one here seems interested in feeding their own ego. Everyone appears genuinely focused on the task. "Would you like to go next?" she asks, gesturing toward the older man sitting to her left.
The group introduces themselves—ranging from psychologists to IT specialists to an astronomer.
Then, the brainstorming begins—throwing out theories about a human-like alien that can simply melt—and the ideas that emerge are nothing short of wild
…
2. Before the bifurcation (btb)
From a seemingly absolute silence, as if an amplifier were being turned up without a music signal, but with a slowly increasing yet still quiet hum, ilsa wakes up—just like so many other mornings.
There’s no reason for the headache—no excess the night before, no illnesses—just stress, ilsa thinks, briefly pondering what she did last night. Did she work? Just read? Or simply watch documentaries?
Michael—like seemingly always—jumps out of bed: "Did you work late last night?"
"Also," ilsa replies, in a way Michael finds full of meaning, and shuffles to the bathroom. There—at the source of inspiration— she murmurs to herself: "Exercise, gymnastics, yoga, meditation...?"
She feels that first duty, then indulgence mentality and simply heads to the kitchen to make her fair-trade organic cocoa and open her laptop.
"I’ll wake the kids," Michael says, almost cheerfully, and shortly after, they sneak into the kitchen. Given the early hour, they remain silent as they prepare their breakfast and, glancing frequently at the clock, apparently now start packing their school things.
ilsa skims through her list of emails—over 30, mainly from her bubble of international newsletters on sustainability and economics. "What’s on your agenda today, kids?" she calls into the kitchen, wincing at her own self-imposed volume. Then, with a slight smile, she follows up, seemingly unsurprised:
"Julia?"—dragging out the 'u'.
"Nothing special—I’m going to Claudia’s after school," Julia replies matter-of-factly.
Max, picking up on the general mood of not wanting to be bothered, simply says: "Math exam—no problem," and is already rushing out the door. Julia, as if seizing the opportunity, follows close behind.
"If you were going to ask me—I’m heading to the office soon and meeting with the developers today," Michael beams, giving her a quick kiss on the bridge of her nose before disappearing as well.
Hearing the sound of the electric car, without taking her eyes off the screen, ilsa reaches for her cocoa.
She eagerly participates in online discussions, linking publications and cause-effect models, when suddenly her smartphone, smartwatch, and of course, her laptop start ringing. Briefly pausing with a sense of being interrupted, ilsa finally takes the call on her laptop.
It’s Thomas, a research colleague: "Morning, figured you’d already be available. Wanted to discuss our workshop next week."
"Why not today," ilsa whispers inaudibly and, still immersed in the post she’s writing, replies: "Yep, that’s on my to-do list for today as well."
Thomas easily picks up on her mood: "Not awake yet, or already in the middle of it?"
"In my bubble—it’s frustrating. Thomas, why are we even still doing research? Everything is so clear, yet nothing changes. Maybe we should just say, ‘Science proves that we must not change anything,’ and suddenly the great transformation will begin."
"You know yourself that the ego trolls and their troll lemmings may be loud and are unnecessarily put in the spotlight by many media outlets just to make their reporting appear neutral. But ultimately, they are the minority—at least for now," Thomas responds, making it clear that all scientists should already be aware of this.
"And yet, we have to push back so that the false memes don’t take over the center of society," ilsa justifies herself—also to herself—for what seems like a futile effort. Then, almost sighing after an audible inhale, she adds, "It's the psychology, stupid." Of course, she hopes that Thomas recognizes the reference and doesn’t take it personally.
But Thomas—presumably out of empathy, and deviating from the reason for his call—asks: "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I don’t know whether Clinton really said it to Obama first, or if it’s actually even older: it's the phrase 'It's the economy, stupid,' meaning that, in the end, the state of the economy determines political success. But if we keep asking why the economy functions the way it does, we quickly land at people’s basic needs—whether in consumption, economic striving, or the ideals shaped by our environment. So, psychological drivers are behind the economy and also behind our views, which, in turn, steer the fate of our society."
"And that means?" Thomas presses further—possibly to give ilsa a chance to phrase it more simply or because he didn’t understand it at all and doesn’t want to abruptly switch to his own topic.
"It means that we humans, like other thinking beings, strive for progress and integration through emotions—to adapt, to improve in competition and evolution, and to belong. For modern humans, every kind of consumption beyond basic needs is rooted in this. Clothes, cars, big homes, distant travel—it all feels good because evolution wants us to keep progressing. That drives the economy, and marketing fuels it. The reaction to us scientists, who now propose the idea that we can actually be happy without this endless ‘more,’ gives many people a sort of enemy figure. It’s not just about something being taken away— it’s about how good it feels to be against something, especially when others share the same opinion, and even more so when that opinion is conveniently simple."
Thomas is fully engaged: "That’s why politics that rely on science are labeled as idealistic."
"Exactly. The mass media don’t score points with factual headlines but with headlines that reinforce people’s roles—whether by framing something as a threat or by subtly making them feel that celebrities are actually much worse. That’s how we end up with so-called ‘bad bans’ that politics supposedly want to impose, even when they’re not bans at all. Or the car that the famous climate activist supposedly drives—which probably doesn’t even exist."
"Have you ever clicked on one of those?" Thomas asks, acknowledging that such sensationalist headlines, often placed as paid advertisements, keep showing up even in serious media.
"No. But the real danger is that it’s no longer just the people left behind by our high-performance society who are against everything. Even the middle of society isn’t just disengaged anymore— it starts going along with it, especially when conservative parties compete for political capital and spread these simple memes as well."
Thomas responds: "Ultimately, this is how extreme parties continue to gain support."
"And that’s exactly what makes them ego trolls as well—ultimately reckless people who harm the common good and revel in the fact that troll lemmings follow them on social media," ilsa is in her element.
"And that’s why you push back and ruin your own day with a bad mood," Thomas picks up on her argument, seemingly laughing a little, and adds, "You just need to keep it simpler..."
ilsa interrupts him: "Yes, the memes need to be as simple and clear as possible, carried by all of us and put into practice. But back to our workshop. I’ll create a few slides, and you can add to them, okay?"
"Good idea. It would be great if you could finish that today. I’ll take a look at them tomorrow. We should also go over the right memes again. And you should really appear on a talk show!"
"Sounds good. And every time I get frustrated, I feel like I am in a talk show—when people fail to explain in plain words that the economy ultimately benefits from sustainability and that everything is truly interconnected. But I suppose in a real talk show, I’d hardly get a word in or end up stumbling over my own thoughts. It’s easy in front of the TV—probably much harder in front of the camera. I’ll send you something later."
ilsa is steering the conversation toward an end, especially as Bella, beside her, stirs with a reproachful look.
"Great, talk later," Thomas concludes the call.
ilsa closes her laptop, turns to Bella, takes her shaggy head in both hands, and gives her a full rubdown, making her eyes disappear into folds of fur as the dog lets out a satisfied groan.
"Mommy is having an existential crisis," ilsa practically tells her dog. "I research the world, and no one cares. I’m powerless."
Getting herself and Bella ready for jogging, ilsa is visibly lost in thought. As they step outside, her neighbor pulls her out of her reverie: "Morning, ilsa—hard to believe, but your car is actually being moved today."
ilsa knows what’s coming and preemptively replies: "Touché. How about we share a car instead? You have so many that there’s always one just sitting around."
"We can still afford it—and so can you. And if we wanted to do something like that, it certainly wouldn’t be an electric car filled with child labor and coal-powered energy," Nick retorts, as if ready to spar with ilsa.
For a moment, she considers whether to just smile and leave it unchallenged or practice spreading the right memes. The latter wins: "You do realize that’s nonsense, right?"
"Oh? Are you denying that with all these electric cars, we still have to keep coal plants running, and that lithium batteries use up rare earths and involve child labor?" Nick asks confidently.
ilsa actually has a top ten list of common misconceptions about electric cars that she enjoys debunking, but these two are a bit tricky to explain: "The thing with coal isn’t about electric cars— it’s about the slow expansion of renewable energy. And even with coal, the carbon footprint is lower than your diesel’s— which, by the way, also runs on a lot of coal-powered electricity. And as for rare earths and child labor, that needs context: lithium isn’t actually rare, child labor is involved in cobalt mining, which modern batteries can avoid. What’s in your phone, by the way?"
"I just watched a documentary about lithium mining yesterday— how small farmers are being ruined. In the end, diesel is the most efficient form of transport, or at least synthetic fuels," Nick insists.
ilsa sighs but keeps her composure: "We need to factor in the real costs of resource extraction to protect people and the environment. By the way, the environmental and human impact per kilometer is much higher for diesel and gasoline than for lithium, which, once mined, can be recycled for centuries. And synthetic fuels? They require more electricity than simply using it directly in an electric car. And before you say that we don’t have enough energy and that there isn’t enough wind and sun in winter—yes, we need to produce hydrogen to store energy for those times. And we need smart grids that use electric cars and heat pumps to stabilize the system. All of this is already technically possible."
Nick shrugs: "I’ll wait and see what future technologies emerge. We should all be more open to different options and not dogmatically push only electric cars."
"Maybe we’ll get a fusion reactor in an XXL SUV, and the world will be saved—I gotta go. See you later, Nick."
As if Bella understood that they were finally going for a run, she and ilsa take off at the same time. Nick waves wordlessly, and ilsa murmurs to Bella: "Oh boy, Bella, either he’s right, or he just doesn’t care..."
A few steps later, she adds: "...and Mommy shouldn’t just bombard people with facts—she should lead with questions and help integrate the other side."
ilsa and Bella run through a beautiful mixed forest when ilsa receives a call on her smartwatch. It appears to be from the editorial team of one of the most influential talk shows: "We would like to invite you as a guest on our next show. The topic will be: ‘Disruptive Developments—Are Today’s Leaders Capable of Mastering the Great Challenges?’"
ilsa takes a deep breath, pulled out of her own thoughts, and perhaps even audibly baffled, she responds: "Right now, this sounds like a prank from some colleagues. Let me ask—why do you think I should be on the show? How did you come across me?"
With a slight laugh, the caller replies: "We actually encounter this kind of skepticism quite often. We’ll send you an email with all the details shortly. We found you through a search for experts in complexity. We came across your blog, where you’ve published models on several of the topics we’ll be discussing on Sunday—economics, war, migration, AI, and more. You were also recommended to us. Sitting in front of a camera shouldn’t be a problem for you as a moderator of large workshops, right?"
"No, that should be fine. I assume there will be some sort of preparation—ground rules, format, etc.?" ilsa asks.
"Of course—though it won’t be too much. If you agree to join, we’ll send you an email right away. Naturally, we’ll cover all travel expenses." is the reply.
After the call, ilsa and Bella continue their run as if nothing had happened—but inside, ilsa’s thoughts are racing. How should she handle this opportunity to share important insights?
3. Motivation (btb)
In Max’s classroom, the usual chaos reigns as the lesson begins:
"What are you listening to?" … "Cool hoodie." … "I have to reach Level 8 later." … "Today, I’m training thighs." … "Forget about him..."
Smiling and shaking his head slightly, the teacher enters the room. With what appears to be just the right amount of authority over the class, it’s enough for him to stand in front of them—within seconds, all attention is on him: "Today, we’re going to talk about motivation."
"Just don’t give us homework—then we won’t need to talk about missing motivation," comes the first joke, followed quickly by another: "Okay, so who messed up this time?"
