Chronopunk: A novel (Episode 8)
If you went back in time, what knowledge would you gift the past to save the future?
Chapter 27
Atifa Benkader is not your typical Senator from Minnesota. Or is she? While the state may seem unassuming, it’s anything but dull. From the mining towns of the North to the vast cornfields of the South, Minnesota is also home to some of the most culturally diverse urban areas in the country. Pop icon Prince grew up in Minneapolis, and Black Lives Matter was born there.
Atifa first made her name as the Queen of TRAIpop—a genre she single-handedly created by blending the pulsating RAI rhythms of Algeria with American hip-hop. Her father immigrated to the U.S. from Algeria in the late 2000s and built a thriving Middle Eastern food business. As a teenager working in his grocery store, she was constantly immersed in the sounds of RAI and other North African music styles from places like Mali and the Western Sahara. Her mother, on the other hand, introduced her to a rich repertoire of American music, from Billie Holiday to modern pop divas. ‘Music was as much a part of our home as the spices from the Middle East,’ she wrote in her autobiography.
Atifa’s breakthrough came on Spotify, where her electrifying fusion of RAI and hip-hop caught fire. A critic from Apple Music later coined the term TRAIpop—a nod to Trip-hop, the genre that emerged from Bristol, England. But music wasn’t enough for Atifa. She wanted more. So she entered the slugfest of local politics—and won. Today, she serves as a Senator from Minnesota, proving that her influence extends far beyond the stage.
"Her clarity and intelligence are unusual for a former music star turned politician," Senator Charles Von said in a recent interview.
"Atifa is one of those rare figures in politics who can say exactly what she means and still gain traction with all kinds of constituencies. It must be her charisma. She’s the kind of person you just can’t stop listening to," read one blurb from her autobiography.
"She’s not driven by power, money, or fame. What Atifa really wants is to predict the future. She’s a psychology addict—hooked on watching people do exactly what she expects them to," an anonymous friend claimed in a more sinister YouTube interview.
"Atifa has an uncanny ability to make people around her behave exactly as she wants—like a puppeteer orchestrating her own show. It makes no difference whether it’s a hundred thousand fans in a stadium or ten thousand supporters at a political rally. She electrifies the arena, and people move in lockstep to her rhythm."
During a crucial meeting of the Stop QE committee, she unexpectedly played an old Guns N’ Roses song. Then, standing before a dozen committee members, she sang the chorus:
'“I used to do a little, but a little wouldn’t do it, so the little got more and more!”
Then she explained:
"This song is about drugs. And that’s exactly what our society is hooked on right now—the drug of money printing. Bernanke started with a little, just enough to keep the demons of 2008 at bay. Then they did a little more, and more, and more... and here we are. Trillions in deficits, tens of trillions in debt, and no future for our kids. Actually, no—let me rephrase that: no kids at all. Because when raising a child costs millions of dollars, people stop making love and just start fucking.
"Let me tell you something about my family. My father came from Oran, a port city in Algeria, to the U.S. He came here because it was the only place left on earth to escape to. But where would he go today? The U.S. now looks and feels like any other nation—drowning in debt, its youth disillusioned, and ‘a decent job’ meaning nothing more than working for the government. Our addiction to money, entitlement, and empty posturing has turned this once-great land of hope and opportunity into a Keynesian nightmare.”
This was classic Atifa Benkader—rallying her troops with a seamless blend of emotional appeal and hard facts.
"It’s like she sees the problem, offers a solution, and then actually goes ahead and fixes it," one commentator observed.
In one of its more flattering profiles, The New Yorker wrote:
"She transcends hierarchies—and sometimes even the laws of nature. Atifa Benkader is a modern Prince Myshkin with the heart of a prizefighter."
As if her boundless energy weren’t enough, she also draws inspiration from her no-nonsense husband—a fighter jet test pilot. The only question is whether he amplifies her or vice versa. One of Atifa’s signature traits is her ability to command an audience from the very first word. Her speeches hit like a Depeche Mode song—straight to the point, piercing right through your soul.
*"Look! We’ve been listening to economists for over a century, and quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of their sophistry. Take this Krugman guy—he used to spout nonsense like, ‘It doesn’t matter why we’re in this crisis, let’s just print money to solve the problem.’ How could anyone take this idiot seriously? It’s like asking the consigliere of a drug cartel for advice on how to avoid addiction. ‘Oh, don’t worry, just increase your dose until you feel better.’ And to add insult to injury, they give Bernanke a Nobel Prize—for single-handedly destroying liberal democracies!
You know how this makes me feel? Miserable. This time, let’s leave the economists out of it and actually get something done. I propose we send someone back in time to reverse the course of history. Stop Bernanke before he starts QE. In my opinion, that’s where the whole mess began. Monetizing debt is the financial equivalent of doing a line of coke."
"…’used to do a little, then a little got more’… you get my message," she smirked.
"Professor Mongarthy gave us the science, and SpaceX gave us the technology. Let’s use it."
"Why stop at 2008?" one committee member challenged.
"Why not go back to the 1970s, when Carter introduced the Fed’s dual mandate—price stability and full employment? Or to 1971, when Nixon abandoned the gold standard? Hell, why not rewind all the way to 1913 and prevent the Fed from being established in the first place?"
One of the scientific advisors leaned forward.
"Intergenerational time travel is a delicate problem. We don’t yet fully understand how it affects time trajectories and symmetries across the multiverse. Our generative AI models have identified the 2008 crisis and the ensuing QE bonanza as the optimal point of intervention. Going further back—especially to foundational events like the creation of the Fed—would create too much collateral damage. The risk is simply too high. That’s why we settled on 2008."
"Look, we’re not trying to rewrite history for the sake of rewriting history. We just want our country back," Senator Von added.
In many ways, Von was the exact opposite of Atifa Benkader. His measured approach balanced out her high-octane temperament. He was neither a reckless hothead nor a do-nothing hypocrite.
"He’s not interested in action—Von wants results," his chief of staff liked to say.
Now Von turns to the group with an usual dose of agitation;
“With this time travel business, we are literally opening a gate to infinity. It feels almost spiritual. When I got my degree in physics a long time ago”—he chuckles—“politics, science, and religion were neatly separate. Science, with its limited, reductionist approach, taught us how to predict the future from observable patterns. Politics made decisions about what to do with that future, and religion was always there for everything beyond our control. But now, we have the ability to change trajectories.”
He winces, glances around the room, then continues:
“My concern with this exercise is that we’re using a bazooka to kill a fly. What if people get greedy and start rewriting all kinds of histories? What if our descendants sends some guy back later to undo what we’re doing? Our attempt to eliminate moral hazard could, ironically, create even more of it. Why be cautious with money if you know you can always go back and fix your mistakes? The real question is—how do we strike a balance? How do we interfere with history without making it a habit? And what does it even mean to have a present when you know you can change it on a whim?"
His tense expression softens slightly.
“Knowing how messy Congress is, I can only imagine the many frustrated representatives knocking on my door, demanding a rewrite of history because something in their district doesn’t fit the bill.”
"We kill it. Erase all documentation, wipe every trace of data, delete every token our AI models contain. We make it disappear," Atifa interrupted, her trademark swoop of energy and assertion cutting through the room.
"What do you mean, ‘make it disappear’?" one of the technical advisors asked, his voice edged with concern.
"It means exactly what it sounds like. We send someone back—then we shut the whole project down."
"But that would mean we’d never be able to recover that person," Lisa Chu interjected sharply.
She knew exactly what Atifa was up to. By shutting down the project, she could solve two problems at once—stopping Bernanke and ensuring that rewriting history never became a common practice. Lisa stood up, locking eyes with Atifa.
"You can’t do this. I won’t send someone back in time knowing they’ll never return."
"It’s not your decision to make. You’re the engineer. I’m the decider," Atifa snapped. Then, her voice rising, "You know what? Shut up!"
Several committee members had to intervene, pulling the two women apart.
"We will discuss the actual procedure at a later point," Senator Von said in a steady, soothing voice.
"Right now, let’s focus on the technical aspects of time travel and the mission itself. We’ll deal with the risks—Moral Hazard included—when the time comes."
His intervention worked. The tension in the room eased.
"Intergenerational travel is the most complex endeavor our multiverse has ever attempted—it makes reaching Mars look simple. We don’t even fully understand what it means to send a human back in time. Instead of fixating on the potential consequences, our energy should be spent on the how. How do we maximize the likelihood of success? What does success even look like? Most importantly, how do we stop Ben Bernanke from monetizing debt and launching QE without disrupting history too much? This is brain surgery—we go in, make a precise alteration, and leave everything else untouched. So let’s focus on how to get this done." Von’s voice grew more authoritative, commanding the room’s attention.
Atifa instinctively recognized the value of Von as her counterbalance. His political restraint tempered her ruthless intellect. Alone, they were just two operators, each boxed into their respective political corners. Together, they were a weapon for change.
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