The Market Sneezes

In a concrete bunker 50m underneath Sydney, Glenn Stevens stood behind a chair with a face as dour and deflated as Japan’s economy in the 1990s.

“Gentlemen, I assume you know why I have called you here today. Times are tough – inflation has been worrying and there has been nothing but trouble from the New Zealand dairy industry. I’m afraid that we may need to use monetary policy.”

There was a gasp around the table. Anthony Dickman began to sob quietly.

“But this not all bad news – monetary policy has come a long way since the days of trying to hit multiple targets with one blunt instrument. Our team has been hard at work, and I think that we’re ready to reveal our greatest innovation of all.” He pressed a finger onto a dashboard, and a wall swiveled to reveal a line of tanks. Inside each was the unconscious form of a man – a series of tubes trailing from bodies and up through a murky green fluid to the ceiling. The tanks gurgled softly in the stunned silence of the room.

John Akehurst was the first to recover “Is that…?”

“Yes. Milton Friedman. Cloned after the recession of 1991. Bred to be concerned with one thing, and one thing only: the steady and continuous growth of the money supply. These tanks are connected to a giant Phillips Hydraulic Computer stored deep underneath Pitt Street. The fluid running through their veins has circulated through models of the economy for millions of iterations. This is only the first batch – in time we hope to expand the program to include other economists such as Keynes, Tobin, and Tinbergen. But for now these Friedmans represent the forefront of central banking weaponry.”

Philip Lowe licked his lips, but raised a shaky hand. “But will this be enough?”

The Governor of the Reserve Bank permitted himself a rare smile. “Why, yes. We plan to equip them with helicopters.”