George shook his head slowly. "You're wrong, John. Not back to where we were. This morning, we had an economy of scarcity. Tonight, we have an economy of abundance. This morning, we had a money economy—it was a money economy, even if credit was important. Tonight, it's a credit economy, one hundred per cent. This morning, you and the lieutenant were selling standardization. Tonight, it's diversity.

"The whole framework of our society is flipped upside down.'" He frowned uncertainly.

"And yet, you're right too, it doesn't seem make much difference, it is still the same old rat race. I don't understand it."

-- BUSINESS AS USUAL, DURING ALTERATIONS by Ralph Williams (Astounding Science Fiction, 1958)

I bought a box of SF pulps when I was in my late teens from one of my father's friends, who kept them in the garage. English editions of Astounding Science Fiction, for the most part. Stories written by authors whose names I barely recognised, despite being a science fiction reader from about as soon as I could read.

I paid more than I could afford for them.

I suspect that one story paid for all of them, though.

It's a thought experiment. I'd forgotten the opening of the story (aliens decide to Mess With Us) but remembered what happened after that.

We're in a department store. And someone drops off two matter duplicators. They have pans. You put something in pan one, press a button, its exact duplicate appears in pan two.

We spend a day in the department store as they sell everything they have as cheaply as possible, duplicating things with the matter duplicator, making what they can on each sale, and using cheques and credit cards, not cash (you can now perfectly duplicate cash – which obviously is no longer legal tender). Towards the end they stop and take stock of the new world waiting for them and realise that all the rules have changed, but craftsmen and engineers are more necessary than ever.

That companies won't be manufacturing millions of identical things, but they'll need to make hundreds, perhaps thousands, of slightly different things, that their stores will be showrooms for things, that stockrooms will be history. That there will now be fundamental changes including, in 1950s-style retailing, in a phrase that turned up well after 1958, a long tail.

Being Astounding Science Fiction, the story contains the moral of 95% of Astounding Science Fiction stories, which could perhaps be reduced to: people are smart. We'll cope.

When my friends who were musicians first started complaining sadly about people stealing their music on Napster, back in the 1990s, I told them about the story of the duplicator machines. (I could not remember the name of the story or the author. It was not until I agreed to write this introduction I asked a friend, via email, and found myself, a google later, re-reading it for the first time in decades.) //

I remembered what Charles Dickens did, a hundred and fifty years before, when copyright laws meant that his copyrights were worth nothing in the US: he was widely read, but he was not making any money from it. So he took the piracy as advertising, and toured the US in theatres, reading from his books. He made money, and he saw America. //

Fortunately, Cory Doctorow has written this book. It's filled with wisdom and with thought experiments and with things that will mess with your mind. Cory once came up with an analogy while we argued that explained the world that we were heading into in terms of mammals versus dandelions to me, and I've never seen anything quite the same way since.

Mammals, he said, and I paraphrase here and do not put it as well as Cory did, invest a great deal of time and energy in their young, in the pregnancy, in raising them. Dandelions just let their seeds go to the wind, and do not mourn the seeds that do not make it. Until now, creating intellectual content for payment has been a mammalian idea. Now it's time for creators to accept that we are becoming dandelions.

The world is not ending. Not if, as Astounding Science Fiction used to suggest, humans are bright enough to think our way out the problems we think ourselves into.

I suspect that the next generation to come along will puzzle over our agonies, much as I puzzled over the death of the Victorian Music Halls as a child, and much as I felt sorry for the performers who had only needed thirteen minutes of material in their whole life, and who did their thirteen minutes in town after town until the day that television came along and killed it all.

In the meanwhile, it's business as usual, during alterations.

-Neil Gaiman