On the last day of the tenth year, Varvara sat by that very first pond.
Nearby were the hedgehog administrator, now the director of operational wisdom; Goose, now head of internal audit; the fox, an honest supplier of carrots; Chinese sage; CIO, CISO, CFO and CDTO; robots; drones; capybaras; guests from Russia, the CIS, the Middle East, Europe, China and Asia.
An airship floated slowly over the farm. A satellite blinked in the sky. The server room was quietly warming the greenhouse. The wind generator spun like the wheel of time. Solar panels collected light. The AI assistants were silent because sometimes the best assistant is the one that knows when not to talk.
A little girl approached Varvara and asked:
—Are you the richest capybara in the world?
Varvara thought. It was possible to answer about EBITDA, ROI, international expansion, airships, satellites, digital ruble, AI platform and peace of mind index.
But Varvara said:
“I’m rich because people come anxious and leave kinder.”
The girl stroked the grass next to the pond and said:
“Then this is a good farm.”
And at that moment it became clear: the happy ending did not come because the farm became technologically advanced. But because technology has not replaced goodness. They helped him scale.
