A Charter for the Commonwealth

by Richard F. Weyand

  “And once you’re done, assuming Professor Mehta is here, I’m going to move to have you replaced as chair, so you can properly defend your proposals without being fettered by protocol.

  “And then you and I are gonna have some fun.”

  Distinguished Colleagues

  Once sixty-four of the sixty-six attendees of the Westlake Conference had arrived at The Dachas on Doma, Gerald Ansen sent an announcement to everyone that the opening session of the conference would convene in the large hall of the conference center the next morning, Tuesday, at 11:00. Only Matheus Oliveira and Sania Mehta were missing. The ship from Calumet, the Nebula Queen, was now eight days late.

  “Distinguished Colleagues:

  “Thank you all for attending the Westlake Conference. I am your host, Gerald Ansen.

  “As we have discussed in our letters, we are all aware any colonial arrangement, such as between Earth and the other human-settled planets, is by its very nature temporary. This is borne out by the historical evidence that all other colonial arrangements in human history have in fact expired.

  “The events that precipitated the end of those relationships have ranged from peaceful agreements to bloody wars of independence. The situations that subsequently emerged in the colonies have ranged from spectacular successes to dismal failures.

  “The largest determining factor of success on the part of the newly independent colony is the structures in place before independence. When such structures were insufficient to the task, dictatorships and totalitarian states were often the result.

  “During the course of the next eight months, it is our goal to design a post-colonial structure for the thirty-three planets of Earth’s first-round colonization of space, the thirty-three planets you represent. We will write the founding document, the charter, of a new polity to step into the void left behind when the current colonial arrangement expires.

  “In so doing, we hope to spare our planets and populations, our families and friends, the chaos of a disorganized interregnum, and the tragedy of totalitarianism that would otherwise be the likely result.

  “Our first step along this path will be to get to know one another better, at formal events like this luncheon, and at less formal gatherings and meals among ourselves over the next several weeks. I would encourage you to get together with other delegates, those whose work has interested you as well as those with whom you disagree, to discuss the possibilities.

  “At the same time, we will also be presenting our ideas, and I invite any who would like to make such a presentation to let me know so we can schedule you. The presentations will be to get all our ideas out on the table so we can consider them, debate them, and assemble our document.

  “Before we bring in lunch, are there any questions?”

  “Here!” called out Patryk Mazur.

  “Mr. Mazur.”

  “Mister Chairman, you distributed a decision tree you worked up on the way here. At least I got a copy. Did everyone else get a copy?” Mazur asked as he looked around.

  Several delegates indicated they had, and Ansen said, “Yes, I sent the file to everyone.”

  “Mister Chairman, I move you present that decision tree first, and you walk us through that, because it seems to me that other proposals could be worked into that decision tree.”

  “Seconded,” called out Mineko Kusunoki.

  “The motion has been made and seconded that we start the presentations with the decision tree I distributed three days ago. Ayes? Nays? The Ayes have it. We’ll start on that after lunch.

  “OK, everybody. Let’s eat.”

  Gerald Ansen took the rest of that week and into Monday to walk the conferees through his detailed decision tree. They then started into presentations by several other attendees who had prepared formal proposals.

  The Nebula Queen was now fourteen days late.

  By the end of the second Friday session, the Nebula Queen had still not arrived. At this point she was nineteen days late, and concern was growing the ship may have been lost.

  “We may have to pick another chairman, Gerry.”

  “Yes, Patryk, I know. That’s an inconvenience for us, but, more than that, it’s a terrible loss. Nebula Queen was carrying a thousand passengers and another five hundred crew.”

  “Well, let’s think about it over the weekend. We don’t have to do anything now until Monday.”

  It was 3:00 in the morning on Saturday when the computer voice woke Ansen and Kusunoki.

  “Wake up.... Wake up.... Wake up....”

  “Dacha, we’re awake. What is it?” Ansen asked.

  “Pardon me, but you asked to be informed immediately if there was news of the Nebula Queen.”

  “Yes, dacha, go ahead.”

  “The Nebula Queen has made her hyperspace transition into the Doma system. All aboard are reported fine.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Dacha, what is their expected timetable for arrival on Doma?” Kusunoki asked.

  “The Nebula Queen has suffered a failure of one of her reaction mass injectors. This limits her acceleration to two-thirds normal, or 0.5 g. Her scheduled arrival is now set for Friday.”

  “How does this affect your timetable?” Kusunoki asked.

  “We’ll work around it,” Ansen said. “Now that we know they’re safe, everybody is going to want to wait for the last two delegates to arrive before we begin serious debate. We’ll do more preliminary work, have longer lunches, have more getting-acquainted time. It’ll be fine.

  “I’m just happy everybody’s OK. I was really starting to worry about them.”

  Often, when Ansen was awakened in the middle of the night, he had trouble falling back asleep. But after being told Nebula Queen was safe, he fell back asleep instantly, and slept like a baby.

  The Nebula Queen finally limped into Doma orbit Friday morning at the end of the third week of the conference. She was twenty-six days late.

  When Matheus Oliveira and Sania Mehta finally arrived at The Dachas, they found a message waiting for them from Gerald Ansen, inviting them to dinner with him, his wife Mineko Kusunoki, and fellow delegate Patryk Mazur. They accepted the invitation, had lunch, and spent the afternoon decompressing on the lanai after ten weeks aboard the Nebula Queen, the last seven of which were on conservation protocols to make sure the food and water lasted.

  “You have guests. Matheus Oliveira and Sania Mehta await admittance.”

  “Dacha, admit our guests.”

  Oliveira was fiftyish, and Mediterranean swarthy, while Mehta was south-Asian Indian and in her mid-40s. They were quite a contrast to Ansen and Mazur, both pale northern Europeans in their 70s, and Kusunoki, Japanese and in her early 40s.

  Kusunoki, Ansen, and Mazur stood to greet them as Oliveira and Mehta came out on the lanai. The low coffee table and padded lounge chairs had been augmented this evening by a dinner table and five straight chairs.

  After they had greeted each other and shook hands all around, they sat at the table, Ansen with his ever-present cigar and bourbon, Mazur and Oliveira with bourbon, and Kusunoki and Mehta with summery drinks from a pitcher Kusunoki had ordered earlier. They ordered supper before getting down to business, and Oliveira lit a cigarette.

  “Matheus, Sania, I can’t begin to express our relief you are all right. We were quite concerned,” Ansen said.

  “It was something of an adventure, although one I would rather not repeat,” Oliveira said. “We were halfway here, in hyperspace, at the point where they had flipped the ship to begin decelerating to Doma. When they reengaged the engines, there was a loud bang you could feel throughout the ship, and then alarms went off. We stayed at zero gravity for an hour while they figured out what was going on and got everything secured. Apparently a reaction mass injector let go, and sort of exited the ship. We were streaming reaction mass until they got the valves all changed around and such.”

  “So there we were, at our fastest speed in hyperspace, minus one-third of our deceleration, a
nd no way to slow down in time to not go flying past Doma,” Mehta said.

  “Oh, my,” Kusunoki said.

  “And it’s not a field repair. Oh, ships carry the spares, to make sure they can get a replacement installed at their destination, but you don’t go outside in hyperspace and tend to it. Only at a planetary repair facility,” Oliveira said.

  “So what they did was aim to one side of Doma, and use some of our deceleration to keep pushing us in a spiral around the Doma system while using the other part of our deceleration to burn off speed. So we spent the last several weeks going around and around the system out there,” Mehta said.

  “And we’ve spent the last seven weeks on emergency food and water protocols to make sure we wouldn’t all be dead by the time we could slow down enough to make transition,” Oliveira concluded.

  “That is an amazing story. I guess it’s heartening to know, even though such failures can occur, the crew knows what to do to get everyone safely to their destination,” Mazur said.

  “Most of the crew had not had such a failure before, but the captain and the chief engineer were both old hands and I guess that sort of thing was once more common. They had sort of a ho-hum attitude that helped keep everybody calm about it,” Oliveira said.

  “All that being said, we’re three weeks late. What have we missed?” Mehta asked.

  “Actually, not much,” Ansen said. “We hoped you were simply delayed and not lost, and so I purposely dragged my feet. We spent the first two weeks presenting our various proposals to each other, and getting to know one another before beginning serious debate. When we heard last Saturday you had made your hyperspace transition, we continued those activities into this week. No one wanted to get into serious business without everyone here, especially not once we all knew you had made it.”

  “That was very considerate,” Oliveira said.

  “We also had an ulterior motive,” Mazur said.

  “Oh?” Mehta asked.

  “Yes. Gerry and I are old acquaintances. We were both in the Oxford Union fifty years ago, and we have sparred before.”

  “The Oxford Union?” Oliveira asked.

  “Probably the premier debating society on Earth,” Mehta said.

  “And it has been for over four hundred years,” Ansen said. “As Patryk says, he and I were both in the Union. We have debated each other before, and we have our differences now. Some of the debate ahead on the charter is likely to be epic. But I find myself hobbled. As host, I am the default for chairman of the conference, but I cannot debate freely as chair.”

  “We were wondering, Sania, if you would chair the conference,” Mazur said.

  “Thank God,” Oliveira said, and both Ansen and Mazur looked at him quizzically while Mehta sat stunned.

  “I was afraid you were going to ask me, and I don’t have the patience for it. Within two days, I would be using the gavel on people’s heads,” Oliveira explained.

  “Chair the conference? But, but I haven’t even been here the last three weeks,” Mehta said.

  “That’s actually an advantage,” Ansen said. “You haven’t formed any opinions on anything, you haven’t settled into any of the little cliques that always form. You’re sort of coming into the whole thing from outside the process, which makes it easier to keep your distance and be even-handed.”

  “And we need someone both even-handed and strict, because Gerry and I are going to go at it. As will others. I’ve seen videos of you in conferences and debates before. You have the patience, you have – or can produce on demand, which is just as good – an air of authority, and you don’t put up with any nonsense,” Mazur said.

  “We need you,” Ansen said simply.

  Mehta looked around, stopped at Kusunoki, who was nodding.

  “You’re a good choice, Sania. You’ll do fine. We’ll help,” Kusunoki said. “Even Gerry and Patryk. When they aren’t trying to kill each other.”

  “Well, if you’re all agreed, I’ll give it a go.”

  “Excellent,” Ansen said. “But one thing. Once you are chairman, give no deference to either of us. You need to be hard as nails to keep everyone in line, us included.”

  “Agreed,” Mazur said. “An even playing field for everyone, and strict adherence to the rules of debate. That’s what we need to be successful.”

  “One last thing,” Ansen said. “I’ve sent you all the proposals from the last three weeks for your review. I’ve also sent you my summary of what happened the last three weeks –”

  “As have I, for a second point of view,” Mazur said with a wink.

  “You should feel free to review these or ignore them at your discretion. On Monday morning, I will convene the conference –”

  “At which point, I will challenge him to recuse himself as chair on a point of order,” Mazur said.

  “I will then open the floor to nominations for chairman.”

  “But you can’t be sure I’ll be elected chair,” Mehta said.

  “I’m sure,” Kusunoki said. “Leave that to me.”

  Ansen banged the gavel several times.

  “Please be seated, everyone.”

  The conversations died down and everyone took their seats.

  “Welcome to the fourth week of the Westlake Conference.

  “This morning I would like to welcome our last two attendees. Matheus Oliveira and Sania Mehta have made it to Doma after their ship from Calumet suffered mechanical difficulties on the transit here. We are so happy they are safe and have joined us.”

  Ansen applauded and all the room joined in as Oliveira and Mehta stood and waved to the room.

  When the applause died down and Oliveira and Mehta resumed their seats, Ansen opened the floor for business.

  “Today we begin the business of considering the proposals brought before the conference over the last three weeks.”

  “Point of order,” Mazur called out.

  “Mr. Mazur,” Ansen said.

  “Mr. Chairman, as you are the author and presenter of the largest and most complete proposal of the last three weeks, I assert you cannot be evenhanded as chair and ask you to recuse yourself as chairman of the conference.”

  There was a stir of conversation and remarks from the attendees at that pronouncement, and Ansen banged the gavel three times. He seemed to consider before speaking.

  “Mr. Mazur is correct.” More stir, more gavel. “Therefore I will recuse myself upon the agreement of this conference to a new chairman. Do I hear nominations?”

  “Here!”

  “Ms. Kusunoki,” Ansen said.

  “As one person who did not hear any of the presentations of the last three weeks, and has not already formed any opinions or alliances on any subject up for debate, I move Sania Mehta as chairman.”

  “Seconded.” That was Hu Mingli, from Meili, Ansen noted.

  “We have a nomination and a second. Are there other nominations?” Ansen asked and waited.

  The attendees stirred, but, as no one other than Mehta and Oliveira met the criteria of Kusunoki’s carefully worded motion, there were no other nominations.

  Ansen banged the gavel.

  “Nominations are closed. We are voting on the replacement of the current chairman with Sania Mehta as chair of this conference. Ayes? Nays? The Ayes have it. Congratulations, Madam Chairman.”

  Sania Mehta got up and walked up to the chairman’s dais, where Ansen stood and met her at the edge of the dais. He gave her the gavel as he shook her hand, then walked out onto the floor and sat down with Kusunoki. The attendees applauded.

  Sania Mehta, Chairman of the Westlake Conference, took her seat at the chairman’s desk and gaveled the meeting to order.

  Earth

  “You wanted me to keep an eye on the colony newsfeeds, sir,” Andy Hasper said.

  “Yes. Has something changed?” Arlan Andrews asked.

  “Yes, sir, but I’m not sure exactly what. The debate grew and drew in more participants, some of whom were pretty far over
the line, in my opinion. On some of the colonies, Westlake and a number of other planetary governors made the counter-argument, some more effectively than others. On other colonies, the planetary governors actively suppressed the biggest troublemakers, usually bringing them in for questioning and letting them know the next time they wouldn’t be going home any time soon. That was the pattern, sir, but –”

  “Go ahead, Andy. What changed?”

  “Well, some of the biggest participants, the early participants, have gone silent, sir. Ansen, Paxton, Rivera. A bunch of others. They haven’t published anything in a couple months. It was subtle enough it took me that long to twinge to it.”

  “Any clues of what’s going on?” Andrews asked.

  “They’re all listed by their universities as being on sabbatical, sir.”

  “All of them? At the same time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “They are all listed as winners of something called the Westlake Prize, sir.”

  “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “No, sir. I also got wind of something called the Westlake Conference. Sponsored by the Orlov Group.”

  “What’s that? Where’s it held?” Andrews asked.

  “No idea what it’s about, sir, but it’s on Doma.”

  “Shit. Fournier’s private little paradise. We don’t have anybody there, do we?”

  “No, sir. It’s mostly a vacation and retirement spot. Hard to get any kind of agent in there permanently. Not enough business activity for most of the decent covers to work.”

  “Well, ain’t that just dandy. Fournier, Westlake, and Orlov. How did I guess? And they rounded up all the key people bitching about Earth policy into one place, eh?” Andrews asked.

  “Apparently so, sir.”

  “Fuck. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I don’t like it. See what else you can find out, but quietly. Whatever you do, don’t let them know we’re on to anything. Also, we should probably review what resources we have in Jablonka in case we need to take some kind of direct action. We may need to move assets into place.”