by D. A. Hill
“That’s different,” Regina protested. “She’s too young to understand.”
“So you’ll tell her when she’s older then?” Emmanuel challenged his daughter.
“That’s not what I said,” she replied impatiently. This was just the latest in a long series of arguments with her father. Actually it had gotten worse because now she had two fathers double-teaming her. They had won the argument on her going, not because reason ultimately prevailed but because she had made an emotional decision to take care of Elizabeth. But they clearly were not going to stop forcing her to confront the logic of what they were doing with Newton’s Ark.
“Let me ask you a question, Major,” Newton said. “How do you know that you aren’t already an EM, that we didn’t already upload you, that all this around you, everything you see and sense and feel isn’t just a clever program written by Cyrus running on a very powerful computer somewhere?”
Regina looked at him blankly, completely taken aback. “Because, well because that’s ridiculous. I know I’m not an EM because I’m not an EM.” Regina knew intellectually that her argument was nonsense, but she was sure it was true, even if she could not prove it, even though Cyrus had explained to her that his goal was to make the virtual environment imperceptible from the real world.
“That’s exactly the answer I would expect from Elizabeth if I ask her the same question a few years from now. She won’t know she’s an EM. Her virtual world and her life as an EM would be as real to her as this world and your life are to you right now. Would you rather let her die than have that?”
“Of course not,” she replied.
“Then shouldn’t you want that same opportunity for other people?” Newton asked. “If we don’t tell them that they’re going to be EMs, if we never tell them they’re EMs, all they’ll know is that they are alive and happy. Isn’t that all that matters?”
—o—
“James, there’s a practical problem with not telling people they’ll be EMs,” Cyrus said. “If we go down that path, we’ll be able to take far fewer people.”
“No, no, no!” Newton yelled angrily. He thought he had settled this issue with Cyrus early on. He had, and Cyrus knew that, so he would not be raising the point now without a very good reason. “I’m sorry. Why?” he asked, the irritation at revisiting this issue still showing in his voice.
“Because we have to convince them that the virtual environment is real. It has to be something that we realistically could have built in less than a year.”
Newton considered that for a minute. “Damn it Cyrus, you’re right.” He sat quietly for another minute, thinking. “I don’t see we have any choice. No point in having a plan to save ten thousand people if nobody wants in right,” he said ruefully. “Ideas people?”
“Well if we’re going to be in space, let’s be in space,” Richard Johannson said. “Our back story could be that we took over the remains of the International Space Station and we used nano-bots to repair and extend it. It will be crowded at first, but we have a story with the nano-bots that allows us to go on gradually extending it.”
“It’s still a lie,” Regina Lopez said. “But at least it’s not a complete lie. I’m still not totally comfortable with this, but I don’t see what options we have. I’m sure Cyrus can knock up a convincing virtual replica fairly quickly.”
“Sure can.” Cyrus replied with a smile. Reducing the size of the virtual environment, and more importantly the number of EMs, would give him a chance to finish the essential parts of the programming in time, something he had grown increasingly worried about as the schedule kept shrinking. He was also smiling because he liked the way Regina Lopez had expressed confidence in his abilities. “I’ve just been waiting for a final decision on the form of our virtual environment. All the basic algorithms for generating it are in place,” he added, not being able to resist doing what countless boys had done in the long history of mankind, showing off to a girl.
“It has the added advantage of explaining why we are out here at a missile launch facility—we’re using the missiles as our launch vehicles,” Manny said.
“Makes sense. How many can that accommodate though?” Newton asked realizing that it would be much less than he had hoped to save.
—o—
The room went silent as they stopped to think about the answer to Newton’s question, each of them doing calculations in their mind or on their pads. Colin McKay answered first. “If our story is that we’re using the missiles to transport people to the station, I’d say one hundred and fifty.”
“How do you get to that?” Newton asked. It was not even close to the number he wanted to hear.
“Two people per launch, and there’s about seventy-five missiles in this command, located within a hundred mile radius. We won’t actually be using them, but as we agreed, we need a convincing back story. Or at least convincing enough that it lets people believe because they want to believe.”
“It’s not enough,” Cyrus said crestfallen. He knew Newton would be bitterly disappointed—it was only a fraction of the ten thousand he had set out to save—and he felt bad for him, like he personally had let him down.
Newton pondered the situation. Better to look on the bright side. “It’s still way better than nothing. Enough genetic diversity to repopulate the Earth if necessary and in the meantime enough people to build a functioning a society. One hundred fifty has other advantages.”
“Dunbar’s Number,” Regina said realizing the significance of one hundred fifty people.
“What’s Dunbar’s Number?” Manny asked.
Regina answered. “Dunbar’s Number basically says that one hundred fifty is the median size of a natural human social network. Our brains evolved in a context where we lived in hunter-gatherer tribes of roughly that size. These were the people we had to maintain deep, intimate relationships with because our lives depended on it. The tribe worked like a family with layers of interdependence and mutual trust. Our brains evolved mechanisms to track the behavior of every tribe member in great detail, keeping an informal score. If someone was not contributing their fair share to the tribe, or not acting in the best interests of the tribe, you could be certain the other tribe members knew it.”
“And the significance of that is?” Manny asked.
“It doesn’t work for larger groups. It’s too easy for people to cheat and free-ride without being detected. So you need formal institutions to keep society functioning, to let you deal with the majority of people as strangers. Like money and written laws and governments.”
“One hundred fifty it is then,” Newton replied. “Unless someone has a better idea.” Nobody spoke. “Richard and Colin can help draw up plans for the station. How soon do you need them Cyrus?”
“Yesterday,” he answered, only half-joking.
—o—
The biggest challenge was finding the people in the first place, people with no previous exposure to the program, people who had no idea what an EM was. They settled on a grab-bag of approaches; calling long lost friends and distant relatives, approaching people in local towns, relying on word of mouth.
James had insisted on very few criteria in selecting the passengers for his Ark. They needed people who could function in a small group in a confined space for an indefinite period of time. At the same time, James wanted diversity. Not diversity in its politically correct sense—although he had nothing against an ethnic mix if that was what they ended up with—but a diversity of personalities, intellects, skills and knowledge and age and gender. As he put it, a bunch of middle-aged male eggheads in a tin can is no basis for rebuilding a civilization.
They quickly had more than enough candidates. Many people were coming to accept that the world really was coming to an end and could see the situation had deteriorated to the point that they had little confidence in the government saving them. Cyrus was amazed how people willingly volunteered to spend the rest of their lives in a glorified tin can, so long as they believed it w
as their physical bodies sandwiched in there like sardines. It seemed people much preferred that to the idea of being an EM, even though the EMs could have lived in luxury, or at least in virtual luxury. He did not understand how people could be so irrational, but Cyrus had never understood how most people thought, and he had to remind himself that even someone as intelligent as Elena Ivanov could not accept the idea of being an EM.
—o—
Cyrus looked up from his terminal to see Eric Carlson standing beside him. He did not know how long he had been standing there; Cyrus had a tendency to switch off to outside stimuli when absorbed in his work. “Hello Eric,” he said, not sure if he would get a response.
“Hello Cyrus,” Eric replied.
“What are you doing here Eric?” Cyrus asked. “Shouldn’t you be with Manny or Major Lopez?”
“They’re busy and I was bored. I thought you might have some games.”
“Actually I do,” Cyrus replied, pleasantly surprised at Eric’s request. He not only liked playing games, he liked designing them. “Would you like to play a game I created?”
“Yes!” Eric answered, his eyes wide with wonder. He had never met someone who made games.
“OK then,” Cyrus said handing him a pad. “This game is brand new and I was looking for someone to try it. In fact, I think a boy your age would be just right. Do you think you could play this game all the way through and then tell me if you like it?”
“OK,” Eric said as he took the pad and climbed on the empty chair next to Cyrus.
“You have to be quiet though because I have to work,” Cyrus said, expecting the game would keep the boy busy for at least three or four hours.
—o—
“I’m finished, Cyrus,” Eric said an hour later.
Cyrus looked up from his work, startled. “No, you have to play it all the way through Eric.”
“I did,” Eric replied. “See?” he added showing Cyrus the pad.
Cyrus took the pad and looked at the game in disbelief. Eric had completed all fifteen levels in an hour and with a pretty good score. Cyrus’s best time on this game was thirty minutes, but he had played it a dozen times—and he designed it. Cyrus had either underestimated the intelligence of the typical ten year old, or Eric was not typical.
“Let’s try another game then shall we?” he said tapping the pad to initiate a new game. Cyrus was intrigued now to see if Eric did as well on this one.
—o—
Regina Lopez was responsible for screening the potential passengers. As she pointed out to James Newton, the criteria were conflicting—an homogenous group was much less prone to conflict than a diverse one. She understood his desire for diversity, but was concerned about how such a group would govern itself.
“That’s the beauty of Dunbar’s Number,” he said when she confronted him on the issue.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“What I mean is the group is small enough to figure out its governing arrangements organically. We don’t need to impose a political structure or philosophy.”
“You can’t be serious James,” she said. Regina found it hard to believe that he could not see what was obvious to her. Someone had to be in charge. To her the obvious solution was clear. One hundred fifty people stuck together in a space station—or at least a virtual space station—was a situation that cried out for a military approach. “Without a clear command structure there will be chaos. The strong will simply impose their will on the weak.”
“Tell me this Major, how do the strong normally do that?”
“Through violence. Through control of essential resources.” Voicing that thought immediately told her what James Newton was planning. “You’re going to design the virtual environment to prevent that...”
“Exactly. The computer will provide every EM with the virtual essentials of virtual life—food, shelter, warmth and so on—and will also prevent any EM using physical force against another EM. Nobody will be able force anybody to do anything they don’t want to do.”
Regina was shocked. “You can’t just re-engineer society and people! Who are you to decide that?” she asked.
“I’m not imposing anything on people that they don’t already say they believe. All I’m doing is enforcing what society already says is the norm. We say we don’t allow violence. Our culture says it, our religions say it, our laws say it. We’re just not very good at enforcing it. Doubly so when it’s the very people who are supposed to prevent it dishing it out. Instead of engraving thou shalt not kill on a stone tablet I’m simply proposing we engrave it in the virtual environment’s programming.”
“So you’d rather it be every man or woman for themselves?” Regina said angrily. “Who do you think you are, some sort of modern day John Galt? Promoting unbridled individualism is a recipe for anarchy.”
James Newton did not react directly to her anger but he did respond firmly. “I’m not promoting unbridled individualism. I understand that man is a social animal and we can accomplish much more in a group than alone—including our own happiness. But forcing an individual to act in the interests of the group, not of his own free will but through violence, or the threat of violence, that is to make a free man into a slave. All I’m saying is that cooperation should be voluntary.”
“But who is going to be in charge? How will decisions get made? How will anything get done?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s not for me to decide, but I imagine that the group will determine those arrangements for themselves. I’m not saying there won’t necessarily be a leadership or decision making structure.”
“But how do the leaders enforce their decisions?” she asked.
“That’s my point Regina. They can’t enforce anything. They can only make decisions that will be implemented as long as they maintain the support of the group.”
“James, who the hell would want to be a leader under those circumstances?” she asked, exasperated.
“Someone who genuinely wants to serve. Not the people who lust for power that our current system of leadership attracts, because there will be no power to lust after. Look, people are smart enough to figure out that not every decision should be debated and that they need to delegate responsibility for certain things to other people. We’ll come up with ways we can’t imagine now for organizing ourselves. But this way leadership can never turn into tyranny.”
—o—
Tyra Martin didn’t have much of a family when she was growing up. Her mother had problems with alcohol and prescription painkillers and her father—she had no idea who he was. There had been a series of men in her mother’s life. Some treated her well, most did not, and a few treated her very badly. She joined up the day she turned eighteen and for the past six years the Army had been her family, but it could not compare to this. There was a sense of fellowship and love that she had never felt before, sitting here at the table with AJ and Hawk and Angela and Clayton and Danny eating the food they were not supposed to be eating, setting themselves against the world.
She had been happier in the past few weeks than she had ever been. After a while it had been easy to forget about the outside world, to forget about the asteroid and martial law and all the trouble that came with it. The barbed-wire fence surrounding the ranch came to define the boundaries of their world. It was hard to think it was all about to come to an end. But it was. The real world was about to intrude on their little paradise in the most unpleasant way. “We got a problem,” she said. “A big problem.”
“What is it? Clayton asked.
“I went to town today to report in. I think they’re on to us.”
“How?” AJ asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But the Captain said he is not happy with our shipments; he says we are several head short of the projection. They are sending someone out here to check. Day after tomorrow.”
“We’re screwed,” Hawk said. “Once they figure out we’ve been slaughtering extra livestock for ourselves..
.”
“Firing squad,” AJ added helpfully.
“Firing squad,” Tyra Martin repeated. “We gotta leave. Tonight. Get as far way from here as we can before they know we’re gone.”
“And go where?” AJ asked.
“I heard a rumor when I was collecting our food rations about an ark somewhere down in Colorado that is looking for people. Not the government ark that was on the news. A private one. Newton’s Ark it’s called.”
“Ty that sounds like wishful thinking,” Hawk said. “It sounds too good to be true, which means it probably is. Do you really think such a place exists?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Probably not. But we got to leave anyway. I say we at least try to look for this place. Unless anyone has a better idea?”
“What the fuck. I’m in,” AJ said.
Tyra gave him a whack on the head. “What did I tell you about language in front of the kid? Now apologize to her.”
“Sorry Angie,” he said.
“It’s OK AJ,” she replied as she kissed him on the cheek causing him to blush. “I heard you and Hawk say worse things,” she added with a slight giggle.
“Oh crap,” he said without thinking.
Tyra whacked him again causing them to all laugh, even AJ.
“I’m in too,” Hawk added when they had settled down.
“What about me?” Angela asked.
Tyra looked at her questioningly. “Are you sure?”
“I want to go with you,” Angela replied in the most determined voice she could manage.
“Fair enough,” Tyra said hugging Angela. She did not want to leave the girl behind, and she was sure that AJ and Hawk felt the same way, but Angela Faraday had been through more than any eleven year old should. That made her old enough to make this choice for herself. “And what about you guys?” she said to Clayton and Danny. “You have to come with us.”
“I can’t,” Clayton answered. “I’ve lived here all my life. I plan to die here. And I’d just slow you down.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Tyra replied. “You work harder than most men half your age.”
