Upon Stilted Cities - The Winds of Change

by Michael Kilman

  “Sir...” More hesitation in his voice. Daniels didn’t think that it was because Travers feared him, they had a pretty good working relationship. "It means that the climate is getting worse, not better. And the apolicanes...”

  Daniels frowned. The apolicanes, massive hurricanes that spanned hundreds of miles, were the bane of every migrating city. Daniels had always thought that there was something odd about them and he had always suspected that the early architects had known something more about their origins than they let on.

  Travers said, “The apolicanes have increased in size in the last three hundred years by sixty percent.”

  “So, what you are really telling me, Travers, is that war is coming, aren’t you?”

  Travers didn’t answer. He cast his eyes downwards.

  “Am I right? Is that the heart of what you are saying?”

  Travers nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “How long does the AI estimate ‘til all available resources run out?”

  “We only have data on the North American continent, but the AI suggests that a similar situation is happening on the others.”

  “And?”

  “It estimates twenty-five years until all accessible resources are gone.”

  Daniels swore. “That’s it? Why didn’t the AI warn us sooner?”

  “I asked it the same question, Sir, and it said that no one had set the parameters to monitor available resources.”

  “Shit. How long does the city have, assuming we have zero access to resources?”

  “If we placed further limitations on new births, and recycled more of our raw materials, we could go as long as two hundred years before buildings would fall into significant disrepair. But there would have to be some sacrifices made by the Uppers...”

  “Yeah, and we both know how well that would go. Who else knows all of this?”

  “Right now? No one outside of central security.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. I want to verify this with Dr. Solidsworth before I take it to the Senate. Schedule me a meeting with him as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Major. There’s... one more thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “We're getting reports of disappearances. Some even among our SOs.”

  “What do you mean? Where are they going? I haven’t noticed any unusual changes in the population numbers.”

  “That’s the strange part. There is no change in physical bodies in the city population. I had the AI run scans a half-dozen times using infrared as well as heartbeat detectors.”

  “So how did you notice, then?”

  “Some of the SOs stopped showing up for duty. When we checked with their families and friends, no one can locate them anywhere. We also got a wave of missing persons reports coming in from both the Lowers and the Mids. The Uppers seem unaffected so far.”

  Daniels scratched his chin, “How long has this been going on?”

  “The reports began to spike three weeks ago. It was only a few days ago that the SOs started to vanish.”

  Daniels frowned. There wasn’t much he could do about that at the moment, though it did worry him that SOs were disappearing. It wasn’t the first time though; a few centuries back, they had a large group of SOs disappear together, a gang had picked them off one by one on a single day. They had found out later that the SOs had been into all sorts of blackmarket stuff with the gang. But this didn’t explain the spike in disappearances of civilians.

  “Alright Travers, keep an eye on it, let me know the moment there are any developments.”

  Travers turned and walked back toward his station. Daniel’s mind shifted back to the resource question.

  The proximity alert suddenly took on a whole new meaning. What if one of the other cities had come to the same conclusion about the resources? What if there was a trap waiting to ambush them? The salvage from an entire city would sustain another for at least a century, maybe more.

  “AI, where are those—"

  “Sir, I have pulled the last known locations of cities from satellite imagery, global energy scans, and estimated trajectories.”

  Satellites were rarely accurate, dust storms and a variety of other interference usually painted a false picture of the locations of other cities. The Dog Star satellite was so old that it barely transmitted and it was a rare moment when any city would launch a new one. Plus, it wasn't like other cities shared. Every scrap of metal and piece of technology was too damned precious to send up into space, especially now. There was also the problem of launching rockets; rocket fuel didn’t exactly grow on trees.

  “And? Were there any cities in the area of that energy release?”

  “Yes, Sir. Based on their trajectory and last known whereabouts, Langeles was 81% likely to be within seventy-five kilometers of the proximity alert.”

  Daniels frowned. “Ah hell. Halt migration, strengthen shields, and power up the railguns.”

  Almost immediately, the city slowed its speed. A strange sensation swept under Daniels. It was a sensation that every man, woman, and child in the migrating cities would recognize, like an elevator accelerating.

  “While you’re at it, send out eight more Runners in all cardinal directions for ten kilometers. Have them set up sensor beacons for a range of fifty kilometers. I want to establish a perimeter and be sure we aren’t facing some sort of surprise attack. Also, I want constant monitoring of any nearby storms that are an eight or higher.”

  “As you wish, Sir, but may I recommend you lower the warning level to six? This will create additional time to recall Runners and Duggers in the event of a storm.”

  “Alright, six it is.”

  The alliances between cities were tentative at best. Mostly, cities chose to stay out of each other’s way, but if there was something that one city needed from another, and trade wasn't an option, they sometimes launched raids. The raids were often unsuccessful, and most city governments knew that, but it didn’t stop insanity from creeping up through the leadership from time to time. Daniel’s new knowledge made him paranoid. Assume the worst and plan accordingly, his father had always said. If the other cities were aware of the depleting resources, there wouldn’t be just raids anymore; now there would attempts at annihilation.

  “Sir, shall I send additional Runners toward the proximately alert to assist Runner 17?”

  “No, 17 can handle himself just fine. Nothing kills that prick.”

  “But Sir, if it’s an ambush, 17 will be outnumbered and outmatched. Currently, he is only supplied with a recon-grade EnViro suit.”

  “That’s why I want you to put fifty Runners on standby. 17 is the recon. If he's attacked, I want the city in defense mode 19c-128. I also want updates every thirty minutes after launch. For now, I am getting the hell out of this chair. I have a feeling that I am going to be in it for a long stretch later on.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The primary security office was a large oval shape on the top of the largest tower in Manhatsten. A long time ago it was known as the Freedom Tower. Daniels couldn't remember why it had been called the Freedom Tower, something about an attack but it was so damned long ago, and there had been so many attacks on Manhatsten, before and after migration.

  The seat for the chief of security sat in the center, on top of a slightly raised platform surrounded by twenty-two stations. Personel moved back and forth between each one. The idea was that only one single security station was needed to run the entire city, but there were several well-hidden backup locations in the event that this office was inaccessible or destroyed. The office had a pungent scent of fake leather and polyester, stained with the smell of sweat and body odor from the semi-frequent, several-days-long marathons the staff had to pull during emergencies. Showers were a luxury during those times, and it had shown.

  Daniels directed his thoughts left, then right, and the clamps on his shoulders that connected his central nervous system to the heads-up display released. The plug in the base of his skull whirred and un
screwed itself. He would never get used to the sensation of that thing unplugging, it made his whole body seize with a tingling sensation that felt as if every nerve in his body was being tickled at once. It made his teeth itch.

  Plugging in wasn’t quite as bad, because before the sensation could take hold, the chair gave you a small shot of some sort of tranquilizer that, at least for the first few minutes, made you feel completely and utterly relaxed. The old architect told Daniels that this was necessary in order to calibrate your nervous system to the chair, but that never made him feel any better about being drugged. He just hoped that one of these days the architect would get around to finishing wireless neural interface.

  He stood and stretched his entire body, stepped down from the central platform, and headed toward the door. In the monitors above each station, he could see several Runners activating and several others preparing for standby mode. He walked past several other stations where personnel were busy with the various functions of the city. Daniels alone was in charge of the Runners, though there were several others trained in the duty as a redundancy. The AI could activate them as well, but usually only as an emergency measure.

  Daniels heard the pop and hiss of shoulder clamps disconnecting from another station to his right. He turned to see Private Fallman. Fallman, who had only been serving for about fifteen months, was walking toward him.

  “Major Daniels, may I accompany you, Sir?” Fallman asked.

  Daniels wasn’t looking for company, he rarely was these days, but he supposed he liked Fallman. He was always on time, always followed orders, and always took the initiative when necessary. He was, however, educated as a scientist, and not as a security specialist.

  “Sure thing, kid,” Daniels replied.

  They walked out the door of central security and headed toward the mechanical engineering center in the lower level of the building.

  “Thank you, Major." Fallman paused for a moment. "I wanted to discuss with you a possible upgrade to calibrate the long-range sensors of Manhatsten. You see, if we could change the energy wave fluctuations to match the—"

  “Save it for the engineers, kid. I’ve told you before, I’m an old-timer. When they trained me, they didn’t teach me none of that mumbo jumbo about the technical applications of the whatever. What I do is give orders based on whatever the Senate wants, or what the AI suggests. That’s it.”

  There was a little more to it than that, but Daniels didn't want to argue.

  “But Sir, protocol demands that if I have a suggested change that directly impacts the security systems, I must confer with you first.”

  “I know that, which is why I am ordering you to take it to the engineers. They'll know what in the hell you are talking about and if it’s feasible.”

  Fallman looked hurt and insulted, but tried to hide it with a “Yes, Sir.” Daniels pressed the button to call the lift. Even after over a thousand years, Daniels had no desire to learn the technical garbage that so often spewed from the mouths of these kids. In fact, as time went on, he felt there was something to that old cliché, “you can't teach an old dog new tricks.” His job was more habit now than love. Hell, when he was born back in the 1980s of the Common Era, he had thought he would have retired at the ripe old age of 72, but then, of course, the alcoves had been invented, and humans had continued to destroy the environment. Sometimes he wished he would have never accepted the military’s offer to use the alcove. He was just so goddamned tired. Tired of everything that this walking hunk of tin did.

  “Look, kid, you’re doing a great job. We could use a boost in long-range sensors, but ignore that protocol and do yourself a favor and talk to someone who can help you." Daniels hesitated a moment, searching for a name. "Maybe Ross Andrean can help you with this one?”

  Fallman only provided Daniels with a half nod. Fallman was listening, but also lost in his thoughts. He had been excited about his idea, had thought it might grant him the ever-so-rare promotion, and Daniels had just told him it wasn’t a big deal.

  Daniels sighed to himself, loud enough for Fallman to hear it.

  “You do a great job here kid, you really do. Keep up the good work and who knows what might happen.”

  This caught Fallman’s attention, and his face flickered with just the hint of satisfaction. Fallman turned, made his body rigid, and brought his right hand toward his forehead in a salute. “Thank you, Sir! Might I just say it is an honor to work with you, Sir!”

  “At ease Private, Jesus Christ, there’s no need to be so formal around here. Hell, I think I am the only one with actual military experience on this boat.”

  Fallman’s face turned into a frown again, but this time he hid it a bit better. Daniels knew that the younger ones loved to play this ‘solider’ game, and a long time ago, so did he. But Daniels was tired of dressing up a job that was nothing but an endless set of monotonous tasks, with the occasional burst of action.

  The lift beeped. The door opened. As Daniels took one step into the elevator, he took note of the standard propaganda poster that punctuated all the elevators of all the buildings. Similar ones were put up all around the city, especially in the Lowers and especially after that whole labor dispute nonsense a few decades back. The poster read “Everyone Must Do Their Part.” Most of them had pictures of people working or doing some sort of ‘patriotic duty,’ but this one, in particular, was a little odd. It looked completely out of place. It was a picture of a woman with what Daniels thought must have been a sewing machine, though he hadn’t seen one since before migration. He shrugged it off and turned toward the front of the elevator. Fallman followed.

  Everyone must do their part. Everyone must do their part. The words played on repeat inside Daniels’ mind. That’s what they had told him when the city first started its endless cycle of migration. He knew it was what they told everyone, what they taught every child in school. Hell, most people probably dreamt the words, Christ knew there were enough posters around the city. Suddenly, Daniels felt more tired than ever. Doing your part was one thing, but doing it for a thousand years? Well, that was something else entirely. He felt envy over the shorter lifespans of those in the lowers, though they probably didn’t reciprocate that feeling.

  “AI, 3rd level please,” said Daniels.

  “Oh... uh... 12th level for me.” Fallman turned toward Daniels, “I'll go see Ross Andrean immediately, Sir.”

  Daniels watched the numbers melt into one another. 110... 109... 108... “Let me ask you something, Fallman.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “Why would someone like yourself choose to work in security?”

  “By myself, do you mean a scientist?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. The pay is shitty, the hours are long, and the assignment is for life. Why would a person who is as brilliant as you choose to join security when you could have worked on just about any floor on central command? Hell, you could have even made it to the Uppers one day.”

  Fallman shifted his gaze up to the numbers counting down, 84... 83... He turned his face back to Daniels. Was there a flash of something there? For a brief moment, Daniels thought he saw anger, but then it was gone.

  “Well, Sir, I suppose it’s because it seems one of the only areas in the city left with an applied research element. I want to contribute to the city’s welfare, and most of the other scientists are just maintaining equipment that's been breaking down for the last few centuries. I wanted something that would allow me to make a solid scientific contribution.”

  “You really think that there's no other place to contribute? What about that old architect? Isn’t he doing some interesting work?”

  Fallman scoffed at that. “Him? That old fraud hasn’t turned out anything new in over a century, and the last contribution he made to the city was a slight modification in the hydraulic cuffs for the cities legs. The only thing that did was make migration more comfortable in the Lowers. All he does these days is rave about his artificial gravity project and abo
ut how that nitwit he has as a lab assistant is the most brilliant mathematician he’s ever seen.”

  “Fallman, listen here. I'm so damn old that I don’t even remember when I lost my virginity. But what I do remember is that Solidsworth and the others like him saved our asses from total extinction. Now I don’t know what that old man is up to in his labs, but you can damn well bet it’s something important.”

  Fallman’s face tightened, his lips pressing together so tightly they started to turn white. “Well Sir, you see, it doesn’t matter what he decides to research anymore, anyway.” His tone was bordering on insubordinate.

  “Just what does that mean?” Daniels did not attempt to hide his irritation.

  “Well, it’s just that I heard a rumor from a reliable source that the Senate has given him a deadline. He is to produce a working simulation of artificial gravity by year’s end, or else they'll pull all his funding.”

  “You and I both know the Senate can’t do that. The agreement to let the architects work without restriction is in the very founding charter of the city. Hell, the very first Senate made sure that nothing would stunt the architects' work. After all, it was ignoring scientists that got us into this damn migration mess in the first place."

  “It seems Sir, that they have found some kind of loophole.”

  Daniels felt anger rising in his chest. “I bet they did, fucking politicians. Do you have any idea how bad the politicians of the 21st century were? Greasy as a mechanic’s crack.”

  Fallman only blinked at this. His mouth opened a few times and then shut again.

  “Major, it’s not that we aren’t listening to the scientists, it’s just, well, Dr. Solidsworth is a bit of... well, sir, most people think he has lost it in his old age.”

  “Watch your mouth, Private. I’m at least a decade older than that man. Age has nothing to do with it, and you know it. The real problem the Senate has with him is that he won’t take on their pet projects. They can’t control him like they do every other aspect of this godforsaken walking hunk of metal and you know it.”

  Fallman said nothing. His expression suggested he was considering how to respond to his superior officer more carefully after his previous blunder. Daniels watched and waited for a response, but none came. His thoughts turned to the old architect. He would have to visit Rigel later. Perhaps as head of security, he could lend him some support somehow.