“Very well.” Bruce could see the old boy wasn’t really convinced, but neither was he going to try and change his mind.
“The other pressing issue,” the General continued on another tack, “is the setup in Australia. I know we are closing it down, but I think we should accelerate this. My sources are telling me the Australian government is going to use the military to try and force their way into the site. We both know we can deter them, but we won’t be able to keep a lid on our activities forever. Once they gain entry and get good look at the technology we have been using there’ll be all sorts of questions asked about where it came from. It won’t be long before there’ll be rumours and conspiracy theories about an intervention or it will be attributed to divine intervention. It always happens like this when people can’t explain what’s going on.”
“Do you really think so? Sure, it's advanced technology, but what is there to indicate it is alien?”
“Well, take our propulsion system. There is nothing resembling it in any research document or scientific journal, anywhere. It's entirely new.”
“What about the Martian and lunar settlements?” Bruce asked, going off on a different tangent, momentarily throwing the General off his stride. “Do we need to do something there? How about the colonists have an accident in the reality show narrative, so we can turn it all off and get the crews up to Skid? You know someone is going to twig one day the astronauts they are following are a bunch of androids.”
“I don’t think we need to go down that track yet,” the General replied after catching up with Bruce’s change of tack. “Remember we have already announced we are going to move colonists from the moon to Mars. We can say the colonies are almost self-sustaining once the current batch of rockets are launched. We might look at turning off the planned third-party re-supply missions in the short term. Then we can share our technology with all the international space agencies and invite them all to mount their own missions. Maybe the simplest option is just leave everything in place and let them figure it all out.”
We’d be happy with this solution in the interim, the Transcendents confirmed.
“Look, I’ve got to get up and move a mob of sheep while it’s still cool,” Bruce said, checking the time. “It’s just before six a.m. here. I hope to be back for breakfast about eight-ish, so let’s re-convene then and confirm our next steps.”
“Sounds fine to me,” the General agreed, and his image pixelated, and the screen became blank. Bruce drained the rest of his coffee and quietly slipped out of the house, trying not to wake anyone.
He yawned while he slipped on his boots. He really felt he needed another break, even though he and Ngaio had just returned from honeymoon. Luckily, they had plans for a quick break at the Tauroa family bach in the next few days. Sometimes, the volume of work he had on his plate daunted him and he wondered if he was ever going to get on top of everything.
It was a big enough task looking after the farm at the busiest time of the year, especially now the old man and his mother had buggered off on their own holiday. On top of this, he was overseeing the upload of tens of thousands of people to Skid and trying not to set off a worldwide panic in the process.
Myfair was waiting for him in front of the implement shed. The dogs had already sensed the two of them in the soft dawn light, with the sun just peeping over the horizon, and started barking furiously.
“Get the ute out and I’ll let the dogs off,” Bruce told Myfair.
Little puffs of dust accompanied each step toward the dog kennels. It had been a hot dry summer and the region was on the verge of drought. He could have got the Transcendents to work its magic on the weather, but there were often unintended consequences of that kind of intervention. Turning the taps on here would lead to a modification in the weather pattern somewhere else and it was impossible to model what these changes would look like.
“Bloody global warming,” he muttered. They needed some decent rain soon.
Bruce often discussed with the Transcendents whether it should intercede to lessen the impact of climate change, which it was happy to do and turn the clock back. However, it insisted mankind must do its bit to reduce emissions, and that was why Chump was told to introduce legislation to regulate the big US polluters and encourage the development of renewable energy, reducing the need for coal and gas. Once the US and China began to enforce the legislation locally, most other nations would fall into line. This was the trickle-down theory anyway, and so far, it was working, as international tensions waned.
It never ceased to amaze Bruce how the dogs followed the same routine each time they were let loose. Cop still stretched like an arthritic old man, rather than the fully enhanced canine he was. The other two shot off across the yard and took a dump in the same spot each morning. Then they would approach him looking for some form of affection, before hightailing it to the ute and leaping into the tray. Cop was a little more measured, befitting his status as the brains of the little team. He positioned himself close to Bruce, in case the boss decided to use a different mode of travel.
You’re a creature of habit yourself, you moron.
“Less of the moron.” Bruce aimed a kick at the old dog. “One day you might push me over the edge, and that’ll be the end of you.”
These little verbal spats often escalated quickly. Bruce still hadn’t got used to dealing with an argumentative, talking dog. The dialogue with Cop wasn’t really speech in the truest sense, they communicated via an application which converted doggy thoughts to something Bruce could understand and back again.
Cop knew the threats were mostly empty ones. Life was now much simpler because he could read Bruce's thoughts, rather than trying to understand a combination of whistles, contradictory verbal commands, and wild hand movements. Bruce might still scream and swear at the three of them, but this was generally because he didn’t know what he wanted or hadn't worked it out yet.
“I want to move the main mob of ewes out of the back paddock,” Bruce said to Myfair, as he got into the passenger seat, “so head out there first.” Now the Tauroa and Harwood farms were combined, the 'back paddock' was no longer at the back of the property, but it would always be the back paddock to Bruce. “Then we’ll look over the breeding cows on the way back.”
“OK,” Myfair grunted. The indoSkidian had fully come to terms with his transition and was enjoying life on what he formerly considered a rather backward planet.
Mike Wisneski wandered through the vast concourse, the entry port for Automedon. He still considered himself to be Colonel Wisneski of the United States Air Force, even if he wore civvies most of the time and no longer answered to anyone in the chain of command. Not wearing a uniform after so many years felt a little strange, but it helped him blend in.
Tens of thousands of people thronged the area, most of them bewildered and anxious. Many of them had been quite comfortable in the camps, close to moving into new homes and getting on with their lives in some part of the European mainland. Now they had been subjected to further turmoil.
Many sat forlornly on small piles of possessions, guarding them against theft, waiting for someone to tell them what was going on and what was going to happen next. This at least was nothing new: they’d got used to lengthy periods of waiting and being given contradictory commands during their time in refugee processing systems.
Wisneski sensed a rising tide of repressed outrage. These people had been offered a new life, and now, because they knew no better, imagined they would be denied that. Plucked from crowded, barely seaworthy boats, or refugee camps and detention centres without any form of notice was extremely unsettling.
They were all looking to vent their frustration on someone in authority, and preferably someone in uniform. Mike congratulated himself that he'd made the decision not to wear his. He had no inclination to be swamped by a mass of humanity clamouring for attention.
Announcements were being broadcast in different languages, directing people to areas where they would
be processed. Originally, the design had called for a series of electronic notice boards like the ones found in airports to provide information, until it had been pointed out the refugees and migrants might not be able to read.
While many of the refugees were agitated and anxious, Wisneski didn’t feel tensions were on the boil. It didn't feel like a violent protest would break out. The refugees were now well used to the unstable nature of their living arrangements, the unannounced changes, and movements, and they accepted that a certain amount of disruption was inevitable.
Or maybe the Transcendents had pumped a sedative into the atmosphere to keep people relaxed. Mike and Bruce were uncomfortable with the idea of pumping gas into the cavern, regardless of the benefit. The historical association with a time when crowds of people were herded into large chambers after the young and fit had been separated out, and the remainder gassed and incinerated, made them extremely uneasy. However, the Transcendents marched to the beat of its own drum and while Bruce had a lot of influence, he couldn't prevent it from doing exactly what it thought was best.
Some people continued to aimlessly mill around the vast concourse, while others began to drift, as instructed, towards the gateways which led to the next stage of the streaming process.
The numbers swelled as more arrivals disgorged from train carriages and buses on to platforms at the far end of the huge space. They had intentionally planned the refugees would be given the impression they were disembarking at a train station, rather than a cavern bored out of an asteroid. However, many of the refugees had simply just materialised out of nowhere, though nobody else noticed. Mike knew the Transcendents weren't going by the book.
At the gateways to the next section of the complex, the undesirables who had made it this far were quietly separated from the other refugees, in preparation for being returned to their point of origin. Their reappearance on Earth would add to the confusion, as the authorities there tried to work out what was going on.
The rest of the refugees were directed to one of the vast accommodation areas to rest, prior to embarking on the final and longest leg of their journey, which was still some days away according to the agreed plan. There they would be infused with medichines, to monitor their health and repair any damage, and be allocated a Book. They would also be presented with Version One of The Skidian User Guide application.
Wisneski was a little uneasy with the forcible wholesale relocation of people from one planet to another, even though the MFYers had signed a contract to enable this, and the refugees and migrants who were searching for a better life would enjoy a much more fulfilling lifestyle as newSkidians than they would ever have hoped to achieve elsewhere.
The reality was he, and they, had no choice in the matter. They were helpless to prevent the Transcendents from harvesting humans to re-stock its planet: he could only hope to influence the Transcendents and reduce the impact for all concerned. He accepted the value of the concept of a human lifeboat to reduce the risk of species extinction, because humanity was restricted to living on one planet or in one solar system. However, he knew he would be conflicted about his involvement for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want it to consume him.
Wisneski joined the flow of people in a ragged queue before the last set of sensor arrays. It was just like a security check at an airport, he reflected, but the technology they were utilising was much more sophisticated than any terminal on Earth.
“You’re getting all this?” he asked, assuming either the General or Bruce, or both, were taking a digital feed.
“Yeah, and the General and I have just been discussing the upload before I went out mustering.” Bruce shared his current view of the world with Wisneski.
Wisneski felt momentary vertigo as he looked through Bruce’s eyes. He still retained a complete awareness of his surroundings while he shared Bruce's view of the world.
“Fantastic. Isn’t it?”
Wisneski had had a grand tour of the Harwood and Tauroa farms a couple of times. He had to admit that while he was a city boy at heart, there were far worse places in the world to live and work.
He paused for a few minutes and let the crowd swirl around and pass him by, while taking the feed from Bruce. Bruce was oblivious to this, as he got out of his small truck and started to round up some sheep. This was accompanied by the usual swearing, whistling and wild gesticulations of his hands, with a variety of contradictory threats intermingled in the commentary. Eventually, Wisneski saw a large mob of sheep converge on a gate, pass through it, and then fan out onto a fresh pasture on the other side.
Wisneski allowed himself to be drawn along with the tide of people moving forward to the next checkpoint, just like the sheep he had been watching. In the brief period he had remained motionless, no-one had been drafted into one of the outer lanes leading to the returns process for the rejects. The Transcendents wasn’t being very choosy, which might be a problem later.
He glanced behind him, because he sensed more people pressing forward, and the people in front were bunching up. The processing area was more densely packed now, the refugees were not being handled quickly enough to free up enough space for the new arrivals.
He wasn’t surprised: he knew the Transcendents was keen to upload fleshies to Skid as quickly as possible, so they could return to their normal state, whatever their normal state was. Wisneski imagined it might be like a computer in sleep mode, just ticking away in the background until stimulated by some input and woken up. He knew the reality of the environment or the state they existed in would be more sophisticated than he could begin to imagine, let alone understand.
It crossed Wisneski’s mind they may have decided to hoover up more people than they had initially planned. He preferred the term uploading to hoovering, in the same way they had decided to use the term newSkidians instead of fleshie to describe the new population. But sometimes he forgot which description to use and employed them interchangeably.
Refugees who successfully passed through the checkpoint found themselves in the vast accommodation area, with rows of bunks stretching away into the distance. Like the mob of sheep fanning out in front of Bruce, people quickly spread out and claimed spaces for their own, gathering families and friends around them. On each bed was a Book, which tagged itself to its new owner immediately it was handled.
Wisneski slowly made his way to the far end of the huge space. He couldn’t understand what most of the people were saying but from the partial translation the Transcendents supplied, he gathered most of the refugees who had been plucked from the ships had expected an experience something like this on their arrival on dry land, but those who had been living in camps and detention centres were thoroughly confused with this new turn of events.
They had been told at short notice to gather their belongings and climb aboard special trains and buses with sinister darkened windows. Then they had alighted at an already crowded underground station with no signage to indicate where they were.
He drifted towards the end of the accommodation block and wondered how the MFYers would react once they arrived on the asteroid. Here he discovered a small knot of confused people milling around. These were the refugees uploaded off the first ship and they were being swamped with the newcomers asking questions they had yet to find answers for themselves.
“The General reckons we should close down the Woomera facility as soon as possible. It sounds like there is going to be a concerted push by the Australian Government to find out what’s going on there.” Bruce whispered in his ear. “The site is secure, but we don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we need to.” he continued. “What do you think?”
Wisneski wasn’t quite in the inner sanctum of the MFY organisation, and didn’t know whether he really trusted the General or not. Unless the fuzzy deterrence field the Transcendents had woven round the facility was failing, which wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility, nobody should be able to enter without permission. While people could be invited, the
y couldn’t force their way in.
Once the complex had fulfilled its requirements and was empty, Bruce and the Transcendents had agreed the advanced Skidian technology used in the program would be made available to the rest of humanity. The General might be trying to position himself at the top of the list of people with control of this material with an eye towards securing a future position of power and influence.
“I am not sure what his motives are, but I think we should close the place down and get all the MFYers to Skid before these people,” Wisneski made a sweeping gesture with his hands, “get too entrenched up there and consider themselves to be masters of the planet, instead of just a wave of colonists.”
The plan had called for all the refugees who were inducted on Automedon to be drip-fed to the surface, to avoid overwhelming the indigenous population and overloading the local infrastructure, as it would need time to gear itself up for the extra load being placed on it.
The plan had also called for the most of the MFY crowd, numbering about fifty thousand internationally, to be uploaded, equal to the number of refugees. There was always the possibility the Transcendents might have other ideas and decide to upload all the estimated twenty million refugees living in camps throughout the world. If this was the case, the facilities on the asteroid would soon be overwhelmed and any ideas of an evenly-balanced Skidian population would be defeated.
“Did the Transcendents ever agree to the cap on refugees we suggested, or have they just decided to ignore it?” Wisneski asked.
“We did agree to a number, but there’s not a lot we can really do to stop them. Listen to this,” Bruce added, diverting a news feed to him.
In breaking news from Europe, there are disturbing reports of refugees being shipped to railway stations and loaded aboard trains across the continent. The destination of these trains has been kept secret, but once-bustling refugee camps are now standing empty except for their administration staff. Reports also indicate similar events in camps in other parts of the world. None of these evacuations appear to have official sanction and authorities are investigating.’
The Colonists Page 24
