Excolopolis_Poles of Enforcement

by Jack L. Marsch

  Throughout the morning the exhausted populace returned to their homes and went to bed after the long tense vigil.

  *

  Steersman sat on the floor of his office. No more did information flicker across the displays. A quiet hum permeated the room as the data from the night's action was recorded into the CCI system.

  Karen opened the door.

  “Sean? Oh my God, are you okay, Sean?” she asked, as she saw her boss sprawled on the floor.

  He didn't answer.

  “Sean, are you okay?” she asked again, softly.

  Steersman looked up.

  “We did it, didn't we?” he asked, as if he had nothing to do with it.

  “Of course we did, although the city is a little the worse for wear, but it's going to be put back together. What happened here?”

  “Umm, I got a bit worn down, but nothing to worry about,” he struggled to his feet with Karen's help.

  “You have to rest!”

  “Not yet. I have to put things right.”

  “Don't worry about the city. Everyone is taking part in the cleanup and reconstruction. It's just a lot of rubble now.”

  “In Western Europe the struggle is still going on,” Steersman said.

  “Not anymore. The fighting has stopped there too.”

  “And what about China?”

  “Last night, when the news spread that Excolopolis had successfully defended itself, all fighting ended everywhere.”

  “Why?” asked Steersman surprised.

  “Because it's huge! What happened here was impossible from a military perspective,” explained Karen.

  “The damage is also huge!”

  “Yes, it is. We can help them, but first we have to get a hold of ourselves.”

  Steersman was moving to the largest monitor display when Trenerry and Murinko stepped in.

  “What are the losses?” they asked.

  There was no immediate response.

  “Is everything all right out there?” Karen asked instead.

  “In the city? Yes, absolutely. The city has been quickly restored and everything is beginning to return to normal. The only thing that still needs to be done is taking away the piles of rubbish.”

  “Soon there will be no sign of what happened,” said Steersman and brought pictures from some of the container ships up onto the display, as they moved towards the city to collect the waste from the streets.

  “Losses?” Murinko asked him again.

  “Almost all of the shield robots have been destroyed, only a few of them are left. However, only one SRT unit has become unserviceable,” he answered.

  “Good. We might call this a success then,” said Trenerry. “Where are the robots now? I didn't see them in the city.”

  “They're back. They are undergoing CCI logging, only some were sent to take the remaining enemy pilots out to a very remote, unpleasant place,” he said.

  Karen, Trenerry and Murinko looked at each other.

  “How humane,” Murinko noted.

  “There's nothing else I can do with them as, at the end of the day, they were just following orders. It's not the pilots that are the real enemy,” said Steersman quietly. “Their planes will be disposed of at the neutralization plant. We always need more raw materials.”

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Karen.

  “Well, we are going to do lot of things. First of all, as you said earlier, we have to pull ourselves together. Then we shall lay down some basic security rules for ASEC to enforce,” he said, looking at Murinko. “How is the planning going?”

  “It'll be ready very soon,” he answered.

  “What kind of planning?” asked Karen.

  “All right, gentlemen, we'll talk later,” said Steersman avoiding Karen's question. She was the one person he was going to find it difficult to explain what was really going on to.

  “What are you up to, Sean?” Karen asked with unerring sense, after the two men had left.

  “I'm aware that we're responsible for what happened,” he answered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about all that has happened in the past few days. We played a large role in creating this situation.”

  “Sean, you cannot be serious,” said Karen, shakily.

  “Think about it! We have unleashed a new technology onto the world,” he said starkly, in a tone that Karen didn't like.

  “What are you planning with Murinko?” she frowned.

  “A defensive army. One that will protect us and the rest of the world from similar disasters!” Steersman looked up into Karen's face. “I know what you're thinking,” he said resignedly.

  “I seriously doubt it,” said Karen suddenly. “Do it!”

  “What?”

  “Do it! I know it's not being created for selfish reasons, so just tell me what I can do,” she said firmly.

  Steersman smiled. “That's what I like about you, Karen. I'm glad you're back.”

  *

  By the second day after attack, almost every trace of it had disappeared. All through the afternoon anti-gravitational waste disposal vehicles floated through the city removing rubbish and obstacles. They worked quickly, though it took some time due to the sheer quantity of debris that had to be carted away. People had been busy in their gardens, tidying up their immediate environment. It was only the larger wreckage that people were unable to deal with by themselves.

  Above the Hayes' house a transport vessel positioned itself, obscuring the sky. Its anti-gravity field caused minor shock waves to flow out over the bystanders waiting below.

  “They've come for the wreck, I suppose,” said Gordon Hayes, who was talking on the street with others, when he noticed the vessel.

  “I wonder if they mend the roof too,” said Mrs Hayes, standing worries next to her husband.

  “Hmm, I doubt it.”

  With the help of narrow anti-gravity beams, two robots floated down into the garden and started to pull aside the twisted fighter fuselage with portable G-radius devices. Meanwhile, more robots descended from hull of the ship and stopped in mid air, hovering like giant crustaceans.

  They also began to shoot G-radii toward the wreckage, and with their combined power, the body of the fighter rose from rooftop. Once it was clear of its wedged position, a thicker anti-gravity radius from the bottom of the large aircraft seized it and lifted the plane up into its belly. Finally, each robot was pulled back into the vessel and the ship left the scene, leaving the members of the Hayes family and their neighbors – who had watched the operation – standing with their mouths hanging open.

  “Sometimes I really can't decide whether I'm lucky to live in this city or not,” said Jeff in a frightened voice.

  “Well, I hope it means you'll bloody complain less,” said his father, drily.

  “Don't swear, Gordon!” his mother said.

  Jeff just pulled a face, then quickly changed the subject to repairing the shattered roof.

  ***

  Chapter 14

  Aftershocks

  After the November 13, the world changed drastically for several reasons. It wasn't more peaceful, just more subdued. Firstly, in a short period of time, huge losses had affected many areas and had shocked nations to the core. Secondly, nobody at all could comprehend what had happened in Excolopolis.

  To invent new technology, the likes of which had never before existed, was in itself mind-blowing to most people, yet somehow acceptable. To act as a military superpower, however, opened a whole new world of meaning in the chess game of international strategy.

  The force that Excolopolis had utilized had also served as a demonstration, albeit unintended, that had engendered the same fundamental reaction from world leaders.

  The situation had become clearer. It was now universally understood that a radical change was emerging, with which might come an equally radical redistribution of power.

  ASEC was, for the first time, playing an active global role. Eco
nomists, sociologists and political commentators had begun to speculate on the aftermath of the energy crisis and most mentioned the role of ASEC.

  It had become impossible to make any real prediction on what would result from the situation, whether objective disapproval and accusations of irresponsibility were conducive to improving the situation, or praise and laudatory subjective opinions. All feelings, opinions and points of view that had come out as a result of the short and catastrophic episode had proven to be of value, and everyone was right.

  The only thing that Steersman considered important was what remained after the storm had blown over. What kinds of evaluations and feelings remained. He did not over-complicate: it could be either positive or negative. If it turned out to be negative, then he would feel inclined to make changes, at least on the communications level.

  As to the preparations that were in progress, he had not yielded at all, in fact, he was preparing the ultimate solution. His aim was to design a defensive military force that would keep the peace and intervene whenever it was needed, wherever it was needed, dealing with anyone or any nation that chose to violate established lines of conduct, lines that no one had the right to overstep, no matter how high up the food chain the offender was considered to be.

  The question was, to what extent did Steersman have the right to do it? He could just simply do it. He was able to do it, and in most cases that was enough in the world. But did that make him better or worse than anyone else?

  Meeting in the Antarctic

  A wax sealed letter arrived at the ASEC distribution center, where mail was treated just like any other delivery that arrived.

  The letter looked as if it had come straight out of the past, the envelope containing a letter on paper that might have been manufactured according some kind of ancient tradition. It felt much thicker and had rougher surfaces than modern paper. The text – also hand written in traditionally manufactured ink – was in a script that could only have been from the Far East. The seal also bore a symbol, suggesting the same.

  Having been through a thorough inspection, during which it had been verified that no hazardous materials were contained within, the ASEC internal carrier set off to deliver it into the hands of the addressee: Sean Steersman.

  The messenger was the youngest employee at ASEC, Little Moz, and he was only twenty years old. He was called Little Moz because of a childhood illness that had caused brain damage, permanently leaving him with the mental level of a ten-year old. He loved working at ASEC because he could go anywhere where he had business to complete with his own private minicar. He always drove slowly, especially after he was informed that consequences of him causing an accident would be the immediate confiscation of the car. Even so, it was immense fun.

  There was only one place where he didn't feel good. At the top floor of the highest tower, he was always grabbed by a feeling of depression. Though Karen always treated him kindly, as did everyone in the science center, there was still something there that disturbed him.

  He clutched the special letter in his hand as he drove along the corridor. It had a strange smell and was much heavier than the usual letters he delivered.

  He walked into the elevator, which had only one stop. As he went up he felt his palms begin to sweat, so he changed his grip and held the letter with his fingertips. When the elevator stopped, he swallowed loudly, then set off across a wide foyer that led to a corridor at the end.

  “Are you looking for Karen?” someone asked from one side.

  “Yes.” He turned his head towards the voice, which was coming from the shadows of a rustic structure. The adze-shaped space didn't appear to have any function at all. It was merely for show. On the left, where the structure narrowed to a point at the back of the hallway, there was a water feature built into a large stone sculpture, and from the other side a figure was approaching from the gloom.

  “She's not here right now.” The figure stepped closer. ”What have you got there?

  “A letter. I need to give it to Mr Steersman personally.”

  “That's me,” said the man, coming even closer. “You successfully completed your mission,” he said with a smile.

  Little Moz said nothing, just stretched out his hand and gave the letter to him.

  “Thank you,” said Steersman, and when Karen arrived at the elevator, Moz quickly moved to her side.

  “Hey Moz. Are you okay?” Karen looked at him in surprise.

  “Yeah, I'm okay, I'm just in a hurry. Lot's to do,” he stuttered quickly, as the elevator doors began to close.

  “All right … bye then.”

  Karen looked at Steersman. “What have you got?” Karen asked, looking at the letter.

  “I don't know. This is Tibetan script,” he said, pointing at the corner of the envelope.

  He broke the wax seal and unfolded the rigid page. “It's an invitation,” he said.

  “Where? What for?”

  “Tibet, a secret meeting with the Dalai Lama.”

  “So this is the second, then,” said Karen.

  “Looks like it. Obviously, other topics will be up for discussion, just like those with the commanders in chief on Saunders Island.”

  “Probably. When are you leaving?”

  “I was just heading off now,” he said.

  “You do know, Sean, that it's a little rough and windy over there,” she said, looking at his clothing.

  Steersman looked as if he was heading off the Antarctica in the same way he would pop out for lunch.

  “That's is why I'm taking a scarf,” he said smiling, and pointed to his neck.

  “Right! Just like that. No bodyguards?”

  “They are already on board.”

  “Okay, have a nice trip. How long are you staying?”

  “I'll be back by morning.”

  *

  Heading South-Southwest, the twelve thousand kilometers – even in the mesosphere – took a good four hours, though it was just a moment according to the clock after crossing four time zones. As they approached the Antarctic Circle, the rigid craggy contours of icy nature did not exactly seem to welcome them with open arms. Monotonous white spread out across the sky from the horizon, and icebergs pierced the surface of the Southern Ocean, rising from the water implacably against the angry sea. A crescent shaped archipelago of tiny islands appeared in the hazy distance, each island equidistant from the next. Saunders island, their destination, was located in the middle of the island chain.

  The Condor's sensors did not detect any military presence on the island, but in the water along the western coast they did. A submarine hung stationary beneath the surface, and on detecting the presence of a strange aircraft, it began to rise from the depths. That day, there had been particularly strong cyclonic storms in the region that had stirred the water into a turbid opacity that hid the grey monster until it broke the surface of the water, cutting through the large turbulent waves.

  The newly developed American submarine was larger by far than any ocean liner in existence, at nearly 500 meters in length, with a wide hull and a defiantly flat nose. Near the aft section huge reactors bulged from both sides. The whole body shuddered to a complete stop, effortlessly controlled by the massive nuclear powered drives. The water quickly ran in rivulets from the upper side of the vessel – aided by a state of the art water repellent coating; and as it dried, a sizable landing platform emerged smoothly from the deck. The Condor sank lightly onto the platform and, as soon as it touched the deck, the platform began to sink into the depths of the submarine with the giant cargo doors gliding shut above them.

  *

  Although they did not arrive to an openly hostile environment, a certain reserve and a surreal quality characterized the encounter, partly because of the circumstances. Steersman had no desire to overwhelm his hosts and was accompanied by only three of his robot guards when he stepped off the ship. The remainder stood alert, surrounding the ship.

  The sounding alarm blared out through the cavernou
s hangar, and the submarine was once again shrouded in the icy ocean waters, though, their descent was barely noticeably to the passengers. The hangar looked like a huge underground bunker that was bathed in a warm artificial light. Four types of vertical take-off fighters were ranked in countless rows throughout the hold, but one aircraft stood out: a giant Russian military personnel transport. These colossal beasts were able to take off from a standing start with the massive booster jets that jutted out from the fuselage. Surprisingly, there were only a few armed soldiers scattered around them as they stood waiting, and most of them seemed preoccupied with other matters, suggesting that his arrival had been expected.

  “Greetings, Mr Steersman,” said an officer as he arrived next to him on a six-wheeled vehicle that resembled a quad bike. “Let us adjourn to the meeting room. The commander in chief is looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Okay, let's go,” assented Steersman, sitting next to the officer. The robots were immediately at the ready, floating a few centimeters above the ground. The vehicle moved out and the robots followed, gliding closely behind.

  “I'm terribly sorry, Mr Steersman, they cannot not be present,” the officer said apologetically, noticing the robots filling his rear view mirrors.

  “They'll wait outside the meeting zone.”

  The submarine was like an intricate honeycomb of corridors, levels and merging sub-levels that intersected and wound through the hull of the ship, but it resembled nothing so much as a subterranean city. There were traffic signals at intersections, roundabouts, and even vehicle charging stations as well, where it was also possible to grab a coffee and a sandwich.

  Only the robots aroused any attention, standing at a red light, otherwise Steersman's arrival was greeted with polite disinterest. After about half an hour, they stopped, and a gate opened.