Excolopolis_Poles of Enforcement

by Jack L. Marsch

  “Here we are, sir,” said the officer, as they passed through the gate and into an area that had the air of a top-secret intelligence base. Accordingly, the number of armed soldiers was significantly higher than had previously been visible anywhere else on the vessel. Robot vehicles were fitted with long-range weapons and rested in a large pool filled with sea water that adorned the center of the room. Steersman surmised they had reached the lowest level of the submarine, as the pool appeared to link directly with the ocean.

  The officer stopped in front of a smaller armored iron door that was flanked by two commandos. They were covered from head to toe in combat suits and their faces were obscured by masks and communications equipment.

  “This way please, Mr Steersman.”

  The officer nodded his head toward the door.

  Steersman stepped off the strange six wheeled vehicle and approached the commandos.

  “Are you carrying any weapons, sir? asked one of the commandos as Steersman stepped closer.

  “I have more than weapons,” said Steersman, pointing back to his robot entourage, “but I'll leave them here for you to look after.”

  “Stay!” he ordered tersely, and the robots appeared to stiffen into position opposite the two rather surprised commandos. On a signal from the commando on the left, Steersman opened the door and steeped through into a narrow hallway. It looked like a disused maintenance and, at the end, there was another identical armored door waiting. He stepped briskly along the metal floor and the door creaked open in front of him revealing a lavishly furnished lounge. Inside, there were three people, all of whom appeared to be expecting him.

  “Welcome aboard the DeepHarbor, Mr Steersman,” said Diane Monroe, the President of the United States of America.

  “Thank you. It's a very impressive place you have here. Please, call me Sean,” he responded.

  “Very well, Sean. I'm Diane. Have you met these gentlemen?” she asked, turning to the two men standing nearby.

  “We've met before,” William Doyle, President of the United Nations of Europe, extended his hand. “Please, call me William.”

  “A pleasure to see you again, William,” said Steersman.

  “We haven't had the pleasure, Mr Steersman. I am Vitaly Gorbunov, but please call me Vitalic,” said the President of the Russian Federation.

  “Honored to meet you, Vitalic. Please! Sean!” He shook hands with the president.

  “Nice to meet you, Sean.”

  “What can I offer you? Whiskey, vodka, gin, rum?” offered Diane Monroe.

  “Rum, please,” replied Steersman, looking around the room with a quiet curiosity. The room was decorated in a traditional XIX. century naval theme, with heavy oak furniture, ornately framed paintings, aged wood floors, an old globe, sea chests, and yellowed paper scrolls. Against one wall rested an old weathered chest of drawers, the lacquer chipped and faded, unadorned by any decorations other than a US seal. Nothing about the room betrayed that it was the technological center and heart of the US navy, submerged nearly 700 meters below the surface of the Southern Ocean.

  “How was your flight?” inquired Monroe, handing Steersman a glass of rich amber liquid.

  “Very pleasant, thank you,” he said, taking a sip of the aromatic spirit. “The few hours flew by.”

  “We took slightly longer to arrive. Including refueling, it took us the best part of a day,” said Doyle.

  “How fast does your aircraft fly, Sean?” asked Gorbunov.

  “At sixty thousand meters above sea level it'll do mach eight,” he said, and the presidents gasped.

  “You know, Sean, after much debate, this room was selected as the place for our meeting so that we could speak freely, as friends. It's not something that is permitted in more public arenas, but here, in this room, we are not the leaders of nations with often different goals and interests. Here, we are neighbors, wishing to discuss mutual concerns in good faith, and working together without ill will, because we know that we all live in the same house, as it were,” Monroe paused and glanced towards Gorbunov.

  “That's right! We have a drink together and try to ascertain what is best for all,” continued Gorbunov.

  “You know, I can't help thinking that the ambiance in this room should be extended across the whole planet,” said Steersman, in response. He didn't expect an answer, and none was forthcoming.

  Instead Gorbunov reacted with a question. “How do you imagine that?”

  Steersman began to elucidate, “Obviously, there are plenty of reasons for you to meet in the Antarctic for a discussion, not just because of public perceptions, but because of the entire dark history of mankind and its vested and conflicting interests, as you have implied, and the inherent problems associated with them.” The politicians absorbed his statements, testing each word for weaknesses and hidden rhetoric. Steersman felt in his every cell, that they would not quickly reach the understanding that there was no easy way out of a system of political interrelationships that was as old as the history of the human species itself. He knew, above all, they would not be able to even imagine how it could be otherwise. “Would you allow me to ask you all a question?”

  “Please, go ahead,” assented Doyle, nodding.

  “Let's assume that you have an infinite amount of resources at your disposal; you have no financial or physical barriers. There would naturally be moral constraints, and associated consequences. With such power in your hands, what else you think would be required to make the world we live in ideal? A world without extreme poverty, no widespread violence, no environmental destruction, a world in which humankind can become a civilized species living in an unparalleled culture.”

  An eloquent silence settled over the room.

  “Infinite resources would seem to be enough,” said Doyle breaking the silence.

  “Without physical barriers, I think it could easily become a reality,” added Gorbunov.

  “Please, tell us, Sean. What else would we need?” Monroe countered.

  “What I am referring to is not another method or tool. What is needed does not originate from an external source. It is something, a vision or dream of the future, that must come from within us. Call it an ambition or an unshakeable conviction if you like, but focusing on making the terminology presentable may lead us to miss the point. What's missing is resolute and unbiased intent, that can allow us to overcome our ingrained mental inhibitions and barriers, so that existing habits and motivations can be bypassed or given new meaning. This is something that is largely infeasible for those bound to comply with an established and entrenched political status quo. It would not matter what they had at their disposal, they could never live with such a vision or take advantage of such a possibility.” Steersman sat back and observed his auditors.

  “By your tone, I would suggest that you consider us similarly bound and unable,” posited Monroe.

  “Were it otherwise, you would not find it necessary to meet in the cold depths of the Southern Ocean, away from prying eyes and ears. You are bound by your duty to your constituent public and are in no position to neutralize that effect. We have to bear in mind, however, that we're talking about the three most powerful people in the world sitting in this room. So what can we expect from those who just want to live, and they feel the corrosive bile of regret as they watch their world slowly destroyed.”

  The room was thick with a silence that was pregnant with unasked questions.

  “And you will help us make this new vision a reality, Sean?” Doyle spoke again.

  “Not just me, the whole of the ASEC,” said Steersman, pressing his fingertips together. “We will do everything possible to realize a sustainable and clean future for our planet.”

  “What are you trying to accomplish? Do you wish to control the world?” asked Gorbunov, suspiciously.

  “Hardly.” Steersman laughed. “Have I yet shown any intention of ruling the world like some power-hungry warlord?”

  “No, Sean,” said Doyle smiling.
<
br />   “Yet, to be honest, it's not easy to ascertain your intentions. What you say is frighteningly real. Of course, there are wheels within wheels here, but your deeds have sometimes been a little ambiguous, so it's perhaps easy to believe that you might have such intentions,” said Monroe a little angrily.

  “I play by my own rules, that's true, but I'm dedicated to this cause, and I want ASEC to be your neighbor that protects this house from irresponsible vandals,” said Steersman smiling.

  The three presidents looked at each other in silence, quietly digesting Steersman's words.

  “What you did to defend Excolopolis was quite unique,” interjected Doyle, abruptly veering along another line, he glanced at his colleagues. Monroe and Gorbunov also looked at each other.

  “I agree. You built up a covert robot army, then picked up the gauntlet fairly decisively against an extremely formidable attack,” said Gorbunov.

  “Tell us if you would, what you will do with your military contingents now that the immediate threat has been neutralized,” said Monroe.

  “Certainly,” said Steersman. “I'll initiate you into our plans at ASEC, after all, everyone will be affected. What we call our armed forces now, will not remain as it is. It was not created for this purpose. Nevertheless, new military force is being created that will be specifically directed to serve as a transcendent power. And indirectly, it will take the burden of your own armed deterrents off the shoulders of you and your tax payers.”

  “And what do you expect of us? To simply agree to it?” asked Monroe.

  “I'd certainly like to ask for your cooperation in the first step, which will be to wipe all weapons of mass destruction from the surface of the Earth. All biological, chemical and nuclear weapons.”

  “Sean, you're asking the impossible,” exclaimed Doyle, now a little exasperated. “No one will agree to this, not to mention that even were we to cooperate, there are a further one hundred thirty countries that have such devices. As long as this condition remains, no state will voluntarily take part in your proposed plan.”

  Monroe sat forward. “That may indeed be the case, but I think we can all agree that there has been a strong change in the international position of ASEC since the attacks, otherwise you would not be sitting here. Military experts have pointed out without hesitation that ASEC technology is capable of neutralizing the most advanced military technology we have available today,” Monroe went on, “but you alone can not take on such an enormous role. It is a physical impossibility. We employ intelligence organizations that can track and locate all of the devices that you wish to destroy, because they are so fast and easy to reach these days. You know that the only reason states don't fire at each other every time some petty squabble erupts is because they know that they'll have two warheads up their asses in return: the nature of the classic deterrent. Every square meter of land and sea is under observation by at least fifty intelligence agencies. No one can even pick their nose on another continent without us knowing minutes later,” she explained with increasing passion.

  “Those same agencies had no idea what we were doing at ASEC,” observed Steersman drily.

  “Obviously because at the ASEC you are utilizing a completely different technology,” responded Gorbunov, defensively. “The ASEC has done remarkably well, however. You know, you have more people on your side than you might imagine. A free city with an unmanned army that has been able to completely metamorphose at need, and only in defense.”

  “Have you ever thought that instead of starting a one man crusade to right the wrongs of the world, you might actually share your technology with others?” asked Monroe.

  “That's not an option,” said Steersman bluntly. “Its importance only lies in the fact that others don't have it. If we share it then we'll end up in the same position we are in now.”

  The debate had not exposed any major divisions of opinion thus far, but it had confirmed that they were genuinely all seeking a consensus. Meanwhile, the beverages were getting low and the atmosphere was growing less strained.

  “Let us stay in touch, and see what we can do for your mission,” said Monroe, finally.

  “Yes!” agreed Gorbunov.

  “Just keep us posted on anything we can do to help you,” interjected Doyle.

  “I will, thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you all,” said Steersman politely, draining the glass still resting in his hand. “Let us all exercise caution!”

  *

  After he left the room, he activated his dormant robot guards. The commandos had found themselves rather irritated by the robotic presence and were visibly relieved to see Steersman appear in the doorway. The officer was waiting to take them back to the hangar. Steersman noted, as they rolled along the corridors in the six wheeled buggy, that this time, for some reason, they were taking a completely different route back to the hangar, and it was shorter too.

  The deck of DeepHarbor slid back to reveal a darker and more ominous sky than when Steersman had arrived. The freezing cold wind was laced with stinging salt water spray.

  The Condor slowly emerged as the landing platform lifted up to lie flush with the submarine deck. As the aircraft lifted off and rose quickly into the stratosphere, it became quickly apparent that the DeepHarbour had surfaced near the southern most tip of South Africa. The Condor ascended through the stratosphere and into the mesosphere where, unimpeded by winds and turbulence, it quickly reached cruising speed at mach eight, and headed back to Excolopolis.

  Meeting in Tibet

  Steersman returned to Excolopolis for enough time to down a quick lunch before once again boarding the Condor and heading east. His next secret meeting was to take place in an isolated site situated in a barren area populated by massive rocks, where only ice cold glacial lakes provided any color. It was some two hundred kilometers south of Lhasa, the capital city of the Tibetan Confederation. The exact rendezvous point was nestled in a small enclave where fragments of pine forest tried to gain a hold on the stony nutrient deprived soil, and plants that rooted in cracks and fissures in the rocks valiantly fought for survival. In the foothills of Mount Everest, near the border with Bhutan, the locals had steadily made their mark on the inhospitable terrain, and in spite of the extreme conditions, they had – over the centuries – inhabited the area with buildings that had merged organically into the mountain ranges to become a part of the land.

  One such ancient monastery was tucked away in a narrow canyon, the entrance carefully concealed by vegetation that had grabbed a tenuous hold on the surrounding ledges. Only an irregular staircase, barely wide enough for a man, betrayed its location. It was certainly impossible for any aircraft to land near the monastery, and the Condor was no exception. Steersman and his robot bodyguards disembarked from the aircraft, and utilizing anti gravitational radii, they floated down into the ravine. The robots could barely fit, and the irregularly worn stairs were noticeably causing them some difficulty.

  Even before reaching the hardy green thickets that hid the track from view, a monk in deep crimson robes appeared from nowhere. He stood patiently waiting for the visitors to reach him, then spoke in a soft musical voice.

  “Welcome, child of heaven. Please, follow me!” He gestured, and turned to enter the dense vegetation.

  Steersman turned to his guards to see how they were coping with the unaccustomed severity of terrain. The unusual and rugged landscape gave Steersman the opportunity to test them. Even the monk moved gingerly along the slippery path which was slimy by moisture that trickled from the cliffs and the soft moss and lichens that clung to the rock. The cliff was more like a vertical chimney bored into the rock. The sky was visible above, yet little light penetrated downwards. Ahead of them, a waterfall gushed down the sheer rock face and into a lake that lay at the bottom.

  Passing through a series of narrow passages, the rift eventually widened and they found themselves entering a vast natural amphitheater that was flanked by ancient monastery buildings. Entrances were carved into the roc
ky facades, and were connected by twisted rope bridges. In addition to the circles of torchlight, a spiritual force seemed to also radiate and pulse in the air around them.

  “This way, please,” said the man in red every so often, indicating a change in direction.

  Steersman and his team followed through the impossible labyrinth of paths until they found themselves standing before an aged wooden door that was as hard as stone. Their guide invited them with a gesture and Steersman, along with his robot escort, entered.

  Inside, the small reception hall was deceptively wide, but they did not have time to pause. “They must remain here,” said the monk softly to Steersman, nodding towards the robots.

  “Stay!” ordered Steersman.

  A fissure, at the end of the hall, provided access to a long chamber and only the torch in the monk's hand giving any light. A few minutes' walk led to a room where two figures awaited his arrival. Steersman could hardly believe his eyes.

  Sitting next to the Dalai Lama was the Pope, and both of them were sitting on small wooden stools. Both peacefully observed Steersman as he approached. They were drinking from simple wooden cups. An open fire was roaring in the huge stone fire place beside them. Other than an old wooden table and another stool, the room was bare of furniture or ornaments.

  The monk bowed and left. Steersman walked closer, puzzled, looking at the aged and rather feeble appearance that the old men presented and he wondered how the Pope had been able to travel the same route that he had.

  “Welcome, my child,” said the Pope benignly, as Steersman came closer.

  “Thank you so much for accepting our invitation, please sit,” the Dalai Lama said, waving his arm toward the empty chair.

  Although the room was completely closed, with no windows or doors leading outside, Steersman surmised that there must been a fresh air vent or corridor that allowed the fire to be properly ventilated. Perhaps there is a hidden corridor by which the Pope may have entered, he thought.