by Tom Merritt
“Thank you, Ibrahima, for your accurate understanding of our discipline,” Hu began. Corge couldn’t tell if he was sincere or mocking—his tone was perfectly even.
“What a dick,” LeAnn whispered. It was clear how she interpreted it.
“We are very pleased that the proceedings of this chamber are on delayed release, giving you the security to speak frankly. It is a benefit to all our understanding.”
“Yep,” Corge whispered back to LeAnn, and she laughed.
“However, a contact plan, as you suggest, could not be reasonably kept from general knowledge. And as we all know too well from our early history, any publicized or unusual attempt at contact beyond our current sustained attempts can raise hopefulness to a level that is dangerous if not fulfilled. Can you guarantee a response?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you, Hu,” Ibrahima shot back, her words not matching her biting tone, which Corge had only heard her use in her own lab. “While I know just the smallest bit of your discipline—enough to quote you directly and appropriately—I do not practice your branch of the discipline. If another asked this question, I would call upon you to answer it. If we attempt to contact the SLC or NYC Archives, would it risk a 94 situation?”
She had deftly turned the tables on him, but he was not backing down. “The chances of a repeat of 94 are small, of course, however the danger of a retrograde backlash would be close to 50 percent—”
“How close?” Ibrahima interrupted. This finally threw him off guard.
“We have not run a formal analysis, but my estimates would say close to—”
She cut him off again. “So you don’t know.”
“I will run the numbers and submit them.”
He sat down quickly but still with no visible show of anger or resentment. He snapped a quick command to an assistant who ran off as if he were charged with getting the numbers before the session ended.
Next up was the representative from the History division, Mr. Jun.
“Ibrahima, we’ve discussed this at length, so I’ll forego the questioning and make a brief statement.”
LeAnn snorted.
“What?” Corge whispered.
“Mr. Jun never does anything short. If it’s really his idea of short, we’ll still be here all day.”
She wasn’t kidding. He began with what he described as a brief account of the conditions of the Fall, recounting the history of how the Citadels had brought stability to human society and the Heretics rebelled against it. How the Heretics claimed that stability was stifling humanity and the only cure was to bring down society and start again. He told them the story they all knew too well about how the Armstrong Station, staffed by scientists and industrial workers, had been cut off by the swiftness of the Disconnection.
He then moved into speculation of what his History team thought likely must have happened next.
LeAnn sighed. “Finally something at least some of us don’t already know.”
“Psychology is best at assessing the probabilities, of course, but the trends of history bear out the conclusion that it is unlikely that any Citadel has preserved its full functioning. In a secret endeavor like this, it is more than likely that all knowledge on the surface has been lost.”
“The surface?” Corge asked LeAnn.
“Yeah, it’s an old term for Earth. Dates back to the old record-keeping pre-Disconnection. Since we’re on the Moon, everything was written with a return journey in mind, and the surface was always Earth. It was a way of looking at Armstrong like a big orbiting satellite, which in a way it really is since it’s on Earth’s biggest satellite.”
Corge had never thought of that. In his mind, like most station-dwellers, Armstrong was an outpost of humanity, cut off from the tribe and hoping to reconnect. This other view implied that humanity hadn’t seen Armstrong that way before the Fall, that Armstrong was an experiment or a utility running “up there” and, in some sense, expendable. He stopped thinking and paid attention as Mr. Jun began wrapping up.
“So Ibrahima has convinced me that, despite these low probabilities, the fact that they are probabilities at all justifies the low expenditure of resources to test them. Thank you.”
Corge noticed he hadn’t exceeded his allotted time, but he certainly had made full use of it. No time wasted taking questions.
The Council asked for open comments but, as was typical, none were given. The Council had a good record of finding the representatives of actual differences of opinion and calling on them, leaving no need for any other comments in most cases. The Armstrong taboo against waste kept most people from repeating arguments.
Serafina, the representative of the Executive Committee, stood for the final statements. The Executive Committee always got the last chance to speak. Corge wondered if he might get away without having to answer any questions.
“Here come our grillings,” said LeAnn.
Before he had a chance to react to this, Serafina called upon him.
“If Generalist Corge would be so kind as to tell us the nature of the material on which he found the manual page?”
Corge stood, spluttering. “The material? It was paper.” A shuddering noise rolled through the audience. He couldn’t tell if it was laughter or disapproval. “A rag weave, according to analysis.”
“Where is it located now?”
“In the Communications lab. In Ibrahima’s lab.”
“Why has it not been recycled?”
“It may be soon. I think. I believe it is better to read it as discovered. Sometimes it makes the meaning clearer.” He felt like an idiot saying it out loud.
“Just so. Thank you, Corge. Specialist LeAnn, what condition is the machine in?” Serafina asked.
Corge saw that LeAnn had gone from mild amusement to befuddlement.
“Condition? High-grade solar degradation externally but working condition, with refurbishment underneath.”
“And why has it not been recycled?”
“Are you nuts?” LeAnn spat back.
“I assure you, Specialist LeAnn, I am not. Please explain why it has not been recycled. All found items are of such rarity that all must be recycled except in great need.”
“There’s great need. Both of study and education and possible use for return communication.”
“But the return communication need is not determinative in the decision?”
LeAnn collected herself. “No, it is only one factor in Reclamations assessment.”
“Thank you, Specialist LeAnn,” said Serafina. Ibrahima shot LeAnn a glare of shock and amusement.
“Fellow committee members, I believe we have all the facts we need to make our assessment. If you will permit me, I’d like to lay out suggested parameters for our vote. Members of the committee who take a viewpoint often referred to as the Passive view believe we should always favor listening over acting. More aggressive beliefs, of course, differ. I believe we should gauge what effect any action we take will have on public opinion.”
Serafina turned toward the committee members with what Corge felt must have been a dramatic attempt at a steely glare. It made her look less persuasive in his eyes, as if she were play-acting. But he knew little of Executive interactions. Maybe this sort of thing worked.
“This is a most divisive and dangerous issue, whether we get an answer or not. Think of three scenarios. In the first scenario, the people of the station learn all the details of the Archive and that we have done nothing. In the second scenario, we attempt communication but receive no answer. In the third scenario, we attempt communication and receive an answer. How will the initial reaction, and the resulting sway of hopes, change the dynamics on the station? For your convenience, the Psychology department has informally modeled these scenarios under the advisement of History and Logistics. You will find them in your inbox.
“Finally, I ask you to review this,” a reproduction of a page from an old encyclopedia showed up on their screens, detailing the Citadel system. “That is w
hat existed before Disconnection. That is what fell. Ponder what kind of society might have arisen from those ashes. Ponder whether we want to force it to communicate before it’s ready or whether we want to wait until it feels it needs us. Peril lies in both directions. But we must do our best. Thank you.”
Leann stood and stretched. Most of the people in the chamber did the same. “I’m getting coffee from the café. Do you want some?” she asked Corge.
“Yes,” he said, staying seated. “I’ll catch up with you. I want to look at this encyclopedia page. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. Have you?”
“No,” LeAnn yawned. “But it didn’t look much different than the current standard one to me.”
“It is,” said Corge his voice trailing off. “It mentions us from the outside. From Earth’s perspective. We never let ourselves see that.”
LeAnn looked puzzled. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m not sure,” Corge said, rubbing his chin. “But it does. Otherwise this would be in the general database instead of hidden in reserve banks until needed in a highly divisive fight for the future of Armstrong.”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
“That’s why I want to look at it. Thanks for getting the coffee.”
“Right. Coffee. I’ll be right back. Don’t have any world-changing revelations without me.”
Corge didn’t say anything. He was lost in the vagaries of the encyclopedia page.
Aggregate Wikibase – Inter-Citadel Edition – Accessed 20/21313/465 – Armstrong@cit32
The Citadels
A description of The Aggregate of the 31 Citadels and a brief history.
Edited by Jacki Kim – Written by Crowd
The Aggregate of the 31 Citadels is most often attributed to the decline in population. In ancient times, as the population of the planet swelled unnaturally, people moved into cities that grew into monstrous megaplexes of sprawling humanity.
When population declined, it struck hardest at the countryside. Cities became livable as they became less crowded. The majority of the population stayed urban. Hints of this effect had been seen in the many economic downturns experienced during the times of rising population. While jobs may have been lost for some, most found that housing became more affordable, services became kinder and crowding became less of a problem.
The population decline meant that growth no longer drove the economy. Cheap labor could no longer fuel that unchecked growth. Instead, sustainability moved from being a laudable goal to the essential means for business to survive.
Cities provided the infrastructure and economies of scale necessary to support sustainable business. As population receded from high tide, the remainder washed up into large cities. Eventually, 31 population centers took the lead over the small villages and museum cities left behind.
Raising of the Citadels
The Citadel Movement recognized the importance of the remaining viable cities as part of an agglomeration that succeeded nation-states as the dominant units of government. Nations still exist, of course, as representative agencies for special interests but are not the governing powers they were long ago. Cities rose from subservient to centralized powers to become the centers of power themselves. To formalize this new, more effective power, the Citadel Movement began.
The movement grew out of a separation of responsibility. In most of the 31 cities, an older form of Executive who was subservient to national power, usually a mayor, transitioned into a ceremonial post. The Executive’s seat remained in city halls. New Executives rose out of regional bodies that ruled the real metropolis, not the antiquated borders set down long ago and blurred by sprawl. These new managers distinguished their offices by calling them citadels. The name indicated this was the government of the entire population in an urban area, not only of one arbitrary section.
For instance, in New York, the mayor continued to reign over the five boroughs of New York City from the city hall in Manhattan. But the tri-state ombudsman rose to prominence in his offices in the Empire State Building, which eventually became the New York Citadel, covering New Jersey, Connecticut and Long Island as well as the five boroughs.
The first Citadel rose in Shenzhen in a new building created by the People’s Party for the regional commander. As cities began to imitate this model, some created buildings, while others, like New York, named an existing building as their Citadel. A few, because of quirks in geography, have adopted a rotating Citadel that moves every few years into a new building. The Lagos Citadel operates under this model. In all cases, citizens identify themselves by what Citadel they are from. Those few left in smaller towns like Madrid or Chicago, for instance, identify with the nearest Citadel. Others call themselves “farmers,” a term derived from ancient agriculture workers, used to mean anyone living outside of the direct governance of the 31.
As the 31 great Citadels formed, they instituted “The Aggregate” to coordinate their efforts when cooperation was needed and resolve or avoid conflicts. All Citadels value cooperation and sustainability above all else and The Aggregate makes that possible. The Aggregate of the 31 Citadels has achieved the most stable and sustainable prosperity ever achieved in human history.
Honorary Citadels
When speaking of the rise of the 31 Citadels, it is worth noting that two communities are commonly referred to as Citadels though they are not part of The Aggregate of 31. One is the Antarctic Citadel, built in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the founding of The Aggregate. It is the tallest structure in Antarctica and houses the Chief Research Scientist of the International Academy of Scientists’ mission to the continent. It also provides excellent labs and resources for research as well as several luxury hotels. However, there is no permanent population on Antarctica, and as such, it has not requested nor required representation in the 31.
The other community of note is the Lunar Citadel of Armstrong, built by the Space Agency in the early days of the 31. Some older texts refer to it as Citadel 32 and to The Aggregate as “The 32,” showing how high hopes ran that the Moon would become a full-fledged civilization.
Sadly the dream was never realized and references to “The 32” merely date the text in question. The Citadel in Armstrong houses a local government for both Lunar and Martian activities but hosts no permanent representatives from the 31 because there is no native population. The occupants of Armstrong consist entirely of international science and commercial representatives drawn from the 31 Citadels of Earth, none of whom are permanent residents.
Both the Lunar and Antarctic Citadels have honorary but nonvoting seats in the meetings of the 31. The Lunar representative rarely attends. The Antarctic mission sends a scientist from their Citadel as an honor in recognition of scientific achievement.
Corge was explaining his interpretation of the page to LeAnn when Ibrahima walked up.
“We’re a novelty,” Corge said. “Why would they contact us? If you go by the tone of this, the only reason they even located an Archive here was because it was out of the way and had some people to watch over it. Armstrong is the janitorial closet and we’re the janitors. When the building collapses, you don’t go running back in to find the closet. They don’t want to find us. They don’t care. Or at least they won’t care until civilization recovers enough to allow dilettantes to search for our remains, like explorers looking for Atlantis. We can’t afford to wait for that!”
“So you figured out Serafina’s gamble then,” Ibrahima said, walking up with a cup of coffee of her own in hand. “Her words leaned subtly toward the Passives, which is all to the good, as they are the more volatile element and more likely to get defensive. But her evidence struck squarely in support of the Contactists. That’s us, by the way. Certainly you, Corge. You verge on sounding like a Returnist,” Ibrahima laughed.
Corge thought Ibrahima meant it as a joke, but it also served as a warning that he might be overreacting a bit. Returnists advocated using all of Armstrong’s resources to build a ro
cket that would return them all to Earth. Aside from the near impossibility of creating a space-worthy vessel big enough for the Armstrong population, it also ignored the fact that no recovery teams would assist them when they landed. The Armstrong contingent wouldn’t last long in Earth gravity with no modern medicine to recuperate them. That was the biggest argument against even small return vessels—that, and the perceived waste of resources.
“I’m not a Returnist,” he tried to laugh. “But I do find this encyclopedia page pretty damning. We were a freaking tourist attraction before Disconnection. There’s not much reason to assume our value in the fight for survival down there, if that’s our legacy. We’re a curiosity.”
“So many think,” Ibrahima sighed. “But I doubt it. I think our legend grows from this. That’s what the Passives will assert. They’re doing it on their private debate board right now. I peeked. They argue Armstrong would gain a mystical status in post-Disconnection societies and be presumed to contain all the mysteries of civilization before the Disconnection. Finding us would be essential to getting society back on its feet. At least, that’s their argument. And I can’t say I disagree.”
“Why does it matter?” asked LeAnn between sips of coffee. “I mean, it seems simple to me. We send the message and see what happens. We’re pretty tough after all these years, right? We can take a little disappointment.”
“You’re not wrong in the short term,” said Ibrahima. “But we’re in the business of estimating the effect of a butterfly flapping its wings.”
“A what?” LeAnn asked.
“You never learned about the butterfly in physics?” asked Corge, surprised. “That was one of my favorite lessons. Mr. Kapoor had some cool demos of small causes leading to huge effects. I remember this one with Ping-Pong balls and tubing—”