Old Guy and the Planet of Eternal Night (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 6)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “How did you do that?” asked Wolfram.

  “Do what?” I said.

  “Coordinate that so well. I didn’t have anything to do except watch, and the platoon officers were hardly more than relaying your orders. I’ve never seen anyone run an action so smoothly. It was chaos, and you made it look like a set piece battle from a training video.”

  I shrugged. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, Private Wolfram. Now how about you get back to your terminal and check on our ammunition status.”

  That’s when I started to get messages from the executive.

  The secret service agents all had biometrics and body-cams linked into the net, and their quadrupedal drone had been recording as well, so what had happened was now under central scrutiny. I, and all of my officers and most of the senior enlisted men, were to be relieved and arrested and returned to the executive zone for interrogation. This included the chief of police, and her officers, and a lot of other people that I didn’t even know. The central news bands were already starting to carry breaking stories that the military had gone rogue, and attacked the colony without warning. Only the valiant action of the President had saved the day. Oh, and my bank accounts and medical plans were all frozen.

  I was fortunate that military systems have a lot of independence in network and comm access (having a military with inbuilt kill-switches has long been shown to be a really, really bad idea). So for the moment I still had operational control of my own forces.

  Then I did something that I never, ever, believed that I would have the courage to do.

  The executive zone is a fortress, but as any good tactician knows, a fortress can also be a prison. I rechecked the colony plans: there were only a modest number of fiber-optic cables and antennas by which the executive could contact the outside world. Choke points. So I had them eliminated.

  Well, that’s that. The colony has taken serious, but hopefully not fatal, damage, and I am officially a traitor. There is still this almost irrationally hostile planet of eternal night to deal with. So now, Lysis Trellen, what next?

  I know. I’ll form a committee.

  --------------------

  There were eleven of us, meeting in a metal shed whose doors were made of plastic sheeting, sitting on a medley of mis-matched folding chairs, with a section of wall propped up on other chairs serving as a conference table. In the end nobody placed anything on the conference table, but it felt more like a conference having a conference table in the middle of the room. Going clockwise, there was:

  1. Myself, as the representative of the regular military.

  2. The chief of the civilian police.

  3. The head of the medical division.

  4. The head of the general engineering division.

  5. The head of the information technology division.

  6. The director of the agronomy division.

  7. The lead for the hydrological and water recycling division.

  8. Sister Pascal, the senior archivist and only member of the Order of the Librarians Temporal on the planet.

  9. The chief of the atmospheric processing division.

  10. The external representative of the Bank of Terra.

  11. The old bald man that I had met in the executive zone, Oliver Schmidt. He apparently had the great good fortune to be outside the executive zone when it had been sealed off.

  “Well,” I said, “seeing as we are all here, we should get started. We all know each other so we can forgo with the introductions. I proposed that we go around the room, and each of us gives a brief status update. I’ll start. We lost ten soldiers since we’ve landed and have two in critical condition. We are far below even skeleton strength, and could use more personnel. Currently things are under control, but we have zero intelligence more than a couple of kilometers from the edge of the colony so anything can happen. We could really use engineering’s help dismounting the weapons from the executive section and adding them to our defense network. I would also propose that we dig a trench around the perimeter.”

  Next was the Chief of Police. “I can’t say that I know what’s going on here, exactly,” she said. “We’ve been supporting the regular military against these animal attacks, and helping with the wounded. We lost three killed and four wounded, but I’d not say we’re critically below strength yet. One nice thing, though, is that these colonists are solid. We’re not getting any looting, no assaults. As a police officer, it’s a pleasure to be in a community where people respect each other.”

  “Well,” said the chief of the medical division, ”my take is not so rosy. We’ve got hundreds injured, many critically, and we don’t have the resources to deal with them, not all at once. For now we are being especially brutal regarding triage. Everybody’s financial accounts are frozen, because the servers were located in the executive section. We’re just treating people as they come along, but how we are going to requisition new supplies or pay our bills I have no idea. We had one of our main branch clinics heavily damaged, and it’s vital that we get more assistance from central engineering to repair it. Some people are refusing to seek treatment because they no longer have insurance and they are afraid of running up large bills. The good thing though, is like the Chief said, that these people aren’t whiners. Every specialty received some cross training in basic emergency medicine, and that helps a lot.”

  Next was the head of the general engineering division. “My big problem is that I wish there were ten times as many of us. The colony took heavy damage, everyone wants this fixed or that built… I mean, yes, we can help the military remount the heavy weapons, and you can borrow an earthmover for a few days and dig your little trench, but we also have a medical clinic to repair, and power systems, and agronomy, and that doesn’t count the pre-planned operations that we need to do to make this colony sustainable. Especially with the financial accounts frozen, I don’t have a formal system to set priorities.”

  “Hi, I’m Jules Effinger, the head of the informational technology division, or head IT guy, if you prefer. We’re doing pretty good. We had some bad injuries but no fatalities so far. We’re lucky that the colony has so much redundancy. Back on Earth if the central administration went offline everyone’s software licenses would eventually stop, but we’re independent. We have communications and databases- that’s all in order. As has already been mentioned the lack of a working financial system is an issue for all of us. We’re all happy to help build scheduling and resource allocation apps, if we can decide how we want that to work. And I think we should refer to this meeting as the council of Elrond.”

  “I have some good news, and some bad news,” said the director of the agronomy division. “The good news is that we still have a lot of concentrated food reserves, and our casualties mean that many fewer mouths to feed. Short term we’re OK. The bad news is that we are on a planet with no sun, so we need to set up hydroponics and grow plants under artificial lights. These take a lot of space, they are exposed, and we lost over 15 percent of our installed capacity and 55 workers in the latest battle. We urgently need more personnel and engineering support to keep us on track before we run out of stored food. Oh, I almost forgot: nobody has any money, we’re feeding everyone regardless, but some people aren’t eating enough and others are hoarding. We’re trying to be equitable in rationing but it’s becoming a mess. And I think we should be called the Council of Eleven.”

  “The lead of the hydrological division here. What the agronomy person said, mostly. We have enough water reserves for personal use, no issues there, but we lost a lot of water storage and had several processing plants damaged. Water might not be as sexy as some of the other divisions but no water no life. We need repairs and resources. I also like the Council of Eleven.”

  “Hello, I am Sister Pascal, Senior Archivist of the Order of the Librarians Temporal. I am the only member of the Librarians here, and as I am still alive, we obviously suffered no casualties and the library itself is intac
t. We did lose three books that were out on loan – fortunately they were basic primers, so we have other copies, but on the other hand, these are the books that circulate the most.”

  “Excuse me,” said the head of IT, “you are worried that you lost three books? These would be like, paper books? Maybe a few hundred kilobytes information capacity tops? I could print you a hundred copies right now.”

  “Yes,” said Pascal, “I am concerned about losing these books. And certainly, you can print as many copies as you like, but without the sacred rites of error correction and validation they would not have the same chain of custody, and hence be suspect. Oh, and while the Council of Elrond is a charming historical reference, I also go with the Council of Eleven.”

  The IT person just shook his head.

  “Given that this planet has breathable air,” said the head of the atmospheric processing division, “I’ve only got three staff left. The rest have been disbanded and are unemployed. I don’t know how many have died or been injured. We have however surveyed the air here and found no obvious toxins or allergens. I still don’t know how an atmosphere like this could be maintained on a world with no photosynthesis, but it obviously is.”

  I had a thought. “You are monitoring air quality, right? How good are your sensors? Can you classify organic molecules?”

  “Certainly. Why do you ask?”

  “The creatures that have attacked us don’t show up on infrared or radar, and there’s no visible light here,” I said. “I was wondering if we could rig up an olfactory warning system.”

  “Yes, I think we can do that. Give me back six staff, I can have the colony ringed with multi-band sniffers in three days. I’d also like to see if we could branch out into general chemical processing; otherwise we’re hardly a real division.”

  The external representative of the Bank of Terra spoke next. “Well, we are cut off from the central bank servers, so we have no economy. We can’t pay our debts, or our bills, so unless we remake contact, we’re doomed. We have to reopen access to the central servers, it’s the only way. We need to negotiate…”

  Pascal cut him off. “We are all of us traitors. The only thing to negotiate is our surrender, and in that case we would all be executed, if we are lucky. More likely we would be tortured and left to rot in jail for the rest of our lives as an example for others. Reconnecting to the central servers is not a viable option.”

  “Then what should we do?” said the bank representative. “We need money, we need to service our debts.”

  “It’s true that we need money,” said Pascal. “My order has explored this issue for many centuries, and so far we can see no way that a human society can function without money. So we should make our own.”

  The bank representatives’ jaw dropped. “Just make our own? How?”

  “It’s only bits in a computer memory,” said Pascal. “Coordinate with the IT people and set something up. I mean, where do you think existing money came from? Someone just made it, from nothing.”

  “But,” said the banker, “money can only be created from debt!”

  “If you insist,” said Pascal. “Then create an equal amount of debt, lock it in a box, bury it, and forget about it. Happy now?”

  “But how are we going to service our existing debts?” said the banker. “Debts must be repaid!”

  “If we were still on Earth,” said Pascal, “and had to import food and water from somewhere else, you would be correct. It would be impossible to repudiate our debts. But we aren’t and we don’t. These debts are not only odious, they are irrelevant. They are held by people who have nothing we need, who have nothing to give us… and so we wipe the slate clean.”

  “But… but… “ the banker stammered, “what if I create too much money? There would be chaos as all that money chased too few resources.”

  “Then,” said Pascal, “don’t create too much.”

  “But what it I create too little money?” said the banker. “Economic activity would be choked off!”

  “Then create more,” said Pascal. “I don’t mean to make it sound easy, it’s not. Even without the chains of the corrupt Neoliberal establishment, money is necessary but complicated and dangerous. You’ve been working a rigged system for so long that you’ve forgotten the basics. I have some reference texts that will help. But let me emphasize one thing: without a sound monetary system this colony is doomed. Your efforts at re-establishing one are vital, otherwise we can not allocate resources or set priorities.”

  The banker thought about this. “We’ll have to set salaries – probably give everyone a signing bonus to jump-start the economy. Then we’ll need to set budgets for the divisions. Then we’ll need taxes, to generate a circular flow between the populace and the divisions…”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Pascal. “It’s a big job and it will take a long time to fine-tune it, but right now we need something in place as soon as possible.”

  “If I may,” said the head of general engineering, “please keep it simple. Or at least, as simple as possible.”

  The last person to speak was the old bald man, Oliver Schmidt. “I am afraid that I don’t have much to offer this council,” he said. “I am nominally a member of the central administration, but my quarters are outside, so here I am. I have no followers or resources. Still, I can offer you some insights into what the executive zone could be up to. They have formidable internal defenses. Don’t even think of trying to take them over. They also have nuclear weapons. They might take us all with them if they think they have nothing to lose. So I would suggest we leave them alone.”

  “Won’t they starve?” I asked.

  Schmidt shook his head. “No, the executive section is completely self-sufficient. They have fusion generators, water recycling, hydroponics, and they can always hibernate if they need to. They can last centuries in there, at least.” He chuckled. “I expect that right now they are milling around like an anthill on fire. They must be busy making reports that implicate other people, stabbing each other in the back. I almost wish that I was still inside so I could see it. Like watching piranha devour each other.”

  “A charming idea,” said the chief of police. “However, now that we’ve all introduced ourselves, we need to decide on a leadership structure. Someone has to be in charge. I nominate Captain Trellen, for the time being. He’s the head of the military, and the one that started this whole thing off.”

  “I’m flattered,” I said. “And certainly we could run this colony as a military operation, for a little while. But history shows that entire societies cannot be run with such a strict hierarchy. It won’t work.”

  “Correct,” said Pascal.

  “We should have a representative democracy,” said the IT guy. “I can organize an election, it would be easy. Although I have heard that a parliamentary system has advantages over a presidential one.”

  “No, no,” said the head of the atmospheric processing division, “we have a chance for a fresh start, we should go with anarcho-syndicalism.”

  “I would think a constitutional monarchy,” said the head of the medical division. “Create a sense of ownership amongst the elites, and promote stability and long-term planning.”

  Pascal waved everyone into silence. “People, I hear you, but you are making a mistake if you think that one particular system will be your salvation. My order has studied it all, and concluded that there is no system that cannot be corrupted, and also almost no system that cannot be made to work. Placing your faith in an abstract political mechanism – checks and balances, a written constitution, market forces, the dictatorship of the proletariat – that’s a trap. The only thing that really matters is honor. Loyalty, dedication to the entire society, integrity. Without these things no mere system will protect us. With them, all else is hardly more than a detail.”

  “For the time being,” I said, “I propose that we continue with this council structure. We will each of us be responsible for our own divisions, and we’ll meet a
nd try to set priorities.”

  That seemed to go over well. However, the head of the medical division had an objection. “We still need a chair, someone to run the council and organize the meetings. Medicine is half medicine and half staff meetings, and without a chair a meeting is chaos. We need to elect a chair.”

  I had a thought. “How about a Doge? Like in ancient Venice?”

  “That,” said Pascal, “is a great idea. Someone who serves at the pleasure of the overall council, someone with no other power or assets, a moderator who can make executive decisions in an emergency. I nominate Oliver Schmidt here. He has nothing else to do, and he’s a first-rate organizer.”

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “Reputation only,” said Pascal.

  “You flatter me, Sister Pascal,” said Schmidt. “But it’s true that I have little else useful to do. I have some modest experience in running various organizations. I would be honored to be of service.”

  “Then,” I said, “I have a motion to nominate Oliver Schmidt as Doge, to serve until such time as he decides not to, or the Council elects another in his place.”

  “Second,” said Pascal.

  “All in favor?” I said. It was unanimous. As with military officers, the smart ones do not rush to take command of risky and difficult missions.

  Schmidt beamed. “I am now officially the Doge of The Planet of Eternal Night. A title that I never dreamed I would hold. Well, I suggest we adjourn for now. All of us have a lot to do. I’ll write up the minutes and distribute them for your approval. I will work on an agenda for the next meeting. Would two days from now be too soon? I don’t want to distract us but we have a lot to settle. Can I see a display of hands? Yes? OK then we meet again the same hour in two days. Can I have a motion to adjourn the meeting?”

  “One moment,” I said. “I’m going to say something that might sound silly, but I’m going to say it anyhow. I think we should all swear an oath of fealty to this colony. To underscore what Sister Pascal said, that whatever else happens we must hang together. I’m regular military and I have that ground into me, but the rest of you don’t. We no longer have the structure of the central administration, and we need something else or we’ll just be a rabble.”