Still trying to understand what was going on, Alexia noticed Diaz was entering the room when her flashlights shined on the walls. She turned around and saw her signaling the number three with her fingers. Alexia reached for the radio controls and switched back.
“Please stay in channel three,” Diaz said.
“I’m sorry, had to talk to Joel.”
“Speaking of, they’re ready for us we got to get back. Are you done here?”
“Yes,” Alexia replied even though she was even more confused than when they arrived. The pair retraced their steps out of the lab and back to their elevator.
Moments later, Alexia and Diaz arrived at sublevel 25. One of the Citpol officers was standing by and led them to a room on the side that was secured with an airtight door. He turned the wheel to open it then the three of them stepped in. Inside, he pushed some buttons on the wall then removed his helmet and motioned for them to do the same. Apparently that section had been pressurized. After taking off the helmets, the guard opened the other door and they entered a small control room where Solis and Joel awaited. There was a work desk with a computer terminal and some office chairs then on the other side, a steel door with a sign on it that read ‘Reactor Core. Authorized Personnel Only’.
“I trust you are done with your important business, Controller?” Solis asked.
“I am, thanks,” Alexia replied.
“Good. We need to show you something Joel found. Chief?”
“I followed that panel interface you asked about, Alexia,” Joel said, facing her. “I was able to trace it back to a black box.”
Alexia listened in silence, her mind still struggling to make sense of it all.
“What do you know about black boxes?” Joel asked.
“Not much,” she replied. “I know it contains solid state electronics critical for power grid functionality.”
“Then you know as much as me,” Joel said. “Back home, we have a black box connected to the power grid then to the Citadel network to allow remote management for you. But weirdly enough, there are two black boxes here.”
“Yes, and?” Alexia asked, unsure how power grid operations should be any of her concern.
“One of the black boxes here is connected in such a way, nothing strange about that,” Joel continued. “Then the other one is just mounted there, active but without any connections going out of it, except for a fiber uplink going to the patch panel port you read to me. Since it’s not performing any power grid operations, I got curious about it so I opened it.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Solis interjected
“You need to see this,” Joel said then pulled a handle on the steel door to open it and stepped out onto the reactor core chamber. Solis motioned for Alexia to go first then he followed behind them. It was an artificial cave about two stories high with not much else but the zero-point reactor near the rear wall. The reactor was a highly reflective chrome sphere about twenty feet in diameter which appeared to float about a foot from its base on the floor. The base itself was a round pedestal on the ground whose diameter was the same size as the shadow projected by the massive orb and looked about two feet high with several cables of many sizes and types protruding from it as if it captured some form of energy emanating from the sphere. Two equipment racks stood one on each side with cables that ran messily into pipes going through the wall. It was cold there and a subtle deep humming originated from the sphere. Joel walked towards the equipment rack on the left then motioned for Alexia to approach.
“The rack on the right contains the normal old black box,” he said. “It’s the one here that’s weird.”
Unsure of what she was going to find, she approached him. Her suit’s flashlight illuminated the inside of what looked like a heavy safe with a thick steel door which was installed around the middle of the rack. When she realized what was in there, she gasped and covered her mouth in horror. Inside the black box, there was a glass cylinder filled with a green translucent fluid which contained a human brain suspended in it. What appeared to be electronic implants covered certain sections of the frontal cortex and cables connected to them ran to the base of the container which was labeled with the words Gestalt Emulator.
Ethan
ETHAN GLANCED AT his watch again. He had been sitting there waiting to be called for close to two hours and it was almost 8:00PM. There were many who had been summoned by the Troika for the initial round of hearings on what was being referred to as the Rogue Controller Incident. Advisers to the Troika had most likely come with such a name which would be perfect to deflect any responsibility away from them in the eyes of the voters and focus all attention on the Program and himself. Someone else was probably being interrogated and setting up the appointment earlier to make him wait was another way for them to flex their administrative muscles and show who was in charge. Politicians were easily predictable like that.
Troika Hall was one the small number of pre-Sync government buildings that had been spared demolition on the surface side. Up there, the land touched by sunlight was just too valuable to waste on superfluous structures. But Troika Hall was one of the few exceptions. Its role in the old city had been that of a courthouse but those days it served as the central government hub for the Citadel, where its three most powerful individuals passed laws and resolved high-level conflicts. Except for some minor details that had fallen to disrepair, the building was for the most part one of the best preserved. The bench Ethan sat on was directly in front of two large wooden doors. A sign with the words Session In Progress hung from one of them. Next to either one, a Citpol officer stood guard.
There had been no news yet from the convoy although by that time they had to have arrived at the ruins of Francisco Citadel. He wanted to think they were just experiencing delays fixing the communications array or that it had been damaged beyond repair. There was also the possibility something had happened on the way there. Just imagining his daughter coming to any harm while away on that pointless recon mission put him on edge. And the people responsible for that were just behind those large doors preparing to pass judgment on him.
The last time he had been in Troika Hall, he had almost begged them to let him continue the Controller Program. Back then, the members of the council were another trio of misinformed politicians who simply refused to accept that only Controllers could ensure the survival of the human race in the long term. All they understood was fear that the details of the Program would one day leak to the general population. They only cared about the popularity contest for votes. The current members of the Troika couldn’t be expected to be any better. It was going to be an uphill battle again.
Finally, a female attendant opened the doors and approached him then said “they will see you now.” Ethan stood up and grabbed the briefcase on the side of the chair and followed her. The two Citpol officers didn’t appear to be interested in searching him and instead kept standing there staring into nothing like human statues as he and the attendant passed through. Inside, the three council members sat behind elevated benches placed against the far wall, wearing black robes reminiscent of those used by pre-Sync judges. There were some other desks on the sides where multiple clerks sat in silence. Directly in front of the benches, there was a single desk with a chair. The receptionist motioned for Ethan to take a seat there then joined the other clerks in one of the side desks.
“State your name and title,” the man in the middle bench said without raising his eyes from his desk. Ethan recognized him. He was Paul Anderson, the Troika Councilman in his late fifties who had come from the alleys and was elected thanks to his strong, charismatic no-nonsense attitude.
“Ethan Sommers, Director of Control Administration,” Ethan replied. Councilwoman Rachel Perez sat on the left bench, giving Ethan a hostile look which reminded him of an elderly woman with little patience who had been his teacher back in basic school. On the right, Councilman Ernest Jenkins appeared to not be too interested in the hearing. Then again, h
e had a reputation for blindingly agreeing with Anderson in most matters.
“Very well,” Anderson said as he fiddled with documents on his desk. “Did you bring the requested report?”
“Yes,” Ethan said as he brought up the suitcase on the table and opened it, bringing out a binder with a few sheets of paper in it.
“Sum it up for me. I want to know the projected timeline you came up with.”
“On the matter of transitioning back Citadel operations away from Controller integration, I estimate it would take about three years, give or take six months or so.”
The councilman raised an eyebrow and turned his attention away from his desk. “Three years? Unacceptable,” he said, looking at Ethan in the eyes.
“It’s not as straightforward as you may think.”
“Then simplify the process,” Anderson said, visibly putting aside the stack of documents he had been messing with behind the bench. “The Controller integration was implemented much faster than that.”
Ethan had to take a deep breath while wrestling in his head with the appropriate words to use to explain complex concepts to somebody who was not trained to understand them but still possessed enough power to shut down the Program. Luckily this was not the first time. Over the years he had learned the subtle ways to appropriately pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw.
“Councilman Anderson, I am speaking to you not only as Director but also as your technical advisor. The Controller integration was put in place over a few days but only thanks to work that my team did decades before go-live. Think of the many Citadel systems whose interfaces must be redone to be accessible from regular computer terminals. Not to mention the time it will take to train operators.”
“Be as it may, three years is too long. No one can guarantee the daemon currently in place won’t suffer the same mental instability as the Controller in Francisco Citadel did,” Anderson remarked.
“Daemon instances don’t have minds,” Ethan said, fighting off the urge to chuckle at the honorable Councilor’s attempts to discuss a technology he could only barely grasp. “The tragic events that transpired in our neighbor Citadel were caused by a real Controller. A daemon is not a complete mind, but a rudimentary emulation of a synapse map at its lowest possible level. Daemons can’t make decisions more than a personal computer can without administrator input.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Councilman Jenkins said, surprising Ethan who looked right to face him. “This Troika may not be very well versed in the underlying technical minutiae of the work you do but it is your job to use that knowledge to carry out our commands not to lecture us as if we were schoolchildren.”
“My apologies, your honor,” Ethan said. “I am merely explaining the reasoning behind my projected timeline.”
“Understandable,” Councilor Anderson said, regaining control of the hearing. “However, our own technical advisors disagree with your estimations. It could be you have grown accustomed to the powers granted to you by the necessity of the existence of the Controller Program and you are refusing to let go of them.”
“Not at all, Councilman. I am responsible for the Program and the Controllers produced by it. As such I am ready for whatever judgment the Council decides for me.”
“Good,” Anderson said as he picked up a sheet a paper and prepared to read from it. “So here it is: this Council will elect a panel of experts within the next 48 hours. At that time, you will meet with them and you will brief them in every single detail concerning the Controller Program and its daily operations…”
Ethan listened in disbelief. Mikhail had warned him but he never thought the Troika would make their move so soon. Time had just run out.
“… you will disclose all passwords, combinations and whatever physical, logic or electronic locks you have in place preventing access to operations or data. We expect the debriefing process to take no longer than a week after which, you will be stripped of the authority and privileges inherent to the title of Director of Control Administration and fall back to an advising role with no decision making powers until such time when this Council decides the scope of your responsibility for the consequences of the Rogue Controller Incident. If this Council finds you guilty of charges related to said consequences, your cooperation in the next following days will be factored in the final terms of your conviction.”
Councilman Anderson continued reading out loud the fine details of the Troika’s decision but his words slurred past Ethan and became meaningless as he felt his heartbeat accelerate. If control of the Program was passed to pawns of the Troika, its final goals would surely be misunderstood. All that work and sacrifice done in the name of the greater good was going to be for nothing. Worse than that, the path of humanity would no doubt point towards certain extinction. Unconsciously, he began reciting the list of names of the Program’s failed test subjects in his mind. Each one was the name of a child he had buried or worse.
“Director Sommers,” Anderson’s voice thundered in the Hall of the Troika as all its occupants fell silent and stared at Ethan, morbidly looking for a reaction. “Do you understand the decision made by this Council?”
“Councilman,” Ethan said as he looked up to face Anderson. “The only reason the honorable Troika is sitting behind those benches is because you three won a popularity contest.”
“How dare you? You child-killer!” Councilwoman Perez said, standing up as she finally broke her silence. Attendants in the room murmured loudly. Anderson faced her and motioned to Perez to calm down.
“Order in the hall,” he said. There was no need to reach for his gavel as the commotion died out immediately. Facing Ethan, he scoffed. “Director Sommers,” he then continued as if amused by Ethan’ sudden lack of self-restraint. “We were elected to the Troika so the will of the people is enforced which believe it or not sometimes does not align with your extreme utilitarian ideas of how a society should run.”
“Utilitarian might be but the future of our species is dependent on what decisions you three make today. At least try to make an effort to be properly informed before you make them, instead of using this as an opportunity to retaliate against me and the Program.”
“This talk of your Program being critical to the future of our species really bothers me,” Councilman Jenkins said as if looking for an opportunity to show that he too, held equal power behind his bench. “One of your Controllers already went insane and destroyed a Citadel. How do you keep trying to sell the idea of survival especially after Francisco Citadel? Do you not realize how arrogant you sound instead?”
“Your honor, I believe you honestly want to do what’s best for the people but it appears your science advisors either lack the information to complete the full picture or are simply not capable enough to procure it.”
“Then enlighten us, Director,” Anderson demanded condescendingly. “By all means, paint us the full picture.”
“Do you understand what Peak Sustainability is?” Ethan asked as tactfully as he could.
“Are you mocking this Council, Director?” Jenkins asked.
“Not in the slightest,” Ethan replied then looked at each Council member in the eyes, looking for a glimpse of persuasion. “Please tell me in your own words what it is.”
“It’s the point of no return after which a Citadel infrastructure can no longer support its human population,” Jenkins replied. “And before you give us an alarmist warning, let me remind you we are centuries away from it.”
“Of course we are. But please tell me what the Troika’s plan for such a critical deadline is. What are we actively doing to avoid this scenario?”
“Director, peak sustainability has been delayed over and over again by advances in aeroponic techniques and underground housing,” Anderson interjected. “Don’t tell me your Controllers can avoid it entirely.”
“They can’t. No one can and that’s the real problem here. Yes, we may stack aeroponic farms vertically or dig deeper into the earth’s crust until
Citadels are all interconnected underground but then what?”
“Surely advances in science and technology will get to the point where we can repopulate the planet in a few centuries. The Citadel is only a temporary solution for humanity while the planet naturally regains its atmosphere.”
“And there it is,” Ethan said, carefully modulating his voice to avoid the wrong tone but all he could unconsciously convey was quiet disbelief. “The great lie you tell yourselves to not have to confront reality.”
“And what reality is this?” Councilwoman Perez, now calmed down, asked with genuine interest.
“That we are doomed to extinction. That the planet will never repair its atmosphere on its own. Councilwoman are you aware we only have about fifty years before cosmic radiation penetrates the planet’s crust to the point in which survival underground will be impossible?”
“This is not what generations of science advisors have told us.”
“Then your advisors are ignorant fools and so are you for listening to them.”
“Careful, Director,” Anderson warned. “We may still have some use for you in this transitional period but don’t push our patience.”
Ethan stopped for a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry if I am blunt, I apologize. I’m not very good with words. Please help me help you make the right decision. It’s all I ask.”
“Alright then. Let’s for a moment entertain the idea that your doomsday scenario is true. What would you have us do?”
“Nothing. I continue my research as I have done for the past twenty-five years without Troika interference.”
“How can you ask us to take you seriously, Director? How exactly are your Controllers supposed to stop cosmic radiation from showering the surface of the planet?” Anderson asked while the other two kept quiet.
“Again, they can’t. No one can. My research is not meant to revert the devastating effects of the Orbital Synchronization Incident.”
Gestalt Prime Page 14