Excolopolis_Poles of Enforcement

by Jack L. Marsch

  “Very wise,” said Steersman, nodding as they made their way through the festive crowds.

  Suddenly, a stranger, a young man jumped in front of them waving and grimacing strangely, obviously having already consumed a number of bottles of Spanish wine. “This party rocks, dude!” He slurred loudly, “and those high whats-a-names, cribs over there are way cool!” He stumbled and then staggered a few steps towards the nearest tower, at the same time gesturing in the wrong direction.

  The guards didn't jump on him. They just kept him under observation. They had screened and analyzed him before he had even got close to Steersman and Karen. He only had a corkscrew in his pocket that he must have lifted from one of the wine bars.

  “I am happy you are enjoying the party. What do you do?” Steersman asked politely.

  “I'm a student, studying … engineering. I'm going to be umm … an architect.”

  “Well, if you graduate with top marks, find me. I might be able to introduce you to someone,” Steersman said, and moved on passed the man, who was left searching for something to say, eventually shouting out his drunken thanks.

  “I suppose we can expect a fairly lopsided structure from him, judging by tonight” joked Karen.

  “Everyone should have at least one chance, then we'll see,” said Steersman philosophically.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Karen remembered suddenly. “Jim Hols called about an hour ago. He said that they'd reached the planned depth.”

  Jim Hols was leading the drive factory project in the industrial complex. He had a two month deadline and unlimited financial resources. Right now he was still out there and had just about finished the underground building foundations for the planned production system. The plans were for the drive factory only, but the unnamed section on the blueprints suggested that the unit was going to be part of something much bigger.

  “Did he mention any … umm, incidents?” said Steersman, voicing his worry that they might face sabotage.

  The building site was under as much protection as Steersman himself. To build a factory within two months was an almost impossible task, but then Jim Hols was not one of the usual contractors. Till now he had been managing construction sites in Excolopolis with other companies, but his management abilities and professional efficiency had got him noticed by Steersman, so he gave Jim a new job. He wasn't disappointed either. Jim was a miracle worker with people, deadlines and high pressure situations.

  “No, but then he probably wouldn't even notice considering the speed he works at.”

  “Quite possibly. I let him know that this facility has a more important role than anything that has been built in the city so far,” explained Steersman. He liked to think of each individual plan as part of an integrated system, an ecosystem that functioned as one entity. With that in mind he was always aware of every nuance that affected or could influence his decisions. He always chose the option that he foresaw would have the most advantageous consequences for subsequent events.

  “It seems to me that he doesn't care about his professional reputation. He just wants to build,” said Karen.

  “Then, we'll give him more work ….” Steersman broke off as a familiar voice called his name out across the crowd.

  “Sean! Good evening!” Natalie appeared from amongst the revelers, accompanied by her inseparable colleague, who was holding a small camera in his hand.

  “Here's our favorite reporter and her faithful sidekick! Good evening Natalie, Frank.” Steersman nodded.

  “Hello Karen.” She looked at her, smiling.

  “Hi, Natalie, how are you?” asked Karen, noting that the reporter was dressed as if she was embarking on a polar expedition.

  “Well, next time we could try celebrating a warmer season,” said Natalie with a shiver.

  “Then we shall,” Steersman assured her. “You are not on the clock now, are you?”

  “Not really, just a few pictures to get the atmosphere,” she replied. “Hey, how do feel about saying a few words for the camera, from a spectators standpoint?” Natalie's face lit up.

  “I don't think it would be appropriate right now. Let's talk about it next week,” he brushed her off.

  “Oh, well, worth a try,” said Natalie, smiling and secretly biting back her disappointment. It might have been that she was afraid fate, the fate that had brought her fame so suddenly, would take it away as quickly as had came. Sometimes she felt that she really was dancing on a knife's edge. Her last fit of hysteria had already caused rumbles of dissatisfaction at the company.

  “Have a lovely evening, Natalie,” said Steersman.

  “You too,” she said, taking the hint, and she whisked her colleague away into the crowd.

  Karen could only smile as they continued on.

  It suddenly seemed to her that the security people were listening with more attention to the voices in their earpieces. They became more alert. She had the unpleasant feeling that something bad was just about to happen. Steersman's expression, as usual, betrayed nothing, only his face reddened by the bite of the cold night air. Uncharacteristically, he seemed to be having a great time. Karen had never seen her boss relaxing. He was usually aloof yet affable, not giving the appearance of being too distant or cold.

  They were headed towards the stage where Steersman was to give his speech, when the organizer saw them and hurried over.

  “Mr Steersman, you are on in four minutes,” he said quickly, looking relieved to see him.

  Steersman looked at the organizer and nodded.

  “Okay, I'm ready,” he answered.

  “How long do you plan to speak for?” asked the organizer.

  “I have been informed that I have fifty five seconds at most,” Steersman said, nodding towards the security guards.

  “Oh!” The organizer looked a little baffled, “then it's going to be a short one,” he said, and turned to let the TV producer know that Steersman was ready.

  The music faded and a presenter, dressed up for the occasion, stepped onto the stage with a huge grin on his face and asked for the attention of the audience. His face simultaneously appeared on seven massive screens, the size of football fields, that were dotted throughout the city.

  “Is everyone having fun?” he shouted out to the audience, and he was answered by the roar of ecstatic applause.

  “Faaaantastic!”

  He paused for a second and then continued. “In a moment we will be hearing a few words from the man whose name is synonymous with this city. Please welcome … Mr Sean Steersman!”

  The TV presenter stepped aside applauding, and Steersman walked casually out into the blinding stage light, his hands in his pockets, as if he was merely strolling along the sidewalk. Then he began.

  “Good evening. I'm Sean Steersman. For the first time the city looks just as I imagined it; humming with life, happiness, vibrancy and health. I wanted this city to represent a new model for human society, where all of the things that we find irritating and unpleasant in large cities, the traffic jams, office bureaucrats, management abusing their power, dirt, rubbish, dirty air and poverty cease to exist.” He spoke calmly, quietly, almost hypnotically. “Of course, there are rules here too, but rather than iron clad, incomprehensible laws, they are simple and clear, a form of etiquette, with guidelines such as do not damage your environment!” He began to speak more slowly, emphasizing each word. “Would it not be wonderful if everyone in this world obeyed this simple rule, if there were no way of sidestepping this rule, for any reason. How easy it would be if there was someone to ensure that we all follow this simple rule.” He paused. “I hope very much that the day will come when we, humankind, are given that chance. We here will bear witnesses to that moment.” Steersman drew to a close, “I thank you all for being here today and I wish you all a wonderful evening. Please visit us again, and … enjoy yourselves!”

  The music faded back in, drowned by the roar of applause that followed him as Steersman left the stage. The party atmosphere continued.
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  The security detail commander was already waiting for Steersman as he stepped down from the stage.

  “Mr Steersman, we've caught someone,” he said mechanically.

  “Where?”

  “About five kilometers north of the industrial site. He had a mid-sized remote controlled rocket device with him, and was in the process of arming it for launch.”

  Steersman rubbed his chin. “Let's go, I want to see him!”

  “Mr Steersman, we will have finished interrogating him soon, and we will have a report for you in a few hours ….”

  “I want to see him!” Steersman repeated quietly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  They quickly made their way to the waiting security convoy, and within minutes were leaving the International district. Karen, sitting opposite Steersman in the black SUV, didn't register alarm, but her bosses speech had given her thoughts a new twist. She wasn't sure what to think. What does he have up his sleeve? One day someone will ensure that people obey the rules? What the hell is that supposed to mean? She didn't get it. Did anyone in the crowd get it? And what was he trying to say to them? she wondered.

  The convoy drove out through the empty darkness and towards the gigantic building site where the industrial complex was being constructed. On that territory the security company had made a fortification that was certainly large enough to pass for a small army base, though without permanent buildings. Modified military transports were lined up in circle, and in the middle there was a state of the art communication satellite dish directed towards the heavens. There were cables leading to each truck. Steersman, the security commander and some of the guards disappeared inside one of the trucks.

  Servers hummed inside the truck and operators worked with electronic devices and computers, monitors flashing encryption codes across their screens, and topographical images were being analyzed by what looked military analysts with cropped hair and camouflaged uniforms. Then they noticed a dirty figure in a brightly lit cell, that had been put together at the back of the truck; kneeling, his head down, he must have been of below average height, but he was stocky and most definitely a tough character.

  “That's him, sir,” the detail leader said quietly. “We haven't started interrogating him yet.”

  Steersman stepped over to the cell as a soldier went in. He gave a sign for the soldier to lift the prisoners head so that his face was visible. The man had facial characteristics that were rarely seen in that part of the world. His facial features that suggested he may have been from a Latin American territory. Perhaps Costa Rica.

  Steersman knew how to handle this with style. He smiled to himself.

  “Get him cleaned up and give him clean clothes,” Steersman ordered, while looking directly into the man's eyes. Then he looked at the soldier next to him, whose face registered blank bewilderment.

  “He's going to be on TV,” said Steersman cheerfully. “Have him brought to my office in one hour!” he finished, and walked out with Karen following close behind.

  In the car, on the way back to the office, he called his favorite reporter.

  “Natalie? Steersman here! Are you free tonight?” he asked tersely.

  “Of course, always,” she answered, trying not to betray any eagerness in her voice.

  “Well, it seems that you will have your extraordinary news report tonight, after all. We'll be hosting a very important guest. Be in my office in one hour, ready to shoot!”

  “Of course, Mr Steersman,” murmured Natalie, starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

  “I've got a bad feeling about this. Are you sure it's a good idea?” asked Karen, feeling the need to say something.

  Steersman stayed quiet for a moment, then looked across at her.

  “Karen, don't worry. Go home and I'll sort it out. It will all be fine.”

  Karen looked at him sceptically, then nodded.

  As the car came to a stop, Steersman put down the window and said to one of the guards, “take her home, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard acknowledged and then opened the door for Karen.

  “This way, Ma'am.”

  “Be careful, Sean,” said Karen, getting out of the SUV, leaving him smiling mirthlessly to himself.

  The test

  Steersman went back to his office. He had forty minutes to get ready. He had used the device only once, when he had wanted to get information out of a property speculator. It had worked somewhat awkwardly, but now, although the conditions were better, he could not afford to fail. He decided to take a risk and he called the security detail leader.

  “How soon can you get here? I want to run through something.”

  The detail leader hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment, then answered, “Okay.”

  Steersman's device worked like a truth serum, involving a new and very illegal technology that manipulated brain patterns and thought processes.

  The device could maintain brain control at the required level for perhaps a few minutes, but it also could concentrate on smaller areas within the brain. Unlike lie detectors, which were at best unreliable, Steersman's device offered no room for lies. Only the truth would be extracted from the subject. People, when formulating sentences independently, used unnecessary words and expressions to hide the real issue, without really lying. Often, this was for innocuous reasons such as hiding unpleasant details, or masking a negative opinion in order to avoid hurting feelings, but Steersman device left no room for such prevarication. What came out was the raw, unadulterated truth.

  Steersman drew a point onto the touch screen, in a hidden part of his office, on the area where the waves were at the necessary strength. He had planned that the interview would take place there and had arranged a chair at that point for the Latin featured intruder.

  “Mr Steersman?” the security leader called from the doorway, where he was standing.

  Steersman quietly walked over.

  “Come in,” he said. “The press staff will arrive in twenty minutes. When are your people arriving with our 'guest'?” he asked, smoothly.

  “They will be here before the press staff arrives,” the man replied. “You do realize that this means an unnecessary risk?” the security commander asked Steersman.

  He didn't reply.

  “What's the plan? What do you expect?” he asked doggedly.

  Steersman looked at him sharply. “Answers, of course. I will simply interview him. I will ask him what I want to know,” he answered.

  “You think that he'll open up for the camera, just like that?”

  “Possibly … but before that there's something I need to know,” said Steersman, looking directly at the commander. “Tell me, how much is my life in danger at the moment?”

  The security commander shot him a surprised look. “Mr Steersman, we have put every possible security measure in place to ensure your safety ….”

  Steersman held up his hand, interrupting. “I am well aware of that, but I need to know the truth.”

  The commander grimaced slightly. “There is a high level of danger, but there are no direct threats that we have yet been able to ascertain,” he answered.

  Steersman knew that the commander was lying, but he wasn't yet able to figure out the exact truth.

  “Okay then,” he said suddenly. “Well, the interview is going to take place right here.” He gestured. “The reporter and her colleague will be here,” he gestured again, “and I will be sitting over there.”

  He then continued, “I would like our 'guest' to sit a few meters away, right here.” Steersman pointed to the chair he had positioned.

  “I see,” said the commander with a note of skepticism. “What do you think he was doing out there on the field with a long-range rocket? You really expect him to tell all in a live TV transmission?”

  For the first time, Steersman felt some emotion creep into the security specialists voice. He's human after all, Steersman thought wryly. “Something like that,” answered Steersman, ignoring the
questions.

  “Why do you think he will tell us what we want to know?”

  “Because I'll set a test for him. Come! Sit here, right where the man will be sitting.” He pointed to the chair.

  “What for?” the commander asked.

  “Don't worry, just sit down,” Steersman repeated.

  It was quite obvious that the security commander didn't like the idea of giving up control of the situation, but after a few moments he capitulated and finally sat down.

  Steersman waited for him to settle into place and then pressed a button on the console that was hidden in his pocket.

  “Commander! How much danger am I in?” he asked, rephrasing his earlier question.

  The security commander had relaxed, his shoulders visibly losing their tension and he was almost smiling.

  “It is merely a question of time. If you aren't terminated today, then tomorrow, or the next day. There is no power that will be able to protect you from every single attack. Eventually, even with our precautions, one of the coming attacks will be successful.” The commander spoke slowly and airily, as if he was discussing the weather. He had little conscious idea of what was happening to him.

  “Thank you for your honesty, commander,” said Steersman, releasing the button. The commander, now free of the controller waves Steersman had directed at him, shook his head slightly, and looked blearily up at Steersman.

  “Okay, I'm ready. What sort of test is it?”

  “The test has been done,” Steersman answered. “Get your men in place. The TV staff will be arriving in a moment.”

  The commander left the office, slightly confused, wondering what had just happened. Meanwhile, Natalie Garner and her colleague were escorted up to the office by security personnel. As soon as the elevator doors opened, the commander stepped in front of them.

  “What equipment are you carrying?” he asked the reporter.

  “Two cameras and a satellite transmitter,” she replied, and Frank opened his bag to show him the equipment.

  “What is it all about? Mr Steersman didn't really tell us anything. He only said that he had an important guest,” said Natalie, grilling the commander.