by Vossen, Doug
“So how does this apply to a resource-based economy?”
“After our singularity, connectivity continued to improve exponentially. As you see in your technology, things continually get faster, smaller, and more efficient. We eventually utilized this principle to conduct an honest inventory of all resources on our planet by location. This applied to everything, from basic foodstuffs to luxury items.”
“So what was the stepping stone from knowing what you had to getting it where it needed to go?” McColgan was enthralled. He wished he could block reality and learn everything about Ronak and the future’s potential.
“Our greatest logisticians and mathematicians developed an algorithm that calculated the most efficient path for resources to travel to satisfy demand in all areas. The algorithm continuously optimizes its own solution based on our global supply and demand.”
“OK, so who does the actual work then?”
Ronak looked puzzled. “I don’t understand your question.”
“Well, who’s doing the farming for food? Who ships things across your planet? What compels people to take ownership of whatever task is theirs?”
“Amazing things happen when biology and technology begin co-evolution. Technology across all sectors grows just as the technology within us. Every year tasks become less and less a burden to accomplish. The vast majority of distribution is raw materials that are loaded into devices that can produce almost all consumer goods a citizen wants.”
“So, for lack of a better term, most of what changes hands up front is the ink for 3D printers?”
“Indeed. Resource distribution is streamlined with every improvement to the system’s technology. Mathematicians continuously refine algorithms; less and less effort is required to get everyone what they need. In addition, knowledge of the Veil does not hurt when considering mundane matters. We use all we have available to us.”
“What makes people keep the system running if not getting ahead of everyone else? It all sounds very socialist.”
“Colonel, why do you say socialist with such scorn?”
“I was raised to work for what I get,” said McColgan. “Socialism sounds great in theory, but it has never succeeded on our planet. Corruption and laziness take root too quickly. Did you not have that problem?”
Ronak thought for a few seconds. “Perfect information, combined with the shame of not living up to one’s responsibilities, is a powerful motivator. But as I said, technology allows the accomplishment of most everything through automation and other efficiencies.”
“Does this make people lazy?”
“On the contrary - it allows people to pursue that for which they are most passionate. When people care about something, they are significantly more likely to do it well. Our best achievements tend to come from people who do not have to worry where their next meal is coming from.”
“Do people try to take more than their share?”
“Negative, perfect information typically precludes such detrimental behavior.”
“But doesn’t that make you crazy? I would never want to give up that level of privacy.”
I do enjoy time away from universal connectivity. “That is a sacrifice we were willing to make. It is the natural course of evolution. However, this is not to say person-to-person access can’t be limited. We still use what you would refer to as ‘firewalls’ on a case-by-case basis, dictated by circumstance.”
“Ronak, I get what you’re saying, but all of this is going to be a really tough sell with most humans, especially Americans.”
“Nationality and self-imposed borders are irrelevant and counterproductive. You are all terran. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
“From your perspective, it probably is better. I envision a very tough road ahead politically if we survive whatever that thing over the city is.”
“You will adapt, or you will die.”
The two approached the artillery battery close to the brigade operations center. There was a commotion by the cannons, soldiers criss-crossing between the various tents in the area. It was clear preparation was underway for the upcoming operation to retrieve Dr. Kapur.
If nothing else, this will be one of the more interesting experiences I’ve had in the last few decades. These terrans are gravely flawed, but I do admire their individuality and optimism, even if it borders on misinformed arrogance at times. Being around a species with passion is refreshing, thought Ronak.
JACK
Majors Rugerman and McMullin jogged back to the two-shop by the Howitzer battery, looking for the Sergeant Major and S3. Ronak remained with Colonel McColgan to further discuss the torrent of information just delivered. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Harrison sprinting into the S2 shop ahead of him. Weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him run that fast without the threat of imminent gunfire.
“Harrison, hold up man!” But Harrison was gone, leaving dust in his wake as he barreled through the flap concealing the low light of the intelligence tent. Jack and Karl picked up to a moderate run. They entered the tent to find Harrison fumbling through a ring binder containing laminated cards of all the brigade’s radio frequencies, down to the lowest level.
Harrison picked up a handheld radio microphone set that looked like an old plastic telephone. It was one of six hand-mics clipped to a horizontally-tied string of parachute cord, connected to a neat stack of olive-drab ASIPS radios. He switched the top radio to the aid station frequency - 342 - with frequency hop and cypher text settings.
Harrison keyed the hand-mic, his hand shaking from nerves and adrenaline. “Nightingale Base, Nightingale Base, this is Warrior Two Delta.”
Nothing.
Harrison took a deep breath and tried again. “Nightingale Base, Nightingale Base, this is Warrior Two Delta, OVER!” He slammed the hand-mic down on the folding table. “Goddamn it!”
What the hell? Why’s he calling the docs? Jack wondered. “Harrison, what happened, man?”
“This guy who was guarding a detainee over by the TQ booths got real sick, sir. Like, not the normal shits. This was different. Blood was coming out of all the holes!” Harrison was still breathing very heavily, but was now slowly regaining his composure. “I mean, it was like, not normal. I was giving the medics a heads-up, but they’re not answering. Sergeant Martin told me to.”
Detainee? What detainee? “Whoa man, slow down. What do you mean detainee? When did we detain someone?” Jack asked. Karl was smiling ear to ear, eager for more stirred shit.
“I don’t know,” said Harrison. “It was this dude with weapons and shit wearing a Yankee hat. At first I thought he was bad, but then Sergeant Martin said he knew him and that it was OK. That’s when they started carrying the dude to the medics.”
I need to look into this. What the hell is he talking about? S3 and Sergeant Major first, then I’ll worry about this nonsense. “OK man. Do what Master Sergeant Martin told you to do. If you can’t hit the medics on the next try, just go run to the aid station. It’s not that far, you lazy fuck.” Why is he so amped right now? It’s not like we’re getting shot at. Whatever. PRIORITIES, JACK.
Harrison was visibly annoyed that his boss was indifferent to what he was saying. He again turned his attention to the stack of radios to recheck their settings.
Jack dismissed this little display. He gestured to Karl that they were going to continue their search. “Hey Karl, let’s make our way to the TOC (Tactical Operations Center). It’s like four tents down on the far side of that battery of 105s.”
Karl nodded. “You got it, dude.”
They walked back outside.
The fractal entity over Lower Manhattan was pulsing faster and faster. Spiraling branches spidered out in all directions, then receded back to the center, as if something were trying to break through. It was as if the phenomenon were alive. At first, everyone who looked at it had naturally assumed it was an odd, but reasonable, amount of pollution. The next day, when it had grown exponentially, speculation continued that it might b
e a freak weather system, something associated with global warming. But now it was anyone’s guess.
Karl and Jack carried a brisk walking pace past the other brigade staff sections’ tents, past the artillery battery oriented to the east, and into the TOC. Jack quickly picked out Lieutenant Colonel Fry and signaled with his hand to get his attention. “Sir!” He tried to keep his voice low enough so as not to arouse any suspicion. The lower enlisted rumor mill had been at a full churn ever since Ronak first made contact, three hours prior.
Fry quickly threaded his way through the noisy, chattering mass of officers and NCOs, some on laptops, others manning the brigade’s radio communications. It was clear there was little or no direction. The senior leadership was having difficulty getting the message down the chain of command that everything was routine, that things would be sorted out soon. This negative atmosphere of crisis increased with each passing second. Soldiers looked nervous. Many had also gotten sick, presumably from nausea caused by fraying nerves.
“OK, Jack. Lay it on me,” Fry said bluntly.
“You want the bad news or the bad news?”
“Hit me with all of it.”
“Aliens are real, everything we’ve ever thought we knew about everything is backwards, and the aforementioned aliens have no idea what the fuck that thing over the city is, but they’re here to help.”
Fry walked away, saying nothing.
“Sir, where are you going?!” Jack was shocked.
Fry turned and glared at Jack and Karl. He canted his head to the side twice in the direction of the entryway, indicating he preferred a less public place to continue the discussion. Karl grabbed someone’s stack of satellite imagery photos of Manhattan on his way out.
The three men walked to the artillery battery and stood in between two of the cannons, as far removed from the fire direction center tent as possible. The drone of the generators allowed them to speak normally, without having to whisper.
Fry began. “Jack, come on man. You’re better than that. Yes, all this information needs to be disseminated, but this is some sensitive stuff. We need to be careful and figure out the best way to lay this on people. Less than a platoon-sized element saw this alien earlier this afternoon, and I swear the whole brigade knows by now. Everyone is freaking the fuck out. We need to get a handle on it as quickly as possible if we even have a prayer of reacting to that fucking thing.” Fry pointed to the fractal, pulsating phenomenon to the east.
“Sir, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Jack’s remorse was sincere; he liked and respected his S3.
“It’s OK, man. Just think about the average private. Last year, the biggest problem they had was stealing enough of their old man’s moonshine to keep from going thirsty while spotlighting deer at night out the back of a Dodge Ram.”
“I get it. You’re absolutely right,” said Jack. “I think maybe I’m on my toes a little too much right now too.”
“So what else you got? Tell me there’s something else.”
“OK, but don’t shoot the messenger.”
Karl was smiling broadly, bathing in the glow of his hot, steaming bowl of stirred shit.
“You have exactly one hour and forty-three minutes to get a plan on the colonel’s desk to air assault into Central Park and rescue a quantum physicist at the American Museum of Natural History in one of the offices adjoining the Hayden Planetarium.” Ripped off like a band aid.
“Shut the fuck up,” said Fry.
“Sir, I wouldn’t mess with you on this one. I know we normally have upwards of three days to plan something like this, but this is straight from Colonel McColgan and our new …friend.”
“I don’t want to do this in the TOC. Can you carve us some space in your tent where the commanders’ primary staff officers can all crowd around one map? We have forty-five minutes to plan this. Shooting from the hip like fucking idiots again.”
“You got it, sir,” said Jack.
Fry went off to tell the Sergeant Major to corral the commanders and primary staff officers in the S2 tent.
Jack looked at Karl in the combined light of the moon and the increasing phenomenon. “Hey man, grab those three dudes you brought with you and meet me where you found me earlier in twenty minutes.” All of a sudden I have a very bad feeling about this, he thought.
CALLIE
Callie cradled Jessica’s small head in her left hand, supporting the rest of her weight with her right forearm. She followed her military escort at a brisk pace. I’m hiding a gun in my purse. I’m FUCKING hiding a gun in my purse. For the duration of the walk, residual sativa-induced paranoia took hold, constantly reminding her of the firearm she had in the presence of people who might actually shoot her for having it. Shake it off. You stupid slut, why don’t you focus on the dying girl in your arms for like ten seconds and not the gun in your purse that you stole off a dead chick?
It was dark now. Callie couldn’t help but wonder how many other non-military people were alive and waiting for evacuation. She began feeling optimistic that maybe there was a large group of people who had gotten the message about Firebase Liberty before the blackouts, and that they were all patiently waiting for an organized, deliberate exit to someplace safe until everything went back to normal. I never thought I’d want to grind my ass onto some creep’s pants-cock more than something else, but I guess there’s a first for everything. Rich, gross Arab dick ejaculating in track pants for twenties shoved into my undergarments beats gunshots, a sick kid, and dead bodies everywhere. I would do anything to wake up the day before I wound up in that morgue. I would quit my job, stay home and not leave until all this shit was over. Goddamn it! Would have, should have, FUCKING DIDN’T. Get it together, Kennedy. Get this kid to a fucking doctor, roll a fatty, and then get the hell away from this city. You’ll have done your part.
They continued walking. Callie’s anxiety increased. “Hey dude, my daughter’s not great right now. Like REALLY not great. Are we almost there?”
The escort said nothing.
Fucking awesome. What cocks these people are. I fucking hate them. Why do all these people in America suck these asshole’s dicks on a regular basis? ‘Thank you for your service.’ Go fuck yourselves, you pieces of shit. Why do you all think you’re better than everyone else? OK, OK, don’t go down negativity road. You’re better than this. Callie looked up. For the first time since she’d arrived in the New York metropolitan area, no man-made lights interrupted the night sky. It was eerily beautiful.
Excluding the phenomenon over the financial district, the evening sky was filled only with bright stars,. For the first time in a long while, a stargazer could look up and recall the humbling truth that we are but a speck in the cosmos. Someone looking up at such a display would have to be stubborn to deny that we are all part of something much greater; that we were all formed by exploding stars billions and billions of years ago, just as Carl Sagan taught. For some reason, Callie found this extremely satisfying. This must be how some people feel about Jesus or Jew God or Allah or whatever. It was stunningly beautiful, and calmed her significantly. For a brief instant of universal connectedness, focused on the swath of the now-visible Milky Way, Callie knew everything was going to be OK, even if it was a long, diffcult road. THAT’S fuckin’ God, man. Not any of that other shit that tells you not to eat pork or jerk off. I mean fuck, dude. Bacon’s delicious. And I sure as shit ain’t gonna stop double clicking the mouse. Callie was still pretty high.
They approached an organized line of eight field ambulances. Some were painted yellowish tan, some green. The brigade had moved all its medical equipment. They must have known they would need it . . . Her anxiety returned as Callie looked inside the ambulances while walking down the line toward the main canvas tent of the aid station. The ambulances were all dimly lit with low red light designed to illuminate, but not attract attention.
Wait a second. Why are all these patients being treated INSIDE ambulances? Are they already out of room? Callie entered the medical tent
with Jessica and the escort, cradling the girl’s head and caressing her hair. What she saw inside was extremely disconcerting. The staff was clearly in way over its head. Four young nurses were running around, none more than twenty-five years old. Two of them wore the gold bar of a second lieutenant, indicating they had little to no practical experience. They quickly checked each patient and reported to a doctor who wore the rank of major. He was clearly not used to the barrage of information hitting him. He looked tired, overwhelmed, and hopeless. Two other doctors wearing captain rank were examining what appeared to be the more serious cases.
Assisting the doctor and nurses was a mess of enlisted medics - senior sergeants, newer sergeants, and a crop of privates who looked more scared than the people laid out on the stretchers. The foldable cots and litters occupying the sixteen by thirty-two foot canvas tent were getting pushed closer and closer together as more people were rushed in with the same symptoms Callie had been seeing since she’d woken up on the death slab. About a quarter of the patients were civilians who had had the same idea about traveling to Liberty State Park. The rest of them were soldiers. What had been optimism deteriorated quickly to reality.
Callie and Jessica stood near the entrance, between the first row of litters and a series of three rifle racks the staff and patients presumably used to store their weapons.
One of the more senior staff sergeants saw Callie looking lost and quickly approached. “Ma’am, are you OK?”
This is a strong-ass chick, Callie thought. She looks as calm as a Buddhist monk. I can see HER being the kind of person you thank for service.
The female sergeant, who looked to be between thirty and thirty-five, immediately saw the curds of dried blood under Jessica’s nose, as well as the crust of vomit on her face and clothing. The sergeant was dressed in the standard, green-tinted digital camouflage of the Army Combat Uniform, but she had removed her top, leaving her in a tan, sweat-stained t-shirt tucked into her pants. The outline of her sports bra peeked through the shirt. She had a stethoscope around her neck and wore a belt holding a multi-tool knife, a flashlight, and a cell phone. The shirt had little flecks of bio-matter all over it. Her eyes were dark, sunken into her olive Hispanic skin, and her dark hair pulled tightly in a bun behind her. The woman looked as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. I bet this chick is really hot after a shower and some girl time.