Jungle colony book 2, p.56
Jungle (Colony Book 2), page 56
Daiya didn’t seem to be winding down, despite the fact that she was now repeating herself for the third time. Out of what was likely politeness, neither West nor Rodriguez seemed inclined to put a stop to the city-leader’s ramblings, and so Didem shifted her focus elsewhere, leaving only a fraction of her awareness paying attention to the proceedings of the meeting.
Perhaps they’re splitting their attention as I am, she mused as she began cycling through the various automated procedures under her command. Data streams from hundreds of different sources began to flow through her, each one capable of being broken down into hundreds more. She sifted through the information, analyzing each overall segment and quintuple-checking the reported numbers for emphasis. That would be prudent, given that their decision was likely made before the meeting even began. Supplies were far too slim at to the moment to simply be given away on a whim. If Kellnick Bay wanted them, they would need to bargain for them. With the Joint Occupation Fleet, with Didem, or with some other independent faction planetside.
She continued gazing across the system, checking report after report and cataloging it all. The increased pace she’d been subjecting her operations to had already suffered its first casualty—a mining excavator had overloaded exactly nine-point-seven-three-eight hours earlier, its systems reaching critical status after five hundred and ninety-two-point-five-four hours of continuous, full operation. Luckily, she’d already accounted for the machine’s failure, but fabricating replacement parts would take time, as would installation. Overall production would slip, though not by much.
However, in the circumstances they were currently in, even a loss of production by as little as half a percent could prove catastrophic. Resources throughout the system were simply stretched thin—far too thin for everything that was being asked of them. Didem noted an alarming spike in another excavator—in the same subsystem that had failed in the earlier loader, no less—and compensated, issuing a new chain of orders to each and every mining excavator, slowing their pace by a quarter of a percent. She would check on their status in another hour and see if additional tweaking was needed, or if her temporary fix was enough.
Daiya was still talking, though it wasn’t too surprising, considering that the complete check of her data feeds had taken roughly fifteen seconds. The woman was already winding into a familiar diatribe about how all of humanity had a responsibility to shelter and provide for others of their kind—a sentiment, Didem noted, that often changed once the same individuals who proclaimed a need for other’s resources came into a supply of their own. Certainly Daiya wasn’t offering to share the city’s extra space or other supplies in exchange for what they demanded.
Another bit of data caught Didem’s focus, her awareness once again shifting away, stretching across the system from where it sat in the orbital station. One of the fuel barges was reporting in early, having found a particularly dense pocket of fuel-laden gas in the upper atmosphere of one of the three gas giants and filled its tanks more than a full day ahead of schedule. It was already in the process of meeting up with its tug to begin the journey back across the system to Pisces, a trip that would take the better part of two days with the current orbital arrangement.
It was excellent news as fuel, like any other resource, was an incredibly short commodity. An unexpected surplus was merely a blip in the datasphere, but a welcome one all the same.
Rodriguez cleared his throat, Daiya momentarily stumbling over her words. The rebel leader took full advantage of the opening, speaking quickly and clearly, his voice cutting the projected image off. “So, Mayor Ven,” he said. “Do you have any other demands to make of the rest of Pisces at this time, or is the list you’ve given us sufficient?”
“I …” To her credit, the representative didn’t stutter for long. “Well, these are merely the basic demands that must be met for Kellnick Bay’s well-being—”
“Yes, yes, I heard all that,” Rodriguez said with a wave of his hand. “The first time, no less, to say little of the second, or third.”
“Well then you understand that we need those resources in order to—”
“And what are you willing to put forth in exchange for those resources, Mayor Ven?” Rodriguez asked, his eyes narrowing. “What can you spare in return?”
“I—We—There’s nothing to give!” Ven replied, her cheek twitching. “Our situation—”
“Is the same as it is everywhere else,” Rodriguez replied, his voice cool. “You are not alone in your struggles for supplies of any kind. All of Pisces is facing shortages in the wake of recent changes.”
Changes, Didem thought. A very polite way of saying you and yours upset the entire planetary government only to ally with them when everyone learned the truth of what really was resting beneath the surface. Additional processing threads sprang up as her mind wandered in the direction of Pisces’ true nature, but she suppressed them for the moment, wanting to keep her current attention fixed on more important matters.
“So our answer remains the same,” Rodriguez said. “As you are an independent entity unaffiliated with the governing body we represent, we have no obligation to provide fuel, food, or any other form of supplies without payment of some kind being received for said supplies. You are, and have been, allotted an equal portion of those supplies dropped from orbit which are designated by statistical size for those domes which remain independent.”
“But that’s not enough!” Ven said, her hard-light representation shaking her head. “That ‘portion’ as you so arrogantly called it, is not enough for our people to—”
“Then perhaps your people will have to go elsewhere, Mrs. Ven,” Admiral West said, his heavy voice finally joining the proceedings. “If your city is unwilling or unable to provide for its own. Such is the price of independence. It’s in the very word. You have no claim to dependence on the Joint Fleet nor its resources as you are independent of us. If you are willing to provide something in turn in exchange for some of our supplies—for example, by opening up your doors to some of the hundreds of thousands of remaining North Shore refugees—then perhaps we could see fit to send a few cargo ships of food or metal supplies your way. But if you are unwilling to help us solve our problems, then we cannot help you solve your own.” He ceased speaking, the slight incline of his head daring Kellnick Bay’s representative to respond.
She took the bait. “How dare you?” she hissed. The representative hadn’t done a good job masking her emotions so far, Didem noted, and appeared to be losing further control as she spoke. “Our people are starving, fuel supplies are running low—”
“Really?” Rodriguez asked, a bored look on his face. “Have you tried rationing yet? Doubling up homes to reduce energy costs? Growing your own food?”
“What?” Ven’s confused, almost offended expression said much about the state of the discussion, Didem decided. “Of course not! We’re free to do as we will, not be subject to substandard living conditions simply because this new, totalitarian regime you’ve established is even more tight-fisted than the last one.” As incorrect as her words may have been, Rodriguez did flinch slightly at the insinuation, though so slightly that Didem doubted any of the other attendees that were human noticed it. Still, it was there in the quiet tightening of his jaw, the dilation of his pupils, the change to the cadence of his breathing.
“Well, Mrs. Ven,” Admiral West said, rising from his seat. “This ‘totalitarian regime,’ as you’ve called it, is currently under strict rationing of all supplies that come from it. Food, metal, fuel … I have ships that haven’t been able to leave their current locations in weeks due to fuel shortages, or run on fumes a quarter of the time. I have four carriers with hallways and staterooms full of nothing but refugees and bays full of their fuel-less subs. Even the Madero is home to thousands with nowhere else to go. While your citizens waste away fuel living in quarters we once considered standard but would now consider spacious, we have families living two or three to a cabin in many places. Parks have been torn down to make way for gardens. I’ve even seen wealthy citizens fill their own homes with tanks and piping, turning excess space into hydroponic farms to offset the loss of North Shore’s own. There are fleets of cargo ships, transports, and other vessels still sitting in the rendezvous zones outside the ruins of North Shore, simply floating about while waiting for someplace to go that will take them. Cities everywhere are frantically trying to build new facilities, to expand, but metal supplies are short, even with the expanded amount we’re able to receive from orbit.”
“In short, Mrs. Ven,” West said, rising from his seat. “While we understand the plight faced by your citizens, we’re not going to simply give you something we have such need of, especially when you offer nothing to bargain with. As Rodriguez has said, independence means that you are not dependent on anyone. The Joint Fleet included. Your ‘request,’ as you called it, is refused in its entirety.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” West replied, his voice hard. “You are welcome to participate in the remainder of this meeting, but unless you are willing to offer something in trade, you will find no additional resources forthcoming from the Joint Fleet. Your own, allotted resources from orbit, of course, you are free to do with as you wish.”
“As if,” Ven snarled, her composure cracking completely. “You dictators take the largest share of the orbital drops—everything you want—and leave us smaller domes with scraps simply because we won’t bow to your wishes! If the people had any sense, they’d rise up against you and expose you for the corrupt, power-hungry—”
The transmission cut off abruptly, the mayor’s image fading and breaking apart into faint motes of light, whatever she’d been about to say left unsaid. For a moment the room was silent, the various officials and representatives looking at one another as if waiting for someone else to break the abrupt silence. After a few moments, which to Didem may have well have been hours, someone did.
“Admiral West, Representative Rodriguez,” one of the other members of the meeting said. A smaller, older gentleman representing a council from a smaller, more recent agricultural dome. “If I may?”
“The representative from Kellnick seems to have left us,” Rodriguez said. “Thankfully.” There was little doubt as to who had cut the connection, and it wouldn’t have surprised Didem to learn that at the moment some lower-ranking communications officer was fielding a very angry call from the city. “So go ahead.”
“Thank you,” the man said, his holographic representation nodding. “I have spoken with the representative council of Santi, and we would like to participate in an offer similar to what you suggested to the representative from Kellnick. Santi is meant to be an agricultural development, so we have space available for a number of refugees. Work for them, too, provided they are willing to do it. Given additional metals and fuel, we can expand our city to make space for both new living quarters and additional agricultural domes. We have the equipment on hand to do so—we even have one dome half-built—but lack supplies and a surplus of labor.”
“Santi …” Rodriguez said, his eyes going distant. “West hemisphere, south of the equator, correct?”
The man nodded. “That’s right. We’re settled on a flat plain, a little nearer to the surface than most places are. We get plenty of warmth from the currents and a bit more light. Good for the plants. We were meant to be a testbed for future agricultural processes before the … well, before the revolt.”
Rodriguez nodded. “Yes, I remember. Small, early project; light population?”
“Only about seven-thousand of us,” the representative said. “But if we get the new dome built, we’ll need more hands. We can find something for people to do, even if that means shutting off existing automated systems and doing things by hand.”
“So fuel and materials in exchange for surplus food and a place for refugees to live?” Rodriguez asked.
“And, if you could spare it, perhaps some protection?” the aged representative suggested. “There’ve been reports of thievery and pillaging from some of the smaller domes, or pirates raiding supply lines. With food being in short supply at the moment …”
Didem understood the man’s hesitation. He was likely more correct than he knew, or at least than he was letting on. Rodriguez’s decision to join forces with West’s during the siege of North Shore had not sat well with some elements of his subordinates, some of whom had backed out then and there, abandoning the cause or drifting from it in the weeks since. While some of them had gone back to their home ports—many of which were the same that now held themselves separate from the Joint Fleet—some had turned instead to less moral methods of living. In addition, there were plenty of city-domes that had been home to thriving criminal elements—who were now taking advantage of the collapse of the central government to dig their tendrils in deep. More than one dome had already faced such dire straits that a full-fledged fleet had been sent to put a stop to it. Even the Madero had been deployed at one point; the titanic, two-kilometer superdreadnought more than enough to cow the pirate raids it had been sent to stop into surrender.
Though the action had gone off without a hitch, it still represented an increasingly dangerous fuel cost.
Fuel. Power. Metals. Food. The last one was currently the most desperate. Already many large cities were running low on their stock, even with careful rationing. Didem had come to the conclusion that one of the reasons UNSEC hadn’t yet committed to a full-scale invasion—aside from the difficulties in establishing a presence beneath the waves—was that time was somewhat on their side. Pisces had been kept dependent on regular UNSEC shipments of food and other materials for decades, its own production hobbled as a form of insurance to keep it in line. Now, even though the planet had thrown off those shackles, the basic needs still existed. Likely that there were plenty of voices in UNSECs command structure clamoring that all they needed to do was wait, and eventually a starved, desperate populace would come slinking back to them, their numbers reduced and their spirits broken.
Not likely, Didem reasoned yet again. If it were up to Admiral West alone, and he wouldn’t find himself executed for high treason against Earth for what he’s done, I could see the chance. But with Rodriguez’s zeal …
She watched as Rodriguez assured the representative that there was likely a frigate or two that could be spared to watch over the town until things stabilized. Suggesting along the way, she noted, that it was a temporary arrangement for the good of trade only, and that a more permanent protection could only be considered if the city was to join its support in with the government Rodriguez was working to establish.
Yes, she thought. With Rodriguez keeping things on a firm course, I doubt Pisces will become truly unsteady anytime soon. Her own reluctance to allow UNSEC to return played a part, of course. She controlled the orbit, whether those on Pisces liked it or not, and it was firmly under her control. And as one of UNSEC’s conditions for return was her deactivation …
I rather like life, she thought as several other representatives volunteered their cities or supplies in exchange for a trade of some kind. It’s unique. She ran a quick check through the whole of her systems once more, updating the report she was to present the moment the meeting was over. There had been changes to the production schedule on several fronts, and though small, she reran the numbers accordingly, coming up with slightly more accurate results.
At long last, after a wait during which she updated her numbers twice more, adjusted the orbit of her station, noted the formation of at least three new storms on the eastern hemisphere, tweaked the position of one of her long-range surveillance satellites, adjusted the fuel schedule to account for the arriving-earlier-than-expected tug, altered the path of two other fuel barges to take advantage of the discovery, checked over several dozen construction projects, and read through each of UNSEC’s missives regarding her deactivation and the surrender of Pisces in order, among other things, the meeting ended. Each one of the representatives thanked West and Rodriguez for their time and efforts before cutting their communication feeds, or in a few, in person cases, rose to shake the pair’s hands before heading out of the room and back to their personal transports. It was over. Rodriguez slumped as the last of the group walked out the door, then rubbed at his eyes, clearly tired.
“Not quite the glorious future you expected when you set your course, is it?” West asked.
“No,” Rodriguez said, shaking his head as he finished rubbing at his eyes. “To the contrary—it’s exactly what I expected. More or less, anyway. Chaos, upheaval, raiders … I’ll grant that there have been a few surprises, but … It’s still what this world needs in order to become independent.”
“Even with settlements like Kellnick?” West offered. “Blatantly harming themselves?”
“They have the freedom to choose as they will,” Rodriguez said. “For good or ill. I may not agree with their decision, but I will let them suffer the consequences of their actions until they learn. If I did otherwise, what sort of tyrant could I end up as? Could either of us end up as? Or perhaps in your case just return to form. Maybe even worse.”
West didn’t react to the barb. But, Didem noted, he didn’t appear to disagree. Instead, he turned his attention towards the sensors set in the ceiling of the conference room. “We still have one other need to take care of before we set out for Cambay. Argus, is Didem in communication with you?”
Didem watched as the navy AI’s avatar—a blue-skinned monk shrouded in heavy, equally blue robes—formed on the edge of the table. “She is, admiral,” he said in his typical, flat tone. “She has been observing this meeting for some time now. I assume you are ready to speak with her?”
West nodded, and Didem saw the protocols securing the room shift, Argus modifying her access to the carrier’s systems so that she could make use of the hard-light emitters in the conference room as well as the sensors. She obliged, her avatar taking shape in the air above the table, her head almost touching the ceiling. “Admiral West,” she said. “And Representative Rodriguez.” She gave them both a nod.
