Unwilling From Earth Page 10

  “OK,” Responded Mark, still annoyed. “Anything I need to know before then?”

  “No, just follow me. We will be using a transport module to get to, er, the Command Centre. You will feel it moving but it will just be like sitting in an aeroplane. It will move quickly. We have other ways of moving around internally, but I like this one.”

  “Good grief.” Mark thought “Full information from Alan. That’s a first.”

  Mark stepped out of the orbiter onto a ramp into the dock. It was empty apart from the orbiter which Mark could now see was an elongated ovoid about one hundred and fifty metres long and about thirty metres wide at its widest point. It was matte black but with a slight sheen to it, completely smooth with no features other than the open door which they had just exited from and a ramp leading to the deck.

  The orbiter rested on the floor of the dock with only a single point apparently in contact with the floor, so it looked like it would roll about with the slightest push, but Mark doubted that it would move unless it was instructed.

  The dock itself was huge - as Mark by now expected. The floor area was roughly square-shaped, with each side about a thousand metres, the dock roof was about 250 metres high. The whole dock was brightly lit but Mark couldn’t see where the light was coming from.

  Alan strode across the dock toward an apparently blank wall and Mark hurried to catch up with him. When they got to a metre from the wall, a door slid open and they walked into a cylindrical cabin that looked rather like the interior of an aircraft but with just twelve padded seats clearly designed for Alan’s height and build.

  “Twelve seats, I thought you were alone on here?”

  “That is correct. I am the only person who has ever travelled on this until now, though I have other visitors on board from time to time. I’ll change one of these seats to fit you.”

  As Mark watched, one seat changed shape until its dimensions were suitable for a human.

  “How does it do that?” He asked.

  “It’s made from intelligent material. Almost everything on Mother is made from intelligent materials. It’s fairly straightforward to manipulate it and there are safety limits in the controlling AI’s so you can’t accidentally damage Mother. Not too badly anyway. However, you will need to interface with the main AI at a deeper level than is possible with your tablet.” Explained Alan.

  “OK. I’ll just ask you if I need anything changed.”

  Alan said “Take a seat. Straps will restrain you during acceleration and deceleration automatically. As soon as you are restrained, we’ll start.”

  Mark took his seat and restraining bands came out of the chair over his shoulders and held him firmly. “What do you call this - thing - that we are travelling in?”

  “It doesn’t need a name. I know what it is. Why are you so obsessed with naming things?”

  “You name some things. You call the shuttle a shuttle and you call your orbiter - an orbiter. Although when you think about it, that’s not really a good name because it took us from Earth orbit to Saturn. That's not orbiting.”

  “It was in orbit before we boarded it, and I didn’t name them. They are simply descriptions that would have some meaning to you.”

  “There must be other - craft, like Mother. What are they called?” Asked Mark.

  “The only other craft like Mother are People’s craft and we don’t need to call them anything. We know what they are.”

  “Just as I start to think I understand how Alan’s mind works he goes and says something weird again.” Thought Mark.

  “I find it helpful to give these thing names, it helps me keep track of them. I’ll refer to this as the transport cabin.”

  “If it keeps you happy.” Replied Alan.

  A few minutes later the transport cabin arrived at their destination. The seat restraints retracted and Mark followed Alan out. The exit from the transport cabin opened directly into a corridor. The interior of Mother looked remarkably like the interior of the orbiter, except the corridors were about 10 metres wide and three metres high. A bit like a road tunnel. Mark looked to the left and right and saw that the corridors continued in a straight line until they disappeared into the distance. He realised that it would be easy to get lost here.

  Alan turned left down the corridor and led the way fifty metres to a full height double door that had black bands about half a metre wide running down either side of them. The doors slid open as they approached making an entrance three metres wide.

  The Command Centre on Mother was huge. Each side was about thirty metres long. Instead of a main console with a smaller one alongside looking like an afterthought, there was a large central console set about ten metres from the right-hand wall facing towards the wall on the left which, unlike the other three walls, was a concave curve along its length. Arranged at regular intervals along the curve of the wall were six consoles only slightly smaller than the main one. To the side of the room stood an elongated oval conference table with six chairs on each side. The wall behind and the right-hand wall were covered with the now familiar darker grey outlines that marked the positions of cupboards. On the wall opposite the entrance was a closed double height, double door. Everything was in the same uniform pale grey colour.

  “This is impressive.” Said Mark. “There’s plenty of room in here!”

  “There is no shortage of space on Mother, no sense in not using it.”

  “But it seems a bit - odd, to have such a big Command Centre with all of these consoles when there is only you on board and the AI’s are the crew. You could just use a tablet to tell them what to do and where to go while you have a snooze.”

  “That is true, although I don’t need a tablet, I use my AI to communicate with the other AI’s and the People are not habitual snoozers. However, I take your point. The other consoles and the conference table are there for contingencies.”

  “What sort of contingencies?”

  “Unforeseen ones.”

  Sensing that this line of questioning was going nowhere, Mark asked “Why is everywhere the same bland pale grey colour? The interior of Mother is the blandest thing I have ever seen since I went on a school trip to the Bland museum to see a special exhibition of the Very Bland.”

  “You made that up about the Bland museum didn’t you.” Alan said. It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t alter the fact that the all-pervasive pale grey is very bland. Couldn’t we paint it another colour or put up wallpaper?”

  “You can change the colours anytime you like but if it looks too awful, I will change it back and blindfold you to protect you from the blandness.”

  “How about, to start with, we change the conference table so that the top looks like it’s made of wood? Light oak would look good.”

  “I’m not sure how making it look like a dead plant would improve it but it wouldn’t offend me so go ahead and choose a suitable pattern and make the change. Oh, I forgot, you would need to use your AI to do that.”

  “You are as subtle as a supernova.” Mark said. “Can you do it please?”

  “An astronomy metaphor. From you, that’s impressive.” Alan paused a moment and said, “Does that meet with your approval?”

  Mark walked over to inspect the table. It now looked like it was made of carefully crafted blond oak. He ran his fingers across it and it had the feel of well-polished wood. “Not bad for an alien.”

  “Thank you. We can make use of it now. Pull up a chair.”

  How It Works

  Mark pulled out a human sized chair and Alan took one of the larger chairs opposite him.

  “First, galactic security and peacekeeping. I’ll try to keep this simple, although it is in fact quite complicated.” Alan said.

  “Is there anything that isn’t complicated?” Mark asked.

  “Let me think about that.” Alan paused for a moment, then continued, “No. It’s all complicated. Anyway, by the time a civilisation advances to the level where they
are ready to start interstellar travel, they will usually have evolved culturally to the point that they become self-policing with morals and ethics broadly in line with the general galactic norms.”

  “Usually? Are there never any rogue, warlike civilisations that develop the capability for interstellar travel?”

  “A good question. Hardly ever, but if an emerging civilisation proves to be a problem - they are controlled.”

  “How are they ‘controlled?’ Do the People ‘control’ them?”

  “The People do not engage in police action or war. We only ever act in self-defence. Also, we never interfere in any way with a civilisation’s development, either to help it or to delay it. The galaxy is policed in two ways. Any major disturbances - interspecies war, aggressive expansionism, genocide, that sort of thing attracts the attention of the Ants. They will put a stop to it quickly. They are very effective but have a history of going a bit over the top enforcing the peace.”

  “The Ants? And what do you mean by a bit over the top?”

  “They are a bit over the top in the way that none of the aggressors survive, and sometimes neither do the defenders.”

  “So who or what are the Ants? You mentioned them before and said you would tell me about them later. Now would be good.”

  “The Ants are similar in appearance to Earth ants, which is why I have translated their name for you to Ants. They are of course not ants and are not related in any way to Earth ants. The Ants are colony creatures, like separate states. The individual colonies work closely with each other, so if you negotiate or agree something with one colony, all the Ant colonies are bound by that negotiation or agreement. They are insectoid but the size of a pony. Possibly a bit bigger, depending on your perception of a pony. They are highly intelligent as individuals and can also form a hive mind with other members of their colony. Their language has very high bandwidth so they can communicate large amounts of information quickly. When in hive mind mode each Ant acts like a processor in a massively parallel mind. Their body plan is similar to the ants that you are familiar with on Earth but with much stockier legs. They are extremely strong and fast and are very robust with tough natural protection, but they also wear strong body armour and, of course, they wear field-based protection.”

  “Excuse me.” Mark interrupted. “Field-based protection?”

  “Yes, you know, field projectors that surround you with an armoured shell to protect you.”

  “No, I don’t know.” Mark said crossly. “How long were you on Earth? Four hundred years? How often did you come across anything remotely like that?”

  “Now you mention it, you are right. Human technology is far too primitive for defensive field projection. To continue, Ants are remorseless soldiers and don’t fear individual death as they believe their personalities live on as part of their clan's hive mind, but they fear a painful or lingering death. Ants are totally trustworthy and will defend a hive friend at any cost. They consider all of the People as hive friends and importantly to you, will recognise you as a Friend of the People and therefore accord you the same status as one of the People. Ants are superb strategists and tacticians, using their hive mind capabilities.”

  “I hope I never meet one. I’m not keen on small Earth-sized insects and certainly don’t want to meet one the size of a pony.”

  “Mark, if you are ever in a tight spot you will welcome the sight of an Ant. They are smart, strong, resourceful and will sacrifice themselves to save you without a moment's hesitation.”

  “I wasn’t planning to get myself in a tight spot. How could I if I’m hanging out with a historian - sorry, Archivist?”

  “You would be surprised.” Said Alan. “Actually, that’s the wrong tense. You will be surprised. I still am sometimes and I have been doing this for a very long time.”

  “You said there are two ways the galaxy is policed. What’s the other way?”

  “For smaller problems, terrorist uprisings, piracy…”

  “Piracy!” Interjected Mark with a smile. “With skull and crossbones, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum?”

  “Pirates are no joking matter. They are savage predatory gangs who will slaughter anyone on any settlement or craft they target and often entertain themselves by torturing their victims to death and sometimes eat them afterwards. They rarely attack armed settlements or craft and will always attack in overwhelming numbers. Pirates are feared and despised throughout the galaxy. They are heavily armed, they have no compassion and are cowards, but when attacked they defend themselves, to use a human idiom, like cornered rats, because they know that they will not be taken as prisoners.”

  “But - where do they come from? Where do they get their weapons? Why do they do it?”

  “They are usually but a mix of species and they are the rejects and outcasts from their own civilisations. Weapons are easily made with the right patterns and decent synthesisers and as for why they do it - I don’t understand this but it is apparently for power over others.”

  “And presumably for what they can steal and the money.”

  “I’ll come to galactic economics in a moment.” Alan said, “But to continue with security and policing, there are several groups of what you could call mercenaries. They will take on commissions to track and control pirate groups…”

  “Control?” Mark queried.

  “In the same context as pest control. Eliminate. Wipe out. Destroy. Whatever term you wish to use. They are not like your police on Earth, they do not arrest miscreants, they have no prisons and don’t have judicial systems. You must understand that there aren’t any shades of grey in these cases, it is black and white. The pirates are not just a bit naughty. You can’t just slap their wrists and tell them not to do it again. Maybe in a perfect galaxy, they could be captured and imprisoned to protect galactic citizens from them and some could be rehabilitated and released. This has been tried many times. However, every one of these experiments has ended badly with escapes and some of those considered to be rehabilitated and released have gone on to commit crimes again. Perhaps if the People’s technology were to be used, there would be no escapes but we are not jailers, we do not release our technology for others to use and as a civilisation, we do not interfere.”

  “Seems a bit extreme. Mercenaries have always seemed a pretty nasty bunch to me, killing for money.”

  “It’s not that simple…”

  “It never is.” Interrupted Mark

  “… and that brings me to galactic economics.” Alan continued.

  “Oh good.” Said Mark “That sounds really interesting. Can you wake me up with a cup of tea when you’ve finished please?”

  “You need to stay awake for this. It won’t tax your underutilised intellect too much and I think you’ll find this interesting.”

  “Thank you for the gratuitous insult and as for finding what you have to say interesting, well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  “Pay attention. Almost all the galactic civilisations have abandoned the use of money.”

  “Uh huh. They work on credit and virtual currencies with electronic payment? So what, most advanced economies on Earth have done that.”

  “Not like that. Most civilisations adopt the well established galactic economic model because it has been in use for millions of years and works well. They have no currencies, no credit, no payments. When I say most, I mean all but a couple of insular civilisations that don’t integrate with the rest of the galaxy.”

  Mark sat up in his chair and leant forward, now showing an interest. “So how do they pay for things using this galactic economic model?”

  “They don’t. When one of their citizens want something they ask for it and if it is available or can be made, they get it.”

  “But where does it come from? Someone has to make whatever it is they want.”

  “Manufactured goods will come from an automated factory, craft goods are made by citizens or traded for from another civilisation.”

  “Aha! So
how are things traded from one civilisation to another? They must pay for them so they must have money!” Mark leant back in his chair with a smug look on his face, pleased that he had caught Alan out with such an obvious flaw in what he was trying to tell him.

  “Products are bartered for and an agreement is always reached. If one civilisation wants something from another and they have nothing to trade for it, the trader from the civilisation that has the goods will usually just give it to them.”

  “But - but that’s mad. It is totally insane. You can’t do business like that! How does the trader make a profit?”

  “I knew you would find it interesting.” Said Alan. “The traders don’t do it for profit, they do it as, well, you might call it a hobby.”

  “But how about bars and restaurants - people have to work to prepare and serve the food. They have freezers, cookers, er, all the other stuff.” Mark paused while he thought. “Tables and chairs, cutlery, plates, tablecloths - all sorts of shit - er, I mean stuff. How are the staff paid? What about the owner? How does he make a profit?”

  “I said it wasn’t simple, but once you understand, it is very simple. No one has to work, so they do what needs to be done either as a hobby or out of civic responsibility. Many bars and restaurants are manned by bots, so they don’t need people, But there are plenty of them that use live waiters, bartenders, even chefs. So, for example, look at how it works with a waiter. The waiters don’t get paid of course. They decide it’s the hobby they want to pursue for a while and apply to the manager of a restaurant they like the look of. If the manager has a vacancy and the hours they want to work fit in with the rest of the staff, they get the job. When they get bored, they leave or if the manager isn’t happy with the way they are doing the job, they will get fired.”

  “But - I don’t understand. Why would someone go to work as a waiter if they could be on holiday instead? That doesn’t make sense.”