Kris Schnee - Everyone's Island

Garrett’s country would march in and take over? It certainly could . He could use some reassurance himself!

Leda said, “I’d like to offer a promise that everything will be under control, at least as much as it is everywhere else. That means substantial changes.”

Garrett said, “I run a corporation, not a country. If you think it’ll help to create a Director of Touchy-Feely Affairs or declare myself Overlord, we can do that, but there’s not even a legal mechanism for having a ‘mayor’ other than as a corporate-created title. Even our ‘Security’ force is in a legally grey area.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter exactly how. I want to mandate that we have a responsible government with some notion of social justice.”

“Social justice! With all due respect, Leda, what are you on? When did you become a socialist?”

“We’re all ‘socialists,’ so don’t throw that word around like it’s an insult.”

He said, “The hell it’s not! That sort of leadership would’ve murdered your entire group by now.”

Leda ignored him. “I’ve seen for myself that people need direction and organization, and can do great things with the right push. I want to extend that same kind of structure my group already has, to everyone here.”

“No,” said Garrett. “You can’t. First of all, most people here aren’t Leeists.”

“That doesn’t matter, so long as people accept the basic principle that God is in charge of their lives.”

“Right. How many here accept that?” Garrett looked over the crew. Leda, Martin and Eaton raised hands; himself, Tess and Zephyr not.

Leda said, “You don’t have a majority even in this room of handpicked friends, on that.”

The thought chilled Garrett. He imagined a future world where people flew into space to draw more detailed horoscopes. How dare anyone use the tools of science while rejecting the very premises that made them work? He’d never understood how people like Martin and Eaton could live that way, and how they could be so damn competent.

Martin spoke up. “I want to see Castor prosper, and I’m open to suggestions.”

Garrett stared at him, saying, “What about your talk of creating a shining city on a wave?”

Martin said, “It may be time to compromise, for now. Maybe I aimed too high.”

Garrett rapped his fist on the table. “Then how about this suggestion: this station is my property, and I’ll manage it as I see fit.”

“The Holy Spiritual Confederacy is your co-owner, along with Martin. And really, the technicalities of ownership don’t matter. This place belongs to us all, doesn’t it? Even to the whole world. It’s everyone’s.”

“That’s bullshit. No. People around the world have bought in to specific things like the little robots and time-shares, but that doesn’t give everyone in the world a veto over my life. I’m not turning Castor into a welfare state after all we’ve been through.”

Leda took a deep breath and stared him down again. “Sir, you don’t necessarily have a choice. Remember who provides your security.”

Garrett stood up from his seat, knocking the chair backwards. “So you were thinking of a takeover after all! I come here as an honest businessman and you come as a robber!”

“Sit. I don’t have goons poised to beat you up and fulfill some paranoid fantasy of yours. I’m exercising ‘soft power,’ the same as everyone does. If you don’t have the people’s support, it doesn’t matter what you think your rights are.” She pushed aside her notes and stood too. “Ladies and gentlemen, I call for an election.”

“This is nonsense. Have you heard of laws, or ownership?”

“You don’t want laws, remember? Ownership and rights come from a government charter, and you’re too stubborn to want one.”

“I said I don’t want stupid laws. This plan of yours is so wrong it — there’s no answer to it but No .”

“No good answer, you mean. You’ve defaulted for so long, you should start recognizing that someone has a plan for you if you don’t.”

Martin interrupted. “Fox, I recognize that there are some… disagreeable aspects to Leda’s proposal.” He cast a nervous glance at Zephyr for some reason. “But what’s your alternative?”

“Laws. People taking care of themselves. You know, freedom?”

Martin drummed fingers on the table. “What’s ‘freedom,’ anyway?”

Garrett froze. Here were two of his inner circle threatening to take Castor away from him! To tell him the place he’d sweated over, bled on, risked everything for, should get changed into a petty tyranny. Leda sounded like dear old Aunt Priscilla hitting him up for money at Dad’s funeral, or Val bending AIs’ brains into obedience. I can’t hold an election!

Because I’d lose.

Garrett stomped out of the room, shivering, with his fists stuffed in his pockets. Everything he’d built could be stolen if he knew only how to create and not how to defend. But he had no words, and without them he lost by default.

Days passed. They handed over the murderer. They spoke very little of politics, with him issuing a terse statement that “Castor is considering its long-term strategy.” To Garrett’s disgust, Leda issued a statement of her own, calling for an election next month, on the Fourth of July. What a joke that was, proposing a heist on such a day.

But maybe he could swing a deal. It didn’t necessarily have to be an outright takeover. Maybe instead he could pass the political aspect of his job off to Leda and get the best of both worlds. He’d stick to the reality of tools and production, and leave the nebulous bureaucratic crap to someone else. It wasn’t like he would be chained up and executed, the way twen-cen dictatorships did to businessmen. He was more useful alive. The modern way was Leda’s “soft power,” taking control without a shot fired.

The shooting was only an implied threat, so people could pretend it didn’t underlie their “requests.”

“Damn it, why do I have to deal with this?” he said, sitting in his office.

“Because you’re alive,” someone said.

He’d left the radio on. He pulled on his headset and asked, “Who said that?”

“I did,” said Zephyr.

“I did,” said Tess. “Both of us.”

“Is Leda on the line?”

“Do you want her to be?” I can call her, or emulate her.”

“No, thanks. What’s up?”

Val said, “We’re worried for you. We’ve hardly seen you lately, and you’re missing the party.”

“Party?” said Garrett.

“It’s Founding Day! How could you forget?” The mixed voices sounded exasperated. “Oh, right. You’re you.”

Garrett scoffed. “Thanks.” Had it really been a year since that day he’d gotten people moving on the deck of a boat, and tossed a life preserver into the water as the very first bit of construction? “Founding Day,” he said, testing the feel of the words.

“Yeah. Can you pry yourself away from self-pity for long enough to have fun?”

“I’m not — I mean, I don’t deserve a party.”

“It’s not for you . Castor is more than its captain.”

It was strange to think of this place apart from himself, and he didn’t like the thought of Leda’s ideas being forced on it. He felt under a cloud as he sighed, pushed himself up to his feet, and left the office.

With his hand on the cold door handle behind him, he stood on the topdeck, stunned. Lances of light reached up from the water to the heavens under a dark, fast-rolling sky. As his eyes followed them up to look at the countless stars and shining moon, the music reached him too: a low pulsing pounding in his bones. All around were people swarming the deck, dancing on the ocean. Birds of metal and plastic carried streamers overhead. Someone snatched his hand and suddenly he was in a clumsy tango with Val, spinning and seeing everywhere a dark sea claimed by light.