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August 20, 2526. Premier Xaovi Rue can’t stand sitting anymore. There’s
something about its new substrate that makes it feel uncomfortable to bend
its legs, and distribute its weight upon its buttocks. Still, it doesn’t
have the luxury of being comfortable in this situation, because it makes
others uncomfortable instead. This is the most important meeting of
its life, likely surpassed only by every meeting it ends up being involved
in from now until its latest term as North Premier ends in three years. The
people aren’t going to reëlect it again, if there’s even a colony to inhabit
at all at that point. In fact, they may vote it out of office entirely,
depending on how it handles the current crisis. “Report!” it demanded.
“The thixotropic liquefaction,” Environmental Administrator Gerver began.
“It started at the equator, but is spreading rapidly.” EvAm Gerver did not
technically answer to Premier Rue, but both Delegator teams are currently
missing, so Xaovi has stepped up to deal with all this.
Xaovi was elected as a representative of hundreds of millions of people, who
all live in the Northern Pole domes. It needs to know if the cataclysm that
is killing people near the equator is going to kill them eventually too.
“Are we safe?”
Gerver hesitates.
“Are we safe!” Xaovi cried. It didn’t like to repeat itself.
“From the liquefaction, yes,” Gerver confirmed. The poles are the safest
place to be right now, which brings me to the real problem. Residents of the
more central domes are on their way here. Some have already arrived in the
first wave, having simply come in as visitors. But soon, those vactrains are
going to pile up as they become refugees. We need to know what to do with
them, and as neither Delegator can be reached—”
“I will make the decision on that, and the decision is that we let them in.
We let them all in. If they’re dying out there, bring them all to safety. If
I have to, I’ll send emissaries to the intentionally unadvanced domes if
they’re afraid to use technology to come here.”
“That hasn’t so far been the problem,” Gerver goes on. “Some of the tunnels
are warped or cracked, but most of them have been able to take alternate routes.”
The Foreign Policy Administrator clears his throat. “According to our
Science Admin, who was too busy to join us, the issue is life support. Our
carbon scrubbers were not designed to keep this many people alive. Our waste
heat ventilation system would not be able to handle the influx. Quite
frankly, each polar dome is currently at capacity. We always build new ones
to accommodate population growth.”
“Please do not refer to the polar domes as ours,” Xaovi warns. “In
your role, you represent the entire planet, not just the dome where
you chose to live. We are not elites, people,” it says to the whole room.
“The pioneers at the equator are just as valuable. In fact, we must place
greater emphasis on their well-being, as they are less equipped to
defend themselves against these threats.” It refocused its attention to the
Foreign Policy Admin. “And FpAm Pletcher, do not forget that your job is to
facilitate communication with other worlds, such as Bungula and even Earth.
The equatorials are not a foreign peoples. Please stop othering your
countrymen.” It takes another pause. “There is no question of whether we
will open the doors. There is no question of whether we will upgrade
our carbon scrubbers, and ramp up food production. The only questions are
about how we do such things. Please raise your hand if you disagree.”
A lot of people raise their hands. The Transportation Administrator is a
deer, and does not have a hand to raise, so he hops up to rest his forelegs
on the conference table.
Xaovi smiles, but not kindly. It nests its fingers together upon the table.
“Now. What if I told you that I will have any dissenters escorted out of the
capitol building. Who would keep their hand raised?”
Nearly everyone who needs to lowers their hand. The Transport Admin gets
back down on four legs. Only Pletcher keeps his up. He looks around,
disgusted. “Cowards.” He stands. “You do not have the power or the right to
remove any of us from office! We were duly elected, and obligated to serve
the best interests of our people!”
“The best interests of all our people,” Xaovi corrects, annoyed that
he still isn’t grasping the concept. This has bothered Xaovi for so long.
The domes on Proxima Doma are probably the most unregulated and fragmented
of any colony. It makes sense. Some of the first colonists left Earth
because they wanted to separate themselves from the establishment, and that
sentimentality has held. The first settlers of Doma didn’t just
want to leave, they felt like they had to, and back then, every light
year was exponentially more difficult to cover than the last, so they
naturally targeted the closest exoplanet. They agreed to be governed by an
advisory-administrative model, but to many, it’s more of a formality.
Multiple domes reject what they consider outside governance, and for the
most part, that’s been okay. The domes inherently keep them isolated, and
insulated from each other. But in this case, the disconnectedness is
unacceptable. It’s going to get people killed.
Xaovi believes that they are all Domanians, and this is no time to preach or
practice the nuance in that. They just have to save lives. It was one of
those first settlers 300 years ago. It only stayed hoping that Proxima Doma
would reach the level of unity that made it possible for humanity to even
achieve interstellar migration in the first place. It took a long time for
it to realize that one reason there was so much interest in such
unprecedented migration was because it allowed people to break from the
unity. Getting back to it has been a long road. They have definitely made
progress, but not nearly enough, especially considering what’s happening now.
“I will have my voice heard!” Pletcher goes on. “I will not let you take
over this government! Together, we’re stronger!”
“Security Administrator Matterhorn,” Xaovi says, “I will not order you to
escort Pletcher out, but I would ask.”
“I will take care of it,” the Military Admin volunteers.
“Thank you, Chu,” Xaovi says. It never wanted it to come to this, but there
is honestly no time for bureaucracy. There just isn’t. “Two more major
things. Domestic Affairs Administrator Moffett, with Pletcher gone, I would
say it falls on you to ask for help. If consolidating the population is
going to cause problems, we may need to evacuate some people. As all of our
launch infrastructure has been destroyed, please reach out to Bungula for
potential rescue options. I don’t know who else we could turn to” It turns
its head and sighs. “Adjudicator Okeke, I have just relieved a rightfully
elected administrator of duty. Please explain the consequences of that, and
also...the procedures for officially declaring martial law.”
