“Ganging” was the term used by the Arkitects to denote this clustering of arklets into formations of three or seven: triads and heptads. It helped simplify Parambulator’s job by reducing the total number of separate objects that needed to be tracked. It gave Arkies more living space to roam around in, and provided some redundancy in the case of a bolide strike. They didn’t like to form anything larger than a heptad, though.
“Spencer, I am fully aware that I am out of my depth here,” Julia said, “but I don’t understand the upper limit of seven. I was assured, during my early briefings, that any number of arklets could in principle be ganged. Limiting it to seven seems arbitrary. Which suggests that some deeper agenda might be behind it.”
“One moment please, Madam President,” Spencer said. He was doing rather a lot of typing.
“You really shouldn’t call me that,” Julia returned, though her tone of voice was indulgent.
Spencer smacked his laptop’s Enter key, then leaned back slightly and adjusted his glasses. His eyes jumped around to various parts of the screen. Then he looked up, and, in a clearer tone of voice, announced, “It’s all shut down.”
“The surveillance, you mean.”
“Situational Awareness Network,” he corrected her, and winked.
“Surveillance to you and me. It’s like living in the Nixon White House. Old reference. You wouldn’t understand. Now, where was I?”
Camila knew. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Julia the whole time; she was on top of it. “The agenda behind the seven-arklet limit?”
“Yes, thank you, Camila. I don’t buy their arguments. To me it feels, rather, like a way of atomizing the population. Keeping the Arkies from cohering into their own polity — a polity that might serve as a wholesome and desirable counterweight to the central dominance of the power structure on Izzy. Speaking of which, Spencer, I want to say how much I appreciate the work you have done in. . managing things. . on the IT front. As just now. Giving us the freedom to talk among ourselves without the SAN recording our every word and gesture.”
Spencer nodded as if to say all in a day’s work.
It was dot 18, the beginning of the workday for second shifters. They were in Arklet 215, home to Spencer, three other men, and a woman. The others had gone to breakfast in the common area, to exercise, or to work. Spencer, Julia, and Camila had been joined by a guest: Zeke Petersen, who had arrived by space suit and was still clad in his thermal coverall. He looked mildly agog. Sensing this, Julia turned toward him with a smile. “Major Petersen,” she said, “it is so good you were able to join us. Though I am new to space, I have some understanding of how difficult it is to simply drop by and say hello, as it were.”
“Well, technically I am no longer a major, since that would imply the existence of a military,” Zeke said, “but if we are going to use extinct titles as a courtesy, then I’ll just thank you for your hospitality, Madam President.”
Madam President was a little while parsing that and wasn’t sure if she liked it. Nervous at the silence, Zeke went on: “I’ll apologize in advance that I can’t stay for very long. I’m here with a specific job to do, and once it’s done, I need to move on.”
“Inspecting Arklet 174 for possible damage from a microbolide strike,” Julia said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I called it in yesterday. I could have sworn I heard a loud banging noise. It scared me to death. But there doesn’t seem to be any damage. And the more time goes by the more I wonder if I just imagined it. Space is a noisy environment. I hadn’t expected that. The thrusters are so loud when they come on. Maybe it was nothing more than that. I would feel so embarrassed if I summoned you all the way out here to no purpose.”
“Summoned me?” Zeke asked, a little bewildered. “The Incident Report System is an automatic queue; the assignments are handed out at random.”
Julia exchanged a mischievous look with Spencer. “You and Spencer have been together on Izzy for more than two years,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve come to appreciate his skills — as have I.”
Zeke looked just a bit queasy. “So you got in and manipulated the queue?”
“Old habits die hard,” Julia said. “I’m accustomed to working with people I know and trust. If an inspection of my arklet is required, and someone has to do it, then why not have that someone be a person I have met before? Since the assignments are handed out at random, as you say, it might as well be you.”
“Well,” Zeke said, “since you put it that way, I’m glad to be able to catch up with you for a few minutes, Madam President. Just saying that I’ll have to complete the full inspection anyway, so we can close the loop on your report.”
“Of course, and I’ll bet it will go quickly,” Julia answered with a wink. “Zeke, you are a member of the General Population, are you not?”
“Of course,” Zeke said. “As an original member of the ISS crew, that’s naturally. .” but then his eyes strayed toward Spencer and his voice trailed off.
Julia smiled. “An awkward topic has come up, and it’s best to face it with absolute transparency. Despite being a longtime, trusted member of the ISS crew, Spencer here has been removed from the General Population and demoted to the status of an Arkie.”
“I wouldn’t look at it as a demotion,” Zeke began.
Julia silenced him with a dismissive fluttering of the fingers. These were still manicured. Camila had been doing her nails for her. “We all know it was a demotion. Markus sprang it on Spencer when he got news of the Eight Ball and saw what was coming. Oh yes, I’ve been filled in on all of the carefully laid plans that Markus set into motion when his sweetheart so conveniently gave him the news. Had word of it reached us at the White House, I don’t know how I would have reacted — but we were busy protecting Kourou, and supporting Markus as best we knew how. Spencer here, after all those years of patient service, was replaced by that hacker boy—”
“Steve Lake?” Zeke asked.
Julia’s eyes darted to Camila, who nodded.
“Yes,” Julia said, “Steve Lake. I guess he’s quite clever, but obviously no competition for Spencer.”
“Are they in competition?” Zeke asked.
“In a sense yes, when we Arkies are exposed to the all-seeing eye of SAN, and the GPop is permitted to have some semblance of privacy.”
“It depends on where you are in the space station,” Zeke began, but then trailed off.
“I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been permitted to spend very little time there. Oh, I know the official justification. I’m not qualified to be a member of the GPop. By process of elimination, that makes me an Arkie. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I can’t maintain a degree of social connection with old friends who are so privileged.” Julia reached out and clasped Zeke’s hand briefly.