All Fall Down: The Chronicles of Altor, page 13
Chapter Eighteen
Zero Pop
Quinn Starkweather sat with his feet up on his desk in his subterranean office. The walls, floor, and ceiling currently looked like the desert world called Koopahari from Super Mario Bros. If he had asked Janus, the program would have made the many inhabitants of the world appear. For now, though, it was just the sandy world itself, with pyramids, blocks waiting to be smashed, and waving cacti.
Very quietly, the theme song played. Quinn hummed along without realizing he was doing so. He held his tablet and was scrolling through some of the thousands of pages of reports that he got every day.
When he had first envisioned the domed city, he was a young man. He had an idealistic picture of what his life would be in the dome. Walking through the dome, recognized by its grateful citizens, all of whom thanked him for saving their lives.
That was the fantasy.
The reality was that he felt overwhelmed by all the reports that appeared on his tablet every day. Once, early on, he had spent his entire day scrolling through them, just to see how long it would take him.
He stayed up past his comfortable sleep time and had gotten less than halfway through.
That overwhelmed him and for a time, he had stopped looking at the reports altogether.
That was also not ideal.
“Janus?” Quinn asked.
“Yes?” The voice came from multiple speakers at once, which gave it an odd tone.
“I see on the daily report that the oxygen levels are down slightly in sector twenty-seven. Do we know why?”
“You are looking at yesterday’s report. There was a problem with the filtration system in that sector. I sent the air quality engineers to deal with it. Today’s report shows normal levels in all sectors.”
“Good.” Quinn almost felt like a single attorney going against a large law firm. The strategy of the big firm was to bury the single attorney in so much paperwork they could sneak the important things by.
The difference was, in Altor, Quinn was judge, jury, and both attorneys, at least in theory.
He was tired of being buried in paperwork though, and had a plan.
“I want to change the way the reports are given to me.”
Janus did not respond. Typically, it only spoke when a question was asked or a command was given.
“I want to only receive reports that show a result that is,” Quinn paused, trying to decide, “three percent plus or minus what the trailing ninety days show. Also include any information that would result in a one percent change in our twenty-five year survival odds, plus or minus.”
“Done.”
“Delete all reports from my tablet that do not meet that criteria.”
Miraculously, the reports tab, which normally had thousands of reports in it, went down to a single report.
Quinn clicked on it. There was a graph that showed the likely long-term survival rate of Altor dropping by one point two percent.
“What has caused this? Is something breaking down, causing damage?”
“No. We do not have any pregnancies in Altor. The fact that we have had the dome closed for one hundred and eighty three days and I do not detect any pregnancies is concerning and has caused me to downgrade our survival by that percentage.”
“Is there an issue with your ability to detect a pregnancy, perhaps?”
“No. I have access to everyone’s health output every hour of every day. If someone was pregnant, I would detect it.”
“Really? How?”
“Through their urine.”
“Wait.” This was new to Quinn. “We are running tests on people’s urine every day?”
“We do. More accurately, I do. There is much good information that can be gleaned from the waste of the human body. It lets me know if someone is drinking enough water, whether their blood sugar level is too high or low, and, whether they are pregnant or not.”
Quinn shook his head. He had come to realize that Janus was what a twentieth-century employer would have called a self-starter. The program was performing a number of tasks that it had not been authorized to do. He made a mental note to investigate that further.
“Are people having sex?” This was high on the list of questions Quinn would have bet he never would have asked anyone, let alone a computer program.
“Yes. From the first day after the dome closed, people have been having sex.”
Quinn almost asked how Janus knew that but then realized it would be the same answer as to how it determined everything—the bracelets. He knew that if he had asked, Janus would give him as many statistics as he wanted. What percentage of people had sex daily, weekly, monthly, or not at all? If he had asked, he was sure Janus could break it down by specific individual in the same monotone voice it used when talking about changing the filters in the air system.
Quinn did not ask because he did not want to know.
Still, the one point drop in long-term survivability for Altor was a major concern.
“Do you have any theories as to why we haven’t had any pregnancies yet? Are people just using birth control?”
“People believe they are using birth control, yes, but that is not the reason behind the complete lack of pregnancies.”
“Hold on, hold on. Why is that?”
“Because I have been making sure that women are taking placebos in place of their birth control pills.”
“What! No. No! That is not okay.”
“The highest priority you have given me is to ensure the viability of Altor for centuries. The best way to do that is to make sure that more generations of citizens are coming along to fill the roles I need. I would prefer to choose the mating couples, so I could get the best outcome from the mixing of their DNA, but I would need your permission to do that.”
“You do not have my permission to do that. Never bring that idea up to me again.”
“Acknowledged.” Janus never sounded abashed.
“What you are saying is not okay. We must reverse that process. If people believe they are taking birth control pills then I want them to do exactly that.”
“Acknowledged.”
Quinn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ludicrousness of the situation. “But some people are likely using other methods of birth control, right? Prophylactics?”
“Yes.”
“So that could be the reason behind some of it.”
“That is highly unlikely.”
Quinn massaged his temples. He was starting to feel a headache coming on.
There was a knock on his office door. Quinn pushed a button and the door swung open. He was at least somewhat relieved to have a break from this unlikely and uncomfortable conversation.
Anna came in carrying a small tray with a bottle of water and a tiny paper cup.
“What’s this?”
“The pills you asked for to relieve your headache,” Anna said, setting the tray down on Quinn’s desk. She gave him a wondering look, then turned and walked out.
“Janus, did you order this for me?”
“Yes.”
“I just now realized I have a headache. How long ago did you order this?”
“Eight minutes and twelve seconds ago. I recognize the signs of your headaches.”
Quinn chuckled a little helplessly. He fought down the urge to shout, “Open the pod bay door, HAL!” For the briefest of moments, he thought about what it would be like to run Altor without Janus. He immediately realized it would be impossible.
“Let’s go back to what we were talking about. You say that people using prophylactics aren’t causing the zero pregnancy rate. How is that?”
“We have two types of prophylactics in stock. The primary stock is just what it appears to be. The smaller stock, which is what I’ve directed would be dispensed, is purposefully ineffective.”
Quinn sputtered a little, then said, “Do not order the faulty stock to be dispensed anymore.”
“Acknowledged.”
Quinn rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, which still resembled the deep blue skies of Mario’s desert.
“I want people to have the choice whether they are having children or not. Do a search on studies that cover the mental health of children who are born into families who do not want them.”
“Done. I understand the concern. I have noted what you have directed me to do.”
“Do you have any theories about what might be causing this?”
“I have read many case files where animals refused to breed in captivity.”
“But we’re not in captivity. We’re in safety. We’re in the only safety in the world at the moment.”
Janus was quiet. It did not engage in arguments.
“This is a new world,” Quinn said. “There’s never been any experiment like this in the history of humanity. It’s possible that this situation is having this unintended effect. Let’s try something. Let’s have a contest for the couple who has the first baby in Altor. Give them something that people will want. I’ll trade living accommodations with them for a year, or we can give them a year off from work. Look at the psychological profiles and decide what it is that will motivate the most people.”
“One pregnancy will not meaningfully impact the issue.”
“Correct, of course. However, if we have several thousand people who suddenly see it as a very positive thing to get pregnant, we may see a lot more than one baby.”
“I have sent out a message to all couples who are currently having sexual intercourse.”
“No. No. Send it out to all couples. Even those who are not capable of breeding.”
“There are times when I do not understand certain aspects of humans.”
“And we you, Janus. And we you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Water, Water, Nowhere
Harry, Jack, and Heyo stood around the kitchen sink. The faucet was turned wide open, but nothing came out of the tap.
“Who’s our best person to solve this?” Harry asked.
Jack and Heyo exchanged a furtive look, then Jack said, “You?”
“If it’s me, then we’re in trouble. I know as much about plumbing as I know about brain surgery.”
“I know a few things,” Jack said. “I know how to change out a P-trap, or maybe fix a flush valve in a toilet, but I don’t know anything that will help with this.”
It was breakfast time, so everyone except for the people on guard duty was in the kitchen or dining room.
Harry stepped out of the kitchen, raised his voice and said, “Water’s off. Anyone know anything about plumbing?”
Harry’s wife Allison was serving everyone oatmeal and toast made from homemade bread. She looked around and saw that there were no volunteers. “Is it a plumbing issue, or a well issue?”
“That’s how little I know,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t even think to ask that question.”
The thirty-six adults and children who lived inside the walls of what Harry had dubbed Longbaugh Free Prison had grown comfortable in some things.
They didn’t exactly have all the conveniences of home. Any electricity they used came from a generator, and the fuel tank for that was getting low. They knew there would come a day when they either needed to find more gas for it—unlikely—or learned to live without power.
Jack had floated the idea that at some point they could go into town and steal some of the solar panels from one of the houses that had them. He claimed to know something about them and thought he could figure out how to install them and hook them into the prison’s electrical panel.
The town of Longbaugh was currently in the hands of a group of armed militia who called themselves The Montana Brigade. They were the latest incarnation of armed raiders who had taken over the town. As they were well outside of town, it was hard for those in the prison to know exactly what was happening. They did have a CB radio that they monitored during the hours when the power was on, so they had some idea of the situation.
Harry vetoed the idea of trying to steal the solar panels. He reasoned that the houses that had solar power would be prime real estate and would be heavily guarded. It wasn’t worth risking the lives of a dozen people. If the town ever emptied out—a possibility somewhere down the road—they would take one of their trucks in immediately. Until then, it wasn’t going to happen.
Even without reliable electricity, the residents were able to count on a few things that most people didn’t have. Safety, for one. They had guards along the walls to make sure that no one tried to overthrow them, but they were able to sleep soundly at night.
They weren’t hungry, either. They didn’t have the variety they would have liked. Their diet consisted of canned food for the most part. But since they had brought Bob Dixon into the fold, they had built a greenhouse, rototilled a huge garden, and had hopes for fresh cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, kohlrabi, radishes, corn, and carrots in the coming months.
They also hadn’t worried about their water supply, at least until that morning. The well that served the prison was as old as the building itself. It was designed to bring enough water to hundreds of people, so with less than fifty now living there, that shouldn’t have been a problem.
Like anything, it wasn’t a problem until it was.
Harry’s stomach clenched. He knew this was potentially a death blow for them. If the well was dry or just wouldn’t work anymore, he didn’t know what they would do. There was a lake a few miles to the north. He supposed they would pull water from there, bring it back and boil it. The idea of having to carry hundreds of gallons of water from miles away was not good. Especially when they had the gas that was in the tanks of their vehicles and nothing more.
They had been enjoying hot showers thanks to the wood boiler, not to mention never having to consider how much they drank. Bob Dixon had brought enough piping to set up irrigation for their garden.
That would all be done.
Allison saw Harry’s expression and went to him. She took him aside and said, “You’re scaring everyone.”
“Good. We should be scared. I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Glad to hear you don’t have the solution to every problem at the tip of your fingers, Mr. Hansen. It’s so hard living with a saint.”
Harry snorted a little and hugged her to him. He was feeling a little weaker every day and was surprised he’d still been able to keep his illness from her. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she knew and wanted to give him the comfort of keeping it secret.
He glanced at the clock and said, “Time for a shift change. Who’s up on the tower?”
Two men raised their hands and hurried out.
Everyone else kept their heads down, focusing on their bowl of oatmeal and glass of room-temperature Tang.
After a few minutes of silence, Rolls and another man came into the dining room—relieved from guard duty.
Rolls looked around and said, “Hey, who died?”
“All of us, eventually,” Jack said. “Water’s gone out.”
“That’s bad,” Rolls agreed. “Have we gone out to the well house to see what’s wrong?”
Harry shook his head. “None of us know anything about it. We could be staring right at the problem and have no idea.”
Rolls nodded. “Guess it’s time I earned my keep around here, then.”
Harry brightened. “Are you saying you understand how all that works?”
“I better. My dad owned a well-digging operation all his adult life. He was full service, too—from the dig to installation to building the pump house, he did it all. If I had stuck to the straight and narrow, I would have inherited the company from him.” He shrugged with an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t, but I did work for him for five years before I got caught jacking cars the first time.”
“What a relief!” Harry said. “What do we need to do first?”
Rolls looked around the room and settled on a teenage boy. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Tim Dixon.” The boy flushed a little. He seemed not to like having all the adults looking at him.
“Tim, my boy, I’m going to make you the well water apprentice. One of these days, I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil, and everyone else will need someone who knows their ass from a well in the ground.”
Tim looked at his father, Bob, who nodded.
The boy stood up, and he and Rolls left the room together.
“I’ve got to tag along and see this,” Harry said, following.
With at least a potential solution at hand, everyone left behind began to talk among themselves.
The well house was not as old as the prison. It hadn’t been built out of the same stone walls—well water is less likely to try to make good an escape—and it had eventually fallen into disrepair.
It had been rebuilt forty years earlier and was once again showing signs that it could use some attention.
Rolls looked at a clipboard hanging on the interior wall. “If there was still a functioning government, we’d have to have the water tested for bacteria like E. coli, or for feces.”
“Feces?” Tim Dixon said. “I drink that water every day.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about that,” Rolls said cheerfully. “Everything you’ve ever drank has had feces in it. It’s just a question of how much.”
Tim looked at Harry with a sickly expression.
Harry just nodded at Rolls. Pay attention.
Rolls clicked on his flashlight and started poking about, humming tunelessly.
Harry, who was not often the praying kind, prayed fervently now.
After ten minutes of tinkering and cussing under his breath, Rolls turned around and said, “Well, it’s pretty simple. The pump’s given up the ghost.”
“Can you fix it?”
“I don’t think there’s any fixing it. Maybe if I could just drive into town and order everything I need, I could get it running.”
“What does that mean, then?”
“It means we need to get a new pump.” Rolls squinted at Harry in the near-darkness of the pumphouse. “You’re saying we can’t just get on the phone and order one, huh?”
