StrikaAmaru wrote:Hmmm, and I used to think I knew a thing or two about medieval farming, having done half my growing up in a barely-civilized village in the middle of nowhere.
But we never went through so much trouble with our dung; we'd just pile the manure, put weeds and ashes when we had them, and we'd leave them alone for at least a winter, if not a couple of years. Then we'd load it in carriages and spread it on a field. Apply plough. High-grade cernosiome kinda made itself.
That's what you get for learning too large a fraction of "how to farm" from overeducated hobbyists, and not enough from people with real life peasant experience. At some point people are going to start saying "Fuck it" and doing things in simpler ways that, in practice, work well enough. But there will be a lot of cases in the first year or two where people end up wasting time because their Idea Of How To Compost or whatever is too labor-intensive.
Indeed. Turning compost piles is great for the backyard gardener, who tends to be in an enormous hurry and isn't feeding their pile with more than yard waste and table scraps (it's especially great if one has a big composting drum mounted on some framework that allows the drum to be spun.)
When you start getting into farming, you suddenly start producing a lot of compostable waste. So when you start trying to apply some of the things one learns in backyard gardening techniques to actual farming, you learn that some of the things you've learned don't scale as well as you thought. Eventually, either because you've gotten sick of turning over this huge smelly pile of decomposing matter, or because someone who knows better has told you . . . you'll start doing things in a less labor-intensive way that works good enough.
Some others, however, may take up building large drums to turn compost in.
Simon_Jester wrote:That's what you get for learning too large a fraction of "how to farm" from overeducated hobbyists, and not enough from people with real life peasant experience. At some point people are going to start saying "Fuck it" and doing things in simpler ways that, in practice, work well enough. But there will be a lot of cases in the first year or two where people end up wasting time because their Idea Of How To Compost or whatever is too labor-intensive.
Aaaah, I must remember that complicated isn't necessarily better; that was my first assumption, you know. Well, now I got encouraged .
Another thing going through my head is that maybe turning compost around isn't entirely unjustifiable, our way of processing manure had a cycle measured in years. I presume our time-tossed colonists would want results within months. But then again, it's not like they (we?) are trying to fertilize Sahara. Existing soil should meet agricultural demands, and they'll have enough effort sunk in exterminating grass from it, and clearing up its root systems. It's hard work, and very frustrating to boot. Tending crops is much easier by comparison, even though it's still a pain.
Speaking of it: are there any horses and/or cattle readily available? The Eagle could and most definitely should bring some from Europe, even if we already have a couple. For proper ploughing, you will NEED a large animal pulling the plough. Taking a spade to a plot of land is time-consuming and horribly tiring. Speaking of which, the colony will first need to make horse-drawn ploughs; it's not like people have them in the attic. I hope there's a book about it somewhere on the island, I only remeber the basic shape and that they should be heavy (around 40 kilos for a 3-bladed plough), to help keep contact with the ground.
Over-educated hobbyists may well have their puropse, if they can tell us some things about soil acidity and its relation to introduced manure. Different plants thrive or wither in different soils; the colony can't afford to figure things out by trial and error. (Although I couldn't wedge it in the discussion coherently, I must make this joke: not all crap is equal.)
Simon_Jester wrote:Remember that post by kh1 about mining gypsum from New Mexico, the one I wrote that letter in response to? That's an example. Sailing a thousand miles up the Rio Grande to find sulfur is way more labor-intensive and expensive than just ripping the wallboard out of houses. But kh1 suggested going to New Mexico first. Imagine that on a smaller scale, with the first thing people suggest being less efficient than the second thing they'd think of... but everyone is in such a hurry during the first year that they often go with the first solution rather than stop to think it through.
Rio Grande's sulfur may well come in handy.. some 2-300 years from now. This is the kind of stuff people from the colony should write down for the grandkids to use, along with the recorded positions of the world's dried out mines (which should now be both full and relatively easy to exploit), means to build a desalinizer, and the cause and cure for scurvy.
Simon_Jester wrote:By the way, where was the village?
North-Eastern Romania; I couldn't figure out in 5 minutes how to make a link to Google Maps, so the coordinates are 48 4' Lat, 26 22' Long. A cursory look around the map should reveal a frightening lack of infrastructure, even today.
Y'know, I now wonder if I "made the cut", so to speak... this thread started on October 30th, and I registered my account on the 29th.
The hearth fire blazed cheerily in the living room. Combined with the electric lanterns and candles, the room was downright bright. Packer sat on the couch while a Watchman with basic medical training(Ken, Packer now recalled) cleaned and bandaged his ear. It had indeed been split open, but it barely bled. Still, the Watchman had packed the wound with sulfa(which burned like hell) and was applying gauze and tape to cover it.
Aside from that, that was the only place Packer was bleeding. He still felt like someone had put him in the dryer and let him tumble for a couple of hours, but he was, in all, in good shape.
"Alright, Mister Packer, you're all set for now," Ken said. "You're going to need to have a doctor look at that, however; they're probably gonna want to stitch it closed."
"Huh?" Packer said for the fifteenth time. The Watchman rolled his eyes. "No problem, man. I've got a friend in the hospital now who I need to visit anyway." He sat back into the couch, the flaring pain started to settle down into mere aches. The Old Man, who had watched this with calm disinterest, sat in a chair directly across from him.
Packer glanced around. Besides the field medic Watchman, Sixgun was in room, near the entrance to the kitchen, along with a third Watchman at the entrance to the formal dining room. When they'd first entered, the Old Man had been concluding some kind of conference with the other Commanders of the Watch, though Packer hadn't heard what had been discussed. Periodically, other Watchmen would traipse through the room on some errand or another.
The Old Man appraised Packer for a moment, face inscrutable, then turned to his men. "Gentlemen, please excuse Mister Packer and myself, and see that we're not disturbed. Constable, you can stay." Sixgun turned around and came back in, resuming his spot. The Old Man scooched his chair closer to Packer.
"Hell of a night, huh?" he said.
"You could indeed say that, sir," Packer replied. He noted that the Old Man was sitting in a chair that put him at eye level with Packer. He probably wants to put me at ease, he thought. Certainly a better start than the last time I saw him.
The Old Man waved a hand. "Please, call me Toby."
Oh, now we're on a first-name basis, huh? "Alright. Tell me something, Toby. Why did your guys try to capture me at the hospital?"
The Old Man pressed his lips together in a tight grimace. "Honestly? Nabbing you is a quick career boost. Like hazard duty. I've issued standing orders that you not be allowed to roam the island freely, for both your own safety..." he gestured around them, "...as well as the safety of the island at large."
"So, both myself and my wife were threatened not by goons of the Council, but by ambitious young men seeking to climb the ladder of success?" Packer rolled his eyes. "You'll forgive me if I don't applaud their initiative. You'll also forgive me if I exclude them from the thanks I offer to you and the men here for saving my life."
"That's an odd way to phrase gratitude, but regardless, I accept it." The Old Man adjusted his position in the chair. "And as for those ambitious young men, I will deal with them in time. Unfortunately, I have need of them, and will have need of them for the foreseeable future."
"So they're not here tonight?"
"They were, but I sent them away. I do have to do a bit of housekeeping within the men under my command, but, as I said, not tonight."
Packer considered this. "Alright. Next question: who the fuck did I kill tonight?"
The Old Man sighed. "Specifically, or what group do they represent?"
Packer chuckled. "Oh, I know his name is Jerry. Was Jerry." Packer reflected that his mood was starting to bounce back. He'd read about this somewhere; in the immediate aftermath of a trauma, after the shock wears off, one could experience a euphoric sensation for a few hours. He guessed he was coming into the post-traumatic euphoria right now. He didn't look forward to what came after that, but he'd deal with that in its own time.
"Of course." The Old Man looked down for a moment. "When the Watch and the Council split, we ceased providing logistical support for the physical security of the Council. In other words, they'd get no more protection from us that your average woodcutter or Machinist would. To fill this gap, the Volunteers were created."
"Ah ha," Packer said. "The Council's own personal Brute Squad."
"In a manner of speaking. The Volunteers were meant to provide security during meetings of the Council, field trips Councilors might take as part of their active duties...that sort of thing. The Watch handles everything else." The Old Man took a moment to pick up a Thermos and a few mugs from one of the end tables. He unscrewed the cap and poured a cup out for himself. "Tea, Packer?"
"I'll pass," Packer said. "How about a beer?"
Sixgun either thought this was funny, or something smelled bad in his vicinity. The Old Man said, perhaps a bit wistfully, "If only. Unfortunately, I need you to have your wits about you. We're in for a busy couple of hours. But I'll tell you what: when we've got this situation put to bed, I'll get you that beer...though it might be a little different from what you remember."
Packer shrugged. "Sure. Not sure how much I can help you, though. I have no official status on Nantucket."
The Old Man seemed surprised by this. "Oh? Mister Dumfries didn't say anything about this when I spoke with him."
Well, that could explain why he was on Martha's Vineyard. "Indeed, I played this one close to my vest, only revealing it...well, yesterday, to the Council." Packer leaned forward. "I've renounced my association with the Machinists as well as this society. I'm not one of you; I'm one of my wife's people." Packer jingled the seashell necklace he wore. "This isn't just for show. You sent me away, Toby, and in the interim, I found people who wanted me. Who accepted me. I wasn't just killing time out there."
"I know," The Old Man replied.
"Right, Kevin told you."
"Not at all. I've been keeping tabs on you, Packer. Through agents on Cape Cod. I even knew about Miles and Kevin's trip out to see you last month."
Packer was surprised by this, but not as surprised as he thought he'd be. It made sense, when he thought about it. "Huh. Made friends with natives of your own, yeah?"
"That's right," the Old Man said easily. "We did actually send a team out to pick you up back in April, believe it or not. All they found was your ruined camp, and a few...personal effects. They were able, however, to follow tracks inland to a small camp..."
"The Wolf Hunters," Packer growled.
"Exactly," the Old Man confirmed. "It took some time to establish a dialogue, but we were able to effect an understanding between our men on the ground and them. They checked in on your location periodically, as well as trained our men in all manner of skills and knowledge. So, I had, in a rough way, the idea that you fully integrated yourself, and were not just...playing house, let's say."
"Hmm." Packer looked down.
The Old Man tried to catch his gaze. "Something wrong, Mister Packer?"
"We have a problem, Toby. Actually, you have a problem."
"Oh?"
Packer looked up. "You're association with the Wolf Hunters is...unfortunate. Perhaps they didn't tell you the circumstances of my time with them. Actually, they probably didn't tell you anything that wouldn't put them in a positive light. They're outcasts, Toby. See, in your society, both here and back in the future, when a sociopath becomes problematic, you yield to him as much as you can. You try to rehabilitate him. You imprison him, to protect everyone else from harming him.
"In my tribe, we send them away. To die, in most cases, but the most brutal of the non-conformists do survive on their own. In the case of the five men you've befriended, they've formed a loose coalition for mutual benefit. Did your men ever wonder why they refused to take them anywhere near a village or settlement?
"They're horrible people. The only reason they aren't hunted down and killed is because they rarely provoke anyone, and the resources spent hunting them wouldn't be worth the payoff. So, Toby, your problem is this: you've told me that you've befriended sociopaths, rapists, and killers. Enemies of my tribe. You've also told me that you want to work with me to fix the shitstorm that's about to erupt." Packer folded his arms and leaned back.
The Old Man was silent for a minute. "I see. Well, I'll take your word that they are who you say they are, and we will disassociate ourselves with them next spring."
Packer smiled. "Good. Actually, if we pull off what we need to pull off tonight, you won't need them, anyway." His stared off into the middle distance. "I'll have to organize a hunt next spring. Clear them out once and for all."
The Old Man cocked his head. "Is that really necessary?"
"They tried to rape my wife," Packer said bluntly. It had the desired effect; the other two men in the room both stiffened their postures in some way. "Yeah," Packer went on, "no purpose leaving them around." He shook his head. "But that's my problem, not yours. I'm sorry. Let's get to the meat of the matter. You were saying that the Council has armed men under their command."
"Worse," the Old Man said. "It's not the entire Council. To...oh, say, three quarters of the Council, the Volunteers are what they seem: event security. Rent-a-cops. It isn't even their primary occupation, as the name suggests. The other quarter of the Council, however, knows better."
"And apparently can command them to murder," Packer finished with a frown.
"Indeed. I've been aware of their tendencies towards violence for some time. But, on the other hand, they have served an important purpose. Either myself or the Council can deputize them, should we need to beef up our presence for a specific purpose. And we have had the need, Packer."
"Ah, so they're not murdering thugs," Packer said flippantly. "They're deputies! Well, look. I can't make any promises, but I have made a start." And he filled the Old Man in on the dealings he'd had with the Machinists, finishing with: "It comes to this. I've very strongly suggested that they stop whatever it is that they're trying to do, and instead come to a negotiated peace with the Council. I think, since they did return the plans as I asked, that they are willing to deal."
The Old Man considered this. "Deal?"
"I don't know specifics. Remember, I'm not one of them. I asked them this as a favor, and they agreed. To listen, anyway. Success depends upon the Council."
He nodded. "I see. Well, that's good to know." He sipped his tea. "So, Packer, I assume that you now know, as I do, that you've been set up by someone on the Council."
"The Shark?"
"The...oh, James Dolsen. Well, he certainly isn't fond of you, and I know for a fact that he keeps abreast of both the affairs of the Volunteers and the Watch. Though I've instructed my men to distance themselves from him as much as possible." The Old Man sighed. "However, he is damned persuasive. And slicker than snot. Frankly, I expected something like this to occur. It was my plan, originally, to keep you isolated in the hospital until we could stabilize things. I'm told that you had, essentially, the same idea, but with different goals. Your wife is pregnant, correct?"
Packer glanced up at Sixgun, who was still leaning against the wall, watching them both. "Does it hurt?"
Sixgun replied, "Does what hurt?"
"Whatever's up your ass," Packer said with a grin. "Come on, man, take a seat! You're making me nervous. You trying to drive me oobatz or something?"
The Old Man cracked a more reserved smile of his own, then turned to look over his shoulder. "Constable, I think we're well-set for protection. Please."
Sixgun considered it, then joined Packer at the other end of the couch. Packer watched this, then turned to the Old Man. "That's right, Toby. She's four months along, maybe four and a half. If she hadn't gotten pregnant, or if I hadn't known, I probably would've spent the winter out there. I would've let you come to me. But anyway, she comes first, so priority number one upon my return was getting to the hospital. It's probably the only true safe haven, apart from hiding out in a mansion that the wreckers haven't gotten to yet."
"Indeed. I have little doubt that I'd be of the same mindset, were I you." The Old man crossed his legs and sipped his tea. "So, I'm forced to ask you, Packer, why did you want to leave the safety of the hospital?"
"Actually, I didn't want to leave, necessarily. They had us set up in fancy room, which we had all to ourselves. Food's...well, it's hospital food, but I ain't complaining. And it was safe. Actually, now that I think about it, the suggestion for me to leave came from the Council."
The Old Man leaned forward. "Dolsen?"
Packer cocked his head, thinking back. "No, that asshole raved and ranted about deportation. He actually wanted to hold us at the hospital until he could make arrangements, but Gail Underhill shut him down hard. Said that she wouldn't stand for a pregnant woman to be treated that way. She even arranged for us to...to come...here..." Suddenly, raw, illuminating sunlight poured down onto his brain, like in the Blues Brothers. Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ, I have seen the light! "Oh. Oh ho ho...oh hoooo! Holy shit, is he good!"
The Old Man looked thoughtful, but perplexed. He looked to Sixgun, then back at Packer. "What is it?"
"Oh, fuck, it's so...brilliant! Think about it!" Packer couldn't believe it. "James, or someone aligned with him, wants to spring a trap on me, right? But as long as I'm in the hospital, I'm safe!
"Now, he knows that I can't stand him. In fact, he would count on it! So he tries a little reverse psychology: he makes a big fucking to-do about nabbing me right then and there, so I can't wreak havoc on the island. He won't let it go. It reminded me of 'Slowly I Turned...' " The Old Man grinned at this.
"But he knows I won't go for it, and he knows the people who're likely to ally with me won't go for it! No, they'll argue for precisely the opposite, partially as a power play, but also because they genuinely think I'll be OK. That as long as some Watchmen are around to keep an eye on me, that I can't get into any trouble. And--this is the important part--once they make their case, James shuts up. He plays like he's been beaten, but he really hasn't!
"So, he plans on me being allowed to go free...and get me exactly where he wants me. Out in the open. The Volunteers nab me in my sleep, throw me in their hoosegow, and in a couple of days, Nantucket deports or executes its most dangerous enemy! Amen, we've won again." Packer sat back, leaning into the couch, looking at Sixgun, then the Old Man. "But goddamn, he's good."
The Old Man frowned, deep in thought. "Perhaps. Perhaps he was just lucky and opportunistic. Either way, he didn't account for one thing." At Packer's questioning look, he elaborated: "You. He didn't have the knowledge I had; James honestly thought you were just playing house out there...taking advantage of their hospitality. Probably because that's what he would have done. He didn't count on you coming back as you have. He didn't expect you to try to fight off half a dozen men with nothing more that a bow and hatchet."
"Yes, I just recently discovered that I do, in fact, have testicles," Packer said, chucking to himself. His smile faded, though. "Fat lot of good it did Bill," he added morosely.
"I wouldn't beat yourself up, Packer," the Old Man replied. "He was just as motivated as you to defend his house. And you got his bleeding stopped quickly. He'll get a transfusion--the EMTs have already radioed ahead for three donors to be woken up."
"Huh?"
"Oh, right. The freezer that the hospital uses for the blood bank gave out two months ago. Now we just keep the donor blood inside the donor. Everyone's been typed, so if someone needs blood, several names are drawn from the appropriate pool."
"Ah, very good." They were silent for a moment.
The Old Man went on: "Now, as for resolving this...issue. We have one of the Volunteers alive. There is you. The ladies. Jorgensen. We'll go to the Council and deal with this."
Packer didn't reply immediately. A thought flashed through his head: Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. "Einstein!"
The Old Man probably did his first double-take in a long time. "Einstein?"
Packer repeated the quote that had just run through his head. "Get it, Toby? The first time I dealt with the Council--you, specifically--I tried to remain calm. Nonviolent. No theatrics to speak of, other than some heated dialogue. And what was the result? 'Off to the mainland with ye!'
"So I come back and I try the same thing. I go before the Council, olive branch extended, with a reasonable proposal and an offering of cooperation and peace, and what is the result? A bunch of goons try to murder me. They shoot my friend. My other friend, his fiancée, is traumatized, just because she had the misfortune of behaving decently towards me and inviting me into her home." He looked up at the Old Man. "You get my drift?"
He frowned. "I do."
Packer continued, "Now, I don't want anything to do with Nantucket's internal politics anymore. I'm just here to see my daughter born, make sure she and her mom are healthy, and then, if need be, I'll go. You'll never hear from me again. But here's my point: Both times that I've clashed with the Council, I've asked for something. The Charter, first. Then, yesterday, a cultural exchange, to facilitate the integration of my tribe with Nantucket's society. And both times, I've nearly been killed afterwards."
"I'm sorry, a cultural exchange?"
"Oh, right." Packer ran down his proposal briefly.
The Old Man nodded. "Sounds...interesting. I see what you meant, when you said that if we succeed tonight, I'll no longer need my existing native contacts."
"That's right, Toby. I'd say that I probably have a good number of Councilors firmly convinced but..." Packer rubbed his chin. "Maybe it's time to stop being so nice. Perhaps, instead of asking, I should simply take what I want. I am, after all, coming at them from a much stronger position now, right?"
The Old Man looked displeased. "We're cross-purposes here, Packer. I understand perhaps what the Council did not, in that your goals are different from when you left us. But I have an obligation to keep this island from descending into chaos, and that comes first. I can't have you bullying to get your way."
Packer shrugged. "I understand. What about my goals, though?"
"Your cultural exchange?"
"Yes. There's gotta be a way for both of us to walk away from this happy," Packer said. "Well, not happy, but rather, secure in the knowledge that we're doing the right thing. I recognize your priorities, and I see their importance. Given the conversation we just had, do you see mine?"
The Old Man was silent for a moment, deep in thought. He said, finally: "Yes, Packer, I do."
"Then we have an accord," Packer said with a tired smile. "I'll back your play, you back mine." The Old Man started to speak, but Packer interrupted him. "Without violence, of course. I'm going to make it clear that I'm not in a good mood as a result of the Council's actions. No one's going to get hurt, though."
"Are you sure?"
"I swear it on the life of my daughter," Packer replied heavily. "You don't have to worry about the physical safety of any Councilor."
The Old Man regarded Packer for a moment, then said, "Alright. I've got a few more things to square away, but I'll begin rounding up my men. You see to the ladies, and we'll depart shortly."
The Old Man chuckled. "Not quite, Mister Packer. We're not negotiating with the Council. They're using armed militias to advance private agendas, and, as far as I'm concerned, are in violation of the unwritten contract they have with the rest of this island. No, we're going to make this right, however we have to." He turned to Sixgun. "Constable? A word?"
"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation." -Herbert Spencer
"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." - Schiller, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, III vi.
1. Did anyone check the library for logarithm and power tables? I dimly recall my parents (both former engineers) having a book which was basically a pow table, with base and power value incrementing on the fifth decimal, and stretching over 400 pages. If there isn't any, maybe 'we' can get these tables compiled by a computer (heck, Excel can cut it), and some of the irreplaceable printer ink could be used to print them. It will come very much in handy to an engineer some generations after, who will need to compute lg(2.14515) or 2.254^0.587.
It's not that these values couldn't be computed by hand; before electronic computers there was an entire profession (whose practitioners were also called computers) who did just that. Their works were, sadly and unavoidably, riddled with errors; humans make rather poor number crunchers.
2. Is there any way to make a primitive phonograph/gramophone? I realize it's useless for immediate survival, and might actually not be possible to build one, even if by some untold miracle there is an accurate description of one. But it would go light years toward retaining some of our current culture. I'd make a crack about "I want my MTV", but I just can't bring myself to derive any humor from cultural extinction. Especially ours.
EDIT: Sad as it is, I have to erase #2 as highly impractical. The earliest and simplest sound records have degraded badly even in a century, were of very low quality, and could hold mere minutes of sound. Good bye, rock 'n' roll.
StrikaAmaru wrote:Aaaah, I must remember that complicated isn't necessarily better; that was my first assumption, you know. Well, now I got encouraged .
In this case, turning compost probably is better; it's just that the improvement as a function of labor invested is isn't very good (twice as much work gets you 10% better results). It'd be fine for a garden plot, not so fine when we're raising crops by the hectare.
Speaking of it: are there any horses and/or cattle readily available? The Eagle could and most definitely should bring some from Europe, even if we already have a couple. For proper ploughing, you will NEED a large animal pulling the plough...
There actually might be a few horse-drawn plows around somewhere; Nantucket has a number of museums and a lot of hobbyist types, and while the people aren't there, their goods still are.
As for draft animals, I suspect we have a few, but only a few, not enough to sustain a viable breeding population. Look at the first of Stirling's books, Island in the Sea of Time; that should be a rough guide to what equipment we'd have, more or less.
Over-educated hobbyists may well have their puropse, if they can tell us some things about soil acidity and its relation to introduced manure. Different plants thrive or wither in different soils; the colony can't afford to figure things out by trial and error. (Although I couldn't wedge it in the discussion coherently, I must make this joke: not all crap is equal.)
Oh, hobbyists certainly have their purpose. It's just that there are disadvantages to trying to do industrial-scale operations (like farming for three thousand people) as a scaled up version of hobby-scale techniques. Sixgun getting a sinus infection from forking compost every day for a month is one of them.
Simon_Jester wrote:Rio Grande's sulfur may well come in handy.. some 2-300 years from now.
Ha! That's pretty much what I said. I don't know if you've read the letter, but... well, I tried to do a nice thorough review of the problems with launching the expedition.
This is the kind of stuff people from the colony should write down for the grandkids to use, along with the recorded positions of the world's dried out mines (which should now be both full and relatively easy to exploit), means to build a desalinizer, and the cause and cure for scurvy.
Personally I (both in and out of story) still hold out some hope for being able to stay at an early industrial level of technology, something comparable to Victorian Britain. But yes, yes we should be writing down as much of that as possible. And I'd totally be pushing for that.
Simon_Jester wrote:Y'know, I now wonder if I "made the cut", so to speak... this thread started on October 30th, and I registered my account on the 29th.
You would have.
StrikaAmaru wrote:Two completely random thoughts:
1. Did anyone check the library for logarithm and power tables? I dimly recall my parents (both former engineers) having a book which was basically a pow table, with base and power value incrementing on the fifth decimal, and stretching over 400 pages. If there isn't any, maybe 'we' can get these tables compiled by a computer (heck, Excel can cut it), and some of the irreplaceable printer ink could be used to print them. It will come very much in handy to an engineer some generations after, who will need to compute lg(2.14515) or 2.254^0.587.
I would think of this, and since I've been written into a position of responsibility, I'd get it done if at all practical. Might be something for residents unable to perform manual labor to do, or for some of the girls at Point Breeze if they've got too much time on their hands.
It's not that these values couldn't be computed by hand; before electronic computers there was an entire profession (whose practitioners were also called computers) who did just that. Their works were, sadly and unavoidably, riddled with errors; humans make rather poor number crunchers.
Yah. Fortunately, in this case, we can use electronic computers (graphing calculators or Excel) to do the actual computing and restrict the meatbags' responsibility to copyist work.
EDIT: Sad as it is, I have to erase #2 as highly impractical. The earliest and simplest sound records have degraded badly even in a century, were of very low quality, and could hold mere minutes of sound. Good bye, rock 'n' roll.
Well, we can always try to hang onto the tabs and lyrics of the best stuff, and recreate on an if-and-when basis. Likewise the scripts of popular movies, or any copies of popular books we have lying around.
Me, I'm still praying there's at least one copy of Doc Smith's Lensman series somewhere on the island...
Well, with the calculators... the only issue is that even the solar-powered models will stop functioning because of material fatigue (broken keys) or electronic damage (tin whiskering, water, humidity, etc) after about 10-15 years in most cases. If you're lucky, they may keep working for up to 30 years, but that's starting to push it.
Crayz9000 wrote:Well, with the calculators... the only issue is that even the solar-powered models will stop functioning because of material fatigue (broken keys) or electronic damage (tin whiskering, water, humidity, etc) after about 10-15 years in most cases. If you're lucky, they may keep working for up to 30 years, but that's starting to push it.
Crayz9000 wrote:Well, with the calculators... the only issue is that even the solar-powered models will stop functioning because of material fatigue (broken keys) or electronic damage (tin whiskering, water, humidity, etc) after about 10-15 years in most cases. If you're lucky, they may keep working for up to 30 years, but that's starting to push it.
Hence the reasoning behind using the very accurate electronic calculators to compile books of log, trig, and power tables now, while we still can.
By the way, once we get things off on the right foot (hopefully)... it wouldn't be terribly hard to set up a movable type printing press, even if it is a slow, hand-loaded and hand-cranked deal.
However, in terms of the time it takes to set up for one page of printing, we would be better off taking the Irish monastery approach to preserving knowledge. Make sure we have a safe, fireproof, flood-resistant vault we can store the books in. Then dedicate some of the excess manpower we have, assuming it exists, to transcribing books, mathematical tables, etc. Store the originals in the vault and place the copies in the library. Rinse and repeat as necessary to preserve the integrity of the books.
Yeah. Our population is too small to make printing profitable for individual books, except for things that need to be produced in great numbers, or for the export market if and when there ever is one. 3000 people just can't use that many copies of a book.
Simon_Jester wrote:Yeah. Our population is too small to make printing profitable for individual books, except for things that need to be produced in great numbers, or for the export market if and when there ever is one. 3000 people just can't use that many copies of a book.
A book? On a screw press? That just sounds like an exercise in pain.
I can't see it for books either, but certainly fliers, news-flimsies, and informational signs (How to use this composting toilet...), right?
Line up the letters, crank 50-100 copies, slap in a new tray for the next job... Not a book, but a single page sheet, for sure. Though I hear paper production's a bear.
Dave wrote:A book? On a screw press? That just sounds like an exercise in pain.
Yeah, well so's doing it by hand. Books were printed on screw presses, plenty of them, but as a rule only when they were... call it mass market. Think about why Gutenberg started with the Bible- even before the Protestant Reformation, the potential market for Bibles was huge, so Gutenberg could count on selling hundreds or thousands of copies. At which point the advantages of printing even on a press where every letter is typeset by hand become much, much more significant.
With a population of 3000, we can't support a publishing industry, as opposed to a printing industry. That only changes if we greatly increase the literate population (the "educate the Bronze Agers" route), or dilute the literate population among a large illiterate population, using the literati as the top class of technical specialists (in which case there's more labor to support specialist luxuries for the people who can read)
Line up the letters, crank 50-100 copies, slap in a new tray for the next job... Not a book, but a single page sheet, for sure. Though I hear paper production's a bear.
Way I figure it, we likely have a few people who know something about making paper, but quality will be quite low at first. Systematic experimentation will help there, to some extent, but this is an industry where we won't see really good stuff for a long time. If anything it's worse than fields like blacksmithing, simply because it attracts less attention and fewer people are liable to have the hang of it. I know we have at least one or two people, at least, who know enough about blacksmithing to keep us from falling from the Iron Age to the Stone Age.
The Crown Vic they were walking towards might very well have been the same one that Packer rode in to meet his destiny. It hadn't been gasified yet, so Packer assumed that, by now, it was running off of ethanol. How long will that work, though? he found himself wondering.
The thought evaporated quickly, as the scene around them bordered on the surreal. The neighbors, invariably couples, stood in distinct pairs(or even-numbered groupings, anyway) behind police tape some fifty feet away from Kaley and Bill's house, whispering amongst themselves. Women clung apprehensively to their men, and in not a few instances, men clung to each other. Packer did his best to look calm and, most importantly, in control. Like he wasn't being arrested. Again.
It was still dark, of course, but he tried to see if he recognized anyone he knew in the crowd as he walked. No one stood out, but as he scanned the people watching the scene from the sidewalks and porches, he began to get the impression that these people did not look upon him favorably.
Well, why not? Packer thought. You're strolling around, armed to the teeth, surrounded by the Watch. They're hearing all sorts of rumors as to what's going on, none of which paint you in a particularly positive light, surely. The men now have to consider if their partners are safe here. This Couples District was, after all, quite calm...until you showed up, O Bringer of Discord.
So he pretended to not see anyone scowling at him from behind the police tape, and continued on to the police car. I guess no one around here is going to be inviting us over for game night anytime soon.
He had his hatchet on his belt, and he carried his spear over his shoulder. Surprisingly, the Old Man had agreed to let him go armed. Maybe he though Packer would balk otherwise. Hell, maybe I would have. At least this way I can protect Nara if something comes up. Kaley, too.
Speaking of, Kaley had gone from hysteria to catatonia. Nara guided her around as Packer suggested; in creole, she admitted that Kaley wasn't doing well at all. Packer thought about sending her off to the hospital, but decided that the Council needed to see Kaley. They needed to see the consequences of their behavior.
Was it the Shark behind all this? Packer's gut told him yes, but they'd need proof, of course. An admission, made free and clear. Packer couldn't, say, pin him to the floor and threaten to scalp him in order to extract a confession, much as that immature fantasy tickled him. And it might not even be him. He might be relaying orders through a middleman, protecting himself from implication like a mafia don. He probably had plans within schemes within a heap of bullshit ready to protect himself, but Packer doubted that the Shark would see this coming. Or maybe he would?
Packer shook his head; no use getting lost in hypotheticals. They'd figure it out. The Old Man would, at any rate. Packer wondered what the hell he was planning? Military coup? Arrests? How was he going to make this right, as he'd said? Someone had to take the rap for tonight's debacle, right?
Then again, maybe not. Maybe a deal would be struck between the Council the the Watch. Could he live with that?
He led Kaley and Nara across the street to the Crown Vic. They all piled in the back seat; Packer behind the driver, spear hanging out the window, Kaley in the middle, and Nara on the right. Kaley looked positively shell-shocked; aside from the noise of her breathing, all she did was sniffle occasionally. Packer couldn't look at her for more than a second or two without being overwhelmed by guilt. I should've just given myself up, he thought suddenly. Gone peacefully, let them throw me in jail. Maybe the Old Man would've busted me out... He inhaled sharply, a defense against tears that could work in a pinch. Now was not the time to be crying.
The front doors of the car opened simultaneously. Sixgun slid into the driver's seat, and the Old Man rode shotgun. The big V8 grumbled to life, and soon, most of the cars present were traveling in an orderly procession towards...
"Where are we going, Toby?" Packer asked.
The Old Man turned around. "I guess you never visited the Council Chambers. That's where we're headed. One of my Commanders has already secured the building, along with any Volunteers that might've put up a fight. The Council is not specifically aware that we're coming, but they know something is up."
"And they're there?"
"They have been since about three AM, I'm told." The Old Man threw his arm across the top of the front seat. "These midnight meetings seem to occur with much greater frequency when you're on the island, Packer."
"I seem to have that effect on people," Packer said. "But we'll end it, right? Show them that I'm no longer a threat?"
"No," the Old Man said. "You are a threat to them. To some of them. No amount of convincing on your part is ever going to change that opinion. What I am going to do is make this island safe. Safe for you, and for Nara. Safe for Miss Richards, and--"
"Jorgensen," Kaley said. They all started; even Sixgun swerved the Crown Vic a bit. All eyes were on her. "Mrs. Jorgensen. I'm taking his name. And I'm going to marry him as soon as possible." She looked at Packer. "Will you perform the ceremony? You're the reason we met in the first place."
Packer watched her carefully; had she lost her shit, like he himself had six months ago? Cracked under the stress? Made a rash decision? Her eyes were bloodshot, to be sure, and her face was grim, but her expression seemed clear and she looked alert.
"Yes," he said finally. "Of course. As soon as Bill's up for it, consider it done."
"Good," she said, lapsing back into silence.
Packer looked back at the Old Man, expecting him to be unreadable or perhaps even impatient. Instead, he looked...sad? But the emotion vanished quickly, and he continued, "It's got to stop. As I said, armed militias are advancing private agendas--and attempting settle private vendettas. This will end, and the sooner it does, the less of a chance that the island destroys itself. So, we end it tonight."
"End what?"
"The Council. I'm going to offer them a choice: they will either abdicate, or be dissolved. Either way, they're done. I'm breaking up their power structure, because that power structure is enabling someone to command others to murder.
"Abdication will place them under 'voluntary' isolation while they labor to create a governing document. Once it is created, I will oversee a ratification vote and subsequent elections. Congratulations, Packer, you're going to get your Charter, after a fashion."
Packer shrugged. "It doesn't apply to me anymore. I can't vote, anyway."
"Of course," the Old Man said. "You're not one of us. You're part of Nara's people."
"He is of us," Nara confirmed.
The Old Man glanced at Nara, then said, "Dissolution is the other option. I will dissolve the Council as empaneled and imprison them for a brief time. During that time, I will preside over a convention of the...outside elite, let's say. The head of the carpenters. Whoever's running the Horticulturists these days. Jason Terrance. Representatives from various industrial concerns out in Madaket and Siasconset, which are growing further and further apart from Nantucket proper each day. Also, the Council's middle management: assistants to specific Councilors who are familiar with their bosses' jobs.
"These people will convene for one purpose: designing and presenting a Charter for ratification to the public. Once they've accomplished their task, the dissolved Council will be released and will take up life as private citizens. So, either way, we get the same result, just from different sources."
"I take you want the first option," Packer said.
"I certainly do," the Old Man replied. "It's quicker and there's much less potential for trouble in the aftermath...and there's plenty of potential for trouble as it stands. The Machinists alone could--"
"Leave them to me," Packer interrupted. "I can handle the Machinists. Horticulturists, too. I'll keep them in line."
The Old Man frowned. "How?"
Packer shrugged. "I'll tell them to. We'll...hmm, let's do it like this. I'll issue a statement that we'll print up and sent to the four corners of Nantucket. That'll settle them down."
The Old Man gave forth a kind of incredulous snort. "Packer, I got news for you: they didn't buy the statement you signed after your trial. Nor did they buy Kevin Dumfries' statement after his arrest."
"Well, of course they didn't," Packer said. "Neither of us wrote those statements. When we were first starting up this shit, we agreed on code words. If we were arrested or otherwise detained, these code words would be used in any statements apparently made by us to indicate our status. That's how the Machinists and Horticulturists knew that my statement wasn't my own. It didn't contain the code word that would let them know that my statement was, in fact, my own words and the truth.
"So, I'll whip up a statement and you have it distributed, unedited, and you'll have nothing to worry about. From the Machinists and Horticulturists, anyway. It will not be incendiary, of course, but it may not calm others as it will them."
The Old Man considered this for a moment. "That's a hell of a leap of faith for you to ask me to make, Packer. To give you a sounding board to the entire isl--"
"God fucking damn it," Packer snarled, heat creeping up his neck, his voice resonating in the cabin of the Crown Vic, "don't you do this to me too, Toby." He stared hotly at the Old Man, who held his gaze with an ice-cold intensity, seeming to scan every inch of Packer's expression and body language. "The assholes in charge of this cuntsucking island refused to take me at my word, and look what it got them. Please, just trust me. You will not have to worry about the Machinists and Horticulturists."
When the Old Man didn't reply right away, Packer almost started yelling in frustration. Fortunately, some errant synapse fired, and he said: "You don't think these men are still loyal to me? Let me tell you a story. Remember the black market? One of my guys had a boyfriend who was turning tricks for those pills they were trafficking. After you guys busted it up, he killed himself rather than live without his drugs. Well, my guy was devastated. I mean, not only was his boyfriend dead, but he was also leading this fucked up double life right under his nose.
"This kid...God, if he's a day over twenty, I'll eat my boot...basically lost the only thing keeping him grounded. And he still came to work, because he was afraid of disappointing me." Packer laughed harshly. "Can you fucking believe that? This poor bastard is a spilled drink away from slitting his wrists himself, and the only thing that's keeping him going is his loyalty to me. Well, let me tell you. That was terrifying. How do you respond to that? This kid clung to life and got through it because he was afraid he would upset me.
"No, you can't fake that shit. If I say jump, they jump. And if I tell them to remain calm, they will remain calm. Because they respect me that much. Even now, after I parted ways with them. They still call me 'boss,' you know."
The Old Man processed this, finally saying, "Alright. We'll do it like you said. After, of course, we settle the looming issue of removing the Council from power."
Packer nodded to himself. "Of course. Where do I fit in?"
"Well," the Old Man began, "I could accomplish this by myself. There are too many variables, however, in that scenario. Too much potential for chaos. What I want from you is for you to show that you're on board with this. That you've 'won.' " He held up his hand. "Now, I know that you've renounced your association with Nantucket, and I'll make sure that that is respected in the future. Right now, though, and for the next few days, I need to you to work for this. I need you to help me hold things together."
Packer licked his lips quickly. What else could he say? "Okay. I owe you my life, and the lives of my family and friends, so if that's what you want, I'll do it. I'll call in every favor I ever had with everyone I can think of. I'll plead for calm. Hell, I'll distract everyone by telling stories from the mainland, if I think that'll help. But...I want to cut my deal. Right now."
"Your...cultural exchange, was it?"
"That's right," Packer replied, glancing over at Nara. "I had a fair portion of the Council pretty excited about my proposal. If it weren't for the few colossal dicks sending armed goons out to murder me, I do believe it would've been implemented. But, I'm not leaving it to chance. If I don't do this, I'll have failed my tribe. Failed my family. Peaceful integration is of prime importance, Toby, and it is my ultimate goal."
The Old Man nodded. "And we've had our troubles with natives out on the Vineyard, too. Alright, Packer. Regardless of tonight's outcome, I will very strongly suggest that your plan be implemented. Consider it done."
"Good," Packer said. "You have to understand that I will go to bat for you, because I do owe you my life, but in the long run, I have to my put tribe ahead of even that." He was silent for moment. "I want a few other things, too. Trivialities, really..."
"Go on," the Old Man said, a bit uncertain.
"The windows that were broken in Kaley and Bill's house. I want them fixed before any of us get back. I want the bullet holes patched. I want the...floors cleaned. The stairs, too."
The Old Man smiled a bit in the darkness. "I think I can scrounge up a construction crew or three to handle that. Anything else?"
Packer took a deep breath. "Miles Jameson. I need him released from wherever he's being held. I think the Volunteers tuned his ass up. He probably needs to see a doctor."
The Old Man was frowning. "Packer, I've read his arrest report. Our intoxication statutes carry stiff penalties for this very reason. Now, considering the source, I'm unsure of the report's veracity at this point, but we do not tolerate drunkenness on Nantucket. He'll be held until witnesses to his arrest can be found and will vouch that he wasn't, in fact, intoxicated, and was instead the target of the Volunteers. And frankly, that's just about at the bottom of my list of things to do."
Packer looked down. I tried, Miles. I guess a mere week in jail is as good as I can do for you. Maybe I should've asked for you, first, instead of for a fucking mop and spackle job. What the--
"Please," Nara said suddenly. The Old Man practically faced backwards to see Nara. "Please help Miles. He is my friend, and he is a good man. If he is hurt because..." her voiced choked off suddenly, and she sniffled. Packer looked over and saw tears running down her face. His pulse suddenly beat in his ears and he thought with wild bewilderment, Christ, I knew she liked Miles, but what's all this?
"Please," she whispered again, getting herself back under control. She wiped away her tears and looked up at the Old Man. The car, save its rumbling engine, was silent.
And, remarkably, the Old Man's features softened. He said, with a small but noticeable quaver to his voice, "Okay, Nara. I will have him released and brought to the hospital when morning comes."
Wow, Packer thought. The Old Man is a big softie after all! Packer studied his face before he turned around; there was more to his expression than Packer'd ever seen. The man was normally supremely guarded, and when he let his emotion show, it was definitely on his terms and to an end that suited him. But this...
Does Nara remind him of someone? Packer thought. Someone from the future? A family friend? A niece? His daughter? How many people did he leave behind? For a moment, Packer found himself awash in memories of his past life.
The Crown Vic pulled up to a building in town that, unlike the others around it, was well lit. Half a dozen other vehicles, both police and gasified civilian, were parked on the street near it. Watchmen stood at the entrance, and more were entering and exiting with a kind of grim excitation.
"The Constable here will take you into the building," the Old Man said. He was back to his former self. "I need to coordinate with my commanders. Someone will come get you when we're ready." He nodded to Sixgun, then stepped out of the police car.
Sixgun killed the engine, then turned. "Follow me." He got out and opened the door on Packer's side. Packer slid out, gave Kaley a hand, then Nara.
"Packer? A word?" The Old Man stood on the other side of car.
Packer glanced at Sixgun, then the Old Man. "Right. I'll catch up with you guys." He turned back to Sixgun. "Find 'em someplace comfortable to sit, yeah? They're pregnant, after all."
Sixgun nodded, then, with a silent chuck of his head, he led the girls into the building.
Packer went around the car and leaned against it. "What's up?"
"I want to make sure that you and I are on the same page," the Old Man said humorlessly. "It is my intent to expose those who ordered your death. However, this exposure cannot be caused under duress, like, say, a man with an axe looking for vengeance."
"Of course," Packer replied. "What's your plan, and what's my part?"
"As a monolithic block, the Council is unassailable. Since the Watch has divested itself from the Council proper, I've taken note of the fact that it, when threatened, becomes clannish...despite some very, very bitter personal rivalries amongst individual Councilors. We were guilty of this to a small extent, when you proposed your charter, Packer, but things have only gotten worse in the six months since then. There may be distinct factions within the Council, but like any social group, all it takes is a threat from without to unify them...if briefly."
Packer grunted. "I dunno, they fought pretty viciously amongst themselves in front of me. I mean, for a bunch of stuffed shirts."
The Old Man leaned against the Crown Vic. "Probably because you did your best to appear non-threatening to them. They felt like the circumstances permitted disharmony. If you approached them from a hostile position instead of your conciliatory one, you'd have seen a much more unified, hostile Council, I'd bet."
"And since you're going in there to remove them from power, you expect to see nothing but a shield wall, so to say," Packer finished thoughtfully. "What, then, do we do?"
"Divide and conquer. We need to crack that facade, to play up the differences between the factions. If we make it look like the threat is from within, they cannot help but turn against one another. Then, we present our evidence. Finally, we will make it abundantly clear that the Council is out of options and will be dissolved for good."
"Then you arrest the fucks that threatened to kill me?" Packer asked.
The Old Man shrugged. "We have a hell of a lot of circumstantial evidence. If any of the Volunteers we took alive makes it through surgery, we'll be golden. At the moment, though, we need more. We should have enough from that to at least hold someone for questioning." He suddenly looked very tired, and, amazingly enough, just a little scared. "Again, doing this without bloodshed is my top priority. If we can see justice done for you, so much the better."
So he may cut a deal after all, Packer thought. Well, that is a damn good bargaining chip: abdicate, or be prosecuted for attempted murder. I guess if it means that Nantucket stays stable, I can live with it. Don't have to like it, but I can live with it.
"Alright," Packer said. "I'm on board. Divide and conquer; that's what we'll do."
"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation." -Herbert Spencer
"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." - Schiller, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, III vi.
You touch on something that is going to be important - to a fair portion of the couples Packer represents discord, disharmony, and chaos. There are also a fair number of civilians who won't take to kindly to a military coup, and some will be armed. One other questions is, Where do couples where one member of the couple is on the council live?
"I believe in the future. It is wonderful because it stands on what has been achieved." - Sergei Korolev
TimothyC wrote:You touch on something that is going to be important - to a fair portion of the couples Packer represents discord, disharmony, and chaos. There are also a fair number of civilians who won't take to kindly to a military coup, and some will be armed.
Not well armed, mind. The Council has been in political control of the island, and they do NOT favor the idea of an armed citizenry the way you do. So "some will be armed," once you remove the Watch and Volunteers from play, boils down to manufactured weapons that postdate the arrival: swords, bows, crossbows, and heavy-duty slingshots like the one Bill had. And there won't even be many of the bows and crossbows; a lot of what they manufactured would have gone off with the Eagle either to arm the troops or as trade goods.
Also, this isn't an environment where mass public uprisings (whether armed or pitchfork-torch-and-cobblestone) are a good idea. The infrastructure is too fragile.
One other questions is, Where do couples where one member of the couple is on the council live?
TimothyC wrote:You touch on something that is going to be important - to a fair portion of the couples Packer represents discord, disharmony, and chaos. There are also a fair number of civilians who won't take to kindly to a military coup, and some will be armed.
Not well armed, mind. The Council has been in political control of the island, and they do NOT favor the idea of an armed citizenry the way you do. So "some will be armed," once you remove the Watch and Volunteers from play, boils down to manufactured weapons that postdate the arrival: swords, bows, crossbows, and heavy-duty slingshots like the one Bill had. And there won't even be many of the bows and crossbows; a lot of what they manufactured would have gone off with the Eagle either to arm the troops or as trade goods.
Good points, but in a situation like this, it doesn't take a whole lot of force to throw a massive kink in the Old Man's plans. Force that I see developing if there has been a long period of low-level unrest on Nantucket for the better part of 6 months. Plus I know that Emma and I would be armed, because I wouldn't hesitate to put in a few extra hours to get her a bow, and me a sword (or two).
Also, this isn't an environment where mass public uprisings (whether armed or pitchfork-torch-and-cobblestone) are a good idea. The infrastructure is too fragile.
My concern is that if the Watch launches a coup, it could give people without the political skills/abilities the idea that they too can end up on top if they just unseat the power structure. That gets very dangerous very very quickly, as those with a lot to lose (Den Mothers, Couples, ect.) get very very protective, and side with whomever can defend them best. Only now we've lost any semblance of a republic.
One other questions is, Where do couples where one member of the couple is on the council live?
Now that is a good question.[/quote]
It's very important. Do Mr. and Mrs. Wong (Yes, Mike has said that Mrs. Wong has an account on SDN and thus is on Nantucket with the lot of us) live with the couples, or with the council? If it's with the couples, then they represent the last best hope for stopping this coup dead
"I believe in the future. It is wonderful because it stands on what has been achieved." - Sergei Korolev
TimothyC wrote:You touch on something that is going to be important - to a fair portion of the couples Packer represents discord, disharmony, and chaos. There are also a fair number of civilians who won't take to kindly to a military coup, and some will be armed.
Not well armed, mind. The Council has been in political control of the island, and they do NOT favor the idea of an armed citizenry the way you do. So "some will be armed," once you remove the Watch and Volunteers from play, boils down to manufactured weapons that postdate the arrival: swords, bows, crossbows, and heavy-duty slingshots like the one Bill had. And there won't even be many of the bows and crossbows; a lot of what they manufactured would have gone off with the Eagle either to arm the troops or as trade goods.
Even a mob armed with swords, pitchforks, bows and slingshots could ruin a Watch patrol's day if they caught the Watchmen by surprise and were between the Watchmen and their backup. The Watchmen could make the mob pay in blood, if they so chose. But if the mob is angry enough to absorb a few casualties, the Watchmen go down and the mob now has their sidearms and radios.
Also, this isn't an environment where mass public uprisings (whether armed or pitchfork-torch-and-cobblestone) are a good idea. The infrastructure is too fragile.
Indeed. An armed uprising would be a terrible idea, but the people of SD-Nantucket are going to see the legitimate holders of power being usurped in the much-mentioned Mess-imposes-martial-law scenario. Apart from the political malcontents and the sullen teenagers, the average person on Nantucket isn't really doing that badly under the Council. The Council may rule with a spiked iron fist, but the metaphorical trains are running on time and everybody has something productive to do. The jaded among them will note that the Watch were standing behind the Council until they were removed; and automatically suspect the Watch's motivations . . . especially when they're seen teaming up with Packer whom, as TimothyC points out, is a source of FUD (Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt.)
Quote//Indeed. An armed uprising would be a terrible idea, but the people of SD-Nantucket are going to see the legitimate holders of power being usurped in the much-mentioned Mess-imposes-martial-law scenario. Apart from the political malcontents and the sullen teenagers, the average person on Nantucket isn't really doing that badly under the Council. The Council may rule with a spiked iron fist, but the metaphorical trains are running on time and everybody has something productive to do. The jaded among them will note that the Watch were standing behind the Council until they were removed; and automatically suspect the Watch's motivations . . . especially when they're seen teaming up with Packer whom, as TimothyC points out, is a source of FUD (Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt.)//Quote
See, now I look at it completely differently. Would MOST people look at Packer with FUD? Knowing what he was fighting for, I highly doubt it. Particularly not with all the agitation that has been going on. Only those firmly in the Council's pocket would feel like they were doing a good job. The proverbial trains may run on time, but they go nowhere. The council appears to have no competent goal on building a viable civilization, most only seem to be concerned with themselves.
Just why do you want to see the coup (if it happens) stopped. Obviously, the status quo isn't getting anyone anywhere...
Well, it's not a matter of wanting a coup or wanting it to be stopped. The problem is that couples have absolutely the most to lose. Of course, they have each other, but there are thirteen couples who have infants to consider. These people will demand, above all else, stability, and are the most likely to fight if things start going south. After all, they're not fighting for some paltry ideological dispute, but for the tangible, physical safety of the people they love. As long as there is stability, the Couples District will be, by and large, quiet.
Of course, the terribly ironic thing in all this is that Packer's right in line with the above. He was perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones, because again, he wants a stable Nantucket. Sadly, aside from the Old Man, the Machinists, and the people on the Council who actually believed him during their meeting, no one knows this, and in absence of concrete knowledge, most will assume that the worst rumors about Packer are true.
"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation." -Herbert Spencer
"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." - Schiller, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, III vi.
Just why do you want to see the coup (if it happens) stopped. Obviously, the status quo isn't getting anyone anywhere...
Because in this scenario, I'm in the couple's district with my wife (note: in reality we're boyfriend-girlfriend, but we talked it over and realized that in this situation, we'd be getting married). And yes the status quo is getting us somewhere, the soft landing that I want where we don't all die in an orgy of violence perpetrated by kids who don't know any better.
"I believe in the future. It is wonderful because it stands on what has been achieved." - Sergei Korolev
TimothyC wrote:Good points, but in a situation like this, it doesn't take a whole lot of force to throw a massive kink in the Old Man's plans. Force that I see developing if there has been a long period of low-level unrest on Nantucket for the better part of 6 months. Plus I know that Emma and I would be armed, because I wouldn't hesitate to put in a few extra hours to get her a bow, and me a sword (or two).
Well, I'll be sure to factor that in.
Generally, yes, the potential for violent opposition to a Watch coup is probably at the forefront of the Old Man's mind. That's why he's appealing to Packer, and why he's still hoping to get the Council to step down peaceably. At the moment, the Packerists and the Council loyalists are the two main political blocs on the island, and if he can get the leaders of both groups to at least tacitly accept his coup, it improves his chances enormously.
My concern is that if the Watch launches a coup, it could give people without the political skills/abilities the idea that they too can end up on top if they just unseat the power structure. That gets very dangerous very very quickly, as those with a lot to lose (Den Mothers, Couples, ect.) get very very protective, and side with whomever can defend them best. Only now we've lost any semblance of a republic.
Yes.
It's very important. Do Mr. and Mrs. Wong (Yes, Mike has said that Mrs. Wong has an account on SDN and thus is on Nantucket with the lot of us) live with the couples, or with the council? If it's with the couples, then they represent the last best hope for stopping this coup dead
There's a legitimate question of whether the Council can govern effectively enough to justify trying to stop the coup. At the very least the Council needs to be purged and a formal constitution that limits its powers needs to be drawn up. The Old Man has a point there.
The Council's failure to do this, leading up to the use of Council minions as a goon squad to break into a couple's house and shoot the place up... that is well beyond the pale. The Couples should be at least as angry about that as they are about the fact that Packer brought his oh-so-dangerous self and his oh-so-dangerous pregnant wife into their neighborhood and drew down the Wrath of Goon on them.
So the essential question remains: can the Council be salvaged? Can it police its own membership well enough to oversee the transition to a stable, permanent government? Or does it need to be dissolved and replaced by a new government?
GrandMasterTerwynn wrote:Even a mob armed with swords, pitchforks, bows and slingshots could ruin a Watch patrol's day if they caught the Watchmen by surprise and were between the Watchmen and their backup. The Watchmen could make the mob pay in blood, if they so chose. But if the mob is angry enough to absorb a few casualties, the Watchmen go down and the mob now has their sidearms and radios.
Oh yes. A thousand-man riot with swords and bows is liable to beat a fifty-man police force with pistols, no question about that. The point being that it won't be easy; it would require mass action. And there aren't that many people in the immediate vicinity of Nantucket Town (a fair fraction of the population is off on the Eagle expedition, on various other islands, or out chopping down trees). So assembling enough brute force to overwhelm the Watch would take a bit of time, if nothing else.
Alferd Packer wrote:Well, it's not a matter of wanting a coup or wanting it to be stopped. The problem is that couples have absolutely the most to lose. Of course, they have each other, but there are thirteen couples who have infants to consider. These people will demand, above all else, stability, and are the most likely to fight if things start going south. After all, they're not fighting for some paltry ideological dispute, but for the tangible, physical safety of the people they love. As long as there is stability, the Couples District will be, by and large, quiet.
On the other hand... in the event of instability, who do they fight against, and how much risk do they accept? Do they fight against the threat to stability? Who is the threat to stability?
Do you get more stability by backing a Council that is arguably losing control of the situation, or by backing a paramilitary force that at the very least has enough guns to patrol the Couples' District and keep out the riffraff?
Or do you secure the safety of your family the way most people do during a coup attempt: by barricading themselves off from the outside world and refusing to take sides?
TimothyC wrote:Because in this scenario, I'm in the couple's district with my wife (note: in reality we're boyfriend-girlfriend, but we talked it over and realized that in this situation, we'd be getting married).
My congratulations to hypothetical-Emma and hypothetical-Timothy.
Following the Volunteer who’d picked him up, Simon paced to the meeting. The sleep he’d been hoping for after a quick strategy session with Gail hadn’t panned out; he’d wound up sitting up and scribbling away at the draft constitution instead. I hope we get this over with in a hurry, or I’m going to collapse around eight or nine. When the time drew close, he stuffed the papers into his bag and waited outside his front door for the Volunteer to came by. The night chill had given him a temporary wakeup, but it hadn’t stuck.
The streets were dark; the Volunteer carried a flashlight but wasn’t using it. Batteries were precious, and night vision was worth a lot more than Simon would have figured before Arrival Day. It was only a few blocks to the Council meeting hall, and by now he knew the way well enough to make it with his eyes shut. His mind started drifting. So Fernandez calls another meeting at three in the morning, to “discuss our options.” Why? He needs sleep as much as anyone else. But he really was drifting, and the thought didn’t go anywhere. He finished the walk to the meeting hall in silence.
The hall itself was fairly well lit, bright by post-Arrival standards. The Volunteer split off at the door as Simon went into the conference room. Most of the Council was already there; many of them slumped in their seats and a few visibly dozing. No one had gotten a good night’s sleep the night before, with the news of Packer’s arrival rattling them. This was too much- it wasn’t as if their options would change between now and morning. What's Fernandez thinking?
Most of the Councillors were already there. Simon took his usual seat. Beside him, Gail was looking… worn. Very worn, and the way she kept rubbing at her temples and grimacing worried him. A lot of the others didn't look any better. The Chairman was holding up better than most; even he looked a bit frayed. Something’s wrong.
The last few members of the Council filed in over the next few minutes. The Chairman banged his gavel to draw attention and began to speak. “For the record, the time is now four minutes after three a.m. This is a special session, called by myself under Procedural Rule Four in response to the present emergency...” He finished the formalities in near-record time. “...The first item on the agenda is our response to one Alferd Packer.” Is it just me, or have we been here before? “Does anyone have any opening remarks to make on the subject?”
Dolsen’s hand started to rise quickly, but the gesture seemed almost casual. By the time Simon thought to make a move, Fernandez had nodded at Dolsen. “Very well. James, you’ve got the floor.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that we face a very serious crisis. Packer’s actions since his arrival have revealed him to be far more of a threat than expected. His claims of good faith are proven false by his actions. He has threatened Watchmen who came to protect him. He has met in secret with his political allies- allies with a history of troublemaking- and he has spun a tissue of lies to cover his own planned activities here over the winter. All this in barely a day. I shudder to think what he’d do in a month.”
There was a strange light dancing in the man’s eyes, and the intensity of his words was almost hypnotic. I’m exhausted, and I’ve got ten or twenty years on most of these people. But James looks fresh... weird. There was something important there; Simon blinked and tried to pin it down as Dolsen continued.
“We must not be fooled by this man’s tricks. His actions make his intentions obvious. He moves in secret. He conspires with people on the fringe of our community. He asks us to give him resources and free access to our people, even while he admits to having tried to use news of his survival as a weapon against us during the summer, at the height of the irrigation crisis!
“Ladies and gentleman, Packer may be the greatest threat we have faced since our arrival here. He commands a strong base of support. He has opposed us and injected chaos into the affairs of this island at every turn. Perhaps most sinister of all, he has learned to hide his hostile intent behind a screen of good will, concealing his violent and unstable nature from the common people.
“We must act against him decisively! We must prove that we see through his lies, and that we will not tolerate his attempts to stab us in the back, that...”
Simon snapped back to awareness when Gail jostled his elbow. He jerked slightly. I didn’t realize I was that tired. How long have I been out? The wall clock read 3:21; it had only been a few minutes. James was still carrying on. Not a complete loss, then; I feel more alert already. Simon bent down to rummage through his bag; he fished out an old report and a pen. Scribbling in the margins, he wrote “Thanks.” He slid the paper over to Gail. She looked down, smiled, and nodded.
He added another question: “Hasn’t anyone else said anything?”, then passed the pen to Gail along with the paper.
She wrote in reply: “Not much.”
“And you?”
“Too tired. I’d be out-talked.”
It figured; when Gail didn’t know what to say, she didn’t say anything at all. James rolled on for a minute. Then the answer to Simon’s earlier questions struck him. It was a flash in the brain, like a circuit clicking shut, a light turning on. He’s hyped up, like something important is about to happen. He’s obviously rested, more than most of us, anyway. Last night, at the end of the meeting... James goes off with Fernandez. After they get back, Fernandez calls this meeting. James is planning something, and the Chairman is in on it. I smell a rat.
James had kept rolling right through this, and he was starting to get some momentum from the others. It wasn't just the usual bunch, either. Most of the Council had come in feeling tired and suggestible; James's energy was spreading to some of them. Others, though, were just frustrated. One man near the middle of the arc of tables stood and interrupted him. "All right, all right. What's the point? I'm hearing a lot of noise, but what exactly do you have in mind, James? Just to cut this short, I mean?"
"I think we should categorically reject Packer's demands. I understand that his ideas have some appeal on the surface, but he's in no position to dictate terms to us. We might choose to negotiate with him; I've got nothing against stable relations with the Indians, after all. But any relations between us and him, or us and the natives, should be on our terms, not those of a renegade and troublemaker. So I suggest that we compose a response to Packer's conditions, before we meet him again tomorrow. We need to show that we are not intimidated by him or his claim to speak for the natives…"
James soon had the skeptic calmed down, and fell back into the same vein. Simon kept biding his time. There’s something going on here. I don’t know the details, but there’s something. If I can, I need to find out what. Sooner or later, he’s finally going to screw up, and I am going to hammer him for it.
The first sign that something might be amiss came a little after 3:30, when James yielded the floor. The Chairman immediately recognized one of his close supporters, who started discussing the details of Packer’s points and which he thought were interesting enough to negotiate on. James ducked out of the room; he came back several minutes later, with a glass of water. He looked at the clock, then gulped his drink and picked up where his ally had left off. Suspiciously neat segue, for him not being here. Did they plan this... I’m being paranoid.
James carried on. “Frankly, I’m not all that enthusiastic about the proposals. I doubt whether Packer has as much pull as he says, whether he’s as tightly integrated with the natives as he claims to be. Whether he can defuse trouble with the natives. Whether this threat that they’ll all fade back into the countryside is credible. I haven’t seen anything that convinces me he did more than skulk around on the fringe of their society and pick up an impressionable girl while he was there.” Lying son of a... Wait. He’s not sounding so bold. Walking smaller. Is something wrong?
Simon made another margin note to Gail. “I sense an opening. Go ahead like we planned?”
“Works for me. I’ll try to back you, but...”
Simon nodded at Gail and gave her a half-smile, then wrote “S’OK.” He stood up and raised a hand. When James paused for a long breath, the Chairman called out “The Chair recognizes Councilman Simon.”
“Thank you. Now, I agree that the issue of Packer’s proposals is important. But keeping that in mind, I must ask why we are here at this hour? Mr. Chairman, you called this meeting and I was willing enough to come along, but I’d be just as happy to be in bed right now. I imagine you feel the same way. So what, exactly, do we need to discuss now that wouldn’t have been just as true at nine in the morning when we’d all gotten some rest?” There was a murmur among the Council. Calling a night meeting might make them suggestible to James’s ideas, but it also made them irritable. That could be used against James.
Fernandez was quiet for a moment; the Shark broke in. “Mr. Chairman, if I might reply?” The Chairman nodded. “Simple, Simon.” He grinned. “We need a unified front. We need to be able to come to Packer the moment we first see him tomorrow, tell him what we think of him, and tell him what we’re going to do. We do not need to bicker with him, we do not need to negotiate with him. We need to tell Packer what our response is going to be, show him that we have the upper hand, that he is not going to be allowed to dictate terms to us like he tried to do to us earlier.”
James seemed to let it go at that. Simon motioned to speak, then took a deep breath. Moment of truth. I’ve been waiting to try this for a long time. He gathered his wits, and concentrated on presenting the most confident posture he could after months of practice on the Council. He was going to need momentum, to get it all out.
"All right, James, I'm not surprised to catch you going on about Packer, and Packerism, and the international Packerist conspiracy's plot to sap and impurify our precious bodily fluids. Whatever. But I think it's time we were honest about your motives. You have been using this Council practically since day one. You have been maneuvering us, doing your damnedest to manipulate us. I think everyone can think of examples of what I'm talking about.”
There were murmurs, mostly angry, but no time to tell if they were at him or James. "Now, if you were doing that for everyone's sake, I'd be fine with that; a little rhetoric in the public interest is a good thing. But instead, you have been trying to use the Council's power and authority to strengthen your own interests at the expense of the community. You have chosen to pursue a private vendetta against Packer since, what, January? On at LEAST one occasion, you have abused the authority of the Watch, pursuant to that vendetta- and yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have evidence to back that up.
"Anyway, now your applecart's been upset, and you aren't winning your vendetta anymore. Tough shit. I see no reason why we should be pushed into torpedoing our own future for the sake of your idiotic little feud. Someone just dropped us the opportunity of the decade: a clear line of communication to the mainland, a chance to expand beyond this island at a rate of more than one shipload every four months, without butting heads with the natives and without having to resort to the contemptible tactics that our ancestors had to use to colonize this same territory! Now, I know you aren't likely to actually sit down and do the math on what he's proposing, but I plan to, and I'm willing to bet on the outcome being promising.
"And, by contrast, what are you offering? You were speaking very loudly fifteen minutes ago about ‘standing against chaos.’ No compromise, no surrender, not one step backwards, all that. Speaking very loudly. So what’s the stick you’re carrying? How do you plan to enforce your refusal to compromise? A roundup of political prisoners? Execution of dissidents? What kind of hellhole do you want us to become, North Korea?"
The men and women of the Council looked at Simon, each other, and at James. James returned their thoughtful looks, his face betraying nothing.
"The stick I carry is the truth," James replied, softly. "Nothing more, nothing less. Do we make tough decisions in keeping Nantucket from spiraling into anarchy? Yes. Hard decisions have to be made. There are no easy ways out of this situation. Unlike Packer, I won't lie to you. You accuse me of having a vendetta against the man. I freely admit, I don't like him. I don't agree with him. I don't agree with his aims. I don't agree with his agenda. If protecting Nantucket from being plunged into chaos means having a vendetta against men like Packer, then yes, you're right. I have a vendetta against Packer."
The whispers started up again, frenzied and insistent. Simon stared hard at James. What are you thinking? What are you planning?
"So, Simon," James said. "What evidence do you and Gail have against me? Are you going to tell the Council that I've been mistaken this whole time? That Packer's sterilization was so much hot air? If you are, consider this . . . you've been perpetuating a lie this whole time. And you've had me fooled. You've had us all fooled."
Is that his angle? That's it? He really thinks we'd be dumb enough to try to nail him with that? Simon blinked, and said nothing for a few seconds. Now to try and make him look like he's having paranoid delusions. "James… I don't know what you're talking about. Packer's sterility makes no difference to me. It's not the point, it doesn't have thing one to do with anything I just said. I don't even know why you think it's so important. Being sterile hardly makes him a cartoon villain; and if the child his wife's carrying is his, well, that doesn't make him a cartoon villain either.
"So I think my earlier questions stand. Why are we here now? Why the secret session? What's going on? James, you came here seeming awfully well-prepared to speak to us; I'm wondering if that…"
Then all hell broke loose. There was a crash against the door; being unlocked, it swung open instantly. Six men hustled through, pistols drawn; Simon recognized one. …I know him. Calls himself… Carter? The Watch! The gunmen spread out, eyes tracking back and forth across separate slices of the room. One of the guards standing against the wall started moving his hand toward his hip, but froze solid when Kartr's pistol snapped up to cover him. Without being prompted, the Volunteer eased his hands up to his head; his fellows followed suit.
The war in Simon's head between "freeze solid" and "dive for cover" ended quickly. There is no cover, and it wouldn't do me any good if there was. It was hard to imagine that the Watch would just start shooting, but thirty seconds ago it would have been impossible to imagine them bursting in at all. Am I about to die? Then another man came in- again, one Simon recognized. The Australian, the one he'd seen on Arrival Day, one of the Watch's top hatchet men. He began to speak, slowly and levelly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I ask that you all remain calm. The situation is under control, but there have been… events on the island today that we need to investigate. We will secure the Council chamber; the Volunteers need to stand down and come quietly, with us."
The Chairman swallowed and stood up, slowly and carefully. "In whose name?"
"In the name of the Commander of the Watch. The Old Man would like to have a word with you, Mr. Fernandez."
Last edited by Simon_Jester on 2010-06-29 04:50pm, edited 1 time in total.
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