Feb 11th, 2180
"Make me OT-311-4," Richard commanded jovially, his arms raised majestically in a playful impression of Moses, and he held the pose, stark naked, for the several seconds it took for the table to form.
The number "4" represented a scaling factor, indicating the table could accommodate four individuals. The octagonal oaken driftwood masterpiece before him bore the look of a hand-carved relic, replete with the intricate etchings of runes, the authentic touch of scratches, and the polished sheen of age through layers of revarnishing. It stood solid on the ground, a testament to its stability and Richard's meticulous workmanship. There were even spots designated to be random so that, each time, the table was a little bit different.
Crafted with careful attention and used with a mindful respect for occasion, it was among Richard's cherished designs. It expressed both his adoration for skilled artisanship and his affinity for the nostalgic allure of times past.
Conscious that shaping another's chair for them was a breach of manners, Richard allowed his Halo to create just the matching chair for his own use at the table, deliberately leaving the remaining spots vacant. For a whimsical touch too elaborate for mere words, he pictured a cartoonish blue magician’s robe—complete with stars and a comically pointed hat—and deliberately focused, to push this intricate image through his Halo. Janice responded to his intention, draping the robe around him in a quick flourish of ethereal fabrication.
Catching his reflection, amusement bubbled into audible laughter. The robe was ludicrous, and for a moment, he entertained the notion of adding a wand to his ensemble but ultimately refrained, not wishing to push the bounds of decorum too far.
Today marked the 12th and, Richard hoped, final session of the first year's drafts for the Replenishment Project. This pivotal meeting could potentially seal the decisions made throughout the year concerning the future composition of their community.
Groups of council members, selected through a complex yet random process, had spent the year painstakingly reviewing countless applications. They methodically whittled down choices from the applications submitted by Immortals on Earth, all eager to fill the vacancies left by predecessors. These were individuals who had, in uncommon fashion, either departed the colonies or life itself.
Janice's 'thinking' was segmented into two parts: the vast majority consisted of a predictive model built around a multi-language completion algorithm, and a tight core of immutable rules that could not be altered by Janice or the council. When encountering a poorly constructed part of the core, or rules that no longer applied, logic was futile. However, semantics could occasionally offer an avenue for change, provided there was wiggle room.
The concept of "departure" was alien to Janice, whose core programming had never considered the possibility of there being fewer than 250 immortals. This limitation initially posed a significant challenge. Making the AI understand that immortals could end their own lives or choose to leave the colonies was straightforward—there were precedents in the logs. But having this knowledge factor into the immutable rules was an entirely different matter, one that hinged more on linguistics than logic.
After robust debate and shrewd semantic negotiations, a compromise was established. An agreement set in place a routine welcome of two new individuals every five years. This cycle was tasked with continuing until the original quota of 250 council seats was restored. But, true to the nature of bureaucratic processes, the selection was anything but simple. Amidst a backdrop of tradition and regulation, the task of choosing new members became entangled in a complex web of protocols and political maneuvering.
Now, at this decisive juncture, the task was deceptively straightforward: four prime council members, selected by intricate rules against repeating roles, were to vote on the final two from a shortlist of 12 candidates. Janice, ever impartial, was prepared to step in to break any resulting ties.
Richard anticipated that his impending vote would send ripples of controversy—it was bound to diverge from the preferences of his colleagues. His looming dissent was strategic, designed to fracture the vote and distribute it among seven or eight disparate choices. Such a schism might compel Janice to intervene and make a selection. Privately, Richard wondered whether even Janice might harbor a quiet yearning for the semblance of deification and vote for his recommendation.
Brenda was the earliest arrival for the council session, her selection a fact that Richard had predicted, all but ensuring his likely opposition. Although he anticipated her dissent, he couldn't help but appreciate how effortlessly she could be manipulated; her reliance on logic and refusal to indulge in emotions made her approach predictable. He secretly reveled in the knowledge that he had mastered the art of steering her opinions, making her both the perfect adversary and a valuable pawn in his strategic playbook.
The decade since they had last spoken weighed heavily in the room as they both sat in silence, waiting for the other council members to assemble. Nevertheless, despite their long-standing animosity, he couldn't help but objectively appraise her. Her chestnut hair was tightly pulled back, and she wore practically no makeup or visual filters. Her attire was a constant, a uniform of white pants and a lab coat, much like their days together over a century ago in Germany. Her indifference to fashion was matched only by her analytical mind, a trait which commanded Richard's grudging respect—the exact same singular focus that had once saved his life.
Higgins Grainger followed, ever the politician, mirroring Richard's chosen chair seemingly without effort. To Richard, Grainger remained an enigma—a man whose motives and machinations were as shrouded as his affable demeanor.
Karl Knutson was the last to join them, a man of deep religious conviction. As Richard quietly appraised the newcomer, he considered the possibility that he might not need Janice's tiebreaking vote after all. Yet, with Karl's faith identified with the Mormon Church rather than Catholicism, Richard was at a disadvantage, realizing his understanding of the religious faction's subtleties was too limited to anticipate its influence effectively.
His strategy sharpening, Richard thought, "Divide and conquer," recognizing the potential to sway Karl's vote by highlighting differences inherent within his religious beliefs.
Through his Halo, Richard conjured up a very faint smell of lemon and set it to gradually increase in intensity. It was a near-universally loved scent that Brenda happened to hate. Dialed low enough to subconsciously put her on edge, the aroma would continue to amplify as they grew accustomed to it.
To set the stage for the deliberation, Richard conjured up the summaries of the 12 applicants, each formed from wisps of smoke suspended in the air before the council members. It was a superfluous display; they all knew the candidates by heart. Yet, it was Richard's way of anchoring the weight of their decision and foreshadowing the strategic maneuvers he was about to deploy.
Richard’s section of the tabletop shimmered a bright blue hue, signaling it was his turn to lead off—a strategic misfortune he hadn’t hoped for. Pushing his internal sighs aside, he pondered momentarily, 'Do I play it safe, or swing for the fences?' With a touch of theatrical flair, he decided, tapping the ethereal smoke that represented the candidates.
“Péiter vum Kräiz” emerged into view, his name floating assertively in front of the council.
“The priest!” Brenda’s protest was sharp, tinged with annoyance. “Could you at least feign a semblance of seriousness?”
Directing his words to Brenda, yet subtly scanning Knutson for any sign of alliance, Richard replied coolly, “Your disdain for faith aside, we’re curators of a diverse civilization. Different perspectives can only strengthen our collective wisdom.”
An unspoken understanding hung in the air; the early stages of the session were show rather than substance, and no one would dare to second another's nominee, thus narrowing the field from the outset.
Knutson's choice came last, a curveball to Richard as he was preparing him as his choice: Simón de la Croix.
"Solar cells are archaic. Gravity spinners replaced them," Brenda grumbled.
Richard, seizing the moment for lighthearted banter, retorted, “Ah, Brenda, always the beacon of cheer,” but before more could be said, Karl jumped in to defend his selection, emphasizing the irreplaceable value of human intuition especially working in conjunction with Janice's algorithmic thought.
Come his second turn, Richard posed a cheeky query to the room, “Janice, can I reinforce my initial backing?” He knew the answer but it was a sly prod to the council’s thinking.
Predictably, Brenda interjected, “Oh, come off it, you know that’s not an option!”
"Indeed, Dr. Myers is correct," Janice chimed in, prompting a triumphant smirk from Brenda.
Calculating swiftly, Richard threw his support behind Simón de la Croix, an atypical move for an opening round but within the rules. It was a tactical gambit to safeguard his earlier choice by currying favor with Knutson, possibly ensuring both his picks made it through.
Brenda, unable to resist, sniped, “I noticed how both your picks' names mean 'of the cross.'”
Richard shot back, flat and parental, "And the significance of that is...?" He cast a look of exasperation at Karl, attempting to create an air of camaraderie.
The tedium of bureaucratic wrangling ebbed and flowed until, three hours later, the votes were tallied: Simón clinched three, Péiter and Marcus Le Soir were tied at two. One last opportunity to change votes was swiftly rejected. Richard had set the pieces in motion; it was now Janice's turn to play. 'How close to sentient was her simulation?' Richard pondered.
Feigning thoughtful consideration, Janice finally announced, "I assign my vote to Péiter vum Kräiz." The inner workings behind her choice remained unrevealed.
In the silence that ensued, Richard, sensing an opportunity to introduce a twist, suggested, “As Janice has chosen our new council member, I propose she also assumes the role of introductory ambassador for Péiter.”
As expected, Brenda opposed the idea on principle, irked by Richard's successful maneuvering. However, despite her resistance, the council motion passed confidently, with a majority of three votes to one. Mostly, the council members just wanted to wrap up the meeting.
Furthermore, Karl, as the initial nominator, would serve as the ambassador for Simón. Richard had successfully secured the selection of both his preferred candidates. And in a method that relieved Richard from having to undertake the introductory ambassador function that he intensely detested.
Privately, Richard reveled in the fact that Magnus steered clear of these council affairs. They might outshine him on paper with their elevated IQs, yet in the chessboard of politics, Richard’s finesse was unrivaled—save for Magnus’s formidable shadow. Whether he had swayed Janice or simply lucked out, the outcome unfolded flawlessly, precisely as he had masterminded from his very first look at the 300-odd candidate's applications.