Reorganization (1)
The artificial intelligence delivered welcome news. [The current population within the Ark is approximately 26,000.]
The current population within the Ark is approximately 26,000.
The western district alone accounted for that number. If we emptied the northern and eastern shelters as well, we could easily surpass 50,000. An increase in population meant we could pursue bolder measures while paying a smaller price. I welcomed it with open arms. One percent of a thousand was never the same as one percent of a hundred. Even a child knew that one and ten were different numbers.
Yet people could not live on bread alone. I asked the AI whether everyone had been assigned a job.
"Have the job assignments been completed?"
54.13% of the working-age population has been assigned a job.
"And the rest?"
Half are still unable to rise due to severe physical exhaustion. The remainder have expressed reluctance to work.
"Hah. They don't want to work."
I could not entirely blame them. The Ark could function entirely unmanned, and in theory even 1.6 million people could idle away without issue. But labor was indispensable. Even if the systems ran autonomously, if I ever turned against them, they would have no means of resistance. Besides, labor produced money—Ark-issued currency, but money nonetheless. Eating out, getting a haircut, painting nails—small pleasures still required currency. There was no money to give those who refused to work. The Ark was humanity's final stronghold, not a charity.
Moreover, the people currently maintaining the Aquaponics Facility and other miscellaneous tasks were not fools. They worked because the Ark needed it, and because it was their rightful contribution to the collective welfare. Refusing labor even inside this safe haven was nothing but selfish indulgence. Individualism could only be claimed once everyone had done their part.
"Tell them that refusing to work may result in expulsion at worst."
Understood.
I turned the camera toward the Aquaponics Facility, now noticeably more crowded. With the added manpower came greater division of labor: people hauling carts loaded with produce, others spraying mist and adjusting nutrient concentrations, still others replacing filters on the cultivation units. It finally felt like a proper workplace.
"Yes. This is it."
There was a certain satisfaction in watching people who had lost their homes and families begin to rebuild their lives inside the Ark. Who wouldn't feel a swell of emotion at that sight?
*
The cafeteria, viewed through the camera, was quiet. More precisely, the number of diners was similar to before, but the facility itself was large and the relative proportion of users had shrunk with the population increase. So where were the others eating?
The answer was simple: their own quarters. Many now grabbed a quick lunch of sandwiches, canned goods, or packed meals, then ate breakfast and dinner at home. Those still using the cafeteria were mostly patrol officers who had grown hungry on duty, elderly residents gathering to chat, and students with their supervising teachers.
The menu changed daily, but it did not always suit everyone's taste. Since nutritional balance took priority, most residents preferred to buy ingredients and cook for themselves despite the extra effort.
Controller. Your meal is ready.
Of course, such freedom was not permitted to me. For the Controller, who had to maintain peak condition at all times, an unrestricted diet was a direct path to ruin.
"Hoo…"
Today's menu was baked beans with meat and a shrimp salad. As always, the beans were bland and the salad's sourness overpowered everything else. Having to eat this for the rest of my life was hardly motivating. Still, I knew that picking at it would only prolong the misery, so I finished as quickly as possible and turned the cameras to the other facilities.
The defense installations housing the troops showed engineers cursing as they serviced walkers and trucks. In the training halls, newly recruited soldiers practiced with VR gear under the guidance of instructors.
"How many volunteered?"
430.
"Four hundred and thirty…"
The number was awkward for forming a new battalion, so they would be split and assigned to the 1st and 2nd Regiments. The infantry had suffered the heaviest losses, so they would welcome the reinforcements. The only problem was that the next rescue operation would have to be postponed until these new soldiers were ready. Still, the delay also bought time to stockpile resources—an acceptable trade-off.
The gunship pilots were likewise training in virtual reality for faster, safer resupply operations. Inside the helipad, ammunition crates and rocket piles stood neatly arranged for rapid reloading. Non-activated robots stood guard nearby. During the last resupply we had wasted time ferrying ammunition from the armory one load at a time. Now we could operate until these stockpiles were exhausted before returning to storage.
"At least the gunships didn't sustain heavy damage."
Strictly speaking, several airframes had taken hits from the anti-air monsters, but none were too damaged to fly. Those units were already under repair and would be restored within days. It was encouraging that we now had data showing we could risk ground-attack runs even against upgraded anti-air threats. The returning gunships had also brought back samples of the projectiles fired by those monsters. I had carefully collected them for the researchers. If we could analyze the composition, we might develop specialized coatings or additional armor to reduce damage. Results were still pending, but judging by the corrosion patterns on the damaged armor plates, the projectiles appeared closer to high-explosive chemical rounds than corrosive agents.
"Damn it. Too many things to worry about."
Without the AI's assistance, the workload would have crushed me long ago. It was time to establish an administrative department, but the population was still too ambiguous—neither insufficient nor abundant. Adding another department would exhaust our reserve manpower. That was another reason we needed to clear the northern and eastern shelters as soon as possible. Fully operating every function of the Ark required at least 50,000 working personnel.
"Any distress signals from other regions?"
Transmissions have been detected, but none contain meaningful content.
"Are you certain?"
The communications officers and I reviewed them together. They have been confirmed as mere noise.
"…This is maddening. Knowing anti-air monsters exist, we can't risk aerial reconnaissance either."
Removing the gunships' armaments and adding extra armor plates and fuel tanks would allow greater range than before.
"Then what about radio equipment to maintain contact with the Ark, spare space for possible survivors, and countermeasures against potential flying monsters? Even if we assign escort gunships, the difference in range makes proper escort impossible."
My apologies, sir. My computational capacity was insufficient.
"No… perhaps I'm the one being too hasty."
I had to stay calm. There was a reason for the saying that the longer the journey, the more one should take the roundabout route. Acting rashly could cost us what little we still possessed. The previous operation had gone so poorly that I had lost my composure. On a more optimistic note, other Arks—especially those numbered in the hundreds—might contact us first. They possessed far more advanced equipment and could easily locate Ark No. 17. Assuming, of course, that they were still alive.
"Damn it! Why didn't the politicians include the locations of other Arks in each Ark's database?"
They had even gone so far as to assign each Ark a unique frequency incompatible with civilian, government, or military bands, making accidental contact through random transmissions impossible. During the Controller examination I had accepted it without question, but now the decision felt infuriating. They had claimed it was to prevent coordinated rebellion among Controllers, yet if they had known the situation would become this dire, would their stance have changed even slightly?