by Les W Kuzyk
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“So you want bridges on the dash map?”
He was driving again.
“You can hack that into our vehicle chip?”
Annalise uncrumpled her pocket screen. “Everyone’s got HakChoir.”
He’d been counting river bridges through the window and they were approaching a BC highway hotel before a river crossing. Strategic chokepoint there, on a wide river. One thing was noticeable; rivers flowed full this side of the mountains, while semi-arid Southern Alberta on the other side dried up even more. The question of the moment—was the ski resort valley separating too? Or would they keep connected to the wide open valley ahead? And the last small BC city.
They passed the Hoz Hotel, and crossed over the bridge.
“Check it dad. You see bridges now?”
“Yeah, cool.” The two bridges ahead in the ski resort town now showed dash map icons.
They rounded a corner, and slowed. A downhill ski resort town, but with no airport. One reason to stay connected to the BC city ahead.
Thinking, he gave Annalise a light shoulder punch. “A girl should get a pilot’s license.” He had gone up in that first test balloon with Brad over the southern Sahara. The contract called for a release design of sulphur dioxide up into the stratosphere. To cool the planet, to offset the warming. He had designed the sulphur supply on the ground, while Brad took care of lifting the load into the air. The guy loved any kind of air time and up in the air he would talk about the valley survival plan.
“Whatever,” she looked out the window.
He could make suggestions no more. She did think things through, Vince knew. He had to just support her, and trust her decisions. Her future would be longer than his.
They passed the ski hostels and hotels, both bridges intact. Yes!
The small city ahead would have a trickier time sealing off their part of the mountain valley. But where the river reversed directions and wound back north from America to form their Valley was even deeper in the mountains. So this south flowing river valley would be a natural buffer. He couldn’t help but think strategically.
“So what else besides bridges, dad?”
“Railway overpasses if you can...there’s that one little tunnel, ah, never mind that. You know, what we really need to think about now is that border crossing in our Valley.” The small BC city might have issues, but they would have their own. A valley half in BC, half in America, with a gate-guarded international line dividing. What kind of choke point would that be? A lot depended on those One Valley negotiations.
“Julia helped me with my school project last year, remember? What women say, especially on a council. Those old country borders are pretty silly sometimes.”
“Yeah, true.” Vince knew Brad’s wife got Annalise some Valley data. He would vote for more truly feminine voice in their future community model. Brad had talked a lot about the Taureg back in Africa. Maybe tribal, and maybe Moslem, they still had women with a strong voice. And a lot of good choices came through in their community.
They passed through the little tunnel. The resort town might seal the tunnel later but that would be their choice. Their own Valley deep in the mountains ahead had good geographic logistics, a high pass to the west and a now-rarely-operating lake ferry crossing to the north. Assuming the American border crossing was tight. The question was how to control the highway east, the one they were coming in on.
Brad said some bright people were being attracted to the future community design concept. A valley in British Columbia had a low climate change impact risk, and was one of the best places to wait out what some called the transition. The overall Pacific North West regional agreement had a lot of promise. The plan was to stay under the radar of climate change turmoil, to wait out the international chaos phase, while at the same time developing an improved model of civilization. A design team out of the University of British Columbia with some pragmatic human nature specialists were getting involved. Brad loved to talk with those guys.
After a few tight curves along this river’s windings Vince settled in for the long flat drive across the wide valley. They were getting closer. Maybe he could find engineering work on valley energy. Maybe electric or biofuels. Worry about that later—he was exhausted. Annalise had crashed right out.
He slowed under the railroad underpass, coming into the small city.
At the old gas station a mini-drone fell in beside them. Clearly marked RCMP. If they crosschecked their Calgary tag, they would confirm his destination.
He had other priorities now. He gave Annalise a nudge.
“Pass me the shotgun. Keep it low on the floor, out of sight.”
She was awake in an instant and he could feel the gun barrel sliding past his legs on the floor.
The dash flash confirmed a tag. The drone signalled a pull over with a short siren blast and incessant flashing neon yellow. The drone would await whatever local police they now had here. He had to play an appeasing role to the last moment he knew as he pulled the car over to the side of the street. The drone hovered up beside the window as he rolled it down. Another cowboy moment.
He staring into the camera he lifted the gun from his lap and blasted three buckshot shells through the drone. Pieces of mini-drone flew in all directions scattering across the asphalt.
“Cool dad,” Annalise said. “Those drones are so low-tech. They’re bullshit—that video eye might not even be real time. They’re pathetic engaging people.”
Vince sped away. He didn’t stop at any middle-of-the-night red light, slowing only to clear intersections and hitting the gas. They passed two 4x4 trucks and each driver stared down at their car. As if these were patrolling the streets. A police car with blaring siren raced past them the other way. To the blasted drone site no doubt. What would Vince have done facing a uniformed police—he hoped never to know. As they left the small city behind he kept their speed as fast as the highway allowed.
Hugging the road curves along a resort lake, they approached the RV village at lake’s end. One of the last holdouts of the baby boomer summer vacation mind set; their last vacation had now come and gone. This lost lifestyle was strewn out among abandoned motor homes in once campgrounds. Some remains had become permanent housing.
Past the village, the river draining the lake led them along its valley towards the last corner. They were getting real close now.