by G. R. Carter
Still, he had been sent out on some useless mission in the woods with a bunch of backward converts, almost like the commanding sheikh had wanted him to get caught by the Red Hawks. No, Hirsi Ali would never stoop that low, not even to pay him back for challenging him. That had been a legitimate theological argument, not something worth killing him for. Unless…
“American, wait,” Aden sputtered.
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“What do you offer?”
“I don’t understand. What do I offer for what?”
“If I tell you what I really know, what would you offer to do for me?” Aden asked.
“Why would I believe you’re telling me the truth? Just a second ago you wanted me dead,” Culper replied. “Besides, we all know about taqiyya. In fact, I’d be more inclined to do the exact opposite of what you told me, just figuring you were deceiving me.”
“I will give you facts to prove my word is true,” Aden said, his mind now clearing, formulating a plan to survive. “But I have one condition, and it is non-negotiable.”
Culper chuckled. “You got some stones, Aden. I’ll give you that. Can’t wait to hear what this is going to be.”
“Your Tracker, the one who captured me, he said that your Founder gives farms to those who help him, yes?” Aden asked.
“I won’t guarantee it, Aden. That depends on how much help you give and how serious you are about becoming a real Red Hawk. Hate to be skeptical here, but remember you wanted me to rot in hell a few minutes ago,” Culper replied.
“Yes, that was true. But as you Christians say, I believe I have had a bit of an epiphany,” Aden said.
Culper couldn’t stifle the laughter now. Years of intelligence work, interrogation, warfare…yet once again he was witnessing something for the first time. “Go ahead, Mr. Dhere. Lay your one non-negotiable condition on me.”
“My farm must absolutely, positively be as close to the center of your Republic as possible. I do not want a farm on the eastern or western frontiers. Christian, I am telling you, I must be in the middle,” Aden demanded.
Alarm bells went off in Culper’s mind. There was something about his captive’s sincerity…
“You need to tell me why, Aden, or no deal. Why would you not want to be on the frontiers of our territory? Tell me now!” Culper insisted.
“Because, Christian, a violent haboob is brewing,” Aden said with a determined look. “A choking storm that’s going to swirl all around you and destroy anyone and anything in its path.”
Chapter Sixteen
Red Hawk Republic Capitol Building
City of Shelbyville
Closing Day of the Republic Senate
Smells of burnt tobacco and old cologne mixed with the stench of bodies accustomed now to only bathing weekly. Smoky wicks of candles added their pungent aroma, providing a little light against the winter gloom. The bio-diesel generators were used at night only to provide electrical lights in the assembly hall. The windows were closed up tight against the cold humidity outside, meaning no breeze to push the discomfort out of open windows. Pre-Reset HVAC systems would have circulated the air to a near-perfect 72 degrees, but modern furnaces had only two settings: “off” and “too hot.” Flies somehow managing to survive this far into the season buzzed drunkenly around sweaty faces, causing tempers to flare. Despite hand-held paper fans whisking back and forth, the effort expended to create this man-made breeze nearly cancelled out any relief gained. The room was packed and loud. Little knots of men and women held animated discussions, each lobbying a point. The most important (or self-important) stood stoically just out of reach of the debaters, watching with passive interest.
The Senate Assembly of the Red Hawk Republic didn't meet often, making this rare occasion even more important to those elected—or, more likely, selected—to represent their province. Each allied mini-state was seated here, from Peoria in the west to Lafayette in the east, and all the way south through Old Main and Okaw Valley to Grand Shawnee.
“You're living in the past, still afraid of some boogeyman,” Senator Elton Dunn from Peoria shouted out. “All our resources are being wasted on your useless tanks and planes.”
Martin Fredericks stood impatiently, waiting for a turn at the argument. He looked over at his friend and fellow Senator Hank Tripp, who was nearly bursting with laughter at the famed warrior’s frustration. Martin sighed, using every ounce of the self-control he was renowned for. Every debate seemed to get more contentious, rifts beginning to tear deep into the cohesion of common interests. Martin briefly longed for the good old days when they were united together by their fear of the New American Empire. Now, as irony would have it, he represented that very province as part of the expanded Republic.
There was still a threat. A much more dangerous and hungry threat, as Fredericks saw it. The provinces bordering the Northern Caliphate wanted help so they could build up defenses and establish new Fortress Farms. In contrast, the interior provinces wanted scarce resources devoted to building infrastructure needed for trade and farming. Shawnee worried about ARK’s motives and a counter attack by the missing army of Vincennes. All sides had legitimate claims; still, there was only so much to go around.
“It's only been a brief time since our Republic was invaded. Less than that since we had to destroy the Illinois River bridges to keep jihadists out,” Fredericks replied calmly.
“You have an interesting definition of ‘brief time.’ They're not coming this way, Commander,” Dunn pleaded. “I respect you a great deal, you're a Hero of the Republic. But I daresay your position in the American province is clouding your judgment. Every morning you wake up and expect the Jijis to come flooding over your northern border. There's not one single piece of evidence that's ever coming.”
“Maybe that's because we have Razorbacks and Raptors pointed at them,” Tripp interjected, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
“How many farms and factories are needed to support all that hardware sitting there burning our precious soy-diesel?” the Senator asked Fredericks.
Fredericks replied with honest concern. “I have to say, I’m disappointed in you, Senator Dunn. I thought everyone now considered that border to be the Republic's, not just America’s. Any invasion is going to hit up there first, sure, but it won't stop there. If the Jijis break through, there's nothing to stop them until they reach you, too.”
“That’s fear mongering, Commander. If you were still worried about all provinces of the Republic and not just your personal holdings, I think you'd see the big picture,” Dunn concluded.
Fredericks flushed. He was struggling to get accustomed to arguing with politicians, a task he considered more detestable than sleeping out in the cold and dust while on maneuvers as a young lieutenant in the Sandbox. Since his injuries during the successful invasion of Vincennes, he had resigned his position as Supreme Commander of the Red Hawk Republic's armed forces to focus solely on improving the defenses of his adopted home in the American province. The Founder tried to talk him into doing both, but in the end understood the pull for his friend. American Governor Maggie Kemble was Fredericks’ wife; this was a competition Alex would lose.
So Supreme Allied Commander Martin Fredericks was now Senator Martin Fredericks, and his new duty was to be trapped in a room discussing military strategy with people who had held barely a pellet gun since the dying days of the Reset. These were people who remained safe and warm because of the sacrifices made by Fredericks’ comrades laid to rest in the Circle of Honor just outside the Shelbyville city walls. The thought of the men he had lost—friends, mostly—stirred anger in his soul.
“Let me tell you, Senator Dunn, about the 'big picture' of seeing entire towns burned to the ground by these jihadists you dismiss as no threat,” Fredericks growled, his voice reaching a crescendo with the sharp sound of the Arabic term. “If you don't think there's a specter hanging over our heads, I invite you to volunteer for a tour on the riverbank. Or perhaps you would l
ike to accompany one of the Shawnee Trackers who’ve spent weeks—alone, mind you—behind enemy lines getting the information we need to track the Caliphate's movement?”
“Just because I didn't serve on the front lines doesn't mean I don't know how to fight,” Dunn replied, flabbergasted at the challenge to his personal courage.
“I'm not talking about a brawl over some scraps of bread, Senator,” Fredericks replied. “I'm talking about seeing the effects of shrapnel on a human body when they don't have armored vehicles to protect them. I'm talking about an enemy that will crucify you upside-down over a fire while raping your women right in front of you. I'm talking about knowing that the last thought you have on this earth is the realization that every person you care about has been wiped out in the name of a god you don't even know a thing about!”
Everyone in the chamber was watching now. Before this had just been a simple rehash of an age-old argument…but no one had ever seen Martin Fredericks mad. At least not since the day Eric Olsen disobeyed a direct order and let the now-deceased dictator of New America escape.
Side conversations stopped; this had become the main event.
Dunn was red-faced. He huffed, opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. Watching Fredericks’ murderous look told him today wasn't the day to argue further. No matter. He was sure he already had the votes he needed.
Hamilton had already promised them that he wouldn't interfere; he had publicly committed to giving more power to the Senate in matters outside immediate Republic security. Going against the wishes of his puppet would test Hamilton’s commitment to the pledge.
Dunn reached into his pocket, running a cool metal disc in between his fingers, gaining strength from controlled breathing techniques taught to him by a man named Demetrius, an old friend from his Blackhawk Confederation days. How did he end up all the way down here? Dunn wondered. Demetrius told him the whole story, twice, but it still seemed so incredible. Didn’t matter either way; he was thankful to see him again, thankful to be invited to join a group that was really making things happen. He felt so strong and powerful with that metal disc in his hand, like a different energy flowed through him. The power let him be patient. Now wasn't the time to pick a fight with a killer like Fredericks.
He made eye contact with Demetrius’s friend, Senator Marcus Nielsen from Grand Shawnee, giving him a simple nod. Demetrius promised if he just followed Nielsen’s lead, if he went along with whatever he suggested in the Senate, he’d be the leader of his own country. They’d carve Peoria out of the Republic, get rid of the Red Hawks for good, and he’d rule it all for himself.
Dunn summoned his strength to address the assembled crowd. “My fellow Senators, now is the time for all of us to come together! To finally realize the peace dividend promised to us after so many long years of war. No one is suggesting we dismantle our beloved Self Defense Cooperative. No, quite the opposite, I say we fund the maintenance programs requested by the Founder down to the last Quarterbushel! But let us not spend one additional Quarter on a threat that most agree is only marginal.
“The real threat to my province is the Founder settling those fanatical Buckles in our territory. Right in one of our most productive villages. I’m willing to be a team player. I’ll try to compromise, to be reasonable. But putting the entire Republic on a war footing because of some phantom threats? I say that is unreasonable. Let us have peace, let us continue the momentum of recreating a better union for the Republic. Peace, safety and prosperity can be had by all! What say you?”
Small pockets of applause began, a few cheers, and a fair number of disgusted groans. Neilsen clapped the loudest, raising his voice above the racket, “I move that we suspend debate and vote on the annual budget submitted by the honorable Elton Dunn.”
“Seconded,” a voice replied.
Senate President Julia Ruff looked at Fredericks and shrugged slightly. The rules of the Senate floor required any motion made and seconded to be voted on, regardless of what Ruff may have wished. She banged her gavel and raised her voice from the elevated lectern where she stood. “Order. We’ll take a voice vote. All in favor of the motion on the floor, that is, to accept the budget as submitted by Senator Dunn, say ‘Aye!’”
“AYE!”
“All opposed, say ‘No!’”
“NO!”
Ruff banged her gavel and shouted, “The Noes have it!”
“Madame President, I demand you call the roll!” Marcus Nielsen shouted.
“Shut up, Nielsen! Who invited you here, anyway?” Hank Tripp was standing up with ill intent on his face.
“I was appointed by Governor Olsen, if you must know. I have just as much right to be here as you. Probably more,” Nielsen replied.
Tripp started to walk towards Nielsen, stopped only by the strong hand of Fredericks and the loud gavel of Ruff.
“The demand has been made to call the roll. This is in order with the rules of the Senate and we will comply,” Ruff said with an apologetic shrug to Tripp. “As I call your name, please reply ‘Aye’ or ‘No.’ Remember, there are no abstentions. You will decide one way or the other.”
*****
“Well, that went perfectly,” Fredericks said. He sighed and leaned back in the ancient office chair, a relic of the past patched up with materials of the present. The once-pleather surface had been restored with real leather, a noticeable upgrade in comfort if not appearance. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering for a moment about the people who had originally crafted the plaster detailing. Most of the decorative points remained, fighting back against a climate too cold and humid in the winter, and too hot and humid in the summer.
Julia Ruff smiled and tapped on one of the books she traveled with. Common Sense was the one she focused on today, an invaluable resource in trying to help shape and guide a young republic. Her copy was the only one she had seen since the Reset. Even in the amazing Archives Hall in the heart of Shelbyville, the greatest collection of documents and the written word left in the known world, it was hard to find more than one copy of any title. Paper books were rare even before the Reset; most had become quaint antiques in the hands of wealthy collectors. Many of those same collectors succumbed to burning their precious artifacts for just a few seconds of warmth after the power went out. Would I have resorted to such an unforgivable action? she wondered privately. I think not, but if it meant my Bek freezing, my grandkids…
She shook her mind back to the present, trying even after all these years to forget the desperation and panic of the time following the Reset. In the present, she had to worry about something she had thought was long dead with the electrical grid: politics. Her precious books reminded her that politics wouldn’t end until there was only one person left on earth.
“I warned Alex about this. If you set up a committee, or a legislature in this case, and tell them to make decisions, you better be prepared to not like what they come up with,” she told him.
“How did you put up with it all those years in DC?”
“I didn’t, remember? I was only there in the US Senate for a short time before I quit. Thought I was leaving it all behind, but when I got to Old Main I still had to deal with the faculty senate. Starvation, warfare, bandits…they still can’t agree what to do even now. That’s why Bek ends up making so many decisions for them,” she replied.
“Then what’s the point of it all, Julia? I believe in letting the people decide their own fate.” His friend raised an eyebrow at him. “No, I really do. But what if we can’t convince them to do the right thing?”
“They will, Martin. Our job is to keep outside influences from getting too much power, because once that happens people will give up. They figure there’s no way to make a difference, so why bother? But that’s the hard work of politics, because there’s always someone trying to take control. Sometimes that person even means well!
“One of my favorite quotes ever is from C.S. Lewis about do-gooders. I didn’t have a chance to write it down before
the Reset, but essentially it says that those who oppress for your own good are the most dangerous, because they can oppress you with a clean conscience.”
Fredericks finally smiled a little. “That sounds terrifying.”
“Think about how terrifying the world was when this was written,” Julia said, holding up the book in front of her. “When they rebelled, the patriots I mean, the world was overrun with kings who thought that God himself had selected them. How do you convince a king who thinks he’s God’s voice on earth that he’s wrong about something? If you look at the bright side, at least here we have a nearly clean slate to work from. Just takes a while.”
“And what if we don’t have a while? Or a year, or a month or even a day?”
“Alex kept a big chunk of power in the Founder’s Chair for that very reason. Two senators selected from among the Land Lords of each province, plus one selected at large by each governor gives as good a cross-section of citizens as we can get right now. Maybe after the population gets more established we can do a lower house, but not yet.”
“That will keep leadership from abusing the system?” Fredericks asked.
“I believe everyone here in the Senate is fully invested in seeing to the health of the Republic, even if we don’t agree how to get there. In the meantime, there’s plenty of Quarters available to fund the Wizards. It will just come directly from the Okaw and Old Main instead of the Republic budget.”
“Just like most of the food, and the supplies, and the equipment, and the deputies…”
Julia cut him off, “That’s the way it’s going to be for a while. We’re still a young republic. Most of our territory is wildlands and there’s almost zero way to communicate from one province to another. We’re a frontier people still; just a couple of years ago Okaw and Old Main was all there was. But in a few more harvests both America and Grand Shawnee will contribute more than any other province. You’ve seen the projections, you know the resources available there. Between the exploding birth rates and immigration, Lafayette, Kickapoo Union, even Peoria will be equal contributors to the original two, maybe greater.”