Cobb reached forward and took the bag from the glove box.”
“Okay, be careful, there’s only a couple of copies of that in the world, but that one is mine. It was hand written in the fifteenth century and it’s really only a synopsis of the vision, but it’s a start.”
Cobb stared blankly at the letters which were embossed into the dark material of the binding, unable to understand the language he saw.
Stanwick sighed, “Shit, I’m sorry, my mistake. Yeah, you’re going to have to wait till we get to my humble abode, unless you can read Latin?”
Cobb shrugged, “I’m fluent in five languages, but I passed up on Latin. It didn’t seem likely that I’d need it as frequently as Mandarin.”
Stanwick gunned the accelerator to overtake an eighteen wheeler, “Sucks to be you.”
“I can’t believe it.”
Stephanie threw her bare feet up on the high dashboard, an act which required her to push herself forward in the seat to reach, her head slumping down so that the seat belt tugged at her chin, “Sup?”
David slammed his fist on the steering wheel, inadvertently sounding the horn which elicited a giggle from Stephanie.
“Did you understand any of that speech?”
“What speech?”
“On the radio just now. The president’s speech.” David looked sidelong at his daughter and decided not to comment on how ridiculously uncomfortable she looked, “were you even listening to it?”
Preoccupied by an experiment she was carrying out, Stephanie had been too busy to pay much attention to the radio. Biting her hand and watching how quickly her skin regained its color may not garner the attention of the Nobel Prize committee, nevertheless Stephanie considered the research to be worthwhile. She had an objective frame of reference for her experiment; she knew that normally it would bring tears to her eyes if she bit her skin with her canines hard enough that their points left dark dents. She’d managed to draw blood not long after they got onto the interstate. Not only had she not cried, but the blood had vanished from her skin almost as quickly as it had appeared, along with the mark left by her teeth.
She allowed part of her brain to engage with her father’s question. “The president doesn’t like money. I think he said we don’t need money any more.”
David smirked, impressed, “That’s a good part of what he was saying.”
“I thought we were in a re …” she rifled through her stores of vocab while she bit into her hand again, “a regression.”
David corrected her, “A recession. That’s true, we have been. The President is suggesting that the way out of the global recession is to forget about money entirely. Clean slate. Eradicate money.”
“So what happens to my piggy bank?”
David looked glum, “It would mean your money would be no good any more, you’d have to do something for your country to get the things you want.”
Stephanie crossed her feet, clicking her toes thoughtfully, “You don’t like money though right?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’ve never said we should just scrap it, starting tomorrow, just pretend like it never existed.”
Stephanie reached into the leg-well behind her seat and searched blindly for a bag of chips, “What the heck can I even do?”
Following Stanwick’s lead, David tucked the Chevelle in front of the eighteen wheeler, “What can you do about what?”
“What do I do if I want stuff and they won't take my piggy bank. I don’t even know how to do anything.”
David laughed, “You’ll be okay. You know I doubt they’ll even let this happen.”
Giving up on the chips, Stephanie rolled her eyes and bit into her palm, sucking up her saliva, content that her father had exhausted the topic. She watched the little rivulets of blood flow down the creases and folds as she flexed her hand.
West was soothed by the scratchy voice of the talk radio presenter. He’d listened to her for years and he regarded her show as a bastion of common sense and balanced discussion.
“Well Tom, I’d like to hear your take on this.”
The wavering tone, the slight southern inflection; West thought to himself that if he could select a surrogate Grandmother, she would be perfect.
“Well Diane, religious transformation or no, I want whatever he’s been smoking.”
“Right?” Diane laughed softly.
The man continued, “It’s certainly not constitutional. I mean, I’m sure that what he’s proposing is reason enough for impeachment, certainly a vote of no confidence.”
The woman coughed away from the microphone as her laughter got the better of her, “Right, right… I think impeachment would require an act of treason …”
The man spoke over her, “President Ford defined a legitimate cause for impeachment as being whatever a majority of the House of Representatives considers it to be at a given moment in history.”
Another male voice cut in, “But that’s the million dollar question right now isn’t it? I mean, perhaps Tiernan knows something we don’t. I’m not sure he would go into this thing not thinking he had a majority house behind him?”
Diane spoke, “I’m not sure if President Tiernan has had an opportunity to canvas opinion on the hill; he’s only just returned from Valhalla or wherever he’s been hanging out, hasn’t he?”
Both of the men started laughing, then the first man, Tom, picked up the thread, “Right Diane … I’m not sure how much of this I’m buying really. I mean, there’s no way he’s naive enough to be suggesting that money really is the root of all evils?”
Diane croaked, “There’ll be plenty of people saying that President Tiernan is the root of all evil after today.”
West thumbed the volume rocker on the Boss’s steering column and the voices dropped to a barely audible murmur.
“We’re out of snacks already.” Charlene yelled over the ear-splitting roar of the engine. She dropped the brown paper bag into the tiny space behind West’s seat. “There's just no accounting for how hungry you can get sitting in a car doing sweet F A.”
“I doubt it will be long before we need to stop again. Honestly this car will be the biggest problem. The mileage is for shit.”
Charlene shook her fists in the air triumphantly, “Yey for shitty mileage. What the H E double hockey stick’s with you guys and shitty old cars anyway?” West sat in stony silence, watching the road. She looked at the radio thoughtfully, “Did y’all know that this was coming…”
West’s brow furrowed, “Tiernan attempting to abolish currency?”
“All of this.”
“I know it’s a shallow basis for a friendship, but when you know that a person has a seemingly infinite lifetime to better themselves, it’s easy to be lost in that hope. Even though the Somnium Mirificum ended with Tiernan as the ruler of a great nation, all bets were off for what he would do next. Really, it was questionable if the great dream ended because of some global calamity, or Tiernan’s death. Such questions were debated for centuries. People have fought and died for their belief that Tiernan’s vision would lead to a beautiful future, even when none of us knew what lay beyond the great dream.” He took his eyes off the road to look at Charlene, his expression almost apologetic, “This…” he pointed at the radio, “We didn’t know this was coming no.”
Charlene nodded then opened her mouth and drew a breath.
“Go on?” West prompted her, aware that she was holding back a question.
“Listening to what he actually said, it doesn’t sound all bad really?”
West grinned widely, his eyebrows arching as he kept his eyes focused on the rear end of his precious Chevelle.
“No money, everyone with their place in society, production increased, unhindered by lack of funds, the world can set its sights on ever greater projects. I can seen how some of it sounds innocuous. Money is just an abstraction though, and a useful one at that. Of course, there are only sixteen nations in the
EUC, and this plan is a huge fuck you to the rest of the world.”
Charlene tapped the window control on her door panel, allowing the window to slide down a couple of inches.
“Then there’s the whole religion issue,” West continued.
“How do you mean?”
“The symbolism of the world leaders risen from the dead. It’s a ghoulish and divisive move. In two days, they’ve managed to create a dialog that will pit the world against itself.”
Allan Tiernan stood in front of a large table, faced by the members of his cabinet.
“President, with all due respect, you do realize you’ve just committed political suicide.”
Tiernan’s expression conveyed little emotion. In an ideal world, he would have appointed a cabinet made up solely of Leechkith. He would have settled for Second Realmers. In the end, he had been left with no choice but to nominate Joe Faraday to the post of Secretary of the Treasury. The man had paid his dues and risen through the party ranks at the same time as Tiernan, and it had been impossible to even imply that any other man would be suitable for the roll.
“Secretary Faraday,” Tiernan waited until he was sure that Faraday was looking at him before he continued to talk, “you are not capable of paying me the respect I am due. I’m going to try not to hold that against you. As for political suicide, I’m sure you’ll find that The Senate is rather more accommodating than you would give them credit for.”
Joseph Faraday knew that of all the members of the executive branch, his position was the one which was most threatened by the speech Tiernan had delivered. His sense of betrayal was so profound that he felt physically sick, his hand resting on his stomach in an attempt to focus his mental efforts on maintaining his composure. “The Senate will laugh you out of the White House, assuming the vice president doesn’t call for a vote of no confidence.”
Tiernan glanced at his father and smirked,“Vice President Miller, would you like to answer Secretary Faraday’s concerns?”
“Certainly President Tiernan.” Lucas Miller stood up and started to walk around the table, making sure that he made eye contact with each of the officers of the executive branch as he went, “You will all appreciate that it was my intention to follow the course set in motion by President Tiernan prior to the events of March tenth. I’ve spoken with many of you about how those ends would be achieved, but I doubt any one of you would have suggested that I was more apt for the role than my predecessor. I have absolute confidence in President Tiernan’s ability to marshal this country’s resources and lead the people of the United States.”
Tiernan stood behind Secretary Faraday and rested his hands on his shoulders in a show of condescension which Faraday found emasculating, “Don’t fret so much Joe, this doesn’t mean you’re out of a job. Really. You should embrace this change. The people hate you, more than they hate me. You’re the bearer of bad tidings; that’s how they see you. Grim fucking reaper and champion of austerity. You did some fine work on capital reforms, but you’ve got to know that it isn’t enough. Working along side Administrator Burton, Secretary Pope and Secretary Wilson the scope of your role becomes vastly more interesting.”
Administrator Gloria Burton had been a controversial appointment in the early days of Tiernan’s administration. Coming fresh from a position as CEO of one of the major oil corporations, many members of the press and some bleeding heart liberals had painted her as an inappropriate candidate for the position of Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency, but the Senate had confirmed her role with an overwhelming majority. It wasn’t widely acknowledged by the press that Gloria had held a position at the EPA and had moved only briefly into the oil industry in order to oversee the introduction of some stringent checks and measures. That was the nature of the press corps though and Gloria had weathered the storm admirably. Although her work as Administrator of the EPA often required her to work closely with Secretary Wilson (Secretary of Agriculture) and Secretary Pope (Secretary of the Interior), she had never had much recourse to consult with Secretary Faraday.
At the President’s mention of her name, she lifted her eyes towards Faraday and tried to imagine a less trustworthy bedfellow.
“President Tiernan, how exactly do you envisage that working?”
Tiernan lifted his hands from Faraday’s shoulders and crossed his arms, “I will leave it to the four of you to hammer out the finer details, but my thinking was that Secretary Faraday would, with the assistance of an advisory committee, oversee the distribution and allocation of exhaustible resources. You understand that I’m not suggesting that the three of you will be Secretary Faraday’s babysitters, but in such a role, it will of course be necessary for Joe to work closely with the EPA and the departments of agriculture and the interior.”
Gloria leaned back in her chair and smiled warmly at Tiernan. It was a cruel game that he played, but she took pleasure in the fact that it was Faraday who was being played.
As the discussion went on, feathers were ruffled and voices were raised, but overall Lucas Miller was surprised at how little resistance his son was met with. He’d had his concerns over the past few years and indeed, had voiced them repeatedly, but Tiernan’s stock response had always been, “Friends close, enemies closer father … You taught me that.”
The first few times he’d heard his son pipe out the adage, he’d been quick to point out that wherever the lesson had come from, it hadn’t been from him. He’d given up arguing the point once he realized that Ahken genuinely seemed to have convinced himself that he spoke the truth. Lucas thought that it was part and parcel with the persona Ahken had built for himself in the early 2000s. He hated Allan Tiernan vehemently, but he loved his son and although he had some resentments and many reservations, he appreciated that the character Ahken had worked so hard to create was pivotal to his ambitions.
Enemies closer … Lucas watched how Ahken dealt with each of the secretaries of the cabinet and he had to hand it to him; ensuring that there was a Leechborn majority in the senate had taken years to achieve, but it looked as if it would actually pay off. Those few party members who could have been considered enemies had either been bought off, or else had been appointed cabinet positions.
As the discussions wound inexorably towards the issue of money, or rather Ahken’s determination to abolish the American currency, Lucas Miller felt a feint vibration in his breast pocket and so he discretely moved his hand to his pocket and glanced at the short message that had illuminated the screen of his tablet.
‘NYFO & DCFO have take heavy casualties. Beach evaded capture, aided by West Yestler and Stanwick Thrass.”
He felt the sudden desire for steak; he would need the energy to deal with Ahken’s inevitable tantrum. As the tablet slid back into the silk lining of his suit jacket, Lucas Miller could only smile as he tried to imagine Stanwick Thrass and West Yestler decimating the Leechborn agents who had been dispatched to locate David Beach. In fury or in friendship, they were beautiful.
Stanwick turned on her indicator, signaling to David Beach that she was about to pull off the interstate. They hadn’t yet made it to Harrisburg, which was less than half the distance they needed to cover and already Brad was complaining that he needed to use the facilities. He’d refused to piss into a bottle in front of her, which she’d found endearing rather than frustrating. She made it clear to him that when they made it to the rest stop, West would be accompanying him to the restroom and he would certainly be murdered in the most fetid manner if he tried anything.
Cobb quipped suggestively, “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you tag along?”
In the shallower and entirely more base recesses of her mind, she’d admonished herself for the fleeting thought that she would gladly accompany him to the restrooms. Pleasantly distracted, Stanwick clipped the curb as she took the exit ramp, letting go of the wheel as she keeled to the side. Her hand fell on Cobb’s lap and remained there until she was able to let off the accelerator. Cobb looked away, blush
ing, scanning the surroundings for something, anything to comment on. His eyes were drawn towards a dark plume of smoke which rose into the sky a short way down the road. He could see, probably a few hundred yards beyond the gas station and the conveniences, several fire engines were pulled up alongside a small strip mall.
“What the hell? That’s nuts. Looks like a pretty bad fire down there.” He pointed ahead, eager to demonstrate that this was not a pathetic attempt at detracting attention from his embarrassment.
Stanwick flicked her hair back and cut across the road into the parking lot of the gas station, pulling up by one of the twelve pumps.
“A fire Brad?” She looked away from the smoke, waiting for Cobb to turn back around in his seat, “Fire is predictable. Expect to see a lot more of that.”
“What, you think that was deliberate?”
Stanwick smiled and shot a small wave of her hand at Stephanie who was leaning her head out of the Chevelle’s window as they drove past.
“What do you think Brad? The president has just announced that money is useless; what would you do if you weren’t busy being kidnapped?”
He laughed as she opened the her door and unfastened her seatbelt, “Is that what this is? Kidnapping?”
She smiled demurely, “Have you decided you’re here of your own volition?”
“I guess not. I mean, I was given a choice. Death or …”
“Kidnapping it is then.”
Although West’s Mustang was the only vehicle which was close to running on empty, West, Stanwick and David each fueled their vehicles as the other members of the party headed into the large gas station. A burger bar, simply titled ‘Jim’s Joint’ had been built into the far side of the convenience store and as there was no clear line of separation between the restaurant and the shop floor, the scent of fried foods which greeted them was, although not entirely wholesome, at least sickeningly enticing. It was too much for Stephanie who, ignoring David’s feeble protestation, headed straight for the counter, looking over imploringly at the other adults. David touched Charlene’s shoulder to get her attention, “Do the eh … the leeches give a shit what we eat?”
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 30