E-Clan1 >> Wish I could help u both…
He felt a twinge of guilt for lying about how he knew the Empire and the Mountain were pals, but they didn’t need to know that. They spent the next ten minutes talking about the old America, the one with stores that sold pie, and the last movies they had seen. It got kind of sappy and way too nostalgic. Ethan finally logged off feeling a bit depressed. The Northwest was on the ropes and Florida was probably worse-off than “SgtFlaughter” had let on. Getting the Russians and Cubans out of Florida was great, but if the survivors fell to fighting each other, it could be years before they stopped looking like a tropical Somalia, bloody warlords and all. Damn.
Ethan turned to his other computer and loaded up a game. Killing zombies would take his mind off America’s troubles. For a while anyway. Maybe.
* * *
From her makeshift podium—really just a laptop stand—Cassy glanced out through her window and cursed the early nights of winter. It was black outside, which matched her mood. The cheery living room was well-lit by LED bulbs running off her solar array, or rather the deep-cycle batteries that stored the solar power. Some irrational part of her wanted to smash those lightbulbs to dust. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, then focused on keeping a relaxed, friendly expression on her face for the benefit of her guests, the Clan Council.
Technically the Council had some authority, but everyone knew Cassy’s final word was law. Her valley, her rules. In this day and age, you had a leader with claws or you died, and Cassy had claws. But the Council were her friends, her family—she’d never step on their opinions unless absolutely necessary, and despite the confidence she showed everyone, all day every day, she was all too aware that she sometimes made mistakes. Had made mistakes that got good people killed. But life went on, she was the leader, and the pipe dream of Frank stepping up as Clan leader had faded long ago. This was just her lot in life, for however long she lived. She was a far cry from the trusting, mid-thirties marketing executive she had been on the day the EMPs hit. Another lifetime, another life…
“Alright, I call the meeting to order,” Cassy said. “Let the minutes show that Frank, our manager, is here. Joe Ellings is here for the White Stag survivors and is our agriculture foreman. Grandma Mandy is here, as usual—thanks for coming, Mom—and will be our devil’s advocate since Choony will be gone with Jaz for quite a while yet. Ethan, our intel and communications guy is here. Nice shirt, by the way.” She smiled as Ethan preened a bit in his geeky tee-shirt. “Michael, our security director. And me. I’m glad you’re all here. And we bid welcome to our Confederation allies.”
Cassy looked around the room and saw the envoys from their Confederation allies taking note of who was who in the Clan. She gave them about five seconds to sort it, then continued. “I’d like to personally thank our guests for coming here. Liz Town is here, as is Brickerville, Lititz, and Ephrata, each representing the survivor groups under their care. Lebanon couldn’t make it, unfortunately, due to distance and weather.”
Cassy noted that the Liz Town envoy wasn’t the usual man, but another man she hadn’t met before. By custom they called the envoys by their town name, and Frank was the Clan’s rep, but she’d liked the old Liz Town rep.
Ephrata stood then, which was unexpected. All eyes turned to him as he said, “I’d like to thank the Clan for inviting us. It’s important that we all have unfettered access to this Colonel Taggart and his New America, and I am happy that the Clan has recognized this need.”
As he sat back down, Cassy kept her relaxed, friendly expression in place, but only through iron will. She was about to reply when Frank spoke, though he didn’t stand. By agreement, due to his missing foot, he stayed seated during any meetings. “Thank you, Ephrata. Although I figure it’s our relationship, and it’s certainly our equipment that makes it possible, the Clan has never hoarded resources we didn’t need for ourselves. Colonel Taggart has made it clear he will deal with the Confederation only through Cassy here—he doesn’t want to widen the risk to his own operations, but we are happy to share. The way I see it, keeping this leaky boat afloat is more important than old-world-style politics, don’t you think? We’re in it to win it, for all of us.”
Cassy noted that Ephrata and the other envoys nodded when Frank spoke up. He had neatly reminded everyone that this was the Clan’s resource, Clan equipment, Clan everything—but that the Clan wasn’t going to try to play power politics with its allies, nor should they play politics back. Times were different, Cassy mused. Open discussion would be a losing game in pre-EMP politics, but everyone who still played those games was now dead or dying. When people were alive on a razor’s edge, you said what you meant, and said it clearly, or you didn’t survive. Some day that would change, but not today. In the meantime, she was grateful for Frank’s diplomatic, unifying ways.
Cassy coughed once, then said, “We are here, as you know, for a teleconference with Colonel Taggart, who’s busy operating a guerrilla army of current and former military people at the core, plus thousands of liberated civilians like ourselves being trained up as they go. Upstate New Jersey had been blocked off by the Korean and ISNA invaders, and two million slaves from New York City were clearing it for spring planting. Now the slaves are being freed and the invaders are on the run.”
Lititz stood, waited a second, then said, “I was under the impression that he was in New York City, yes?”
“The ’vaders in New York City had Taggart hemmed up, but he escaped when he figured out how they were staying one step ahead of him. He used their spies against them, and got himself and his ex-military people out of the city into New Jersey. He has reclaimed a lot of territory since then and has been liberating civilians whenever he can, or avenging their murders when he wasn’t fast enough.”
Lititz nodded. “Yes, but what has this to do with the Confederation, and what’s he going to do with all that territory? How do we know he isn’t just another General Houle in sheep’s clothing?” The envoy sat down again.
Cassy frowned, but recovered quickly. Lititz didn’t know Taggart like Ethan did, and she trusted Ethan’s judgment. She had to. “Our hope and dream is that this Taggart is founding a New America. We all know General Houle at the Mountain in Colorado is claiming to be El Jeffe and wants to be Caesar, but he’s clearly a bastard and unfit. Taggart is playing a balancing act, trying not to earn traitor status with the Mountain but not obeying their orders, either. He says when he sees a legal Constitutional government again, he’ll submit to its authority. In the meantime, anything we can do to help him, we must do. All agreed?”
Raised hands from the envoys and from Frank showed unanimous agreement, or at least compliance. But that was the slow ball, the easy home run. If only all the issues were so easily resolved.
From the back of the room, Ethan said, “It’s up and almost time. They’ll join us any moment.”
Cassy nodded, and watched as Ethan brought a tiny laptop and a sleek-looking device up front. On the coffee table he placed the device, a projector, and connected it to the laptop; it then projected an image of the living room onto the wall behind her. She turned the podium around, not liking the fact that the envoys were behind her now where she couldn’t read their expressions, and waited.
Two minutes later, the image flickered and was replaced by a shot of two men in Army field uniforms. One was a burly, light-complexion black man with the unmistakable aura of authority—Michael had the same aura when dealing with his Marines or the other Clan warriors. Slightly behind him was a younger white man with no facial hair and somewhat Irish-mutt features. Neither had facial hair.
The man in front said, “Greetings, is this thing on?” When Cassy gave a thumbs-up, he continued, “I am Major General Taggart, commander of the Army of the United States, Reformed.” He looked directly at the camera and said, “Please introduce your team.”
Cassy said, “I am Cassandra Shores, but everyone calls me Cassy. I am the Clan Leader, and nominal representat
ive of the Confederation, an alliance of survivor enclaves in Pennsylvania working together to maintain our independence from all enemies, foreign and domestic.” She then introduced the other envoys, but didn’t introduce her council members except for Frank, whom she listed as the Clan’s representative while she stood for the Confederation. On screen, in the background, the younger soldier took notes as she spoke.
Then Taggart nodded, and said, “Behind me is Sergeant Major Eagan, who will be my day-to-day liaison with your Confederation and with the Clan directly. Thank you all for coming, and allowing me to speak with you today.”
On the projection, Cassy saw that the envoys behind her were nodding in approval. Good, another bar cleared, and Taggart was showing himself not to be the egomaniac some had feared. “Thank you for your time, General Taggart, and congratulations on your latest field promotion. From what we’ve heard, it was well earned.”
“It is what it is, Cassy. The more I liberate, the more I command, and we have to have a rank structure. Sometimes it’s just easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and the Mountain isn’t here—that’s what your man calls them, right? The Mountain?”
Cassy replied, “Yes, sir. We understand the delicate situation you have there, and will do what we can not to complicate your life in that regard—but we won’t bow down to this General Houle, sir. He isn’t here, and he didn’t help us or anyone but himself, to go by our limited intel.”
On screen, Cassy saw that Taggart made no expression, but his sidekick Eagan had to turn away to hide a grin. That was good to know. Cassy immediately felt a sort of kindred spirit in the young man, and if this Taggart officer relied heavily on Eagan then it spoke volumes about the kind of leader Taggart was. What kind of person he was, really.
Taggart nodded, and his eyes smiled for a second but the rest of his face was solidly neutral, unreadable. “I understand your feelings in the matter. I can’t say that I blame you, but one way or another the Mountain is a reality we will all have to deal with. Although there is some question about the chain of command and the legitimacy of his claim to be the Commander-in-Chief, it doesn’t change the fact that General Houle outranks me. I walk a fine line, and until certain issues are decided, I prefer not to kick the hornet’s nest.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassy saw Michael stand. She glanced over and saw him standing ramrod straight, feet together, hands at his sides, the way the Marines did when Michael gave them orders.
“Sir,” Michael said loudly enough to carry across the room, “Major Michael K. Bates, USMC Retired, Force Recon. I am the Clan’s military C.O.”
All eyes turned to him as he spoke, but he paid no heed. Cassy’s eyes went wide—she had never known his rank and had only guessed at his Force Recon status. Even Frank looked surprised, and they had known each other for a few years before the EMPs.
Michael continued, “Sir, from one grunt to another, what is the status of the New United States Reformed? We’ve heard rumors that you’ve established a civilian chain of command in parallel to your military command. Is that true? It’s a question with deep implications, considering the claims of General Houle, sir.”
Taggart’s huge face, projected onto the wall, grew a big sloppy grin. “Hooah, Marine.”
“Oohrah, General,” Michael snapped back, but he too now wore a grin. Michael’s whole body language relaxed, though he kept his ‘position of attention,’ as he called it.
“I’m glad you asked that, Major. In point of fact, I am not forming a New United States. I have, however, been elected President of the existing United States by the citizens within my operational area. It’s a formality, really—I run this show here simply because no one else can—but it gives my people hope that America is going to rise from the ashes, and we haven’t lost everything. This complicates my relationship with the Mountain, however, and I haven’t reported this election to them. Not until I decide how I will proceed regarding General Houle’s claims.”
He paused and glanced off-screen, away from the Sergeant-Major, and murmured “later” to whoever it was. Turning back to the camera, he continued, “We have functioning governmental bodies in place now, though they’re crude. We’ve taken in a lot of refugees and have no way to feed too many more. Those who can’t work in the fields or carry a weapon are being turned away, which I deeply regret, but soon we’ll have to turn away the able-bodied as well. I doubt I’ll be a well-loved president in the future history books. In any case, it is only a title of convenience. It maintains a link with the civilians yearning, as the statue said, to be free.”
Michael nodded, listening carefully as Taggart spoke, and then replied, “Is the General aware of the Clan’s method of agriculture? This intensive ‘permaculture’ has the potential to produce on par with, or out-produce, the best commercial farmlands. It requires more people labor, but without tractors and the ability to ship in tons of fertilizer, it may be the only way agriculture can resume in the post-EMP operations environment, and I’ve seen the proof of concept right here, sir. Cassy can tell you about it if you like.”
Michael then sat, and Cassy looked to Taggart. When he said nothing, she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. Damned if she was going to be the first to talk—if Taggart wasn’t on board with what Michael had said, she didn’t want to put him on the spot, nor did she want to suffer a hit in front of the envoys if he wasn’t interested in the idea.
Then Taggart, who had been looking away, returned his gaze to the screen. “Actually, that’s an excellent question. Yes, I am aware of the Clan’s farming method, although I don’t know any details. Eagan just told me your man said it’s sustainable and productive even without fertilizer, which commercial agriculture never has been, not even when the tractors and long-distance transports were working. Is that accurate, Cassy?”
Cassy nodded slowly. “Yes, in essence. But it requires knowledge. You can’t just plow a field and put down seed the way your farmers have always done it. Just doesn’t work that way, General, but you can expect some resistance from your farmers. It’s a big change.”
Taggart nodded, his projected image filling the wall. “I’ve been advised of that. In fact, one of my rescued civilians is a permaculture enthusiast. He’s only read a lot of books on the topic, never in practice—he lived in an apartment before the war and dreamed of a homestead like yours. I have a plan in mind, however. Cassy, I’d like to name you my Interim Secretary of Agriculture. You’d need to work closely with my guy, who will be your deputy and number two man for permaculture. We need to get up to speed quickly, because spring is coming.”
Cassy stared at the laptop, jaw agape. She blinked hard twice and snapped her jaw shut. “I’m honored, sir…”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming, Cassy,” Taggart replied.
“I have a Clan to lead, and I’m kept pretty busy trying to teach people from the Confederation’s enclaves so they can get started in the spring. I want to help—”
Taggart interrupted her with one hand held up toward the screen. “I won’t try to tell you what to do, but if America is going to rise again—the America we want—then we’re all going to have to start worrying about more than our own small corners of the world. Why don’t you train people from each of your enclaves at the same time you instruct the Deputy Secretary of Agriculture? Turn it into an accelerated course, help everyone get the basics down pat so we can at least begin without delaying your own Confederation.”
On the screen, Cassy saw the Brickerville envoy stand up behind her. “Sir, and Cassy, if I may offer a suggestion? Why don’t we each send a person to Clanholme to study under Cassy directly? Perhaps a couple hours per day of instruction would suffice to get us up to speed for spring planting. They can carry the knowledge back and spread it on from there.”
Cassy felt all eyes on her, both those behind her and on the video conference, and her cheeks flushed, her jaw gritting. How could she do everything needed? She was only one person, dammit, and the Clan was her f
irst responsibility. And how could she teach them what they needed to know in time? No one could miss her frustration so she spoke her thoughts aloud to the screen. “They’d have to dig swales and berms to retain water, and catchment ponds, using nothing but A-frame levels to keep the swales on contour. It takes practice and hard work, not classwork. There’s no way I could see the land everyone will have to dig on—it’d take months we don’t have to go to each location to evaluate local conditions. I don’t see how I can make it work from here.”
Frank’s deep voice rose behind her. “Cassy, this is a chance to save thousands. Maybe millions, someday. A chance to redefine how we all do agriculture. Imagine the future generations who will live better and healthier lives because of what you can teach us? If you need more time… Well, you can delegate your Clan responsibilities to me. This is more important.”
His words hung in the air between them. Frank was offering publicly to step up to handle much of the Clan leader’s responsibilities. She had been trying to get him to do that for as long as she had known him, through ups and downs, crisis and peacetime, hunger and plenty. He had always refused, on grounds that it was her farm and she was a better leader in his estimation. Now, when she didn’t want to do something that would put more responsibilities on her shoulders, for more people… Now he steps up?
She realized her shoulders had hunched up and she had made her hands into fists, and took a deep breath to calm down. Part of her still wanted to leap across the living room and choke the crap out of him. Not only would this add to her burden, but she didn’t want to be the agriculture secretary, or whatever. All she had ever wanted was just to raise her family on a nice, quiet homestead, healthier and more self-sufficiently.
To get that for her family after the EMPs hit, she’d had to get that for the Clan as well. There were all of fourteen people in the beginning. Now the Clan had nearly two hundred people, only half of whom were survivors of the Clan’s enslavement under Peter; the rest were newer. And then the alliance. And when that became the Confederation, many hundreds more, even if they were far away and had their own local leaders. She was still ultimately responsible for them.
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 2