by Paul Anlee
15
Secretary of the Treasury Corbin Totts was enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon in his garden. It was the first time he’d had a chance to relax and reflect since his appointment to President Mitchell’s new cabinet. This Administration was the first officially elected one in the New Confederacy, a triumph of grassroots democracy.
The first five years following secession had been chaotic. He was glad he hadn’t been part of it. Despite extensive planning prior to declaring independence, the transition yielded one catastrophe after another.
When revolution erupted, the entities that would come to form the New Confederacy, Pacifica, and Le Beau Pays du Quebec were the only ones on the continent remotely prepared for the reimagining of North America.
The immediate challenge of those vying for power and control was to define and hold new boundaries against the jostling of a half-dozen nascent North American countries and renegade groups rising out of the Great Schism of 2033. For a short while, it was like the Wild West all over again. Key political forces scrambled for control over the resources and support of remaining non-aligned states and the Canadian provinces.
The New Confederacy began with the southern states and expanded its northern borders to incorporate Wyoming. Idaho and Montana quickly petitioned to join, along with both Dakotas.
The Canadian province of Alberta—home of oil-rich, conservative Calgary, and fondly referred to as Texas north—turned its back on a verbal pre-secession agreement with Pacifica and joined the burgeoning New Confederacy.
Except for shale-rich Pennsylvania, The New Confederacy now controlled most of the oil resources on the continent. President Mitchell could not conceal his glee when imagining how those west coast new-age spiritual types forming Pacifica—the kayaking, draft dodging, socialist/communist granola gang—would start squirming once they realized how that would turn out for them. I guess we’ll see how serious they are about reducing their carbon footprint!
The idea of an independent Pacifica nation had been bandied about by the general public and political analysts for decades. It was common knowledge that the population up and down the coast on either side of the Canada-USA border had more in common with one another than they did with their respective countrymen who lived further inland. California, Oregon, Washington, and Alaska were joined by the Canadian province of British Columbia and the Yukon territory. The group wasted no time in formalizing the bond.
Colorado, Arizona, and Nevada came as a welcome and somewhat unexpected addition to Pacifica. Instead of sliding into an obvious geographical alignment with the neighboring southern states, they stridently rejected The New Confederacy’s approach to constitutionally-enshrined Christianity and sought a philosophically closer fit with Pacifica.
To no one’s surprise, the Mormons of Utah decided this would be a good time to form their own independent, neutral country. “Think of us as the Switzerland of North America.”
Giving no more thought to the presence of Quebec than they ever had, the Canadian industrial heartland of Ontario and all of the maritime provinces threw in with the northeastern states, supporting the vestiges of the not-so-united-after-all United States of America.
The Canadian prairie provinces of Saskatchewan and Manitoba, emboldened by Utah’s declaration, joined with the Northwest Territories and Nunavut to form an independent nation of their own. They retained the name Canada.
The world adjusted its maps, address labels, and invoicing, and went about its business. In the midst of chaos, there were always fresh opportunities.
World leaders turned their attention to the matter of money.
Totts chuckled quietly to himself. What a zoo that must have been! The combined public and private debts of Canada and the United States had been enormous. Panicked private creditors and sovereign states called in their loans, clamoring for immediate repayment. The remnants of what was still calling itself the United States of America stalled its creditors, while negotiating the debt split with the new countries.
New Confederacy’s President Mitchell and Pacifica’s Prime Minister Hudson told their former colleagues, “It’s your debt, you take care of it.” Only not so politely.
Had the Yankees not been so broke, the crisis might have precipitated another civil war. It wasn’t certain who would have come out ahead if that happened.
Eventually, the newly-independent nations found a way to honorably share the renegotiated debt of the profligate countries preceding them. It was either that or forever lose access to the international lending markets. They followed up with a plan to create their own currencies and reached agreement on opening exchange rates.
A forty percent devaluation in their currencies relative to the old greenback meant creditors got about sixty cents on the dollar. The haircut gutted the international reserves of China and Japan, among others, and decimated North American pension plans.
Twenty years before the political restructuring, a generation of twenty- and thirty-somethings elected to move in with their parents to weather the Great Recession. Now parents themselves, they were forced to move in with their adult children as jobs disappeared. The Disillusioned Generation never expected to receive much in the way of pensions when, or if, they ever got to retire. Now they were certain to be impoverished seniors.
Totts considered himself one of the lucky ones. Governments of all stripes had always taken care of their own. He looked forward to a comparatively calm term in office, once the new Free Trade negotiations with the Northern European Union were completed. He would manage the New Greyback in conjunction with the Confederacy Central Bank in Dallas and steer this economy forward. Things were starting to calm down and the economy was picking up again. The latest employment and GDP stats looked good.
He had been out in the garden since dawn, trying to get a jump on the midday heat. Most of his staff had the day off, and his wife was visiting her sister in San Antonio. He started by cleaning up the Columbine bed nearest the house. He didn’t enjoy yard work in general, but he derived great satisfaction from tending the flowering plants. The activity required a gentle and methodical physical labor, the kind that removed a person from the stress of daily life. The mind could meditate more easily when it was surrounded by lush green vegetation and colorful flowers.
Columbines didn’t fare well in the scorching Austin summers. He’d placed them close to the house where they’d be protected by the deep eaves, but this June had been exceptionally hot and dry. Despite daily watering, the plants were wilted and sad looking. He hacked the dry stalks to within inches of the ground, hoping against the odds that they might flower again in late July.
As the morning wore on, the sun moved around to the north side of the house and the shade dwindled in the backyard. Around ten, he made his way through the patio doors and into the kitchen, where he helped himself to a beer. Never too early for a cold one on a day like this—he thought as he twisted off the cap and took a sip.
He ambled back out onto the patio and plunked his heavy-set frame into the deluxe cushioned deck chair under the shade of the canopy. He took another draw on the ice-cold beer, savoring the stillness brought on by the growing heat of a late summer Texas day.
The birds had stopped singing hours earlier. Too much effort in this heat. Neighbors were done trimming hedges and mowing grass. Probably having a cool drink, like me. He hoisted his bottle in a silent toast to their early-morning efforts and drained it. That went down way too easy—he thought. One more ought to do me about right.
He left the empty on the table and grabbed a fresh bottle from the kitchen. He was enjoying the day, despite the trickle of sweat rolling down his neck. No chance of a work call on a peaceful Sunday like this—he thought, and cussed out loud. I hope I didn’t jinx my luck. Lord, just give me a one quiet day to enjoy before the next emergency—he prayed. His cell phone sat beside the empty bottle, blessedly quiet.
Totts sat back down and considered the pile of Columbine cuttings beside the house. Late
r—he thought. Cradling the cold brew, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
The nagging sound of nearby buzzing pressed him to locate the source. A couple of yellow-jackets hovered around the empty bottle on the table.
He didn’t much like wasps; they ruined his enjoyment of the outdoors. Whenever he and Janet shared a meal on the patio, the pests would target them. He hated the way they moved, hovering menacingly, from side-to-side until they landed and crawled on your food. Once they found desirable food, they’d refuse to move on. You had to be careful how you shooed them away, though; they were mean-tempered critters.
He remembered being out on the driving range last year. There were lots of wasps around that day, too. His friends kept saying, “If you ignore them, they’ll ignore you.” As if!
Sure enough, just as he uncorked one of his best swings of the day, he felt a piercing pain in the armpit of his trailing arm. Damn, if one of those bugs hadn’t flown in there on his back swing! Trapped, the wasp stung twice in rapid succession. It hurt like hell, and only got worse throughout the eighteen holes he played that morning. Tallied up my worst game in a decade. Yep, he hated wasps.
A few more of the little critters arrived. He sat and quietly observed six of them buzzing around the empty bottle until they lost interest and headed in his direction. Two circled around behind him and took up station on his ears. He brushed the air a cautious few inches from his head. They didn’t budge.
They made their way toward the opening of his ears. Tott flinched, ducked his head, and jumped out of his chair. He tried to shoo them away with his cap. He brushed as close and gently as he could, trying to move them away without angering them.
The wasps would take flight but not be dissuaded. They dove doggedly and repeatedly toward his ears. What the hell?—he wondered.
The other four wasps had been hovering half-way between him and the table, watching how he dealt with the bothersome behavior of the first two. They approached his face, coming to an unnaturally stable hover less than a foot away.
His eyes widened. He stopped flailing, and focused on the odd behavior of the four in front of him. He absentmindedly licked his lips to relieve his dry mouth. “What’s going on fellas?” he said. The hornets took advantage of his open mouth. Two zoomed between his parted lips. The other two entered his flared nostrils.
He turned and ran inside the house, instinctively blowing from his mouth and nose with all his might. He couldn’t dislodge them.
The insects moved deeper into his throat and nasal passages, stinging along the way. He yelled in pain, and all four insects escaped from his mouth. Within seconds, they were gone and Totts was alone, reeling with pain and shock.
He ran to the fridge for some milk, thinking it might help with the burning. He guzzled straight from the bottle. It relieved the stinging a little. He leaned against the fridge, gasping for air. What the hell? What should I do? I’d better call 911. The milk bottle slipped from his hand. He hadn’t noticed it going numb. He stared at his fingers, trying to flex them, but they refused to cooperate.
He took a step toward the phone and felt his foot drag and catch on the grout line between tiles. He fell forward into the doorway, unable to get his arms out in time to prevent his face from striking the ceramic floor. He rolled over onto his back, nose and lips bleeding, and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t move his limbs. He couldn’t swallow.
His terror grew when he realized he wasn’t even breathing. He struggled with all his might to inhale, but he was completely paralyzed. In less than two minutes, Corbin Totts, second duly-appointed Treasury Secretary of the New Confederacy, was dead. The coroner would rule it “natural causes” but his assassin knew the true story.
16
August 15, 2038, Global News Alliance. Austin, Texas, New Confederacy:
State funeral services were held today for Corbin Totts, Secretary of Treasury of the New Confederacy. President Mitchell and First Lady Margaret Mitchell were among four thousand mourners who gathered inside the Diamond Cathedral of Yeshua’s True Guard Church, home of the official religion of the New Confederacy.
Secretary Totts was the 33rd government official to die in a spate of recent deaths affecting key figures in the worldwide financial community. Over the past 2 months, 7 Deputy Ministers of Finance, 11 Treasury Undersecretaries, and 15 Central Bank economists have succumbed to sudden death due to natural causes as a result of sudden respiratory or cardiac failure. Secretary Totts was the highest ranked.
No toxins were identified in any of the autopsies, and foul play was not officially suspected in any of the deaths. However, reviewed collectively, these numbers are statistically highly improbable. Despite the lack of physical evidence, accusations of intrigue and assassinations are being raised within the international community.
Authorities are investigating a man known only as Alum, who “prophesized” on his blog one week prior the countries in which the deaths of “important figures in the financial community” would occur.
Alum claims the deaths resulted from “God’s revenge on the wicked and depraved, who worship money and power above the love for His people.” His so-called prophecies have led a number of investigators to propose that the name Alum is a pseudonym used by an international group of terrorists.
Alum has leaked questionable activities by leaders of the United States of America, China, and India, as well as a host of South American and African countries. He has also exposed government and business corruption in a number of middle-ranking individuals. So far, the New Confederacy, Pacifica, Canada, and Northern European Union have been left unscathed by his extensive inside knowledge. Only Pacifica remains untouched by the mysterious deaths.
The religious leader’s most recent warning hints at an unspecified global disaster that has been developing in the Pacific Northwest. As with his predictions concerning the high-profile deaths, Alum has been consistently vague on details.
Popular conjecture points to the strange new addition to Simon Fraser University’s Science Buildings in Vancouver, Pacifica, as one possibility.
The structure in question appears to be centered on the laboratory of Dr. Darian Leigh, a scientist well known for his controversial, ground-breaking research on the origin of the universe. An SFU spokesperson will comment only that, “the addition to the buildings was required for some exciting new research on campus that will be formally unveiled in the coming months.”
“Reverend, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been a busy day.” Fred Mitchell extended his hand as he crossed the threshold from the adjacent war room into the main office.
“That’s quite all right, Mr. President. These are troubling times; I’m sure there is no shortage of matters requiring your attention.” LaMontagne stood and the two men, old friends and sometimes bitter political adversaries, shook hands warmly.
“Indeed they do. Totts’ death couldn’t have come at a worse time. We were concluding trade negotiations with the Northern European Union. Now they want to alter some of the provisions of that agreement.”
“Papi!” The unexpected cry from the far corner of the room drew the President's attention away from LaMontagne. The smiling face of a toddler appeared from behind the sofa. The little boy scampered into the open and ran to LaMontagne.
“Babysitting, Alan?” The President chuckled but was clearly bemused to find a young child in his office.
LaMontagne smiled broadly as he bent down to tousle the boy's hair. “A precious undertaking and one I could hardly refuse,” he replied. “This is my favorite niece's boy. She's going through some difficulties and asked if I could take care of the lad.” He held up a hand. “I know that a meeting at the White House is not the most appropriate place for a toddler. I promise you his presence will not alter the gravity of our conversation which, I assure you, is of the utmost importance.”
Mitchell shrugged his acceptance. He directed the Reverend to a seat in one of the four wing back chairs arranged for comfortable
conversation. The boy plunked himself down at the Reverend's feet. He took a deep breath and grew still, focusing an eerie stare on Mitchell.
“How can I help you, Reverend?” The President asked. “I don't imagine you've come here to discuss this trade deal with the NEU, have you?”
LaMontagne rubbed his chin in thought. He hadn’t been following the trade negotiations at all, being so caught up in his own unrelated investigations. He accessed his communications hardware and scoured the mainstream news and analyses on the topic. There wasn’t much cogent information on it out there. Apparently, the parties preferred to negotiate in secret.
He hacked into Mitchell’s desktop workstation.
Ah, yes. This is much more revealing. Internal memos and email exchanges with the NEU Chancellor showed struggling nations at loggerheads over many issues. He was impressed that they’d concluded a deal at all, a testimony to the acumen of the recently deceased Treasurer Totts.
LaMontagne’s probe took only a few seconds. He dropped his hand back to the armrest. “They want us to raise the price of our liquid natural gas shipments to France and Italy,” he stated factually.
Mitchell was stunned. “How do you…I didn’t realize you kept that up-to-date on affairs outside the Church.”
LaMontagne smiled. “My interests and attention cover a wide array of topics these days. One can never tell where baser threats to the spiritual health of our nation may come from.”
“Well, I don’t know that this impacts any matters of faith, exactly.”
“Our faith is reflected in our actions in the real world as well as in our souls.”
“As always, I accede to your wisdom in these matters, Reverend.” Mitchell bowed from the waist. “Does our faith provide any guidance for me in this?”
“Not directly,” replied LaMontagne. “But perhaps I could make a suggestion, anyway.”
Mitchell spread his arms in amused resignation. “Please.”