The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  It went well, even though the tour wasn’t much. Then again, Frank’s comments about Warehouse Five and that being where Jason once died, aided in confusion Joe didn’t want.

  They returned.

  “Ah,” Joe said of the finger sandwich spread and the coffee amenities now placed nicely on the table instead of across the bar. “We can proceed.”

  Will Biggles took his place. “Wonderful tour suggestion, Mr. Slagel.”

  “Thank you.” Joe sat down.

  Will turned to Hal. “Your questions helped make the tour even more informative Mr. Slagel Two.”

  Hal grinned. “Thank you.”

  “Wait,” Frank spoke up.

  “Christ.” Joe closed his eyes.

  “Wouldn’t I be Mr. Slagel Two? Or would I be Mr. Slagel One.” Frank looked up.

  “Frank . . .” Joe tried to stop him.

  “No, I would be Mr. Slagel Two. Dad’s Mr. Slagel One unless he doesn’t count.”

  “Good God, Frank, he counts,” Hal snapped.

  “Then I would be Two. You’d be Three.” Frank looked at Will. “I’m Mr. Slagel Two.”

  Joe groaned.

  Will looked surprised. “You . . . you are a Slagel?”

  “Um, yeah.” Frank bobbed his head.

  “You truly couldn’t know by looking at you,” Will stated.

  “That’s because I look like my mother,” Frank replied.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “You do?” Frank asked.

  “Do what?” Will questioned.

  “See.”

  “Frank.” Joe winced.

  “See what?” Will asked.

  Joe tossed the pencil.

  Hal leaned into Joe. “Duct tape might work.

  Frank continued his explanation to Will, “You see I look like my mother.”

  “Oh,” Will understood. “Yes.”

  “Wow. You knew my mother?”

  “No.” Will shook his head.

  “You said you saw the resemblance.”

  “No, I said, ‘I see’, as in ‘I see’ meaning ‘I understand’. Understand.”

  Frank looked confused.

  Hal chuckled an airy laugh. “It’s like a circus act.”

  “This isn’t a circus,” Joe stated. “Thanks for bringing that up. All right if we can continue on.”

  “Oh!” Frank’s voice interrupted. “Yeah, I understand.”

  “Frank,” Joe called out.

  “Just one thing.” Frank lifted a finger. “I look like my mother but she wasn’t six three and hairy in case you were wondering.”

  “Goddamn it, Frank!” Joe snapped. “Will you please knock off the stupid comments and just be quiet so we can have this goddamn meeting before tomorrow gets here.”

  “But, Dad, I just didn’t want him to think that Mom . . .”

  “Stop.” Joe lifted his hand. “He won’t. What the hell did you do, take a pill today? Christ on his throne, you’re worse than usual.”

  Silence emerged from Frank.

  “Good. Moving on,” Joe said. “All right. We’ll start with . . .”

  “I didn’t take a pill.”

  Everyone huffed.

  “I don’t think. No. Go on.”

  Joe just stared. “Ok . . .”

  “Wait,” Henry spoke up. He picked up the recorder. “Go on. I forgot to press the button. Good thing Frank interrupted.

  “Yeah, good thing,” Joe said sarcastically. “Now, we’ll . . .”

  Do-do-do-do-do.

  “Robert.” Joe exhaled and spoke rapidly. “We’ll start with Will Biggles. Will, give us the gist of your monthly report.”

  Confused, Will glanced up. “What monthly report?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  An apologetic and whispered, ‘shit, sorry’ slipped from Ellen along with a grunt as she bent down to her office floor to pick something up. “I’m sorry, Dean. Go on.” She walked over to her desk. “I have to get it together,” she said as she sat down and faced Dean.

  Dean peered up from his piece of paper. “Can we just . . . can we just talk?”

  “We are.” Ellen rocked back.

  “No, you know what I’m talking about. Just talk.”

  “Dean, you’re in Containment,” Ellen stated. “I have to treat you like a resident. Right now, you should be grateful. I’m already doing something I shouldn’t. In fact, I wouldn’t if Frank didn’t ask me to fill in for his therapy.”

  “Where is Frank?” Dean asked.

  “Strategy meeting.”

  “Still?”

  “Yes, can you believe it? When Frank called, he said they were hung up.”

  Dean shook his head. “They must be discussing some important issues.”

  “I’m guessing they are. Now . . .” Ellen tapped her desk. “Continue.”

  “El, we’ve been doing this for . . .”

  “Twenty minutes. That’s all.” She clipped his sentence. “Frank stated one hour. So . . .go on.”

  “Fine.” Dean huffed out, picked up his pencil, ran his fingers through is hair, and took a courage breath as he read. “Misha is . . . Misha is . . .”

  “Go on,” Ellen encouraged. “You’ve been trying this for a while. You can do it.”

  “Misha is . . .” Dean grunted.

  “Dean, you did the first one. You can do this one.”

  “Yes, I can.” Dean nodded. “Misha is . . .” He exhaled. “Misha is wonderful.”

  A click, shift, and ‘whap’ caused Dean to scream when the suction cup dart sailed from the close-range toy gun and pelted him in the forehead.

  Ellen smiled holding the toy. “Again.”

  “Misha is . . . Misha is a goddess.”

  Whap.

  “Ow.”

  “Again,” Ellen ordered.

  “Misha is . . .”

  Whap!

  “Hey!” Dean screamed. “Misha is a bitch!” He rubbed his head.

  “Excellent.” Ellen smiled. “I still have two left. Last time I went through my five darts. We’re making progress.”

  “We are, aren’t we? Do I have a mark?”

  Ellen looked at the red welt on Dean’s head. “No, not at all.”

  “Good.”

  Ellen turned her head to the knock. “Come in.”

  “Sorry, I’m late.” Richie walked inside. “I got held up at Mechanics.”

  “That’s Okay, you’re forgiven.” Ellen stood up. “I had to pull you in early anyhow.”

  “El?” Dean asked. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to leave.”

  “But you have to be here until three,” Dean said.

  “Not today,” Ellen responded. “I have to get to the clinic then head to New Bowman after I pick the kids up at school.”

  “But our therapy?” Dean questioned.

  Ellen pointed to Rich. “He’ll handle it.”

  Richie tilted his head. “What therapy?”

  Ellen gathered up her papers. “Frank has Dean on reverse brainwashing therapy. Three items a day.”

  Richie whistled. “That sounds intense. Do we usually do that sort of thing?”

  “We’ve never had any one brainwashed.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “I am here.”

  Ellen waved out her hand. “Hush. Anyhow, Richie, Frank would do this, but he’s in an intense strategy meeting.”

  “It must be intense, I can hear them yelling.” Richie pointed out with his thumb. “I’ll do this therapy, but what about the other things. We’re swamped, El. We’re still making mops.”

  “I know. I know,” Ellen said almost frazzled. “But, another ten minutes.”

  “Not a problem.” Richie walked to behind her desk and took her seat. “What do I do?”

  “Oh!” Ellen stopped. “Almost made off with the main piece.” She handed him the toy gun and laid the darts down. “He is to recite what Frank has written on that sheet of paper which, by the way, are all negative statements about Misha and Josephine. If D
ean fails to recite or he says something positive.”

  “Shoot him?”

  “Yep. Forehead shots. It should be easy. It’s close range.”

  “Got it.” Richie nodded.

  “I have to get out of here.” She paused by Dean and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “El.” Dean tried to stop her. “Don’t go.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiled then shuffled quickly from the office.

  “Well.” Richie leaned back in the chair. “This is Frank’s means of therapy.”

  “Yeah.” Dean nodded.

  “We’ll still do this therapy, but . . .” Richie stared at the gun. “No way will this work. This isn’t right, not at all.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Dean agreed. “It isn’t right.” He put his views back down to his recital sheet.

  “Nope. Now . . .” Richie set down the gun and opened the top drawer. “This . . .” He held up a rubber band. “Is right.” He pulled back the band.

  Just as Dean raised his head to look, Richie flashed a grin, then after revving back that band as far as he could go, he released it.

  “Ow!” Dean sprang up. “Son of a bitch.”

  “That’ll work.” Richie reached into the drawer again. “Sit down, Dean.” He showed the fresh rubber band. “Recite.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Unlit cigarette squeezed between his fingers, Joe rubbed his temples then adjusted his half square reading glasses. “All right.” He sniffed. “We’re making progress. Let’s see what we got before we move on to the biggies.” He lifted a sheet of paper. “In Doyle’s defector camp, they are fine with where they are for those that will be utilized. However, we agreed to expedite more housing and bring the camp closer to New Bowman. Jordan slash Texas Town, they wish to have more frequent visits from qualified medical staff. Approved but pending Andrea’s approval based on need.”

  Will raised his hand. “It is cold and flu season.”

  “It’s cold and flu season everywhere,” Joe continued. “Jordan wants to instill and enforce a ten p.m. curfew for their town. Approved . . . So, Hal, Frank keep your men out of there.”

  “But, Dad . . .” Frank said. “In my men’s defense, they have that video amusement . . .”

  “Keep them out,” Joe ordered.

  “Okay.” Frank shrugged.

  “Continuing,” Joe read. “Jordan wants a no work day for Sunday.” He dropped his voice to a mumble. “Not that you people are doing anything yet, but . . ,.” He pushed the sheet aside. “Approved. Now . . .” He pulled forth another sheet. “Hal, what do you have?”

  “Nothing.” Hal shook his head. “Bowman is content.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “You suck.”

  “Frank,” Joe called out. “Bowman is fine. Now, Christ, Beginnings. Medical. Jason.”

  “The medical community only has one request,” Jason said. “During the brief periods when we are short staffed, we’d like for people not to bombard the clinic for unnecessary visits. We all know it’s cold and flu season, but it’s not the plague. Can we issue a community notice in a means other than the Joe Board?”

  “Arguments?” Joe looked around. “Okay, none. Approved. Work on how you want that to get out. Next, Inter-community relations, Elliott.”

  “Three things, Mr. Slagel.” Elliott lifted a sheet. “The first is, I know that we have had the standing Social Hall hours, but again the request was made that the Hall be open after hours to those who work the night shift. I know you’ve tried it before, but they’d like you to try it again.”

  “Arguments?” Joe asked. He received none. “Approved. What else?”

  “Distribution workers realize the need has been increased, but they don’t feel that their hours should be increased so much. Four more workers there would be sufficient.”

  Joe waited for argument. “Approved. Last?”

  “A late night Dan Tram from Bowman to Beginnings.” Elliott set the sheet aside.

  “Danny will have to see what he can do on that.” Joe looked to Danny. “While we’re on you, what do you have?”

  “Ironically enough,” Danny said, “something that goes along with Elliott’s request. Henry and I have been working on it and feel we have perfected a small solar energy propeller. We want to get permission to produce them and use them as a means to power cars. The cars would eliminate the need for mass transformation and make people’s lives easier for when they have to go back and forth.”

  “We have vehicles,” Joe rebutted.

  “Oh sure we do,” Danny replied. “And fuel consumption is good since we converted the engines and injection systems to work off of grain alcohol, but we think giving people their own transportation would be the way to go. The cars would only be mobile during day light hours. The reserve pool would provide enough power for ten minutes but that’s it.”

  Frank spoke up, “Opposed. Opposed big time.”

  Joe looked at him. “Why?”

  “We don’t need cars,” Frank argued calmly. “I like the idea of the only vehicles that enter the main community of Bowman or Beginnings being authorized vehicles. These people are all responsible drivers and know their limitations. Bowman uses fuckin horses to get about their town. We want people to get about. Give them fuckin horses.”

  “Whoa.” Joe raised his eyes. “You really are opposed.”

  “Hell yeah,” Frank came back. “I for one don’t want to deal with traffic and most important, our people, Bowman’s people, our kids . . . they walk the streets freely. No problems. No worries. I don’t want to even take the chance that one of our kids crosses without looking. We don’t have that problem now because our road rules are, you drive, you watch out for people, not the other way around. I’ll only not oppose if the vehicles are used for the main strip travel between Bowman and Beginnings.”

  Hal lifted his hand. “I agree with Frank.”

  Joe nodded. “I do too. Danny, great idea, I’m sure we can use it but not for public use. Okay?”

  Danny nodded. “That’s all I have, Joe.”

  “Good,” Joe moved the paper. “Frank?”

  “Nothing in Security,” Frank answered.

  Joe sighed a realization ‘ah’. “We really are making progress.”

  “But I do have one thing.” Frank raised his hand. “I’d like Council to approve for me to investigate the Dean thing.”

  “The Dean thing” Joe asked.

  “The Dean thing.”

  Hal interjected snide. “The . . . Dean thing. You know, Father.”

  “Hal,” Joe groaned. “What are you talking about, Frank?”

  “You know, like Hal said, the Dean thing.” Frank pointed to his temple.

  Finally understanding, Joe nodded. “All right, what are you proposing?”

  “I want to investigate it and find out who’s responsible because if the note you got is right, someone did it intentionally. I know we don’t have any laws against zapping someone’s chip, but it’s has to fall into a crime somewhere. So I want to investigate, find out for sure who did it, and then present them to Council to handle.”

  “I’ll agree,” Joe stated. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  Frank held up two fingers. “I’ve done some looking into it and have reason to believe Ben and Todd might be behind it somewhere.”

  Hal stared curiously. “Mr. and Mrs. from Fabrics?”

  “The one and only,” Frank answered.

  “Could they?” Hal asked.

  “Not by themselves. They had help and I intend to find that out.”

  “Arguments?” Joe asked around. “Okay, none. You got It, Frank. Do what you need to do.”

  “Do I have permission to interrogate?”

  “Ben and Todd?” Joe asked then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “Thanks.”

  Gathering up the stack of requests, approved and denied, Joe set them to the side. “Now, before we let every Tom, Dick, and Harry in here to sp
eak . . .” Joe saw Frank’s hand raised. “What?”

  “Do we have a Harry in Beginnings?”

  Joe closed his eyes.

  Will spoke up, “We have a Harry in Jordan.”

  “Must be him,” Frank said, “Thanks.”

  Joe grunted. “Getting on. Before they speak, I’d like to address something I feel is important and present it to you, not for an immediate solution, but suggestions. Hal has the situation and I’m sure he has suggestions as well. Hal.”

  Hal stood up.

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Great. He’s standing. Will Andrea bring dinner in?”

  Passively, Hal patted Frank on the shoulder “Relax, big brother. You’ll like this.” Hal walked about as he spoke. “Basically, we still have close to two hundred Society soldiers roaming about our side of the country, leftovers you may call them, from . . . the game. My scouts have been tailing them. It seems like they are branching off. Spies, perhaps. We don’t know. We do know that they can’t possibly be stupid enough to think of an attack.”

  Joe interceded, “Unless George left them here on purpose. What do you propose, Hal?”

  “I say we watch them for a bit. Since they are branching off, they are making smaller, easier camps. I say when they reach a certain circumference near us, take them out. If they look as if they are setting up a base camp, we take them out.’

  “So . . .” Frank lifted his hand. “You’re suggesting we just take them out.”

  Hal hesitated then answered, “Yes.”

  “I’m in. Two hundred? You and me could do that alone.”

  Do-do-do-do. Robbie spoke up. “Count me in too.”

  “Next,” Hal continued. “We now have a grand total of twenty-five base Society camps close in proximity and lining up all along the border between the UWA and Society. I want to move in matching camps, at a distance, and watch them. Then . . . move them.”

  “Remove them?” Joe asked. “Attack the camps?”

  “Yes,” Hal answered.

  “On what reason?”

  “They’re too close. They are setting up like a front line, a front line we can’t have.”