New America 02 - Resistance

by Richard Stephenson

  “I agree with you completely. People are risking their lives to get here; most don’t even make it before the UAE slaughters them. On the other hand, I’m responsible for the security around here. If we’re infiltrated or something tragic happens, the buck stops with me. I can’t let anything happen to this place. The stakes are just too high.”

  “Sir, with your permission, I’m ready to release the latest refugees from quarantine.”

  “Let me review the final report and I’ll get back to you before lunch.”

  Every refugee from the UAE found wandering around the valley above Beck Castle had to remain in quarantine for seven days before they were allowed into the main facility. They had to be screened for infectious diseases and undergo extensive psychological testing. Anyone failing to meet the requirements was sedated, taken to a random location, and left to their own devices to live a happy life far away from the empire.

  “When’s the surgery, boss?”

  “Two weeks. I’m gonna count on you to handle things while I recover.”

  “You know I will.” Dennis winked at Max as he left the room.

  Max had elected to undergo a radical new surgery that would completely replace the bones and muscles in his left leg. The procedure involved replacing the bones in his useless leg with synthetic ones and implanting small tissue samples in place of the discarded muscles. This tissue would be infused with tiny nanobots capable of rapidly stimulating growth. If it all went as planned, Max would eventually have a brand new leg and years of chronic pain would be gone.

  “Good morning, Director Harris.”

  “What is it, Hal?” Max was not in the mood for small talk.

  “The president and General Dupree would like a word.”

  Max swore under his breath. “I’m on my way, Hal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Max hobbled down to the end of the corridor and entered the command center to find the two men waiting for him.

  “Richard, it’s good to see you, my friend.”

  Richard shook Max’s hand and smiled. “Max, we have a lot to talk about, please sit down.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  President Simon Sterling, the self-appointed leader of the Unified American Empire, was in a foul mood. Things were not going well in the UAE. Reconstruction efforts in The Pulse Zone were not progressing as quickly as he had envisioned. Eighteen months after The Pulse, progress had been made in terms of rebuilding the infrastructure of his broken country, but not to his satisfaction. The power grid had been restored in roughly forty percent of the affected area, thanks in large part to the cannibalization of the former states of California and Nevada. Every spare electrical component in Governor Jimenez’s territory was shipped to the other side of the country to help bring the power grid back online. Roberto Jimenez pleaded with President Sterling to leave him with a small percentage of spare parts should his territory need them to make repairs. To make matters worse for Jimenez, fleets of every type of automobile—from small cars to eighteen wheelers—were also sent to The Pulse Zone, leaving his people to do without.

  The primary goal of reconstruction was being seriously hampered by The Silent Warriors. In the previous two months, attacks had increased despite Sterling’s best attempts to stop them. Maintaining law and order in The Pulse Zone was next to impossible because of The Silent Warriors. The bulk of the military had to be deployed across the Empire to set up checkpoints and search people’s homes. Simon Sterling simply couldn’t spare a single soldier to invade the PSA.

  Squabbling with one of his eight regional governors or even The Silent Warriors was not the source of his foul mood. One thing, and one thing only, kept President Sterling’s blood boiling these days… Howard Beck. For eighteen months, Simon had left Howard Beck’s pathetic little “nation” alone so he could focus on more important matters. Sterling’s empire was in no shape to start a war with the Pacific States of America, and that bothered him greatly. Nothing would please him more than defeating Howard Beck, and the fact that he had no choice but to postpone the confrontation with the PSA angered him. Simon hated to admit it, but Beck’s impressive tech army proved a formidable foe. The PSA’s drones swatted the UAE’s out of the sky with ease.

  Just prior to the Collapse of 2027, Simon had gone to great lengths to oust Howard from his Rocky Mountain estate; this victory was a source of immense satisfaction for Simon. Simon was already in the final stages of the coup d’état that would place him at the top of the new government he was creating. If he was going to run an empire, he wanted to do it in style. Taking up residence in the largest mansion in North America seemed like the only logical choice, the ostentatious grand library making one hell of an office.

  Simon stared at the majestic view beyond the library’s bay window. “Where are you, Howard?”

  “Did you say something, sir?”

  Simon was startled by the question, unaware that he was no longer alone in his reverie. “No, Stacy, I was just thinking out loud. What did you find out?”

  Stacy Reid was President Sterling’s chief advisor. She had previously served as chief of staff under President Malcolm Powers. During her last days in office, Stacy had a terrible falling out with her boss and eventually came under Simon’s employ. He was more than impressed with her abilities and trusted her implicitly; however, he had no doubt that the woman would despise him if she knew he had killed her former boss.

  “Mr. President, Governor Weygandt’s grandchildren were returned to him safe and sound. The slave traders were promptly executed and strung up as a warning. Governor Weygandt issued a directive in his territory that the slave trade is to be halted at all costs and the slave traders put to death. In a show of support, four of the other regional governors followed suit.”

  President Sterling did his best to choke back his anger. “Who are the three hold-outs?”

  “Jimenez, Walston, and Prince.”

  “Just as I figured.”

  “Is there anything else, Mr. President?”

  “No, Stacy, that will be all. Thank you.”

  Stacy promptly made her exit. She had seen Simon angry before and had no desire to stick around for a repeat performance.

  ***

  Stacy Reid hurried back to her office and locked the door. She fumbled at the top drawer of her desk, her trembling hands making a tenuous grab for the pill bottle she’d hidden within. The anxiety medication was the only thing holding her fragile mind together. The last eighteen months had been a living hell. Her former employer and closest friend, President Malcolm Powers, had grown suspicious of key players in his administration. The two of them hatched a plan that included a dramatic falling out between them and Stacy losing her job. Stacy’s role was to play the damsel in distress and wait for someone to come to her rescue. Whoever offered her a shoulder to cry on and listened to her rant and rave about her crazy ex-boss would no doubt welcome her into whatever conspiracy was secretly in the making. The plan worked perfectly. Roberto Jimenez, then director of the CIA, took Stacy into his confidence and delivered her directly to the plot’s ringleader. Unfortunately, the charade hatched by President Powers came too late to save his administration. Malcolm Powers and his wife were killed by a missile strike on their residence in upstate New York in the first hours of The Pulse. Simon Sterling blamed the assassination on The Great Empire of Iran but Stacy knew better – Sterling was responsible for the death of the forty-sixth president of the United States.

  As a spy for the PSA, Stacy’s role was a vital one. Howard Beck had secretly linked his artificial intelligence with its counterpart at the White House. Sterling managed to transfer control of the White House A.I. to his new residence in Colorado. Hal had given his A.I. sibling the name Syd in honor of Howard Beck’s deceased mother, Sydney Beck. Thanks to the linked technology, Howard was able to spy on Sterling and knew, in real time, every move the UAE made. Stacy proved to be just as valuable as Syd in terms of espionage, filling in the gaps when the A.I. failed to ga
uge the importance of subtle nuances or make gut-level connections to key events.

  The stress of her double life was taking its toll on Stacy. She viewed President Sterling as he truly was – an insane dictator. Spending most of her day with the person responsible for snuffing out the life of a sitting president drove her to the brink of madness. At night she dreamed about watching the madman suffer a slow and painful death. She often contemplated killing him herself but knew she could never follow through with such a heinous act. Even if she could squelch her morals, the thought of being labeled a traitor and the subsequent torture and death that would result was enough for her to dismiss the idea entirely. Every night she petitioned the Lord that Howard Beck would prevail and the madman would receive the justice he deserved.

  Even when she could enjoy time away from Sterling, her role as his chief advisor brought her grief. Fanatical in his paranoia, Sterling was insistent that top secret communication never be transmitted by computer. All such interaction between Sterling and his eight regional governors was hand-written and delivered by high speed aircraft to be read and burned. It was at this juncture that Stacy was most valuable to Howard. Sterling asked for Stacy’s input on every matter, and she helped him prepare each brief before it was sent to the regional governors. These documents detailed some of the most horrific violations of human rights Stacy had ever seen: Illegal aliens were not deported, they were executed. Those who spoke out against the UAE, foolishly invoking their lost right to free speech, were killed rather than imprisoned. PSA sympathizers weren’t exiled; they, too, were put to death. Any citizen caught crossing into the hundred mile no-man’s land surrounding the Pacific States of America took with them to eternity the knowledge that their families would be joining them as well. The only comfort Stacy found in preparing these briefs was the knowledge that no one in the UAE had a clue as to the whereabouts of Howard Beck.

  As her meds kicked in and she began to relax, Stacy instructed Syd to open an encrypted channel with Howard. The internal squabbling between President Sterling and his regional governors would be of great interest to Howard.

  ***

  Simon Sterling was furious with himself for giving his regional governors too much slack to run their territories. If he wasn’t sympathetic to Jim’s role as a grandfather, he would think the regional governors were directly challenging him. Jim Weygandt had taken action without seeing the big picture. The Unified American Empire could not spare so much as a single soldier for the round-up of slave traders. To do so would prevent the military from carrying out other, more vital, functions. Simon had not addressed the issue of slavery with any of his regional governors, and he doubted they discussed it amongst themselves. Truth be told, none of them wanted to face the ugly reality – slave labor was rebuilding the broken country at an impressive rate. To interfere with the system was to bring to a screeching halt the reconstruction Sterling’s advisors had cautioned could take twenty years to complete otherwise.

  “Computer.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Contact Regional Governors Jimenez, Walston, and Prince, and inform them that I want to speak to them immediately.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Standby, please.”

  Less than a minute later, the three governors were in front of the president’s desk in the form of holograms. They exchanged pleasantries with the leader of the UAE, who was eager to get down to business.

  “I trust you all know the reason for this meeting?”

  “We do, Mr. President.” Roberto Jimenez spoke for the three of them.

  “Were the three of you contacted by Governor Weygandt?”

  They nodded in unison.

  “May I ask why you chose not to join his cause?”

  “Simply put, Mr. President, we felt it was a decision that needed to be made by you,” Governor Jimenez explained.

  President Sterling reigned in his budding anger. “My thoughts exactly. I think Jim and his supporters got caught up in the good governor’s passion and acted rashly.”

  Lori Prince responded. “Mr. President, I advised caution to Governor Weygandt for that very reason. I urged him to take some time and not let emotion guide his actions. I also strongly encouraged him to discuss the matter with you before proceeding.”

  Simon Sterling sat in restrained silence, his piercing stare pinning the trio of governors where they stood. After an uncomfortable interlude, he continued. “The three of you were right not to act on such a delicate matter. While I sympathize with the ordeal Jim’s experienced, his actions were hasty and unwise. The crusade he embarked upon is a fool’s errand and will never see the light of day. We simply do not have the resources to carry out such a monumental task. Our nation is crumbling, and it will take every ounce of our resources to keep our little house of cards from crashing down on us.”

  The three regional governors could read between the lines – the slave trade was getting the job done and would be allowed to continue.

  President Sterling sneered at the shimmering holograms and paused long enough to ensure that his expectations were understood. Without so much as a word, Simon tapped a button on his desk and terminated the link. As he headed to the south lawn for his morning walk, the president was joined by his protégé, Regional Governor Jackson Butler, the man who’d relieved Howard Beck of his home so President Sterling could take up residence there.

  “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  “Happy birthday, my dear boy.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew. Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Thirty-eight?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “The youngest of all the regional governors by fifteen years.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that, Mr. President.”

  “Every fruitful endeavor requires youth. Youth brings a forward-looking perspective, the absence of which is profound amongst those of my generation. We’re obsessed with the past and find the notion of change both terrifying and superfluous. We need young minds to broaden our time-warped viewpoint.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I’m pushing forty, yet you make me sound like a college student; it’s quite refreshing.”

  “You’re welcome, Jackson. I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  “I’m counting on your honesty. The other regional governors are far too frightened of me to risk making me angry. Are you afraid of me, Jackson?”

  “Should I be, Mr. President?” Jackson shot a grin at Simon.

  Simon laughed. “Just as I thought. Good.” Simon stopped walking and looked Jackson in the eye. “Do you think The Pulse Zone is worth saving? I’m not asking whether or not you can do it, I want to know if you think it’s worth it.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s worth it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, the most obvious answer is The Silent Warriors. They were an issue before The Pulse and they’ll continue to be an issue no matter what we do. That being said, they’re not the primary reason for my answer.”

  “What is?”

  “Damage has been done that I doubt can be reversed. The Pulse Zone is becoming a wasteland in more ways than one. The only way people feel safe is to band together in fortified communities. Even if we could wave a magic wand and put the broken pieces of The Pulse Zone back together, the people are far too frightened to consider themselves part of something larger than their own communities. The idea of contributing anything outside their own strongholds has become foreign to them. They simply don’t trust in anything. If they venture outside their own walls, they face being kidnapped by slavers or murdered for the clothes on their backs, or even worse – for sport.”

  “Even when we restore their utilities? Electricity and clean water don’t make a difference?”

  “Not really. They’re still starving and dying from commonplace diseases that weren’t even a threat before The Pulse. It might sound silly, but I also think they’re still getting ove
r Internet addiction.”

  “That does sound silly.”

  “It might, but it’s true. We lived in a connected society that was used to having the world at its fingertips.”

  “We lived in a spoiled society is more like it.”

  “I agree.”

  “Thank you for your frankness. I trust everything went according to plan?”

  “Perfectly, Mr. President.”

  “Does Jim suspect anything?”

  “Not a thing, sir. He trusts me implicitly. I told him I would do everything in my power to ensure that what happened to his grandchildren would never occur again.”

  “Good. You were right, young man. This fiasco proved the perfect opportunity to discover where loyalties reside amongst the eight people I’ve chosen to help me run this country.”

  “What did you think of the outcome, Mr. President?”

  “I wasn’t surprised by the three that refused to go along with the idea.”

  “What do you want me to do about Jim?”

  “Kill him; make it look like an accident. Then we’ll see how the others react.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Christina Dupree awoke in the back of an eighteen-wheeler. She assumed it was the middle of the night because light wasn’t peeking through the tiny air holes in the roof of the fifty-four-foot-long container. The ten-year-old had given up trying to keep track of the days. If they were lucky, the thugs would let them out once a day to move around and go to the bathroom. Every time they opened the doors, someone would scream, begging to be set free. My father will give you money! My son is in the military; he’s a very important man! My children need me! The answer was always the same – a bullet in the head. Chrissy and the other children would cry at the sight of it; no child should bear witness to the atrocities taking place within that sweltering metal prison cell. Angry glances from the armed men prompted the adults to calm and silence the children.