The Mother Earth Insurgency

by J. G. Follansbee

  “Believing and talking is only half the war,” Janicks said. “The other half is doing something.”

  Tell me what you're going to do. Nick prayed for an answer. Once he had it, he could exit.

  “Jon, it doesn’t work,” Bobcat said. “We tried it a long time ago, back when the logging companies were mowing down forests like grass. It slows down the companies and the government for about a minute, and things go right back to normal. And if something goes wrong, the cops follow you until you’re worn down to nothing. I know...”

  Nick's mouth went dry.

  “You’re an old man, cautious and foolish.” Janicks stood up and pointed to the east. “The people in New York West and the Capitol laugh at us. They call people like you ‘bughuggers.’ Frankly, I have trouble seeing much difference between you and the corporates. Maybe that’s what you are, a corporate bughugger, co-opted by the companies and the politicians into passiveness as they rape Mother Earth.”

  “Jon!” Georgia squeezed Janicks hand to appease his anger. “Be respectful. He’s an elder here.”

  “It’s alright, Georgia,” Bobcat said.

  “No, I love you like my grandfather,” Georgia said. She turned to Janicks, eyes ablaze. “Will you apologize?”

  Janicks sighed, glanced at Georgia, and then Bobcat, who studied the younger man with eyes saddened by the years. “I’m sorry,” Janicks said.

  Nick did not hear sincerity.

  “Apology accepted,” Bobcat said. “I was a young man too, frustrated by the slow pace of change. Perhaps I’ve grown cautious. I think of it as patience, more than caution.”

  “Jon's right,” Squirrel said. “Nothing ever changes.”

  The group turned their attention to the blond traveler, as if he was a house cat that had acquired human speech.

  “It's true.” Squirrel straightened his back. “There's a project up in the hills above Fortuna. Pretty area, until a few months ago.”

  “You mean the wind farm?” Momma Jess said.

  “Yep. The Consortium leased the land from the bankrupt timber company that owns it. The wind people have just about finished three big turbines. They're huge motherfuckers to take advantage of the onshore winds.”

  “Sounds like a perfect target,” Janicks said, as if confirming a decision, rather than hearing the idea for the first time.

  “It's obvious,” Squirrel said. “Big Wind doing more big projects to make big profits. We need to show that profits belong to the people. On top of that, the Consortium is turning a pristine view into an industrial eyesore. They've paid off the local people by building a school. The corporations are evil as ever. They're just more clever about it. That's what I think anyway.”

  “Seems to me, Bobcat, that patience has failed,” Janicks said.

  The old man stood up from his easy chair. He ignored Squirrel and put his hand on Janicks’s shoulder. “If you’re thinking about acting on your beliefs, be very careful. Don’t hurt anyone, or you’ll regret it your whole life.”

  “Sometimes people get hurt in a fight that matters.”

  “And sometimes people die,” Bobcat said. “If that happens again, will it be worth it to you?”

  Again. Though Nick never heard the Takilma people mention Janicks' murders and attacks, every look and gesture suggested they knew, at least the elders, such as Bobcat. They sympathized with him, but only to a point. Nick had no tolerance for murderers, and the BES couldn't wait for a lunatic like Janicks to age out of his deadly ways.

  Janicks didn’t answer Bobcat's question. Instead, he took a breath, and let it out slowly. “You people are weak. I’m going to bed.” He walked toward the stairs to the room he shared with Georgia. She rose and caught Bobcat’s eyes, but he looked away. She went upstairs after her lover. Squirrel followed. Nick went after them as well.

  In the hall, the group conferred.

  “I'm on your side, Jon,” Squirrel said. “I believe in what you're doing. I want to do something about the wind farm.”

  “What about you, Nick?” Janicks said.

  “I'm in. I wouldn't be here if I weren't.”

  Janicks and Georgia's eyes met. They were secretly agreeing on something, or looking for support from one another.

  Squirrel said, “Let's show the corporates that they don't own everyone. We can do it!”

  “It's time to teach the Consortium a lesson,” Janicks said, as he shook the anarchist's hand.

  That smile again, like a beacon. Or a false light that attracted ships to rocks where thieves waited. Nick wanted to warn Georgia away from Janicks' path to self-destruction, but it worked against his mission. He licked his lips as the thin walls let the sounds of the lovers' exertions fill the space, like the moonlight that spread through the window.

  Another memory came, its distracting pain welcome. He was on his second deployment. He'd stalked the insurgent command post for a week. He waited for the right moment, according to the rules of engagement, which forbade an attack if non-combatants were near. The moment came, and he called in the strike. The terrorist leader was liquidated, along with a dozen fighters.

  But Nick had waited a moment too long. As the missile flew, a young family living in the building came home. Nick had seen them, the couple as loving in public as their culture allowed. They were found buried in the rubble, crushed to death. Their three children survived. They sat on a curb in front of the collapsed building, covered in dust, like stones in a quarry.

  Nick could not stop his tears, then or now. He feared making the same mistake again, with Georgia, or the whole world.

  III

  There's something I can't quite figure out, Sorrows.” Janicks cinched the packs onto the horses. “Why are you here?”

  “I told you. I want to be part of the Mother Earth Insurgency.” Nick set down canvas bags of gear. He had no idea how to load them on the animals, but Janicks had horse camped as a teenager, according to his dossier. “I agree that we missed an opportunity to really change things after the Year of Storms. But the BES and the government are just the same old, same old. I want real change.”

  “I'm talking about what you can do to help us make that happen.”

  “You saw what I did back at the gym in Seattle. That was only one of my tricks.”

  As they lowered one of the big panniers on a pack saddle, the animal moved. Janicks lost his balance, but Nick got under the panniers, taking the weight and steadying it. The terrorist found his balance and tied the carrier down.

  Janicks nodded to Nick in thanks. It signaled the target's growing trust.

  “What do you know about code-breaking?”

  “I've done my fair share.” Nick could bluff his way through basic cryptography. “It depends on what you need.”

  “What about the codes that detonate a nuclear warhead?”

  Nick kept his shock in check. He hadn't expected this. “I'm not sure. I mean, I've never worked on one.”

  “There probably aren't 10 people alive who've worked on one.” Janicks said. “If you mean you can't do it—“

  “I didn't say that.”

  “What I'm thinking about requires expert knowledge. If you don't think you can help—“

  “I've just never worked that problem, Jon.” Maybe this was the breakthrough he needed. “Have you got a Mk-54 in one of these bags? They're heavy enough.”

  Janicks didn't answer.

  “You know what those are, right? A design from the 1950s for a man-carried nuke. Successfully tested, but never used, of course...” The Army called the system “Davy Crockett,” after the backwoodsman and congressman who fought in the Mexican War and died at The Alamo.

  Janicks lost his serious look and slapped Nick on the back. “You're a smart guy, Nick. Georgia's smart too. I need smart people to fight the Consortium. You're with me, right?”

  “Yeah.” The terrorist's praise was a strange kind of comfort to Nick.

  Georgia and Squirrel arrived with their gear. Georgia packed a weapon
on her back.

  “A staser?” Nick said.

  “I'm rated,” she said. “Or I would be, if I was legit.”

  Nick had fired a staser a few times in the Army, but specialists required a tough-to-get certification. The energy guns were expensive and powerful, in the way that nukes were expensive and powerful. “Is a sec-bot coming along? They're the only ones that can use those things with the right precision.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” Georgia unzipped a pocket of her jacket. “Bend down. You too, Squirrel.”

  Nick was taller than Georgia by about 15 centimeters, and she put a finger-length device on his skin behind his right ear. His com access implants were underneath. “Masker?”

  With the masker in hand, she approached close enough for him to smell her warmth and home-made soap. “No com signals, no discovery. We're going off the com grid for this trip.” She did the same with Squirrel and herself.

  Nick's minds-eye display flashed in his visual cortex, an effect he'd never seen before. It triggered remembered details from Georgia's dossier: a masters of information systems design, a felony conviction for breaking into the International Monetary Fund's Swiss accounts, later set aside on appeal. She was 13 at the time.

  “Doesn't Jon get the treatment?” Nick said when she pocketed the device without approaching their leader.

  “I need to make some connections on the way,” Jon said before Georgia could answer. “Nothing you need to know about. Don't you trust me, Nick?”

  Nick couldn't argue without raising suspicions, but it meant he couldn't contact his controller for guidance. Or an extraction. He realized Georgia might have all of Takilma locked down. “You're the boss.”

  “You're catching on.” Janicks led his animal forward, letting Georgia take the lead. They were for packing, not riding. Vehicles were too easy to track, and the group could stay off the roads.

  With Squirrel as rear guard, the Mother Earth Insurgency followed the last kilometer of paved road leading out of Takilma until it became a gravel track, then a well-worn trail. Spring had taken hold in the Siskiyou Mountains. The snow had melted and bright green leaves showed themselves on the alders and cottonwoods. The landscape and views relaxed Nick, despite the constant threat of discovery. He thought he might return to the area once his mission was done, maybe bring his son Jason.

  He forced himself back to the situation at hand. What was Janicks' true intent? They were going to attack the wind farm, but the plan seemed too small for the leader's ambition. What was the nuclear-codes question all about?

  A few minutes after sundown, the group arrived at the home of a man Nick judged to be in his fifties, who introduced himself to Nick and Squirrel as “Tilton.” Janicks and Georgia already knew him. Chickens pecked for bugs in the front yard. Tilton wore a nine-millimeter automatic on his hip.

  They sat at his kitchen table drinking coffee.

  “A timber company bought the land I've been mining from the federal government after I filed a claim on it. I've been working that claim for decades.” Tilton adjusted his camo cap. “First the company and now the Consortium has been trying to kick me off. The feds aren't helping me and lawyers,” Tilton glared at Janicks, “aren't worth shit.”

  Tilton poured a few drops of bourbon into his coffee. “I'm nearly out of money. Selling this place won't cover my debts. If I sell, I'm homeless, living in one of your cities.” Tilton said “your” as if Janicks were an absentee landlord who squeezed his tenants bloodless. “And I know all about you activist types. Lot of bluster and testosterone with a generous helping of stupidity. My granddad would've called you 'reds' and shot you on sight. The only reason I don't is because I can't spare the shells.”

  “We're not like those activists,” Janicks said.

  Tilton laughed, the kind of laugh borne of misery and failure. “Bullshit. But I'm going to help you, because I hate the timber company, the Consortium, and the feds more than you.”

  “'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,'” Nick said. He had no information on Tilton, He wasn't briefed on him, at least.

  “The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy,” Tilton said. He downed his coffee in one swallow.

  Tilton selected a key from a peg near the front door. He led the group through the darkness to a shed 150 meters east of the house. As Georgia and Squirrel watched the countryside, he unlocked a padlock, and lifted a flashlight from a shelf. He shined it on a cardboard box in the shed's pitch-dark interior. The box held five white plastic packages shaped like Italian salami labeled “Seltex Maximus.” Tilton handed one of the packages to Nick. The substance felt like clay. It weighed a couple of kilos.

  “It'll blow a five-inch hole in steel plate an inch thick,” Tilton said.

  Janicks placed the packages in a backpack.

  Tilton reached to an upper shelf and brought down another box. Objects rolled around inside. The miner lifted the lid. His flashlight showed a dozen thin, finger-length tubular objects made of a red ceramic or enameled metal. One end was rounded like a test tube and the other flat with a blue top. Tilton gave one of the detonators to Janicks.

  “Make a cut about a half-inch long in the Seltex packaging,” the miner said. “Push the detonator in, all the way up to the blue cap. Then remove this tab.” Tilton pretended to grab a bit of plastic on the cap and snap it off. He described the next steps.

  “What if the detonator is bad?” Georgia said. “Can we have two?”

  “You get one. It's not as though I can pick these up at the Takilma store.” Tilton sneered and pushed past Nick.

  That evening, Tilton invited the insurgents to stay the night, claiming that bears waking up after hibernation were more aggressive than usual this year. He was a lonely man, Nick concluded, and though he had little respect for the Mother Earth Insurgency's politics, he wanted some company. He broke out another bottle of bourbon. Squirrel, not a drinker, volunteered to watch for intruders.

  “Tilton, you and I have more in common than you think.” Janicks poured himself another drink. His grin was magnetic, like a preacher's. “We both hate the powers that be.”

  “Should we hate them?” Nick sipped. “I mean, that kind of emotion gets in the way of your judgment.”

  “What's worse is indifference. That was my parents' attitude.” Janicks melted into Tilton's old couch. “They were part of the Acceptance Movement.”

  Nick knew all about Janicks' family, but maybe he could draw him out, get at his inner mind, especially if liquor might loosen him up. “Never heard of it.”

  “You're an educated man, Sorrows. You know about Bible-thumbing Christians. Everything bad is a judgment from God. Even climate change.”

  “I thought the fundamentalist Christian sects denied human-caused climate change.”

  “Not this one.” Janicks studied the whiskey. “It broke away. A faction of a faction. I was raised to believe that man's wickedness was manifest in the climbing temps, and that God was using humanity's own greed to punish it.”

  “I suppose that works at a logical level.” Nick shrugged. “Where does the indifference come in?”

  “There was nothing you could do about it, so you ignored it,” Georgia rolled her eyes. “I've heard this story.”

  “Nothing you could do, except follow God's law, down to the commas and periods,” Janicks said. “Then you'd be saved, though how was never really explained.”

  “The government is supposed to follow the Constitution, but it never does,” Tilton said, as if recognizing one of the points in common.

  “The Acceptance Movement was good at rules. One day I came home from a haircut and my father made me go back and get it cut again. Two or three hairs were touching the top of my left ear.” Janicks put his finger on his ear. His wavy hair needed a comb. “After my mother died, he sold everything he owned and disappeared into the Montana Rockies to await Judgment Day. I haven't seen or heard from him in six or eight years. Not since law school.”

  “Lawyers...” Til
ton prepped to take a swing at Janicks, but Nick put a hand on the miner's chest. He was too drunk to act on his impulse.

  “Mother gave me a little money before she died. Dad was smart enough not to touch it, and I wasn't about to follow him into oblivion. I knew we could do something about climate change, if we could just get the bad actors into court.”

  Georgia set her cheek in her hand, bored.

  “Let me tell you another story, Georgia Napoli.” Janicks stood up, wobbly, but ready to argue his brief. “There once was a lawyer, an environmental lawyer. He sued a company to stop it from building a factory. The factory would spew toxic waste into the air. People in the town said ‘No! We don’t want the factory!’ He told a judge that the company had filled out the permit wrong. The company had forgotten something or other. The judge agreed and denied the permit. The factory was stopped. The people cheered.

  “After the ruling, the lawyer for the company that wanted to build the factory went up to the winning lawyer and said, ‘Thank you! Now I know what we need to do to fix the permit application.’ The company wrote up a new permit, and the environmental lawyer sued again. But this time, he lost, because the judge found that the company had filled out the permit perfectly. The factory was built, and the people are now breathing polluted air.”

  “Story of my life,” Tilton said.

  Nick knew the story too. “Isn't that the one where the Bureau of Environmental Security intervened? Didn't it revoke the permit at the first sign of a violation?”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  Nick swallowed, wondering if he'd said too much. The case was part of Janicks' file. He put down his glass, deciding to stop for the night. “It was on the news.”

  Janicks waved a finger in Nick's face. “Fuck the BES. Fuck the law. Fuck 'em all. I'm going to do something that's going to make a fucking difference.”

  “What are we going to do, Jon?” Nick was on the edge of learning Janicks' real plan, which had nothing to do with the wind farm, if he could only tease it out. “I'm ready and willing.”