Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

  “Just make a decision, for Pete’s sake,” he muttered to himself. Just make a decision.

  Goodwell held Rashid’s micro-comms device up to his face and pressed its one button. Rashid’s face appeared on the tiny screen, grainy and pixelated.

  “Let’s bring him home. We’ll head east,” Minister Goodwell announced.

  Rashid nodded. “I will get back to you with details,” he answered, and the screen went black.

  Chapter 34: Business Pitch

  (Emily Goldbloom)

  Emily Goldbloom had heard it said a thousand times in her young life. “Timing is everything in fortune and famine.” But she had never witnessed it firsthand until today. A one-day trip shifted from disappointment to destruction to deliverance. She laid awake in the dark, listening to the gentle breath of Jasmine Goodwell in the bed next to her and the steady tapping of the rain on the windows. It’d been just a few days since she’d been released from lock-down in the wake of a mega-storm in Troy Township—half-way across the Commonwealth—only to somehow get out of the ongoing recovery work, board her first airship, and fly into luxury itself.

  In retrospect, she had spent too much of her time sulking over Alias as her family hunkered through the storm back home. He earlier invigoration at bravely severing ties with him waxed and waned. She hadn’t achieved the finality she hoped for when she sent her break-up message, though her melancholy was overshadowed when she stumbled into an intense conversation among the “grown-ups.” Her mother and father were deliberating with Shay, Dorian Lee, and her Aunt Nessa about what to do next. Their contract with Farid Sherman was near its end, and they had nothing firm to follow it.

  No contract with Sherman, Emily calculated silently, no protection from Sherman. And the final payment—if we aren’t cheated—will be a sum to tempt anyone who knows we have it. That’ll be everyone who’s watched our business over the past eighteen months. And when the money runs out, we won’t be able to pay the township fees, and we’ll be booted.

  “Sherman won’t be the one who stiffs us,” Shay insisted. “If he thinks he’ll ever need your work again, he pays. It’s the road raiders and marauders that worry me.”

  This, of course, assumed they’d hit the road again, an idea that made her cousin Victoria visibly ill. Emily was more accustomed to life in the convoys as they had crisscrossed a fair chunk of the country moving from one work site to another. But setting out with no clear destination was another matter altogether.

  We need a follow-on deal with Sherman. …or the township if we’re gonna get to stay.

  She still wasn’t sure why that hadn’t been forthcoming. There were plenty of churches still being planned, and they had made every deliverable on time and under budget—even with their brief absence to fetch their Lancaster kin.

  “What about the Baumgartens?” her father asked Shay. “You said he’d been interested in giving you some work some time back.”

  “Oh, I reckon Baumgarten still has work,” Shay replied. “But I figured we’d wanna see how things pan out here first. Goin’ all the way to Mid-At Province would be like startin’ over.” Shay cast a look to Emily’s Aunt Nessa, knowing her concern about Victoria finally having a modicum of stability in her life.

  Her aunt gave a long, mournful sigh. “We have to explore every option,” she admitted reluctantly.

  Only a few days on, as everyone got ready for their daily assignments in the township or the nearby worksite, Shay called them all together.

  “Got a call from Baumgarten jus’ now.”

  Emily’s heart soared and fell at once, but she was perplexed when he passed out air tickets to her father, Dorian Lee, and to her. She didn’t dare ask how much the tickets cost—air travel was a luxury of the Ellies—and she wasn’t at all sure why they decided to bring her. She could understand sending her father, Shay, and Dorian Lee, even if it left them dangerously understaffed. But in all the commotion—the hushed voices, serious tones, and anxious looks—she didn’t want to ask any extraneous questions.

  It was less than an hour before they were in an autocar to the township’s tarmac, and another nervous hour before they boarded the raven passenger airship. It looked old and rickety, like one of the ancient buses from the work convoys, only with massive wings glued to its top. She questioned the wisdom of getting inside, but she marched dutifully along with the others, determined—as always—never to be seen as less brave than the others.

  As the ship rocketed them skyward, she was stunned by the incredible noise and the nauseating—exhilarating—thrust. They made their way east, religiously staying with the air convoy along the safe-corridor following the old Route 70 highway. She couldn’t believe the immensity of the Commonwealth. The vastness of the tan and yellow patchwork landscape that stretched all the way to the green-gray quilt of the Great Lakes and Appalachia Provinces and the coastal plains beyond. She marveled at the haunting tips of the skyscrapers from the cities of the High Times, peering from their gray-brown haze, as well as the sprawling tin roofs, fallen brick buildings, and charred ruins surrounding them. St Louis, Indianapolis, Columbus, Pittsburgh.

  Each border crossing was terrifying. Despite the law of free passage along the Route 70 corridor, each provincial militia dispatched flocks of drones and gunships to announce their sovereignty—and their willingness to use force against any deviation from flight procedures. Their voices sounded almost hopeful for the chance to shoot something down.

  At last, she had to hold back tears as they descended over the sight of the shimmering blue Susquehanna River, which seemed to flow endlessly into and out of Harrisburg. It was the most beautiful water that she had ever seen, nothing like the furious torrents of churning brown floodwaters that periodically laid waste to the Desert Plains Territory. Its green outline called to mind the pictures she had seen of a once-verdant planet.

  When they arrived at the Baumgarten Estate, her clan walked speedily toward the mansion, reminding her that they needed to get in and out as quickly as possible. Before the coming hurricane hit the province. Before anything could wrong back home on the work sites. Ideally before Sherman or anyone on the township council knew they were gone.

  She found herself oddly eager to be aloft again, the beauty and terror combining in her mind as the most exhilarating experience of her life. Almost as soon as they had disembarked, however, a Baumgarten functionary arrived to inform them that their meeting was delayed until the next day.

  “Unforeseen circumstances,” was his only justification, and he surrendered it grudgingly, as if he had no need to explain anything to the urchins coming to see the Senator, a veritable monarch in this region. Still, she was grateful that he at least offered them accommodation, despite it being wrapped in the condescending rationale that they not be tardy for the meeting in the morning.

  They arrived back at the mansion early the next morning, escorted by the same functionary from the night before, but it was late afternoon when they finally got their audience with the Senator. She had seen Thomas Baumgarten on her father’s OmniComms news shows, but she was struck by his height, his shock of wavy, salt-white hair, and his pristine attire. But he seemed distracted and tired, and she wasn’t at all convinced he was in the frame of mind to discuss a deal—much less sign one.

  This is all for nothing, she stewed, wishing she could punch the functionary before they were dismissed.

  Shay and Dorian nevertheless made the necessary introductions, trading on some unstated familiarity with the senator. First her father, with some kindly words that didn’t fully penetrate through her nervousness. Next Shay placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her forward to greet the high-falutin Ellie. Shay’s subtle display of affection and endorsement encouraged her to step into the moment.

  “Ms. Goldbloom,” Senator Baumgarten started, as if he already knew her, holding out his hand, greeting glove already on. “I understand you are the promising young heiress to this little enterprise.”

  She glanced
at her father and Shay, who winked knowingly. With a mix of surprise and burden, she now understood why her father and Shay had brought her on the trip. The Ellies made a point of knowing everything about everyone, and the senator would want some guarantee that the company’s work would endure. Her future was their collateral.

  Then she felt a nudge on the small of her back, and she realized that a long moment had passed without a response from her.

  Queen’s manners. Focus. For chrissake!

  “Thank you, Sir,” she replied with a subtle curtsey, offering her hand. “I have been very fortunate to have wonderful mentors to guide me.”

  Nailed it. But she was still uneasy.

  “Indeed,” Baumgarten answered nonchalantly. “I can think of no finer examples.” He then turned to Shay. “Unfortunately, we will only have some small, short-term contracts—all starting in the next few days. Storm recovery jobs, mostly. But I understand your work for Mr. Sherman won’t be done for several more weeks. Maybe months?”

  He knows about Sherman? Of course he does, the fucker. He’s behind the PetrolChurch, all the work sites, and whatever dirty dealings underpin the whole damn thing. She felt silly for being star-struck by the regal senator from the great family and his marvelous estate. He was an Ellie, and like all the Ellies, he wasn’t to be admired as much as feared. And soaked of his wealth—carefully—if the opportunity presented itself.

  There was no soaking him, at least not today, however, and pleasantries soon ran their course. Their audience with the senator ebbed with few details and no guarantees.

  With a bit more forced conversation, they left his office—empty handed—and gathered their things for the trip home. But the delays had turned against them, and the senator’s functionary arrived again to inform them that the hurricane was bearing down on the estate faster than expected. All flights were grounded. He again offered them quarters at the estate until the storm and its aftermath was over. He gave them a few minutes of comms time to inform their families of the delay and departed unceremoniously.

  Dorian, Shay, and Christian traded worried looks. Her mother and Uncle Joshua had been left in charge of all the worksites, despite her mother’s instability and Joshua’s lack of knowledge. It was a safe bet for a day. Two days was a stretch. Three, four, or five would almost certainly become a problem. Their gamble to wow Senator Baumgarten was about to cost them big back home, especially with the township and the entire region also in clean-up mode from its own superstorm.

  They made their calls home, offered reassurances, and did as much risk mitigation as they could before the comms windows closed. They then resigned themselves to whatever fate had left in store for them—which turned out to start with a pleasant dinner in a cavernous hall decorated with ornate furnishings and ancient paintings on wood-paneled walls. Other guests of the estate, also stranded, joined them at the mammoth table along with officers in the Expeditionary Force, the Domestic Security Service, and the Provincial Militia. Petty aristocrats from lesser houses and liaison diplomats from other provinces. And of course, minders with paper-thin stories about their jobs in Baumgarten Industries. The conversation was awkward as the guests parlayed to deduce who was superior in rank or stature. Sitting squarely at the bottom of that totem pole, her family said little.

  By the time Emily retired to her quarters—a room more spacious and opulent than she had ever even imagined—she was too exhausted to enjoy any of its comforts or indulge the cry she really wanted. She crawled into her massive bed, squirmed and shivered in its silky sheets, and finally surrendered to sleep.

  The next thing she knew, the furious noise of the hurricane had startled her awake in a dim room with eerie purple-yellow shadows dancing on the walls. Hearing the faint sound of whispers, she roused herself from bed and trudged into the common room connecting her cadre’s rooms with her father’s. Shay and Dorian sat at the small table with her father.

  Christian held out an arm and summoned her for a good-morning hug, the way he had for as long as she could remember.

  “The storm knocked out the power system,” he whispered. “Their defensive perimeter is down.”

  A system failure at the estate of Thomas Baumgarten? Someone’s gonna be in deep shit.

  “Getcher gear, sweetheart,” Lee said, matter-of-factly. “We’re going outside.”

  She gave her father an incredulous look, but she already knew it had to be. Where else was Baumgarten going to go to get things up and running? Without another word, she grabbed a warm roll from the filigree metal basket with a linen napkin on the table and marched back to her room to put on her coveralls.

  In minutes, they were out the door to an autocar waiting to take them through the pouring rain, raging wind, and clapping thunder to the estate’s logistics center. She felt more grateful than scared at the sight of the snake-eater assault vehicles guarding the path, their soldiers ready with machine guns in the turrets.

  She was soon steeling her nerves as she scaled the wet steel rungs of a ladder to a broken-down comms terminal in the gazebo atop a guard tower. She white knuckled the railing, trying to calm herself by embracing the cool water droplets falling in the muggy breeze.

  Arriving at the top, she took a deep breath and took a quick moment to gaze out over the estate, the leaves of its giant trees shimmering beautifully as their branches swayed violently. A handful of trees already lay sprawled on the ground. Splintered branches dangled from the power lines and dotted the grounds. Every window of every building was dark. She spied her father huddled with Shay outside the command center building, Dorian assessing the guard tower next to hers.

  Standing at the entrance to the mansion, flanked by guards, Senator Baumgarten stood observing them. Seeing his crisp black suit with a brocade waistcoat and pressed white shirt, she became aware of the dirty insect-mesh screen hanging from the brim of her helmet and her sweat-soaked hair clinging to her face. A nagging sense of inadequacy crept over her—embarrassment at being an urchin, laboring under the patronizing stare of an overlord.

  As she stood gawking, transfixed by the Ellie, he met her eye and offered her a smile and a subtle, but friendly, wave. Realizing she’d been caught dawdling, she quickly waved back and turned away. She squeezed past a massive guard scanning beyond the wall with his machine gun, and she set to work on the tower’s equipment, feeling strangely energized.

  Emily had lost track of the time, despite the sweat stinging her eyes and making every minute crawl, when her father’s voice echoed from below. Exhausted, she pulled herself away from her work, hoping Baumgarten wouldn’t still be there and she might get a break.

  “Sweetie, if you are at place to stop, c’mon down.”

  Thank God, she thought to herself.

  “This thing’s ready,” she said to the guard, pointing to the automated machine gun turret. He replied with a grunt and climbed into it.

  Her feet touched the ground with a squish, as she looked up to see Senator Baumgarten just inside the mansion’s doorway, sipping hot tea and nibbling on sweet biscuits with her father, Shay, and Dorian.

  They all look very pleased, she thought, considering what a shit-show this is.

  Many of the mansion’s windows were thankfully aglow again. The alarm pads on the security fences blinked green. The guard in the tower above whirred in his turret, and a sense of satisfaction crawled over her lingering feeling of inadequacy. She trudged through the wind and rain to the mansion, where her father greeted her with a dry towel. Dorian approached with a biscuit, Baumgarten himself close behind with a cup of tea.

  She offered the Senator an exhausted, wobbly half-curtsy before reaching out with her one free hand to grasp the saucer.

  “Th-thank you, Sir,” she said timidly.

  “You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied smoothly. “I’d be remiss if I were discourteous to the new defensive engineering partners for Baumgarten Industries.”

  Emily looked at him and then to her father in bewilderment.
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  “Good news, ‘Em,” her father said.

  A rush of excitement filled her up, and it was all she could do to avoid screaming in jubilation.

  The tea break and celebration were short, however. There was still too much to do to get the estate back to full operations, and Senator Baumgarten had more than enough on his plate with the hurricane still crushing the northern counties of his province. Before she knew it, she was back at work, though at least with some hot tea in her stomach and a sense of hope for the future.

  It was after dark when Dorian found her tinkering with a transformer and bid her to come back into the mansion for supper. They were all so filthy that the functionary, now considerably more deferential, invited them to take their meal in the servants’ hall—an offer they readily accepted.

  The food arrived just as he departed, a stew of fresh vegetables and what she suspected might be real meat. Cow? Chicken? Pig? She had no way of knowing, a she had only tasted dog once, and she didn’t recall it tasting like this. But it came with oven-baked bread rolls with dairy butter. She looked at them each in turn, Shay smacking his food with an ear-to-ear grin. Dorian and Christian more composed, but no less content. Shay would have offered a celebratory toast with his finest hooch, were it not for Dorian Lee’s addiction and the prospect of another difficult day of work to follow.

  Latonya Pryor, Senator Baumgarten’s special assistant, appeared in the doorway as they wrapped up their feast and asked if Emily would like an escort to see Jasmine Goodwell, who was also stranded by the storm. Emily had hoped Jasmine might still be on site when they left Troy, but the tempest of activity had completely distracted her.

  Emily looked to her father, as if for permission, though she was old enough now to make her own decisions.