by G M Eppers
Being Native American, she knew when she accepted the nomination that she was going to be subject to a lot of controversy. She got ahead of it and confronted it head-on, releasing her entire history of tax returns, her birth certificate, and her medical records going all the way back to the removal of her wisdom teeth at the age of 16, including a case of Chlamydia at 19 contracted after a sorority party where she had a bit too much alcohol. Embarrassing, yes, but it humanized her and prevented her opponent from using it as an October Surprise. Thinking ahead, she had also submitted saliva for DNA testing and had her genealogy professionally done so no one could claim she was lying about her ancestry. It turned out that not only is she almost 80% Native American, she is also an amalgam of nearly every major tribe except the Seminole. Her diplomatic skills have been handed down from generations of Native American peacekeepers. She is a direct descendant of Deganawida, a Mohawk who helped form the Iroquois Confederacy. I remember my mother being especially impressed with Sequoia Glenarrow’s family history when she was running for Vice President on Dacto’s ticket.
Along with her own disclosures, she kept her administration transparent and accessible through direct email and social media accounts, and encouraged even ordinary Americans to express their concerns. The volume, of course, had to be too large for her to address every contact, but she had a number of assistants who sorted through it and provided her with important complaints. With enough determination, though, literally anyone could get personal attention from her. Badger had been my determination, punching through all the, what came to be known as pink tape, to earn a one-on-one. Nevertheless, now that I had her ears, butterflies swarmed in my stomach and I wondered if this was a mistake.
Glaring artificial light illuminated her aristocratic features and tiny flying insects flirted with the beams. There were some people who claimed she was only there to earn a Nobel Peace Prize, despite the fact that she has already preemptively turned it down. Peace, she is quoted as saying, is the prize. There shouldn’t be an award for it at all. “Hello. Mr. Billings Montana is it?”
“Yes, Madam President. Thank you so much for speaking with me.”
“I understand you lost your mother recently. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay, I understand you want to express formality and respect, and let’s just say we’ll take it for granted from here on in. If you have to keep Madam Presidenting me, we’ll be here all night. You’re a CURDS officer, so I’m assuming this is about my recent announcement regarding upcoming policy changes?”
“Yes, Ma-“ of course, I started to use the full title again, but stopped and corrected myself. “Ma’am.”
Her eyes shifted to someone behind the laptop. “Is this secure?” The person must have nodded because I didn’t hear a response, but she continued speaking. “I wanted to provide more details yesterday and take questions, but it would have made me late for the peace talks. Very bad form to be late, you know. They are slow enough as it is, but diplomacy is a lot like ketchup. The slower, the better. At the same time, I felt it very important to give Americans the heads up. Promising further details shortly seemed like a good compromise.”
“Oh, it was, Ma’am. It’s a very good compromise. It’s just…” And naturally, all the nice words I’d been thinking of flew out of my head.
President Glenarrow is a very perceptive person. It helps one’s negotiating skills to be able to discern someone’s wants and needs before you begin. She must have read my personnel file before making the call. “Your mother was a history teacher before joining CURDS. I’m guessing you have concerns regarding historical precedent when it comes to banning popular products.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Prohibition immediately came to mind, you see.” That was a slight fib. It immediately came to my mother’s mind, though it did put a name to the unease the announcement had caused me. But I wasn’t going to tell her the ghost of my mother had been the source.
“So, I know where you’re coming from. Let me set your mind at ease. This is not Prohibition. The difficulty with Prohibition in the 1920’s was that it was passed as a Constitutional Amendment, and therefore meant to be a permanent change to American society. It was also very difficult to reverse when it began to go wrong. Amending the Constitution is difficult enough. Amending an amendment had never been done before and was even more difficult. The Cheese Ban will be done through Executive Order. I can’t disclose the intended time frame. That’s classified. Revealing it would alert the criminal element to the possibility of waiting it out. However, because it’s an EO, it could be as short as two years as that’s about the time remaining in my term. If the results are unsatisfactory, my successor can easily override it. Conversely, if the policy is a success, he or she can extend it indefinitely, but I will include a disclaimer that under no circumstances is this policy to become Constitutional Law. Can’t guarantee it, of course, I can only recommend it. Does this make sense to you?”
It was a lot to absorb, but I did feel better. “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am. I apologize for taking up your time. I should have known it would make sense. Your policies always do. That’s why you were elected.”
Her expression softened, though her unruly hair still made me feel like an intruder. “No apology necessary, Mr. Montana. You’re on the front lines of the War on Uber and I appreciate your service. You aren’t the only one to bring up the similarities. Some of my advisors expressed the same concerns and I took a call early this morning from NATO.” She laughed a little. “They were quite alarmed. You’d think I’d slapped huge tariffs on cheese. We’re simply dumping the whole barrel of apples, to use another analogy, to make sure we don’t put any rotten ones in. Once we’ve cleared the American market of all cheese, we can gradually let it back in under controlled conditions and hopefully avoid any further Uber exposure. It’s really a very reasonable approach. I wish I’d taken it years ago.” She seemed to be closing the conversation, then seemed to think better of it. “Oh and, for the record, my policies aren’t always that well received. Polling proves that. Fortunately, I don’t make decisions based on polling. This isn’t a popularity contest and I’m not out to earn high ratings. But do you want to know why Dacto and I were originally elected?”
“Because you were best qualified,” I responded automatically.
“Nope. Because neither one of us played golf.” She winked at me, and the screen went black before reverting back to television, a rerun of Friends.
I disconnected with the president and took a calming breath. I felt the conversation had gone rather well, though there was an undercurrent of pretentious, uninformed, overambitious...okay, maybe it didn’t go that well, after all, at least on my end. If I could handle that kind of embarrassment, maybe I could handle McGrone, I thought. I folded up the cord and put it next to Badger’s phone, where he would find them when he came in.
I let my anger build just a little, thinking about how this McGrone guy was making himself at home in my mother’s room. I took the stairs three at a time, using the bannisters as parallel bars to swing myself up. The room is on the second floor not far from the landing, across the hall from Sir Haughty’s quarters. My anger grew a little more as I approached the door, seeing a cheap plastic name plate already attached to it that said, “Major Samuel J. McGrone.” The door was slightly ajar and I knocked twice. “Come,” said a voice that was clearly used to authority.
I opened the door wider and saw a man sitting at my mother’s desk with several folders in front of him. He was flipping through one of them, but looked up as I entered. His hair was in a severe buzz cut and the rest of his face was clean-shaven. His dark eyes were cold, under thin eyebrows and a thick forehead, his expression slightly annoyed. Standing to greet me, he was about my height, but huskier, about what another 15 years of consistent weight lifting might turn me into. He wore the crisp uniform of a U.S. Army Major, but his hat was sitting on the desk ne
ar the folders. An array of medals were pinned to his left breast, with two purple hearts centered beneath. His patent leather boots were so shiny they could have been used to send Morse Code through the mountains on a sunny day. He did not offer his hand, but seemed to be expecting something from me, so I held out mine, ready for a firm grip.
“Is that how you acknowledge your superior officer, soldier?” He left me hanging, and I finally let my hand fall back to my side.
I was taken aback. I’d never considered myself a soldier. We were a branch of the CDC. “Pardon me?”
“Where’s your salute, soldier?” His voice became more forceful, as if I had insulted him.
“We don’t salute, Major McGrone. And this is my mother’s room. Please show some respect.” It didn’t look like my mother’s room any longer. Her bed was now made with stark, white sheets and an olive green blanket. I could have cut myself on his hospital corners. The closet door was closed, but I imagined that inside it there was probably another five uniforms identical to the one he wore, including pairs of boots neatly lined up underneath. Next to the door was a perfectly flush stack of six cardboard boxes of the type that hold a case of paper, each with a lid and simply marked “HERS” in black, block letters. I felt sick.
“Salute, Soldier or I’ll be forced to issue a reprimand. What is your name?”
I really didn’t care about a reprimand. “I’m Billings Montana, Coordinator of CURDS Team A. And you’re trespassing.”
He glanced down and made a quick mark on a notepad. “Mr. Montana. You’ve failed to read your monthly Dispatch, I see. You are uninformed. I know you’ve suffered a loss, son, so I’ll let it go this time, but see you update yourself and conduct yourself properly in the future.” I cringed at being called ‘son’. I wanted to tell him not to call me that. I wanted to tell him to get the hell out. But he didn’t let me. He kept right on talking. “My name is Major McGrone. You may call me Sir or Major. Miss Chiff has assigned me to this unit to free you up for specialized study. It’s a good thing, too. Discipline is sorely lacking. That will change immediately. Please join your team mates in the yard.” He checked his watch, which had four separate dials on it. Still standing, he fingered the edges of some of the file folders. “Officers Avis and Agnes Nicely were also AWOL. Did they arrive with you?” I gave him a brief, uncertain nod. “You will complete two hours of training exercises. Inform the Nicelys that they will be joining you. You are dismissed.” He resumed his seat as if I had already gone.
I made no such move. “With all due respect, sir,” I said, thinking and that would be none, “This is not a military unit and we are not under the command of the DOD. I will be taking this up with Miss Chiff immediately. This is totally unacceptable.”
He raised one eyebrow, remaining seated but turning toward me. “You are insubordinate, soldier. Two and a half hours.”
I bit my tongue, figuratively speaking. It didn’t seem wise to keep arguing with this militant lunatic. I left the room and closed the door behind me, but I didn’t go down to the yard. After all, he had told me to inform the girls, so I went up to the fourth floor.
The twins were sitting on the fully made bed with their knees up, supporting a large white board. Avis had a purple marker and Agnes had a green marker and they were discussing something between them. They looked up when I came in. “Hi, Billings!” said Avis, “We’re working on the gift registry. The wedding planner is having us make as many decisions as we can on the white board. Then we snap a photo and email it to her. She puts it in our file. The ceremony can be ready in less than 24 hours. Once we have all the decisions made, that is.”
“But we’re having trouble thinking of gifts,” admitted Agnes. “Because we live in HQ, there aren’t really any household items that we need. You know, the usual toaster or china or silverware. We’ve got all that. Any ideas?”
“Um…towels,” I suggested.
Avis raised a hand in triumph. “Yes! Towels. We can get monograms.”
“Nope. No monograms.”
“Why not?”
“Think about it.” We’d just gotten the marriage license, where they were very pleased to discover that my middle name is Ulysses. It makes my initials B.U.M. and even if you leave that out it’s B.M. which isn’t really any better. I hate monograms. There ought to be a rule about naming children so the initials are not insulting.
It didn’t take long for both of them to figure it out and they went, “Ah!” at the same time. “How about His and Hers?” Avis suggested.
“Okay.”
Avis wrote it down on the white board with her purple marker.
“Bed sheets,” said Agnes, using the green marker. “King size sheets are expensive. They make a great wedding gift.”
I had to interrupt. “Oh, girls, you seem to have missed something important downstairs.”
They were back to wracking their brains for ideas and answered only absent-mindedly. “Yeah?”
“Major McGrone.”
Their knees flattened out, the white board went horizontal, and I had their attention. “Major who?”
I explained the situation and in no time the white board was put aside and they were off the bed. “Miss Chiff can’t do this! You haven’t picked a specialty yet. There was no warning. It’s unfair.” I remembered the folded paper in my pocket. I had picked a specialty. But so far, I was the only one who knew it. Let them wonder, I thought. It would only start another long discussion. As it was, they were both contributing objections to the Major at once and it was impossible to determine which ones to attribute to whom.
“Calm down. It’s okay. There was a notice in the Dispatch, which I haven’t had time to read yet.” Technically speaking, I didn’t have to now. I should just turn it over to McGrone. It was his responsibility now. I was surprised he hadn’t asked for it. “In any case, right now, we’re to go down to the yard. You guys get two hours. I objected and got another half an hour. I’ll talk to Miss Chiff and get this straightened out. In the meantime, don’t antagonize him. Okay?”
The twins could do two hours with one hand tied behind their backs. Each. It’s not as hard as it sounds. You just have to pace yourself. They agreed to behave and we headed down.
On the third floor, I took a quick side trip to get the Dispatch out of my nightstand. I started to toss it on my bed to read later, then rethought. I’d just told the twins not to antagonize McGrone, so it would probably be better if I didn’t try to push the envelope either. Protocol would be to hand over the Dispatch to the new Coordinator, so on the way down I prepared to slip it under his door, which was still slightly ajar. I got a glimpse of the stack of boxes and couldn’t stand that they were in his room. Holding the Dispatch in one hand, I knocked once, while Agnes and Avis waited for me at the landing. “Sir,” I said, saluting as I entered.
He returned the salute. “Yes, Mr. Montana?”
“The January Dispatch. Sir.” I handed him the document and saluted again, standing at attention. I was mocking him, but he didn’t see it. “Permission to remove my mother’s things, sir?”
“Have you done your yard time, soldier?”
“No, sir. On my way, sir.”
“Take care of it after. You are dismissed, Mr. Montana.”
I saluted again, and met the twins at the landing. The rest of them were just finishing up their time, each sitting on top of a piece of equipment looking at their watches. “Two hours?” asked Roxy.
“For them,” I said, pointing to my companions. “Two and a half for me.”
“Thanks for trying,” said Badger. It wasn’t hard to figure out why I had extra time. “By the way, it helps if you believe the grass is hot lava.” He dropped through the bars of the horizontal ladder and hand walked over to the end, where a hurdle had been placed leading to the dirt track instead of straddling it. I noticed other hurdles strategically placed as well. Sylvia came down from the jungle gym using one, Sir Haughty swung from the rappelling side of the climbing wall over
to the chin-up bar, using another hurdle as a balance beam to reach dry dirt. Nitro had been jogging and stopped with two fingers on his neck to check his pulse. “Equipment’s all yours,” he said, deliberately walking across the lava to the back porch.
“Thanks.”
It hit us all out of the blue. “OW!” We all started rubbing our arms as our STDs alerted us to a call from Miss Chiff. “Nitro, did they up the power on these things?” I asked. It felt like I’d been jabbed to the bone with a knitting needle. “That’s stronger than yesterday.”
“I don’t think so,” Nitro replied, wincing. “I’ll look into it. There’s got to be a happy medium.”
The twins, still rubbing as we headed toward the back door, started laughing. “What?” I asked them.
“I guess you could say we were saved by the yell,” said Agnes, because Avis was laughing too hard to talk. Letting them go ahead of me through the back door, I gave Agnes’ head a gentle shove. “Hey!” She kidded back at me. “Did anyone see that? He assaulted me! Roxy, I want to sue.”
Roxy, already in the kitchen and turning to walk backwards a few steps, replied, “Sorry. You made a bad pun. It’s justified. You don’t have a case.” She stared at the rest of us as we stopped in our tracks.
Behind her stood Major McGrone, watching us enter and timing our response with his four-dial watch. “Fifty-four seconds!” He barked. “That is unacceptable. I will be scheduling drills as soon as is convenient. Take your seats immediately.”
I saw Sylvia and Badger salute quickly, touching their forehead with only their middle fingers. If McGrone noticed, he didn’t say anything. Badger started to reach for the remote, but McGrone beat him to it. Badger caught my eye, but sat down quietly. As usual, I sat on one couch with the twins.
