by James Hunt
“Our job is not to make or interpret the laws. We just protect the citizens that they impact.”
“I know, sir. But I think that when the debate is scheduled, we should have our men watch it. They deserve to know and see what they’re fighting for and who they’re trying to protect.”
“I see.”
“I understand the need to remain neutral in situations like this, but—”
“Master Chief,” Howard interrupted, holding his hand up. “The moment I was discharged before the announcement of the exile was the moment I stopped remaining neutral.”
Pint broke his usual formal composure and allowed a smile to stretch across his face.
“I think the hangar bay would provide enough room for everyone to gather for the event,” Howard said.
“I think that would work as well.”
“Go ahead and set it up.”
Pint saluted then exited. The clang of the door rumbled through the room as Howard was left alone. He knew Pint was right about the situation, but even so, it wasn’t one he wished he was in.
Howard knew the political factions involved in everything that was happening had more to lose than just votes. He’d been to enough fundraiser parties over the past decade to know that many of the congressmen had deep roots with big businesses. It had gotten so bad over the past few years that most of the congressmen didn’t even bother to hide it.
The actions of the men in Washington and the citizens that supported them were finally coming to a head. For years people had cried that it was just words, just pieces of paper, and that those words and pieces of paper couldn’t do anything really bad.
It was ludicrous thinking. The politicians and people that voted for them thought that their troubles were thousands of miles away in some foreign land. They thought that their military would always remain the best, even though the money that kept it running was drying up.
Yes, they were still the most powerful military might in the world, but the effects of the drought and lack of effort to fix the problems that came with it had chipped away the resources the military used to protect its country.
No longer could they ignore the problem. Now it was in their states, their cities, their homes. It was in their schools and their news. It was no longer in some far-off land. It was in their own backyard.
***
Despite the promises of peace, Gallo’s war room was busy. Empty coffee pots and mugs, combined with the mountains of cigarettes in the ashtray, were the results of a very long night.
The sunken eyes of Gallo’s officers looked over the maps and computer screens, which tracked the assets they still had in place. Thousands of men represented by a single dot peppered the maps and screens like chicken pox. Each of them were itching, yearning to move, to spread.
The chatter and talk ended as Gallo entered. Every soldier stood at attention. There were more than a dozen of his best officers saluting him, and Gallo took in the realization that this could be the last time he received such respect.
“Where are we with our progress?” Gallo asked, saluting his men and turning them back to their work.
“Sir, our Atlantic warships are only five hundred miles from the Mexican Pacific coastline heading north from the Panama Canal,” Colonel Herrera answered. “They will arrive at the Baja Peninsula by tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent work, Colonel. Have we heard from Presidente Castell?”
“No. Still nothing on the treaty, sir.”
“Regardless, I want all our men stationed on the borders.”
“Yes, General.”
Everything was almost in place. This would be his last push, and in less than forty-eight hours, he would be either the biggest fool in Mexican history or its greatest champion. Despite the hesitancy of a few of his advisors, Gallo knew he was making the right decision.
There was no doubt the Americans were making similar moves to prepare for a coordinated strike if the talking failed. The only difference would be that if the American president signed off on the treaty, then his soldiers would strike.
Gallo stared at his chair. He was afraid that sitting down would cause him to lose the momentum he had. His feet were aching, his back and legs were tired. He could feel his eyelids struggling to remain open. Rest would come soon. It was almost done.
***
Dr. Carlson was just how Daniel remembered him: undeniably obnoxious. The two of them had spent the last three hours in a car together on their way through rush-hour traffic to meet with one of Dr. Carlson’s colleagues.
Daniel did have to admit he was slightly impressed that Dr. Carlson had managed to secure a facility to restart his work. Which was primarily why Daniel was there in the first place.
Smith had exhausted all of his funds for the first venture and was being watched like a hawk by the authorities for any unfavorable conduct. Daniel agreed to provide funding for Dr. Carlson’s work through one of his old companies he still held stock in. It was enough capital for the first few months, renovations, and a down payment on the property until the plant was operational and self-sustaining enough to start drawing a profit. He was hoping that it would be a good investment in more ways than one.
“So you’ve already met with him?” Daniel asked.
“Yes. It was… productive,” Dr. Carlson answered.
“And you trust him?”
“I trust him to do what’s right for science.”
“That’s all we are to you people, aren’t we? Just lab rats.”
“Oh, no. Of course not. Lab rats are much easier to control. You’re more like a less-sophisticated chimpanzee that stumbled across a fancy suit.”
The rest of the trip was in silence. Whatever Smith saw in that man was beyond Daniel’s patience. Everything was riding on Dr. Carlson’s ability to produce fresh water. If he couldn’t do that, then Daniel’s money, Smith’s influence, and the surviving American citizens’ struggle in the Southwest would be for nothing. He didn’t appreciate Dr. Carlson’s lackadaisical attitude toward their efforts.
The driver came to a stop just outside a gate that surrounded a small building with docks stretched out into the bay.
“What is this, a marina?” Daniel asked.
“Used to be. Hopefully this is where we’ll be setting up shop. As long as you can close the deal,” Dr. Carlson answered.
The ground was covered in bird droppings, and the smell that rose from the effects of guano having been baked in the sun for the past several weeks stung Daniel’s nostrils. Most of the building’s windows were broken, and he couldn’t help but think of the number of birds that might have gotten inside and the presents they’d left behind. Another car pulled up beside them, and Dr. Carlson went over to greet the new arrivals. Two men stepped out, one of them more excited to see Dr. Carlson than the other.
“Craig!” Dr. Carlson said, wrapping the man in a hug. “Thanks for coming, old friend.”
“Happy to be here.”
“Daniel, this is Dr. Craig Barley. One of the best structural engineers I’ve ever met. Craig, this is Congressman Daniel Hunter.”
Craig was a small man. Daniel had known shorter guys in college, but they had been fairly well-built men. Craig looked like a slight wind would knock him over.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Congressman,” Craig said, shaking Daniel’s hand enthusiastically.
“Likewise.”
The other man that got out of the car with Craig was the polar opposite. He was tall, wide around the waist, and sported a thick red beard and a pair of dark eyes that looked like they would set Dr. Carlson on fire if they could.
“And this is Dr. Frank Turney,” Dr. Carlson said. “One of the brightest physicists of the century.”
“Except for you. Right, Edwin?” Frank replied, deadpan.
“Too kind, Frank. You’re… too kind.”
Daniel didn’t bother extending his hand to Frank, who wore an expression that suggested he might not get it back if he did. Frank s
imply walked up to the gate and unlocked it.
“Are you the owner?” Daniel asked.
“No, but I know him. He’s willing to sell if the price is right,” Frank answered.
“Well, I hope he’s reasonable.”
The gate scraped across the bird shit, and Daniel took a hesitant first step onto the property. Frank took the lead, with the rest of them in tow.
Just as Daniel had predicted, the inside of the building was just as bad as the outside. The birds had had their way with everything, and most of the walls were stained with mold and mildew.
“I know it looks bad, but it meets all the requirements on our checklist. Size, structure, proximity to the ocean, and surrounding infrastructure,” Dr. Carlson said.
“And how much is this picture-perfect real estate going for?” Daniel asked.
“Well, that’s where it gets a little—”
“Four million,” Frank answered, cutting Dr. Carlson off.
“Excuse me?” Daniel asked.
“That’s the asking price,” Frank answered.
“No. I’m not pouring four million into this dump. I’d be willing to pay a tenth of that.”
“I’m afraid the price is nonnegotiable.”
“Then I’m afraid we’re going to look elsewhere.”
“Daniel, wait!” Dr. Carlson said running after him. Dr. Carlson grabbed his arm and jumped in front of him. “Listen. We need this spot.”
“Carlson, I don’t have that kind of money. And even if I did, we would be getting ripped off. And we would still need enough funds for materials. This just doesn’t make sense. We’ll find something else.”
“There isn’t anything else. I’ve looked. Every other spot either doesn’t have what we need, or they’re already running a lucrative business that they wouldn’t sell. We don’t have any other choices.”
“Then you better have your friend talk the owner down, because I can’t afford the asking price.”
“Frank! Could you come over here?”
The old factory’s smell was starting to make Daniel feel light-headed. If they were in there long enough, they might get high enough to strike a deal, although he wasn’t sure whose favor it would be in.
“Frank, the price is too much. I mean look at this place,” Dr. Carlson said.
“That’s the asking price,” Frank replied.
“Couldn’t you just try and talk to the owner? See if he’d be willing to come down at all?”
“No.”
It could have been the heat or the smell or the fact that his body was going through alcohol withdrawal after being soaked in whiskey for the past few days, but Daniel was losing his patience.
“Do you know what we’re trying to do? Did Dr. Carlson fill you in at all?” Daniel asked, taking over the conversation.
“I’m aware of the situation,” Frank answered.
“Then you know that if we don’t get this place up and running, this continent will dry up. Even your ice lakes will disappear. We’re running out of water, Dr. Turney, and there won’t be a soul left on this planet to purchase this shitty property if that happens. So why don’t you get on the phone with the owner, and tell him that if he wants to live, then he should bring down the asking price!”
Daniel was panting heavily and out of breath. The deep breaths he drew in just brought in more of the rancid fumes. He started to feel sick. He bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to calm his stomach and clear his head, but it did nothing. He ran out of the factory and moved as far away from it as he could. The more he separated himself from the stench of the factory, the better he felt. He looked behind him, and the factory was a few hundred yards in the distance. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly through his nose and mouth.
This is too much. We can’t do this. Not here. This is too much.
A slight brush of sea air came over him, cooling the beads of sweat on his forehead. For a moment, he forgot where he was. The cool breeze brought him back to his childhood, when his parents would take him to the Carolina coast during the summer. He remembered the heat, the sand, the caked-on sunblock his mother would douse him with. It was the smell of the salt air that he remembered most. He loved that smell.
“Daniel?” Dr. Carlson asked, wheezing from his jog over.
Both Dr. Carlson and Frank had followed him. The two men wore faces of concern.
“I’m sorry, I just… the smell,” Daniel answered.
“You really think this will save us,” Frank said.
“Ask him,” Daniel said, motioning to Dr. Carlson.
“It will work, Frank.”
Frank paused. He took a moment to look back at the factory and then back to Daniel. “All right. Four hundred thousand. But I want profit sharing once everything’s operational.”
“Deal,” Daniel said.
Chapter 13
The television in the living room had been on the same channel for the past three hours. The images that flashed on the screen alternated between the two empty podiums and the news anchors filling in the time with their own predictions of how the debate would occur.
Two men and two women, with enough makeup on to hide any sign of age or blemish, went back and forth on the issues at hand. A blonde woman whose hair remained in place no matter how she moved was arguing with an older gentleman whose teeth were as white as his hair.
“You really think that we can sustain a war right now on our own turf against an enemy that has nothing to lose?”
“We have to play to our strengths, and despite the decline in our military, we still have the best fighters in the world.”
“What about Brazil? Their water supplies have made them incredibly wealthy. They could start investing that money in weapons. And China has been a threat for years.”
“China’s massive population is causing too much of a problem for them to be able to focus on us. Their people are turning on them, and Brazil is a decade away from posing any kind of military threat. It would do us well to set up an alliance with the Brazilians now.”
The other male on the program chimed in. “You mentioned China’s population turning on its government. What’s to say that can’t happen here?”
The old man smiled. “Hasn’t it already? Have you not seen the news? The rioting about the exile of the Southwest? The water shortages? The war with Mexico? I would say we’re already on the verge of that.”
The blonde woman shook her head. “Those are symptoms. Symptoms of a much larger problem. This debate tonight is not about water or the war or the exile. It’s about the fundamental process of what our country was built on and the preservation of that. Congressman Smith has done everything to try and bring us back from the edge, and all he’s gotten in return are ludicrous allegations of treason, which he was of course cleared of.”
The other woman on the program raised her hands, trying to bring the tension down. “All right, guys. We’re approaching the beginning of the debate. It’s time for predictions. Bob?”
The old man clapped his hands together and rubbed them thoroughly. “I think Smith has an uphill battle. The treason charges really worked against him, and I don’t know if the American people trust him anymore. I’m going Jones.”
“Tim?”
“Jones is too much of a seasoned veteran. He’s been around Washington for a very long time. This guy doesn’t lose.”
“Kathy?”
“Smith. I think he’ll be prepared, and the American people will forgive him once they see the type of plan he has laid out. Jones doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Well, there you have it. No matter who our experts are rooting for, it’s going to be a heated debate, and from what I’ve heard so far, it’s going to be close.”
The panel of experts was replaced by an advertisement that pictured a family picnicking in a green field of grass. The scene was sunny, with blue skies, and each face was smiling. In the center of the picnic sat a jug of water, from which the son of the make-believ
e family poured himself a crystal-clear glass. The boy took a sip and smiled. Then the words “Keeping your family’s water safe for over one hundred years” appeared on the screen. The logo of the Strydent Chemical Company flashed on the screen, then the television switched to another commercial.
All of the color from Amy’s face had drained away. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes were glued to the television. Brooke took her hand and placed it over her sister’s. Amy looked up at her and tried to smile.
