Cassy was a bit surprised. The “Empire War” seemed a good title, short and memorable.
Mandy added, “Let’s all pray the name never gets changed to be ‘the First Empire War,’ shall we?”
On that, Cassy definitely agreed with her mom. And the memorial would serve another important function, too—it would surely help cement the alliance, and it’d become part of the culture of the Confederation. People needed examples of heroes to identify with and emulate, demonstrations of honor, loyalty, and bravery so they could aspire to greatness, too.
But it also put the dot at the end of the sentence, as far as the Empire War was concerned, so that they could get a clean break from it. That was important, because life went on and there would always be more sentences in their history—she wanted them to be positive ones. The future was, for the first time, looking fairly bright. Sure, there were enemies still to fight or defend against, and other survivors to bring into the fold. But all in all, she felt hope again, and that was mighty nice. It had been a while.
Michael interrupted her thoughts. “So what’s this idea you mentioned about Clan expansion?”
“Simple. We’re the Clan. What if there were others? We found new enclaves, support them, train them in our ways. All these settlements, individually only bands, could be part of the Clan. The Taj Mahal Band, the Clanholme Band, and so on, just like Liz Town does it. All ultimately part of the Clan.”
“Well,” said Mandy, smiling at her daughter, “it’s a solid way to build for the future. And thank God we’ll actually have one, now.”
As they chattered about brighter days ahead, a Clanner brought in lunch from the outdoor kitchen. Fresh salad, sandwiches, Clanholme’s own apple cider… And not a drop of constant stew, thank goodness.
- 29 -
1800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +257
CHOONY SMILED AT the man serving evening chow as he ladled sautéed venison over rice onto his tray. He disliked the constant stew after half a year or more of eating little else, but venison wasn’t his favorite either. He’d rather eat grains and vegetables, but getting visibly upset about that would accomplish nothing, except perhaps to make the server unhappy. So, like most other hardships in life, Choony accepted it for what it was and tried not to judge it. And now, with spring arrived, the constant stew had some fresh vegetables and herbs in it, improving it over the bland gruel it had been for most of the winter. The Clan had greatly expanded their cold frame gardening program, so there were more of the basic garden veggies than he’d have expected, given the time of year.
After grabbing a few slices of bread and a pat of butter—real, fresh butter!—he turned to face the massive Army-surplus pavilion the Clan used as a chow hall. The thought of going in there, seeing so many people, having to smile at his many friends and well-wishers… it was too much. He turned right instead, and headed toward the Jungle. It was a huge area full of raised planters, sunken planters, barrel planters, and self-selected ground cover. Its charm now lay in the fact that it was green again after a long and hungry winter. Bugs buzzed around within that maze, lizards scrambled about and birds flittered around as well. It was full of life, and that was just what he needed right now.
Choony followed the Jungle’s internal maze, taking random turns, until he found himself at a spot hidden from the mass of humanity nearby. The raised bed had a large flat rock to one side that made a perfect seat, though its real purpose was to catch the sunshine and warm up. This extended the growing season for nearby planters. He settled down, got comfortable, and set down his tray. The hot stew still bubbled. It would be a few minutes before it was cool enough to eat. That gave him some time to think.
And Choony needed it. His inner balance was now far from harmonious. He had killed another human being.
He caught sight of someone else coming around the corner, through the Jungle’s maze. Jaz. She wasn’t carrying a tray, so she hadn’t eaten yet. Choony felt a simultaneous thrill at the sight of her and disappointment that his solitude was being interrupted. He tried to focus on the former. “Hey, Jaz. Have you eaten yet?” Of course, he knew the answer to that, but wanted to find out why she hadn’t.
Jaz smiled as she approached, then she sat down beside him on the large stone. “Just not hungry. I thought I’d come kick it with you—if that’s alright with you, of course.”
“Always.” Choony would never turn her away, of course, but he sensed a tension in her bearing and thought perhaps she needed to talk, as much as he needed solitude. “You’re welcome to join me. Want a bite of my stew?”
Jaz wrinkled her nose at his tray. She really did hate that stuff… “No thanks. I just, you know, wanted to talk.” She looked over at him, frustration clear on her face. Choony turned to look her square in the eyes, giving her his undivided attention. Something was clearly bothering her.
“What did you want to talk about?” Choony asked.
Jaz looked down at the mulch that lay thick on the soil all through the Jungle. She kept silent for a long while, and Choony was content to let her speak when she decided to.
Finally, she said, “Choony, you haven’t been the same since the battle. And not just a little off. You’re really different.” Her voice faded.
So, she had felt the change in him as well, though he hadn’t wished to cast a pall over anyone else. She always could see into him. He looked away, uncomfortable, and focused on a bird circling above as it looked for some prey to eat. Birds killed. Wolves, too. All of nature, in fact, killed in defense or out of hunger. But they didn’t have the spirit of a human, so how could they understand that killing was wrong? With no soul to darken, they had no reason not to kill when hungry or afraid. Moralizing was the burden of mankind, and in Choony’s opinion, it was too high a price to pay for intelligence and self-awareness. He was aware that Jaz was waiting for something, but his mind was too jumbled to think his way through it. Or maybe it was simpler than that.
“Jaz, do you hate me for killing that man?” He kept his face carefully neutral.
“What? Don’t be silly. How could I hate you? I’m grateful.”
Choony sensed there was more to it than that, however, and decided this would be their moment of truth. He couldn’t put it off any longer—it was too disruptive of his Chi, his harmony, to let it rest there. “You’re grateful. But?”
He cringed, afraid of her answer. She would lie or she’d tell him the truth. Either way, he was afraid her answer would destroy him.
After a pause, she replied. “Choony… In your heart of hearts, will you ever forgive me for being the reason you took someone’s life? Did I survive that battle only to lose you?” She still looked away, now worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. She had tensed, her shoulders hunching forward, a picture of torment and misery. And the worst part for him was that he couldn’t blame her for wondering that.
“You know that my philosophy carries the weight of religion in it. Killing another stains one’s soul. No amount of chanting Amitabha Buddha’s name will impart enough blessing to wash that stain away. I won’t see the Pure Land, and must again suffer the pain of birth, the eight torments, and the suffering of death. Perhaps my Karma will achieve the Pure Land on that next cycle, but it won’t be this me who benefits.”
Jaz peered into Choony’s eyes for a long, quiet moment. Her eyebrows made it a sad look. Or anxious, perhaps. Then she added, “Choony, do you regret your choice?”
It was as though a heavy weight had struck him in the gut. How could she think that? Well, perhaps it was a reasonable question. How could she know his thoughts unless he told them to her? “No, of course not. Jaz, I made a choice, and I don’t regret it. How could I have chosen to watch him kill you? It has nothing to do with the fact that regrets accomplish nothing but to cause needless pain and suffering. He forced me to choose and I surprised myself at how quickly that decision came to me. I do wish the choice hadn’t been put on me, but I regret only that we were forced to fight this war. I would make the same deci
sion again, with no more hesitation than last time.”
Jaz smiled, bright as sunshine, and she darted forward to wrap her arms around Choony, almost knocking him over. She laughed, and it was contagious—Choony found himself laughing too, even while trying to keep his precarious physical balance. He failed, and both toppled over, Jaz on top of him still laughing.
Choony grinned at her open joy, and then realized the somewhat compromising position they were in. His eyes locked with hers by reflex, mind frozen with the wonder of what she would do.
Jaz, too, froze for a moment, and her cheeks flushed a bit, her skin showing a slight tint that in a lighter-skinned person would have been a bright, self-conscious pink. Then without warning, Jaz closed her eyes and leaned in until her tender lips touched his. At first he was stunned but then, as he unwound, he closed his eyes and felt her passion stream through him as he became lost in the kiss. It was everything he’d imagined, and more. A revelation.
* * *
The living room was in more disarray than Carl would have liked, with maps and papers everywhere. Battle maps, strategic maps, handwritten orders, proclamations. All the residue of a new Band leader consolidating power, and doing it in time of war no less.
On the couch, Mary Ann sat with her feet up on the overcrowded coffee table, leaning back with hands behind her head. “Thanks for taking time to meet with me, Carl. I know you’re busy.”
Carl nodded as he collated the pages of some new general orders from the Speaker to the Bands—a task Carl, as her right-hand man, got saddled with—and replied, “Of course. I appreciate you coming here. Funny thing, now that I have people to do just about everything I used to do by myself, I have less free time than ever before. Part of me misses my time in exile.”
Mary Ann smiled wryly. “You needn’t explain that to me. Leading a Band—or a town, in my case—is a 24/7 thing in the best of times. Add a war to that…”
“How are the Sewer Rats getting along?” Carl asked. There was a lot more he wished to ask, but preferred to play those cards close to his vest.
“You mean, why hasn’t Sunshine come by to see you in your new pad?” Mary Ann was a perceptive person, it seemed. Her grin matched her teasing tone.
Carl huffed. Oh brother, why even try? “Fine, yeah. Keep it to yourself, please. I’ve found myself getting rather attached to Sunshine. We’ve always flirted a bit, but when we were fighting on the wall, I found myself as worried about her as anything else. She’s rough around the edges, but she’s had to be to survive so long without a settlement to protect her… Hell, on her it just looks honest, not crude.”
“My lips are sealed. Hers aren’t, though. My informants tell me she speaks of you often, and seems as excited about your release from exile and your promotion as she is about her people being accepted as a Band, with all those protections and comforts.”
Carl felt his cheeks grow warm and his pulse quicken. He told himself he was being silly. He was a grown man, not a school kid. But he couldn’t help feeling excited to hear that. “I’ve been waiting for her to come by, but haven’t heard a word from her.”
“Jeez, Carl. It’s only been a day. She’s looking for the best vacant part of Liz Town to settle in. There are strategic, political, and logistical considerations, and she’s responsible for hundreds of people.”
Carl nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Hell, her Band was by far the smallest until yesterday, now with all the little knots of wildlands survivors that she knew joining her. She’s already bigger than Diamondback.”
“That would make those bastards the smallest Band again,” Carl said.
“Yes, I realized that.” Mary Ann scratched at the scabbed-over cut on her forehead, a memento of the siege even if it wasn’t a terribly impressive wound. “Like the Sewer Rats, all of us in Liz Town have some new things to think about. The future is coming whether we’re prepared or not.”
Carl put together the last of the handwritten copies of various orders from the Speaker to this Band or that, and set the stacks aside. He took a deep breath, snapping out of the half-daze he had been in from the monotonous task. “I wish I didn’t have to be the one to put all these stacks together for you. No offense,” he said.
Mary Ann shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. It won’t be long, though. Soon I’ll have an assistant with the right security clearance to handle this and you can go back to doing more important stuff like advising me. We have much to consider, you know.”
“Well, spring planting is going well,” Carl said. “At first, some of Cassy’s methods were a bit jarring and didn’t make much sense to a traditional small farmer, but the classes are helping a lot and our people are eager to learn more.”
“I can read status reports too, Carl.” Mary Ann took her hands from behind her head, her feet from off the table to set them on the floor, and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “I meant rearmament, and the whole ugly political situation.”
Carl stopped messing with papers. He really didn’t want to have this talk but, as the right hand of the Speaker, it was his job. It also helped the Timber Wolves immensely to know what was coming before it actually happened. “Rearmament. Politics.” He repeated her words and waited for Mary Ann to elaborate. He had an inkling of what was coming, from their prior conversations in passing.
“Yeah. We’re running low on ammo after that monster battle. And the region’s politics are unstable. The future isn’t written yet, nor is our role in that future clear yet.”
Carl frowned, and shook his head. She was right, of course, that they’d need more ammo soon. “We have some plans in place for ammo. First, we are already setting up reloading stations. Components are limited, though. Primer and so on. But there’s a National Guard station within striking distance. I intend to raid the hell out of it.”
“Timber Wolves, or Liz Town?”
It was a pointed question, and a loaded one at that. “Well, we’d obviously pay our scavenge tax. And what we don’t need ourselves out of our plunder, we’ll trade out honestly, first to other Lizzies, then to the Confed, and lastly to the Falconry.”
Mary Ann nodded, satisfied. “Yes, it has proven handy having a neutral trading hub nearby. We’re getting very good prices on finished goods from that ’vader general’s warehouses. Not Ree—that other one, in northern Pennsylvania.”
“We aren’t at war with the Falconry, so why not trade for what we need?” Carl was pragmatic. The threat of war was far away, and not likely to press into Confed turf again after the ’vader losses the one time they had tried. “The refugees sitting on the armory don’t even know it’s there, so I expect to get in and out without violence, if we’re lucky. If not? They aren’t Confederation, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“You’ve become hard, Carl.”
“Practical. There are still a lot more people than resources, and some of them will want what we have. We—the whole Confederation—must be able to protect ourselves. Better that we get the armory than someone else. But what of politics? That situation seems pretty self-explanatory. Not all that unstable, at least not locally.”
Mary Ann smiled wanly. “Self-explanatory? Perhaps. Certainly within the Confederation, I’m happy with our situation. Only the Clan ranks higher than us now, since Ephrata wasn’t much involved in the Empire War.”
“What else is there, then? Seems like we’re set. Future looks good. A solid foundation for our children’s children and so on.”
“Carl, you don’t think far enough ahead. That’s not healthy for a Band leader, especially not for the largest Band in Liz Town. The King Under the Mountain is still out there, still dreaming of taking over the world, or at least the corpse of the United States. General Houle in Colorado Springs isn’t going to give up just because we demolished their puppet, the Midwest Republic. And he’s still posing as a loyal American, which has fooled some people before and will again if he pushes the lie. The pols were using that strategy even before the
EMPs.”
“When Houle comes, it’s simple. We resist. We fight. We hold what’s ours, whatever it takes.”
Mary Ann let out a sigh. “It’s that simple and that complicated, at the same time. He’s in NORAD, safe and sound. He can keep throwing challenges our way at his convenience. If he wins one out of ten of those challenges, he still wins the game. We have to win every challenge or we lose.”
Carl frowned, his eyebrows scrunching up together.
Mary Ann continued, “Sorry, but we have to look at that. The only long term solutions I see are to either neutralize Houle… or join him.”
“And be a slave? Mary Ann, we will never join Houle. Timber Wolves will resist any such plan if it is made, and we’ll burn the joint down around our ears rather than let that bastard take over.”
Mary Ann laughed, then, which was pretty confusing. It was a good-natured laugh, sounding relieved. The tension had broken, it seemed. She said, “Good! The mighty tiger baring its claws. But I agree, we will never join Houle. But there will be those who want to, because he still has a veneer of legitimacy, though we both know how flimsy his claims are. He’s not even a real General now, just a slaver and a warlord.”
Carl felt the heat flow out of him, his heartbeat beginning to slow. Thank goodness.
“But I have a solution,” Mary Ann continued. “We take the fight to him. He can’t fight us here if we’re fighting him there.”
Carl frowned. “Sounds um… risky. And that’s not really true—ask Hannibal of Carthage. Or the enemy I assume brought a nuke into the U.S. to launch the first EMP.” He paused. “Or ask the Soviets, who broke their own back trying to conquer Afghanistan. And a Chinese officer sent to hold onto Tibet was being punished, not rewarded. Some places are simply impossible to invade successfully, and there are more like it. We should make ourselves into one of those places, not go out and invade others.”
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 41
