With that last thought, George opened his eyes, touched his glasses and said, "Cummings."
"George?" the reply was quick and questioning.
"Francis, there's a serious possibility our network was penetrated. I want a full security scan and everything locked down tighter than tight. And before you ask, I've been threatened with sensitive information that likely came from our own servers. Work whatever magic you do and lock the systems tighter than they are now. And let me know when you find the hack. This is a priority one. Put your best people on this," said George.
George waved Sarah into the office while he was having the short conversation with Cummings and Sarah took one of the comfortable wing-back chairs in front of George's desk.
"You heard some of that. I suspect our computers have been hacked. Either that or there's a personnel leak that needs plugging. Gordon has data about the troopers we used." George paused a few seconds. "Shit!"
"Cummings." George opened the channel to his VP-technology.
"George?"
"Add accounting to that scan we talked about. Put it high on the list as a probable. Let me know as soon as you have anything. And then lock the damned system tight," said George.
"You obviously think a leak may have come from Accounting," said Sarah.
"I don't think we leaked, I think we were hacked," said George
"Same output," said Sarah. "I'm not sure where it's coming from, but I can guess who wants to tell the world."
"Well, he's getting data from somewhere for sure, but if we lock down our systems and do some personnel scans that should solve the problem. We just don't want to go off half-charged here and get the press riled up - there's nothing worse than motivated reporters," said George. "Understand?"
Sarah nodded but didn't respond.
George looked at her and wondered what was going on in in that head of hers.
30/01/2047 07:15
Charlie Webster got out of his pickup, smiled at the old farmhouse, shot his fist skyward and pumped it twice in celebration. He assumed his wife Betty would watch for his first reaction after the meeting at the bank. And he wasn't disappointed as she pushed open the screen door and stood waiting for him.
After 5 failed harvests in a row, the farm's future depended on the generosity and goodwill of the bank. That, plus the fact the Websters didn't have a mortgage but only outstanding loans against the machinery gave the banker some leeway in loaning more money for yet another year of gambling on the weather and crops. The banker, Matt Edwards, warned Charlie however this was the last year he could extend credit on the machinery. Next year the farmland would have to guarantee the outstanding loans.
"We got it," said Charlie as he met Betty on the porch. "There's no money for the house like you wanted but Matt said he could advance us some seed, fertilizer, and fuel money until harvest time. That and a small monthly advance so we can pay the grocery bills. In the fall, he and I will walk the fields, take a look and see if the harvest will cover the cost of taking it off and making the payments. So we have this one last kick at it before we have to put the house and land up."
Betty didn't say anything, her face was drawn and tired as she leaned against the door frame. She held onto the open screen door, whether it was for support in standing upright or for encouraging him to come in out of the noon sun wasn't clear to Charlie.
"We talked about this. If we put the farm up, we'll lose it and the machinery. We can always find some work, find something to do to eat but if we trade this farmland for another shot at taking a crop off in this weather, then we'll be no better than my grandparents, the dustbowl Okies," said Betty, her voice rising. "You can't see you could lose this place, you're too much of an optimist but I know what the banks do when the weather goes against you. I heard those stories growing up and I know. " She stopped for a second, lowered her voice, "This farm isn't for betting. You're too damned optimistic and trust Matt too damn far."
"Matt's never screwed a man in his life," said Charlie. He took a step towards Betty. He smiled when she didn't move away but stood her ground.
She looked up to his weathered face, "He's your best friend, but he's a banker."
He nodded and stepped forward to take her in his arms. He smiled when she hugged him back. They'd be fine with a small bit of rain.
30/01/2047 10:15
The system shut down and more than one member leaned uneasily back in their chairs without knowing why. There was just something slightly "off" about this information from QuellCorp.
05/02/2047 14:00
Aleysha wore out her last pair of soft-soled shoes searching and hunting for work and food. She walked door-to-door talking to small shop owners but most wouldn't even talk to her. They took one look at the desperation written large on her young black face and sadly shook their heads. Given how empty their shelves were, Aleysha knew they were doing more head-shaking and refusing other folks like her than selling. She also tried in vain to get into the employment offices of every company within a two hour walk of her New York City apartment.
At the moment, not yet having hit the real bottom of her optimism but knowing the possibility was right ahead of her, she sat across from the local food bank worker and asked the same questions she'd been asking for the last two weeks since her last job disappeared.
"Is there any food you can give me for my girls? Have you heard of anybody hiring? You know I'm a good worker and I'll do anything. That last fast-food place just closed up overnight. They locked it, put a closed sign on the door. Just closed and disappeared. I didn't get paid nothing. And I'm all out."
The aid worker took one look at the earnest young woman across from her and began sobbing. Between breaths she poured out what both dreaded. "Aleysha, there's nothing here, nothing to give you, girl. We're all out of everything. Everything. I can't even get anything for myself. And I'm sure I'm going to be fired come Friday because there's no money. I just
don't know. Can't help." She lost her voice as her shoulders heaved up and down.
Aleysha shook her head, stood, reached over and patted the woman on the shoulder before walking out of the office. When both the city welfare and church food bank staff threw up their hands in frustration and anger she understood they had all reached the bottom. Aleysha knew for certain then, as did many other folks, hard times, very hard and bad times, were just around the corner.
As she walked home, she played the day's events over and over in her mind. The useless welfare worker said it was my fault for not going where there were jobs but she couldn't tell her where that was. Nobody I know can figure this out either. It's useless to keep going to the employment offices. They don't post no jobs and the stupid staff gets angrier and angrier the more I ask. Francine told me Canada had jobs and lots of food too but I got no money and no way to get the kids there. Shit, I don't even know if they'd let me in. Georgia told me the lines were days long and nobody got in unless they were Canadian. What we going to do? Momma's not doing well either. She don't have much food left but she said we could move in with her and she'd mind the girls while I kept looking. Even the church can't help. That poor girl was just as bad off as we are. The thoughts churned through as she walked.
She kept to the heavily travelled streets as she worked her way home. There might be a job posted in a window and she'd avoid or delay possible contact with any of the gangs.
The main streets were still kept relatively free of garbage. Once you got deeper into gang territory, garbage was only picked up once a month. There was no money for plastic bags, so people stashed stuff wherever they thought they could do it without getting hassled. And that meant the parks, no matter how small, were now stinking dumps that were best avoided during the night. Scavengers often left dead bodies behind as they fought for the smallest scraps. The city still picked up the bodies if they were reported.
05/02/2047 22:35
Later that night, Aleysha woke her girls up and said, "We're going to live with Gramma for a week or two while I find a new job. I want you to put your clothes into these plastic bags. I talked to Gramma, and she said we could sleep in her spare bedroom together. Yes, take your favorite doll and we'll go right now because she said if you came now, she'd have a treat for you."
The promise of treats and staying with their Gramma was all it took to get the six- and three-year old girls up and stuffing their few remaining clothes into the bags their momma gave them. This didn't take long with Aleysha's help. They had nothing of value left after trading the radio, tv and what little costume jewelry she had for a few loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Hell, they had little to start with, but they still owned their winter clothes.
She'd heard Franny next door had been turned out with only the clothes she was wearing because the poor bitch owed the landlord for two weeks rent. The landlord even refused an offer of Franny's "personal services" because he had so many options in that department. Aleysha decided she wasn't desperate enough yet. But the thought was there now and she couldn't deny she'd do it if she had to. If her girls needed her to.
"Be quiet now. We don't want to wake anybody up. So shush," she said to the irrepressible younger girl who was bursting with excitement now she was fully awake. "Take my hand. And take your sister's hand. You be careful going down these steps." Together the three of them snuck down the worn building stairs and onto the streets.
Aleysha, her younger daughter's hand firmly in her right hand and three green bags over her left shoulder, made sure the eldest was holding onto her baby's other hand. It would be a slow walk and she hoped to avoid any of the gangs straggling home after a party.
"The Lord will provide. The Lord will provide," she said to herself, over and over.
06/02/2047 07:00
The 52nd President of the United States, William Sherman Barrett, stood looking out his Oval Office window at the big expanse of brown, crispy grass. He felt like he'd just done a marathon run and was pissed off. Barrett had spent five minutes staring at himself in the mirror this morning and didn't recognize the face staring back at him.
He ran through the list: belt is out two notches, blood pressure up enough the doc wants to put me on pills, back to smoking, not sleeping, hair almost fully grey now and thinning. We can't disguise the bags under my eyes even with tons of makeup, and this morning's mirror told me I look twenty years older than on inauguration day. If I didn't know it was me, I'd barely recognize that old, stressed-out face in the mirror. How the hell do you make sense of all this shit he wondered to himself for what seemed like the hundredth time this week alone.
He turned as his Chief of Staff, Jack Hagin entered the Oval Office precisely at the regularly allotted time. Hagin threw himself into his favorite chair in front of the President's desk, and immediately began, "Mr. President, you already know Sir, the issues in New York City are at critical levels. If this situation continues, there will be serious problems in the city."
Barrett leaned back against the window frame. " 'Serious problems?' C'mon Jack, just say what you're thinking. I know you're walking on eggshells here because I look as tired as I feel. But you know the rule - say it plainly or don't say it."
Hagin, a short, slight man was known within government circles as somebody you didn't want to annoy. Independently wealthy, a Rhodes Scholar, he made a fetish out of speaking the truth and exposing stupidity wherever he could find it. His wit had left more than one news anchor or politician gasping for a rebuttal and seldom did one occur without further skewering. He had been the Chief of Staff for three presidents, but was tiring of what he called the BS-coefficient in politics. He'd hoped this one would have been different.
"Mr. President, if we don't get food into New York, a lot of it and very quickly, we'll lose control of the city. All measurements of crime - from rape to robbery and murder are at record levels and climbing. The cops are in fortress mentality. The gangs are armed almost as well as the Marine Corps. There's literally no food in the city. We've never seen civilian death rates this high. Sir, we are likely forty-eight hours, give or take a few, away from total anarchy."
Hagin took a deep breath. Looked directly at Barrett, raised one finger. "Sir, your choices are simple. Find food, get the food to the city." He raised a second finger, "Declare martial law to shoot those engaged in criminal activity on sight, or," raising another finger, "three, abandon New York." The fourth finger went up. "Or a combination of the above." Hagin finished, relaxed his hand and held it open to the President in an offering, "It's your call Sir. What do you want us to do?" He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head but never took his eyes off Barrett's face.
Barrett decided he'd sit for the next round. Pulled out his desk chair and sat. Elbows on the desk, he leaned forward, grimaced and said, "What's the grain going to cost us? And how fast can we get it to the city?"
"Sir, The Canadians say there are full grain cars at their deepwater port in Churchill but it will take them 48 hours to get them to New York City if you expedite the import process. They say they can get the grain rolling within 5-minutes of payment being received. We can do this directly or through our own supporters. And the cost - the bushel price has doubled in the last thirty days again and is currently at forty-two dollars a bushel. That Sir, is enough to make approximately 42 loaves of bread. "
"You mean it only costs us a dollar for every loaf of bread?" asked the President, "Good price. Let's do it." He leaned back and smiled. This was the first good news in this long damn week.
Hagin shook his head. "No sir. By the time you factor in the manufacturing, the profit levels and transportation, and distribution, the actual cost is around fifteen dollars a loaf today."
"Fifteen! What's our alternative?" asked the President standing abruptly, then leaning forward with his hands on the desk and staring across at Hagin. "I'm assuming the Canadians won't extend our credit."
"Sir, that's correct on the credit, and I've outlined your alternatives a
lready," said Hagin. He didn't break eye contact.
Barrett stared at him for a few seconds as the reality rattled around in his head. Then he stood upright, cocked his head at Hagin, broke eye contact to look down at his desk, and nodded. "Schedule a followup meeting with Gladys for later today. I want to think about this."
"Yes Mr. President." Hagin stood, turned and slowly walked out of the office.
Barrett watched him leave and when the door clicked shut, he sighed. His shoulders sagged a few inches as he let out his breath, and he turned to the window. The face staring back at him in the refection was worried. Staggering from crisis to crisis, watching citizens starve, die or kill each other was not the way this country should run. All he did was fight fire after political fire and even then, not particularly successfully. What the crap were his predecessors doing to allow the situation to get this bad? Shaking his head at his reflection, he grimaced and decided they were probably doing what he was doing - fighting fires and not thinking of the future.
He stood for a few minutes, staring out the window, blinking against the sun as his mind raced. Nice options we have here today folks. Nice indeed. Screw this. I don't like 'em one bit. But I'm damned if I'll be the first President to let a city go to full anarchy. I'll be damned if I'll watch this country dissolve into chaos without taking concrete action. And I'll be doubly damned if I let Americans starve to death so I can get money for reelection. Crap, even I have limits for how low I can or will bend over and this is too much to take.
He squared his shoulders, sucked in his recently sagging gut and took another look In the reflecting glass. Not bad, he smiled. Not bad indeed for an old guy. The smile disappeared and his face more resembled his army command face, the one that ensured his election.
2047: Hell In A Handbasket Page 4
