2047: Hell In A Handbasket

by D. Frank Green

  The conversation ended, and the temporary network closed.

  22/09/2047 20:00

  George sat, makeup on, the lights bright and hot around him. Techs adjusted the overhead spotlights to cut the glare and rearranged the bottom lights, eliminating the shadows under his eyes. He was tired. It had been a brutal week of political infighting and he was the main referee and benefactor of the results.

  The tipping point had been when corporate donors got on the phones and made it clear to wavering Senators and Congressmen their PAC accounts would be significantly smaller unless this bill passed. He was worn out after the long week and wondered whether this fatigue was the job or his getting older. George swore to himself he'd play more basketball and do his workouts faithfully, starting tomorrow. With an audible sigh, he faced the cameras and brought his attention to the teleprompter.

  The voice in his ear-bud started the countdown. He listened and silently counted with it. The red light came on and he began.

  "My fellow Americans. You've likely heard the news tonight that Congress and the Senate have granted me full martial law powers for one month to deal with the New York City problem. There are two issues here I want to discuss with you. Like the last time I talked to you, I speak as your President and also as somebody who cares about this country and making things right. I also talk to you as a non-politician, a person who wants to get this job done and go back to running my company, playing golf and hoping for grandchildren to play with.

  The Joint Chiefs are steadfast in their refusal to order troops to attack civilians again. They have assured me even if they cut those orders, the troops will refuse them. My sources tell me this is true. There are two options. First, to ignore this problem. That's what's been done in the past. This means there will be no rule of law in New York City and even more people will suffer.

  Or, second, because the army won't help, we take a private force into the city. We pacify it as we have in other parts of the world.

  The House has passed a law giving me martial law for the next thirty days with specific responsibility to deal with New York City. I accept this mandate but while the mandate gives me national powers, let me assure you I'm only using them in for dealing with New York City. I am not interested in being a dictator so you folks outside the city can relax."

  He laughed and his eyes laughed with him, Charlotte said it was one of his most endearing qualities.

  "Well, I know you won't relax, let's be honest. You don't trust the government or me any more than I would in your place. So keep up your guard, keep your guns handy, but don't go shooting anybody who comes to your door at night. It will likely be your neighbor asking for milk.

  Understand, thirty days from now I'm giving this power back and I can guarantee New York City will not have a gang problem. Good night and God bless America."

  He sat, smiling into the cameras until the red lights flicked off and then he relaxed, looked for Hagin who gave him a thumb's up, and he then let his breath out in a big sigh.

  All he had to do now was deliver the troops and set this entire adventure in motion. He didn't want to spend any QuellCorp lives and after the lasers had knocked out most the gang members, he calculated it would be mostly mopping up the criminal small fish and showing the world that somebody cared enough to help.

  24/09/2047 07:00

  George leaned back on one of his office couches. Piles of paper filled the coffee table in front of him, a second large pile occupied the seat to his left and the smallest or "finished reading" pile was on the couch's right side. Working his way down the pile, it seemed just about everything that could happen was happening and the problems and their files continued sliding in, piling up like cars on a black-ice freeway.

  His Secretary's voice in his earbud broke his reverie. "Mr. President, your daughter is on the line. You have six minutes, Sir, before your next appointment."

  "Answer." The earbud responded saying, "Sarah Gwinnett."

  "Before you start, let me tell you I'm in a foul mood again. Every problem winds up on my desk. There isn't a single politician who wants to risk a real decision. Make decision A and the corporate donors for decision B are pissed. Make B and the A people don't speak to you. It bloody well ensures nothing gets done because every damn one of these politicians needs money to continue being a politician. It's a hell of a way to run a country. So, having said that, good afternoon. And what can I do for my daughter today?"

  "Not sure I want to talk to you if you're in one of 'those' moods," said Sarah.

  George could hear the laughter in Sarah's voice and not a single shred of sympathy. He sighed. Sarah was turning out like her momma. Neither or them cut him any slack when he got into one of his tantrums. George had to admit it was good for him but sometimes a little tough to take.

  Sarah continued. "Let me give you a quick heads-up with the good news. We have ten thousand troops here in Savannah. We're heading north tomorrow morning. I've tasked five thousand to New York and the other five will continue to Grand Rapids. I've patched the travel arrangements through the military and arranged for a handoff in Central Park. The marines will leave and we'll be given control of the city. That will happen two days from now in the afternoon.

  The rest of our troops will stay in place fulfilling our overseas contracts. If we need them, we can pull them back quickly but I don't see that happening.

  The tricky aspect is the use of the new AI lasers. I'd like our techs working with the air force when we employ them in the city. The lasers will save a ton of destruction if we can pinpoint whatever resistance remains. It would also be a great testing ground of their extended capability to co-ordinate lasers and ground troop activity. Can you authorize QuellCorp to coordinate with the Air Force laser staff?"

  George considered the long-term consequences of allowing QuellCorp to work with the laser systems and smiled. A lot of Generals over in the Pentagon would be pissed off when he took their toys away. But this was worth pushing those boundaries. He needed this weapon if he and his ultimate plans were to move forward because he couldn't allow anybody else to control those lasers. One of the oldest axioms in battle planning was whoever holds the high ground holds the key to victory. Satellite lasers were now the highest ground.

  "I'll give you Presidential authorization to access them for thirty days but I want well-hidden backdoors installed so we can get back in whenever we want to control them again. Put our very best and brightest on this. When I want those controls overridden and us to assume full control, I don't want any surprises. And put a push on hiring advanced A.I programmers."

  And with that, George realized he was working his new plan. With the lasers, his private army and the will to make America great again, he stepped over the line away from tradition and committed himself to righting all the problems. The relief he felt was palpable. His body slumped back in the couch and for the first time since he left Savannah, he knew he was on the right pathway. His path might not be the most popular but history books would justify his actions. He was certain of it.

  "Get our plans moving. Send the best members of the tech team to Washington now. Move them the fastest way possible, as in yesterday, and ensure they know what their primary task really is. Get the other troops on the road but tell them to take their time and move slowly. I'd like to have them close by Washington in the next few days but there's no rush. Give the techies enough time to get that invisible backdoor programmed."

  "Done. What are you thinking; you've got that tone of voice that says, 'There's something else interesting about to happen and I don't want to tell you about it.'"

  "You're right young lady, I don't want to tell you over this line. But you'll be the first to know our next step after your momma. It's only a tentative thought rolling around in the back of my mind and I haven't worked out the details nor talked to her. Now say goodbye to your President and get your ass to work."

  George heard Sarah laugh, but it wasn't the belly laugh of enjoyment, it was the
oh-shit nervous laugh she used when she was a teenager.

  "Thank you, Mr. President. It has been good talking to you, Sir. And give my love to momma, you old bastard," said Sarah.

  "Watch the 'old' girl, watch the 'old.'"

  George was rewarded with the right kind of laugh and silence as Sarah disconnected.

  24/09/2047 09:00

  "The President announced today the new Artificial Intelligence Laser Satellite Armament or AILSA as it's known in the military, has been shared under the joint command of QuellCorp and the Air Force. QuellCorp will likely use them against the gang-terrorists in New York City.

  This reporter has talked to those so-called terrorists and can confirm they're responding to unprovoked assaults from the police. City residents claim self defense now because the police continue their killings on the West Side. The assaults and killings resumed after the police headquarters destruction.

  The gangs have vowed to defend their city and claim to have neutralized AILSA so it won't work against them.

  There is a lot of speculation here about what QuellCorp plans to do with the lasers and what the implications are for the country. Many don't believe President Gwinnett will hand back either the lasers or power when the thirty days are up.

  What we know for certain is that the QuellCorp troops are on their way north to Washington and have the most powerful weapons from the United States government. They also have the will to use them.

  This is Ed Gordon for ZeeVid news reporting from within gang-held territory in New York City."

  24/09/2047 10:00

  Ro watched the head of his tech geek squad come into his command bunker and smiled. At fifteen, Antoine was a skinny runt, but he was the future of gang weaponry and had made Ro and his gang rich with his penetrations of banking systems. In another world, the NSA would have scooped him up, but he was a security risk by the time he was six and a full, but unblooded, gang member by eight. When it came to computers and code, every techie in the gang was in awe of the kid's raw, but untrained talent.

  With a sigh, Ro focused on the kid's face and asked, "What are you bringing me today? Do I have the lasers?"

  He watched Antoine struggle to admit defeat and smiled inside himself knowing the kid was getting a dose of humility delivered by the advanced programming of the NSA geeks. In the shadow world in which the kid lived, he'd just lost a round of the latest game, "Own the Lasers." Score NSA 1, Kid 0. But Ro knew his people needed those lasers. Badly.

  Give the kid serious training and he'd be unstoppable. A wave of fatigue and doubt almost swept Ro's optimism away and all he could see was this kid genius, who was the most bloodthirsty damned kid he'd ever known, as the future of his gang. And the worst thing was Antoine knew it. He knew Ro's skills were in the taking of things by force while his were in the realm of stealthy electronic violence. There was no doubt in Ro's mind which was the most profitable and the least dangerous. He was a cocky little bastard though. Sooner or later he'd cross the wrong member, one of the blooded ones, and would pay the price of being taught his place. But today was not that day.

  "Haven't gotten in yet. It's complicated but they're better than I thought. I'll keep working on it. I'm bringing a few of my team to help and we'll crack it open for you. Promise. They're giving QuellCorp access so there's bound to be loose ends in the transition," said Antoine.

  Ro knew what the kid wasn't saying was the QuellCorp techs were easily as good as the NSA ones and getting better faster with all their new hires. Antoine also hadn't mentioned QuellCorp approached him last week to join them. Ro smiled. At least the kid knew enough to refuse because he wanted to keep his balls. He rightly decided if he crossed Ro and the gang, his balls would be the first part of him the guys would take as they, so-called, convinced him, to come back home.

  "Keep at it. I want you to crack that open. Seriously, I want this done, and done now. And by the way, you turned down the QuellCorp job offer, but you didn't tell me they'd approached you," said Ro.

  He saw fear flicker across the kids eyes. It quickly came and disappeared but Ro saw it, understood he'd hit the mark and waited to hear the response. It wasn't long coming, and the voice had lost its edge.

  "Yeah, they offered me a good chunk of change but I'm your guy, Ro, I'm not interested in another job. Just didn't think it was worth telling you," said Antoine.

  Ro smiled at kid's attempt at casualness. He could see the beginnings of fear and doubt in Antoine's eyes as his pupils contracted and the kid glanced down and away as he made up his story. Ro evaluated the kid, deciding what to do, his predatory stare in full force measuring the kid as a potential target or a valuable asset. The look on the kid's face showed he too understood what was happening. The question, "prey or asset" was a primary lesson every gang member learned, and the kid was clearly scared of the answer going the wrong way.

  Ro's face remained grim as the kid shriveled under his evaluation.

  "Sorry, Ro. I should have told you. When another headhunter calls, I'll let you know right away. I'm your guy," repeated Antoine.

  Ro looked at the shaken young man, decided the kid was properly chastened, and smiled. "Look, we all make mistakes. It's good you've learned something new today," he said.

  Now it's time to build him back up, Ro thought.

  "You're a valuable member of the team here. And big companies ask valuable members to leave or to give out small favors now and then. But our people also get favors they need and deserve from us. So when you get us those lasers, you name your favor. Anything you can imagine is yours," said Ro.

  Ro watched the kid's face relax and break out in a massive smile.

  "You got it. One set of lasers targeted for delivery."

  24/09/2047 13:00

  "Thanks for taking this meeting," began Speaker of the House, Charles Campbell, offering his visitor a hand in greeting. The handshake done, and without waiting for a response he knew wasn't coming, he continued, "My recording systems are off. But feel free to run a signals blocker."

  Chris Mason, the President of the Senate, nodded. He pulled a small, flat 2-inch square device from his pocket, pushed a button and everything within an 8-foot radius became a dead zone for electronic recording. He set it on the black marble coffee table in front of the couch and sat, leaned back and crossed his legs. Without having said a word, he nodded again and gestured for Campbell to begin.

  Taking a seat facing him, Campbell said, "Let me get right to the point. We won't be best friends any time soon, but we have a serious problem that needs a solution. Gwinnett is far too popular and this dictator thing is out of control. We need to put a stop to this and we need to do it now in any way we can.

  I've been talking to a few contacts over at the Pentagon and my concern is shared from top to bottom over there.

  The problem is Gwinnett's popularity is skyrocketing and the people love him. But we can ignore this sentiment. Most of the militias don't trust him and the Forces are split. The Air Force loves him because of the damned lasers but the rest of the officer corps hate his guts. The Defenders are against him in principle but agree with his tactics to date.

  There's no VP to take over, so I'm next in line. You won't like it but that's the hand we're looking at. If I take over, I'll bring you along as V.P. That's a promise.

  Gwinnett is no fool. He understands the issues, problems and has a solution in mind. And that solution likely means establishing a dictatorship for life. I don't give a flying load of shit what he says, it's what he does that counts. That good old boy schtick only goes so far; that sonofabitch is a serious player and he's not giving up the reins. Period."

  Mason nodded, a faint smile curled around the edges of his mouth. "This may be the first time we've agreed on something in a goodly while," he said. "Your meeting, your agenda, your solution," he finished.

  Campbell nodded in return. "Fair enough. Here's what I propose. We do two things. First we work our networks to undercut his support. We can't stand up against
the popular support but we can start stories that will erode it.

  We support the Sworn Defenders and ease their way. This may mean looking the other way, but doing nothing overtly illegal on our part. What they do is up to them. Who knows what they'll do, but they're effective as hell as Barrett found out.

  Second, we lobby the players, lining up votes. This will take some serious horse trading but I've spoken to a few of the big money boys and they're happily on the fence at the moment. Which, as you know, is an improvement over a month ago when George was their crown prince and they were fighting to get their cheques into his hand.

  Gwinnett is one of their own but they're afraid of him. Anybody who controls a friggin' army can't be trusted no matter what the polls say. You should have heard Arnett when I told him how George loved those lasers and what they could do. He said he was going to get a hydroponic farm and ranch house built at the very bottom of one of his mines. Fear is a wonderful thing to build on y'know. If our best people set a few stories loose, you never know where they'll wind up.

  I suggest we set our campaign information teams to work. They know how to craft stories, how to get them into back channels and to the ears of those who matter."

  Mason nodded. "I've been wondering how long it would take before somebody else started thinking like this. Can't say I like it but as you say, this is a hand we're dealt. And it could indeed be a winning one. I'll talk to Jeffreys and have him contact Gregory. If our two Chiefs of Staff can't figure something out, nobody can. Nothing in writing of course, I understand that, and I'm not sure I can trust you to support me. But then again, if I'm VP. and can't defend that,then I don't deserve the spot."

  Campbell nodded. "Oh, I'll support you. I may not like you overly much but my word is still good. You do your part and I'll do mine." He stood. Raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.