“UH…howdy Kyle,” the man replied, and then added nervously, “Is Coal with you?”
Kyle tried to stifle his grin and only half succeeded, the half-breed bounty-hunter having threatened to kill Jackson more times than he could count. Kyle doubted Coal would ever follow through on any of the threats; his tendency for violence tended to be more spontaneous, but that wouldn’t stop him or Kyle from enjoying watching Jackson squirm.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Kyle replied.
“Well…alright then,” Jackson replied, visibly relieved.
“So, what are you up to these days?”
“Oh, the Council has appointed me, Sergeant at Arms,” he said, patting the club at his hip.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I make sure everything is in order before the meetings, you know I set up tables and chairs. Then I make sure no one gets out of hand…and, I do other odd jobs around here,” he said.
“Well that’s good, I’ll make sure Coal knows where he can find you if he thinks he needs to. For any reason,” Kyle said stepping through the doors.
He glanced back and seeing how pale Jackson had suddenly become he smiled again. Once inside the chamber Kyle looked around, not finding Miles he took a seat in the top row. While Kyle waited a dozen or so people trickled into the room, taking seats at random, most appeared to be simply citizens interested in the proceedings. Shortly after Murphy was killed and the City retook the tower, these meetings had been packed with people. Most of the townspeople had been here to shower the Council with both praise and questions. How would the water be distributed equally? How long before the streets could be made safe? What was the Council doing to get the power to work again?
The newly elected Council had ridden this wave of hopeful excitement for the first few months. A dozen new city-wide ordinances were passed, more Black Jackets were hired, Anna’s clinic was formed, and most importantly everyone now had access to free water. But they weren’t without their dissenters, the most vocal of which was the town traders. When the City Council, or more specifically Coal, Kyle, and their Indian friends, took down Murphy, the Council had disbanded the use of the water chits as a form of currency. Equal portions of water were now distributed freely to anyone willing to stand in line for it. The move had in effect bankrupted the traders, and anyone else left holding a pile of the now worthless chits. The result was a disjointed and often confusing system of barter, and a lot of pissed off traders trying to eke out a living. The only exceptions the Council allowed were for public services, like the extra water for the horses that Coal owned, now leased to the Black Jackets and to Anna’s clinic, to pay blood donors and the like.
On the floor of the council chamber, a side door opened and an ancient looking Asian woman slipped into the room. In one hand she clutched a thick manila folder, stuffed with papers and had a handful of freshly sharpened pencils in the other. Nim was the council’s secretary, a position she held since before the fall. Though Kyle had never heard the woman speak, he knew from experience that the woman was shrewd and calculating, and Kyle wondered if she could have taught those politicians of the past something. If you never speak, you can never be quoted. Ignoring the members of the public already seated, Nim went about placing a sheet of paper and pencil in front of each seat at the desk before taking a seat at the far end herself.
Next to come through the door was Wadsworth, the gray-haired woman looked like a typical Grandmother, with short hair gone mostly to gray. But Kyle had learned a long time ago that she was one of, if not the, strongest voices on the council. While each member held an equal vote, her voice always seemed to carry more authority than the others. Wadsworth glanced up at the gallery, her eyes quickly settling on Kyle. The scavenger held her gaze, not bothering to look away, Wadsworth frowned at him before turning and moving to take her seat.
Another council member followed Wadsworth in, Johnson Kyle thought his name was. He was tall, and this was his first term as a City Council member, just voted in during the last election. Kyle had never spoken to the man himself, but he heard that Johnson had shaken things up. It was said that the man introduced a lot of new ideas that while well intended, seemed at odds with the rest of the Council. As Kyle watched, Johnson moved to speak to the seated Wadsworth, apparently attempting to continue an earlier conversation.
“It’s not that hard to understand, they’re not drinking the water themselves, they’re not taking bubble baths each day, it’s for the damned plants!”
“They’re entitled to the same amount of water as everyone else and not a drop more. If they choose to take that water and pour it into the dirt, then that’s up to them. But I’m not going to allocate extra water for that, especially when they intend to use whatever they can harvest for themselves. If they were sharing with the community, then perhaps, but as I understand it, they are not. Bring the matter up before the council if you like, do it today if you want, but unless you have anything new to add to the discussion, I’m still voting no,” Wadsworth snapped back.
Johnson raised his hands in frustration and then looking down the table pleaded, “Nin…”
The old woman never looked up from her paper, she simply raised a gnarled hand in reply, silencing him before he could even begin. Johnson shook his fist in frustration and then slumped down heavily into his chair next to Wadsworth, wearing the look of a petulant child.
The last members of the council to enter the chambers was Little Bird, the old woman wearing the simple brown dress and a necklace of thick beads that she always wore to council meetings. Following close behind her came Neal, it was the first time Kyle had seen the newly elected judge in his “official” capacity. Neal wore a dark blue body length robe with a wide collar, Kyle guessed that at one time it belonged to a church choir somewhere, and as always, he carried a wooden mallet, the closest thing he could find to a gavel. As usual Neal was yammering away, his voice going a mile a minute and as usual, no one was listening to the newly elected judge.
“… so, then I gave him a choice, do the time or try your luck in the desert with the raiders and the wild Indians! Well, you can bet your sweet patooty his tune changed real quick, and it was all yes your honor and thank you, your honor, after that.”
Little Bird’s expression remained unreadable, but even from his seat Kyle could tell that Neal’s chatter was irritating her, the thought made Kyle grin. When the last of the council members took their seat, Wadsworth glanced up and down the table and then announced, “Alright, I think we can begin.”
Her words were followed by the sudden pounding of a hammer, and every head quickly turned to shoot Neal a murderous look.
“To order, to order,” he began.
“Neal, that’s enough of that!” Wadsworth shouted.
Neal lowered his gavel and looking around sheepishly quickly apologized. “Sorry, old habits and all,” he said.
“Let the record show that Judge Neal, is also in attendance for today’s proceedings,” she began, but Johnson cut her off.
“He’s always in attendance, still thinks he’s a damn councilman,” Johnson muttered.
“But that he is here as an observer and holds no official capacity,” Wadsworth finished, shooting Johnson a dirty look.
“And that he understands that he will refrain from speaking out of term and banging his gavel, or he will not be invited back,” Johnson added.
“I will, I mean I won’t, I’m sorry,” Neal said, sinking down further into his chair.
Wadsworth shook her head again and looking down at the paper in front of her began to outline the meeting’s agenda. Kyle glanced back at the door, but still, there was no sign of Miles. For a moment he considered skipping out just as Coal had done, and Kyle had to remind himself that it was a long walk from across town for the old man, perhaps he was just running late. He settled into his chair and tried to pay attention to the matter that was being discussed on the council floor. It seemed a group of citizens had come forward, begging f
or the Black Jacket’s patrols to be expanded. A half dozen men and women spoke at length, each sharing stories of the violence and terror that the people faced that lived in the areas that were outside of the police force’s patrol. It seemed the industrial area to the south of town was having the worst of it.
“Every night, every single night, we lock ourselves in, wherever we can, and every night someone or another try to get at us, tries to take what little we got left, or worse. Your Black Jackets haven’t made the town any safer, they’ve just pushed the worst of them into a smaller neighborhood, our neighborhood,” one woman pleaded.
Wadsworth glanced down the table at her fellow councilmen and replied, “I think we understand and let me say that we are all very sorry for what all of you people have been forced to go through.”
“Are still going through!” the woman snapped.
“I understand that, and let me say that we are already working with Chief Rincone to get more Black Jackets on the job and to patrol as large an area as possible…” Wadsworth continued.
Kyle stopped listening about half way through the council woman’s response, he already knew how this story was going to end. They would offer their apologies, tell them what they had already done and what they eventually wanted to do, but nothing was going to change overnight. Part of the problem was that in ending the water chits and handing out water for free, the council had undermined its own power. The council’s offers of extra rations of water in exchange for services just didn’t carry the weight that it once did. Also, the fact that at its core, the Black Jackets were a street gang, and were adamantly opposed to allowing “Just anyone” to join was hampering Rincone’s recruitment efforts.
The debate ended as it began, with polite apologies, vague promises, and the witnesses leaving just as they had entered, frustrated. The next group to be heard was a delegation from the rooftop farmers, but Kyle had heard enough, he stood and was about to leave when Miles pushed his way through the double doors and dropped heavily into the seat next to him.
“Where in the hell have you been?” Kyle demanded.
“I had to get a few things in order before we brief the council,” Miles explained, holding up a battered looking manila folder.
“Brief the council? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Hush, I want to listen to this,” the old man hissed.
“Fuck my life,” Kyle grumbled.
The council meeting drug on, one mind-numbing debate after another, the frequency of Black Jacket patrols, the amount of trade accomplished this week with the Indian Nation, the words bled from one into another and Kyle mercifully slipped off to sleep.
Sometime later, Wadsworth announced, “Well that looks like everything on the agenda for today, I want to thank everyone that attended for their input. Thank you.”
A moment later Neal pounded his gavel against the table, eliciting a series of curses and shouts of, “Damn it Neal!”
The noise startled Kyle awake, he glanced over, and the wide-eyed look that Miles gave him told him that the old man had nodded off as well. Below them, the council members were all standing and preparing to escape the council chamber.
Miles painfully pulled himself to his feet and shouted, “I wish to address the council!”
The old man’s booming voice turned every head in the room, for a moment no one spoke. Then Councilman Johnson responded, “Come back tomorrow Miles, we’ve already adjourned for the day.”
“It pains me greatly to walk across town your honor, and besides, this won’t wait,” Miles responded.
Wadsworth looked up at the old man pointedly and then at her fellow councilmembers, she then sat back down. The rest of the council begrudgingly returned to their seats. The half dozen or so citizens still in attendance sat back down as well, their curiosity suddenly peeked by Miles' outburst. The old man looked at them for a moment considering and then spoke.
“I would like to request a private audience.”
Wadsworth glanced from the old man to what remained of the crowd, “That’s highly unusual,” she said.
“So is the matter that I wish to discuss,” he replied.
Wadsworth looked down the table at the other council members, “Any objections?
“Whatever gets us out of here faster,” Johnson replied.
Wadsworth nodded and looking up at the remaining citizens announced, “If you would all be so kind as to give us the room please, thank you.”
A series of confused and concerned looks passed between the remaining citizens, but slowly they began to rise and shuffle out of the room. A few of them grumbling about the public interest and politicians in general. Once they had exited, Jackson stepped inside closing the double doors behind him, his interest in the proceedings suddenly piqued as well it seemed.
“Happy?” Wadsworth asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Miles replied.
The old man began making his way down the chamber steps, pulling his leg behind him as he went. As he approached the councilmembers, Wadsworth asked, “Is this about the change in water distribution times?”
“It’s…related.”
“I for one don’t mind you changing distribution times as you deem necessary Miles, but as a courtesy, it would be helpful if you notified us ahead of time. Even just sending over a messenger would suffice,” Wadsworth said.
“At the very least,” Johnson added.
“My apologies,” Miles replied.
The old man opened his folder and began to shuffle through an odd assortment of papers and magazine clippings. He selected a hand full of papers and began to place them on the table in front of the city council members. Kyle watched from his seat with mild interest, still confused as to what he or Miles was doing here.
Johnson picked up the offered paper, looked at it for a moment and then held it up, the sheet showed the pencil outline of a simple circle.
“Congratulations, you’ve discovered a circle,” he said.
“Miles, why are we all holding pictures of circles?” Wadsworth asked, holding up a similar outline.
“Madam Councilwoman, the very reason I'm here, and the problem itself is that you are not.”
“Is this a joke?” Johnson asked.
“No, it’s quite the opposite, does everyone see the dates written in the corners of each sheet?”
Johnson frowned and looked at his sheet again, “April?”
“February,” Little Bird said.
“March,” Wadsworth reported.
Miles’s grinned and began recollecting the papers, taking them back from each of the council members in turn. Kyle couldn’t help but shake his head; Miles had always been a bit of a showman, he had run a museum after all. Then another thought struck Kyle, and he sat bolt upright, with the sudden realization of where this little presentation was headed.
Miles took the gathered papers in hand, tapped them against the table top for good measure and then help them up above his head. The chamber was lit by a series of long skylights and one of the beams of sunlight shined through the thin sheets of paper. Backlit by the light the circles overlaid one another, and it suddenly became clear, the circles were not the same, and they were not perfect.
Johnson squinted up at the papers, and then down to the old man, then shaking his head he began to stand, “I’m sorry to say this Miles, but you’re no Da Vinci, and I think that perhaps it’s time that we start looking for a new engineer.”
“Miles what are you trying to show us?” Wadsworth asked obviously frustrated.
“I didn’t draw these circles, I traced them. This is the pump’s piston, and as you can see it’s no longer perfectly round, it’s starting to deform. I have suspected as much for some time, but these last few months the problem has escalated.”
The council remained silent for a moment, the members each wearing looks that ranged from confusion to surprise, to sheer terror. Kyle put his head down in his hands, Miles had confided in him six months ago that such a f
ailure was coming, when the old man joined Coal and Kyle’s little escape attempt, but Miles hadn’t mentioned it since. Kyle had hoped Miles was wrong, he just wanted to forget, so much for wishful thinking.
“The pump is going to fail,” Miles said slowly, allowing the words sink in.
The council sat in stunned silence, each member undoubtedly running over what this would mean for the town and for themselves.
“Well, what about the other pistons?” Johnson asked.
“There are no other pistons, this is a single piston pump from the turn of the century, not a Buick,” Miles replied pointedly.
“And there is no chance of fixing it?” Wadsworth cut in.
“With the parts I have on hand now, none, even before I lost the museum, the pump was a one of a kind, an oddball in the collection. The best I can do is to keep cutting larger and larger gaskets, trying to make up for the wear pattern in the cylinder walls, but that runs its own risks.”
“Like what?” Johnson pressed,
“When the gap becomes too large for the gasket to compensate for, and it will, pieces of it will break away and get pulled up in between the piston and the cylinder. There it will get lodged, and then, well, let’s just say that you won’t want to be standing anywhere next to the pump when that happens.”
“How long do we have?” Wadsworth asked.
“Hard to say, maybe a week, maybe a month, if we take it easy on her. We run her for only four hours at a time, every other day, and break her down and check her every week. Also, I recommend that we immediately stop using the tower for distribution and start considering it as our reserve,” Miles said.
“You mean we stop handing out water rations?” Johnson asked.
“No, I mean we stop pumping water up the extra 150 feet into the tower, decreasing the pressure the pump needs to produce, at least by a bit. We’ll need to get together as many large containers, barrels, whatever we can at the surface, and start filling them right at ground level.”
“But it’s all just stalling, isn’t it? Once the pump dies, the water stops and the town, the people, this place is going to, Jesus, it's going to eat itself alive,” Johnson said shaking his head.
The Road North Page 3
