Dark New World (Book 4): EMP Backdraft

by Henry G. Foster

  The Liz Town rep set down her tea cup and said, “I hear you have some new neighbors. Anything you need help with, or are they friendlies?”

  “Yeah, we helped them set up on an empty farm to our west, or southwest rather. They were refugees looking for a handout when we met them and they turned out to be well behaved and hard-working. They’re respected now in our territory, once we introduced them around. We’re helping them set up with permaculture there, in the Clan fashion. Come spring, they should get completely self-sufficient, for food anyway. They were cul-de-sac neighbors in the suburbs who held together, kind of like we did out in the woods when the EMP came. They’ll buffer our western border, and Liz Town’s southern flank too.” Frank nodded to Cassy, indicating that he was done.

  Cassy had watched the other reps’ faces while Frank spoke and saw envy but no indignation. They were all friends here, and it seemed that would continue. A very good thing. She set her cup down, rapped her knuckles on the wood T.V. dinner tray that served as her recliner end table, and smiled around at the group. “Now that we’re all caught up and the general plans are in place, I’d like to discuss the reason the Clan invited you here again to talk instead of setting up a radio conference.”

  When everyone looked at her and none objected, Cassy continued. “In one of the nearby deserted farms, we found a small stack of printouts showing a roadmap of the area. Based on the information we got from you and our scouts, we’ve added the little survivor groups we know about and I added the new ones you reported this morning. It’ll give us a good strategic map. We put other things on the map as well, anything we thought might be important, such as areas where we’ve heard about invaders looting.”

  The Clanner handling refills of tea and muffins went around the group with printouts, each with hand-drawn additions that wouldn’t reveal that the Clan had computers and satellite access and other such working tech-world goodies. No way Cassy wanted that information just floating around out there, tempting the wrong parties.

  Frank added, “We sent a single copy to the Falconry—old Cornwall—even though they’re officially neutral, to help them send their wandering traders out. As you see, we’ve added almost two dozen dots for different survivor groups, with rough estimates of population. We also sent an envoy with a blank map to Lebanon, hoping to get information from their side of the world and maybe get them to join our meeting here starting next month.”

  Brickerville’s rep frowned. “You didn’t ask us how we felt about talking to Lebanon. Or Falconry either.” His body stayed relaxed, Cassy noted, so hopefully he didn’t feel insulted or threatened and just wanted to make a point—they were allies, not subjects. Allies need to be consulted on the “big” moves.

  Frank spoke up then, in his role as the Clan representative. “No, we didn’t ask. But we’ve dealt with the people of Lebanon before. They’re a lot like Liz Town in many ways, and they’re holding off the bad guys from our north. They’re out there mostly all alone and could use any help we give them. Also, they helped Clan envoys headed elsewhere when they didn’t have to. But as the meeting coordinator told us, the map we sent them didn’t have all these details on it. Better to receive info than hand it away, right? Unless they join us.”

  Cassy continued as though there had been no interruption, still with a pleasant smile. “As you can see, we added a bunch of notes too, from the information we got while our people were at the Falconry. The Clan hopes to get the same kind of information out of Lebanon. That puts the total of other groups at twenty-seven so far, plus all of us. We all have radios, but they don’t. What I’d like is for each of us to invite a half-dozen or so of these little groups to report regularly to one of us, whoever is closest, and for us to pass useful information to them. Get them used to us, and used to working with us. The idea is, they’ll share their information if we share ours, and it’ll benefit everyone.”

  Cassy waited for anyone to speak up with questions or objections, but the other reps stayed quiet, waiting attentively. Of course they’d figure she still had more to discuss, or they wouldn’t have been invited to attend in-person meetings. Ethan would just have coordinated secured radio talks.

  Finally she continued, “I see there aren’t any questions yet. Then it’s onward to the main reason I asked you all here, beyond just being time we got together again. First, we have all this new information about other small survivor groups but no plan for dealing with them. Right now, we’re all in the “divided we fall” category, and we should be using them as canaries in the coal mine. That means helping them survive while they can. They can be recruited as our forward observers, and our buffers. Most of them, being survivors, will be hard-working, no-nonsense people. And we do know they aren’t raiders, or we’d have heard about or dealt with them already. It’s likely many or most of them would be eager to set up deals with us.”

  A murmur arose around the coffee table, until the Liz Town representative spoke up and said, “It seems to me, if we can make them friendly and they want to keep to themselves, more power to them. Seems to me they’ll trade for our goods, diffuse any attacking forces, and yeah, be our early warning canary. Makes perfect sense, yeah?”

  Ephrata stood, taking the speaking position. “And just who gets to deal with these small survivor groups? They’re a valuable resource and Ephrata, being bigger, needs more resources. But they’ll be a burden, too, if they’re in bad shape. Your odd smallholding farming methods are spreading fast, but not everyone knows about them yet. People are hungry out there.” He sat down.

  The others, she noted thankfully, remained silent and waited to see how Cassy would react. “I see your point, but haven’t we had enough in this world of the strong taking the most benefit? No, the survivors should set up first with whichever of us is closest, if only because it’s safer, and we should favor those who have fewer resources. Isn’t that what’s best for us as well as for those survivors? We need to consider what’s best for them if we’re going to bring them into our fold. We can handle any imbalances between us like we do now.”

  Brickerville then stood, looking at Ephrata. Cassy noted his jaw wasn’t clenched, eyes weren’t narrow, so she expected Ephrata would probably go along…

  “Frankly, Brickerville would be willing to donate—voluntarily, mind you—a share of our excess to go to whichever of our nearby towns need it most,” the Brickerville rep told the group. “That includes these small settlements,” he said with a fingertip tapping at the map in his hand. “What goes around comes around, we used to say. We help them, they’ll help us. But only with our surpluses. None of us are going hungry to help people who have never helped us.”

  It was Liz Town’s rep who first responded, snapping, “Yeah? And who decides what’s best, or what the priorities are going to be?”

  Cassy felt her heart leap. She had hoped for just this sort of opportunity, and it was the real reason she had called them all together. She wasn’t surprised that it had been Liz Town’s rep to bring it up. Those people were direct and to the point, a byproduct of their environment and the “Founder’s Principle” at work in that community. Keeping her face a mask of pleasant unconcern, Cassy stood and the others sat or turned to better look at her.

  “You know,” Cassy said, allowing her face to transition into concerned-mom mode, “this touches on something else I wanted to discuss. It all goes hand in hand. Remember that Ephrata young man who took liberties with a visiting Brickerville girl? We need a way to handle that kind of behavior, and it seems like the same solution could deal with Liz Town’s concern at the same time. It’ll get more important, too, if we set up an open market somewhere.”

  She saw the representatives lean forward unconsciously, listening carefully, and fought the urge to grin. Her idea for a confederation could find fertile ground here. She prepared herself to launch into the idea of forming into a confederation of states with rules and penalties, sharing benefits and responsibilities. She’d let Ephrata pick the name if it woul
d help secure their raw excess manpower for the whole group’s use.

  What appealed most to Cassy was that they’d all keep their independence and their identities in a confederation—no one wanted a central government anymore, not until the U.S.A. came back to life. But a UN-like council at the top could distribute extra resources or manpower, handle intergroup conflicts, and collectively bargain with outsiders. And here they were, the start of the all-groups council they’d require.

  There was strength in such an arrangement, strength they’d all need to avoid being gobbled up whole by more organized, militaristic groups like the Empire. Cassy intended that the Clan would avoid that fate, which meant lining up the Clan’s neighbors and allies. Right here, right now, they had a fine start.

  The meeting wound on long into the night as they discussed ideas and details.

  * * *

  The general paced the short length between the walls of his pavilion tent, hands gripped tightly behind his back. “You are certain this Spyder was killed?”

  Gen. Ree’s latest aide, whatever his name was, stood stiff and out of the way of Ree’s pacing as he replied, “Several sources all state that Spyder was killed immediately after the Americans launched their own EMPs, my leader. It is said that the American terrorist, Major Taggart, is the one who ended both Spyder and his psychotic crony, Sebastian, and the bodies were strung up on street lamps to prove to all that they were indeed dead. For the soft Americans, it was enough to ensure the remaining citizens do not turn against him. I understand some now regard him as a hero.”

  “Then who is it being such a thorn in our side? I know when Taggart strikes because he leaves his calling cards and our intelligence is good, but someone else is operating out there now. Taggart is too useful to simply destroy. He keeps order while we pursue other ends. Otherwise I’d simply kill or seize his men and question them more thoroughly. As it is, we must rely on our spies to answer our questions.”

  The aide nodded. He lowered his eyes and said, “Forgive my ignorance, my leader, but is it not possible that destroying Taggart would be beneficial? We could end his threat and secure the information you seek, all at once.”

  Ree looked over at the aide for the first time during this conversation, evaluating. Was there a hint of too much ambition in this man? But his aide’s eyes were properly averted and his slumped shoulders showed he had the proper level of fear when addressing him, General Ree, the Great Leader of New York State until such time as communications were once again possible with Korea. Fear was good; it meant the man must feel strongly about what he suggested. He might be wrong, but he was being honest, not ambitious. You couldn’t always tell who to trust in these difficult days.

  Ree adjusted the already-meticulously placed lapels on his field uniform. “Well, your opinion is noted. I will give it the consideration it warrants.”

  Ree pretended not to notice the aide’s faint smile. Such a statement was high praise, coming from Ree. The aide would likely brag about it over American beer and cards after his shift, but let him. There was little enough to be happy about in this forsaken, miserable country, even before the Americans paid the whole world back for the righteous crusade of a few. Ree had never been one who thought America would just die peacefully in its sleep, anyway, so their occasionally fierce points of resistance were not much of a surprise, nor was the EMP retaliation. He had taken what preparations he could and left the bigger morality questions to the Great Leader. May the missing communications be reestablished soon!

  Ree sent his aide out for refreshments and welcomed his last visitor before lunch, the commanding officer of his production department, Major Pak Kim. “Welcome, Kim. Come in and be at peace.”

  Kim had the slightly oval eyes of one of the tainted, those unfortunate families that had suffered certain abusive liberties at the hands of Western troops during the Great War. Though the North had defeated giant America, winning had come at great cost…

  “Annyeonghaseyo. Thanks to my older brother for his hospitality, my General.”

  Ree was clearly not related but he admired Kim’s friendly greeting, offered with such style and humility. Kim was a good officer. “My younger brother is welcome in this house,” Ree replied, formalizing the exchange. It let the officer know he was welcome and fondly received, but not so fondly as to be casual in Ree’s presence.

  Kim bowed. “I have the reports the general requested. Firstly, the numbers for New York. The population is reduced almost precisely as planned. There remain only some six-point-four million living residents, according to our data. This of course does not include the two million blessed ones of the People’s Worker Army in New Jersey,” he said, the state’s name sounding clumsy on his Korean tongue.

  “As expected. Your words fall like rain most welcome. But tell me, how are our P.W.A. lesser brethren going to meet their goals? I assume my little brother has these things well in hand. Forgive an older brother for asking.”

  The last thing Ree wanted was to irritate the major to the point of disrupting finely laid plans, and the man was known to be prickly. He could be replaced, but he was brilliant at his current post and replacing him would risk disruptions. Better to offer honey than vinegar, as the Americans said—at least, better when here in private.

  Kim stood tall and snapped his booted heels together, standing at attention. That boded well, Ree mused. It likely meant he was proud, and that meant he had succeeded in meeting the goals supposedly handed down through Ree by the Great Leader himself…

  “General, it may please the Leader to hear from you this glorious news. Our requisitioning efforts have stripped the supplies of all who do not side with you to a radius of twenty-five kilometers. We now have enough food to last ourselves and the Worker Army until more can be harvested, and we had greater success than we had planned for in terms of harvesting fish and other foods from the ocean. Fish density must be rising, which was not factored in. Please, Big Brother, do not punish those below me for this failure. The mistake was mine, and I beg the forgiveness of family.”

  Ree felt irritation, but of course no expression of emotion ever crossed his face unless he willed it so. Discipline such as that was the reason Korea stood in triumph at the end of the last great war with America and why it would do so again when this mess was over. It was indeed a failure to not factor in reduced human population on the quantity of fish and such, though. Had Ree known, more people could have been saved—and thus used—through the People’s Worker Army. Still, it would have been much worse to overestimate supplies.

  Ree said gently, “Many civilians will starve needlessly now, outside of the warm embrace of the Worker’s Army, because of your failure. Yet it is done and there is nothing for it. War is chaotic and not all can be foreseen. Strive harder now for the Great Leader and his plan, that you may atone for this error in the eyes of your ancestors and descendants.”

  The remainder of the conversation went more or less as expected. Ree had ordered the creation of many small slave labor camps, scattered all over the area just outside of the urban sprawl, to demolish and clear away whatever buildings would interfere with the upcoming spring plantings. It had worked well, despite the raw manpower required to set it up. His soldiers guarding the workers could now focus on the region’s perimeter to keep starving people out, New Yorkers bottled in, and a few small central bases spaced regularly throughout the interior to keep the workers in fear enough to motivate their work efforts. Such “castellation” had worked in ancient Korea and even medieval Europe, and it was working again here. Ree allowed himself a small frisson of satisfaction, but of course he didn’t allow it to show on his face.

  After the briefing, with the appropriate formal bows, Kim left Ree’s quarters. His aide returned with lunch shortly after, somewhat cooled as the aide waited politely outside for Kim to leave. Fish, rice, and some odd American vegetables. Ree, of course, had all the soy sauce he wanted to cover any unfamiliar tastes.

  While he and his aide
ate, they chatted about unit positions and other strategic concerns, it being Ree’s duty to help his minion’s skills grow so that he might be of more use for the Great Leader’s plan here. Between dishes, Ree said, “I have considered your earlier suggestion and have decided that the terrorist Taggart’s uses outweigh the risk he poses. Can you perhaps guess what my thinking is on the matter?”

  The aide was silent for a moment, thinking before he spoke, which was a fine quality in an aide. Then he said, “My general, I am not qualified to have an opinion, but may I ask questions and see whether my logic is sound?”

  Ree nodded once. “Little Brother is wiser than he knows. By all means, let us share our knowledge with each other.”

  “Could it perhaps be because you are able to guard his targets with those troops who have doubtful loyalty to the Great Leader’s plan and to your authority in his name?”

  “Yes, that is one reason, and a large one. I usually know when and where this bandit will attack, so I can remove the most valuable supplies and guard what remains with traitors and the lazy. Sloth is greed, and is also thus treason.”

  The aide nodded at the old saying by sheer habit. Everyone knew that it was each person’s responsibility give their all for the state, so it could in turn use those efforts for the benefit of all. “Then there must be more to it or you would be pleased with my question, General. Is it because his forces, terrorists that they are, take supplies from the people to care only for themselves? It seems to me that he can only take what the stealth of the greedy allowed us to miss. By leaving the American terrorist in place, they take those supplies, which makes the People more loyal than ever to our benevolent guidance. By coincidence, it also punishes those who disobeyed anti-hoarding edicts meant for the good of all.”