by G. R. Carter
“I don’t feel very tough right now, Uncle Jack,” Alex replied.
“Ah, but you hold the power of life and death in your hands. You feel each and everyone don’t you? Each person you kill and each person you spare. What’s the right decision for each? Will mercy come back to haunt you someday? Will the ghosts of the dead do the same?”
Alex looked at Sam, who was finally able to pull himself away from the windows to watch Uncle Jack. The ARK consigliere’s speeches were famous for both entertainment and for the lessons they taught. Seldom were they missed on purpose.
“Listen to me, Alex. Your father would want you to feel each decision. And I personally would be quite disappointed if you didn’t. When a ruler loses touch with the smallest of the people affected by his decisions, he becomes a tyrant. I don’t remember anyone ever telling you this would be all flowers and fancy clothes, eh?”
Alex ceded the point with a simple nod. Uncle Jack continued. “Sam was telling me about the problem you have with Sheriff Olsen’s son. Your friend Eric? Son, listen, a young man like that can’t let go of the selfishness, can’t see the bigger picture. He decided to save a few lives because it made him feel better. In the long run, a whole lot more people could suffer because of it. Eric will always lash out at the closest threat. Be a hammer in search of a nail, you see?”
“You think he can’t be trusted?” Alex asked.
“His loyalty isn’t a question, it’s his actions. He’ll always convince himself he’s doing it for the greater good when really he’s feeding his own anger,” Uncle Jack replied.
“Where’s the anger come from? His dad was the Republic’s cofounder. Alex and I have always treated him as a brother and as an equal,” Sam interjected.
“Regardless of what he says, your actions won’t affect him. He’s this way because…well, because he’s just this way. Humans can’t be explained away or put into neat little categories. Leaders are always trying to group their people together so they’re more easily managed. That’s been tried since the Old Testament, and I would know...I’m so old I was there!” Uncle Jack joked, trying to break the dour mood. “Don’t misunderstand me, gentlemen. Eric is a good man overall and an asset to your Republic. He just has to be put in the proper situations and managed appropriately. You sent him to work with the Buckles instead of up north? Good instincts and good choice by you. Just keep an eye on him, though, or you’ll have a contingent of Buckles in your office complaining about Eric bashing their heads in for being disagreeable.”
“Julia is good at keeping that kind of thing in check,” Alex replied.
“Yes she is, but just remember that you can’t pick up the video phone and conference with them now. Communications are spotty at best. And a lot of damage can be done in a couple of weeks or even days,” Uncle Jack said with his finger shaking up and down at them.
“You volunteering for the job, Uncle Jack?” Sam joked.
“Not a chance, my boy! You should see my penthouse, second only to the almighty Premier of ARK over there,” he said, pointing to Tony. “I’m not trading the best views in the civilized world for a bunch of hills and apple orchards!”
The floor lurched beneath them, nearly knocking each to the ground. They could hear the engines roar to full throttle and the nose of the craft go nearly 45-degrees at an upward angle. Then the pilot executed a turn, giving the observation deck floor a slight side slant that caused Alex to go over on one knee. Sam tried to get to him and steady him, nearly falling on him in the process.
“Report!” Tony shouted to anyone who could hear.
“Look out the window, sir!” a crewman replied in a tone acceptable to an absolute leader only in times of crises.
As they all glanced out the shatterproof glass they could see the threat. The huge conflagration they witnessed before had become a multi-story tsunami of flame and smoke quickly gaining on the lumbering skyship.
“I should have thought of that,” Sam shouted over the noise of the engines. Breaking glasses and plates jarred loose by the evasive maneuvers added to the sounds of panic. “Hold on, the pilot will get us over the flames itself but the thermals are going to be intense.” For a moment, Alex thought he almost spotted a look of eager anticipation on his pilot brother’s face.
Any enthusiasm for the experience quickly drained from Sam as the floor shook and then plunged. Just as quickly, it came back up to meet them and then Alex felt himself forced by gravity to the floor. He closed his eyes and began his prayers to calm already frazzled nerves. As quickly as it began it was over and once again the subtle hum of the engines returned as the craft leveled out. A series of short inquiries to health and wellbeing amongst the group ended as Tony marched to the control room to get the scope of damage to his fleet. He was joined by a slightly limping Nicole with a murderous look on her face.
The other three returned to the windows in time to watch the flames march toward the thirty-story tall Pinnacle hotel that towered above the rest of the city’s downtown. The flames seemed to wash over and consume everything, leaving barely a stick to smolder in its wake.
*****
Aldo Pavoni’s Personal Quarters
Continuity Chamber
Pinnacle Hotel
Aldo Pavoni sat in a circle made up of his closest advisors. Most made the original trip with him from St. Louis to begin his mission mentoring the GangStars on their Path to Continuity. He sat as the group hummed together and he meditated a picture of renewal in his mind. He had received no guided Progressions from his mentors in St. Louis since the Reset. Fortunately he was experienced enough to design some for himself and to lead others through ones he already completed. He needed their energy now as he searched for a way to rebuild what Malik Masen had so foolishly thrown away. Not only did they lose an army of crazed fanatics they spent years creating, but now the Red Hawks and their ARK allies knew precisely the threat the GangStars posed.
His intelligence fingered ARK for the ones who destroyed Pavoni’s mentors at the dawn of darkness, or what most called “the Great Reset.” He wanted to settle that score, and more importantly, reclaim the headquarters for Continuity’s Midwestern mecca. He pictured in his mind the great temple to his faith he would build just below the still-majestic Gateway Arch. MK Consultants once showed Pavoni a set of plans for building a multi-story temple they hoped to build on the grounds someday. The entire structure would provide a circle of power just like the one he sat in now.
The Continuity Circle was on every door and wall here on the sixth floor of the old downtown Pinnacle Hotel. Occasionally they would make the trip to the very top for some amazing views. But the lack of elevators to carry them three hundred feet in the air left that as an occasional treat. Instead Pavoni had the entire fifth and sixth floors converted to both his personal living quarters and the meditation retreat for everyone in the GangStar inner circle. The interior chamber was windowless to prevent distractions to their meditation.
Pavoni searched his mind for a path to lead him to his ultimate goal. Once he reclaimed St. Louis and got his hands on ARK’s super computer, he could spark GRAPEVINE’s Awakening, ushering in the golden age promised by his faith.
First, though, he had to figure out how to fix Malik’s mistake. ARK would make their move sooner or later and he had to be ready to either preempt it or counter their efforts. He’d gather any survivors from their failed attack on the Red Hawk capital. Most of his hardcore followers died on the walls of that fortress. And the ones easily influenced by his last supply of Syn threw their so-called lives away trying to get in past the Philippi gates after the truck bomb went off. He still wasn’t sure what kept that from working. Something prevented the gates from opening all the way, leaving his attackers a narrow opening to try and get through. That along with ARK’s arrival snatched defeat from the jaws of their victory.
He told Malik not to trust Walsh and his vision of a rebuilt America. More importantly, he assured him that the whole thing was too complicated
an operation to pull off in a world with essentially no communications. Besides, Walsh seemed to be utterly faithless, meaning the influence of Continuity would be lost on him. Why foster a relationship with a man who couldn’t see the path to enlightenment?
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the chamber doors being thrust open. His advisors gasped at the intrusion, and Pavoni jumped up in a rage. Everyone in the building knew never to disturb him when he was in here. Before his eyes could adjust to the light, he heard screaming from all around the adjoining hallway. Rushing out he found his followers pressed up against the glass windows, watching as the largest fire he ever seen made its way towards them.
“Up! Everyone up the stairs!” he shouted as he headed for the emergency staircase. Pushing his way through, he flung open the heavy steel doors and began leaping the concrete stairs two at a time. He could hear others trying to make it into the opening, trampling each other in the panic that his own words created. Fatigue set in quickly. He had admittedly let his physical training slide a bit recently. An oversight he would never let happen again if he made it out of this jam. Huffing and puffing, he watched the number cards climb…Floor 7, Floor 8. He wondered how much time he had and how high the flames might reach.
Suddenly the thought came to him that he was going the wrong way. If the building caught on fire he would be trapped above the flames. The realization that he could have made it to the basement below the fire struck him like a hammer. Pavoni froze on the tenth floor landing, trying to decide what to do. The herd of fleeing people he set into stampede quickly overwhelmed him. He sat wondering what went wrong as one set of feet after another stepped on his body.
*****
“Will that thing burn?” Sam asked as the firestorm reached the base of the tallest building between ARK’s headquarters and the ghostly shattered skyscrapers of Old Chicago.
“It seems like just concrete and glass...maybe inside?” Uncle Jack replied.
Just as the words came out, the flames reached the building's cylindrical base and wrapped around. The group collectively gasped as windows exploded outwardly and then fingers of flames seemed to reach into the building itself. In the concrete and steel of the inner core of the city the fire wall dissipated, replaced by each building exploding into its own separate pyre.
The candle-shaped tower in the center of town was consumed one floor at a time, gaining a bit of speed as it climbed. Nicole gasped and Alex glanced just in time to see someone jump from a damaged window. The figure tumbled down towards the smoldering street below, choosing sudden impact over the fire’s advance.
“I don’t want to watch this anymore,” Alex said somberly.
Tony simply nodded and walked once more to the pilot’s station. In just a moment, Alex could feel the skyship shift and point its nose toward the southeast and home.
What just a couple of hours before had been a nest of vipers now seemed much more human and tragic to him. He suspected the whole group felt the same way. There weren’t many people left in this part of the world. Good or bad, Alex now felt responsible for making that number smaller today.
“Sam, we have to have those elections. For the House of Neighbors. We have to get some sort of assembly to be able to keep the Founder’s Chair from being too powerful,” Alex said to his brother.
“Why did that pop into your head? Why now?” Sam replied.
“We’re getting better at killing people every day. Now we’re beginning to spread out again and grant people title and status based on how much land they have. That’s how our Republic’s built. But it can’t just be me with the final word,” Alex sighed. His head was pounding again. Sam noticed his pain and reached for the bottle of precious pre-Reset ibuprofen he kept for just such a situation. Alex sat down and closed his uncovered eye for a moment.
“You and I may think we make the best decisions for everyone. Maybe we do. But what happens if one of our kids is a screw-up? Give him or her the power of these skyships, or the Raptors, or our Razorbacks, and what could they do with them?” Alex asked with a shudder. He continued as Sam looked on: “We criticize Walsh for running a dictatorship. Same with Hopkins in Vincennes.”
“And us, too,” Tony said as he joined the conversation. “We’re feudal, I know that now. Nicole’s been giving me some reading material and suddenly I’m feeling very squeamish about what we’ve created.”
“We’ve all done what we needed to do to keep people alive, Tony,” Alex said, suddenly thrust back into being the voice of reason. “But maybe now that we don’t face starvation every day we can worry about some big-picture kind of things.”
“I will admit I’ve been thinking a lot more about what happens to ARK after I’m gone. Almost losing you made me think about who takes over. Nicole should, but I’m not sure she’d want to. Uncle Jack won’t. Who does that leave, Cousin Bobby? My sister? I love them both and they’re a huge part of ARK. But are they cut out to be Premier? I’m not sure I’m cut out to be Premier!” Tony laughed.
Alex simply nodded. “My dad’s dream was a true republic. We call our nation that, but is it really? How do we get there?”
Sam stood up. “Right now, big brother, you are the Republic. And if I don’t get you some rest, the only person more powerful than you is going to blame me. I’m not scared of you, but I am scared of her. Come on, let’s get you laid down for a while.”
Alex rose to his feet and glanced back at Tony. “The people, my friend. We have to protect our people from rulers who think they have all the answers just because they have all the titles.”
Tony watched with concern as Alex shuffled wearily to the doorway leading to the staterooms. As he did, Nicole walked up beside him and took his hand.
“It’s time,” she said.
“For what?”
“To start thinking about not just ARK but our personal future, too. All three of us,” she said as she moved his hand to her belly.
Chapter Twelve– Red Hawk Rising
Fortress Farm Shiloh
Three Weeks after New America Invasion
Hank Tripp watched a tan and green mottled bulldozer bellow black diesel smoke and inch steadily backward. A mangled gray camouflage Humvee slowly emerged out of the deep ditch where it landed after its mortally wounded driver lost control. The four human occupants had been removed days before, turned over to the American burial crew tasked with escorting their fallen comrades back to the Memorial cemetery in Lincoln City. That was officially Red Hawk territory now after the Gray invasion was repulsed, but the order had come from Republic command that all Americans be allowed to continue with whatever traditions they wished.
The Humvee rocked to a rest on level ground, and the old man driving the bulldozer lowered himself down from the driver’s seat. He went to unhook the tow chain from the front of the bulldozer while a younger assistant checked over the remains of the rescued wreck.
“Sheet metal’s all tore up,” the assistant shouted to Tripp and the old man. “But I reckon the engine and frame will be real good and useful, yup.” A big grin appeared from under the black ball cap with the white W on the front. The driver of the bulldozer wore the same cap, denoting both men as a Wizard. The Wizards scoured the now silent battlefield for any vehicles still able to be stripped for parts. Occasionally they came across one like this, damaged but fixable and able to someday return to action.
Tripp simply nodded to the men and watched as a diesel truck with a lowboy trailer pulled up alongside. A fork truck with large tractor tires strained to pick up the three-ton Humvee, finally wrestling the fifteen-foot long vehicle onto the trailer. From here, it would be trucked to the railroad loading yard in Tuscola and join several rail cars full of damaged vehicles on the trip to the Wizard’s repair yards sixty miles south.
Tripp was counting on the Wizards to provide his farm with replacement vehicles of his own soon. The recent battles cost him all but two of his armored vehicles, both of which still needed extensive repairs. His only
comfort came in the reasonable assertions that the Grays would be in no shape to attack anyone for a long time. The Fortress Farms along the border had destroyed a still unknown amount of American equipment, and more important, had killed or wounded most of their well-trained Legionnaires. Besides, Lincoln City would be the first target if there was going to be another fight.
What concerned him most were his people. Seven dead and twenty wounded from his farm alone, including his wife’s nephew, who survived only one of the two planes shot down from under him. As a man who deeply loved the residents of his farm as more than just Tenants, he felt the loss of each person to the core of his soul. Meanwhile, the Land Lord side of him was nearly panicked trying to figure out how to get the spring crop in with so many talented and experienced people laid up in the hospital or worse.
Tripp felt a shadow creep over him and soon envelope the entire field where he stood. The young Wizard working on the Humvee waved and pointed up to something behind where he stood. He turned to see a giant cigar-shaped craft silently drift towards him. Calling up the memories of his youth, he remembered a similar craft used to advertise…a blimp. The skin of the craft was dark gray all over; only an A-shaped emblem with no crossbar appeared under the nose in a slightly darker gray color. Tripp marveled at the size; he was good at estimating length on the ground but had no experience judging the size of aircraft. After all, he hadn’t seen many except Raptors and Cubs since the Reset. But he guessed the length to be almost a football field. As the ship approached he could make out engine nacelles with propellers hanging from below.
Fear and adrenaline pumped through his veins as he thought to call for his men to return to Shiloh’s concrete citadel; he wasn’t expecting anyone but Martin Fredericks and a group of replacement soldiers to show up. The Fredericks he knew since his first tour in the Sandbox was a ground-pounder. Tripp couldn’t imagine him using a blimp for transport. He argued with himself briefly about the potential threat, frozen with fascination, until he noticed two armored trucks flying banners displaying a hawk emblem in burnt red headed up the blacktop road towards him. Relief washed over him, remembering the reason the catch apparatus was installed on the top of his tallest silo. There was one nation that had proposed using skyships for transport amongst remote farms such as Shiloh. “ARK,” he said out loud to no one in particular.
