Anarchy in New Enlgand

by Joe Jarvis

  "Forget it, I don't need your money." It was tempting, but Trix wasn't a killer.

  The agents exchanged a short glance. "The money was to make this easy Trix, but we aren't asking," Agent White explained calmly. Trix just let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head once, still staring out the window.

  A long twenty seconds passed before any of the three moved. Finally Agent Orange reached into his jacket, and pulled out a large antique metallic finished Colt .45, and grabbed Trix by his hair. Before he knew what happened, the barrel of the gun was under Trix's chin and the loud click of Agent Orange cocking the hammer echoed through the bare room. Agent Orange was speaking loudly now, but articulately – not yelling. His jaw was clenched, and he was sternly instructing Trix.

  "You are going to go to the address in that envelope, at the time and date it says. You are going to finish off the lady that lives there, and you are going to take her tablet, and take every hard drive in her house, and delete all her files on clouds. You will then throw the hardware into Lake Quinsig, and take a pod out of New England. Then, you're a free man. Are we clear?"

  Tears were building up in Trix's eyes and he made a sound that sounded kind of like yes.

  "Are we clear?" Agent Orange was almost yelling now as he yanked Trix's hair back harder and pressed the barrel more firmly into Trix's throat.

  "Yes!" Trix managed to choke out, his voice cracking, and Agent Orange immediately let him go, and re-holstered his gun without another word. Trix put his head in his arms, shaking, still sitting on the edge of his bed.

  Agent Orange walked to the panel controlling the wall advertisements. He took a discrete card out of his pocket, and waved it in front of the receiver: there was money on the card, but nothing to identify the holder. He brushed through a few options screens, and picked a nice green field with flowers slowly swaying in the wind, and a blue sky with wispy clouds floating slowly by to replace the advertisements on the wall.

  "Here you go Trix. I bought you an hour."

  Agent White squatted down to Trix's level, and put his left hand gently on his shoulder.

  "It's just a job Trix, don't let it get to you." He patted Trix's back and with his right hand, reached into his pocket, took out a baggie and put it on the windowsill next to the ash tray.

  Agent White stood up, and left the room, followed by Agent Orange. Before closing the door Agent Orange looked toward Trix.

  "Don't make us pay you another visit Trix, and I'm sure I don't have to explain how stupid you would have to be to run."

  He closed the door, and Trix looked up to make sure the agents were gone. With tears in his droopy eyes he reached for the baggie that Agent White had left on the windowsill, and filled up his EZject. As his body slipped into numbness, an indicator in White's glasses went off. It showed him that the nano-tracker Trix had just injected into his arm with the drugs was active.

  Barry was inside his office adjusting his badge – this one with the Barry Arbitration logo – and looking in the mirror to make sure he was well put together. The reporters were waiting in the conference room, where cameras would broadcast Mr. Barry to the news stations, as was customary when high profile rulings came out of an arbitration agency. The reporters all wondered aloud to each other what the conference could possibly be about, since the murder ruling was not due out for another week or so. BA had been coy in getting the news to cover this announcement, promising a big story but giving few details. Molly watched from the receiving room at BER headquarters. Drake tuned in to the News of New England, which he owned a controlling stake in, to watch the conference.

  Barry walked into the conference room, and took his place in front of the cameras at the podium. He cleared his throat.

  "Thank you for your attention, I've called this conference to announce some troubling news uncovered in the course of arbitration between Atlas Protection and Coastal Security", Barry paused to take a drink of water, and wipe some sweat from his forehead. "In the murder case of Athena Sicily it was found that Atlas Protection manufactured evidence in order to frame Ted Lanta, having no other leads to go on, in the desire to appease the family of the deceased. Evidence suggests Ted was chosen to be framed due to Rand Atlas' investment in the Lanta family's brewing company, Illicit Liquors, with the intention of keeping Ted from taking control of the company."

  "When will the evidence be released?" shouted one reporter, in a frantic tone of disbelief.

  "Due to the sensitive nature of this investigation, and lack of cooperation from AP, the evidence of AP's wrongdoing will be withheld, pending further review. As of this moment proceedings against Ted Lanta are dropped, and he has been ordered released from Atlas Protection custody. Charges against Atlas Protection are pending. Thank you, all further questions should be submitted through my office." He walked away from the podium, ignoring the concerned uproar and questions being hurled at him by various reporters who were present.

  Back at BER headquarters Molly was wide eyed with mouth agape, paralyzed by shock. She knew something was not right about this, and had herself just finished an audit of Atlas Protection's proceedings, which AP had been extremely open about. Suspecting the worst of Barry, she decided to get Kitt's side of the story.

  Molly couldn't even get through on her two way screen to Atlas headquarters, waiting on hold for a half hour before deciding to go down to the office in person. The place was a zoo, with employees running from desk to desk, fielding calls on every available screen, and trying desperately to transfer the callers to the correct branch.

  "No, no it’s not true, we are asking for patience as this is sorted out."

  "There's no need to transfer, this is a just a mis- understanding."

  "The evidence was not released because there is no evidence. We are working on straightening this out, but it is entirely and categorically false."

  These lines and others could be heard throughout the office, like an echo that wouldn't go away. As usual Mr. Atlas' office door was open, and an unusually large volume of employees streamed in and out, with looks on their faces ranging from horror, to exasperation, to steady-handed concern.

  Molly managed to squeeze her way in to see Atlas standing at his desk propping himself up with both hands on the surface talking to someone on his video screen.

  "That's fine we can pay the extra cost, we just need it done as soon as possible. Thanks."

  "Mr. Atlas, I know you must be busy, but I was hoping for a quick conversation."

  "Molly, hi," Atlas greeted her, slightly distracted, though he still managed a smile, in a tired sort of way. He walked around his desk and sat on the edge. He was not wearing his typical badge, his hair looked messier than usual, like he had been running his hand through it periodically, and his sleeves were rolled up.

  "I think I can spare a few minutes for BER, especially under the circumstances," again the tired smile flashed across his face.

  "So I'm assuming it's not true?" Molly blurted out.

  "No, its not. We are trying to get that out to all the customers, but as you can see its a mad house in here at the moment. I've commissioned a review from Independent Arbitration, but obviously that will take some time."

  "I'll put out a headline about your review... we can't release it early, but I can at least get a press release stating that BER found nothing sinister in its latest review."

  "Thank you Molly, that would be great," Mr. Atlas replied somewhat lethargically, managing another smile – a real smile, as exasperated as it may have been.

  "And once the report on BA comes out, I know people will change their tune. He's getting downgraded." Molly was sure she would find enough to warrant a downgrade of BA, though she had not yet completed poring through Barry's records. At this point she didn't care how much time she needed to spend and digging she had to do in order to find the inconsistency in the finances. She knew the allegations against AP were false, she had seen all of AP's records herself, and known Kitt Atlas for years.

&nbs
p; "If it's not too late by then," Atlas replied, almost to himself, giving a slight shrug, a look of disappointment on his face. "And it’s funny, NNE has been repeating over and over that I own stock in the Lanta family's brewing business, like it’s a conflict of interest. But if they looked into it, they'd see I own, like, a few thousand dollars’ worth of stock. They are making it out like I have some stake in the future of the company. I wouldn't even notice if the company went bankrupt!"

  That's strange, Molly thought. Why would News of New England make such a big deal out of Atlas' tiny amount of stock in the company? Could it just be sensational reporting, or was there something deeper about the connection they were trying to draw?

  "Well, I'm sure you have plenty on your plate right now, let me know if there is anything else I can do to help," Molly concluded as another stream of concerned employees started to enter the office. She turned back before leaving and added, "Don't worry, you'll get through this."

  Mr. Atlas smiled and nodded as she left; she had a way of calming his nerves. Kitt admired Molly’s strong personality, and laughed at himself as he wondered momentarily what their interactions might have led to if he were 20 years younger. Atlas pushed those thoughts away, refocusing on the many issues at hand. Publications like BER are what keep situations like these from ruining honest businesses, he reassured himself.

  Five

  Drake met the CEO of Minutemen Arms, Mr. Patrick, in his office. Mr. Patrick was in his late thirties, tall, not bony, but not muscular. He had dark hair, and dark eyes, with a square-ish chin that made him automatically look confident. In the New England winter he would become a bit pale, and in the summer surprisingly dark. He and Drake had been friends since they started doing business together when Patrick started his security company a decade earlier. Drake had no children, and thought of Patrick as the closest thing to a son.

  They were having a normal jovial conversation about a car Mr. Patrick had just bought. Most people didn't own cars these days since there was no real need to with the extensive networks of magnet tunnels. Some people in rural places still found them useful, although anyone with enough money would generally just buy a skyship – a helium filled aircraft that differed from a blimp because it was not lighter than air, had wings like an airplane, and propellers for lift and thrust. Of course, Mr. Patrick also had a couple skyships; his car was just for fun. Cruising down the highways, you would generally only see one or two other cars every minute or so.

  Patrick's 300 horsepower coupe, reminiscent of an old corvette, ran on sea weed ethanol, the preferred combustible fuel due to the renewable nature of kelp, and because there was no wasted agriculture space or soil nutrients. Unless you wanted a muscle car, like Patrick, people would just get an electric one, since helium cooled nuclear power was plentiful, and broadcast wirelessly through Tesla inspired coils. Helium became a viable alternative method of cooling nuclear reactors once cheaper methods of helium production were streamlined a decade earlier; and since helium cannot become radioactive, it was safer than using water to cool the reactors.

  Wave power and windmills were still plentiful in coastal areas however, accounting for 60% of power in New England north of Boston. And hydroelectric plants on rivers made up close to 10% of New England’s overall power needs. Combustible fuels were only rarely used for power, generally to drive backup generators, or to power building and settlements that were remote and disconnected. But power wires were almost nowhere to be seen. Some underground cables still transmitted electricity to the Tesla electricity broadcasting coils, but essentially all electronic devices received their electricity wirelessly. Just like wireless Internet, sometimes the coils required a pass code to access the power.

  Patrick was relaying a story to Mr. Drake about nearly totaling his car in the process of trying to impress a girl he picked up. Most highways in New England, although updated, ran along the same old routes from pre-collapse. The main difference were the elevated mag tunnels in the median of each highway, or sometimes right above the road if the median wasn't big enough. The roads were paved in a type of ceramic that was pretty much just mud and clay with different types of common metals added, and heated to firmness while steamrolling. It was cheap to build, drained water, and lasted a long time, especially since traffic was relatively low.

  It was a little expensive for access to most roads, but companies sold subscriptions to bundle access if it wasn’t included in another service; Mr. Patrick could travel on almost any road in New England for $175 per month. The owners would have the roads patrolled to make sure users had paid for access. A radio frequency transmitter was issued to subscribers so security patrols could receive the signal, and if they did not, drivers would be detained and issued a fine by the road company.

  When Mr. Patrick's story about almost killing himself and the girl in a high speed wreck came to a close, and the pair's laughter died down, the conversation turned to the controversy surrounding Atlas Protection, and the ruling which had come out of Barry Arbitration the day before.

  "I've already begun picking up customers from the fallout," Patrick told Drake. "Talk about good luck on our part."

  "Yes..." Drake drawled with a smirk – his smiles becoming more frequent and noticeable over the last few days. "Quite our luck," and he accentuated the word luck while keeping eye contact with Patrick.

  After a brief look of bewilderment, understanding came over Patrick's face and he raised his head in an ah-ha sort of manner, before narrowing his eyes and nodding, with a sly smirk of his own.

  "And what about Barry? He must know he's going to get screwed sooner rather than later?" Patrick questioned.

  Drake sat silent for a moment, deciding how to advance the subject. "Well... Have you ever noticed that our two companies, mine and yours; our contracts cover more than half of the southern and western borders of New England, when you figure in our field offices for response and patrols?"

  "Are you saying it doesn't end with Atlas?" Patrick sounded skeptical but was leaning in with keen interest, eyes still narrowed, smirk still visible.

  Drake was still smiling. "I own route 90 and 84, you own route 95, 15, and route 1, and up further north there's barely any traffic anyway. So when we are talking about mag tunnel traffic from the New York City area, you and I control 5 out of 8 host roads, and the first pod station in New England for each of the 5 mag tunnels."

  "Is there a kicker you're gonna get to?" Patrick asked lightly still smirking. He was rubbing his hands together unconsciously.

  Drake laughed, "Well a good gambler wouldn't reveal his hand, but let's just say I've got an ace in the hole and when the smoke clears, you and I are gonna be the house."

  Patrick sat back in his seat and looked up toward the ceiling, thinking. He put his hand to his chin, rubbing it while thinking. "I think I catch your drift... but it sounds like we'd be taking a big risk."

  Drake nodded, "Yeah, it is a risk. But the less you know, the smaller your risk. I just need to know if you're on board when this ship sails."

  Patrick was nodding, but still looking past Drake, thinking. He licked his lips, leaned in closer, and looked at Drake.

  "Just give me a taste. No details, just the general theme."

  "There's a crisis: New England is being inundated with drugs and violence from New York City. We're the saviors."

  Patrick smiled wider, and again leaned back in his chair, once again delving into thought, with thin sly eyes, rubbing his shaved chin.

  "So I don't need to be in the loop – I don't want to be. I just gotta follow your lead when the shit hits the fan. And I get..." he looked at Drake curiously.

  Businessmen love to minimize risk, and maximize return. Patrick was a good businessman; smart, knew how to keep the customers happy, deliver what they wanted, and turn a profit. He was extremely wealthy, even more so than Drake. He had attained the most power this society had to offer, which was economic power.

  But in the old days, there was always more
power available, beyond economics; in economics you still had to get everyone’s agreement in each transaction – you just had an advantage the greater your economic means. But pre-collapse the best way to minimize risk and maximize return was to get the backing of the government – usually to subsidize your business or regulate away a competitor’s business.

  Here Patrick was, already one benefactor of his strongest competitor's (Atlas Protection’s) knee-capping. This sounded like a sure thing: either it works, and he gets power unattainable in a free society, or it fails, and he had nothing to do with it; complete ignorance. No money exchanging hands, no recorded communications, just a deal between businessmen. Drake's benefit was the cavalry riding in for support, and Patrick's incentive was being a foundational brick in the revival of the old power structure: monopolizing force, and initiating it without retaliation. Government.

  "How does, Minister of Transportation sound? No one moving about without your permission. Complete control of the air, sea, roads and mag system in all of New England."

  "Say no more!" Patrick had practically jumped out of his seat, beaming a smile from ear to ear. "Just give me the signal, and we are good to go."

  Drake stood as well, shaking Patrick's hand confidently. "We're looking at about two or three weeks out. I'll be in touch."

  Drake planned to escalate the unrest for a few weeks leading up to initiating New England borders. He wanted to have everything in place before he delivered on his promise to Barry. But the timeframe was short; he had to get rid of Molly and her information before the release of BER’s report on Barry Arbitration, and while the report was still under Molly’s control. Even though Molly usually worked on a shared file accessible via Internet, stored in a cloud, she still had ultimate control over the information and documents until it was ceded to BER for editing and publication. She could delete it all if she wanted to, up until it was due to Business Ethics Review, about a week before the publication.