by Ginger Booth
The immediate problem was that we needed to turn off the indoor grow lights. My house would lose all electricity. I’d always started my transplants indoors, so as not to take up garden space with puny seedlings. Planting seeds left wide swaths of bare soil to degrade. Better to transplant out, for most crops, especially with our truncated spring growing season. This year, Trey and Alex would have to rely on the professional greenhouses down by the reservoir to produce their heat-loving transplants, the tomatoes and peppers and eggplant.
Scratch the peppers, too. Early tomatoes, maybe. Just a dozen, for family use. Maybe two potted eggplant, so they could be dragged into a garage for safekeeping if needed. Anyway, they’d have to buy those transplants or do without. It was too cold outside for those seedlings. And outdoor sun it would have to be, given the power cuts. Under glass. Seedlings wouldn’t do well at all in the bitter dry wind. And they’d have to cart them indoors for freezing nights, and some days, for another month I guessed.
And that was quite a bit to cart. On my recommendation, Trey started five hundred cabbages, and a few thousand onions. Later, there would be lettuce as well, just for family consumption.
I strolled around the house, feeling the wind. I waved to older Mr. Napolitano down the block. Alex himself solved the problem of the obnoxious Hightower family moving in. He simply requested the Napolitanos bump them, pointing out that their livestock operations could merge. The Napolitano clan now inhabited three houses on the block. The livestock half of the farm expanded into the next block. I was impressed. Alex was growing up.
The south side of my house would be best for wind protection, but Alex’s house next door blocked the sun. Experimentally, I crouched by the south-facing retaining wall beside my driveway.
“Whatcha doing, darlin’?” Emmett inquired from the front doorstep.
I guess I’d distracted him from his report-writing. I was taking a break from that project. Sometimes a distraction helps me think better.
I explained, “Trying to decide whether to build a new cold frame or use high hoops to grow transplants.”
“New cold frame,” Emmett concluded. “There would be good.” He pulled on a jacket and looked over the problem with me.
By the time we’d discussed the options, that cold frame turned into quite an installation. No flexible plastic, because of the wind. Mostly sealed against the wind. Easy lift-up rigid clear polycarbonate top, with tie-downs to secure against the wind whether open, closed, or in-between. Sand-bag sides, or stone or cinder block, to hold heat and provide a base for the tie-downs. A raised platform for the seedlings, preferably tilted for sun exposure. Allow 50% more space for seedling flats than needed for the flats on hand.
Emmett smiled at me sideways, and whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “Trey should rent space at the greenhouse.”
For myself, I preferred having control of my own seedlings. I frowned. “Think that would be cheaper?”
“No. But they have everything he needs. Including expertise.” He pulled my arms to wrap around himself, then hugged me close, hip to hip. “Not your farm anymore, Dee.”
“I want to set up Trey to succeed.”
Emmett nodded. “May not be a gift you can give, darlin’.” He squinted into the wind. “Set him up with the greenhouse, instead. Partners nearby.”
“Was it this hard for you to leave our farm?”
“You mean here? It was October. It was in good hands, with you and Alex,” Emmett said. “And it wasn’t my farm.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t a farm at all, just a few livestock. Leaving the step-dad’s farm, though, that was hard. Mid-July, just like you did. Felt like I was letting down the plants and the business, on top of the people. And the livestock.”
I smiled. “What did your momma say?”
“That it wasn’t my farm,” Emmett admitted. “For all the arguments between us, seven years, it was the step-dad’s farm. His decision what to do with it. Always had been. Momma said to go find my life out in the world. Not look back.
“You know, it’s windy out here.” He tugged me back toward the door.
Inside, we shed our outer layer and hung it on the coat-tree. Emmett tucked a wind-blown strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t think we’d make it, when I left here,” he admitted.
“Really?”
He shrugged. “We’d been together, what, six weeks? Wouldn’t be the first relationship I lost to a deployment, darlin’. Even when I invited you to the Apple. I was sure you’d say no.”
“You looked terrified,” I teased.
“Uh-huh. And now you want to stay in the big bad city, leave this farm behind.” He waved a hand to his computer, inviting me to take a look. “Finished my recommendations, darlin’. On new Resco assignments.”
That was what propelled me outdoors on the seedling problem. Sitting here beside him, biting my lip instead of pestering him about what he recommended for us and Cam, seemed doomed to failure. If I stayed, I would pester. And I was too distracted to concentrate on my own work, summarizing data reports. I’d spent 10 minutes on a short paragraph on small hydro power before I gave up and stepped outside.
I plonked down on the carpet in front of his computer with great trepidation. My smile bloomed as I read. “You rat!”
35
Interesting fact: A typical full-bird colonel in the Hudson Army, like the U.S. Army before it, commanded a brigade of 4,000 to 6,000 soldiers, with a lieutenant colonel as deputy commander and a major as executive officer. Officers in the Resco Corps did not command troops. Their rank denoted their authority over other Rescos and Cocos and civilians – millions of citizens per lieutenant colonel. When a Resco called in regular Army forces, the troops arrived complete with their own officers, who took direction from the Resco.
“Sean got tied up, but let’s begin,” Colonel Pete Hoffman said a week later, promptly on time. We held this Resco leadership meeting remotely. Emmett and I joined the video conference from separate rooms in Brooklyn. With the New England lead Rescos joining us, the avatar side of the screen was fuller than it used to be.
The dry wind was taking a break, at least for the day. Some kind of near-cyclone weather front was visiting, dumping rain at an inch per hour. The meteorologists predicted as much as 8 inches of rain in a single day, nearly enough for a normal two months. Their prediction track record since the tsunami was dismal, but it was certainly raining in sheets. They said there were currently seven of the strange cyclones around the edges of the North Atlantic.
“Ash tells me the date of the big wedding is May 7th,” Pete continued. “Congratulations, Dee and Emmett!” He permitted a half minute for applause and comments. “Since most of us plan to attend, we’ll hold our next Resco summit in Brooklyn, on May 8th through 10th. We’ll start at noon to let the newlyweds sleep in.” Grins all around.
“We can’t all fit in Emmett’s house anymore, especially with the wives and kids along. So New England lead Rescos will stay at a new hotel, the New England House, also in Brooklyn Prospect. We will all stay there the 7th, to give the newlyweds one night off. Then Hudson lead Rescos will move back in with Emmett for the meeting. Plus Carlos Mora, but minus me, I think. Patty and the girls want to stay a few days, so I’ll get to know our new people at New England House a bit better.” He smiled at us.
“If anyone else wants to swap, that’s fine. In addition to New England and Hudson, lead Rescos from Penn will join us. Emmett, that includes Diego Sandoval from Philly, and Caro Drumpeter from Pittsburgh. Possibly others as we get closer to the day. I understand you invited some southern Resco friends to the wedding?”
“Yes?” Emmett said.
“Any lead Rescos are welcome to attend the first afternoon of our summit. And stay with us at New England House.”
“Thank you, sir!” Emmett was clearly delighted.
“Sorry I’m late,” Sean Cullen said. His face popped into pride of place, top left of the avatar table, before Pete and Ivan, Tony and Ash. “What did I
miss, Pete?”
“Wedding slumber party logistics,” Pete said. Sean smiled. “Ah, one more piece. I need to un-invite one person from the wedding. This is just too tempting a target for terrorism. Ivan? Because you and your family are in mourning, I hoped you might be willing to act as designated survivor.”
“Absolutely. For the summit as well?”
“No. You should be here for that. Brooklyn Prospect is secure. You can stay there during the wedding. Just not at the venue. Alright? Thank you. Your meeting, Sean.”
“Thank you, Pete. Wow, this is a lot of lead Rescos,” Sean said admiringly. “Remember when it was just the three of you?”
“Gives me PTSD flashbacks, Sean,” Pete agreed.
Sean grinned. “And what a successful group of Rescos, at that. I believe that Hudson can now safely claim to have the most, and best, Resco talent in America. I certainly hope none of our New England talent has been waiting on tenterhooks for this meeting, worried to ‘learn your fate.’ There was no intent to leave you in suspense. We’ve been awfully busy.
“But, I’m ready to announce some new assignments. Let’s start with promotions. Normally we do that bottom-up, but you’ll see why in a minute. First up, Brigadier General Pete Hoffman, top Resco for all Hudson. Congratulations, Pete. And they told you you’d never make General.”
“And I believed them,” Pete said, face beaming. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you,” Sean assured him. “Ivan, you and Pete hold the same rank, and you have more time in grade. Please accept this for what it is – the closest I can come to granting you compassionate leave. Time to recover from your poisoning, and the loss of your daughter. For now, you report to Pete, as top Resco of Massachusetts and Narragansett. You retain brigadier general rank, of course. All Rescos currently assigned to M&N report to you.”
Ivan smiled a little, and nodded. Clearly Sean hadn’t surprised him with this.
“Brilliant work in Boston, Ivan,” Sean continued, “and our hearts go out to you in rebuilding Narragansett. In case the group is wondering, this assignment is at Ivan’s own request. He has our complete confidence. He does not, however, have all of Massachusetts, just the Boston area. West of Worcester Mass will form the new…region, state, whatever…of Berkshire. Which retains its current lead Resco, under the command of our second promotion. Full bird Colonel Carlos Mora, supervising Connecticut, Berkshire, and Long Island. Congratulations, Carlos! Well deserved.”
“Thank you, sir,” Carlos said, and accepted congratulations all around.
“I need to back up a moment,” Sean said. “Back to Ivan. At this time, I am adding you to the Hudson succession, Ivan. You will be number two on that list, replacing Tony Nasser. Who is more engineer than general, I think?”
“Yes, sir,” Tony laughingly agreed.
“The Hudson succession is now Ash Margolis, Ivan Link, Pete Hoffman, Emmett MacLaren. Should I fall, I trust you all will give your absolute, unwavering support to this list of successors, in order.” He paused solemnly as the group nodded.
“I have to ask, Sean,” Ivan said. “I will of course support Ash. But please explain to us the logic of Ash and myself being ahead of Pete on the succession, when we both report to Pete.”
The other Rescos from New England looked grateful that he’d asked.
“Good question,” Sean allowed. “Ash was willing to do it, and be my lieutenant governor, in essence. He manages diplomacy for me. What I look at is not who is most qualified overall, but who could best step in on the day the levels above him fell. Ash knows my job on the statesmanship front. With you and Pete to back him, he can demand obedience from the Army. You would be better, Ivan, but we’re granting you a light year for healing. If Ash and I both fall, that goes out the window. You have the rank and diplomatic credibility to handle the neighbors. If you fall, too, Pete wouldn’t care about diplomacy. He’d just get the job done. Emmett has less pull in the Hudson Army. But he has connections out of state. And if the rest of us fall, he can mobilize the people behind him.”
Ivan nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Thank you.”
Sean nodded. “John Niedermeyer,” he called out next. “Not my promotion to confer, of course. But congratulations are in order, for the new Coast Guard rear admiral of the East Coast.” As a chorus of whistles and cheers calmed down, Sean added compassionately, “Hell of a job, John.”
“It is. Thank you, sir.”
“Next promotion. I think Pete’s got a bit too much on his plate to continue as lead Resco of Jersey. What say you, Lieutenant Colonel Reg Washington?”
Our first black lead Resco, from Trenton, grinned broadly. “I’ll do my best, sir!”
“I’m sure you will,” Sean agreed as the round of congratulations died back. “Good work on the tsunami aftermath, Reg. Well deserved.
“Welcome home, Tony,” Sean turned to our other full-bird colonel. “It’s not a demotion.”
“I know that, sir,” Tony agreed, still smiling happily. “Believe me, I am more than ready to stop driving all over Upstate.”
Sean nodded. “We’re cutting Upstate in half. Tony will keep the tail of the seal that used to be New York. And Ash, as second in command of Hudson, I think it’s high time you were a full bird colonel, too.” Applause and well wishes.
“Thank you, sir!”
“But Emmett takes the Apple. You keep eastern Upstate.”
“Understood, sir.”
Clearly Sean had discussed these assignments privately before announcing them here to the group. With his hometown of Manhattan behind the epidemic borders, Ash had started the Calm with responsibility for the Poughkeepsie area, and his in-laws lived there. So he was going home in a sense. He would miss the Apple, though, and we’d miss him.
“Emmett, Dee? That city is powerfully fond of you. Wonder why?”
“We’re pretty attached to them too, sir,” Emmett assured him. I nodded happily.
“I believe we’ll split the northern Apple suburbs down the middle. Emmett, you take from the Hudson west, including West Point.” Sean grinned. Emmett was an alumnus. Sean’s last posting before the Calm was commanding the military academy, a traditional three-star general slot. “Ash, your turf includes the suburbs east of the Hudson, north of the Apple boroughs. But you’ll work closely with Emmett, please. He and Dee are our experts at suburban agriculture.
“Tony, Ash, have you decided on names for your regions yet? West Upstate and East Upstate sound lame.”
“Finger Lakes,” Tony supplied.
“Adirondacks,” said Ash.
“Nice. The border between these regions will remain pliable.
“Bob Brazeau?” Sean continued. “Your work in Hampshire and Vermont is outstanding. I look forward to getting to know you better. You’ll report to Ash Margolis for now.”
“Yes, sir,” Bob acknowledged.
“And Cam,” Sean pressed on. “Young, young Cam.”
Cam laughed silently.
“I really thought today I’d be sending you to Narragansett, and Dwayne to North Jersey,” Sean said. “But in his recommendations, Emmett reminded me of something. You – all of you – are not traditional officers anymore. You are Resco officers. You are placed in communities, ideally ones where you have personal ties. To throw in your lot with them, build strong relationships. The bonds we normally form with our troops, you were asked to transfer to your communities. Your Cocos, militia, civilians. The fate of your families hangs in the balance, for how well you perform your tasks. Your spouses, your children and extended families, are your full partners in rebuilding your districts.
“Hudson will not split families. And I believe we should be reluctant to part a Resco from the community he’s embedded in. Dig in, plant your roots deep, build those ties. Treasure your communities. You need each other. And Cam, I’m very much looking forward to what your fruit-eating ecotopia on LI comes up with next.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam agreed.
“In case any o
f you new people missed it, Cam is our usual spokesman. And Emmett’s lovely bride Dee runs the Amenac–PR News Internet empire.
“Dee and Cam. I want you to present this next part to the nation via PR News. So listen up. To our new national priorities.”
36
Interesting fact: Though untouched by the tsunami, the low-lying Gulf coast lost significant land to sea level rise. South Florida featured a wide bay separating Naples from Miami, where the Everglades used to be. A new shoreline ran from Houston to Baton Rouge. The whole Mississippi Delta lay underwater, including New Orleans. The water rose slowly enough for people to evacuate safely there. Ark–Lou–Sippi maintained iron control over pre-planned relocation. The Republic of Texas lost most of its barrier islands, and let cities decide whether to welcome refugees or not. Most cities welcomed some and turned others away.
“We’re here in the Resco Manor in Brooklyn Prospect, speaking with Lieutenant Colonel Cam Cameron of Long Island. We meet again, Cam,” Amiri Baz greeted him.
“Great to be here, Amiri,” Cam assured him.
“One foot graduated, I see,” Amiri said.
I bid the cameraman zoom in on Cam’s foot, in a soft suede shoe instead of an army boot, but wiggling in a circle to show off its restored mobility. The other leg was still ensconced in a walking cast.
“The doctors promise I’ll be able to dance at Dee and Emmett’s wedding,” Cam said.
“Where you’ll be the best man, I understand,” Amiri prompted.
“I will, yes,” Cam agreed. “It’s quite an honor. I’m told Emmett selected me out of a list of twenty. That man has a lot of friends.”
“But you’re his best friend?”
“Ah, apparently a number of the others said, ‘What, you’re not choosing Cam?’ Emmett took the hint, I guess.”
Those were nearly the exact words I used on Emmett. I also reminded him that we were using this extravaganza for PR purposes. His best man to speak to the press. Cam was ideal for prince sidekick in the royal wedding party. The question of who was or wasn’t Emmett’s best friend, after Zack, didn’t need to be answered for this exercise.
