Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  “Second, I understand there were inter-religious conflicts within the militia, that led Beaufort to authorize single-sect units. That led to a religious instead of military chain of command. There, I think he should have fired any militia who engaged in religious conflict, and disbanded whole units if need be. Ceding military control is not an option.

  “Lastly, I think it was a mistake to pursue the Ohio deal in advance of developing morale in the district, appreciation for what they already had. Bribing people to instill morale, doesn’t work. They need to earn it. In practice, I believe a Resco needs to be equally willing to punish or reward, and make people work for it, to develop morale. And morale is a crucial pre-requisite. That may be a style argument, though.”

  “Not a style argument,” Pete Hoffman said. “I agree. Morale and control have to precede rewards like the Ohio deal. Beaufort didn’t have the civilian foundation to carry off that joint venture.” The other Rescos at the meeting concurred.

  “Those points probably also merit discussion on the Resco boards, Emmett,” Hudson’s Sean Cullen directed him. Schwabacher nodded.

  Emmett made a note, then prompted, “I believe IBIS has completed its investigation into the burial ground in West Mifflin?”

  “Yes,” Agent Kalnietis replied. “We estimate a third of a million people in that burial complex. Our samples identified missing persons from all over the Northeast, not just Philadelphia. It seems to have been another religious movement, following a Pied Piper. A charismatic leader, leading to essentially a mass suicide.”

  “My God,” said Taibbi, shocked. He frowned. “Wait, was this another ‘culling operation’?”

  Kalnietis shrugged. “The leader and followers are dead. Outside of the people in this meeting, I don’t know how to inquire about…culling operations.”

  “Probably,” John Niedermeyer offered. “Probably a naturally occurring movement, nurtured by a culling operation.”

  Taibbi scowled. “How do I coordinate with this ‘culling operation’?”

  “Through your head Resco, sir,” Niedermeyer replied. “But the lines of communication are weak.”

  “And the lines of command and control?” Taibbi demanded.

  “Weaker,” Niedermeyer supplied laconically.

  “You need to leave it be, Seth,” Schwabacher told Taibbi. “It is what it is. We don’t have oversight.”

  “Dee,” Cullen said, changing the subject. “Any closing thoughts on Pittsburgh? From a civilian perspective.”

  “I agree with Emmett’s recommendations,” I said tentatively. Emmett and Cullen nodded for me to go on. “I think the key is to get these people back on the Internet ASAP. There’s a normative effect from seeing other people handle problems similar to your own. Drum, you weren’t there yet, when we watched the Hudson Constitution special with random locals. That was a real eye-opener for both sides. They were entranced. ‘Hey, that sounds good. Why can’t we have that?’ We made a real impression.”

  “There’s a dark side to that normative influence,” Cullen mused. “If PR and IndieNews start accepting commercials.”

  I nodded vigorously. “We’ve discussed that. Commercials selling nonsense to keep up with the Joneses. Making people feel bad about their lives. So we would only allow commercials saying, ‘FYI, we have a product that solves X.’ And commercials would be a match, level-wise, to the community we show it to. Right? Showing a home washing machine ad to level 2, is just cruel. But getting the word out, ‘Hey, we offer biodegradable trash bags,’ or ‘Visit the Apple for free voter testing every day, with an optional tour of the Calm Parks.’ Those commercials are a valuable public service. We don’t need a profit, so we can limit commercials to one minute every ten, or something. And no forced commercials – you can always skip them.”

  “I like it,” Emmett encouraged. “But we digress. Pittsburgh.” He smiled at me.

  “Yes, sorry,” I agreed with a grin. “Um, women. And children, especially girls. I was delighted to hear Drum’s equal rights policies on women. I encourage her to hold firm there. You know, at the lower levels, there’s rape, and killing rapists. But at Pittsburgh’s level, the abuse and ways of subjugating women are more subtle. Women can’t take jobs from men. They either have to marry, or do women’s work, or prostitution. It’s like a level 9 version of rape gangs. In fact, if there aren’t equal rights for women and minorities, it shouldn’t qualify as level 9. I was worried when Emmett brought in a woman as Resco. That she just would not be able to get their respect. No offense, Drum. After I got to know you, I realized Emmett was right. You were perfect for slapping some sense into them.”

  Drum smiled. “Thank you, Dee. Would you like to write that up for the Resco boards? Or shall I?”

  “Dee isn’t a Resco,” Taibbi pointed out.

  “Actually, sir, Dee is now a civilian Resco, of sorts,” Pete Hoffman interjected. “But she hasn’t been introduced on the boards yet. I will correct that oversight after the meeting. Drum, how about you start a thread. And Dee can back you up.” We nodded agreement.

  “Anything else?” Emmett prompted.

  Taibbi sighed. “There was the southwest corner? You decided not to go in there, Emmett?”

  “I considered going in with a thousand friends from the 101st, sir,” Emmett said. “But then Dee was abducted, and the 101st had to leave before we got to it.”

  Cullen asked, “A thousand friends?”

  “The Resco, Major Wiggins, is not responsive, sir,” Emmett said. “To anybody. Tried phone, email, video. He’s alive, and active on Amenac social forums. Not the Resco boards. Schneider couldn’t get him to answer, either. Dee did a land-use analysis by satellite photos. Looks like Connecticut’s Litchfield County in there. Bunch of ark kingdoms, armed to the gills. What role Wiggins plays – not a clue.”

  Drum volunteered, “Sir, the other Rescos near Pittsburgh don’t know any more, either. Wiggins is just rogue.”

  “Establishing some kind of communications would be nice, I suppose,” Emmett suggested. “I’m not sure it would do any good. The border garrisons report food tax payments have ceased. The locals are too well-defended to argue about it.” He shrugged.

  “Just leave ark kingdoms alone,” John Niedermeyer advised. “They’re Plan D. Who knows, maybe Plan D will save humanity after we’re all dead.” Pete Hoffman nodded resignedly. Tony Nasser, the newly minted second O-6 Resco in Hudson, looked like he was puzzling out what Plans A through C were. “As for Wiggins, I suggest dishonorable discharge.”

  “Agreed,” Taibbi said, and made a note of it.

  “Emmett, I’m confused,” Tony Nasser hazarded. “You recommend we also leave these unorganized counties in the middle as-is? The ones that produced Judgment and Bertovich and killed Dane Beaufort? All these rogue regions – just leave them be?”

  “Um,” Emmett said.

  “We’re dealing with that at a different level, Tony,” Captain Niedermeyer put in.

  “Sidebar after the meeting, Tony,” Pete directed. “Leave it for now.” Tony acquiesced.

  “If I appoint Sandoval head Resco,” Taibbi groused, “do I finally get to know what they’re talking about?”

  “Not in my experience,” Sean Cullen said sourly.

  “Oh, General Taibbi,” Emmett redirected lightly, “I still have forty PA meal tickets. Would you mind if I invest them in Pittsburgh?”

  “Not at all,” Taibbi said. “Invest in what?”

  “Biodegradable trash bags,” said Emmett. “Drum, Hudson is a huge market. Philly, too. You’ve already got the local industry. Just scale up.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Drum said, sitting forward with an eager grin. “I’ll get right on that!”

  We closed the video-conference, to expressions of mutual esteem, followed by fervent wishes that we not need to meet like this again. I wished sometimes that I knew more about the hushed-up Penn war. Because Taibbi sure kowtowed to Cullen and Schwabacher. Though perhaps it wasn’t surprising, if he
had this little control over Penn and its Army, and he knew it.

  “So we’re Plan A?” Tony asked, as the screen went dark and Sean Cullen rose from his swivel chair to stretch.

  “I’m Plan A, with the armed borders,” Governor Cullen corrected him. “Beaufort’s killers work for Plan B. Rescos like you are Plan C. Arks are Plan D. Beyond that, I defer to Pete. I don’t even know how many letters there are. Excuse me, gentlemen. Thank you for your contributions in the meeting. Dee, let’s leave them to it.”

  31

  Interesting fact: Before the culling of the Calm Act, New Jersey was the most densely populated state in the U.S., followed by Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. New York and Pennsylvania ranked 7th and 9th.

  The Rescos handled a lot more business at our house before they adjourned, but I missed it. They planned our petition responses for the first annual state of Hudson address in November, and the first revisions to the new constitution. How to embark on enforcing the new civilian limited weapon rules, and how to allow soldiers to muster out. Top priorities for upstate, Long Island, the city, and Jersey.

  They even got experience first-hand in directing the Brooklyn defense network against a serious coordinated attack. The governor-general and top Rescos all clumped together at our house proved too tempting a target. Hudson’s insurgents weren’t all bottled up in Jersey. I’ve seen Emmett’s living room command center in action before. Even to civilian eyes, it was pretty slick. No doubt the Resco team had a blast, literally. Boys and their toys. Those placid Calm Parks turned into death traps at the flick of a switch, and the mini-cities were designed with roof-top defensive batteries.

  I even missed the group outing for Chinese food in the new Chinatown mini-city. I was really looking forward to that, too. And Gladys threatened Ash Margolis with a meat cleaver one morning at breakfast. Ash was teasing her that with Emmett reassigned to North Jersey, maybe he should take over the Brooklyn Mansion. Like most apples, Gladys suffered some PTSD days.

  Gladys redeemed herself with Ash later by suggesting a new Apple Core tourist industry. Since the Hudson voter test was the same nation-wide, we could offer special tour packages that combined expedited voter testing at the train station, visiting a few Calm Parks and mini-cities for Chinese food and knishes, and a ferry ride around the boroughs. That proved a popular tour, especially with Hudson parents for a sixteenth birthday present, to celebrate their child becoming an adult Hudson citizen and voter.

  On Sunday morning, most of the gang trooped off to church. Sean Cullen was devout Catholic, and Pete at least nominally Catholic, so Emmett took them off to Mass, and Dwayne tagged along. Emmett’s own taste was a raise-the-rafters rowdy evangelical service, but he was playing host. Tony Nasser would have joined them, until he realized Gladys was off to a Greek Orthodox service, his own faith, and he happily escorted her instead.

  Apparently they had a lovely time at church. The Orthodox priest gave Tony the star treatment. The sect was proud and delighted to have Tony, one of their own, listed second on the constitutional succession. Emmett and Sean’s group were mobbed with admirers, too. Roman Catholics in Hudson were accustomed to ruling the roost, but the memorial service and especially the religious licensing workshop were big wins with the parish priest. Hudson’s move to licensed religion was warmly received by the venerable established churches, and less so with the raw upstarts.

  Meanwhile, Cam and Ash and I opted for some spiritual quality time in the hot tub. Ash was an orthodox Jew, with nothing to attend on Sunday. Cam simply smiled politely and declined the Catholic offer. Unlike his husband, Cam wouldn’t darken the doorstep of a church that disbelieved in homosexuals. And he couldn’t be bothered to hunt for a mini-city with his own denomination, Presbyterian, which didn’t have a branch near Brooklyn Prospect.

  The hot tub in the garden was beautiful. That Sunday was dark and grey, only slightly above freezing. A bit of snow fell in big slushy clumps through our bare maple tree, encouraging us to keep our shoulders drawn down among the bubbles. A moody kind of November stark beauty.

  “So Dee, engaged, huh?” Cam crooned sweetly. “I’m so happy for you! What are you two doing about religion? I mean, is Emmett still…?”

  “Born-again Christian, yeah,” I replied, happily letting a water jet dissolve tension from my neck. “And I’m pagan. Yeah, I never really thought too deeply about religion before Pittsburgh. I thought the Pittsburgh sects were completely insane, when I dug into them. But after I was captured, I kind of found God. I bless them for that.”

  Cam, bless his heart, never skipped a beat. I’d seen his composure under fire before. Ash was on my other side, so I couldn’t see his expression. Cam said, “Oh, yeah, your capture! So you prayed a lot?”

  “Yeah! Brandy taught me the Catholic rosary,” I shared. “That doesn’t mean much to me. But I started really seeing the possibilities when I claimed my own God. In natural beauty and the sky and sun. Because Canber and Judgment – you know, my captors – were nature worshipers, too. I mean, aside from the evil. Deep down, the rape and mass murder, the doctored drugs, and keeping slaves, torture, they were all just tools. Their real aim was to defend Gaia from the human infestation. Free Earth from its torturers.”

  Cam nodded, in perfect nonchalance. “So you came to understand their viewpoint and found it uplifting. They didn’t rape you, did they?”

  “Only the once,” I agreed. “I was sky-high on oxycontin, and then he added the rufies. But I don’t remember it. I’ve made my peace with that, mostly.”

  “That’s some serious praying,” Cam observed, a thoughtful frown just starting to disturb his brow. “That’s a hard thing to forgive. Of course, he’s dead now, right?”

  “No,” I replied. “No, we’ve talked to Canber and forgiven him together. Emmett and me.” Cam nodded encouragingly. He’s a phenomenal actor, Cam. “And the praying, I mean, I set out to give myself a case of Stockholm Syndrome. You know, so they’d trust me, so I could get at some comms and tell Emmett where we were, to come get us.”

  “Of course,” Cam agreed smoothly. “So you convinced yourself that you agreed with them and their aims.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you told Emmett this?” Cam inquired. “About the Stockholm Syndrome scheme?”

  “I guess that never came up,” I said. “I kept the notebook. I wrote all this down in a notebook, you know, convincing myself they were right. I didn’t want to leave it behind, when the helicopters came to get us.”

  “That’ll be helpful,” Ash murmured behind me. Unlike Cam and Emmett, who commanded fighting infantry, Ash Margolis served in military intelligence before the Calm Act.

  “Is that up in your room, Dee?” Cam asked. “The notebook.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, before misgivings set in. “Well, I’m not going to show it to you, Cam! That’s like a diary. A spiritual journey is personal.”

  Yeah, they wheedled the notebook out of me. And then they insisted that I needed deprogramming, to clear out whatever I’d implanted in myself to support Canber.

  “I do not!” I objected. “I’m perfectly OK!”

  “You don’t know whether you’re perfectly OK or not, Dee,” Cam insisted. “Deprogramming will just make you look through it again and clean it up. And in your position, we need to know we can trust you. Think of it as debriefing.”

  I might have objected harder, but Cam was leafing through the notebook pages where I’d convinced myself I was a natural murderer. OK, so that part could stand some revisiting and cleanup. Though I still felt I should be allowed to work it out in privacy.

  Ash shook his head sympathetically. “Dee, it’s harder to dislodge these things than you think. You have to re-assume the mindset where you made the decisions, and decide otherwise. Very hard to do that alone. Because you’re not willing to go back there.”

  Ash was unwilling to deprogram me himself, because he and Emmett had finally started to get along really well. He didn’t want
to jeopardize our relationships. So Cam called on HomeSec, who promised to send someone to fetch me. The church-goers returned. The shouting match was in full swing when the doorbell rang.

  HomeSec dispatched my old friend Marine Sergeant Tibbs and the IBIS agents Kalnietis and Gianetti to deprogram me. They’d all come for the big Halloween memorial, and stuck around to sightsee and walk the Calm Parks for the weekend. I knew that. We were just too busy to get together with them. My screeching objections quieted to snuffling unhappiness.

  Donna Gianetti took me in a hug. “Oh, Dee! You should have told me! We’ll take good care of you. Nothing to worry about.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Kalnietis assured Emmett, who was currently restrained by Tony and Pete. Emmett had already swung on Ash and Cam.

  “But – Dammit!” Emmett yelled. “She cannot be debriefed!”

  “I have that clearance,” Tibbs assured him calmly. “So do they.” He nodded at the IBIS agents. “It seemed best, after Pittsburgh.”

  Clearance, indeed. I learned later in the day that the IBIS assignment in Pittsburgh had included investigating charges of Resco abuse of power from Ohio to New England. Bet they learned more than they bargained for. I could relate to that.

  Closely chaperoned, Tibbs and the IBIS agents let me kiss Emmett good-bye. “The part where you agreed to marry me. Tell me that’s real, Dee,” Emmett whispered in my ear in anguish. I nodded, hoping that was true, but a little worried on that point. Gianetti kindly removed my engagement ring and handed it to Emmett for safekeeping.

  The HomeSec safe-house apartment wasn’t bad, located in a mini-city between Central Park and the Harlem train station. Central Park had become the mother of all Calm Parks, dedicated to the late great state of New York. The view was lovely. The food was good. My deprogrammers were trusted friends, and kind. And they tanked me up on opiates and walked me step by step through the notebook, through everything I’d convinced myself of, making me argue other points of view, to relax my earlier decisions.