“No doubt, but I assure you I will add an appropriate hazard charge to your bill,” Zhang replied. “Sleep now, and we will not discuss it further. You are a most fortunate young lady.”
As Lya smiled and drifted off into sleep, knowing the worst was over, a bright white light encompassed her, and then began to narrow until it became a distant pinpoint surrounded by black darkness.
###
VI - Friday 1935hours
Her body had floated about a kilometer downstream and had washed up on a gravel bar where the Ishim split into two forks. The hyper-velocity explosive rounds had torn large holes into the armored camouflage suit but had not penetrated all the way through, and the armor had absorbed at least some of the kinetic energy. The armor could not however protect her from the projectile with the proximity fuse that exploded less than four centimeters from her head. The suit had sensed the danger and had partially extended the helmet plates and visor, but a millisecond too late.
Lya had prepared herself and her drone for several worst case scenarios, and Alma was programmed to recover if necessary both the package and Lya’s backup, and return home. Not every deal turns out the way you expect, and as long as some men prefer force to peaceful exchange, there will be losses. But not all losses need be permanent, and there is always the next deal.
###
VII- Friday 1945hours
The dragonfly drone alighted gently on the body. It spent a few moments scanning, and then it very carefully switched on a tiny laser and made a vertical incision just above the cervical spine. It gently disconnected the tiny metallic cylinder where it was attached to the brain stem, and loaded the cylinder into an internal compartment. It then slowly and deliberately walked down to an area just below the sacrum, made another incision, and removed another container, slightly smaller but somewhat heavier. This it gripped tightly with four of its six legs, launched itself into the air, and headed southwest into the steppes.
UTOPIAN CONVERGENCE
BY
MATTHEW TANOUS
--Oval Office, White House, May 12, 2054, 10:00 AM--
“Madame President, they’ve done it!” shouted the Director of National Intelligence, Derek Hughes. “Households on the southern border have started declaring themselves independent of the United States!”
President Cari Bunker stared at him, outrage flaring in her eyes. “Well, now that the terrorists have attacked us, there’s no way we won’t be able to get the UN on board with a counter-strike this time. A worldwide coalition will succeed where the limited US strikes failed twenty years ago.”
“But they aren’t really terrorists,” I stammered. “There’s been no bombings, no attacks. This appears to be entirely voluntary!”
The President glared at me. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “Individuals taking the territory of a sovereign nation are committing an act of terrorism,” she said coldly. “You know that, Jones. You didn’t forget how Mexico was subsumed into this so-called ‘Utopia’ twenty years ago, did you? That WILL NOT happen to the United States. Not on my watch!”
I did remember the Mexican conflict, in fact. I readily recalled that the disintegration of Mexico into various drug cartel controlled provinces and conflicting warlord armies had led to it being labeled a “failed state” in 2026. I also knew that the creators of Utopia had developed an island of peace and prosperity that spread throughout the region until it had been entirely calmed and prosperous not ten years later. But the world, and especially the US, viewed this as a terrorist group coming to power, despite the rumors that there was no government or central leadership at all. In 2034, the US had launched a short conflict with this Utopia in an attempt to “stop them from taking over our neighbor to the south”. They failed somewhat spectacularly. Ever since, the US has claimed that the President at the time, John Dixon, just didn’t have the will to engage the military force necessary.
I held my tongue, though. I wasn’t going to change anything by speaking up now. It wasn’t worth arguing with the President when she had made up her mind. A lesson a lot of former staffers hadn’t learned in time. Better a peace-advocating Secretary of State pick his battles than allow a gung-ho war hawk to take the job, I thought.
“We’ll need to send the Army down to stop these terrorists,” the President was saying. “And no limited strikes this time. Whatever force is necessary will be used to stop them. Nearly 200 years ago, Lincoln presided over the Civil War and forced the South back into the Union. That took some serious military might, and now I’m about to do the same. No one will look back and remember me as a President that wasn’t willing to do what it takes to save this country.”
“Madame President, shouldn’t we try diplomacy first?” I asked. “It may be as simple as opening a discourse with these Utopians to refuse to recognize these secessions. If nothing else, perhaps the threat of a military attack would be enough?”
“Fine, you go down there and negotiate with them. Make it clear what consequences will follow if they don’t submit. But remember, if you haven’t sorted it out in… let’s say two weeks, we will be forced to send the military in to deal with them.”
“Very well. I’ll arrange a meeting with the Utopian government. Good day, Madame President.”
I spent the next week trying to arrange such a meeting with the Utopian government. Lacking any way to contact them myself, as there had been no contact between the two governments since at least the American strike on Utopia twenty years ago, I reached out to allied governments for anyone who might have the necessary information to contact Utopian officials. Finding no success, I turned to any government I could contact for assistance, but of the ones that were forthcoming, I still found nothing. Being unable to contact any Utopian diplomats a week later, I arranged an emergency flight down to Utopia to see if I could meet with them in person. War and its needless loss of life had to be averted, so I had to try anything I could to peacefully stop this secession.
###
--Agora Airport, Utopia, May 19, 2054, 4:37 PM--
Having arrived at Agora Airport, located in the Yucatan Peninsula near the initial location of the village of Utopia, I set out to find the center of government around late afternoon. While the President called these people terrorists, their official designation was “state-sponsored” because, to the best of our knowledge, there was a government down here. It was seen as ludicrous for such a prosperous and peaceful area to not have one, so there must be a government… although no one seemed certain of where it was headquartered, and no officially-recognized government had any idea how to contact them. There were some rumors of the capital of Utopia being the initial village where the whole thing started, so I figured I’d start there.
After about an hour of wandering around looking for a government building of any sort and coming up empty (seriously, not even a city hall?), I came across what appeared to be a police station. At least, the sign out front read “Peter’s Police and Property Protection”… Strange for it to be named after a person, but certainly the police would know where the government buildings are. On that assumption, I walked through the doors.
Inside, it appeared to be an ordinary police station, if a little informal. A small emergency call center was off to the left, while multiple desks had plainclothes men and women working at them. A couple of these individuals rushed past me out the door before getting in a car and flipping on some emergency lights while speeding off. “Must be a crime in progress,” I thought. “Well, I’ll just have someone point me to whoever’s in charge and be on my way.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Can I help you?” replied one of the policemen. “Are you here to register?”
“Register? For what, exactly? Never mind – I’m looking to see the chief.”
“The… chief? You mean the boss? Why do you want to see him?”
“Tell him the US Secretary of State is here to ask him where to find the Utopian equivalent. The United States is looki
ng to find a diplomatic solution to the current issues on the border, but it appears you’ve kept your government a secret from the rest of the world down here.”
“The Utopian equivalent of a secretary of state? Sure. Whatever you say, man. I’ll let him know. Wait here please. I’ll be right back with the boss’s answer.”
As he asked, I waited near the door for a few minutes. The officer ducked into an office down the hall. After a couple moments, I heard something I didn’t expect – confusion followed by very loud laughter. Something must have been hilarious, but I had no idea what could cause such an uproar for the chief of this police department. Moments later, the officer came back to let me in the chief’s office.
“What’s this I hear about you looking for a diplomat to negotiate with?” the chief asked as I entered his office. He seemed a stern man, likely used to dealing with hardened criminals. He gazed at me with a sharp, commanding look.
“Well, chief, I…” He cut me off before I could finish the statement.
“Look, son, there’s no ‘chief’ here. The name is Peter Giles. Just call me Peter. The thing is, there are no diplomats here. There’s no government here at all, and I’m simply astounded that the rest of the world consistently fails to understand that.”
“No government?!” I shouted, unable to contain my shock at the statement. “You mean to say that Utopia is simply a region of ANARCHY?! But this is a police station! And the roads – I didn’t pay a single thing to get here! How could it be that there is no government here?”
“Why would anarchy mean no police?” Peter replied with a grin. “People still pay for police enforcement of contracts and protection from thieves, murderers and the like. Only real difference is if they don’t like how my guys do it, they can pay someone else instead. Gotta keep the customer satisfied!”
“But what about the roads?!” I exclaimed, overwhelmed by the very idea of this supposedly anarchic society. “How can I just pay someone else to use a road? That doesn’t make any sense! You’ve got to be pulling my leg!”
“Roads are mostly managed by business associations,” he continued, in a way that indicated he wasn’t keen to keep talking about this all day. “They’re a necessity in getting employees and customers in and out of the location with ease. Can’t really run a business if no customers can get to your shop. But you can pick up a book on the theory any time. Surely the head diplomat of the most powerful state in the world didn’t come down here for a chat about anarchy with the CEO of a police business? What could be so important as to bring you down here?”
“Right,” I answered. “I came down here to try to begin negotiations to a peaceful resolution of the border secession problem. People are declaring themselves to no longer be a part of the US and instead saying they are part of Utopia now. Or independent entirely, I guess, since Utopia isn’t a state after all. But since there is no government here, I don’t see how there can be any negotiation…” I trailed off, not wanting to consider the devastation that would be wrecked here if the war couldn’t be stopped.
“And the US is gearing up for war, isn’t it?” Peter replied. “Don’t worry about it. It would have happened anyway. No one around here would work to coerce these ‘traitors’ seceding from the US. We only recognize the individual here. Governments are considered criminal organizations that operate nothing more than a large protection racket and commit heinous crimes against the liberties of ‘citizen’ and ‘foreigner’ alike. Don’t worry. We’ll handle the war just fine. I’ll just have to arrange some meetings.”
At that, he called in the officer from earlier to escort me out. As I walked out the door, he called out to me one last time to inform me that I would be invited to the “war council,” as he put it. “You’ll get a chance to see how we deal with threats from governments around here.” As he picked up the phone to start conducting his business, I left to find a hotel room for the night and set to ruminating on what might happen over the next week.
###
--Joint Defense Conference Center, Utopia, May 20, 2054, 3:15 PM--
“I presume you’ve called us all here because some sort of crisis is upon us,” the enigmatic and eccentric “Captain Nobeard”, leader and CEO of the “Beardless” Defense Forces declared. “The United States attacking again, or is this some other foolish state that refuses to understand the new paradigm we’ve created here?”
“Astute as always, Nobeard,” Peter answered him. “The US military is indeed gearing up to attack us over the ‘secessions’ they’ve been having a problem with recently. Their Secretary of State ended up in my police headquarters looking for a diplomat to negotiate with so as to resolve this peacefully, but of course, there is no such diplomat. While he is here, such that we could negotiate now, I have already informed him that no one here will agree to coerce people back into the US. Now, I leave it to your companies to figure out how to defend us.”
With that, he turned to leave, and the various leaders of the defense companies in Utopia got down to analyzing the situation. Starting, of course, with interrogating me as to what I might know of the situation. There wasn’t much to tell, if only because I didn’t know anything. Other than the two week deadline, which would put the possible assault right after the US celebrated Memorial Day, I only knew that the US would attack.
“It seems the United States wasn’t even going to bother with good faith negotiation here,” responded Matthew Rafferty, representative of the Agorist Army Company, his voice heavy with cynicism. “While I’m sure you, Mr. Jones, are honest in your intentions, it seems your President Bunker kept some secrets from you. We managed to capture some video from the Pentagon this morning. I think you’ll all want to see this.”
With that, he pressed a button on a remote he was holding. The center of the table started projecting a hologram into the air. It was clearly the office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff engaged in a planning meeting.
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” General Byron “Magellan” Kingsley, USAF, drawled as he opened the meeting. “We need to get the broad plan for the invasion of this ‘Utopia’ down before we leave today. The president expects the strike to begin three days from now. That date has already been approved and ordered. What are we looking at?”
“Sir, we’re going in before SecState is finished attempting negotiations?!”
That was Admiral Meredith Kenzie, USN. She was always a stickler in these meetings. While she was highly concerned about possible American civilian casualties in conflicts, she only got to be Chief of Naval Operations because she knew when to follow orders. When it came down to it, I knew she’d follow whatever plan they came up with.
“That’s what the President wants. She instructed me to include a team to retrieve the Secretary as the attack begins. He’ll be fine as long as we have a good plan for this strike. Now, the enemy has imposed a no-fly zone for military planes over their territory since the conflict twenty years ago. We’ve tried a couple times to fly some spy planes through, but they’ve all been detected and shot down. This won’t be some picnic fight in the Third World. What our satellites have been able to capture has demonstrated that. The question is, what can we do to get in there?”
“Well, we can send in some Seal Teams. Add some Rangers in, too.” General George Miller, Chief of Staff of the US Army practically leaped out of his chair in excitement. He always did love planning strategy for the campaigns ahead. “Send them in undercover as civilians; have them strike when the bombs and missiles start dropping. We should be able to take out some significant infrastructure targets that way. That would be far more effective than just the air attack, in my estimation. Let the colonels and below handle the specifics, of course.”
“We should launch the strike Saturday at midnight,” Admiral Kenzie declared. “It would give us maximum effect and minimum civilian casualties, as they’ll be either asleep or drunk in the bars. Take out the major infrastructure first. The fight should be pretty simple after th
at.”
As the hologram faded out, outrage exploded in the room. While it wasn’t really possible to make out what was being said as everyone shouted at once, it was quite clear to me that the plans of the US government had enraged a group of people that were already diehard individualist anarchists. At that point, I feared their admittedly understandable rage might put the civilians of my country at risk.
Jasper Nicholas, of The People’s Shield, was the first to speak when the room had quieted down enough to hear anyone.
“Calm down! Calm down! Now that we know about this attempted surprise attack, we can deal with it just fine. We are, after all, the best in the business. This government monopoly, like any other, has to deal with bureaucratic waste and rot, and that will be its downfall. Are we prepared to cooperate on this endeavor? If so, I don’t see any point to continuing this meeting. There is clearly a lot of planning that needs to be done if we only have three days to prepare.”
“Yet they plan to send a team to get Mr. Jones, here. We going to do anything about that?” Nobeard inquired.
“We’ll send some people to watch him,” Rafferty was quick to answer. “If they want him back, it’s probably best that we don’t let them kidnap him. If he wants to go, we’ll have to let him… but only when it’s safe. We’ll send people to watch the roads and airports, as well, so their teams can be held up.”
The meeting wrapped up pretty quickly after that. I proceeded, under a barely noticeable armed escort, to my hotel. Strangely, though, I felt the guards around me really were for my protection. I certainly didn’t trust the US government after it basically sent me down here on a goose chase and didn’t even give me a chance to report back before the war started. This lead-up to war was bringing up some part of me that conflicted with everything I believed. Yet despite this, and knowing I was being kept safe by a bunch of anarchists, I still slept soundly in my hotel room that night.
Anarchy Rising: The Clarion Call, Vol 1 (Volume 1) Page 9
