The Revolution: Chapter Four
The game continues
Jackie sat alone in his apartment, musing through his day, nursing some yellow tinted liquor. He was hoping to slow his brain enough to finally slip into a sleep.
The movie app he had running on the monitor sitting on a plain wooden shelf across from the bed showed some old war flick that Jackie was only half watching while he scrolled on his metapad. It seemed like every time he looked up, he saw a commercial.
He thought about taking one of the tranquilizers his therapist had prescribed for sleep, and then for a split second thought about taking the whole bottle. He shook that thought out of his head real quick.
To destract himself, he thought to himself, What was the name of that guy from school a couple of days ago, David? David, what? A vehicle exploded on the war movie as the name clicked into place, Handcock...
Jackie opened the social app FacePlace on his metapad and did a cursory search for a "David Handcock.”" There were surprisingly few hits.
The profile picture of the third David Handcock was a dead ringer for the auburn haired man in the cafe as if it were taken the day they met. Since it had been a couple of days, Jackie decided that it may have been. Jackie clicked on the profile.
A quick look on the page told Jackie that the profile photo had been uploaded a year ago. Jackie had no idea why he thought this was a good rabbit trail to go down. He took a swig off the bottle before continuing.
He could feel his knee start to ache, so he laid back on the bed and positioned the metapad where it would require the least amount of passive energy to keep propped up.
Jackie had never been popular in high school, but he didn’t think he disliked anyone, and from what he remembered, David was not one of the ones he disliked. He was curious to see what he could deduce about his old acquaintance from FacePlace posts.
Almost the first thing on David’s page was a photo of the day he enlisted in the Grandville State Military. Further posts made it obvious that while he had probably joined due to his genuine desire to help people, there was some event in that service that had soured that time in the military.
The Grandville Army was the largest standing military of the seven. Since the last Flux War, the three northern states, Icebane, (I’ll name the other two, I’m bad at names) mostly kept small, mostly decorative military forces to remember wartime and to give some of their more rambunctious young people purpose and discipline. Scarsmon had been historically skittish about having any military force lest it damage their reputation of being politically neutral. Shapsville had DSI security forces designed to be corporate security only despite their reputation of employing some of the most elite soldiers on Pangea. And Mt. Vesio was mainly a loose collection of homegrown militia of various states of combat readiness.
In Grandville’s Constitution, a minimum number of standing army members must be maintained. This number was "carefully devised according to the will of Gaia" and greatly exceeded over 10,000 soldiers. Grandville, through a series of targeted recruitment incentives designed to appeal to a specific subset of listless, often poor adolescents had no trouble filling quotas yearly, despite there being no real enemy to fight.
The service photos David posted were all of rescue missions after severe weather hit all over Pangea. It was easy to see that David was proud of those missions if nothing else.
As Jackie scrolled further through the photos, he noticed a man standing with David, hugging and laughing and generally having a good time. Jackie pushed down a pang of jealousy as he hadn’t been that close to a human since, when, high school?
There were a lot of photos of the two together, Gay? Jackie questioned internally, but he quickly came to the conclusion that he really didn’t care but had a slight curiosity about it. If I get a chance, I may ask him, but if not, whatever.
David wasn’t lying when he said he knew people, as most of the photos were a long line of people talking about David and sharing stories that Jackie soaked up like a sponge.
As of late, many of David’s posts had become openly critical of the direction of Grandville politics, a subject that Jackie could sympathize with. A post about the Grandville State Assembly passing a bill limiting sports to segregated male and female BioBirth Leagues with angry cartoon faces plastered all over it drew Jackie’s attention.
The caption written by David himself said: "The Government of Grandville utilizes systems of control to enforce BioBirth, straight Friendie superiority by threatening people with the threat of ostracism of not deemed pure enough."
If nothing else, he’ll be good to get halucifungi from, Jackie mused.
Jackie grabbed his bottle and finished off what little was left. He had just enough courage that he decided to hit the "Friend Request" prompt at the top of David’s page. Maybe something would come of it, maybe not. Perhaps, and this was the most likely scenario, Jackie thought darkly, David did not even remember him.
Jackie looked up to see what was happening un the movie but was surprised to see that a new one had started, some big snazzy action blockbuster full of computer graphics and buff men that somehow didnt know how to wear a shirt that Jackie had somehow missed a couple of years ago. He had just started to settle in when he felt the metapad buzz at his side. He was surprised to see it was a notification from David accepting Jackie’s FacePlace Friend Request.
Did I just make a new friend? Jackie thought, I had better not mess this up. He smiled with an optimism he hadn’t felt in some time, as he slipped into this new movie.
Rebecca James hated the fact that it was a necessity to use so much insecticide on the crops to keep away the little crawling creatures that loved to swoop in under the cover of night and do major damage to the James' largest source of income. There was something inhumane to Rebecca about spraying what was essentially nerve gas on creatures that simply wanted to eat and procreate. It turned her stomach, but it was what her father wanted.
If there was one thing she could count on, it was that it would take an act of God to get the old coot to change his mind. Becks figured that she had gotten that little character flaw honestly from her father.
Bob Macklin had shown up early in the morning, and as it turned out, there was plenty to do in town to keep Rebecca away from the DSI company man.
After Macklin’s first visit, Rebecca had gone to see a lawyer who explained in no uncertain terms that DSI was supposed to stay on their side of the Shapsburg border, but it had been near impossible to get the courts to actually do something about it. All the powerful, expensive lawyers on the DSI payroll had to do was keep stalling for time, and the plaintif would run out of money to keep fighting a draining court case. The lawyer strangely then took the time to lay out his sales pitch for the Jameses, saying the DSI corporation by stating, "I won’t take any money unless you win." Rebecca had little faith that there would ever be any "winning."
The town of Blackburn was a small one by nearly every metric. It was mostly a 2 square mile collection of businesses servicing the spread out and ageing farming community around it with supplies and necessities, but not much in the way of entertainment or culture, that was in Grandville City proper, with its miles of skyscrapers and large population stacked on top of each other.
The increased violence of weather events and the uprising of "machine farmers" had led to many of the farms around closing down as the population aged without another generation rising up to take its place. The largest and most historic plantations had all shifted to modern automation, and the smaller farms could not match the output.
Rebecca found the least invasive bag of insecticide powder that she could. Each 25-pound bag would theoretically cover one of their fields, but she figured she should pick up a couple extra for safety. She threw the heavy bag over her shoulder and headed to the front counter.
"Did you find everything OK, ma’am?" The clerk behind the counter asked as she walked up.
"Yes, thank you. I need 55 bags of this stuff." Becks said politely. She looked around the store and noticed it was especially barren both in customers and products.
"It’s been almost 4 hours since I’ve seen a customer." The clerk moaned while punching the information into the register. He then read her the total, which she paid using her father’s credit chip.
As she pulled her father’s truck around, she was confronted by a familiar face, a woman Rebecca had dated for a couple of weeks a number of years prior. Rebecca was pretty sure her name was Brittany. This familiar face was on the loader, and it took a minute to rectify the number of years since they had seen each other with the weathered hard face she saw.
Brittany smiled when she saw Rebecca, but Rebecca couldn’t tell if it was recognition or customer service in the smile.
"Holy shit, if it isn’t the girl who left to follow her dreams." Brittany said with a grin.
Rebecca smiled. "Fat lot of good it did me. How have you been?"
The two exchanged pleasantries and concluded their business for the day. Rebecca left the feed store with Brittany’s contact information and a promise to hang out.
A couple of days later, the two met at the only restaurant in Blackburn, a small diner known for its BeanBrew and a serving staff with bad attitudes. The comradery was easy, as if the couple of long and crazy years since their courtship didn’t exist.
The topic turned to Rebecca’s political career, and Brittany said, nearly unprompted, "Do you remember the Jasmine sabotage?"
Those days had been a blur of sadness and misfortune, but she did remember it, so she nodded.
"I’ve found myself in the Grandville chapter of Fires of Heaven if you were looking for an outlet for blowing off a bit of steam. A tactician like you would have us becoming a rather sore spot for the High Reverend if you get my drift."
Rebecca’s eyes shot open at this news. She had never known Brittany to be "politically motivated" like Rebecca had always been. The offer was interesting, even though there were all sorts of red flags waving that one of their members would just drop this kind of information unprompted like this.
"I don’t know, Brittany. These last couple of months have been rough mentally and emotionally." Rebecca said, noticing the droop in Brittany’s shoulders. "I don’t know if I can put myself on the line like that. My father’s sick, and his farm is on the verge of bankruptcy."
"Those are just excuses, Becks. We’re headed into a dark time, and we’re all going to have to pick a side."
"The only thing I can promise you is that I will think about it." And the conversation stopped right there.
But Rebecca would think about it almost every moment she was awake, but the fact was there was too much left for her to do in Blackburn.
High Reverend Greg White awoke with a feeling he was being watched. He opened his eyes wide and right into the hard face of Billy Joe Allen. He noticed the man standing over his bed before he even recognized the hotel room he had fallen asleep in.
Billy Joe was holding a silver tray with a carafe of BeanBrew and an envelope with a fancy wax seal bearing the seal of the Council of Five.
"Can you just take a step back, buddy? I had a rough night." Greg asked, his voice still gruff from a night’s sleep.
Billy Joe took a small step back. The tray remained steady.
Greg swung his feet over the side of the giant hotel bed and brought himself to a sitting position, taking in the surroundings of the grand suite he had rented for this week’s Governor Convention.
The bed, crimson sheets thrown about and damp from a restless night’s sleep, was ornately designed with dark wooden patterns carved by hand. Founders only knew how many years ago.
The bed sat on the Eastern wall, pointing toward a door which opened into a nice meeting room carpeted with a thick brown flooring and a table carved of the same type of wood as the bedframe in the master bedroom. Gold accents along the walls of both rooms were supposed to lend an aire of sophistication to the transient living space.
All in all to Greg this hotel room, just a half a mile from the wreckage of the Pangea General Assembly, felt more like any semblance of home than the High Reverend Manor he had been living in.
The Grandville Manor housed the ghost of the man Joel White had been. Every corridor was lined with photos of Greg’s papa shaking hands with a long series of important and influential people during the former High Reverend’s long career. Everywhere Greg walked, he could see his father’s gaze judging every decision Greg made.
The Council of Five was one more machinations from beyond the grave of the old man. Billy Joe was always around, often just out of sight, taking dillegent notes and sending them to the other 4 who, in turn, relayed messaged for Greg through Billy Joe. Greg guessed that his marching orders were in the envelope.
The other 4 members of the council were a matter of public record, and they were variable lions of the faith.
Up until he pulled the trigger and took his place as High Reverend, Greg had wanted nothing more to be famous for something easy, something like turning a mediocre career as a political partisan into a cushy talking head position on one of the news stations. But now, he had begun to see a path to a legacy far beyond what his father could have ever dreamed of. He just had to cut the strings of his puppet masters as soon as possible. For now, though, they were the voices that gave his claim to be chief executive officer of not only the largest military on Pangea, but also millions of rabid believers in the religious teachings he now controlled. For now, both sides of this cold war had the same goals, but that may not always be the case.
Greg took the cup of BeanBrew from the offering hands of Billy Joe and also grabbed the envelope from the tray, ready to see what his orders were.
Before opening the letter, Greg looked at the bald little spy standing next to him and pointed toward the door, "Get out of here. This is for me."
Greg watched Billy Joe leave with a small bit of satisfaction. He sighed before opening the letter. To his surprise, there was just one cryptic sentence handwritten in a curvy script using a light hand. Must be the DSI deviant, Greg thought coldly to himself, remembering the scandal a couple years ago of the DSI Chief of Religion, Ian Quimbly being photographed in one of Shapsburg’s pleasure district’s with a very effeminate looking male dancer. If Quimbly wasn’t careful, indiscretions like that would be the old queen’s downfall.
Greg felt a warmth in his chest as he imagined crushing the DSI board member.
He looked down at the paper it simply had an address and a time to meet. The Council of Five loved their little fantasies of cloak and dagger intrigue, didn’t they?
Hoping to give off the slightest appearance of obedience, Greg did what they asked. For some reason, the time on the card was late afternoon, and Billy Joe had startled him awake at barely after the rising of the sun.
He was anxious so trying to go back to sleep was neigh impossible, even as he tried to read passages of the Founders Book that had always bored him such as the pages and pages of Founder’s family trees, just pages and pages of names with no sense of what their importance was other than being part of the genetic code of some great men.
Greg’s mind drifted to this Governor Confernce, which started the next day. He was annoyed by how much of a waste of time he perceived it to be. It was all a way for the Governors to seek political points with the people who signed their checks. There were growing calls for a new General Assembly to be built and for things to go back to the normalcy of before The Collapse. Greg wasn’t sure how persuasive those calls were, as "a large financial burden for the states" was one of many legitimate criticisms of the large burocracy the Assembly had become.
Greg did not realize he had fallen asleep in his car until he was awakened by the sound of Billy Joe opening the door of the car. He groggilly followed his driver into the abandoned looking barn or warehouse or something. The weather had turned bitterly cold and threatened snow. Strange weather for the middle of spring, Greg thought to himself.
Greg realized this building was in a seemingly abandoned part of town. He suddenly felt a pang of nervousness in his stomach.
The four others in the Council of Five had already arrived and were sitting around a large rectangular metal table. The only light in the room hung over the table, giving it a spotlight ad if in a play.
Greg took his designated seat as Billy Joe took his seat just out of the halo of light.
"We’re very worried about this push for a new General Assembly." Ian Quimby was the first to speak. "Obviously, the DSI corporation was not such a big fan of their history of regulations on the energy marketplace."
"I remember when they ruled that the Founders' words were not to be taught in our schools." Bishop Lenny Ballenger chimed in. He was the bishop over Icebane and ???.
"They wanna tell our children they can be homosexual and go against the biological need to procreate as the founders teach us." Pastor Thomas, the Mount Vesio bishop, said, slamming his massive hands on the table, his jowls flapping as he talked.
Greg leaned forward in his chair, palms together, and said, "Listen, Brothers, I get all this. Grandville wasn’t exactly happy with the arrangement either. I don’t know why this couldn’t have been in a letter or a video message or something." He folded his arms, "I assume you know that this isn’t going to be the first time I’ve seen the Shapsville and Mount V Governers, right?"
The men nodded in agreement.
Greg uncrossed his arms and splayed them wide, showing a bit of false venerability for his audience, "I’m not some fuck up. We all want one thing, and that’s power. You dudes pull strings behind the scenes and that’s awesome, but I am the face of this show and I’m privey to more information than Billy Joe can reasonably give you," there was a grunt of offense from one of the men to his right. Greg gestured that way and said, "with all due respect."
The room was silent for a moment until Greg said, "I’ve got to get ready for tomorrow, you know where to find me. Come on, Billy Joe, back to the hotel." And he left his masters sitting in the dark dingy building in the Shadow of the General Assembly’s corpse.
It had been several years since the last time Jackie had imbibed hallucinogens. Somehow, the ritual of drinking this muddy water felt as familiar as a friend. Not that he had ever really liked the taste.
David is directly across from Jackie on the other side of a small circular wooden table in David’s apartment. David was already guzzling down his water to flush the taste when Jackie set his mug down. The taste was strangely metallic, like sucking on a coin or blood, Jackie thought out of the blue.
Why was he taking drugs in the apartment of a man he had met a handful of times? Shoulda worried about it sooner, Jackie thought.
"What did you say?" David asked.
Jackie realized he’d said the last part out loud. "How long does this take to kick in?" He asked instead.
"Mines already kicking in. It’s a lot more potent than you remember."
"That makes sense. Genetics have changed since it became legal, huh?"
"Man, I remember you hanging with the fungus people in high school, I’m surprised you lapsed."
Jackie could feel the warm fingers of the halucifungi symptoms begin in his chest. It was like a nice warm hug. He suddenly felt very heavy and comfortable in the seat. He giggled as he said, "Work wants me to be sober."
"Yeah, whatever the corpo daddy wants, huh?" David smiled. "Come on, let’s play Ring Marine. You play?"
Ring Marine was a video game that Jackie had loved very much until he had been forced to pawn his console to pay for rent or booze.
They played for a while in relative silence other than the sounds of the game until David said unprompted, "You want to know my most out there insane theory of reality? Purely hypothetically, of course."
The fungi made Jackie incredibly curious. He nodded.
"So, like, there’s technically nothing you can discern with your senses that can prove definitively that the reality you’re seeing around you is real."
Jackie laughed, "I can see you. I can feel this chair sitting on. I can still taste that tea."
"Those are all electrical impulses to various parts of your brain. Theoretically, electrodes could do the same thing." David leaned his elbows on the table after setting his controller down and met Jackie’s eyes. "Can you prove to me that we are anything more than a brain in a jar somewhere being fed stimuli for some reason and dreaming of this reality?"
Jackie scoffed and put down the controller also, "We all must have the same delusion then because we all mostly agree on reality."
"That’s a good point, but you don’t know any perspective but your own. What if we both agreed that an object was blue, we both had in our brains that the color was blue, but I saw it as what you would perceive as green? My color green was what you perceived as red? You’d never know, and I’d never know you saw it differently."
"So the delusion may not be so shared, is that what you’re saying?"
"We just automatically assume that the people around us are real, but functionally, we experience and process those experiences ourselves there’s no solid proof that anything is real past that. What if I’m being controlled like the video game dude?" David pointed at the screen. Jackie stared off into space, processing.
"What I’d say to you is, 'I have a great therapist you could see.’" Jackie said, smiling.
Both men laughed.
Note: I’m punting naming a lot of these guys I’m just gonna do A B C...
"All we’re saying is that we have been able to advance the living conditions of the citizenry far beyond what we could have imagined a couple of centuries ago, and the General Assembly is a big part of that." Governor A, Icebane, said slightly flabbergasted.
"And all I’m saying is that it’s ludicrous to lay the civilizational advancement at the feet of a burocracy that has caused irreparable harm to the real miracle, Flux." Governor X, Shapsburg spit. "And as the only thing keeping our economy going, the Flux must flow."
The conference had only been going on for three hours, and the battle lines had been drawn. The Governors sat along the same ideological lines as the General Assembly, it seemed.
Greg sat in his seat between the Shapsburg and Mount Vesio Governors and had not said a single word the entire time. He was just soaking it all in.
There were no frills to the conference room. The executive officers were turning into a war zone.
"The General Assembaly was a tempering force for all of our more destructive impulses." Governor B, Scarsmon, said.
Greg saw his chance and took it. He spoke up for the first time, "that council did nothing but make life harder on normal, religious folk. They did nothing but impose on our freedoms."
His two compatriots cheered.
"The natural law begs a man to take care of his own life, and a burocracy that seeks to break that natural law is something I will fight until my last breath. As Pangeas spiritual councilor, I would remiss to allow some utopian burocrats to tell my parishioners that their beliefs are somehow wrong." He slammed his pointer finger on the table, "There will not be a new General Assembly, my state will refuse to send a delegate and you will have to enforce decisions you make without our voice with military force if you can."
The Governors all began to murmur among themselves and their assistants as the news dropped like a bomb.
Governor B was the first to speak to the others, "I recommend that we table this discussion for the time being. Maybe we’ll talk about this further in six months if that’s amenable."
Greg knew this issue would never come before the council again.
Check out Chapter 5.
