The Revolution Chapter Three
Viewing the chess board
There was something about seeing the burning General Assembly that snapped something inside Jackie Hodgeson. His therapist always said that he was "watching for the other shoe to drop" when things "were going a little too good." The world had somehow become a darker place, the pallet of Gaia becoming more muted and dangerous in the days that followed. The old coping habits became intrusive.
Jackie had always liked a couple of ales before bed, a habit he probably picked up from his mother--a Flux transporter who had tragically died five years ago on a notoriously dangerous bridge in Shapsville which DSI had refused to fix for the longest time. Since the collapse, he drank himself into a stupor every night to get some sleep.
The upward trend of the dosage of the pain meds he took to offset the physical effects of his heavy drinking led to running out of his prescription too early for a refill, and he began looking for other options through the black market.
This increase in his budget was thrown for a spin as two days after the Jasmine explosion, Jackie arrived at work to find all his clearances expired. A video call with the IT Department was how he found out two things, first that his job had been cut as some sort of "cost saving" measure, and the second was that there wasn’t a lot of jobs out there for a guy who had next to no real marketable skills. After a month of dwindling savings, he took a job comparable to the analysist job he had for half the pay he was receiving
Jackie wasn’t sure if it was the overuse of pain meds, or the increased alcohol intake, or even just the increased anxiety level, but Jackie had begun to notice things.
Many of these things he began to see, such as the strange precision and pattern he noticed in the flights of various pack animals he encountered in his various walks about town Jackie could write off as his ability to see patterns manybpeople couldn’t. This skill had helped him to some minor success in his vocation, but also kept him at arms length from the humans around him. There were other events he couldn’t quite justify with an over imaginative brain.
A couple of days after his new job began, he began to notice a man wearing a red cap walk by his window seat at the Beverage Bar at the same time every day: 0948. He could almost set his watch by the mechanical precision at which Red Cap would walk by the window. The pedestrian never looked inside, never did anything explicitly suspicious. He just walked by the window at the same time, with the same briskness in his step and blankness in his face and then was gone.
The third time Jackie saw Red Cap, he looked a little closer. It seemed Red Cap had a bit of a limp. It was enough for Jackie to take note of. Oddly, it seemed the man had the same rhythm to his limp every time he crossed Jackie’s view, right in front of the almost seemless spot where the panes of glass of the window split. Upon further inspection, he noticed that it was as if Red Cap just began another cycle of his walking as he passed the new pane of glass.
For some reason, he thought of a computer animation class he took when he wanted to be a game designer, where he learned about walk cycle animation.
The next day, he saw Red Cap he decided to stand up and walk out the door of the cafe onto the street, but the man in the red cap was gone.
Strangely, he never saw Red Cap again.
Rebecca’s train pulled up at the Grandville Depot just as the sun was beginning to set across the eastern horizon of the flat plains, which encompassed most of the state of Grandville. Rebecca disembarked her car and lit a SmokeStik, coating her lungs with the abrasive dry leaf smoke. The feeling of dust permitted everything. The air smelled thick with dirt, a smell which elicited a strong nostalgia in Rebecca’s chest. She was home.
The one-two punch of the collapse and her father’s cancer diagnosis pulled her heart toward the safety and certainty of the farm she grew up on.
It was true that she was running from what she had until the funeral of Councilman Rangler, or more accurately his memorial seviceas there was never enough remains found on site for positive identification, known in her soul was her calling. She couldn’t stand looking at the walls of her apartment where she had forgone sleep during deep strategy sessions. She couldn’t stand looking at the roads she used to commute to her office multiple times a week. If she couldn’t stand those places, then she surely didn’t want to be within any distance of her office.
In the days between the explosion and Rangler’s memorial, she had tried desperately to find some project to work on, any project, but she lacked the motivation to do anything when she had no idea what her future would entail. It was almost a sick sort of relief when her father called to ask her to help at The Farm, a parcel of land on the Grandville side of the Grandville-Shapsburg boarder which had once been a fairly major source of income for the family, but through a series of weather events over the past decade had left only a quarter of the land usable for growing grain.
Being on the border had led to a longstanding stalemate with the DSI Corpo which wanted the land for some concern or another and had tried several tactics financial, legal, and even occasionally destructive to take the land for themselves. Rebecca’s father, Michael, prided himself on being "independent in the way the founders intended" and refused to budge an inch when dealing with corporate interests on his land.
Rebecca finished her smoke and crushed it under her boot as she saw the dust covered, long bed vehicle her father had miraculously kept running since her child hood mad the turn onto the road infront of the Depot. As he pulled up to where she stood, she noticed what looked to be tears on the weather warn face of her father, a sight she hadn’t seen since her mother died two years prior.
"Hey, dad." She said as she threw her one suitcase into the bed.
His voice was soft as he said, "Hello, sugar pee."
"You ok?"
"Joel White died today. Y-you know the High Reverend?"
Good, Rebecca thought, that old ghoul is gone. Out loud, she said, "Oh no, that’s terrible."
Mike had always told people he met about how the High Reverend had done his baptism in his younger years.
"It was them Fires of Heaven terrorists. They found him hanging over his statue in front of his church with one of them manifestos on 'im."
"Are you sure, dad? I mean, the man was basically a walking around skeleton. Maybe he tripped and fell." She subdued her urge to laugh.
"Becks, I knew that you cavorting with," he looked physically ill to say the next word, "northern sissies would lead to you having some weird ideas, bit I won’t hear no jokes about such a great man after he’s been murdered."
"I’m not trying to start a fight. I just got here, we’ll have plenty of time. How’s the farm?"
"Those Gaiacrats from DSI are trying to get me to sell again. I telled 'em, 'you corpos can take the deed from my cold, dead hands.’"
The term Gaiacrat took Rebecca by surprise, it was a term used mostly by a small group of conspiracy theorists who believed that the politicians up north were trying to soften up the populous to extinguish Gaias fire and introduce impurities into the DNA of the populous to make them more docile and subservient. Certain chapters in the Founders Book had been used as proof of their claims. Where Michael James had heard it was a mystery to Rebecca.
The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Rebecca looked out the window at the miles and miles of flat land with the occasional livestock herd or farm house, and for a while she was a child again, adventuring around the farm, playing with critters at the little lake they had used for irrigation for the crops. For a moment, the anger and fear and mourning of the past couple of weeks disappeared into the ether of nostalgia.
The sun was down by the time the pair pulled up to the farmhouse. Rebecca was astounded at the sheer number of stars in the night sky, far out pacing the number of visible stars in the light pollution of Scarsmon. Gaia was simply more beautiful in the rural areas than the overdeveloped cities, she thought, it’s little wonder people worship this. As she entered, she saw the TV was still turned on to the news. Her natural curiosity and fatigue got the best of her, and she sat down on the sofa to watch the news feed.
Grainy footage of a white sleeved arm holding a gun aimed at Joel White is paused on the Feed.
It begins to play.
"SEE YOU IN HELL, OLD MAN." A voice from off camera screamed.
A muzzle flash as the footage pauses before the violent outcome could be shown.
Over the paused footage, the voice of Stacy Fairgold plays, "This is the disturbing video that has been all over the metanet this last week. A video reportedly showing the last moment of the High Reverend Joel White’s life before being brutally murdered by noted terrorist group, Fires of Heaven, perpetrators of the Flux Well Jasmine, and many believe to be the original perpetrators of The Collapse. Into this tragedy comes his son, Grandville State Legislator Greg White."
The video shifts to a montage of clips of Greg fundraising. Stacy continues in voice over, "A man who claims to be the next in line for his father’s position as High Reverend and Grandville’s Governor."
The feed cuts to a close-up of Stacy Fairgold smiling. She continues after an obvious off camera cue, "We are here today to interview the assumed next Governor of Grandville, a position we would be remiss to not mention is a lifetime appointment. Mr. White, is it too early to call you Reverend?"
Cut to Greg smiling as he says, "The inauguration takes place in three weeks, so for now, I’m just a humble Assemblymen."
Cut to a wide shot of the two of them sitting in a small studio of two chairs facing each other with a background sumulating a sunrise over a city. Stacy crossed her legs above her knee and said, "Assemblyman White, first off, my deepest condolences to the loss of your father. What a great tragedy for you and your congregation who lost an important man."
"Thank you, Stacy, that means a lot to all of the Friends of Gaia and the people of Grandville."
Stacy closeup: "The first question I want to ask is your state is a major transportation hub for all of Pangea, is the increase in fuel prices leading to any problems in the supply chain from your perspective."
Greg closeup. He smiles a toothy grin before delivering his practiced response, "Stacy, the Grandville General Assembly of which I am a part has been fighting tooth and nail against heavy governmental regulations which drive up the cost to consumers. Without a big government regulatory agency like Icebane has to drive up prices, and forcing the poor among us onto their programs of dependence on an all powerful nanny state, normal people can save more of their money for what’s important to them."
Stacy points her pen at Greg to respond, "Opponents of those policies say that lack of regulation leads to poor safety practices which in turn lead to the poor among you being unable to have access to necessary programs such as Healthcare."
Greg smiled, "All I have to say to that is check our track record. Grandville has the highest number of self-made millionaires of all the states, if thats not a win for small government, I don’t know what is."
Stacy uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the opposite direction while looking at the note cards she had in front of her, "Moving on, you have the reputation in the Assembly putting minimum effort into the legislative process. How do you plan to change that perception as governor?
Greg hated that he’d been talked into allowing this question, "Stacy, when I saw that video you showed at the beginning, I got angry. I am angry at those terrorists who murdered an old man just because of a difference in ideology. And if my father saw enough in me to will me his position, then I owe it to that man to make this state as great as it possibly can be by continuing his work."
"Finally, your father was a devisive man to be sure, but one with an enduring legacy. Will it be difficult to live under his shadow? Or do you plan to forge your own trail?"
"A bit of both to be sure, Stacy. You know the first thing that happened after his body was found was all of his old journals and writing were delivered to Ms, and after rigorous study I’ve come to the conclusion that we agree on a lot of things philosophically speaking, and I think his vision of a pure Pangea really resonate with a lot of people and I look forward to working with the State Assembly to enact his vision."
Jackie had this suspicion that if he were to die, not a single person would mourn him. This was his mood today as he logged into the metanet. He checked his mailbox and pulled up his work list for the day. He slipped a flask of Carmel colored alcoholic beverage from his pants pocket and gulped down a good amount.
It took a bit, but eventually, he began to melt into his work. He called it "The Flow," where he was able to turn off all outside stimuli and only focus on the work. He was able to divorce himself from the manual clicking and typing and just began to surf from server to server looking for his target. It was his way of keeping attention even though the mundane tasks should be overwhelmingly boring.
"Jackson Hodgeson, is that you?" Came a sudden voice from in front of Jackie, snapping him from his workflow.
Jackie looked up to see a well-dressed young man, well groomed and smiling. The face looked familiar like some far-off memory just a moment away from taking form. "It’s Jackie, do I know you?"
"It’s David, David Handcock. We went to that podunk High School together, what was it, seven or eight years ago."
The recognition snapped into place, and Jackie smiled. "Oh yeah, we had that math class together, Mrs. What’s her name," He snapped his fingers to try to remember.
"Keller, yeah. What an old battle axe."
They both laughed.
"I haven’t seen you in years. It seems like you are doing good for yourself." Jackie said, pointing at David’s clothes.
"Oh these, they fell off a transport yesterday. I don’t live in these apartments by choice. I know a couple guys." David messed with the color on his shirt.
"You live in this building? I’m on floor fifteen."
"They suck, huh?"
"That’s putting it mildly. So, what’ve you been up to?"
"Oh, I do some odd jobs here and there, bartend at a couple spots around the quad, you know, just kind of existing. How about you? Are you still making those little games?"
"Nah, I couldn’t afford the tuition to Grandville University, so I dropped out and found some work in the financial sector."
David looked down at his watch, "I’ve gotta run, buddy, but I’m in 1207 most days if you want to hang out. Or, ya know what..." David pulled out a small card with his contact information printed on one side, "here’s my card. Holler at me tonight, and we’ll go out. I know a few places."
Jackie took it and stared at it for a second, "Yeah, I’ll text you later." He looked at his new friend in the eyes, "Good to see you, David."
The two shook hands and parted ways.
The winds seem somehow harsher than they used to, Rebecca thought to herself as she used her hands to tighten her cap to her head as a sudden gust of wind threatened to blow it away. This was her only hat, and town was 45 minutes away.
A bit of loose dirt in the wind slapped her nose, and she regretted not accepting the bandanna her father had offered when she left the house. She made a mental note to not make that mistake again.
The flat, low-lying plains of Eastern Grandville had always been known as a dusty place, but it seemed like lately, the dirt had become a violent occurrence in the lives of the farmers of the area.
The dust cyclones, which were a whimsical memory Rebecca had as a child had in recent years, become large damaging weather occurances. They could spin up in a heartbeat and leave a wake of destroyed buildings, scarred crops, and dead livestock in their wake. The largest one on record spanned a staggering 1.35 miles at its largest.
A heavy thunderstorm with high winds had swept through the previous night and while damage to the main house was minimal, except for a few chips in the kitchen window, the front gate had been pulled out of the ground for several feet on either side of the main gate. The twisted wreckage of the gate looked to Rebecca as if two clawed, metal hands had reached up from underground and tore the gate into two. It formed almost like an arch over the access road that led up to the main house.
Rebecca was writing some plans for who to call to fix the fence when a long black auto pulled off the main road and drove under the damaged gate. The vehicle pulled to a stop near where Rebecca was standing, her eyes showing a mixture of curiosity and suspicion that the driver of the car had seen before on many other faces recently. He rolled down the window and spoke, "Are you Rebecca James?"
She shouldn’t have been shocked that this stranger knew her name, but she was. "That’s me. What do you want."
The man opened the driver’s side door of the auto and stepped out. He was dressed as plainly as possible, and Rebecca couldn’t have pointed him out in a crowd of five people. He extended his hand out to Rebecca as he crossed around the front of his car. "Bob Macklin, DSI acquisition department."
The name DSI made her heart skip a beat, and a lump began to form on the back of her throat. She suddenly wanted this man to turn around and leave but also had too much ingrained politeness to not forcibly eject the stranger. What did he say his name was, Rob, Bob? She thought to herself.
"I’m sure you know that we have our sights set on purchasing your fathers land. You’ve no doubt taken a look around and know much of the land is barren by this point."
"I assume you know who I am if you know my name."
"We know all about you, Mrs. James."
"Miss James. And I’m wondering why you thought that I was a good person to talk to. I have thrown my weight behind every law your bosses put forward in the General Assembly. I want nothing to do with this land grab. A land grab which is highly illegal, by the way."
Bob’s lips curled upward in a grotesque similarcra of a smile, "Miss James, take a look around you. Your father’s cancer isn’t going to get better. Do you really want this to be your life? I recommend you think about our offer."
"And I recommend you turn around and get off our land and head back to Shapsville where you’ll find all the land you need." She turned around and walked toward her pile of tools. She dug out a smoke and lit it up. She couldn’t help but smile when she heard Bob’s vehicle turn over and start. She blew out a puff with a satisfaction when she heard the gravel crunching under the tires, and the man left her alone with her work.
As she picked up a handful of tools she told herself, I think Councilman Rangler would’ve been proud of me.
"It was an odd feeling," Greg would write in his memoirs, "standing in front of the congregation I had grown up in that forat time as High Reverend. All that splendor, once orchestrated by my father, was now mine to command. I’d like to hope that my father was looking down at me from his eternal rest approvingly."
His actual thoughts at the time were darker and angrier. He felt trapped in this position by powerful men who would chew him up upon the altar they sacrificed his father at if it meant furthering their political goals. The claustrophobia of being under an oppressor’s thumb was in the forefront of his mind.
The Council of Five were the five high bishops who ran their own district of Pangea. Each of these men was direct students of the late Joel White. He had trained them, molded them, and was now using them to complete his will from beyond the grave. In the established hierarchy of the church, Greg was the superior, but they pulled the strings. At least for the time being.
There were ways to turn this to his advantage, to instill in himself the kind of powerful aura that his father commanded, but he must be patient.
He had poured hours reading his father’s notes that had been bequeathed upon him after his father’s assassination, soaking up the words he could weird into weapons, for both emotional and political damage. His father also had scores of files on the ins and outs of not only his council of masters but also every major political player across Pangea.
The problem he was beginning to see was that Pangea had too many competing ideas for how it should be run. There should be one executive officer who dictated the direction of a United Pangea, and Greg was beginning to develop the vision he could bring.
He stood up after all the pomp and circumstance of his coronation to deliver his inauguration address. He began:
"My brothers and sisters, my father often spoke of a passage in Jerimya that says "all who fear the fire must also fear heaven" and, my friends, I am here to tell you that thanks to the work of my father, the people of Grandville do not fear the fire. In fact, we embrace the fire and its purifying aspects.
"It is the people up north who fear the fire and actively work to extinguish it on a daily basis. They have become soft and see the fire as something to be molded and shaped as humanity sees fit, but I am here to tell you that there is coming a time when their degeneracy and soft hands will be purified in a holy fire. A fire that will be brought not by hands fearful of the fire, but one who embraces its vision.
"The politicians of the north for years created a separation and fearfulness of man’s connection to the breath of Gaia whether through playing God through their technological advances or passing laws through their sham General Assembaly which lies in ruins. We here in Grandville will be the first to put our hands out and say at the top of our lungs, 'STOP!'
I know that in this great state, the governor is also the High Reverend of this nationwide religion. I pledge to use my position to rail against the spiritual ruin that these policies are having. I promise to purify the hearts and minds to be open to the pull of the fire and to the work of the founders.
"In Grandville, we will continue my father’s work in creating a pure land that the Founders would be proud of. We will lead Pangea into a new future, rooted in traditions set forth by the founders. And I pledge to you to lead us to that 'promised land’."
The people burst into applause so loud and grateful that Greg felt one tear roll down his cheek.
Check out Chapter 4.
