Chapters Three, Four, & Five

This week's chapters from Robert's fiction podcast, "After the Revolution."

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hey, lead the listeners tag here. Last season on Lethal Lit,
you might remember I came to Hollow Falls on a
mission clearing my aunt Best's name and making sure justice
was finally served. But I hadn't counted on a rash
of new murders tearing apart the town. My mission put
myself and my friends in danger. Though it wasn't all bad,

(00:24):
I'm going to be realty tig I like you, but
now all signs point to a new serial killer in
Hollow Falls. If this game is just starting, you better
believe I'm gonna win. I'm tig Torres, and this is
Lethal Lit. Catch up on season one of the hit
murder mystery podcast Lethal Lit, a tig Torre's mystery out now,

(00:48):
and then tune in for all new thrills in season two,
dropping weekly starting February nine. Subscribe now to never miss
an episode. Listen to Leave the Lit on the I
Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.
Here's to the great American settlers. The millions of you
has settled for unsatisfying jobs because they pay the bills.

(01:08):
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(01:52):
side Show. Listen to Grim and Mile Presents now on
the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you
listen to podcast. Chapter three, Sasha the drone gun rotated
on its axis and brought a new, slightly different chunk
of city escape into view. The world was a dull,

(02:14):
gray green color through the lens of the weapon's camera.
Once again, there were no humans in sight. That was
the norm, but Sasha still logged in for her scheduled
gun time every day. Her parents would have been mortified
if they had known how she was spending her few
hours of free time, but she had a good VPN,
or at least it was good enough to hide her
activity from her non tech savvy elders. She doubted they'd

(02:38):
ever suspect her of something like this. Sasha was a
good student. Her grades guaranteed her admission to the American
University in d C. At one point, she'd had a
shot at being her high school's valedictorian and maybe of
gaining admission to Stanford. But then she discovered the true
Gospel and given herself to Christ. Her grades were still good,

(02:58):
but probably not good enough to earn her in educational
visa to the California Republic. The extra time the old
heir had dedicated to school was now spent glued to
a gun camp, browsing live feeds from various Christian militias,
and reading everything she could from the few pastors brave
enough to preach the word. The new herd didn't want
to go to school near San Francisco, capital of what

(03:18):
Pastor Mike had called the world's most sinful nation. Sasha
didn't even really want to go to college in d C.
What was the point? Sash her dad called from the kitchen,
dinners on cheese Enchilada's. There was still nothing in her
line of sight. For the eleventh month in a row,
she was spending sixty five am fed dollars for the
privilege of staring through a camera at nothing for a

(03:41):
half hour a day. Sasha had been warned about this
when she'd signed up to support the Woodlands Martyrs Brigade.
Their drone guns didn't see much action. The front had
been stable for the last year. Rumors said the number
of backers had even gotten to fire during their turn
was under a dozen. Sasha had hoped she'd be a
special case. Something moved. Just as she thought about killing

(04:01):
the app and going downstairs, something moved across her drones
field of vision. It happened again, and Sasha realized that
the somethings were armored soldiers sprinting past her weapon. She
locked the drone on one and for the first time ever,
selected the fire approval button. A second went by, then another,
and then a red box replaced her firing redicule. Target

(04:22):
declined friendly fire. Sasha her mother called up in that
grating voice that mint she was almost frustrated enough to
start yelling get down here. She stared at the box
for another long moment. Friendly fire. That made sense as
she belatedly realized the men had been rushing out of
territory occupied by the martyrs. Good thing, they check up

(04:43):
on us before we pull the trigger. Her heart pounded
a little at the thought of killing the wrong soldier,
but at the same time she noticed something odd. The
men were still coming. They rushed past the drone camera
in waves ten feet apart, ducking low and hefting heavy weapons.
She must to have watched at least a hundred of
them pass before she realized what this meant. A new offensive.

(05:05):
Oh God, dial Alexander, she told her deck. A calm
window popped up about six inches in front of her hand,
to the left of the large drone control screen that
hovered above her. Anyone without a deck would have just
seen a seventeen year old girl lying on her bed
and poking at the air, but Sasha saw the space
in front of her as a giant screen curved around

(05:26):
her body. She opened another window and flung it up
on her right side. It was populated with links to
the camera feeds of all the personalities she followed, most
of them were located somewhere in the Republic of Texas,
and more than half of the feeds were dark. It
was hard to tell just what was happening on the others.
Sasha decided she'd get a faster update on the situation

(05:47):
through her news aggregator. She reduced the other windows and
shifted them to her periphery. Then she opened a new
window and waited a half second for her curated news
feed to populate. Her deck kept ringing Alexander while she
scanned the lines. Reports of explosions across the Dallas Front,
Texas extremist advance into stf Republic territory. Reports from Dallas

(06:09):
suggested a new offensive by Heavenly Kingdom. A half dozen
rings later, Alexander picked up Sasha. He asked. His voice
sounded distant. There was noise on the line. After a
second or so, Sasha heard a boom and then a
strange crackling sound that had to be gunfire. It didn't
sound like it did in the movies, or even in
the few VR shooters she'd played. Sasha's heart had started

(06:31):
to pound by the time she responded, yes, Alexander, I
was just on my drone and it looks like something's happening.
The media saying it's another offensive. They're right for once,
said Alexander, and they're still wrong at the same time.
This is something new, Sasha. I'm sorry I couldn't tell
you before, but it'll all be clear soon. Is this
just the martyrs Brigade? He smiled, and Sasha's face went red. No, Sasha,

(06:54):
something wonderful is Are you near the front? Are you
part of the fighting? Sasha interrupted. She'd never have done
that normally, but she could hear what sounded like gunfire
over his line, and Sasha was scared. I'm with the
second wave, he said the tracks. I'm moving us into
position now. I'll probably have to Whatever else he'd been
about to say was cut short as all of Sasha's

(07:15):
deck apps closed at once. Her digital world was replaced
by a red box that read parental lockdown. Come to dinner, Sasha, mom.
She screamed down the stairs as her eyes welled up
with tears at the unfairness of it all. Alexander, the
man she was pretty sure she loved, was going into
battle for the first time. He was fighting right now

(07:36):
to re establish the rule of God on Earth. I
should have read him a poem, or said something beautiful
and stirring, something about how my love for him was
as everlasting as God's own love. It should have been
a powerful moment, but her heretic horror of a mother
had ruined it for Inchillada's Sasha stormed downstairs, ripe with fury,
but unable to vent it. Her parents couldn't know she'd

(07:58):
been giving money to a militant group. They wouldn't have
to drop in on her talking to Alexander to know
what she had planned. Six kids from her high school
had already left for the Republic of Texas to fight
in one militia or another. It was a problem across
the American Federation, but here in Virginia, parents were particularly wary.
The border of the United Christian States was just an

(08:18):
hour's drive from her front door. Ratlines in the u
c S brought thousands of young volunteers yearly from the
heart of corporate America to the various militia groups that
battled across Texas. Sasha Marian, what did we interrupt that
was so important? You had to yell, I was praying, mother.
It wasn't really a lie. Pastor Mike had said that

(08:38):
every deed done in support of the heavenly kingdom was
an act of prayer. Gwendolen Marian frowned back at her daughter.
She was a stern woman with a broad Germanic face
and dirty blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun.
Faint crow's feet trickled out from her eyes, but those
were from choice rather than times formerly inevitable March. Gwendolen
was the chief of surgery and Annapolis General Hospital. She'd

(09:02):
been taking juven treatment since she was twenty. She'd only
decided to let the crow's feed through once Sasha had
turned seventeen. You can pray as much as you want, honey,
but right now it's dinner time, and this is something
we do as a family. Sasha thought juven was unnatural, heretical.
God had created each human to age a certain way.

(09:23):
Using science to disrupt that natural process was an act
of blasphemy. She yearned to say something cutting, hurtful in response,
but she fought it down. You don't have to obey
your father and mother if they try to keep you
out of the Kingdom of Heaven. Words from one of
Pastor Mike's weekly casts rang in her ears, but the
Lord God still calls on us to respect our parents.

(09:44):
He'd added that well behaved kids were the ones who
caused the least suspicion and had the best chance of
successful escape. Yes, ma'am, was all she said, as the
families settled into their chairs. Her brother Ian was just
five and unusually quiet for his age. He smiled at
her as their father told him out an enchilada, Sash.
Who's Alexander? He asked, and Sasha felt the blood run

(10:06):
out of her face. Their father, Tony, smiled riley at
the remark as he spooned a proportionately larger serving onto
his own plate. Alexander, Huh, maybe this means another boyfriend.
It's been what four years. Tony had opted for fewer
cosmetic juven treatments than his wife. Sasha loved her father's
receding hairline, his slight jowls, his graying hair. He was

(10:29):
still a heretic, but at least he wasn't a vain one.
He's not my boyfriend, dad, just a boy I talk
with sometimes, we pray together. Gwendolen rolled her eyes a little.
Such an exciting adolescence you're having, she said. Sarcasm swelled
every word. Sasha didn't rise to the bait. Her self.
Control was iron now. She wouldn't give them any cause

(10:50):
to worry or call the authorities. It was better even
for them to think Alexander was some boy from school.
If they thought her principles were thawing, they'd be less
likely to suspect what he had planned. The merry and
family ate companionably for several minutes. Tony talked about some
cock eyed nut who'd come into his office at Deutsche
Bank looking for a loan. He wanted three million to

(11:13):
get this build a blimp to take tourists from the
am Fed to Louisiana without crossing UCS territory. And I'm like,
first of all, I can name a hundred boat charters
to do the same thing. And second, Sasha tuned most
of it out and tried to focus on eating. But
knowing Alexander was out there facing death for his faith
killed any appetite she otherwise might have had. She ate

(11:35):
mechanically without really tasting it until her plate was almost clean.
Sasha was planning her exit when her mother spoke up
by the way. The school called today and said, you
still haven't been by to get sized for your graduation robes.
They need at least forty eight hours to print them out.
You're running out of time. Sorry, mom, she said, I
know that's important. I've just had a lot on my

(11:56):
mind lately. The f s T s were last week,
Sah She had gotten very good at telling her parents
what they needed to hear without actually lying. The Federation
Standardized Test had been last week, and she'd certainly had
a lot on her mind lately, But the f s
T hadn't been keeping her up at night. It was
little more than a rubber stamp for a student like Sasha.

(12:17):
That's okay, sweetie, Gwendolen said, I know how important your
school work is to you. I just want you to
have a fun graduation experience. That's important. There's a war
going on a few hundred miles from your door. Men
are dying for God's kingdom, and you think school matters
to me. But Sasha just smiled, told her mom she
loved her, and went back upstairs to her room. As
soon as it was politic to do so. She reactivated

(12:39):
her VPN and popped her deck into stealth mode, which
displayed a curated selection of websites and chat apps for
her mom and dad in case they came by. She
drew a new private window about two feet in front
of her face and split it in half between a
face calm with Alexander and a news feed full of
her favorite militia press offices. Her jaw dropped voice of
the prophets may in headline was Republic of Texas forces

(13:02):
clashed with martyrs. Judgment day is here, she read in
a social media post from one of her favorite sources
in the area, a twenty something mechanic who lived on
the fringe of the Republic and supported the Heavenly Kingdom.
He'd posted a picture of the governor's mansion in Plano.
It was burnt around several of the windows and riddled
with holes. Gone was the Republic's flag, replaced by a
white banner with a burning black cross in the center.

(13:25):
Sasha sent out another call request to Alexander and switched
over to Al Jazeera's feed to learn more. It galled
her to use a new source run by Muslims, but
she had learned from experience that Al Jazeera had the
best reporters on the ground in the Republic. They negotiated
coverage deals with several of the militia groups, including Alexander's.
The first thing she noticed was that their last article

(13:46):
had gone up over an hour ago, but the titles
of the foremost recent articles painted a vivid picture Republic
Capital in Galveston, burning, military coup, Republic media feeds go dark,
SDF under attack. In Dallas. Pastor Mike Donnegan announces new
offensive for Heavenly Kingdom. How could there possibly be a
new offensive against the secular forces in Dallas? The Richardson

(14:08):
line had been locked in a stalemate for the last year.
Alexander had told her often how outnumbered and outgunned the
martyrs of the Heavenly Kingdom were withhold on our own,
but only by the grace of God, was his usual refrain.
The idea of them advancing again on the STF seemed impossible.
Nothing is impossible with God. She could almost hear Alexander's
voice echo in her mind's ear. She glanced over at

(14:31):
his chat screen, but it was still just showed the
standard dialing symbol. Frustrated, Sasha brought up her militia news feed.
This was one of her most cherished possessions. It had
taken months for her to sort out the most influential
Christian militias in the area find their official spokes feeds
and cross index them based on which groups agreed with
the strict Neo Calvinist doctrine. She Alexander and Pastor Mike

(14:54):
all new to be the one true Word of God,
and for the first time since she had started the feed,
each in every militia she followed had posted the exact
same message, The first battle of Armageddon has begun. Sasha
was confused for a minute. She'd done her homework. She
knew the final battle of the end Times was supposed
to occur at Mount Meghito in Israel. But she thought

(15:15):
back to Pastor Mike's sermons. He had talked about the
battles of Armageddon many times. The coming end Times and
the central place of the Heavenly Kingdom in the world's
last Battles were constant refrains in his sermons. Sasha had
always believed the battles of Armageddon would come. She just
thought they had more time. Sasha was frustrated and a
little hurt. Alexander must have known this was in the

(15:37):
offing and kept it from her. She understood, of course,
but she was furious at herself for being so far
away from the action that he had been forced to
hide this from her. The first battle of Armageddon was
beginning just a few hours south of her bedroom. She
could either stay here and rot in the American Federation,
or prove God with her devotion and move there. It
didn't even seem like a choice. Really. If goodmen were

(15:59):
fighting in dying to restore the Kingdom of God on Earth,
it fell to her to travel there and support those men.
She thought of Alexander, his liquid green eyes, his scraggly beard,
the way his still boyish voice broke in excitement when
he lost himself in the spirit of the Lord. Her
beloved was out there right now, fighting and maybe bleeding,
to bring the truth back to the world. The least

(16:20):
she could do was join him. Weeks ago, Alexander had
given her the contact information for a man named Brother Andrew.
He called the other man a deliverer. Sasha knew her
parents and the AMFID authorities would have described Brother Andrew
as a people smuggler. She hadn't reached out to Brother
Andrew yet. In her fantasy, she had always waited to
graduate before escaping to the heavenly Kingdom. She was still

(16:43):
a few weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday and had
hoped to at least spin that with her parents before
setting off. But right now, as she scrolled through articles
about the martyr's breakthrough and immersed herself and snap bits
of cheering soldiers raising cross banners over newly captured neighborhoods,
Sasha felt a powerful anxiety over take her. She needed
to be there. There was no other option. Sasha flipped

(17:05):
open a window on the left side of her view space,
typed in the address she'd memorized for brother Andrew, and
sent him a message, I am ready to go. What
grows in the forest trees? Sure? No. What else grows
in the forest, Our imagination, our sense of wonder, and

(17:27):
our family bonds grow too, because when we disconnect from
this and connect with this, we reconnect with each other.
The forest is closer than you think. Find a forest
near you and start exploring. I discover the Forest dot Org,
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(17:51):
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You knew the painting was fake. Um Listen to Art

(18:12):
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(18:36):
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(19:04):
woke up needing to piss and also to the sound
of explosions. He couldn't quite tell which was more to
blame for his sudden, unwelcome consciousness. His lizard brain woke
up and shouted, get the funk out of their, you asshole.
A second later, Many got to his feet, grabbed his
gear bag and looked around for the journalist. Reggie still
seemed asleep, but he stirred just as Manny started towards him,

(19:26):
and another thundering boom shook the world. Christ, who's that,
Reggie asked, in a slurred voice heavy with sleep. Mortars,
Manny explained, I think I heard rockets too. Shit, The
brit Eck sailed sharply. Is this bad? Manny shrugged. Those
sound like small mortars, very short range. But we're miles

(19:46):
behind the line. So a deafening explosion shook the world.
It was loud enough that Manny didn't even properly hear it.
He felt it hard and hot against his skin. The sheer,
impossible noise of it pulled the air from his lungs
and the thoughts from his head. The next instant, he
was flat on the ground. His eyes darted left and
right for cover. He spotted something, an artificial cave built

(20:09):
into a corner of the main room, perhaps a hundred
feet away. It looked like some sort of shrine or temple.
Many could see. The walls were thick with melted candles,
colorful drawings in a variety of brass cymbals. He grabbed
Reggie by the shoulder and shook hard. The other man jerked,
locked eyes with Manny and mouthed what the fixer pointed
towards the shrine, pulled himself up and sprinted towards it.

(20:30):
The journalists followed, and soon both men were huddled in
the little substructure, staring out at the devastation that had
overtaken the Richardson autonomous project. They could see two holes
in the roof the huge circular kitchen bar looked like
it had taken a direct hit. Beer spurted from shattered taps,
and many could see what looked like blood staining the
white oak of the bar. Counter Flames licked somewhere off

(20:51):
in the distance on the other side of the vast structure.
The air smelled of smoke and burning grass. More blasts
sounded in the distance, including a few that were just
too loud to be mortar fire. Now that he focused,
Manny could also hear the chatter of machine guns. It
was distant, but not nearly as distant as it should
have been. Many dug into his pocket, found where the

(21:12):
deck was clipped inside, and thumbed the power button. Static
flashed at the edge of his vision as his implants
started up. He nearly always ran in minimalist mode, which
gave him access to his maps and his communications sweet
and nothing else. He selected his address book and sub
vocalized his cousin's name, Alejandro. It dialed and dialed and dialed. Amen.

(21:34):
Reggie said, his voice oddly, calm. I think we might
need to get the funk out of here. Reggie looked
over at the bridge and then towards the flames. They
were bigger now and closer. He could see a dozen
or so men and women fighting the fire with hoses
and extinguishers. They didn't seem to be winning. Elsewhere, he
saw small groups breaking cover to run for the exits.
The sound of alarm bells echoed across the big structure.

(21:55):
Alejandro hadn't responded, which meant he was fighting or dead.
I Either way, Manny and Reggie would need to find
their own ride out of this mess. It had been
a while since the last mortar had landed on the complex,
and the small arms fire still sounded distant. This seemed
as good a time to make a break for it
as they were likely to get, so they ran until
they hit the nearest exit doors shoved them open. And

(22:17):
staggered outside into the balmy Texas night. The asphalt parking
lot outside was filled with newly minted refugees, perhaps two
hundred of them, most carried at least to go back.
A few had managed to drag out more. They were
ringed by a widening cordon of armed men and women,
fifty at the most. The militia clutched antique weapons, mostly
small arms, and stuck like glue to the Hescoe barriers

(22:39):
that ringed the old parking lot. Here and there, Manny
caught sight of a man with an RPG or a
light machine gun. It was a forcement for scaring off bandits.
The rockets still thudding in the distance told Manny these
men and women faced considerably more than their match. A
green blink of light caught his attention. Reggie had engaged
his lapel camera. Brit fixed him with a look that said, dude,

(23:02):
what did you expect me to do? Most of the
survivors were probably recording to their decks, too, but Reggie's
little camera could do considerably more. It scanned the world
around him in a three hundred and sixty degree arc.
It also recorded the journalist's own physical data, his heart rate,
his respiration, his adrenal levels. Everything he saw and felt
was being recorded for later consumption. The brit was carving

(23:24):
out a little slice of the war for safer parts
of the world to Binge Watch. Vehicle started to arrive.
The project's motor pool included three tracks built to carry
large groups of people in semi armored semi safety. The
commune's rapid reaction force set to work, loading children and
wounded up first. There was no panic, no hysteria, just
an exhausted efficiency that spoke of long practice. Manny saw

(23:48):
glassy eyes and clenched jaws, but very little open rage.
They're so very used to it, he realized. Scattered throughout
the crowd, Manny saw people whose bodies rattled with a
sort of palsied shock that artillery leaves in its wake.
Reggie just stared out at them, mouth slack. His left
knee twitched, the foot below it pumped against the ground.

(24:09):
Many guessed he was caught between the urge to step
out and talk to some of them and the voice
of sanity in the back of his head that knew
how tone deaf that would be. Manny put a hand
on the journalist's shoulder. We need to get the funk
out of here, and our ride is off calms, he said,
I'm going to suggest we hitch with the R A
P where their guests. They'll make room for us, but
if you'd rather drag us, I know a safe neighborhood

(24:30):
about six miles into the city. We could probably hire
a ride there. It looks like they're a bit short
of room, as is, said the brit Those tracks can't
hold more than people each. Many smiled a little twenty four,
but that's just if you're attached to things like seats.
Ten minutes later, Reggie and Manny clung to the hood
of the track as it barreled down the broken streets

(24:52):
of Ciadad de Muerta, bound for a staging area in
deep Ellum. The fighting sounded much closer by the time
they left Manny guests. The small arms fire couldn't be
more than a couple of blocks away. He and the
journalist held on with white knuckles and tried not to
linger long on what would happen if they lost their grip.
The martyrs had passed the command post the bridge, shouted
in sudden realization. His voice strained to be audible over

(25:15):
the roar of the engines. Holy shit, they have to
be right. Many thought about the geography for a moment.
It was possible that the martyrs had only broken through
in a few chunks of the line, but that would
mean to Shaun and the others were alive and surrounded
or fleeing. Those were the best case scenarios. I think
we might be fucked, Manny said, stunned by the realization.

(25:36):
For the last year, Major Clark had been his most
reliable source in the SDF. That post had seemed immovable,
impregnable for its significance in his little chunk of the world.
The tracks slowed to a stop. Parked facing them were
too smaller armored SDF tracks with swiveling cannons on their roofs.
Soldiers scurried around them. They pulled sections of thin, frosted

(25:56):
gray still glass barricades off the vehicles and started setting
them up to form a new defensive line. Many watched
two militia women wrestle with a large olive green case
covered in boxy cyrillic script. They prided it open, and
Manny saw a huge metal tube and what looked like
a lot of antique optical equipment. It was probably an
old wire guided missile launcher, something that had been antique

(26:18):
before the revolution. He'd never seen the stf use anything
that old. They had drones half this size that carried
even more firepower, had them yesterday, at least, he thought.
The track slowed to a cautious stop and hanked. Manny
glanced back at the driver. She had her hands in
the air in a universal please don't shoot us gesture.
Two of the soldiers peeled off from their efforts and approached,

(26:40):
weapons in hand but not aimed. The driver opened her
door and shouted something down at them. One of the
men responded and gestured vaguely downtown. Manny couldn't make out
exactly what was being said, but the driver's face contorted
in a fury that was impossible to miss. Something's fucked.
Manny said to the journalist, I think we're about to
lose our ride. Look. He pointed to the makeshift barricade

(27:02):
and the dozen or so soldiers who filtered past it
and towards the track. The driver yelled, and one of
the other passengers near the front started to shout. The
soldier's face remained impassive, but he put a hand on
his side arm and repeated a command Manny didn't even
need to hear. A few seconds later, a soldier with
a megaphone arrived and addressed Manny, Reggie and the new
refugees citizens, your vehicle has been requisitioned for medical use

(27:25):
by the SDF. Please dismount on a worldly fashion. Injured
in pregnant individuals may stay aboard. The man repeated the order,
this time in Spanish. Reggie's jaw clinched. Manny could see
fear in his eyes, but the other man just nodded
and started to climb down off the track. Manny did
the same. Not all off the tracks passengers were as compliant.

(27:45):
There was a lot of shouting and even a few
shoving matches between the militiamen and the passengers, but in
the end the STF got their way. Manny gathered fairly
quickly that they planned to send the civilians a mile
or so back to a holding area behind the new line.
Then at was the last sucking place in the world
he wanted to be, so he approached the officer who
had been arguing with their driver. The man had no

(28:06):
rank in signey on his uniform, but that wasn't unusual.
For militia. His fatigues were old U S Army issue.
His arm band identified him as part of the Citizen's Front.
Manny found that odd most of the militia at this
barricade were with Raza Front or the p p A.
This much intermixing wasn't normal. It pointed to a lot
of casualties among the stf DI scope Signor Manny started, Chico,

(28:29):
no ur remismo. I don't have time to debate, no Signor.
My cousin, Alejandro was with Citizens Front, ninth Battalion. He
was our ride. We were taking this journalist. Manny jerked
his head towards Reggie, who stood a few feetback, and
we got caught up in the attack. The officer nodded,
then grunted. Manny studied his face for a moment. The
man was middle aged, with a weak chin and enough

(28:49):
extra meat on his bones to suggest this was his
first front line duty in a while. His eyes were bloodshot,
his hands clenched, his attitude softened a bit at Alejandro's name,
Alejandro Hernandez. Yeah, he's a good man, or was? The
officer said darkly. All our front line units were wiped
out or near enough. The whole stf's been pushed all

(29:10):
the way back to Cidad de Mrta. If he's alive,
he's a prisoner. The man shook his head. Sorry, Chico,
there's not much I can do for you or your friend.
We need to get to Waco. I know there's a
hospital there that must be where you're sending the serious injuries.
Right Dallas doesn't have anything left with a fully are
The officer nodded, These tracks are headed to the field
Hospital in Oak Lawn, but we've got a couple of

(29:32):
deuce and a half sloading up at Fireba Jamenez. If
you can get there on your own, al radio ahead
and ask Major Peron if he's got space. I know Peron.
Manny almost shouted, I went to school with his nephew, Hector.
He couldn't stop himself from wincing, as he said, if
you'd give him my name, that might help. The other
man's eye cocked up in a really motherfucker look. But

(29:52):
then the soldier asked, and your name is Manny Sanchez.
He nodded, good luck. Then, Manny, al radio a head.
You and your friend get to the firebase. Rapido Combrende
Many nodded and turned to Reggie, We've got a ride,
but it's going to be a bit of a hike.
It was less a hike and more of a panicked jog.
The streets around them were filled with dozens of people

(30:14):
carrying their possessions and bags and rusted old shopping carts.
Manny had never seen Dallas this crowded. Less than a
million people still lived in the old Metroplex, but most
of them seemed to be out in the streets to
watch the world end. Sirens sounded courtesy of the city's
old civil defense system, mixed every few seconds with the
distorted voice of a woman reminding them that all motor

(30:34):
vehicle use was prohibited. Any civilian vehicles on the road
will be assumed hostible and targeted. The road traffic was
all military. There was less of it than Manny would
have hoped to see. In the space of a few seconds,
he watched three pairs of cougar assault vehicles race up
towards the front, carrying squads of armored troopers in their
open beds. He also saw one convoy of five anti

(30:56):
tank drones. Each was the size of a four door
sedan with two linked chain guns on a turret that
scanned the sky in fast jerky arcs. There was a
troubling amount of dead space on the road between the
two units. By the sound of it, the fighting had
only grown more intense throughout the morning. The crack of
small arms fire had been nearly drowned out by the
all consuming roar of close support drones in the sky

(31:17):
above them. The only noises to rise above that din
were the stippling bangs of mortar fire and the pop
pop popping of cluster box fire based Jemenez was about
two miles back from the new front. It was mainly
a staging area for the STFs Autonomous Artillery Division. The
a a D was made up of men and mostly
drones from all the secular militia groups active in the

(31:38):
Dallas area. The firebase itself wasn't well fortified. The only
physical defense was a fence topped with razor wire to
keep civilians out. That wouldn't be much of a barrier
for a determined assault. Until a couple of hours ago,
Yemenez had been far enough from the front that an
assault wasn't considered possible. After an hour of mixed jogging
and running, Manny and Reggie took a left onto park lane,

(32:00):
the fire base came into view. It had been built
in the bones of an old apartment complex. Several buildings
had been converted into offices and the rest left as
barracks space. The apartments were situated across the road from
a tall, very thin, parentheses shaped building that looked out
over a large field dotted with landing pads. The name
Top Golf Driving Range was still visible on the side

(32:20):
of the building. Several hundred militiamen were hard at work
throwing up defenses. Still, glass sheets had been set up
to screen a dozen machine gun nests. Further back, soldiers
piled sandbags in front of two howitzers. Manny and Reggie
weren't the only civilians trying to gain entrance. Fifty or
so people clustered by a checkpoint in the middle of
the road, a hundred yards ahead of the construction efforts.

(32:41):
The checkpoint was new, just a sandbag machine gun emplacement
manned by six fighters in powered body armor. They were
overwatched by a pair of ancient Abrams tanks positioned on
either side of the road. The soldiers in the middle
checked the documents and let the occasional civilian through they
turned most people back. There were a lot of shouts
and violent estures on the part of the civilians. While

(33:02):
Manny watched, one of the guards raised their rifle up
and fired it just to the left of a screaming
man's face. He recoiled in pain and fear, clutched his ears,
and staggered away from the checkpoint. The weight was only
about ten minutes, but with the thudding artillery at their back,
each of those minutes felt like an hour. But soon
they stood face to face with one of the armored
militia folks. Reggie went stiff at once, his pupils the

(33:25):
size of dinner plates. He had never seen powered armor
up close before. Many couldn't blame the man for being unnerved.
The reflective, bug eyed, blistic glass of the helmets and
humanly broad shoulder armor made the wearers look like Crone
and Bergie and guerrilla mantis hybrids. The shortest armored soldier
was well over seven feet tall and almost as broad
as two men. Their gender was impossible to discern, but

(33:47):
a feminine voice leapt from the speakers. State your business,
she said, if you're looking for shelter, you'll have to
head to North Park Center. We don't have room for you.
Am Emmanuel Sanchez Major Perune. Should have my friend and
I on your list. The woman was silent for a
little while. As she called up the list, she clucked
her tongue between her teeth, and the high fidelity mike
in her suit made it sound like she'd done it

(34:07):
next to his ear. Well, hell, there you are, Her
helmeted head bobbed at them. All right, you're in, come
through quick. You stop being my fuckin problem. As soon
as you're inside. They made their way towards the actual
front gate of the fire base, passing squads of militias
struggling with hescoes and setting up firing positions behind the
still glass palisade. Manny and Reggie walked past it all

(34:28):
and to the firebase's front gate. They were let in
without any fuss, which surprised Manny a bit, but he
wasn't about to question it. On the other side of
the gate, they found themselves adrift, unescorted, and surrounded by
pure chaos. There were other civilians inside the walls, huddled
in small groups around piles of backpacks. They sat wide
eyed and shaking and waited for whatever deliverance the st

(34:49):
F could provide. Soldiers rushed through the clots of humanity
in groups of two or three. Often their arms were
filled with machinery or paper, or even crates of munitions.
Everyone's eyes were fight and full of fear. For a while,
Reggie and Manny milled around with no real aim, unable
to enter any of the buildings. Manny found them an
unclaimed place to sit that looked like it would be

(35:10):
easy for Mr. Perune to find, and then they just
sat there. At one point, Reggie offered him a protein bar.
Manny tried to eat it, but three bites in he
accepted that his appetite just wasn't there. What do I
do if Dallas falls? He ran through his finances over
and over again, mulling over which European visas he could
afford and how long he'd be able to survive in
each country. I could make it a year, maybe eighteen months.

(35:32):
In Croatia, he'd been studying German for the last year.
Though I can learn Croatian any here, he tried to
convince himself. He also tried to ignore what he'd been
leaving behind. If he hopped the next flight from Austin
to the EU. He didn't want to think about Oscar's
wife and child, how they'd get by without their dad's income.
He didn't want to think about his own father or
the rest of his family and how they'd fair if

(35:53):
Austin fell. You can only afford to take care of
you here, Manny. It was two hours be or Major
Perne found them. The older man's skin was a deep
sunsharred brown that seemed at odds. With his narrow face
and thin wire glasses. He had the look of a
high school history teacher who had been transplanted into a
war zone. There was something drawn and strained in his

(36:14):
expression that spoke of deep exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot
and his nose was swollen slightly red. Manny could remember
seeing that same face a bit younger and wearing a
T shirt rather than digiKam at a hundred different slumber parties.
Mr Perrone was Hector's dad. Mr Perrone made them kettle
corn and let them watch violent movies on the family
projector Major Perone. Manny had to remind himself he's Major Perone,

(36:39):
the Major favorite Manny with a sad smile. Madre di dio,
s Emmanuel, it's fucking good to see you. Have you
seen your cousin Alejandro? He was with us last night,
Manny said, before the attack. A pained look crossed the
Major's face. Okay, he nodded and forced to smile back
across his lips. I hear you boys need a ride, yeah, U,

(37:00):
Manny said, If you could get us back to Waco,
I have enough connections in the area to get him.
Manny nodded back to the journalist. Into Austin and what
is your name, sir, Major Perrone asked the journalist as
he extended his hand. Reggie the brit responded, thank you
so much for helping us. I'm afraid there's not much
I can do right now. The situation is still very fluid.

(37:21):
We've set a new defensive line running from the Lakewood
Crater to love Field. With any luck, the martyrs have
spent the bulk of their strength and will hold them there.
And if not, Reggie asked, Mr Perrone laughed and scratched
his head. Well, if the line breaks, then I'd guess
our collective pooch is screwed. We'll begin the evacuation if
it gets much worse. But right now we're still waiting

(37:42):
for convoys of wounded to get back through the lines.
He gestured out at the considerable amount of fenced off
open space in the firebase. This whole place is about
to be a big, open air hospital. He gave Reggie
a severe look. I won't tell you not to record them,
because quite frankly, everyone here is too busy to police that.
But I will ask that you showed tact in respect
in your documentation, of course, said Reggie, with enough sincerity

(38:06):
that Manny believed him. All right. He clapped Manny on
the shoulder, and after a second's pause, embraced him. Hold
on out here for a while. I'll try to send
some food in a little bit. Manny and Reggie both
thanked Major Braun, and he trundled off into the old
top golf building to do his part in co ordinating
the defense. So what now, Reggie asked, We wait, said Manny.

(38:29):
Three hours passed. More and more wounded men streamed into
the base, carried on stretchers and an ambulances, and in
several cases stacked like firewood on flatbed trucks. The wounded
were set up on cots and piles of blankets in
the grass, and wherever possible, in paved sections of the
driving ranger's old parking lot. Medics, far too few medics
hustled from soldier to soldier at a frantic, mannic unsustainable pace.

(38:53):
For a while, there was nothing to do but follow
Reggie around while he interviewed the wounded men and women
who were stable enough to talk. They all reported shock
at the speed and ferocity of the attack. Their testimonies
drove home the fact that this was something new. Tendrils
of fear crept up Manny's spine. It was all he
could do to keep moving with his journalist amen. Reggie said,
look at that fellow. He pointed to a soldier with

(39:15):
the top half of his head wrapped in blood soaked bandages.
Something about the man's broad and square chin looked familiar.
Isn't that one of the men we met yesterday? Reggie
asked the major. Holy sh it, Reggie was right. That
had to be de Shaun Clark. Manny ran over to him.
As he drew closer, it became clear that Deshaun was
an even worse shape than he looked at a distance.

(39:36):
His shirt had been ripped open, exposing a muscular chest
drenched in blood. Three white plugs of hardened Selock's wound
spray were visible across his abdomen. He'd been shot repeatedly
and had what looked like a shrapnel wound on the
side of his head. At least he's breathing, Manny thought,
Major Clark, he said, and to Manny's surprise, the warrior
poet stirred. Manny, Sweet Jesus, is that you, Deshaun asked

(40:00):
in a slured voice, Yes, Sir, Manny said, You know,
I was damn sure you'd been killed. Haven't had all
that much time to think about you in the last
few hours, of course, what with everyone dying and all.
I'm glad you're alive, Manny said, and he was. Major
Clark had always been good to him. Do you know
what happened to him? Eid and Colonel Milgram, Manny asked,

(40:20):
before the thought had fully crystallized in his mind. Major
Clark tried to lift his head and almost cried out
from the sheer agony of the movement. He didn't speak
for a few seconds. He just took deep, slow breaths,
but he started to whisper. The last sunbeam lightly falls
from the finished Sabbath on the pavement here and there
beyond it is looking down a new maid double grave.

(40:42):
What Manny asked, confused, Walt Actually, Major Clark laughed, winced,
and then explained, Walt Whitman, that is sorry. Imminent death
makes me go for the deep cuts. So they're dead.
Then Manny asked, Major Clark coughed, and again his lips
curled up in an agonized cringe. I think, so, he
managed to say. I think everyone from the command post

(41:05):
is dead. I was out grabbing a smoke when they
hit us. Came in a nowhere drone, artillery, heavy stuff.
Whole place lit up like Christmas. Two booms sounded in
the distance. Major Clark tensed up. Reggie cringed to Manny
the whole situation seemed almost too unreal to justify a
reaction like that, Major Clark said, after I grabbed who

(41:26):
I could and tried to save as many men as
possible fighting retreat. You know, we linked up with as
many fighters as we could, but every time we'd set
a line, they'd break through. They had so many damn drones.
I've never seen martyrs use drones like that. What do
you mean Reggie asked, well, they've always had drones, but
usually just as defensive aids for when we'd make a push.

(41:46):
We've got enough jammers that their hardware was no use
in our territory since none of their ship goes autonomous.
So what, the journalist asked, as he drew in a
bit closer. Do you think they've changed their minds on
autonomous drones? Or is this something else? Major Clark rolled
his head just a little. It seemed to be the
only gesture he could make without hurting himself. I don't know, kid,

(42:07):
he said, whatever's happening, it's totally new, and it's totally
fucked us. Major Clark was taken by another coughing fit.
This one lasted a long time. Blood bubbled up and
out from the corners of his mouth. Manny wanted to
call for a medic, but he couldn't see any of
them who weren't dealing with patients who were even worse off. Eventually,
the coughing subsided and Major Clark drifted off into unconsciousness.

(42:29):
They sat with him until the night fell and mister
Perrone finally came to get them. He looked exhausted and
somehow broken. His skin was sallow and so pale it
was almost yellow. His uniform was soaked with old sweat stains,
and he had two lit cigarettes in his mouth when
he found Manny and Reggie. Manny wasn't sure he'd ever
seen the older man's smoke. Mister Perrone noted his surprise.

(42:50):
I've taken up smoking again, he said, with a hollow laugh,
since her own expect to survive to the end of
the week. That bad Manny asked worse, shook his head
and then seemed to notice the Major, Is that d
Shawn Clark? Yes, Sir Manny said, is he He's alive
and he seems to be stable for now. Major Perrone

(43:11):
looked relieved. That's one spot a mercy. Then hopefully we'll
get him out in time. On that note, I've confirmed
that we've got a convoy of wounded heading out tomorrow
a m as soon as our scouts clear the route.
You'll both have a seat in that convoy. Thank you
so much, Sir Reggie started. Mr Perrone cut him off.
It's no problem, son, do your job and tell people

(43:31):
what's happened here. What are you going to do, Sir
Manny asked Mr Perrone looked into his eyes. He'd always
had an intense stare. His edge had been evident, even
when he'd been driving the boys to soccer practice or
taking them out for pizza. Now his eyes bored into
Manny's heart so deeply that the fixer finally understood what
that phrase meant. I'm going to die here, Emmanuel, he said,

(43:52):
I'm going to die here like your cousin Alajandro died here,
because it's the only thing I can do that might
protect our home. Manny felt an intense urge to look away,
to cast his eyes down, but he didn't. He held
mister Perrone's gaze and braced himself for what came next.
What about you, mister Perrone asked, What will you do
if they reach Austin? Wait? Is that on the bloody table?

(44:16):
Reggie interrupted. Mister Perrone paused for a moment and considered
his words. I don't know, he said, no one does.
But the martyrs just broke through it Lakewood. We won't
hold Dallas for another day. He pulled Manny into a
hug and kissed him on the cheek. When he pulled back,
he kept his hands on many shoulders. I've always been
proud of you, Emmanuel. I think that what you do here,

(44:36):
he nodded to Reggie, has value. But there are times
when our homelands require more of us. What are you
prepared to give for Austin Manny clinched his jaw. I
plan to be on a plane out of here in
the next twelve hours, if possible. But I don't know, sir,
is all, he said. It was hard to meet mister
Perrone's eyes. When he did, he was sure the older

(44:57):
man saw the guilt in them. Mr Perrone didn't say anything, though,
He just led Mannie and Reggie over to where the
convoy was assembling and slipped them a pair of m R.
E's and some bottled water. The best I can do,
he said, apologetically. He left them at the disembarkation point.
Manny's last clear sight of the man who had helped
raise him was of his slumped, sweat stained shoulders trudging

(45:20):
back to the fire Bass command center. They sat there
for hours, neither of them talked much. One by one,
the wounded men were loaded carefully into the assortment of
old half tracks, buses, and trailers that made up the convoy.
Once they were seated, there was another two hours of
white time before the convoy got moving. Both Reggie and
Manny found time to nap, but neither of them were

(45:40):
really rested when the dawn broke and the convoy set forward.
By the time the ramshackle assortment of trucks and broken
soldiers started on its way to wake O, the sound
of mortar fire was so constant it had almost become
white noise. The small arms fire wasn't as loud, but
it was also clearly much closer than it had been
when they'd arrived at Firebasimnez. As the convoy rolled out

(46:01):
on to the old access road that led eventually to Waco,
a flight of drones roared past them and towards the
new front line. Those aunt STF drones? Are they? Reggie asked,
without actually looking at Manny. His gaze was focused on
the two medics in the back of the truck as
they moved from soldier to soldier. No. Manny confirmed, those
are Austin's Civil Defense Forces. The brit whistled through his teeth.

(46:25):
So you think this means the st F ran through
their drones could be as all? Manny said. The track
and its escort lumbered through the cracked remnants of the
old highway system, the accumulated hangers on civilian vehicles piled
high with refugees. As they rolled along, The civilians stayed back,
leary of the convoy's guns but trusting in its presence

(46:45):
for protection. By the time the convoy finally left the
Dallas Sprawl, their tails stretched back to the horizon line.
Manny had seen similar sights before, when his parents had
fled the d f W area for Austin's relative safety.
Here in there on and in the cars behind them,
he saw small figures that had to be children, kids
like he'd been fleeing the same city he'd had to

(47:07):
flee for the same basic reason. Manny's stand out memory
from that time wasn't the terror of seeing a mortar
land for the first time, or anything about their flight
out of the city at all. It was from the
next day at their first refugee camp, when he saw
his father in line for their daily ration of food.
A journalist had passed by, taking the sort of pictures

(47:28):
Reggie's lapel camera now snapped mindlessly. Manny's dad had been crying,
ashamed that he'd needed charity, and even more ashamed to
have fled the family home. More than anything about that time,
Manny remembered how his father had hidden his face from
the photographer. The gesture had told Manny more about their
new status in the world than anything an adult had

(47:49):
actually said. Behind him now were cars full of mothers
and fathers and children who were about to have their
own searing experiences. Manny hated how familiar this felt to him.
He hated at for Reggie it counted as the adventure
of a lifetime. Many looked at the journalist, at the
awe and innocent excitement in his eyes, and tried to
imagine Reggie's life back home. None of the individual pieces

(48:12):
of that life would be new to Manny. His world
also had bars and parties, and apartment leases and term papers.
The thing he couldn't imagine was the sense of security,
living life without the constant threat of war. He'd been
so close to securing that life for himself if it
only waited six months, But they hadn't, and now Manny

(48:33):
had a choice to make stand and fight or run
with what he had and hoped for the best. Manny
leaned back as much as his precarious seat allowed and
stared out at the burning city that had once been Dallas. Goddamn,
he muttered to himself. I gotta get the funk out
of Texas. I'm Colleen wit Joined me the host of

(48:59):
Eating While per podcast. While I eat a meal created
by self made entrepreneurs, influencers, and celebrities over a meal
they once eight when they were broke. Today I have
the lovely aj Crimson, the official Princess of comfin Asia,
Kidding and Asia. This is the professor. We're here on
Eating While Broke, and today I'm gonna break down my

(49:19):
meal that got me through a time when I was broken.
Listen to Eating While Broke on the I Heart Radio app,
on Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts. Adoption
of teens from foster care is a topic not enough
people know about, and we're here to change that. I'm
April Dinuity, host of the new podcast Navigating Adoption presented
by adopt us Kids. Each episode brings you compelling, real

(49:41):
life adoption stories told by the families that lived them,
with commentary from experts. Visit adopt us Kids dot org,
slash podcast, or subscribe to Navigating Adoption presented by adopt
us Kids, brought to you by the U. S Department
of Health, the Human Services Administration for Children and Families,
and the ACT Council. Hello and welcome to our show.
I'm Zoe de Chanelle and I'm so excited to be

(50:02):
joined by my friends and cast mates Hannah Simone and
Lamar and Morris to recap our hit television series New Girl.
Join us every Monday on the Welcome to Our Show podcast,
where we'll share behind the scenes stories of your favorite
New Girl episodes, revealed the truth behind the legendary game
True American, and discuss how this show got made with
the writers, guest stars, and directors who made the show

(50:23):
so special. Fans have been begging us to do a
New Girl recap for years, and we finally made a
podcast where we answer all your burning questions like is
there really a bear in every episode of New Girl?
Plus each week you'll hear hilarious stories like this at
the end when he says you got some schmid on
your face. I feel like I pitched that joke. I

(50:44):
believe that I feel like I did. I'm not on
a thousand percent I want to say that was I
tossed that one out. Listen to the Welcome to our
show podcast on the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcast,
or wherever you get your podcasts. Chapter five, Rowland. Twenty
years ago, Camelback Mountain had towered over a wealthy suburb

(51:06):
of Phoenix, Arizona. Then had come the Civil War. Power, food,
and water shortages made the cities hundred and thirty degrees
summers insufferable for all but the hardiest or most chromed.
Millions fled for less vicious climates or simply died from
exposure and starvation. Now Phoenix was a looted, crumbling ghost,
but Camelback Mountain still hosted a version of human civilization.

(51:29):
Camel Toe was a city of roughly five thousand. The
name had started because the settlement's founders, homeless teens, thought
it was funny. A few hundred orphaned or abandoned kids
had settled in the McMansions clustered around the mountains, western
edge and foothills. They'd scrounged grow lamps and engines and weaponry,
and today the denizens of the tow had the strongest

(51:49):
city state between California and the Kingdom of Albuquerque. Rowland
was their guardian. Mind you, they'd never asked him to
guard them. The police had been doing quite well, thank
you very much. When he'd shown up and built his
shack in the middle of their only park. A delegation
of armed towins had showed up to politely e vict Rowland,
and he'd been forced to carve off their foreskins as
a show of dominance. They'd sent a single negotiator next

(52:13):
and worked out a thoroughly beneficial arrangement. Rowland would aid
in the city's defense in exchange for his now departed shack,
and twice a year all the narcotics he could carry
home from their harvest. It was an arrangement Rowland had enjoyed.
He was frustrated that Jim's men had forced him to
destroy his beloved hovel, but it was hard for him
to be angry all the same. The sun was out now,

(52:34):
and it was early enough that the day's heat had
yet to set in the great red desert, and the
carcass of Phoenix stretched out around them, and to Roland's
eyes it was all beautiful. Once Jim had called the fight,
a pair of boxy armored Hella transports had flown in
another squad of his men. They assembled a brunch spread
complete with a table and two wicker chairs. Roland hoped

(52:55):
his old friend was doing this to show off and
not planning an actual meal. The acid twisted Roland's guts
into knots and effectively killed his appetite. He was still
high enough that the familiar boulders around his home seemed
to flex and wobble like great mounds of red jelly.
Jim's face, however, was rock solid. Roland focused on it
while the rest of the world blurred. A towel came

(53:16):
into his hands, and he realized a moment later that
Jim had handed it to him. Roland wiped the crusted
gore from around his shoulder, where the tiny robots in
his blood had finished reattaching his arm. It was a
messy process that involved a lot of shuffling bad blood
out of the skin and sludgy red globs. The globs
looked a bit like the boulders now that he thought
about it. Jim's merks were over by one of the aircraft,

(53:38):
getting worked over by a medical team that must have
been waiting in the wings this whole time. The acrylic
stink of fear wafted off them from thirty feet away.
Once the table was up and the spread was set.
Roland and Jim sat down to watch the last rays
of sunrise turned into boring old daylight. A lackey handed
them both steaming mugs of coffee. Roland took his black

(53:58):
and Turkish so thick was almost putting. Most humans made
it too weak for his taste, but this cup was perfect.
He sipped deeply, and the warbly acid lines straightened and
grew just a little bit thicker. Took forever to teach
him how to make it right, Jim said, having human
orderlies is a bit of a trial. I think there's
something about us that breaks their brains just a bit.

(54:19):
Jim sipped his coffee and added, I gotta theory about that.
By the way, Roland let out a harsh, flimmy exhalation
that meant I don't care. Jim continued all the same,
sipping his coffee and then launching into a spiel. My
theory is that Homo sapiens just aren't built to acknowledge
a higher form of life, not one that's flesh and blood,
and staring him in the face, demanded service. I think

(54:42):
deep in the human brain there's the race memory of
running up against neander Tolls. They were bigger and stronger
and faster than humans, but we they still wipe the
neander Tolls out. I think humans look at us the
same way the ancestors looked at ne and a Tolls.
Roland grunted because that was easier than talking, and because
he really wasn't listening. His eyes were focused on the

(55:03):
shimmering surface of the coffee sober. His brain kept his
thermal vision on a different mental track from his color
and infra red vision. But while he was tripping, they
all just sort of blended together into one multi tone,
massive information. So he stared and thralled as red heat
bled off into the white air around them. The math
of it all was rendered as a beautiful swatch of colors,

(55:24):
some of which weren't even visible to human eyes. Roland
lost himself for a moment. If you any other man,
I'd prick you with a sober stick right now, Jim said, clearly, irked.
It's been a long time since someone's ignored me. Not ignoring,
Roland managed to say. The words came out wet and mushy.
He'd taken around to the lung, apparently, and the repair

(55:44):
efforts played hell on his throat. His eyes were still
locked on the psychedelic sprawl of color. Lifting off from
his coffee. He had to force himself to take another sip.
The mild stimulant surge helped him break off his perseveration,
and he met Jim still weirdly solid gaze. Sorry, this
coffee is more interesting than your bullshit, Roland explained. Blame

(56:05):
the acid, Jim laughed. The snake tattoos on his torso
curled and corkscrewed and simulated excitement. You know, he said.
There's a new movement in the posthuman community started up
in Idaho, one of the Intentional communes. They take a
pretty strong anti narcotic policy. Apparently it distracts us from
the impoltant work we should be doing. Fuck that, Roland said,

(56:27):
and spat on the ground for emphasis. I don't disagree.
Jim nodded and produced an enormous and very phallic blunt.
He lit it, pulled deep, and passed it over. Roland
took a long drag and eased into a slump as
the t h C did its slow work, so Jim,
Roland said. After a few more passes, once the acid
and weed had time to push his braid into a

(56:49):
hazy new equilibrium. Why are you here, Jim gave an
eloquent shrug, popped the blunt out of his mouth, and
stared at the curling smoke. Roland stared too, and his
eyes was wreathed in a our truce black halo of
heat that seemed to almost vibrate near the cherry tip.
To catch up, Jim said, and to offer you a job. Job,

(57:10):
Roland snorted, I need not your filthy lucre. Look at
this wealth that surrounds me. He made a broad gesture
that encompassed the remains of his novel. What could you
possibly offer well, Jim said, For startus, I can replace
your hot played. I think Bigsby broke it with his body,
so I'll steal another one. Roland said, what do you
really have? I'm gonna guess a few million won't pique

(57:31):
your interest. Roland blew a fat, wet raspberry. I don't
even care what currency you're talking about. What good old money?
Do me? Not even Cascadian script uh, Jim asked with
a grin Cascadia. Roland had heard the name, of course last.
He remembered the Pacific Northwest's Premier Independence movement had been
agitating to secede from the Coastal Pact. Is that a

(57:53):
thing now as a six years ago? Jim said. He
took a deep pull of the blunt, handed it back
to Roland and exhaled a thick white cloud as he spoke.
And they just finished their own civil war, So the
value skyrocketing. You really don't get out much these days,
do you. Roland's response was another deep gulp of his coffee. Anyway,
Jim continued, I know you don't care for cash, but

(58:16):
there is something I think you might want, and I
can buy it back for you if you'll help me out. Wait,
buy it back by what back? Roland recognized the snake
man's smile on Jim's face. He had the vague sense
that he'd seen it before enough that the sight of
it set his hackles arise and sparked an itch in
his left trigger finger. He took a deep hit from

(58:37):
the blunt and handed it over to Jim. The other
man took the blunt with his left hand and made
a gun shape with the fingers of his right hand.
He pantomimed a shot to the head. His lips made
a barely audible pow memories. Jim said, I know you're
only playing with half a deck. Maybe less surprised you
remember my mug. To be honest, Jim took a final

(58:57):
drag from the blunt, which was barely the length of
a um nail now, and passed it off to Roland.
But science, Ah, she's kept right on lurching forward the
last ten years. There's a neuro team up at m
I a t They reckon they've made a breakthrough al
Zama's research. Initially, but they think they figured out how
to straight up recover memories from damaged brain tissue. The
attack has reversed a lot of injuries the old science

(59:19):
said was permanent. Roland felt a painful, tugging sensation in
his chest. He thought back to the woman from his
dreams with a damascene teeth. He saw her every few weeks,
trapped in some foggy memory or another. Her name felt
like it was always on the tip of his tongue.
He didn't know what she'd meant to him, but the
thought of her twisted his heart into knots. It was maddening,

(59:40):
not even knowing what she'd been to him, or he
to her. Roland frowned, turned his head and locked eyes
with Jim eating a bunch of fed funded school scientists.
You're gonna help me, Roland asked. He had a strong
feeling none of the governments on this continent or fans
of me. Jim waved a careless hand less the issue,
he said, those am motherfucker's a pragmatists. I've been in

(01:00:02):
and out of the Northeast half a dozen times just
this year. You do work they value and they ignore
a little terrorism memories hazy, Roland said, but I know
little is inaccurate. I think we killed a skyscraper. You
don't remember that the Diamond Building and photo one a
hundred and twenty floors, A rich pigs wallowing in ship.
We slipped a bombing during an Austeritius summit led by

(01:00:24):
the CEOs of the Big Fall, bugged the conference room
so we could hear him scream when that first blast
cut the support beams. It was better than sex. There
was a peculiar joy in Jim's eyes, his chest snakes
writhed in orgiastically. Roland felt queasy. Rowland, Jim added, the
sons of bitches had it coming, maybe, Roland said, but

(01:00:46):
I know we didn't just kill CEOs. I remember other times.
Kids not kids, Jim insisted, as young enough to take
full advantage of juven the future undying lords of capital,
they had to go. Oh, Roland shivered. Even if they did,
I'm sort of glad I don't remember it. Jim shrugged,

(01:01:06):
swirled his coffee cup, and stared into it for a minute.
If he'd been anyone else, Roland would have been able
to read his emotions by the sense coming off of
him and the micro expressions on his face. Most post
humans were just as easy to read as regular humans.
It took a mix of very specific surgeries and a
hell of a lot of time spent in practice to
hide anything from Roland. It said a lot that Jim

(01:01:28):
had considered the expense worthwhile violence is the coin that
buys the future, Jim said, there was a time when
you explain that to me. I don't remember that conversation,
Roland said, but it's been years since I've taken a life,
A couple of four skins one guy's hand. Sure, sometimes
a point needs making. I haven't killed anyone in a
long time, though. That's why all the folks you sent

(01:01:50):
to my door are still alive, and I mean to
stay on the wagon. Killing's not wanted on this mission,
Jim assured him. Just property destruction I need too, with
three days of your unrivaled ship up fucking expertise. Roland
flicked a suspicious eyebrow at his old friend. Property, he asked.
Jim nodded. A couple of guys might need crippling along

(01:02:12):
the way, but no killing. So what's this gig? Rowland
was interested now, in spite of himself sabotage, Jim's lips
curled up in a feral grin. Over the last few months,
we've noticed a substantial build up among the radical Christian
militias in north and central Texas. We Rowland asked, my
own organization, and the am FED the Central Intelligence Agency.

(01:02:35):
Roland couldn't help but laugh. I remember enough of the
old days to appreciate the irony of you working with
the CIA. Jim's head cocked just a little to the left,
he grimaced. Roland wasn't sure, but he thought his friend
might be a little embarrassed and defensive. Anyone who lives
long enough becomes a hypocrite, Jim said, with a shrug.
I'd hope to hold out longer, but their satellite coverage

(01:02:57):
is fucking phenomenal. I'll send you the intel. He made
a flicking gesture towards Roland with his right index finger,
and then frowned in annoyance. You might be the last
dark brain on this continent, you know that. Roland wasn't
sure why he'd disconnected himself from the Internet. It seemed
to annoy other people, but he rather enjoyed it. His
hindbrain had absorbed peda bites of data before he'd severed

(01:03:18):
the link, so he never found himself needing to consult
a Wicki to remember the equations behind the Coriolis effect
or a bullet's trajectory. You could have walked from Canada
to Venezuela without encountering a plant or animal his distributed
mechanical brain couldn't name. The only downside to his situation
was that he couldn't keep up with politics or bleeding
edge military technology. He only gleaned that sort of information

(01:03:40):
by experience or conversation, and being a creepy godlike being
who sometimes circumcised trespassers, Roland didn't have many conversations. One
of Jim's aids ran up and handed Roland a paper
thin tablet. Jim directed him through a dozen satellite images
of what looked like vehicle and ammunition depots. Roland's hindbrain
recognized the Dallas road systems immediately a surge of since

(01:04:03):
memory hit him. Fire so much fire, the smell of
it only drowned out by the intense stink of thirty
thousand people panicking. At the same time, Roland felt bullets
dig into his flesh. He saw hate in the eyes
of the advancing cops, and he felt a corresponding surge
of glee. As his brains started to pump out battle drugs.
He squeezed his trigger. Roland shook his head, pulled his
mind back into the present moment. Jim frowned, but didn't

(01:04:26):
say anything. He just pointed back at the tablet. Roland
focused again. It appeared to be a satellite image of
a defensive line in Dallas. He noted a large number
of military vehicles piled into several parking garages. What's going
on here, he asked, suit carriers. Jim said, a couple
of dozen of them. Roland shook his head. Impossible, that'd

(01:04:46):
be enough to support what six hundred power armored fighters.
Those are nation state numbers and other Republic of Texas
as a ship show. But there's no way they'd let
someone surge in militia build an army like that in
their borders. Maybe not, Jim said, maybe so. Truth told,
I don't care what's parked in those garages. You blow
em up, I get paid, and you get your fancy surgery.

(01:05:07):
Roland felt uneasy. The job itself seemed too simple. The
killed team Jim had sent to wake Roland up probably
could have done this job with a few reinforcements. It
seemed weird that some nutbar extremists could get their hands
on that many suits. Roland just didn't trust the whole situation. Jim,
he asked, can you promise me this memory thing will work?

(01:05:28):
Fuck no, Jim scoffed, I can't even promise you'll survive.
This is a bleeding edge mad science operation. The infant
is willing to break in a national law to work
on a wanted terrorist. I'm half sure they just want
to see what happens when they stopped poking around your skull.
You might be makin the worst mistake of your life here,
but at least you'll die after blowing up a bunch
of gear owned by crystal fascist assholes. Roland considered for

(01:05:51):
a long moment, then nod at his assent. All right,
then you've convinced me. I'm in as long as this
stay is a sabotage mission. No killing, no killing. Jim agreed.
They both stared out at the vacant desert for some time.
Roland found himself humming along to a song he couldn't
name or even remember hearing. Jim hummed along with him.

(01:06:13):
He put a hand on Roland's shoulder. That felt good.
There was something about human contact that none of the
machines in his head could replicate. They sat for a
while longer. Then Jim squeezed Roland's shoulder and stood come
for another peaceful wall. Then, Hey, everybody, Robert Evans here.

(01:06:35):
I hope you just enjoyed the chapter you listen to.
I hope you enjoyed the chapters to come. If you
would like to read the text version of this book
either on the web or on your e reader as
an e pub you can find those on the website
a t r book dot com. So again, the free
ad free e pub and the text of every chapter
will be on a t r book dot com. Thanks.

(01:06:59):
Make sure to check out Champs, your number one music podcast.
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(01:07:43):
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(01:08:03):
the Chronicles podcast and I Aren't Radio, wherever you get
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Many Questions, I put together a little experiment. I asked
trailblazers across different disciplines the same seven questions, questions about
the inflection points in their life, what they like least
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(01:08:26):
This season, I'm coming back with new trailblazers like Blondie
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(01:09:10):
wherever you get your favorite podcasts,