January 15, 2021 • 23 mins
In 2017 and 2018 Robert wrote a science fiction novel, set twenty years after a Civil War destroyed the United States. As an insurrection month present, you can listen to chapter 1 now.
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:02):
Hey, everybody, this is Robert Evans, and starting in two
thousand and sixteen, I wrote a novel UM, and you're
going to hear the first chapter of it today. We'll
be releasing the rest of it as a separate podcast
series and it will be out online for free. UM.
But given the events of January six I decided I
might as well put out chapter one right now, give
(00:24):
people something else to focus on. And you know, I think,
as you'll understand, it seems a little bit more relevant now.
So without further ado, After the Revolution, a novel by
Robert Evans Richardson Republic of Texas, Chapter one. Manny Manny
(00:46):
smiled at the way the British journalists face blanched as
the old Toyota hit the pothole. Reggie wasn't used to
bad roads, cars driven by actual humans, or the way
the heavy metal of the gun mountain the truck bed made,
the aluminum frame grown. That was all familiar to Manny.
He'd grown up in Sioda Demut, back before the Lakewood Blast,
back when people had still called it Dallas. The truck's
(01:09):
driver veered around the bloated corpse of a large dog
lying in the middle of the road. Reggie gripped the
truck bed with white knuckles and eyed the swaying AMMO
belt of the twenty millimeter cannon like it was a
coiled snake. The gunner, Manny's cousin, Alejandro, grinned down at
the journalist the suspensions a little fucked yeah. The Britain
nodded and turned greener when the technical hit another pothole.
(01:31):
Many supposed he should offer a comforting word to the man.
That would be good business, but a louder part of
him looked at Reggie's brand new boots and thought he
can stand a little less comfort. The journalist would brag
about this ride for months once he got home. Escorting
reporters from the safety of Austin to the sundry hotspots
of the old Metroplex was not Manny's ideal career. Two
(01:52):
years ago, he'd been working on a bachelor's in business
administration from the University of Austin. The plan had been
to get a job with ages biocist, then charm his
way into a working visa and a gig in the
California Republic. But the fighting had started up again and
ruined all that. The culprit this time was the Heavenly Kingdom,
a loose assortment of Christian extremist militias. They boiled out
(02:13):
from the suburbs of the old Metroplex and all but
broken the Republic of Texas. The autonomous city of Austin
had stabilized the situation with the help of an alliance
of leftist Texan militias the Secular Defense Forces. Beating them
back had cost a lot in blood and time and
forced Manny to change every plan he'd ever made for
his life. So he'd embraced the situation and started his
(02:35):
own business, hiring on some friends as employees. Together they
built the best network of stringers in North Texas. His
boys fed him video contacts and news updates, and he
sold what he could to the big FOURIGN media conglomerates.
In a couple more months, he'd have enough saved up
that he could fuck off, fly to Europe and apply
for a refugee visa. My odds are pretty good as
(02:56):
long as the war doesn't end too soon. The technical
role to a creaky stop in front of a checkpoint
that had clearly been erected within the last few days.
It was just a collapsible electronic gate and two sandbag
emplacements on either side of the battered highway. A street
sign nearby announced that they were on the edge of Richardson,
formerly a suburb of Dallas and currently a forward position
(03:17):
of the People's Protection Army, a local anarchist militia. Manny
could see the p PA's red black triangle emblem stitched
onto the jackets of the soldiers guarding the checkpoint. One
of the p p A men walked up to the
driver's side window and started chatting with Philip, the driver.
Phil and Manny's cousin Alejandro were both with the Citizens Front,
a more or less a political militia from the suburbs
(03:39):
of Austin. Both militias coexisted under the broad umbrella of
the Secular Defense Forces. The SDF had been organized by
the Canadian government to lump all of North Texas's palatable
militant groups into a single package that could be conveniently armed.
While the first guard talked with Philip, his partner did
a circuit around the back of the truck. The man
was big, Ulgian, with muscles so sculpted and prominent they
(04:02):
had to be vat grown and He moved with the
twitchy ungrace of a man who had replaced his nervous
system with circuitry. His weapon was a very old, very
battered a R fifteen with an M two four three
grenade launcher below the barrel. The latter was old U
S military gear. The former had been someone's toy before
the Revolution gave America's half billion civilian guns a new
(04:23):
raison debt. The man moved back to the barricades when
he had finished his lap. Reggie looked up at Manny
and asked, was he a Was he chromed? Manny smiled.
That was always one of the first questions. As soon
as any foreign journal saw a trooper with a large
enough billed skin with an off shade, or one who
just moved a little too fast to seem completely right.
(04:44):
Anything beyond basic aesthetic and medical biomodifications were banned in
civilized countries like the UK. The real chrome, the implants
that would let a man lift a tank or take
a rocket to the belly that ship was locked up tight.
A few national militaries even used the stuff these days,
not after the revolution. He's got some of that grown muscles,
(05:04):
Manny said in an offhanded way that suggested such things
were common aftermarket nerves too. Probably his stuff is low grade,
that's why it's so visible. Reggie nodded, His eyes stayed
locked on the big man. He was quiet for a
while before he spoke again. You just you live right
alongside them, don't you. Manny shrugged. Everybody's got something out here,
(05:25):
and the wet wears what lets us hold back? The martyrs?
They own the whole city if it weren't for half
fats like him. The journalists nodded, and his gaze stayed
fixed upon the militiaman until a troubled look crossed his face.
He glanced back to Manny. Are you a chromed Reggie asked.
Manny smiled. I don't expect either of us as stock, Sabiana,
but I doubt I've got anything you don't. Reggie seemed
(05:48):
somewhat comforted by this. Most of what I've read about
the really heavy mods says they cause a lot of
well unstable behavior. That's why that's why this city such
a ship hole, Manny asked. The journalist had the grace
to blush many looked away for a moment. His eyes
landed on the bones of three large public housing buildings.
A barrel bomb had detonated in the center of the courtyard.
(06:09):
All three shared. It had peeled away the walls, some
of the floors, and the resulting firestorm had burned up
everything that wasn't concrete, steel, or rebar For just a moment,
many felt bad about hoping the war hung on another
six months. The old government blamed a lot on roided
up veterans with military grade mods. He told Reggie, most
was just propaganda, fearmongering. People were pissed after twenty years
(06:32):
of plague, disaster and poverty. Many shrugged. It's true, though
a lot of chromed up vets turned on the government.
He can't make men into gods and expect them to
keep fighting from men, Reggie pointed back to the bulging militiaman.
I take it muscles there is pretty far from a god.
Nah Manny laughed. He's just a man with too much
meat money. Gods don't man checkpoints. The brit was excited. Now.
(06:53):
These were the questions he'd wanted to ask since they'd
met yesterday. Do you know what some of those people are?
Reggie couldnt keep the excitement out of his voice. Could
we talk to them. Manny didn't have any of those contacts,
nor did he know any other fixers who did. He
tried to let the brick down easy. Most of those
folks live on the road in between the civilized parts
of Texas and the Federal Republic of California. Oh Reggie
(07:17):
looked disappointed. The truck rolled past the wreckage of an
old Catholic school. It bore signs of being fortified, destroyed, refortified,
and redestroyed several times. The brit was inches away from
asking another question when the gateman waved them on, and
the battered Toyota farted its way into drive, belching and
complaining past a network of potholes until it hit a
relatively straight chunk of asphalt. Only a few minutes now.
(07:39):
Hef a. Manny said, the p PA's forward position is
about five minutes out. You'll be in the ship then,
or at least shiit adjacent. The journalist's face washed over
in an even mix of anxiety and pride. One of
the first lessons Manny had learned at this job was
that phrases like the ship made rich gringo writers unreasonably excited.
An excited journey lists always called Manny the next time
(08:02):
they were in country, giving white kids and keffee as
a lifetime of bragging rights for surviving a couple of
days in his home killed manny soul just a little,
but he pushed down the anger and told himself that
a chip on the shoulder was a lot less useful
than money in the bank. The Technical rolled off the
old highway. Manny could see twenty three in Spring Valley
Road and blazoned on a weather beaten bullets guard sign.
(08:22):
The Technical pulled to the right, the guns swayed in
its mount Many couldn't help smiling as the brit instinctively
pulled away from it. They rolled up to what had
once been a strip mall and was now a forward
operating base for the People's Protection Army. An old laundromat,
a bookstore, and a half dozen restaurants now had their
roofs ringed with barbed wire and machine gun emplacements. Many
could see a line of bullet holes stitched across three
(08:45):
of the shops. None of the windows were intact, but
otherwise the buildings had weathered the war rather well. Three
M one nine eight howitzers were parked next to a
taco shop that had once served the local college kids
beer and cheap grub. There was a flagpole out in
front of the shop, and that hung the blue and
white starburst flag of the STF and the flag of
the p p A. Three men in uniforms stood waiting
(09:06):
as the old toyota rolled to a stop and Manny
and Reggie disembarked. Two of the men were officers in
the p p A, Colonel Jacob Milgram and Major Deshaun Clark.
Milgram was a boring, tight lipped nerdy type, but Deshaun
was one of Manny's favorite sources. He was an old
infantry guy, a consummate brawler with a face full of
scars and three published books of poetry to his name.
(09:27):
He actually had a base of international fans, mostly in Spain.
The third man was Hamid Mohammed, an adviser from Syrian Kurdistan.
The Curds had been giving aid to the Sundry militias
of the Secular Defense Forces for years now. Manny considered
Himid almost a local. He shook hands with Jacob, since
Manny knew Deshaun better. He met the man with a
full embrace and used it as an opportunity to palm
(09:48):
the major a packet of his favorite cigarettes. Deshaun gave
him a wink and a smile. Many shook Hamed's hand next,
and then kissed him on the cheek. Hamid returned the kiss,
clapped him on the shoulder, and said, Emmanuel, my friend,
you really would get out of this business. One of
these days you'll come up here and it won't be safe.
Manny frowned a little at the use of his birth name,
but he didn't make an issue out of the matter.
(10:09):
There's still a war on, right, he smiled at Hamid.
You'll get that ship under control, and maybe I'll work
a straight job again. Not too soon, though, he thought.
The least this war can do is last long enough
to get me out of Texas. Hamid smiled back, and
Manny introduced Reggie to the officers. The journalist was clearly
awkward in that special way Manny had come to expect
from new war correspondence. It was the norm for young
(10:31):
writers to be intimidated by grizzled military men. Some of
them got over that Manny had worked with the middle
aged der Schpiegel reporter last week could probably taken as
much incoming fire. As Major Clark Colonel Milgram led them
to the militarized taco shop, a brief blast of nostalgias
squeezed Manny's lungs. The place had obviously been closed since
the revolution. The drink specials and meal prices printed on
(10:52):
the wall were given in US dollars, a currency as
dead as the last American president. Manny recognized ads for
bands and movies. He remembered it from his childhood. The
glass facade had shattered years ago. The kitchen had been
gutted and replaced by wall length mirrors displaying maps of
the city. At least a dozen uniformed men and women
milled around the space in small groups. He and Reggie
(11:13):
sat down at a long picnic table with Hamid and
the two officers. Reggie set his camera up on the table.
It was just a small silver sphere, but Manny knew
it could record everything happening around it at a higher
resolution in the human eye, and orderly brought in three
beers shiner box from Austin, and one dark brown tea
in a glass cup for Hamid. The brit raised his
(11:33):
glass in a friendly salute, thank you for meeting with me,
and then he started to ask questions. Many leaned back
in his chair enjoyed a long gulp of cold beer.
If he wasn't needed to translate, he generally checked out
during interviews. He used the free time to activate his
deck and check in on the two stringers he had
working right now. Devin Martinez was up in Addison today,
taking a Californian documentary crew on a tour of an
(11:55):
STF training facility. He'd messaged Manny to let him know
they'd gotten through the check It's without any issue. Oscar Allenby,
his other stringer, didn't have any journalists with him. He
was embedded with a Republic of Texas police unit, getting
footage from inside a neighborhood that had recently been liberated
from the Heavenly Kingdom. There were no new messages from Oscar.
His last check in had been the night before. It
(12:16):
was probably nothing, but it concerned Manny nonetheless, when if
Oscar got a better offer for his footage. He'd always
been loyal before, but if that funk from the Guardian
had gotten to him. I'm interested in the Abrams road bombing,
Reggie told the colonel, and Manny's attention swung back to
his reporter. That's an odd thing to ask about. The
bombing had occurred two weeks back. It had been big
news for a couple of hours. Manny had paid one
(12:38):
of his contacts in Raza front another local militia for
a video of a walk through of the wreckage. It
had brought in about three grand profit. The Abrams Road
bombing was not a martyrdom operation. Colonel Milgram sounded almost angry,
terribly sorry. Reggie said, you're right, of course, there was
no driver, so no martyr right right, Deshaun Clark said.
He pulled a folded piece of white paper out of
(12:59):
his pocket, opened it up, and smoothed it out on
the table. It was a map of the df W area,
color coded to show the positions of the various militias
in the region. We operate nine checkpoints on that part
of the Richardson line, Deshon said, as he pointed to
each one. Five of them border Republic controlled territory. The
traffic from there is mostly autonomous, and those vehicles slave
(13:20):
themselves to our traffic management system before they can enter
our territory. The other three checkpoints border territory controlled by
the martyrs. They don't see much traffic, and they're all
heavily armed. Reggie was quiet for a few seconds while
he figured out the most polite way to phrase his
next question. Many can almost hear the gears turning in
the journalist's head before he finally spoke. Would it be
(13:40):
fair to say the autonomous checkpoints are less secure than
Deshaun smiled a thin, quiet smile amid grimace. Colonel Milgram
responded in a terse voice. The autonomous checkpoints have fewer defenders,
but they border Republic territory. The martyrs haven't pulled off
an attack on one in quite some time. Was Abrams
Road not one such attack? Reggie looked eager now, like
(14:01):
a hound, following assent. We don't know who bombed Abram's road,
Colonel Milgram said, No one's taken credit, but we doubt
it was the martyrs. Why the journalist asked. Many leaned
in a little interested, in spite of himself, at where
this was all going to lead. Perhaps, Hamad said, you
should read a bit more about this heavenly kingdom. They
reject all autonomous technology. They even use remote human pilots
(14:24):
for their drones, like it's two thousand and fucking three.
That's why our skies are always clear. We jammed them.
Reggie asked, is it possible they found some way to
hack your defense system? Amid laughed, We bought this system
from the Israelis. If you're telling me one of the
Martyr's brigades as a hacker that can crack that, then
I'm the King of Albuquerque. But something still went wrong,
Reggie insisted, hamid smile turned cold. This is war, Mr McGhee,
(14:49):
it's mostly things going wrong. That's where the line of
questions petered out. Reggie asked them for access to the
security footage from the destroyed checkpoint, and Colonel Milgram agreed
to send it over. We'd like to speak to their
survivors as well, if possible, Manny interjected, not waiting to
see if the journalist would ask. He knew those men
were all stationed behind the line now, which would make
for a safer, easier rest of the day than heading
(15:10):
up to the wire, of course, Colonel Miilgram said, with
a smile to Manny. They gave their good byes, and
then Major Clark walked them out to their waiting Toyota.
The Texas heat hit like an oven as they exited,
and Manny was glad they'd be spending most of the
rest of their day and doors. Dehaun clapped a hand
on Manny's shoulder as he lit one of his new cigarettes.
It's good to see you again, Emmanuel, he said, and
(15:30):
then he smiled at Reggie, and it's nice to meet you,
my British friend. I'm sorry you've come to the front
at a boring time. Why, Reggie asked, Because this Deshaun
gestured at the gun emplacements and loitering militiamen at the
command post. This is not war, not really. Your job
is to help your people, children of peace and plenty,
understand what's going on here. You must teach them the
(15:53):
language of war. And to paraphrase a dead poet, the
language of war is a language made of blood. To
be spoken, it must be earned. There was an awkward pause,
a little bit of the blood drained from the journalist's face.
Nutty old fuck, Manny thought, with more amusement than fear.
Classic to Shaun, he said, and laughed to ease the tension.
The major bid them both a good day, hugged Manny,
(16:15):
and sauntered off back to the command post. Smoke from
his cigarette curled up into the air behind him as
he walked. Manny's eyes lingered on it for a second
before he turned back to Reggie. Ready to go, he
asked Chipper as he could manage. Three hours, a handful
of interviews, and one short drive later, Manny and Reggie
(16:37):
arrived at their home for the night. The Richardson Autonomous Project,
once a walmart, now a twenty two year old experiment
and sustainable urban living. The project was the furthest island
of civilization on the sd F side of the Front.
Its militias steadfastly refused to involve themselves in the region's
greater conflicts. They'd been targeted a few times by the
Heavenly Kingdom, though the s d F, by contrast, left
(16:59):
them alone. So when a fixer like Manny found himself
on the wrong side of the lb J Freeway after dark,
he could usually trust the project to provide food, booze,
and shelter for a price. Of course, sleeping arrangements in
the project were broadly communal. The bulk of the old
walmart had been converted into an indoor meadow with grow
lights hanging from the rafters, and a wide, lush field
(17:19):
of native grass sprawling across most of the inhabited space.
Fruit trees, bushes full of berries, cannabis, plants, and copses
of bamboo lined the edges of the space. The center
of the field was dominated by a large circular kitchen
surrounded by a handsome oaken bar. Table tables, gazebos, and
sundry personal structures dotted the field, along with a pair
of dance floors. Reggie's face lit up when he saw
(17:41):
the bar. By the time Manny had dropped off their
bags and paid Charlie and the driver for the night,
the journalist was already three beers in the brit wasn't
precisely drunk or sober, but at that productive twilight in between,
he'd unrolled a portable screen and had a holographic display up,
looping four separate sections of the security footage Colonel Milgram
had sent over. The journalist alternated between typing furiously scrawling
(18:02):
notes in his journal and taking huge gulps from something
brown and foamy. He stopped working when he saw Manny
approach and waved him into the adjacent seat. Hey brother,
check this out, Manny, pulled up a seat, and the
journalist directed his attention to a six second loop of
footage from immediately after the bombing. It showed two man
size silhouettes standing on top of an old garage. Many
(18:23):
remembered the building. It stood maybe two hundred meters from
the Abrams Road checkpoint. One of the silhouettes had a rifle.
The other held a short squat tube that Manny recognized
as a camera lens. Notice anything, spotters, Manny said, probably
trying to get a kill. Count. No, man, look at
where he's pointed. That Count's not looking at any post.
He's looking straight back deeper into the old town. And
(18:46):
I'll bet you he's high enough up to be staring
right at Colonel Milgram's command post. Manny looked again. He
thought about the angle. Okay, so what, he asked, You
think this was a probing attack for some big action.
The journalist shrugged. Maybe it's something new, is what interests me.
Two years of Modydom operations that all look more or
less the same, and now this weird one, an autonomous
(19:07):
vehicle bomb from a group of fanatics who think autonomous
vehicles of the devil. Yeah, Manny agreed that does seem weird.
The bartender walked up and offered Manny his pick of
the finest liquor in this particular war zone. Many ordered
a Shiner. It was the one beer a drinker could
find across both the Republic of Texas and the Austin
Autonomous Region. He looked back at the looping footage. They
(19:28):
both watched it twice more. Then Reggie spoke up again.
What have you heard about Pasta Mike, he asked. Manny
stiffened a little bit at the name. He'd heard it,
of course, vague stories of rioting in Kansas, a fundamentalist
uprising inside the southernmost territory of the United Christian States.
He hadn't thought much about it at first, but two
years ago Pastor Mike had moved to Texas, shortly before
(19:50):
the Heavenly Kingdom had declared itself. It was hard to
say exactly what role the preacher played within the organization,
but he was certainly its most visible face. I know
who he is, Manny said. I know the Republic led
him in because they thought as followers might provide a
buffer against Austin's influence. I know that blew the funk
up in their faces. Manny took a long drink and continued,
that's an old story around here, the Republic using those
(20:13):
god fondling Nutfoxx to push back against the leftists. The
journalist raised an eyebrow, and Manny instantly regretted his crude response.
He didn't really care about religion one way or the other,
but whenever he came out to the front, it was
hard not to get a little angry, especially after a drink. Sorry,
he said, it's been a long day. Reggie looked down, coughed,
and took a sip. He looked back at Manny, took
(20:34):
another sip and said, you know, that's another subject I'd
rather like to cover. What Manny asked, anti Christian sentiment
in North America. Manny grunted and looked down at his drink.
The brit barreled on, You're not the first North American
I've heard express anger towards Christians, he said, and California, Cascadia,
the North American Republic, I've just seen a lot of hate. Look,
(20:54):
Manny interrupted me. I'm a man of peace. I love everybody,
but this continent has been weren't apart and bleeding out
for the last thirty years. A lot of people hate Christians.
The ones that don't hate Christians hate leftists, and everyone
outside the American Republic hates capitalists. Hate, hate, hate. Manny
took a gulp of his beer and set it down
a little harder than he'd intended. He looked Reggie in
(21:16):
the eye and finished, There's exactly one thing all the
broken bits of this continent have in common. Hate. The
journalist arched an eyebrow at Manny and returned the gaze.
He had the look of a man peering into the
enclosure of a particularly exotic zoo animal. Manny wanted to
resent it, but he'd been doing this job long enough
to know that this was just how journalists looked at people.
(21:36):
Reggie downed his drink. He reached a hand up to
signal the bartender, and then looked back at Manny. Can
I buy you another round? Many shook his head, no thanks,
I'm tired and I don't want to drag ass at
the front tomorrow. He downed the last of his beer,
bid Reggie a good night, and headed over to the
spot of turf where he'd set up his sleeping bag
and gear. He popped off his shoes his pants and
(21:56):
his shirt and rubbed himself down with a handful of
wet naps. Then he ebbed a night shirt and sweatpants
from his bag and slipped them on. Many considered cleaned
pajamas a necessity. He fired up his deck again once
he was swaddled in his sleeping bag. There was a
jetting start, and then the corners of his vision were
populated by a series of small, partly translucent screens. Each
one bulged with updates, friends asking about his weekend plans,
(22:19):
spam from his college, notifications about new video uploads, and
headlines from the local news. Devon had messaged him twice
more to let him know that he and his journalists
were headed back to Austin, and then that they had arrived.
Oscar still hadn't responded. Manny's initial concern was over his loyalty.
I got that fucker started as a stringer. If he
sold that video and cut me out of the deal,
(22:40):
I'm going to But the longer he thought about Oscar,
the more Manny worried that something might have happened. Oscar
had been working in Plano today, near a very stable
chunk of the front, but this far out almost anything
could happen. Many closed his eyes, sighed, and tried to
purge the anxiety from his mind. There was nothing to
do now other than get to sleep so he could
wake up tomorrow and make more money. That thought prompted
(23:03):
Manny to pull open his banking app and check on
the status of his savings account. The numbers glowed fat
and happy, and the space right in front of his head.
Another five months in the field, maybe six, Then I
buy that plane ticket. He started to think about the
pictures he'd seen of Dublin and Berlin and Barcelona, all
the places he thought he might live if this war
could just hang on a little longer. He soon fell
(23:24):
asleep and slept pretty well until the first mortar landed.
Hey, everybody, this is Robert Evans, and starting in two
thousand and sixteen, I wrote a novel UM, and you're
going to hear the first chapter of it today. We'll
be releasing the rest of it as a separate podcast
series and it will be out online for free. UM.
But given the events of January six I decided I
might as well put out chapter one right now, give
(00:24):
people something else to focus on. And you know, I think,
as you'll understand, it seems a little bit more relevant now.
So without further ado, After the Revolution, a novel by
Robert Evans Richardson Republic of Texas, Chapter one. Manny Manny
(00:46):
smiled at the way the British journalists face blanched as
the old Toyota hit the pothole. Reggie wasn't used to
bad roads, cars driven by actual humans, or the way
the heavy metal of the gun mountain the truck bed made,
the aluminum frame grown. That was all familiar to Manny.
He'd grown up in Sioda Demut, back before the Lakewood Blast,
back when people had still called it Dallas. The truck's
(01:09):
driver veered around the bloated corpse of a large dog
lying in the middle of the road. Reggie gripped the
truck bed with white knuckles and eyed the swaying AMMO
belt of the twenty millimeter cannon like it was a
coiled snake. The gunner, Manny's cousin, Alejandro, grinned down at
the journalist the suspensions a little fucked yeah. The Britain
nodded and turned greener when the technical hit another pothole.
(01:31):
Many supposed he should offer a comforting word to the man.
That would be good business, but a louder part of
him looked at Reggie's brand new boots and thought he
can stand a little less comfort. The journalist would brag
about this ride for months once he got home. Escorting
reporters from the safety of Austin to the sundry hotspots
of the old Metroplex was not Manny's ideal career. Two
(01:52):
years ago, he'd been working on a bachelor's in business
administration from the University of Austin. The plan had been
to get a job with ages biocist, then charm his
way into a working visa and a gig in the
California Republic. But the fighting had started up again and
ruined all that. The culprit this time was the Heavenly Kingdom,
a loose assortment of Christian extremist militias. They boiled out
(02:13):
from the suburbs of the old Metroplex and all but
broken the Republic of Texas. The autonomous city of Austin
had stabilized the situation with the help of an alliance
of leftist Texan militias the Secular Defense Forces. Beating them
back had cost a lot in blood and time and
forced Manny to change every plan he'd ever made for
his life. So he'd embraced the situation and started his
(02:35):
own business, hiring on some friends as employees. Together they
built the best network of stringers in North Texas. His
boys fed him video contacts and news updates, and he
sold what he could to the big FOURIGN media conglomerates.
In a couple more months, he'd have enough saved up
that he could fuck off, fly to Europe and apply
for a refugee visa. My odds are pretty good as
(02:56):
long as the war doesn't end too soon. The technical
role to a creaky stop in front of a checkpoint
that had clearly been erected within the last few days.
It was just a collapsible electronic gate and two sandbag
emplacements on either side of the battered highway. A street
sign nearby announced that they were on the edge of Richardson,
formerly a suburb of Dallas and currently a forward position
(03:17):
of the People's Protection Army, a local anarchist militia. Manny
could see the p PA's red black triangle emblem stitched
onto the jackets of the soldiers guarding the checkpoint. One
of the p p A men walked up to the
driver's side window and started chatting with Philip, the driver.
Phil and Manny's cousin Alejandro were both with the Citizens Front,
a more or less a political militia from the suburbs
(03:39):
of Austin. Both militias coexisted under the broad umbrella of
the Secular Defense Forces. The SDF had been organized by
the Canadian government to lump all of North Texas's palatable
militant groups into a single package that could be conveniently armed.
While the first guard talked with Philip, his partner did
a circuit around the back of the truck. The man
was big, Ulgian, with muscles so sculpted and prominent they
(04:02):
had to be vat grown and He moved with the
twitchy ungrace of a man who had replaced his nervous
system with circuitry. His weapon was a very old, very
battered a R fifteen with an M two four three
grenade launcher below the barrel. The latter was old U
S military gear. The former had been someone's toy before
the Revolution gave America's half billion civilian guns a new
(04:23):
raison debt. The man moved back to the barricades when
he had finished his lap. Reggie looked up at Manny
and asked, was he a Was he chromed? Manny smiled.
That was always one of the first questions. As soon
as any foreign journal saw a trooper with a large
enough billed skin with an off shade, or one who
just moved a little too fast to seem completely right.
(04:44):
Anything beyond basic aesthetic and medical biomodifications were banned in
civilized countries like the UK. The real chrome, the implants
that would let a man lift a tank or take
a rocket to the belly that ship was locked up tight.
A few national militaries even used the stuff these days,
not after the revolution. He's got some of that grown muscles,
(05:04):
Manny said in an offhanded way that suggested such things
were common aftermarket nerves too. Probably his stuff is low grade,
that's why it's so visible. Reggie nodded, His eyes stayed
locked on the big man. He was quiet for a
while before he spoke again. You just you live right
alongside them, don't you. Manny shrugged. Everybody's got something out here,
(05:25):
and the wet wears what lets us hold back? The martyrs?
They own the whole city if it weren't for half
fats like him. The journalists nodded, and his gaze stayed
fixed upon the militiaman until a troubled look crossed his face.
He glanced back to Manny. Are you a chromed Reggie asked.
Manny smiled. I don't expect either of us as stock, Sabiana,
but I doubt I've got anything you don't. Reggie seemed
(05:48):
somewhat comforted by this. Most of what I've read about
the really heavy mods says they cause a lot of
well unstable behavior. That's why that's why this city such
a ship hole, Manny asked. The journalist had the grace
to blush many looked away for a moment. His eyes
landed on the bones of three large public housing buildings.
A barrel bomb had detonated in the center of the courtyard.
(06:09):
All three shared. It had peeled away the walls, some
of the floors, and the resulting firestorm had burned up
everything that wasn't concrete, steel, or rebar For just a moment,
many felt bad about hoping the war hung on another
six months. The old government blamed a lot on roided
up veterans with military grade mods. He told Reggie, most
was just propaganda, fearmongering. People were pissed after twenty years
(06:32):
of plague, disaster and poverty. Many shrugged. It's true, though
a lot of chromed up vets turned on the government.
He can't make men into gods and expect them to
keep fighting from men, Reggie pointed back to the bulging militiaman.
I take it muscles there is pretty far from a god.
Nah Manny laughed. He's just a man with too much
meat money. Gods don't man checkpoints. The brit was excited. Now.
(06:53):
These were the questions he'd wanted to ask since they'd
met yesterday. Do you know what some of those people are?
Reggie couldnt keep the excitement out of his voice. Could
we talk to them. Manny didn't have any of those contacts,
nor did he know any other fixers who did. He
tried to let the brick down easy. Most of those
folks live on the road in between the civilized parts
of Texas and the Federal Republic of California. Oh Reggie
(07:17):
looked disappointed. The truck rolled past the wreckage of an
old Catholic school. It bore signs of being fortified, destroyed, refortified,
and redestroyed several times. The brit was inches away from
asking another question when the gateman waved them on, and
the battered Toyota farted its way into drive, belching and
complaining past a network of potholes until it hit a
relatively straight chunk of asphalt. Only a few minutes now.
(07:39):
Hef a. Manny said, the p PA's forward position is
about five minutes out. You'll be in the ship then,
or at least shiit adjacent. The journalist's face washed over
in an even mix of anxiety and pride. One of
the first lessons Manny had learned at this job was
that phrases like the ship made rich gringo writers unreasonably excited.
An excited journey lists always called Manny the next time
(08:02):
they were in country, giving white kids and keffee as
a lifetime of bragging rights for surviving a couple of
days in his home killed manny soul just a little,
but he pushed down the anger and told himself that
a chip on the shoulder was a lot less useful
than money in the bank. The Technical rolled off the
old highway. Manny could see twenty three in Spring Valley
Road and blazoned on a weather beaten bullets guard sign.
(08:22):
The Technical pulled to the right, the guns swayed in
its mount Many couldn't help smiling as the brit instinctively
pulled away from it. They rolled up to what had
once been a strip mall and was now a forward
operating base for the People's Protection Army. An old laundromat,
a bookstore, and a half dozen restaurants now had their
roofs ringed with barbed wire and machine gun emplacements. Many
could see a line of bullet holes stitched across three
(08:45):
of the shops. None of the windows were intact, but
otherwise the buildings had weathered the war rather well. Three
M one nine eight howitzers were parked next to a
taco shop that had once served the local college kids
beer and cheap grub. There was a flagpole out in
front of the shop, and that hung the blue and
white starburst flag of the STF and the flag of
the p p A. Three men in uniforms stood waiting
(09:06):
as the old toyota rolled to a stop and Manny
and Reggie disembarked. Two of the men were officers in
the p p A, Colonel Jacob Milgram and Major Deshaun Clark.
Milgram was a boring, tight lipped nerdy type, but Deshaun
was one of Manny's favorite sources. He was an old
infantry guy, a consummate brawler with a face full of
scars and three published books of poetry to his name.
(09:27):
He actually had a base of international fans, mostly in Spain.
The third man was Hamid Mohammed, an adviser from Syrian Kurdistan.
The Curds had been giving aid to the Sundry militias
of the Secular Defense Forces for years now. Manny considered
Himid almost a local. He shook hands with Jacob, since
Manny knew Deshaun better. He met the man with a
full embrace and used it as an opportunity to palm
(09:48):
the major a packet of his favorite cigarettes. Deshaun gave
him a wink and a smile. Many shook Hamed's hand next,
and then kissed him on the cheek. Hamid returned the kiss,
clapped him on the shoulder, and said, Emmanuel, my friend,
you really would get out of this business. One of
these days you'll come up here and it won't be safe.
Manny frowned a little at the use of his birth name,
but he didn't make an issue out of the matter.
(10:09):
There's still a war on, right, he smiled at Hamid.
You'll get that ship under control, and maybe I'll work
a straight job again. Not too soon, though, he thought.
The least this war can do is last long enough
to get me out of Texas. Hamid smiled back, and
Manny introduced Reggie to the officers. The journalist was clearly
awkward in that special way Manny had come to expect
from new war correspondence. It was the norm for young
(10:31):
writers to be intimidated by grizzled military men. Some of
them got over that Manny had worked with the middle
aged der Schpiegel reporter last week could probably taken as
much incoming fire. As Major Clark Colonel Milgram led them
to the militarized taco shop, a brief blast of nostalgias
squeezed Manny's lungs. The place had obviously been closed since
the revolution. The drink specials and meal prices printed on
(10:52):
the wall were given in US dollars, a currency as
dead as the last American president. Manny recognized ads for
bands and movies. He remembered it from his childhood. The
glass facade had shattered years ago. The kitchen had been
gutted and replaced by wall length mirrors displaying maps of
the city. At least a dozen uniformed men and women
milled around the space in small groups. He and Reggie
(11:13):
sat down at a long picnic table with Hamid and
the two officers. Reggie set his camera up on the table.
It was just a small silver sphere, but Manny knew
it could record everything happening around it at a higher
resolution in the human eye, and orderly brought in three
beers shiner box from Austin, and one dark brown tea
in a glass cup for Hamid. The brit raised his
(11:33):
glass in a friendly salute, thank you for meeting with me,
and then he started to ask questions. Many leaned back
in his chair enjoyed a long gulp of cold beer.
If he wasn't needed to translate, he generally checked out
during interviews. He used the free time to activate his
deck and check in on the two stringers he had
working right now. Devin Martinez was up in Addison today,
taking a Californian documentary crew on a tour of an
(11:55):
STF training facility. He'd messaged Manny to let him know
they'd gotten through the check It's without any issue. Oscar Allenby,
his other stringer, didn't have any journalists with him. He
was embedded with a Republic of Texas police unit, getting
footage from inside a neighborhood that had recently been liberated
from the Heavenly Kingdom. There were no new messages from Oscar.
His last check in had been the night before. It
(12:16):
was probably nothing, but it concerned Manny nonetheless, when if
Oscar got a better offer for his footage. He'd always
been loyal before, but if that funk from the Guardian
had gotten to him. I'm interested in the Abrams road bombing,
Reggie told the colonel, and Manny's attention swung back to
his reporter. That's an odd thing to ask about. The
bombing had occurred two weeks back. It had been big
news for a couple of hours. Manny had paid one
(12:38):
of his contacts in Raza front another local militia for
a video of a walk through of the wreckage. It
had brought in about three grand profit. The Abrams Road
bombing was not a martyrdom operation. Colonel Milgram sounded almost angry,
terribly sorry. Reggie said, you're right, of course, there was
no driver, so no martyr right right, Deshaun Clark said.
He pulled a folded piece of white paper out of
(12:59):
his pocket, opened it up, and smoothed it out on
the table. It was a map of the df W area,
color coded to show the positions of the various militias
in the region. We operate nine checkpoints on that part
of the Richardson line, Deshon said, as he pointed to
each one. Five of them border Republic controlled territory. The
traffic from there is mostly autonomous, and those vehicles slave
(13:20):
themselves to our traffic management system before they can enter
our territory. The other three checkpoints border territory controlled by
the martyrs. They don't see much traffic, and they're all
heavily armed. Reggie was quiet for a few seconds while
he figured out the most polite way to phrase his
next question. Many can almost hear the gears turning in
the journalist's head before he finally spoke. Would it be
(13:40):
fair to say the autonomous checkpoints are less secure than
Deshaun smiled a thin, quiet smile amid grimace. Colonel Milgram
responded in a terse voice. The autonomous checkpoints have fewer defenders,
but they border Republic territory. The martyrs haven't pulled off
an attack on one in quite some time. Was Abrams
Road not one such attack? Reggie looked eager now, like
(14:01):
a hound, following assent. We don't know who bombed Abram's road,
Colonel Milgram said, No one's taken credit, but we doubt
it was the martyrs. Why the journalist asked. Many leaned
in a little interested, in spite of himself, at where
this was all going to lead. Perhaps, Hamad said, you
should read a bit more about this heavenly kingdom. They
reject all autonomous technology. They even use remote human pilots
(14:24):
for their drones, like it's two thousand and fucking three.
That's why our skies are always clear. We jammed them.
Reggie asked, is it possible they found some way to
hack your defense system? Amid laughed, We bought this system
from the Israelis. If you're telling me one of the
Martyr's brigades as a hacker that can crack that, then
I'm the King of Albuquerque. But something still went wrong,
Reggie insisted, hamid smile turned cold. This is war, Mr McGhee,
(14:49):
it's mostly things going wrong. That's where the line of
questions petered out. Reggie asked them for access to the
security footage from the destroyed checkpoint, and Colonel Milgram agreed
to send it over. We'd like to speak to their
survivors as well, if possible, Manny interjected, not waiting to
see if the journalist would ask. He knew those men
were all stationed behind the line now, which would make
for a safer, easier rest of the day than heading
(15:10):
up to the wire, of course, Colonel Miilgram said, with
a smile to Manny. They gave their good byes, and
then Major Clark walked them out to their waiting Toyota.
The Texas heat hit like an oven as they exited,
and Manny was glad they'd be spending most of the
rest of their day and doors. Dehaun clapped a hand
on Manny's shoulder as he lit one of his new cigarettes.
It's good to see you again, Emmanuel, he said, and
(15:30):
then he smiled at Reggie, and it's nice to meet you,
my British friend. I'm sorry you've come to the front
at a boring time. Why, Reggie asked, Because this Deshaun
gestured at the gun emplacements and loitering militiamen at the
command post. This is not war, not really. Your job
is to help your people, children of peace and plenty,
understand what's going on here. You must teach them the
(15:53):
language of war. And to paraphrase a dead poet, the
language of war is a language made of blood. To
be spoken, it must be earned. There was an awkward pause,
a little bit of the blood drained from the journalist's face.
Nutty old fuck, Manny thought, with more amusement than fear.
Classic to Shaun, he said, and laughed to ease the tension.
The major bid them both a good day, hugged Manny,
(16:15):
and sauntered off back to the command post. Smoke from
his cigarette curled up into the air behind him as
he walked. Manny's eyes lingered on it for a second
before he turned back to Reggie. Ready to go, he
asked Chipper as he could manage. Three hours, a handful
of interviews, and one short drive later, Manny and Reggie
(16:37):
arrived at their home for the night. The Richardson Autonomous Project,
once a walmart, now a twenty two year old experiment
and sustainable urban living. The project was the furthest island
of civilization on the sd F side of the Front.
Its militias steadfastly refused to involve themselves in the region's
greater conflicts. They'd been targeted a few times by the
Heavenly Kingdom, though the s d F, by contrast, left
(16:59):
them alone. So when a fixer like Manny found himself
on the wrong side of the lb J Freeway after dark,
he could usually trust the project to provide food, booze,
and shelter for a price. Of course, sleeping arrangements in
the project were broadly communal. The bulk of the old
walmart had been converted into an indoor meadow with grow
lights hanging from the rafters, and a wide, lush field
(17:19):
of native grass sprawling across most of the inhabited space.
Fruit trees, bushes full of berries, cannabis, plants, and copses
of bamboo lined the edges of the space. The center
of the field was dominated by a large circular kitchen
surrounded by a handsome oaken bar. Table tables, gazebos, and
sundry personal structures dotted the field, along with a pair
of dance floors. Reggie's face lit up when he saw
(17:41):
the bar. By the time Manny had dropped off their
bags and paid Charlie and the driver for the night,
the journalist was already three beers in the brit wasn't
precisely drunk or sober, but at that productive twilight in between,
he'd unrolled a portable screen and had a holographic display up,
looping four separate sections of the security footage Colonel Milgram
had sent over. The journalist alternated between typing furiously scrawling
(18:02):
notes in his journal and taking huge gulps from something
brown and foamy. He stopped working when he saw Manny
approach and waved him into the adjacent seat. Hey brother,
check this out, Manny, pulled up a seat, and the
journalist directed his attention to a six second loop of
footage from immediately after the bombing. It showed two man
size silhouettes standing on top of an old garage. Many
(18:23):
remembered the building. It stood maybe two hundred meters from
the Abrams Road checkpoint. One of the silhouettes had a rifle.
The other held a short squat tube that Manny recognized
as a camera lens. Notice anything, spotters, Manny said, probably
trying to get a kill. Count. No, man, look at
where he's pointed. That Count's not looking at any post.
He's looking straight back deeper into the old town. And
(18:46):
I'll bet you he's high enough up to be staring
right at Colonel Milgram's command post. Manny looked again. He
thought about the angle. Okay, so what, he asked, You
think this was a probing attack for some big action.
The journalist shrugged. Maybe it's something new, is what interests me.
Two years of Modydom operations that all look more or
less the same, and now this weird one, an autonomous
(19:07):
vehicle bomb from a group of fanatics who think autonomous
vehicles of the devil. Yeah, Manny agreed that does seem weird.
The bartender walked up and offered Manny his pick of
the finest liquor in this particular war zone. Many ordered
a Shiner. It was the one beer a drinker could
find across both the Republic of Texas and the Austin
Autonomous Region. He looked back at the looping footage. They
(19:28):
both watched it twice more. Then Reggie spoke up again.
What have you heard about Pasta Mike, he asked. Manny
stiffened a little bit at the name. He'd heard it,
of course, vague stories of rioting in Kansas, a fundamentalist
uprising inside the southernmost territory of the United Christian States.
He hadn't thought much about it at first, but two
years ago Pastor Mike had moved to Texas, shortly before
(19:50):
the Heavenly Kingdom had declared itself. It was hard to
say exactly what role the preacher played within the organization,
but he was certainly its most visible face. I know
who he is, Manny said. I know the Republic led
him in because they thought as followers might provide a
buffer against Austin's influence. I know that blew the funk
up in their faces. Manny took a long drink and continued,
that's an old story around here, the Republic using those
(20:13):
god fondling Nutfoxx to push back against the leftists. The
journalist raised an eyebrow, and Manny instantly regretted his crude response.
He didn't really care about religion one way or the other,
but whenever he came out to the front, it was
hard not to get a little angry, especially after a drink. Sorry,
he said, it's been a long day. Reggie looked down, coughed,
and took a sip. He looked back at Manny, took
(20:34):
another sip and said, you know, that's another subject I'd
rather like to cover. What Manny asked, anti Christian sentiment
in North America. Manny grunted and looked down at his drink.
The brit barreled on, You're not the first North American
I've heard express anger towards Christians, he said, and California, Cascadia,
the North American Republic, I've just seen a lot of hate. Look,
(20:54):
Manny interrupted me. I'm a man of peace. I love everybody,
but this continent has been weren't apart and bleeding out
for the last thirty years. A lot of people hate Christians.
The ones that don't hate Christians hate leftists, and everyone
outside the American Republic hates capitalists. Hate, hate, hate. Manny
took a gulp of his beer and set it down
a little harder than he'd intended. He looked Reggie in
(21:16):
the eye and finished, There's exactly one thing all the
broken bits of this continent have in common. Hate. The
journalist arched an eyebrow at Manny and returned the gaze.
He had the look of a man peering into the
enclosure of a particularly exotic zoo animal. Manny wanted to
resent it, but he'd been doing this job long enough
to know that this was just how journalists looked at people.
(21:36):
Reggie downed his drink. He reached a hand up to
signal the bartender, and then looked back at Manny. Can
I buy you another round? Many shook his head, no thanks,
I'm tired and I don't want to drag ass at
the front tomorrow. He downed the last of his beer,
bid Reggie a good night, and headed over to the
spot of turf where he'd set up his sleeping bag
and gear. He popped off his shoes his pants and
(21:56):
his shirt and rubbed himself down with a handful of
wet naps. Then he ebbed a night shirt and sweatpants
from his bag and slipped them on. Many considered cleaned
pajamas a necessity. He fired up his deck again once
he was swaddled in his sleeping bag. There was a
jetting start, and then the corners of his vision were
populated by a series of small, partly translucent screens. Each
one bulged with updates, friends asking about his weekend plans,
(22:19):
spam from his college, notifications about new video uploads, and
headlines from the local news. Devon had messaged him twice
more to let him know that he and his journalists
were headed back to Austin, and then that they had arrived.
Oscar still hadn't responded. Manny's initial concern was over his loyalty.
I got that fucker started as a stringer. If he
sold that video and cut me out of the deal,
(22:40):
I'm going to But the longer he thought about Oscar,
the more Manny worried that something might have happened. Oscar
had been working in Plano today, near a very stable
chunk of the front, but this far out almost anything
could happen. Many closed his eyes, sighed, and tried to
purge the anxiety from his mind. There was nothing to
do now other than get to sleep so he could
wake up tomorrow and make more money. That thought prompted
(23:03):
Manny to pull open his banking app and check on
the status of his savings account. The numbers glowed fat
and happy, and the space right in front of his head.
Another five months in the field, maybe six, Then I
buy that plane ticket. He started to think about the
pictures he'd seen of Dublin and Berlin and Barcelona, all
the places he thought he might live if this war
could just hang on a little longer. He soon fell
(23:24):
asleep and slept pretty well until the first mortar landed.
Behind the Bastards News
Host
Robert Evans
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