June 2, 2021 • 24 mins
In 2070, the Republic of Texas is crumbling as a network of Christian extremist militias, the Heavenly Kingdom, assaults from all sides. Manny Sanchez is a fixer, leading journalists into and out of the sundry hotspots of the old Metroplex. Violence and war have become routine for him. But today, that's all about to change.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
After the Revolution. Richardson, Republic of Texas, twenty, Chapter one.
Manny Manny smiled the way the British journalist's 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
(00:23):
bed made the aluminum frame groan. That was all familiar
to Manny. He'd grown up in Siodad de Muerta, back
before the lake would blast, back when people had still
called it Dallas. The truck's 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
(00:44):
cannon like it was a coiled snake. The gunner, Manny's cousin, Alejandro,
grinned down at the journalist. The Suspeneon's a little fact, yeh.
The Briton nodded and turned greener. When the technical hid
another pothole. Manny supposed he should offer a comfort and
word to the man. That would be good business, but
a louder part of him looked at Reggie's brand new
(01:05):
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 years ago, he'd been working on
a bachelor's in business administration from the University of Austin.
(01:26):
The plan had been to get a job with Ages Biosystems,
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'd boiled out from the suburbs of the Old Metroplex
and all but broken the Republic of Texas. The Autonomous
(01:48):
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 had
for his life. So he'd embraced the situation and started
his own business, hiring on some friends as employees. Together
they'd built the best network of stringers in North Texas.
(02:12):
His boys fed him video contacts and news updates, and
he sold what he could to the big foreign 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 ans are pretty good as
long as the war doesn't end too soon. The technical
rolled to a creaky stop in front of a checkpoint
(02:32):
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
of the People's Protection Army. A local anarchist militia manny
could see the p PA's red black triangle emblem stitched
(02:55):
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
of Austin. Both militias co existed under the broad umbrella
of the Secular Defense Forces. The SDF had been organized
(03:17):
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, bulging, with muscles so sculpted and
prominent they had to be vat grown, and he moved
with the twitchy ungrace of a man who replaced his
(03:37):
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 riz on debt. The man moved back to the barricades.
When he had finished his lap. Reggie looked up at
(04:00):
me and asked was he a was he chromed? Many smiled.
That was always one of the first questions as soon
as any foreign journal saw a trooper with a large
enough filled skin with an off shade, or who just
moved a little too fast to seem completely right. Anything
beyond basic aesthetic and medical modifications were banned in civilized
countries like the UK. The real chrome, the implants that
(04:22):
would let a man lift a truck 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 vat grown muscles,
Manny said, in an off handed 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
(04:45):
eyes stayed locked on the big man. He was quiet
for a while before he spoke again. You just live
right alongside them, don't you, Manny shrugged. Everybody's got something
out here and the wet wears. But lets us hold
back the martyrs. They own the whole city if it
weren't half fats like him. The journalist nodded, and his
gaze stayed fixed upon the militiaman, until a troubled look
(05:06):
crossed his face. He glanced back to Manny. Are you
all chromed, Reggie asked. Manny smiled, I don't expect either
of us as stock sabien eh, but I doubt I've
got anything you don't. Reggie seemed 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,
(05:27):
that's why this city such as ship Hole, Manny asked.
The journalist had the grace to blush. Manny 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. 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,
(05:48):
or rebar. For just a moment, Manny felt bad about
hoping the war hung on. In other six months, the
old government blamed a lot on roided up veterans with
military grade mods. He told Reggie, most was just propaganda,
fear mongering. People were pissed after twenty years of plague, disaster,
and poverty. Manny shrugged. It's true, though a lot of
(06:08):
chromed up vets turned on the government. You can't make
men into gods and expect them to keep fighting from men,
Reggie pointed back to the bolding Militiaman, I take it,
muscles there is pretty far from a god. Nah, Manny laughed.
He's just a guy with too much meat money. Gods
don't man check points. The Brit was excited. Now. These
were the questions he'd wanted to ask since they met yesterday.
(06:30):
Do you know where some of those people are? Reggie
couldn't 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 Brit down easy. Most of those
folks live ah on the road in between the civilized
parts of Texas and the Republic of California, Oh. Reggie
(06:50):
looked disappointed. The truck rolled past the wreckage of an
old Catholic school. It bore signs of being fortified, destroyed,
re fortified, and redestroyed several times. The Brit was inches
from asking another question when the gate man 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,
(07:13):
hefe Manny said, the p PA's forward position is about
five minutes out. He'll be in the ship then, or
at least shit 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 journalists always called Manny the next time they
(07:36):
were in country. Giving white kids in caffie as a
lifetime of bragging rights for surviving a couple of days
in his home killed his soul just a little bit,
But Manny 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 and Spring Valley
Road and blasmed on a weather beaten bullets guard sign.
(07:58):
The Technical pulled to the right, The guns swayed in
its mount. Manny 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. Manny
(08:19):
could see a line of bullet hole stitched across three
of the shops. None of the windows were intact, but
otherwise the buildings had weathered the war rather well. Three
M one 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 from it hung the blue and white
starburst flag of the SDF. Three men in uniforms stood
(08:42):
waiting as the old Toyota rolled to a stop in
Manny and Reggie disembarked. Two of the men were officers
in the p P, A Colonel Jacob Milgram and Major
de Shaun Clark. Milgram was a boring, tight lipped near
D type, but DeShawn was one of Mannie's favorite sources.
(09:03):
He was an old infantry guy, a consummate brawler with
a face full of scars and three published books of
poetry to his name. 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. Mannie considered Hamid almost a local. He
(09:25):
shook hands with Jacob, since Manny knew DeShawn better. He
met the man with a full embrace and used it
as an opportunity to palm the major a packet of
his favorite cigarettes. Deshaun gave him a wink and a smile.
Manny shook Hamid'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 should get out
of this business. One of these days you'll come up
(09:47):
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. There's still a
war on right. He smiled at Hamid he'll get that
ship under control. Maybe I'll work a straight job again.
Not too soon, though, he thought. The least this war
can do was last long enough to get me out
of Texas. Hamide smiled back, and Manny introduced Reggie to
(10:08):
the officers. The journalist was clearly awkward in that special
way Manny had come to expect from new war correspondents.
It was the norm for young writers to be intimidated
by grizzled military men. Some of them got over that
Manny had worked with a middle aged Der Spiegel reporter
last week could probably take in as much incoming fire
as Major Clark. Colonel Milgram led them into the militarized
(10:30):
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 the wall were
given in U S dollars, a currency as dead as
the last American president. Many recognized ads for bands and
movies he remembered from his childhood. The glass facade had
shattered years ago. The kitchen had been gutted and replaced
(10:52):
by wall length screens displaying maps of the city. At
least a dozen uniformed men and women milled around the
space in small groups. He and Reggie 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 than
(11:13):
the human eye. An orderly brought in three beers, shiner
box from Austin and one dark brown tea and a
glass cup for Hamede. The brit raised his glass in
a friendly salute, thank you for meeting with me, and
then he started to ask questions. Manny leaned back in
his chair and enjoyed a long gulp of cold beer.
If he wasn't needed to translate, he generally checked out
(11:33):
during interviews. He used the free time to activate his
deck and check in on the two stringers he had
working right now. David Allenby was up in Addison today
taking a Californian documentary crew on a tour of an
st F training facility. He'd messaged Manny to let him
know they'd gotten through the checkpoints without any issue. Oscar
Martinez didn't have any journalists with him. He was embedded
(11:54):
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 was
probably nothing, but it concerned Manning. Nonetheless, what 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,
(12:17):
Reggie told the colonel, and Many's attentions 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
of his contacts and rossa Front 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.
(12:41):
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 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 eight checkpoints on that part of
the Richardson line, DeShawn said, as he pointed each one.
(13:04):
Five of them boarder Republic controlled territory. The traffic from
there is mostly autonomous, and those vehicles slaved 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 manned.
Reggie was quiet for a few seconds. Manny could almost
(13:24):
hear the gears turning in the journalist's head as he
struggled to find the words for his next question. Would
it be 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 board a Republic territory. The
martyrs haven't pulled off an attack on one in quite
(13:46):
some time. Was Abrams Road not one such attack. Reggie
looked eager now like 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, Manny leaned in a little interested in
spite of himself, at where this was all going to lead, perhaps,
(14:06):
Hamid said, you should read a bit more about this
heavenly kingdom. They reject all autonomous technology. They even use
remote human pilots 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
(14:27):
bought this system from the Israelis. If you're telling me
one of the Martyrs brigades has a hacker who can
crack that, then I'm the King of Albuquerque. But something
still went wrong, Reggie insisted, amid smile turned cold. This
is war, mister Reggie. It's mostly things going wrong. That's
where the line of questions petered out. Reggie asked them
(14:49):
for access to the security footage from the destroyed checkpoint
and Colonel Milgram agreed to send it over. We'd like
to speak to the survivors as well, if possible, Manny interjected,
not waiting to see if the journey list 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 up to the wire, of course, Colonel
Milgram said, with a smile to Mannie. They said their
(15:11):
good byes, and then Major Clark walked them out to
their waiting Toyota. The Texas heat hit like an oven
as they exited, and Mannie was glad they'd be spending
most of the rest of their day and doors. DeShawn
clapped a hand on Manny's shoulder as he lit one
of his new cigarettes. It's good to see you, Emmanuel,
he said, and then he smiled at Reggie, and it's
nice to meet you, my British friend. I'm sorry you've
(15:32):
come to the front at a boring time. Why, Reggie asked,
because this Deshaan gestured at the gun emplacements and loitering
militiamen of the command post. This is not war, not really.
Your job is to help your people. Children of peace
and plenty understand what is going on here. You must
teach them the language of war. And to paraphrase a
(15:53):
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 of the blood drained
from the journalist's face. Hugh Nutty, Old fuck, Manny thought,
with more amusement than fear. Classic de Shaun, he said,
and laughed. To ease the tension. The major bid them
both a good day, hugged Manny, and sauntered off back
(16:15):
to the command post. Smoke from his cigarette curled up
into the air behind him as he walked. Mannie's eyes
lingered on it for a second before he turned back
to Reggie. Ready to go, he asked Jipper as he
could manage. Three hours, a handful of interviews, and one
(16:38):
short drive later, Manny and Reggie 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 militia steadfastly refused
to involve themselves in the region's greater conflicts. They'd been
(16:59):
targeted a few times by the Heavenly Kingdom. The SDF,
by contrast, left 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,
(17:22):
with grow lights hanging from the rafters and a wide,
lush field 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,
(17:42):
and sundry personal structures dotted the field, along with a
pair of dance floors. Reggie's face lit up when he
saw 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 it
in between He'd unrolled a portable screen and had a
(18:02):
holographic display up, looping four separate sections of the security
footage Colonel Milgrim had sent over. The journalist alternated between
typing furiously scrawling notes in his journal and taking huge
gulps of something brown and foamy. He stopped working when
he saw a 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
(18:25):
six second loop of footage from immediately after the bombing.
It showed two man size silhouettes standing on top of
an old garage. Manny 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. Len's notice
anything spotters, Manny said, Probably trying to get a kill count.
(18:48):
No man, look at where he's pointed at. CONT's not
looking at any post. He's looking straight back deeper into
the old town. And I'll bet you, he's high up
enough to be staring right at Colonel Milgram's command post.
Mannie looked again. He thought about the angle. Okay, so what,
he asked, Do you think this was a probing attack
for some big action. The journalists shrugged. Maybe it's something new,
(19:10):
is what interests me. Two years of modytem operations that
all look more or less the same, and now this
weird one, an autonomous vehicle bomb from a group of
fanatics who think autonomous vehicles at 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. Manny ordered a Shiner. It was the one
(19:32):
beer drinker could find across both the Republic of Texas
and the Austin Autonomous Region. He looked back at the
looping footage. They 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 had heard it, of course, vague stories of rioting
in Kansas, A fundamentalist uprising inside the southernmost territories, of
(19:53):
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 the Heavenly Kingdom had declared itself.
It was hard to say what role exactly the preacher
played in 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 his
(20:15):
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 gone fondling nut fucks 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
(20:36):
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 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.
(20:58):
The brit barreled on, You're not the first North American
I've heard express anger towards Christians, he said, in California, Cascadia,
the North American Federation. I've just seen a lot of hate. Look,
Manny interrupted me. I'm a man, a piece. I love everybody,
but this continent's been torn apart and bleeding for the
last twenty years. A lot of people hate Christians. The
ones that don't hate Christians hate leftists, and everybody outside
(21:21):
the American Federation 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 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
(21:43):
of a particularly exotic zoo animal. Mannie wanted to resent it,
but he'd been doing this job long enough to know
this was just how journalists looked at people. Reggie downed
his drink. He reached a hand up to signal the bartender,
and then looked back at Mannie. Can I buy you
another round? Manny shook his head, no thanks, I'm tired
and I don't want to drag us at the front tomorrow.
(22:04):
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 his shirt and
rubbed himself down with a handful of wet naps. Then
he grabbed a night shirt and sweat pants from his
bag and slipped them on. Manny considered clean pajamas a necessity.
He fired up his deck again. Once he was swaddled
in his sleeping bag. There was a juttering start, and
(22:27):
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, spam from his college,
notifications about the new video uploads, and headlines from the
local news. David had messaged him twice more to let
him know he and his journalists were headed back to Austin,
and then that they'd arrived, Oscar still hadn't responded. Manny's
(22:50):
initial concern was over his loyalty. I got that fucker
started as a stringer. If he sold that video and
cutting me out of the deal, I'm going to going
to But the longer he thought about Oscar, the more
Manny worried something might have happened. He'd been working in
Plano today, You're 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
(23:12):
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 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 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
(23:33):
Dublin and Berlin and Barcelona, all the places he thought
he might live if this war would just hang on
a little longer. He soon fell asleep and slept pretty
well until the first mortar land. Hey everybody, Robert Evans here.
(23:54):
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
After the Revolution. Richardson, Republic of Texas, twenty, Chapter one.
Manny Manny smiled the way the British journalist's 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
(00:23):
bed made the aluminum frame groan. That was all familiar
to Manny. He'd grown up in Siodad de Muerta, back
before the lake would blast, back when people had still
called it Dallas. The truck's 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
(00:44):
cannon like it was a coiled snake. The gunner, Manny's cousin, Alejandro,
grinned down at the journalist. The Suspeneon's a little fact, yeh.
The Briton nodded and turned greener. When the technical hid
another pothole. Manny supposed he should offer a comfort and
word to the man. That would be good business, but
a louder part of him looked at Reggie's brand new
(01:05):
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 years ago, he'd been working on
a bachelor's in business administration from the University of Austin.
(01:26):
The plan had been to get a job with Ages Biosystems,
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'd boiled out from the suburbs of the Old Metroplex
and all but broken the Republic of Texas. The Autonomous
(01:48):
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 had
for his life. So he'd embraced the situation and started
his own business, hiring on some friends as employees. Together
they'd built the best network of stringers in North Texas.
(02:12):
His boys fed him video contacts and news updates, and
he sold what he could to the big foreign 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 ans are pretty good as
long as the war doesn't end too soon. The technical
rolled to a creaky stop in front of a checkpoint
(02:32):
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
of the People's Protection Army. A local anarchist militia manny
could see the p PA's red black triangle emblem stitched
(02:55):
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
of Austin. Both militias co existed under the broad umbrella
of the Secular Defense Forces. The SDF had been organized
(03:17):
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, bulging, with muscles so sculpted and
prominent they had to be vat grown, and he moved
with the twitchy ungrace of a man who replaced his
(03:37):
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 riz on debt. The man moved back to the barricades.
When he had finished his lap. Reggie looked up at
(04:00):
me and asked was he a was he chromed? Many smiled.
That was always one of the first questions as soon
as any foreign journal saw a trooper with a large
enough filled skin with an off shade, or who just
moved a little too fast to seem completely right. Anything
beyond basic aesthetic and medical modifications were banned in civilized
countries like the UK. The real chrome, the implants that
(04:22):
would let a man lift a truck 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 vat grown muscles,
Manny said, in an off handed 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
(04:45):
eyes stayed locked on the big man. He was quiet
for a while before he spoke again. You just live
right alongside them, don't you, Manny shrugged. Everybody's got something
out here and the wet wears. But lets us hold
back the martyrs. They own the whole city if it
weren't half fats like him. The journalist nodded, and his
gaze stayed fixed upon the militiaman, until a troubled look
(05:06):
crossed his face. He glanced back to Manny. Are you
all chromed, Reggie asked. Manny smiled, I don't expect either
of us as stock sabien eh, but I doubt I've
got anything you don't. Reggie seemed 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,
(05:27):
that's why this city such as ship Hole, Manny asked.
The journalist had the grace to blush. Manny 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. 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,
(05:48):
or rebar. For just a moment, Manny felt bad about
hoping the war hung on. In other six months, the
old government blamed a lot on roided up veterans with
military grade mods. He told Reggie, most was just propaganda,
fear mongering. People were pissed after twenty years of plague, disaster,
and poverty. Manny shrugged. It's true, though a lot of
(06:08):
chromed up vets turned on the government. You can't make
men into gods and expect them to keep fighting from men,
Reggie pointed back to the bolding Militiaman, I take it,
muscles there is pretty far from a god. Nah, Manny laughed.
He's just a guy with too much meat money. Gods
don't man check points. The Brit was excited. Now. These
were the questions he'd wanted to ask since they met yesterday.
(06:30):
Do you know where some of those people are? Reggie
couldn't 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 Brit down easy. Most of those
folks live ah on the road in between the civilized
parts of Texas and the Republic of California, Oh. Reggie
(06:50):
looked disappointed. The truck rolled past the wreckage of an
old Catholic school. It bore signs of being fortified, destroyed,
re fortified, and redestroyed several times. The Brit was inches
from asking another question when the gate man 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,
(07:13):
hefe Manny said, the p PA's forward position is about
five minutes out. He'll be in the ship then, or
at least shit 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 journalists always called Manny the next time they
(07:36):
were in country. Giving white kids in caffie as a
lifetime of bragging rights for surviving a couple of days
in his home killed his soul just a little bit,
But Manny 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 and Spring Valley
Road and blasmed on a weather beaten bullets guard sign.
(07:58):
The Technical pulled to the right, The guns swayed in
its mount. Manny 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. Manny
(08:19):
could see a line of bullet hole stitched across three
of the shops. None of the windows were intact, but
otherwise the buildings had weathered the war rather well. Three
M one 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 from it hung the blue and white
starburst flag of the SDF. Three men in uniforms stood
(08:42):
waiting as the old Toyota rolled to a stop in
Manny and Reggie disembarked. Two of the men were officers
in the p P, A Colonel Jacob Milgram and Major
de Shaun Clark. Milgram was a boring, tight lipped near
D type, but DeShawn was one of Mannie's favorite sources.
(09:03):
He was an old infantry guy, a consummate brawler with
a face full of scars and three published books of
poetry to his name. 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. Mannie considered Hamid almost a local. He
(09:25):
shook hands with Jacob, since Manny knew DeShawn better. He
met the man with a full embrace and used it
as an opportunity to palm the major a packet of
his favorite cigarettes. Deshaun gave him a wink and a smile.
Manny shook Hamid'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 should get out
of this business. One of these days you'll come up
(09:47):
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. There's still a
war on right. He smiled at Hamid he'll get that
ship under control. Maybe I'll work a straight job again.
Not too soon, though, he thought. The least this war
can do was last long enough to get me out
of Texas. Hamide smiled back, and Manny introduced Reggie to
(10:08):
the officers. The journalist was clearly awkward in that special
way Manny had come to expect from new war correspondents.
It was the norm for young writers to be intimidated
by grizzled military men. Some of them got over that
Manny had worked with a middle aged Der Spiegel reporter
last week could probably take in as much incoming fire
as Major Clark. Colonel Milgram led them into the militarized
(10:30):
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 the wall were
given in U S dollars, a currency as dead as
the last American president. Many recognized ads for bands and
movies he remembered from his childhood. The glass facade had
shattered years ago. The kitchen had been gutted and replaced
(10:52):
by wall length screens displaying maps of the city. At
least a dozen uniformed men and women milled around the
space in small groups. He and Reggie 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 than
(11:13):
the human eye. An orderly brought in three beers, shiner
box from Austin and one dark brown tea and a
glass cup for Hamede. The brit raised his glass in
a friendly salute, thank you for meeting with me, and
then he started to ask questions. Manny leaned back in
his chair and enjoyed a long gulp of cold beer.
If he wasn't needed to translate, he generally checked out
(11:33):
during interviews. He used the free time to activate his
deck and check in on the two stringers he had
working right now. David Allenby was up in Addison today
taking a Californian documentary crew on a tour of an
st F training facility. He'd messaged Manny to let him
know they'd gotten through the checkpoints without any issue. Oscar
Martinez didn't have any journalists with him. He was embedded
(11:54):
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 was
probably nothing, but it concerned Manning. Nonetheless, what 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,
(12:17):
Reggie told the colonel, and Many's attentions 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
of his contacts and rossa Front 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.
(12:41):
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 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 eight checkpoints on that part of
the Richardson line, DeShawn said, as he pointed each one.
(13:04):
Five of them boarder Republic controlled territory. The traffic from
there is mostly autonomous, and those vehicles slaved 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 manned.
Reggie was quiet for a few seconds. Manny could almost
(13:24):
hear the gears turning in the journalist's head as he
struggled to find the words for his next question. Would
it be 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 board a Republic territory. The
martyrs haven't pulled off an attack on one in quite
(13:46):
some time. Was Abrams Road not one such attack. Reggie
looked eager now like 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, Manny leaned in a little interested in
spite of himself, at where this was all going to lead, perhaps,
(14:06):
Hamid said, you should read a bit more about this
heavenly kingdom. They reject all autonomous technology. They even use
remote human pilots 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
(14:27):
bought this system from the Israelis. If you're telling me
one of the Martyrs brigades has a hacker who can
crack that, then I'm the King of Albuquerque. But something
still went wrong, Reggie insisted, amid smile turned cold. This
is war, mister Reggie. It's mostly things going wrong. That's
where the line of questions petered out. Reggie asked them
(14:49):
for access to the security footage from the destroyed checkpoint
and Colonel Milgram agreed to send it over. We'd like
to speak to the survivors as well, if possible, Manny interjected,
not waiting to see if the journey list 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 up to the wire, of course, Colonel
Milgram said, with a smile to Mannie. They said their
(15:11):
good byes, and then Major Clark walked them out to
their waiting Toyota. The Texas heat hit like an oven
as they exited, and Mannie was glad they'd be spending
most of the rest of their day and doors. DeShawn
clapped a hand on Manny's shoulder as he lit one
of his new cigarettes. It's good to see you, Emmanuel,
he said, and then he smiled at Reggie, and it's
nice to meet you, my British friend. I'm sorry you've
(15:32):
come to the front at a boring time. Why, Reggie asked,
because this Deshaan gestured at the gun emplacements and loitering
militiamen of the command post. This is not war, not really.
Your job is to help your people. Children of peace
and plenty understand what is going on here. You must
teach them the language of war. And to paraphrase a
(15:53):
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 of the blood drained
from the journalist's face. Hugh Nutty, Old fuck, Manny thought,
with more amusement than fear. Classic de Shaun, he said,
and laughed. To ease the tension. The major bid them
both a good day, hugged Manny, and sauntered off back
(16:15):
to the command post. Smoke from his cigarette curled up
into the air behind him as he walked. Mannie's eyes
lingered on it for a second before he turned back
to Reggie. Ready to go, he asked Jipper as he
could manage. Three hours, a handful of interviews, and one
(16:38):
short drive later, Manny and Reggie 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 militia steadfastly refused
to involve themselves in the region's greater conflicts. They'd been
(16:59):
targeted a few times by the Heavenly Kingdom. The SDF,
by contrast, left 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,
(17:22):
with grow lights hanging from the rafters and a wide,
lush field 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,
(17:42):
and sundry personal structures dotted the field, along with a
pair of dance floors. Reggie's face lit up when he
saw 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 it
in between He'd unrolled a portable screen and had a
(18:02):
holographic display up, looping four separate sections of the security
footage Colonel Milgrim had sent over. The journalist alternated between
typing furiously scrawling notes in his journal and taking huge
gulps of something brown and foamy. He stopped working when
he saw a 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
(18:25):
six second loop of footage from immediately after the bombing.
It showed two man size silhouettes standing on top of
an old garage. Manny 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. Len's notice
anything spotters, Manny said, Probably trying to get a kill count.
(18:48):
No man, look at where he's pointed at. CONT's not
looking at any post. He's looking straight back deeper into
the old town. And I'll bet you, he's high up
enough to be staring right at Colonel Milgram's command post.
Mannie looked again. He thought about the angle. Okay, so what,
he asked, Do you think this was a probing attack
for some big action. The journalists shrugged. Maybe it's something new,
(19:10):
is what interests me. Two years of modytem operations that
all look more or less the same, and now this
weird one, an autonomous vehicle bomb from a group of
fanatics who think autonomous vehicles at 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. Manny ordered a Shiner. It was the one
(19:32):
beer drinker could find across both the Republic of Texas
and the Austin Autonomous Region. He looked back at the
looping footage. They 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 had heard it, of course, vague stories of rioting
in Kansas, A fundamentalist uprising inside the southernmost territories, of
(19:53):
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 the Heavenly Kingdom had declared itself.
It was hard to say what role exactly the preacher
played in 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 his
(20:15):
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 gone fondling nut fucks 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
(20:36):
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 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.
(20:58):
The brit barreled on, You're not the first North American
I've heard express anger towards Christians, he said, in California, Cascadia,
the North American Federation. I've just seen a lot of hate. Look,
Manny interrupted me. I'm a man, a piece. I love everybody,
but this continent's been torn apart and bleeding for the
last twenty years. A lot of people hate Christians. The
ones that don't hate Christians hate leftists, and everybody outside
(21:21):
the American Federation 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 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
(21:43):
of a particularly exotic zoo animal. Mannie wanted to resent it,
but he'd been doing this job long enough to know
this was just how journalists looked at people. Reggie downed
his drink. He reached a hand up to signal the bartender,
and then looked back at Mannie. Can I buy you
another round? Manny shook his head, no thanks, I'm tired
and I don't want to drag us at the front tomorrow.
(22:04):
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 his shirt and
rubbed himself down with a handful of wet naps. Then
he grabbed a night shirt and sweat pants from his
bag and slipped them on. Manny considered clean pajamas a necessity.
He fired up his deck again. Once he was swaddled
in his sleeping bag. There was a juttering start, and
(22:27):
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, spam from his college,
notifications about the new video uploads, and headlines from the
local news. David had messaged him twice more to let
him know he and his journalists were headed back to Austin,
and then that they'd arrived, Oscar still hadn't responded. Manny's
(22:50):
initial concern was over his loyalty. I got that fucker
started as a stringer. If he sold that video and
cutting me out of the deal, I'm going to going
to But the longer he thought about Oscar, the more
Manny worried something might have happened. He'd been working in
Plano today, You're 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
(23:12):
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 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 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
(23:33):
Dublin and Berlin and Barcelona, all the places he thought
he might live if this war would just hang on
a little longer. He soon fell asleep and slept pretty
well until the first mortar land. Hey everybody, Robert Evans here.
(23:54):
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
Host
Robert Evans
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