Checkpoint at Bobb’s Woods, Bayne County
Ed was glad to get out of the back of the cruiser. It wasn’t very nice bouncing up that dirt road with his hands cuffed behind his back. It was much nicer to straighten out and stretch his legs.
He was especially proud that the new cop had called Gil “Deputy Warthog.” Ed had tagged that on him the first time he’d hauled Ed in for D’n’D. Sheriff Ike just about bust a gut and the name stuck. Deputy Huerta never warmed up to it, but Ed and Sheriff Ike never paid that no mind. Sheriff was a right enough dude, and chow at county lockup was always on the fair side of tolerable. Deputy Smitty was just jerking his chain about the fried baloney anyways.
Besides, it’d be nice to spend a few nights away from the old dog and pups.
As he was walked away from the road the polite corporal held his pad up to Ed’s jaw and it beeped in his ear. “Looks like we’ve got some metal. Silver maybe.”
They reached the awning that had been set up alongside the highway and they were joined by two more officers. Davies released him and said, “Stand here, sir.” Ed stood next to a slanted table and was flanked by guards as Davies addressed him. “Edmond Floyd, on behalf of the President and People of the United States…”
Settler’s notes
Sen PS: Colonel, your BMI targets are big for Americans, who are big by global standards. We’re going to need about twice the real estate, just for landfill —
Sen FR: The bill provides for summary impoundment.
Sec Trez: The more land we take out of production, the more we cut our throats.
Sen PS: Geese should be encouraged to lay golden eggs, not punished for it.
VP: These are just really extreme cases. Human dignity demands —
Rep DK: Little late for talk about dignity. That ship wen sail way back. Real question, the horror of proposal aside, is public safety. Big number Colonel Michaels present is enough for choke normal procedure.
Rep NA: These cowardly counterpunches of negativity are tantamount to treason! Colonel, I hope you realize that the minority view —
Col MM: It’s quite all right. I respect the Congresswoman’s point of view. In fact, I share her concerns. My plan includes several options — contingent on population, infrastructure, wind, landfill capacity, wetlands abs–
Sec Trez: Thank you, we can get into that on our own time. Mr Speaker, if I may?
Sec Trez: Thank you sir. I’ve invited Mr Luc Michel Brande, the CEO of StellaNova™ Industries, as many of you know, the makers of Scarboro Gold™ and Llama Llights™. The President has asked him to look at some of our nation’s homeless encampments and he has some experiences to share with us.
Mr LMB: Thank you Ladies, Gentlemen. Nothing treasonous about facts. Disposal estimates of Colonel’s are based on best case scenarios and U.N. averages, about as conservative and optimistic as can find. But they mean nothing. Americans come bigger than most. By Goodness and Gadfrey, I’m a fine example. [Witness laughs.] By Damn, a fair dinkum thing I pay own bills!
Rep DK: Nui Tobacco revenue never hurt, yeah?
Mr LMB: No, my dear Congressmiss, it did not. And it never did! Politics as usual is what it is. But, Chaos and Calamity, kids, nothing normal to be dealt with here! The President just sent me and my legion of super assistants on a tour of America’s weeping infections. Have you been to the inner city? Trash and filth are the least of it. We just got back from some of the worst cases and… well, it’s a bloody mess ladies and gentlemen, a bloody mess. Trash everywhere, as I said, plus needles, vermin, on two legs or four, and rats. Rats! With fleas! And, for the first time in centuries – CENTURIES – we face the threat of bubonic plague.
Sen NA: It sounds positively medieval.
Mr LMB: That’s the reality of the benighted past, my boy. We may like to imagine an idyllic pastoral paradise, but the reality was, and is, a medieval nightmare. “Nasty, brutish, and short,” I think, as the man said.
Sen PS: Hobbes may have been a little generous. This proposed abomination is not completely without merit. It could be considered helpful, from a strictly actuarial point of view, to wash down America’s worst tent cities with napalm. Feces and needles keep piling up, breeding forgotten historical horrors. As much as I abhor the notion, it would help to stanch the hemorrhaging of the budget.
Sen FR: So what’s WRONG with fire? It’s clean and thorough. We don’t just clean out these tent cities. We sterilize them, all the way to the ground. Not only trimming the bloated welfare rolls, but completely eradicating any threat of pandemic. Cost effective, too. Plus-sized Americans on the pyre will sustain their own immolation as the fat kindles.
Rep DK: But why waste biomass? With Saudis tightening noose, and fracking ground begin for play out, extra calorie could fuel one big portion o’conomy.
Sen FR: Fill our gas tanks with our neighbors? What’s next? Eating babies?
Mr LMB: [Witness laughs] By Damn! Classic ideas still the best! Jonny Swift beat us there by centuries! I recall Madam Vice President took just such a question at local meet’n’greet. Ideas don’t have to be new to be good.
Sen PS: Or an abomination unto Judeo-Christian ethics.
Rep DK: But, Senator, shou’n’t we learn for love smell of napalm in morning? Smells like tax cut!
Tent City, Katz Square, Auldtown, Friday 4pm
Julie was late with coffee and donuts. Again.
Probably got busy hitting up the holiday crowd downtown. Didn’t matter. Joey dug his works out of his kit. Fuck Julie and his fix, Joey was gonna start the evening with a shine. They got all weekend to score. Right now, it’s time to live it up, courtesy o’ ol’ Mama Spike. After he filled the barrel from the bowl, Joey snuffed his lamp. Too many junkies burned themselves up in their cribs, but Joey was careful. All the fires were always out, and the doors were always locked (or in this case, the tent flap zipped), before Joey shot up. He knew that in order to float without cares, he needed no cares.
As he depressed the plunger into the syringe, he could hear the alarms and the shouting, and vaguely considered yelling at his stupid neighbors two tents over to give it a rest already. Drunken fools liked to get themselves all liquored up and wail on each other. They should try to be quiet about it, thought Joey.
But it kept getting louder.
When he released the strap around his upper arm, a spot of flame blossomed on the tent wall before him. It quickly spread out and consumed the barrier, exposing the space-suited alien invader standing outside. The nozzle of his flamethrower was leaking smoke. He lifted it again as the opiate charge rushed up Joey’s arm.
Internal Affairs, Bangor PD, Two days after the HERO Act
The snow blew in with Rashid from the back entrance to IAD. Detective Stewart looked up from his desk and sneered.
“Good afternoon, Fabio!” In fact, it was a quarter to ten in the morning. “Some big guns waiting in the Captain’s office! You best hustle!”
Rashid hung up his muffler and overcoat. “Just took my parents to the airport. Captain’s known that for a week. He’s got no call – ”
“His visitor didn’t know anything about it, and she don’t seem like the patient type.”
Rashid poured himself a cup of coffee before stepping into the Captain’s open door. Captain Shelhorn glanced up from his call and continued talking. His guest was seated across the office, apparently engaged in her laptop. “No no, that’s quite all right, Sergeant. In fact, why don’t I come up there now and we can talk to him together?” The captain paused and smiled at Rashid and waved his hand to his guest, who stood and stepped forward. “Okay, great! Half a heartbeat. I’m right there!” He snapped his phone shut and pocketed it. “Morning Rash. Colonel Michaels, Rashid Fabok. All right, great! You can take it from here. Show her where I keep the drugs, Rash, if she asks.”
Rashid watched the captain depart, then faced the visitor. She extended her hand. “Colonel… Michaels? Sorry to keep you waiting. I was – ”
“Not another word, Detective. That’s on us. Your captain explained the whole thing. Family. We all get it.” She sat and opened her laptop. Rashid saw his own face on the screen. He caught her eye and she smiled. “The drugs…?”
“He’s joking. We let him think he’s funny.”
“You’ve been a cop for eight years, and internal affairs for three.”
“I remember.” He walked around the captain’s desk and sat. He laced his fingers around his hot cup and began to blow across the steaming surface.
“Ice that cup and you can skip all the huffing and puffing, Detective.”
“My hands are already iced, Colonel. This works best for me. You’ve been waiting for a while. How would you like to skip the small talk?”
“It wasn’t so bad. Your captain took me to the most charming café this morning and we had the loveliest breakfast. I’m sorry you missed it.”
“Me too.” He smiled. “I spent my morning in traffic in a car with a busted heater. I’m in no mood to talk about ice.” He squeezed his cup and slurped the hot brew.
“Cars are a horror show sometimes,” she agreed. “And I’m not one for small talk, myself. I didn’t actually ask, but I did sort of invite you to talk about your job.”
Rashid put his cup down and stood again. He turned to the window behind him and blew into his hands, then turned back. “Who are you, Colonel? You look familiar to me, but I can’t place you. I guess I’ve seen you around – local LEO conference or such – one of the big wheels sitting up on the dais maybe. You’re polished and charming like a high-level bureaucrat, but you smell like a cop.”
“Does MP count?”
“You mean military? Of course! Doesn’t matter the uni.” He walked around the desk and sat on the corner. “A cop’s a cop.”
She closed her laptop again and faced him. “I was an MP in the Army for three years. The last year of that I spent investigating MPs.”
“A snitch.” Rashid smiled at her.
“A squealer. A rat. Cindy Brady.” She smiled back.
“Cindy…?”
“A little before your time, maybe. A little before mine; I had to have it explained to me. For generations, she was the apotheosis of informants, the archetype of tattletales.” He stared at her. “Never mind. You know the type even if you don’t know the exemplar. And you’ve heard it all from your brothers in blue.”
“Can be a shaky brotherhood at times.”
“You’d think we’d be the most respected cops of all.”
“You’d think. But most of my former friends from the Academy have cut me loose.” He picked up his coffee and began to drink it. He stopped and looked over the rim at her. “I do know you. I thought I knew you earlier, but I thought you were some local county or state cop. That’s not it. You’re that lawyer on TV. That Army lawyer.”
She smiled at him again. “Assistant JAG Prosecutor in the Kodai trials. I was still a major then. Working with Colonel Tsurumotu was a great honor and a great education.”
“But you lost anyway, on all counts. Many said it was fixed from the start.”
“Who knows?” She shrugged. “Everybody got their day in court and we cleared the air. Viva due process and all that. That’s what we’re all about. That’s the Constitution we all promised to support, right?”
He nodded.
“What’s your job, Detective? Isn’t it to make sure that bad people don’t carry badges? You are on the front line fighting to make sure that EVERYBODY is served by the law, and no one is above it. It’s our way of ensuring the greatest good. What’s the cost? Sometimes some tender tax feeder gets his dick in a knot because we’re asking embarrassing questions. Boo fucking hoo! We hold cops to higher standards because we give them guns. What decent citizen or honest cop has a problem with that? And yet we’re spat on and scorned and avoided like STDs. You know why so many cops hate us and lazy screenwriters make us such frequent villains? We treat cops the way cops treat everybody else. Nobody likes that shit. Nobody wants to be treated that way themselves and movie fans sure don’t like seeing their heroes being jerked around by the assholes in IAS or handcuffed by that pesky bill of rights.
“But that shit’s important! If nobody stood on that barricade and kept our record clean, then the bleeding hearts would scream all the louder.”
She snickered and stood. “Look at you!” She laughed. “You can’t figure me out so you’re trying to play good cop and bad cop and buddy cop all at once. You’re right. It’s been a much longer morning than I’d planned so I’ll cut to the chase. How would you like a substantial raise so you can get that beater Hyundai of yours fixed, get your daughter into that expensive private school you and Carlene have been looking at, and come back to this job at the end of your special assignment to a guaranteed raise and promotion?”
“CrossCurrents™,” the VoxPop™ Network,
Two months before ratification of the HERO Amendment
As the director counted down on his hand the studio went dark but for the soft red glow under the cameras. A pool of brilliance sprung up around Miss Bell.
“Welcome to the Confluence, where opposing notions are mixed and measured. I’m Campbell Bell…”
“And I’m Ethan Cross. And This. Is. CrossCurrents!” Cross showed his teeth to the camera and turned. “With us tonight is Senator Tristan Amassi, arch nemesis of the HERO Amendment. Senator, your opposition to this measure seems to be on the ropes. Ratification is just rolling through state legislatures.”
“‘Sin in haste, repent at leisure.’ Much like Prohibition and the Income Tax.
They say there’s nothing so powerful as a bad idea whose time has come.”
“Everybody likes a tax cut, Senator.”
“Everybody deserves a tax cut, Ethan. And I’ve spent a lot of time in and out of government fighting for lower taxes. But this measure, while actuarily and mathematically accurate, is still a monstrosity. Ethics are not algebraic, and not helping is not the same as injuring.”
“But Senator, isn’t that just sour grapes? Not ‘interfering’ is also the same as not helping, isn’t it?” Campbell looked down at her monitor and bit her lip. “I mean, conservatives and libertarians talk about cutting back, but the needs of the people and the responsibilities of the government grow every day. We can’t just kick the can down the road again, can we?”
“No, no! Of course not, Campbell. We have to face the facts that government has gotten too large, and the people too dependent on hand outs. A century or more of infantilization, perpetrated by public schools and the welfare state, has produced a dependency class that – ”
“But Senator! We can’t just walk away from our problems.”
Amassi grimaced. “Sometimes walking away is the best solution. America has become over-extended overseas and over-committed at home. Harsh measures are required. Deep austerity at least. But this grotesquery, this enormity, is a stain on the Republic and will hasten its end.”
Campbell tutted. “Be practical, Senator, Our Democracy has endured so much. What would you have us do about the thousands of homeless in our inner cities? Hungry rural school children? Reproductive freedom? A grown-up nation has to attend to grown-up problems. Would you have the homeless and the hungry just starve in the streets? Yes, there have always been costs to tax collection. Isn’t it better if we can minimize it and make it run smoother and easier for the majority? Isn’t that really what democracy is all about? Everybody helping each other, and everybody sacrificing for the greater good?”
“Except not everybody sacrifices, do we? This algorithm that’s written is like a tornado. There’s no telling where it will touch down, how much damage it will do, whose lives it will devastate.”
Ethan leaned back and spread his hands. “That’s it exactly, Senator. Like a tornado! Seemingly chaotic, but, like weather, the Algorithm does follow trends and patterns and the alert and the adept can take steps to avoid them.”
“But that element of chance is what makes it fair,” added Campbell. “Majority rule and Fairness are what America is supposed to stand for.”
The Shanahan residence, Reginapolis
Wednesday evening before Memorial Day weekend
Before Tatum could trot around and open her door, Colonel Michaels was exiting the car. “We can skip the gallantry for now. Let’s get to work.”
He blushed and followed her up the walk. “You sure we don’t need a detail, Colonel? Things never seem to go as smoothly as – ”
“Long as you don’t get in my way, Tate, we’ll be fine.” She brandished her pad. “Got all the data we need on these motor mouths.” She stopped and looked up at the house. “This should be real nice. Two birds with one stone, Tate. Two birds with one stone. I get so sick of staying in hotels. Nothing against your suite in Tiara Tower, but this…” She gestured to the house again. “This is homey! Let’s move in.”
Inside. “…talked to Alice in booking and there’s NOTHING going on this weekend… I know THAT. I mean, nothing BIG. Little concerts and picnics and stuff, but… No! The ‘Legs are on the road, and there’s no big names coming to – to… Mom? Mom? What the… It’s the strangest thing.” Paulette put down her phone and frowned. When Cliff came back in from the kitchen she stood up. “Where’s your phone?”
“Do what?”
“Your phone, Cliff. Where is it? Mine just went dead. I was telling Mom about your time off and – ”
“What? What are you talking to her for? I told you we’re not supposed to talk about that. I’m just supposed to lay low and – ”
The doorbell rang, followed by knocking.
When Cliff opened the door he met a couple dressed neatly in business attire. The man was holding open his identification so that Cliff could see the silver badge and the black lettering, “H.E.R.O.”
“Yes?”
“Mr Shanahan?” asked the woman.
“What’s it about?”
“My name is Colonel Michaels. This is Mr Tatum. We’re here from the Department of Homeland Security. May we have a few minutes, please?”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Cliff smiled and opened the door wider and stepped back. “Queen City’s always worked closely with the LEO community. City cops or county mounties or the feds, we’re here to help. What’s up?”
Tatum folded his wallet again and returned it to his jacket pocket as Michaels unbuttoned her blazer and Shanahan shut the door. Leading them out of the foyer and into the living area, Cliff continued. “Have a seat. Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Thank you. This is homey. But nothing to drink, not right now. Clifford Shanahan?” asked Colonel Michaels. “Employee of Queen City Security? Paulette Shanahan? Daughter of Sofia Goddard?”
“Uh… Yes…” they both answered.
Michaels tapped her pad and it began to play back Paulette’s recently aborted conversation with her mother. As the recording ended with Paulette’s confused queries, Michaels went on. “You have both been found to be in violation of the preliminary security protocols of the Homeland Economic Recovery Optimization Act and have been declared spoils of war.”
“Do what!?” Cliff stepped forward but before his foot hit the floor again Michaels had drawn her sidearm and placed two neat holes in the foreheads of each of the Shanahans. Tatum stood still, his face blanched and sweat beading his own brow.
Michaels lifted her pad and spoke into it. “What’s your situation, Rashid?”
The pad crackled back at her. “Mrs Goddard and four cats, all being processed now, Colonel. Anything else?”
“No. We’ve got it. Go ahead and call hygiene. If you were as careful as you should have been, your house should be ready for you within the hour.”
“Roger that, Colonel… but, uh… You sure you don’t want to switch digs, Megs? This place stinks of cat, and it looks like doily purgatory, ya ask me.”
Meighan laughed. “Suck it up, buttercup! We get what we get!”
The Congress, One week before Memorial Day Weekend
Two Homeland Economic Recovery Officers escorted the President to the well of the House in silence. “Madam President, Mr Speaker, Senators, Representatives, Secretaries, Ladies, and Gentlemen. I’ve spoken at length with the Chief Justice. He concludes that the Amendment and Legislation are highly technical and intricate, but the intent remains clear. Until the conclusion of the next Census, only those members of the government instrumental in the passage of the Act, and only those States ratifying the Amendment and only those Congressional Districts represented by members who approved the bill, will be subject to the immediate provisions of the Act.” He smiled. “That includes your President, of course, who signed it into law. It includes everyone who ‘put it on the line for 29’.” He turned to the Vice President. “Madam President, pursuant to Title 14, Section K, Paragraph 4e of the Homeland Economic Recovery Optimization and Tax Base Enrichment Act, I surrender myself to the authority of the Algorithm.” He handed over the gavel. As he sat his security detail handcuffed him to his chair.
As the Vice President tapped the rostrum, a large display screen lit up between the decorative fasces at the front of the House. It showed a map of the United States with fractal patterns swirling over it. “The dissenting Members are excused. I remind ALL members that they are, under penalty of Reconstruction, sworn to silence until after the President’s address,” she smiled sadly at her President and he nodded in return, “whoever it might be who delivers that address.”
Immunized from the cull by her Constitutional impotence, the Vice President was now presiding over the possible execution of her President.
She continued. “The Algorithm has nominated these four zones for Reconstruction.” Each flashed on the screen as she named them, and the fractal patterns swirled and shifted, climbing up valleys and following rivers, mimicking natural disasters and military attacks, and then receded again into tight spirals.
As the pixilated storms settled around four major cities, and the finalist locations were at last revealed to the Congress, audible sighs hissed around the chamber. “Not my District” went through the minds of most. “Not my District” and then almost immediately it was followed by, “Oh! Them! Oh my.”
“Each large city has its own landed gentry and extensive homelessness issues and are all contiguous to blighted rural areas with endemic issues of addiction and dependency. As primary urban centers, they are all rich in both assets and liabilities and offer great opportunities for both Recovery and Enrichment.”
As electronic voting commenced, members watched anxiously as the patterns shifted and burst and waned. The Algorithm raveled the last few data from the Congress with its other criteria of flood history, famine recovery, chronic unemployment, and the host of other socio-economic factors used to assess the fecundity of tax cows.
When the voting stopped the pixilated motion of the screen stopped and what remained was a sprawling Midwestern Gerrymander scuttling along the river and into three States and three Congressional Districts. Only four of the Senators representing those three states had voted for the measure, but of course all three Representatives had to have. These seven members representing the Reconstruction Zone were escorted forward.
The President returned to the dais and the Veep resumed her seat. HERO officers were stationed behind each of the confined members. “The Officers will take the Selected Members into custody for the next week, and the other Members are reminded again of the gag order. This Assembly will reconvene one week from this afternoon. God Bless you all, and God Bless these United States.”
Settler’s notes
Dr DP: The Wealth Tax Registry will certainly help inform the program, Ma’am, so kudos on that. The continuing correspondence between BMI and end of life maintenance clearly flag our most preventable options. Cost go up sharply at —
VP: We can see that, Doctor. But what about fairness and gender equity?
Speaker: Of course, Colonel! We in public service have talked about cutting fat out of the budget. We never dreamed we could cut it out of the tax base too.
Col MM: [witness laughs] It does seem apt, sir. Morbid obesity is a drain on society. It is often incurable, but not always. Extraordinary motives can evoke extraordinary resourcefulness, and it would be a crime to miss this chance to maximize human potential. The team I propose to assemble will afford optimal tax base AND gene pool enrichment through time tested methods: competition, motivation, self-preservation, and natural selection.
Au 08 WheinGhust™ Brewing Company, Auldtown
“Thank you for calling WheinGhust — inclusive, progressive, accepting – where the only thing we overlook is… the river! How may I direct your call?” Receptionist Heather (nee Howard) O’Hanlon transferred the call. Dressed in gray sweats with a flowered scarf, Heather used to dislike casual Fridays, scorning them as unprofessional. However, as the hormone therapy’s side-effects included severe bloating and water retention, finding a proper fit was becoming increasingly challenging. Heather finally surrendered to the reality of a constantly changing body shape. Though the testicles had long ago been taken, and the scrotal tissue partially reformed, the penis remained, as did Heather’s rich baritone. Nevertheless, Heather identified as a woman, and WheinGhust (“an Inclusively Progressive Alery”) took both pains and pride to honor such heroic declarations. Heather had been featured in WheinGhust’s most recent newsletter, heralding the fact that they embraced “alternative lifestyles.” Hormone therapy wasn’t cheap, but fortunately the Democrat Congress had seen fit to include gender reassignment therapy under the Fedicare Act. (Proponents refused to call it “TrumpCare” even though he signed the bill. While he was also the first President to come into office supporting gay marriage and other trendy leftie causes, he got little credit from partisans who opposed him.)
Heather stabbed the next blinking light on the telephone. “Thank you for calling Whein — Yes, certainly. Send them up.”
Before Heather returned the handset to its cradle the inner door to the reception area opened and three uniformed men entered. Heather looked up as the leading officer approached. “May I help you?”
“Yes sir,” said Stanley Hammer. “This area has been designated an emergency recovery zone under the authority of the HERO Act, and your cooperation is required. Please notify the boss that we’re here to impound WheinGhust’s material assets and to process the staff.
“It’s ‘Ma’am’,” said Heather, quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“You called me ‘sir’,” said Heather. “It’s ‘Ma’am’! I identify as a woman. When are you religious freaks going to get with the program? Gender is just a social – ”
“Heather O’Hanlon?” Stanley glanced at his pad.
“Born Howard Joseph O’Hanlon?”
Heather stood up to a full six feet and two inches and nodded. “That’s right. And that’s history. It’s ‘Heather’ now, and it’s ‘MA’AM’!” to emphasize both commitment and intent, Heather kicked the side of the reception desk and pencils rattled in their caddy. “It’s ‘MA’AM’ you jack-booted fascists! If you can’t accept that maybe you’re living in the wrong century!” Heather stepped out from behind the desk and began to approach the men, “It’s ‘MA’AM’!” and stomped again to punctuate the proposition.
“Fuck this,” said Glenn Kadish. “Algorithm shows this dude in solid red.”
“Not ‘DUDE’!” Heather shouted and advanced. “It’s – ”
BLAM! Kadish shot Heather in the center of the chest and the body hit the floor, vibrating the men’s feet when it struck.
“Sorry Sarge,” said Kadish, “but I’ve had just about enough of that shit!”
“It’s alright, Glenn. Red is red. Trannies are as expensive as diabetics.”
“Except diabetics don’t make as big a fucking deal about it as trannies do,” said Officer Speidel, as he rapped on the inner door behind Heather’s desk.
“Yes?” Sweating and shaking, WheinGhust’s Braumeister opened his door.
“It’s all right, sir,” said Stanley, as the man stepped out. “We’re going to need you to assemble your staff in the main lobby.” He waved his pad as he spoke. “Tell them that it’s mandatory AND that we’ll be taking attendance.”
“Of course! Of course!” Halvorson stepped around Heather’s body and exited the reception area to follow his orders. The men followed.
“Uh, Sarge,” said Kadish, “metrics seem to be mostly orange and red on the staff. Do we…?”
“Red is easy, Glenn. And orange? Almost as easy. WheinGhust makes big hoorah over how leading edge and bleeding heart they are, and how accepting they are of all types. They end up with way more than their share of retards and deviants and the ‘handy capable’ that way. We’ll send home the greens, then probably waste most of the rest of these helpless snowflakes, but, uh… Uncle Sugar doesn’t want we should squander accomplished brew-masters, so we cull carefully. We should have hygiene here in about half an hour. They can use this place for processing the rest of the night. Speaking of which…” He keyed his vest. “Team Burnside, Squad Campigno, this is Squad Hammer.”
“Campigno here,” answered his vest. “Go ahead, Stan.”
“This end of Donenfeld is secure, Camp. You at the top of the trunk yet?”
“Just rolling into the QuikkStopp now. Looks nominal so far. How’s your end?”
“Gonna thin the herd, then dump their batch. Then we can tap the main leg for take up. This place feeds directly into the primaries, so we can take all you send.”
“Dang, Stan! Seems a shame to waste all that fresh beer!”
“Can’t be helped, Camp. Uncle needs those vats. Besides, it’s mostly all green!”