CHAPTER 21 - MUTATIONS
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN GOVERNMENT COMPLEX - GENETICS MODIFICATION LABORATORIES - EARLY MAY, 2071
"It's a rabbit," Phil Abernathy says, staring down at the caged animal. He ignores the twittering laughter from behind him but he's sure he knows the source.
It's either the Trinket woman or the Heavensbee woman, he says to himself as he examines the rabbit. No respect for authority. Damned Prepper anarchists.
"Yes! Yes, it is!" the man standing next to him says. Pleasant faced, glasses always on the verge of sliding down his nose, Doctor Martin Latier fumbles in a pocket of his well-worn lab coat. He extracts a PADD and taps the controls quickly.
"Its stock was originally Oryctolagus Cuniculus. But this one...this one is quite special," Latier explains with a smile.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," Abernathy says in confusion, "Oryct...Cunnilingus?" Behind him he can hear guffaws of laughter mixing with the twitters and scowls.
"Cuniculus, Mister Chairman," Latier explains patiently. "Oryctolagus Cuniculus. Also known as the common Domestic Rabbit. Although this one is different. Say hello to Oryctolagus Cuniculus Latierii."
"Named it after yourself?" Abernathy asks with a chuckle.
"Why not?" Latier replies with pride. "It's my invention, after all."
"Invention?" Abernathy asks with raised eyebrows. "I wasn't aware that an animal could be invented."
"Engineered, then," Latier says impatiently. "I engineered it."
"So, what makes this rabbit different?" Abernathy asks.
"The Common Domestic Rabbit of the New Zealand White breed, of which this little guy was originally a part of, normally reach sexual maturity at five to six months, has a gestation period of about a month, a litter size of four to six kits, and is ready for slaughter for use as food anywhere from seventy to one hundred eighty days from birth," Latier explains. "However, this little buck is a mutation. A genetically engineered mutation. He reached sexual maturity at two months. The does' gestation period is only two weeks. The litter size is still four to six, but their accelerated growth means that they're ready for slaughter much faster - depending on how the meat is to be prepared, birth to dinner table is now anywhere from just over three weeks to a maximum of two months."
"So, you've managed to speed up their metabolism by a factor of three?" Paul Cresta asks, peering at the rabbit.
"Not their metabolism per se," Latier says proudly. "More along the lines of their maturation and growth rate. And we've run exhaustive tests on the meat. It's perfectly safe for human consumption. These aren't animals treated with hormones or injected with genetically altered material. These are animals that breed this way."
"This has merit, Mister Chairman," Dan Crane, former Presidential Chief of Staff, says. "This last winter was incredibly harsh with starvation and disease running rampant. If we can get some sort of transportation infrastructure going before next winter I think we'll do a lot better with the starvation problem."
As the two men talk, a lab technician walks in, carrying a cage that the assembled group can see contains a fair number of rats. He stops at the rabbit cage and carefully opens the top door, warily eyeing the rabbit inside the cage.
"Uhh, gentlemen," Latier says nervously, "You may want to step back from the cage."
"Why?" Abernathy asks. "And what's the rat for?"
"It, uhh," Latier stammers, "That is to say, the Latierii had some, shall we say, unforeseen side mutations, and -"
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Paul Cresta mutters in shock. "Look at its teeth!"
Phil Abernathy and Dan Crane glance back at the cage just as a horrified gasp rises up from the crowd assembled behind them...just in time to see the mutant rabbit back up against the rear of the cage, its body quivering with anticipation as its mouth yawns open...revealing not only the anticipated rodent-like incisors, but sharp, fang-like canine teeth and an additional set of sharp incisors as well.
Both Abernathy and Crane involuntarily step back as the technician dips one gloved hand into the rat cage, quickly coming up with a wiggling, squirming rodent. In a smooth, practiced motion the technician drops the rat into the rabbit cage, slamming the top of the cage shut just as the mutant rabbit lunges forward, jaws clamping down on the squealing rat. Blood spurts from the neck of the rat as the rabbit shakes it viciously, then settles down to begin to feed.
Behind him, Phil Abernathy can hear the sounds of someone violently throwing up, and glances quickly to his rear, to see Melody Temple-Smith vomiting into a sink, her husband holding her hair and gently rubbing her back. The girl is due any day now, Abernathy says to himself, why the hell did she come down here?
In truth, Phil Abernathy was not feeling all that great himself. Swallowing heavily, the Chairman of the Governance Committee turns to Martin Latier, trying, and not succeeding, in keeping the revulsion off of his face.
"I assume, Doctor," Abernathy says dryly, "That we just witnessed one of your so-called side mutations?"
"I'm afraid so, Mister Chairman," Latier replies quietly. "Earlier versions of Latierii only had vestigial carnivore canines and incisors. However, they don't require meat more than once or maybe twice a week. They are still largely herbivorous, although I would have to class them more along the lines of omnivores."
"Any other - side mutations that we ought to know about?" Lieutenant Commander Charles Smith asks pointedly, supporting his very pregnant - and now very wan - wife, Melody, with one arm wrapped protectively about her waist.
"Uhh...Latierii is quite...aggressive," Latier admits. "One of my techs was bitten rather severely a couple of weeks ago, when she didn't observe standard safety protocols."
"I was on duty in the hospital when she was brought in," Melody says accusingly. "So your term for losing two fingers off of her right hand and her right hand shredded to the bone is 'severely bitten?' The wounds were so vicious we thought she's tangled with a fighting dog, or a wild predator!"
"Yes, well, no one's as sorry as I am about that incident," Latier says firmly. "I was given a task to speed up animal growth in select livestock and I did it. These mutations were unexpected and in no way do they affect the quality of the meat!"
"As if I'd eat something like that," Elliott Heavensbee mutters to Stu Flickerman.
"Why not, Mister Heavensbee?" Latier asks. "Bears are omnivores and bear meat has been consumed for thousands of years. Shark is considered a delicacy and they're one of the most perfect predators in nature. Ladies and gentlemen, please don't let your pre-conceived notions prejudice you."
"Can't help it," Heavensbee murmurs. "That thing crawled out of my worst nightmares."
Phil Abernathy speaks up before Latier could form an appropriately biting retort. "Doctor, you mentioned a couple of other items you wanted to show us?"
Latier casts a final, baleful glance at Elliott Heavensbee before responding. "Yes, Mister Chairman. I hope that you all find this next item a little less...distasteful. Right this way, please.
"As you can see, we've been working with chickens as well," Doctor Martin Latier says proudly. "And my team has really made great strides in creating a mutation very similar in growth rate to that of Oryctolagus Cuniculus Latierii. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Gallus gallus domesticus Latierii."
"Now this is more like it!" Major General Paul Cresta states firmly.
"Named this one after you as well?" Rear Admiral Quentin Mason asks.
"Well, yes, Admiral," Latier replies. "Of course I did. One of the perks of being the geneticist to successfully breed an entire new species!"
"These birds look quite large," Katharine Heavensbee states. "Much bigger than the birds that we have in the Enclave."
"We used the common Rhode Island Red as our base stock," Latier explains. "And, through genetic manipulation and selective breeding, we were able to produce the birds that you see here. They are significantly larger than the original stock. Roosters can run about ten kilos while hens average out at about seven to eight kilos."
"How quickly do they mature and breed?" Julia Trinket asks.
"We've reduced incubation time down to about one week from the original three," Latier explains. "And, our Reds will reach broiler size in about two to five weeks. If we're using hens for egg production, we can reasonably expect each hen to lay up to nine hundred to nine hundred forty eggs per year. That's about three times the rate for non-mutated Reds."
"Now for the sixty-four dollar question, doctor," Phil Abernathy says. "What surprises do these birds have in store for us? Vampirism, perhaps?"
Latier hesitates for a moment, then turns to one of the lab techs working on a nearby cage. "Go ahead and show them," he says.
The attendant nods, pulls on heavy gloves, and reaches into a nearby cage and extracts a hen. The bird pecks aggressively at the attendants' gloved hands. The attendant, holding the bird tightly, steps away from the cage and tosses the bird into the air. The bird immediately extends its wings, flapping vigorously. But rather than flutter gently to the ground the chicken takes flight, propelling itself through the air. The ungainly avian actually looks graceful as it swoops around the room for several minutes, finally landing on top of another cage, where lab techs quickly corral the bird and force it back into its cage.
"Unmutated chickens have limited flight ability," Latier explains. "For example, a free range chicken can manage to flutter up into a tree, or get enough lift to clear a low fence, for example. But these can actually fly, as you've all seen here today."
"That's not everything," Bobby Joe Trinket says, examining an enormous rooster in another cage. "Doc, why do these chickens have teeth?"
"That's easily explained," Latier replies. "During our genetic manipulation, we inadvertently activated a recessive gene - talpid2. This causes tooth formation. In earlier versions of G. G. D. Latierii, only the embryos developed teeth. However, as our research progressed we found that the adults were retaining these teeth."
"Great," mutters Stu Flickerman. "In the other room we met Wolverabbit, and in here we have Frankenhen, the toothed flying chicken the size of a turkey!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," Latier says in a patient tone, "please remember that my task was to find solutions for starvation, and, side mutations aside, I think I've done that."
"Folks," Phil Abernathy says, turning and facing the group, "Doctor Latier, here, has truly worked wonders. If we can work out ways to get these animals to other parts of the country we just may be able to avoid losses through starvation entirely next winter."
"Once we finish up here I will try to open communications once again with Detroit," Dan Crane adds. "We may see their first train make its way out here very quickly - in as little as a couple of weeks."
"If we can start moving freight we can really make significant strides in rebuilding our country!" Phil Abernathy's voice actually held a tinge of optimism for the first time.
"Mister Chairman," Latier says, "Ladies and gentlemen. I do have one more breakthrough to show you. This one is vegetable rather than animal, so no surprises such as you've seen thus far. Right this way, please."
The group is standing in a brightly lit room, surrounded by trays suspended from the ceiling by thin chains. In each tray, stalks of what at first glance appear to be wheat sway gently. The plants all appear to be in different stages of growth - everything from mature, ready to harvest wheat, down to bright green shoots a few centimeters high.
"This is what I would like to show you," Latier says, placing a bucket on a table. "Would you care to take a look, Mister Chairman?"
Phil Abernathy steps forward and, urged on by Martin Latier, grabs a handful of mature wheat ears from the bucket.
"Okay, Doctor...it's wheat. So what?" Abernathy says, somewhat impatiently.
"Not just wheat," Latier says proudly. "It's actually Triticum Aestivum Tessera. It's genetically modified bread wheat that uses Triticum Aestivum stock as its base. Extraordinarily hardy. It will grow virtually under any environmental conditions, and matures incredibly quickly. We've estimated that we can harvest a complete crop every three months. Think about it! Four crops a year!"
"One question, Doctor Latier," Leigh Paylor steps forward, dipping her hand into the bucket and removing a fistful of grain. "I'm assuming that Triticum Aestivum was the original strain?"
"Yes, indeed, Madam Secretary," Latier replies, nodding.
"What exactly does the word Tessera mean, then?" Paylor asks, examining the ears of wheat in her hand.
"Good question," Latier says, stepping forward. He pulls a small magnifying glass from a pocket on his lab coat. "See the ears?" He asks, holding the glass over the wheat in Paylor's hand.
"Uh huh," Paylor replies slowly, "but I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for."
"Notice how the grains clump together on the ear," Latier explains. "Rather than the elongated, rather elegant ears of common bread wheat, the grains here form a rather boxy, cube shaped mass. See?"
"Yes," Paylor says. "I can see that now."
"Well, our chief botanist mentioned that the cube shapes reminded her of Tessera - cube shaped tiles that were commonly used in Renaissance mosaics." Latier explains. "I did a little research of my own and had to agree - the description was very apt. So, the word Tessera was incorporated into my name for this new grain."
"Logical," Paylor mutters, dumping the wheat back into the bucket. "Okay, Doctor, now give us the bad news."
"I'm sorry, Madam Secretary?" Latier says in confusion.
"The bad news," Paylor repeats. "Your genetics lab has developed a strain of wheat that can grow virtually anywhere and matures in three months. There has to be a drawback somewhere."
"Nutrition," a soft feminine voice says from behind them. Leigh Paylor turns to see a slight, somewhat nervous looking, plain-featured woman approaching Martin Latier.
"I beg your pardon?" Paylor says.
"Nutrition. Nutrients." The woman replies.
"Ahh, Gabriella," Latier says with a smile as the woman stops next to him. "Ladies and gentlemen, our chief botanist-slash-bioengineer, Doctor Gabriella Juarez. Gabi, we were just discussing your creation here."
"What did you mean, Doctor Juarez?" Paylor asks. "About nutrition and nutrients?"
"Oh. That." Juarez nervously examines the faces now watching her closely. "T. Aestivum Tessera grows very quickly, as Marty must have told you. But much of the nutrients commonly found in bread wheat grains are somewhat reduced with this mutated strain."
"So it grows quickly but it's useless as a food?" Stu Flickerman asks sharply.
Juarez quickly glances at Stu before replying. "Oh no. It's a versatile grain. It can be milled into flour, boiled and consumed as a cereal, and even used as animal feed. It's just not as nutritious as unmutated bread wheat."
"Define 'not as nutritious,' Doctor," Elliott Heavensbee says in a soft voice.
Juarez glances quickly at Latier, who smiles and nods. "It's okay, Gabi."
In spite of Latier's reassurance, Juarez pauses a moment before replying. "Anywhere from a two thirds to half as nutritious as unmutated bread wheat."
"So if I understand what you're saying, Doctor," Phil Abernathy says quickly, "And putting it into layman's language, it takes one hundred kilos of this mutated wheat to equal the nutrition value of fifty kilos of standard, every day bread wheat?"
"Mister Chairman, if I may," Latier interjects, much to the relief of Gabriella Juarez. "It's true that T. Aestivum Tessera lacks some of the nutrition of unmutated wheat, but I feel that the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. Remember, we're talking about a crop that yields four harvests a year and can be grown just about anywhere." Latier pauses and opens a small refrigerator situated behind him. He rummages in it for a moment, then pulls out a platter of sliced bread. The bread was a dark brown in color.
Latier hands the platter to Abernathy. "Mister Chairman, please take a slice and pass it along," he says. "This is bread made from T. Aestivum Tessera. Please try it and tell me what you all think."
In spite of the stated misgivings of several members of the group, Latier notices with satisfaction that everyone takes a slice of the dark bread. Even though no one was even close to starving in Cheyenne Mountain, short rations over the winter had affected everyone, including the highest members of government. In short, everyone was hungry.
Latier and Juarez watch everyone closely as everyone eats their slice of Tessera bread. Once everyone was done, Latier asks for comments.
"Filling" - "Kinda dense" - "Pretty heavy" - "Tastes like cardboard" - "Sticks to the ribs."
"Doctor Latier," Phil Abernathy says, "Doctor Juarez. I'll be the first to admit that your bread was not the best I've ever had. But your point has been made. If your mutations live up to their promise - in spite of some of their more disturbing 'side' mutations - I'm hopeful that we've seen the last starvation winter."
"Thank you, Mister Chairman," Latier says. "I wish I could report success with some of the larger livestock that we've been working with, but - early results haven't been as promising."
"We'll be in touch again soon," Abernathy says as some members of the group already begin to file out of the lab. "Once we get a reliable transportation infrastructure up and running, we'll be shipping your - creations - to as many cities as possible."
"Gabi and I are just glad that we could be of help," Latier replies with a smile. Gabriella Juarez adds a shy, tentative smile of her own.
Abernathy pats Latier on the shoulder as he turns to leave. "Keep up the good work, Doctors."
"Agenda items," Dan Crane says as the assembled Governance Committee settles into their seats. "One. Railway infrastructure. Our contacts in Detroit report that a test run between Detroit and Colorado Springs can be attempted in as little as a week. If successful, we can attempt to reach other areas soon after. And, before anyone asks, Detroit's asked that the first shipment of food go to them."
"Fair enough," Phil Abernathy says. "And, in case anyone was wondering, Latier was right. The Wolverabbit was delicious."
There was the expected laughter. "Anyone try the Frankenhen yet?" Rear Admiral Quentin Mason asks with a smile.
"I have," Bobby Joe Trinket says from his seat at the Capitol Council table. "Kinda tough. My free range chickens are better eatin'. But edible."
More laughter. "All right," Dan Crane says as the laughter dies down. "Item Two. Paris, Texas and Benton, Arkansas."
The room suddenly falls quiet as all eyes turn on Phil Abernathy. Shortly before winter had completely settled in a few months back, Cheyenne Mountain had heard from Jack Hawthorne for the first time since he and the rest of his crew had left the comparative safety of the Complex in an attempt to reunite with their families. Everyone had been horrified by his report of the religious fanatics in Paris, Texas, as well as the cannibals in Benton, Arkansas - and the news of their only daughters' death had hit Phil and Carmen Abernathy especially hard.
"Please continue, Dan," Phil says quietly.
"Major Snow has the complete report, Mister Chairman," Dan Crane says, looking over at the Capitol Council table. Although technically not a part of either the Governance Committee or the Capitol Council, Susanna Snow habitually sat at the Capitol Council table and was considered an unofficial member.
"Thank you, Dan," Susanna says, rising to her feet. "Our reconnaissance team was inserted thirty kilometers west of Paris last November - no mean feat considering the horrendous weather conditions. They successfully managed to infiltrate Paris two days later and spent several weeks gathering intelligence before moving on to Benton. What they discovered in both places is chilling, to say the least."
"It's as bad as Hawthorne reported, then?" Abernathy asks.
Susanna's mouth sets in a grim line before she replies. "It's worse." She quickly taps controls on a PADD that she removes from a cargo pocket. A view screen on one wall comes to life. The first image causes a collective gasp from the assembled group.
The picture shows several utility poles, each holding a crucified human. All of the people - men and women alike - were obviously dead and some were showing advanced decomposition. Susanna taps another control and the images begin to play in a slide show format, changing every few seconds. Each photograph was horrifying, showing scene after scene of crucifixions and hangings.
"Our team managed to take a number of photos," Susanna explains as the slide show runs. "And they also confirmed that Paris is still firmly in the grip of religious fanatics. There's only one punishment meted out for any crime committed - death. But, as you will see, this last series of pictures is by far the worst."
The last series shows a single pole erected in what appeared to be a city park, now fallen into disrepair. The pole appeared to be about three meters tall, based on the images of people around it. Wood had been piled up around the base of the pole. As the slide show progresses, the group can see a young woman or girl being led and secured to the pole by chains.
"Oh my God," Katharine Heavensbee says in horror. "They aren't...they wouldn't!
They did.
The next few photos shows flames bursting from the woodpile at the base and quickly consuming the girl lashed to the pole. "Our recon team wasn't able to learn her name," Susanna explains, "Only that she was fourteen years old, and suffered from Tourette Syndrome. The local religious leaders were convinced that she was possessed, or a witch, or both."
"Animals," Paul Cresta mutters savagely. Around him, heads nod in agreement. Everyone in the room was horrified by the display.
"Major, you mentioned that your team has intel on Benton as well?" Abernathy says, clearly affected by the scenes that he's just viewed.
"Yes, Mister Chairman," Susanna replies. "Our team was not able to infiltrate Benton like they did with Paris. Outsiders in Benton are only viewed as food. The photos that they did take were inconclusive and did not show sufficient detail, even with a telephoto lens. They did, however, manage to obtain statements from a number of people that live in the outlying areas not under Benton's sphere of influence, and all corroborated the earlier reports of rampant cannibalism in Benton itself."
"There was one other place that Hawthorne mentioned where they had trouble," Abernathy says thoughtfully. "Has that been checked out as well?"
Susanna nods. "Clayton, New Mexico," she says, referring to her PADD. "Nothing worth getting involved with, Mister Chairman. The 'militia' there consisted of little more than a power grab from some of the locals. Hawthorne and his group managed to kill their core. The local community took care of the rest." She pauses for a moment before continuing. "And, it seems that the rest of Clayton was 'taken care of' by bubonic plague this past winter."
There was silence in the room for a moment, broken at last by Phil Abernathy. "What's the status of your reconnaissance team, Major?"
"All back in the Security Zone, Mister Chairman," Susanna replies. "I believe that they've been released from the hospital. Sir, have you seen the recommendations from General Phillips?"
"I have and I concur," Abernathy replies. "We should put the matter to a vote as long as we have the entire Committee present." He turns to face the rest of the Governance Committee. "Folks, General Phillips has recommended field commissions for two members of the reconnaissance team - Staff Sergeant Jamie Wise to First Lieutenant and Corporal Richard Snow to Second Lieutenant. In the absence of a Chief Executive and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, I move that we vote. All in favor, say aye."
"Aye!"
"Opposed?" Silence.
"Major, consider it done." Abernathy turns to Dan Crane. "Dan, could you please coordinate with Major Snow on the issuance of orders, effective, let's see - today is May Eighth. Effective today."
"Of course, Mister Chairman," Dan replies.
"Snow," Abernathy says thoughtfully. "Not a coincidence, Major?"
"No, sir," Susanna says, blushing slightly. "He's my younger brother. He was the one that infiltrated Rain Wallace's operation last year. He has a real knack for intel."
"So it would seem," Abernathy says with a smile. "Alright." Phil Abernathy turns back to the Committee. "Paris and Benton. We can't allow either fanaticism or cannibalism to propagate. We need to send a clear message to the rest of the country, and eliminate two scourges at the same time. Paul?"
"Nukes are out of the question, Mister Chairman," Paul Cresta replies. "We need something powerful that won't take a lot of assets to employ."
Amanda Dalton, former Deputy Presidential Chief of Staff, speaks up for the first time. "Wait a minute. Are we seriously discussing bombing two American cities?"
"Amanda," Rear Admiral Quentin Mason interjects, "Miss Dalton. A year ago I would have been just as horrified as you by this prospect. But we all need to understand something. The United States of America that we knew is gone. Hell, it doesn't even look the same! Coastlines have changed, climates are all out of whack. No, this is a new country. And, think about this for a moment - for every Paris, Texas...for every Benton, Arkansas...there are probably a hundred places just like it that we know nothing about!"
"Miss Dalton, these places are like cockroaches," Paul Cresta chimes in. "Like Admiral Mason said, for every Paris or Benton there's a hundred or more out there just like it. If we are to ever restore order we need to take measures that seem draconian, but in the end are absolutely essential."
"Although I'm sure that debating the morality of bombing American cities may become necessary, Amanda, I think that for now we need to focus on the issue at hand." Phil Abernathy says firmly. Amanda opens her mouth as if to say something, then shuts it just as abruptly.
"Now, then," Abernathy continues, "Suggestions, General? Admiral?"
"Fuel-air explosives," Mason says firmly. "A big enough bomb is equivalent to a small nuke. Most powerful non-nuke explosive known."
"Absolutely," Cresta says in agreement. "The Mark Twenty-Seven has a one thousand meter blast radius. One should do the trick."
"What does that mean, General?" Amanda asks. "The one thousand meter blast radius, I mean."
Paul Cresta turns to face the young woman. "It means, Miss Dalton," he explains gently, "that every living thing within one kilometer of ground zero will die. Every building will be destroyed. Casualties and destruction drop off significantly after that. About fifty percent out to two kilometers, twenty percent at three, five percent at four, and roughly zero at five."
Amanda stares at Paul Cresta in horror for a moment, then stands up abruptly. "Excuse me," she says, before rushing from the room.
"Two questions, Paul - Quentin." Abernathy says. "One. Do we have hoverplanes capable of dropping these bombs? Two. Do we even have access to these bombs?"
"Yes on both counts, Mister Chairman," Quentin Mason replies, as Paul Cresta nods.
"Alright, then," Abernathy says with a sigh. "I think a strictly 'nay' vote will suffice. All those opposed to bombing Paris and Benton, please indicate by saying 'nay.'"
Silence.
"Consider the issue passed. And please note one 'nay' vote in absentia by Amanda Dalton." Abernathy says. "When will we be ready to launch, uhh..."
"May I suggest 'Operation Genesis Nineteen,' Mister Chairman?" Paul Cresta says.
"'Genesis Nineteen?'" Abernathy asks.
"Yes, sir," Cresta replies. "The biblical book and chapter that dealt with the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah."
"Very appropriate," Abernathy says. "Okay, Operation Genesis Nineteen it is. When can we launch?"
"We don't have specifics, Mister Chairman," Mason replies, "but I can safely say in a matter of days. A week at the outside."
Phil Abernathy nods slowly. "Good. Make it happen. Dan, anything else on the agenda?"
"One more item, Mister Chairman," Dan replies. "The mutual aid and cooperation agreement that we've been working on with the remnants of the Canadian and Mexican governments."
"Is everyone familiar with what we're discussing here?" Abernathy asks. Everyone at the Committee table nods, but he's met by blank stares from the Council table. Oh, these Prepper anarchists are NOT gonna like this!
"Being cooped up the way we were this last winter gave us a lot of time to dwell on the future," Abernathy begins. "And one glaring reality kept hitting us in the face. We can't sustain ourselves with what infrastructure is left for more than a few years at the most. To the best of our knowledge, we are the last and only viable government left in the world."
He pauses for a moment to let that sink in. "Now, our neighbors to the North and to the South have resources that we need...and we have resources that they need. We've been in a series of discussions with the Canadians and the Mexicans for several months now, and we think that we've come up with a solution. A merger."
"And what, exactly, are we 'merging,' Mister Chairman?" Elliott Heavensbee asks sharply.
"What's left of our three countries, Doctor Heavensbee." Abernathy replies firmly. "And, before you all leap to your feet in righteous indignation, let me reiterate the fact that, without this merger, all three of our governments will disappear in as little as five years. No more sovereign nations. No more infrastructure. What will end up happening will be dozens, if not hundreds, of independent little feudal city-states. In effect, our civilization will take a giant step backwards to say, oh, the Thirteenth Century."
"I don't like this idea one bit," Heavensbee snarls, as the other Enclave members nod in agreement.
"Neither do I," Abernathy says calmly, standing up. "Look, if it's any consolation, the United States will be the senior partner in all this. Folks, we've examined this problem for months. Do nothing and each government will go out, not with a bang, but with a whimper. Oh, I'm sure that in ten or twenty years we'll still be here, burrowed into Cheyenne Mountain, pretending to be in control. But the fact remains that we would just be one more of those feudal city-states that I mentioned. Believe me, this merger will make us stronger, not weaker."
"When is all of this supposed to take place?" Stu Flickerman asks.
"As soon as we can arrange transport, Mister Flickerman," Dan Crane replies. "We're shooting for our first summit meeting next month."
"We want to be part of this 'summit,'" Bobby Joe Trinket insists.
"You have my word," Abernathy replies. Amanda Dalton returns abruptly before he can say any more. Her demeanor has changed completely, a large smile wreathing her face.
"I just received word from the hospital," Amanda announces happily, "Melody Temple-Smith gave birth to a healthy baby boy about an hour ago. Fifty-four centimeters, four kilos. Mother and baby are doing fine."
"That's wonderful!" Katharine Heavensbee says.
"Do they have a name?" Asks Julia Trinket.
"Marcellus." Amanda replies. "Marcellus Temple-Smith. The first post-Impact child born in the Cheyenne Mountain Complex."