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Six months had come and gone in New Seattle: months of plastering on a smile for zombies and humans alike who blamed him personally for all the decisions made by Fillmore Graves personnel. Months of digging into the ebb and flow of brains and the creation of brain tubes to get the most brains into the most zombie hands in the most efficient way possible. Months of stroking Blaine's ego to ensure that brains arrived in Seattle on schedule. Months of second-guessing what lay behind the respectful "sir" and the blank face of every Fillmore Graves soldier.
Months, in short, of incredibly hard work and very little sleep.
On the other hand, Major had actually managed to get enough brains coming in to claw their way back from the edge of starvation, reducing the tension in the city for humans and zombies alike. He had kept Blaine on track—admittedly making his least favorite zombie rich beyond his wildest dreams in the process, but he tried not to dwell on that part. Peace had held amongst the citizens remaining New Seattle, especially as he began to allow humans to trickle out into the rest of the world, under the watchful eye of the United States Border Patrol. He kept quiet the equally steady trickle of humans into the city under Renegade's operation. No one needed the provocation of thinking the zombie population was increasing.
But if the residents of New Seattle were—comparatively—peaceful, the relationship of New Seattle with the world outside its walls was significantly less so. The United States government had made its displeasure with Chase Graves' rule of the city more than evident, and Major could tell that the officials he dealt with were restraining themselves from outright threats only with difficulty. Border Patrol had surrounded the city, keeping as tight a rein on the inflow and outflow of people from the city as they could manage. Major had the impression that Renegade's operation was under as much pressure now as it had been when Chase Graves had made it his life's work to track down Renegade.
He knew this only from Peyton and Ravi, as Liv had yet to forgive him for the death of Levon. Which was fair, and Major was aware that his refusal to be in the least sorry for trying to save Liv's life regardless of what it had cost wasn't helping—but he wasn't about to pretend that anything else had mattered to him in that moment, either. He might never again have the freedom to make a decision based on what was most important to him, but in that moment he had been just Major Lilywhite. He wasn't going to apologize for that, to Liv or to anyone.
One of the parts of his new job Major had been forced to turn a blind eye to—if not actively collude with—was Blaine's bribery of the border patrol agents. It was the only way to get enough brains into the city. But slowly it appeared that the inflow of brains was slacking off, meaning that Major had to do one of his least favorite things: seek Blaine out and ask him what the hell was going on.
He took Justin with him. Justin had been his right-hand man and sounding board from the start, and Major was grateful for his friend's support.
"Oh, what do you want?" Don E griped when he saw them.
"Your boss. Or your head on a platter. You pick."
Don E rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.
Leaning on the bar, Justin asked, "Did you see the form from the TV producers?"
"No. What's up?"
"They want two of our human citizens released to go on Dancing with the Stars."
"They're petitioning me to let two humans out of the city for a dance contest?" Major frowned.
"Mm-hm. Dance of a lifetime."
Well, that was at least an easy decision. "No. I'm not letting humans out to dance."
"Producers say they'll give us a one-minute commercial spot in each episode."
"To advertise what?"
"Our tourism's way down." Justin grinned.
Before Major could respond, the kitchen doors swung open and Blaine's obnoxious voice called out jauntily, "Commander! Welcome. Welcome." He came around the corner of the bar, with Don E right behind him.
"Blaine."
"It's been too long, old friend." Too late, Major realized that Blaine's outstretched arms meant that he was about to be hugged. He'd rather have been blown up by an incendiary, but these were the things the commander of Fillmore Graves had to put up with, apparently. "I really do hope this is a social call," Blaine added as he stepped back from the unnecessary embrace.
"Sadly, no. I got a call from the brain plant this morning with some disturbing news."
"They told you, then. That we live in a quarantined city teetering between self-destruction and annihilation?"
Major was in no mood for Blaine's witticisms. He held the other man's gaze, waiting for an explanation.
Don E cut in, for Blaine's benefit. "We delivered twelve hundred fewer brains this week."
"Yeah. Annihilation may come sooner than any of us would like if that trend line continues. You're responsible for brains making it to the city. It's how you live like a king. It's why people are willing to pretend that you're just Jack Sparrow and not Jack the Ripper."
Blaine frowned, thinking it over. "Sounds like you've got a PR problem. You should arrest a couple of zombies, say they did it, smash their heads. Humans sleep easy at night knowing we live in a just society and Border Patrol agents remember they like money. Bing, bang, bing, bong. All our problems are solved."
"We don't smash heads anymore," Major reminded him.
"Oh, yeah. How's that hopey-changey thing working out for you?"
"Stay in your lane, Blaine."
"Make a new plan, man." The prompt counter-quote made Blaine entirely too pleased with himself.
Not to be left out, Don E chimed in, "Hop on the bus—" but Blaine held his hand up and Don E stopped midsentence.
"Commander, you might not like the way I problem-solve. I'm not known for my light touch."
Major, in fact, hated the way Blaine problem-solved. But this was the cost of doing business and keeping the zombies of New Seattle fed. "You've got a good thing going. I suggest you do nothing to screw it up."
"That's always my first choice," Blaine agreed.
Clapping Blaine hard on the shoulder, hard enough to make his point that the might of Fillmore Graves could as easily be brought to work against Blaine as it currently worked in his favor, Major smiled. "Then I'll leave you to it."
He and Justin left the Scratching Post. On the one hand, he was pretty sure Blaine was highly motivated to solve the problem. On the other hand, he was equally sure he wasn't going to like the solution. Just one of the many compromises involved in keeping this city at some kind of equilibrium.