Having installed Olmey as mayor of Shipdown, Ramsey knew he would be able to count on the community’s citizenry when it came to the challenges that lay ahead, and there would be plenty of them.
Because, if humans were to take their planet back, they were going to need a strong authoritarian government rather than a dithering democracy. And that was one of the reasons he had undertaken the long, grueling trip to the Arkansas National Forest: to kill the government that was taking root there before it could grow any larger.
Ramsey was ushered onto the only elevator that still worked and taken to the spacious quarters Olmey had assigned to himself. They were decorated with a variety of furnishings packed in from a Sears store located twenty-five miles away. Ramsey thought the juxtaposition of 1950s Americana and Chimeran tech was a bit off-putting, but that didn’t stop him from tucking into a huge dinner comprising of steak, potatoes, and freshly baked pie.
The meal presented an excellent opportunity for Ramsey to tell his host about the Hale vaccine and the role it was going to play in making the American Empire a reality. Ramsey had a luxuriant mustache that drooped to either side of his mouth. He made use of a napkin to dab at it as he spoke. “Not only will the vaccine provide our people with additional protection, we’ll be able to offer immunity to other communities, and bring them into the fold as well. Then, once we have enough people to form an effective army, we’ll take this part of the country back.”
Olmey nodded sagely. “The sooner the better. That’s what I say.”
Once the meal was over, it was time for the obligatory tour of the weapons factory that Olmey ran on Ramsey’s behalf. The facility was located two levels down from the mayor’s quarters. That made it necessary for the men and their bodyguards to board the central elevator and ride it down to L-6, where an obsequious foreman was waiting to escort the VIPs through a narrow passageway into the open space beyond.
Workstations had been set up all around the circular deck. As Olmey led Ramsey from station to station he provided a running commentary. “As you know, the Marksman was developed by humans based on Chimeran tech. We’re taking that process further by developing a model that allows the user to tag his or her target. That required us to sacrifice the secondary mode of operation, of course, but the Drones are difficult to manufacture under these conditions, so we believe it’s a positive tradeoff.”
Olmey paused next to a bench where a gray-haired woman was bent over another weapon. She continued to work, but her hands had begun to tremble. “You may recognize this as an Army-issue XR-13 Bellock,” Olmey said, apparently unaware of the way his presence was affecting the woman in front of him. “But as you can see, the original rotary magazine has been rechambered to fire twelve-gauge shotgun shells. Unlike the Rossmore, which has a capacity of eight rounds, what we’re calling the XR-14 can accommodate sixteen shells, and that makes it ideal for close-in combat with Grims and Howlers. As for human opponents, well, you can imagine.”
Ramsey nodded. “Excellent… Well done. Let me know when I can buy some.”
What both men knew, but never discussed in front of others, was the underlying strategy that governed who made what. While Olmey’s people manufactured weapons, Ramsey’s were producing ammo for them, and neither group had access to a large supply of both. It was an arrangement calculated to keep malcontents from rising up and taking over either community. Plus both men employed in formants, whose job was to provide early warning of any plot to remove them from power. The price of power was eternal vigilance.
After the tour was over, Ramsey was shown into the guest suite adjacent to Olmey’s heavily guarded quarters, where he looked forward to a good night’s sleep followed by an early-morning departure. He’d been absent from Tunnel-Through for far too long, and there was a great deal of work waiting to be done.
Once in bed, and comfortable for the first time in weeks, Ramsey fell asleep quickly. There were dreams. Lots of dreams. And all of them were good.
Except for the pools of light thrown down from the fixtures mounted high above, it was dark and gloomy inside the railway tunnel. Because of the mostly flat terrain, it was one of only two such structures in the state. And thanks to Judge Ramsey’s foresight, the tunnel had been stocked with supplies and sealed off during the days leading up to the government’s collapse. That included a train with a locomotive, a flatcar-mounted diesel generator, a string of tank cars loaded with fuel, and three passenger cars, the last of which housed Ramsey’s office and private sleeping compartment.
Now, as the sound of the locomotive’s horn echoed through the tunnel, Roger Shaw was filled with joy as he lifted his daughter Amy up and carried her out of the family’s cubicle onto the west walkway. “Here we go, sweetie,” he said. “We’re going to see Mommy!”
Amy had a head full of curly brown hair and a slightly upturned nose, just like her mother’s. “See Mommy, see Mommy!” the child chanted excitedly.
Father and daughter joined the steady stream of people who were headed south onto the track-spanning wooden platform located to the rear of the train. Ramsey and the final group of regulators had returned from Arkansas, and all sorts of rumors were circulating as Shaw followed the crowd to the assembly area. “The Chimera are going to leave the planet,” one woman said.
“No,” a man insisted. “I heard that they turned the entire city of Tulsa into a gigantic pod farm.”
“That’s bullshit,” another worker proclaimed sourly. “Ramsey wants to run his mouth. And we have to listen. It ain’t no more complicated than that.”
Shaw secretly agreed, but was afraid to say anything, knowing that some of Ramsey’s most vocal critics were informers. Men and women who would prime the conversational pump, get someone to agree with them, and turn the sucker in for a favor of some sort. And he couldn’t afford to wind up on Ramsey’s shit list, not so long as the bastard had Monica under his control, and there was Amy to look out for.
So all Shaw cared about was the fact that Ramsey had returned. Because if the judge was back, then Monica should be back, and he couldn’t wait to see her. But as Shaw joined the crowd behind Ramsey’s passenger car, and maneuvered his way up front, there was no sign of his wife on the riser where Hunter and the others were gathered.
So Shaw felt a bit uneasy as Ramsey emerged from the passenger car and stepped onto the platform. His toadies led the tepid applause. The judge was resplendent in a gray cowboy hat, snowy white shirt, and string tie. A black suit and a pair of gleaming boots completed the outfit. “Thank you!” Ramsey said, as if in response to genuine applause. “It feels good to be back in Tunnel-Through after a successful campaign. It’s my pleasure to announce that our brave regulators were able to dig the pretenders out of the hole they were living in—and destroy the fake democracy they planned to impose on the American people.”
The toadies clapped. So everyone including Shaw did likewise, and Ramsey beamed happily. “But that’s not all,” he continued. “Not only were the usurpers trying to seize control of our country, they had developed a vaccine to protect themselves against the Chimeran virus, and we brought more than four thousand doses home!”
This line didn’t generate any applause, largely because Ramsey’s toadies didn’t understand what their leader was talking about. “Think about it, my friends,” Ramsey continued. “Once vaccinated, a Spinner bite won’t mean anything more to you than an accidental cut would. Clean the wound, cover it with a bandage, and you’ll be ready to go. And, because you are members of this community, every one of you will receive a vaccination during the next five days.”