Author: admin

As it happened, in a very different time and place, there was a powerful nation-state known as the Confederation of Freemen. This was a Democracy where anyone could vote, anyone could run for office, and anyone could have their voices counted, as long as they were white, male, and paid the United Strength Party enough money.

The Party took care of everyone, at least everyone who behaved properly and knew their place. They were glad enough to have workers of every race and color and spiritual practice and made sure that they were paid just enough to survive. They were also happy to have women in the workforce, as teachers and nurses and administrative assistants, as well as workers in their factories and mills, but were happier when they stayed home as mothers to raise children and, hopefully, their husbands were rich enough to afford that.

This was a large and prosperous country and somewhere deep in its northeast provinces was a great and long waterway known as the Massive River and along its banks, among many other places, were two small cities, Bratten’s Bridge and Summerfield.

While most of its citizens were happy enough with their lot, there were, unfortunately, malcontents in the area. Some of them lived in the South Bratten’s Bridge neighborhood in several old houses and called themselves the Interbeing Collective.

This was a complex and chaotic little group of punk-freaks, green radicals, queer anti capitalists, and New Transformationalists.  They were not only women and men (some of whom did not fit the Party’s definition of women and men) but genderqueer and genderfree folk. And they were raising children there.

Although they were primarily pale skinned people, there was a large enough minority of brown, black, amber, and bronze folk with them.  One of the black folk there was a woman named Audree, whose primary relationship was with another woman called Devora, who was white and followed the faith of her mother.

Audree’s sister, Adrienne, lived in a farming community, not ten miles away, which called itself the Motherland Tribe.  The Tribe was nestled in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, on the other side of the Massive River, several miles northeast of Summerfield. 

They were a band of people of many colors, a few of them were even white, but none of those were men born men.  They were not only farmers but activists and organizers and community builders, determined to live in harmony with the land and each other. They followed the ways of their ancestors and attempted to have as little to do with the authorities as possible.

The Interbeing Collective and the Motherland Tribe were uneasy allies who tried to trust each other and sometimes succeeded.

The Regional Council meeting took place in a large room in an enormous multichambered structure with tall turrets and huge fanciful doors and glass seemingly everywhere, most of it stained in a wide variety of bright colors. There were large sculptured murals on the walls.  Given how gorgeous it all was, Fearsome Mushroom almost found it hard to believe that everything around per was made out of ancient trash that had been found on the tribal lands.  But there were also some practical things around them as well, such as the several large turbines on either side of the room which kept the heat of the day to tolerable limits.  

Each of the tribes had two official delegates, although almost all of them brought more members with them, some simply to observe the Council (and possibly become future delegates) while others came to do business with or just visit the Steam Dandies.

Crazy Tiger and Fast Turtle were the delegates from the Solar Spirits. Fearsome Mushroom was only there to observe, for now. Roosevelt and Churchill were the delegates from the Free Folk with Coolidge there to observe. The rest of the members of the various tribes, delegates and official and unofficial observers, went into the Great Hall for the meeting.

The Great Hall was an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling and even more ornate murals on the inner walls.  There were concentric circles of chairs in the center of the room and the delegates sat in the inner circle.  The official observers sat with them.  Behind them were three circles of nearly empty chairs, with just a smattering of folks, mostly Steam Dandies but including at least a couple of members of the Electromagnetic Machine tribe and an elder from the True Tribe, sitting in them.

Paracelsus, the regional coordinator, sat between the delegates from Fierce Femmes and the ones from the True Tribe, though they were a member of the Steam Dandies.  They waited until everyone was seated and quiet before opening the meeting.

“Welcome, everyone,” they said. “Does anyone here have an invocation to begin our meeting  with?”

“I do,” Nkrumah, a delegate from the True Tribe said. Ze stood and raised zir hands, “May the Spirit of unity and clear thinking pervade this gathering. May we respect each other and listen to one another with open hearts. May everyone be willing to give and let go as much as necessary. And may the voices of the land and the world around us be heard in this gathering and heeded.”

“Thank you, Nkrumah,” Paracelsus said. “That was very beautiful. Let us all take a moment for silence before we begin our business.”

Quiet descended briefly on the gathering before someone sneezed. There was a bit of laughter and then more quiet.

Finally Paracelsus said, “Excellent. Let us begin with old business. It looks like we have finally agreed on the road maintenance and clearing responsibilities for the region, at least for now. Each tribe will take responsibility for one moon out of six. The Fierce Femmes will be responsible for the responsibilities for this present moon.”

Emma and Lucretia from the Fierce Femmes stood up and bowed to the room. There was a smattering of applause.

“Next moon, it will be the Solar Spirits.”

Crazy Tiger and Fast Turtle stood up for a bit of clapping.

“The following moon, it will be the Electromagnetic Machine tribe.”

Pion and Lepton from the Electromagnetic Machine tribe arose and were acknowledged with another bit of clapping.

“Then the True Tribe.”

At this, Nkrumah and Tecumseh stood. Many people clapped this time.  The True Tribe delegates bowed before sitting down.

“Following that will be the Free Folk.”

Roosevelt and Churchill stood. Only Coolidge and the Solar Spirits folks clapped. Realizing this, Fearsome Mushroom started clapping louder and harder.

“Finally, the Steam Dandies.”

With smiles and small bows to everyone, Anastasia and Flamel got up.

There was a loud and vigorous applause. Fearsome Mushroom realized, not surprisingly, there were now many Steam Dandies in the room.  It seemed more had entered since the meeting began.

Paracelsus gazed around the circle.  “In other old business, we also agreed there would be free and fair trade between the tribes, free and fair being defined as anything that the tribes involved can easily agree on.  In addition, we decided that if there was a serious disagreement around intertribal trade, we would use one of several arbitrators, none of whom appear to be here today.  They are: Mahatma, from the True Tribe; Rubedo, from the Steam Dandies;” (there was a small cheer at Rubedo’s name but Paracelsus ignored it), “and Hopeful Aster, from the Solar Spirits.  We agreed to use them in that order but an arbitrator would not be used if their own tribe was involved.  In the unlikely event there was a dispute that involved the True Tribe, the Steam Dandies, and the Solar Spirits, Hadron from the Electromagnetic Machine tribe has agreed to be the backup arbitrator.  Does anyone have any problem with that?”

“We will accept these folks for now,” Roosevelt said, “but we want to note that no one from the Free Folk has been accepted as an arbitrator.”

“Also true of the Fierce Femmes,” Emma pointed out.

“Noted,” Paracelsus said.  They paused for a moment to see if there were other concerns.

“Our final piece of old business is a provisional draft outlining accommodations for disabilities in each tribe’s land and buildings.” Paracelsus tried to look hopeful, but there was an obvious hint of worry on their face.  “Are there concerns about this draft?”

“We still maintain that this is an infringement on each tribe’s autonomy,” Churchill said, in a clear and loud voice.

“You mean your tribe’s autonomy,” Emma retorted. “Does anyone else have a problem with this proposal?”

Most of the delegates shook their heads. The three Free Folk just looked at the heads around them shaking with what seemed disgusted resignation.

“Alright,” Churchill said. “But the Free Folk will not go along with the rest of the region imposing their will on us. We insist that we have the right to do things our way. This is part of the basic tenets agreed to at the very founding of the Tribal Federation of Turtle Island.”

“It is,” Paracelsus affirmed. “And it does seem that we do not have agreement on this proposal. I am going to suggest that a small group with folks from the Free Folk and the Fierce Femmes and anyone else who feels that they can contribute to working things out should meet in the interim and return to the next meeting with yet another revised proposal. I am tabling this item for now.”

Paracelsus looked at everyone present. “We have a duty to listen to each person here in a way that is respectful. Churchill is correct. One of our basic intertribal agreements is to honor each tribe’s differences and still find a way to work together that allows us to agree to disagree and yet get things done.” 

There was a moment’s pause. 

Paracelsus ignored the quiet muttering between some of the delegates.  “I believe that concludes our old business.  Next we have a report from the quarterly Continental Tribal Convention.  I believe that Jigonhsasee is here to deliver it. Jigonhsasee, will you come to the center of the room?”

Jigonhsasee was the elder from the True Tribe who had been sitting in the circle behind the delegates and observers.  She made her way to the center of the circles with the help of a mahogany staff that she leaned upon as she gave her report.

“I need to say at the beginning of my report that this was certainly not the most contentious Convention that I’ve been to. I think it was perhaps the third.  That said, it was still quite contentious.” Her eyes circled the room as she spoke, looking directly at each delegate in turn.   “Several of the northern regions wanted to restrict the admission of refugees which seem to be crossing their borders in increasing numbers.  They said that they were the regions that were the least responsible for either of the two pulses, but they were bearing the brunt of immigration flow from the most torrid regions.  It took much negotiation but two of the western mountain regions agreed to take a number of refugees to ease the burden on the northern regions.

“In addition, the conflict that I reported on from the last Convention has continued to fester.  You may remember it involves two tribes from the North Central West Coast Region that have engaged in several skirmishes and minor incidents.  They both claim the same piece of land, and both maintain it had been promised to them by the Continental Coordinating Committee. Both of them have created alliances throughout the region and well into several neighboring regions.  I know that both tribes have also sent delegates to this region and they have been pestering most of our tribes.  Fortunately, as far as I can tell, none of us here have gotten involved.  Correct me if I’m wrong.”

There was quiet following this remark.

Hearing nothing, Jigonhsasee continued. “Unfortunately, this is now threatening to break into open warfare. The Southern Northeast Maritime Region and the Western Minor Grand Lakes Region have both volunteered to send peace brigades to the North Central West Coast Region and surrounding areas. Our region has been told that we will not need to get involved at this time.  We are hoping that will continue to be true.”

Most of the delegates looked relieved at this news.

Jigonhsasee waited a moment before continuing.  “And finally, our region has been informed we have until the start of the next moon to enter our submission to the Turtle Island Continental Artistic Competition.  Is our entry nearing completion?”

“Delegates, correct me if I’m wrong,” Paracelsus said, looking around the circle.  “I think Higgs from the Electro-Magnetic Machine Tribe, Truganini from the True Tribes, Clever Bracken from the Solar Spirits, Boudicca from the Fierce Femmes, York from the Free Folk, and Thornycroft from our Steam Dandies have been working hard on what I hear is a magnificent creation.  Would someone be willing to check in with them and let them know that they have less than a moon to finish it and have it sent out to the North Central Plain Region where all of the entries will be evaluated?” 

“I can do that,” Coolidge said.

“Does anyone have a problem with that?” Paracelsus asked.  When no one said anything, they said, “That’s fine then.”  Paracelsus turned back to Jigonhsasee. “Do you have more to tell us?”

“Only to remind everyone there will be a referendum coming up at the next Tribal Convention on limiting biogas emissions and all delegates need to talk to your tribes and be ready to discuss it in the next Council meeting,” Jigonhsasee said.  “I will need to be able to report our region’s position, if we can agree to one, at the next Convention.”

“I hope that everyone understands that,” Paracelsus said. “Thank you, Jigonhsasee, for that well summarized report.”  

Jigonhsasee nodded in acknowledgement and hobbled back to her place behind the delegates.

“Shall we move to new business?” Paracelsus asked.  When it looked like most of the delegates nodded, they said, “I believe we agreed last meeting that we would schedule the regional Champathletic Games at our meeting today.  The Solar Spirits hosted the Games the last cycle.  Is there a tribe that would like to host the Games this cycle?”

“We would,” Lucretia said, standing.  “It’s been six cycles since we last hosted and that would make it our turn again.”

“Does anyone have a problem with the Fierce Femmes hosting the next Champathletic Games?” Paracelsus asked.  They waited a moment and when there was simply silence, they said, “It seems that you will be hosting the next cycle.  Do you have a proposal as to when the Games should be held?”

“We do not have agreement on that yet,” Lucretia said, “but we are leaning toward the traditional Days of Equality that happen before the Hot Season is upon us.  We will come back with a final decision on this before the next moon.”  She looked around the room.  “You should ready your teams.  We have a bold and fearless crew training.  We expect to win many awards.”

“We’re ready!” yelled Lepton.  At that there was much shouting from the other delegates, all of whom seemed to think that their teams would be strong competition.  Paracelsus looked amused and let the back and forth go on for a few moments before they swung their arms across each other in a gesture for silence.

When the room quieted, they asked, “Is there any other new business?”  They looked meaningfully at a group sitting together behind the delegates..

The members of that group, which appeared to be all Steam Dandies, looked at each other briefly before marching together to the center of the room.  One of them, perhaps the shortest Dandie, looked around at the delegates and spoke.

“I am Jules and this is Bismarck and Coleridge and Ada.” Jules gestured to take in the group standing there. “We are here to propose the creation of a new tribe. We want to fashion a tribe that will utilize the best of the retro technology of the Steam Dandies, the advanced technology of the Electromagnetic Machine, and the eco technology of the Solar Spirits, with the commitment to individual liberty of the Free Folk, the wisdom of the True Tribe, and the daring confidence of the Fierce Femmes. We wonder if there are members of your tribes who might be interested in helping us make this happen.”

Jules spoke enthusiastically and gestured as co spoke.  When co finished, co looked around the circle of the delegates with a trepidatious anticipation, appearing hopeful and nervous.  Most of the other Dandies standing with co seemed to share a similar mixture of emotions while waiting for a response.  They didn’t have long to wait.

“I can think of some,” Pion said, quickly.

“I believe I know a few,” Roosevelt said, practically as Pion was finishing.

“We might have one or two,” Crazy Tiger remarked.

“I can think of somebody,” Lucretia said in the pause that followed.

There was another pause.

“Where do you intend to build your tribe’s home?” Lepton asked, quietly.

“We know of a place that we think of as suitable land right where the Willow Bordered River branches off from the Long and Slow River.  It’s not far from where the Phyllite Hills begin,” Jules said.

“That’s sacred ancestral land,” Tecumseh pointed out.

“Isn’t everywhere?” Ada, who stood next to Jules, asked.  They looked at Tecumseh with what seemed more curiosity than anxiety.

Tecumseh grinned good naturedly. “You’ve got it.”  

“Are you saying we shouldn’t build there?” Jules asked.

“Not at all,” Tecumseh said. “But we would like to do a ceremony there before you start building, honoring the people who lived there before you and recognizing the sacredness of the land.”

“We would appreciate that,” Ada said.

“What will you call yourselves?” Fast Turtle wanted to know.

The Dandies in the center of the room looked at each other for a moment.  

Bismarck, who hadn’t spoken until that point, said, “We have decided we will not come up with a name until we have lived together for at least one moon and have a much better understanding of who we collectively are.”

Many of the delegates looked thoughtful at this remark, but no one said anything further.

“Is there anything more anyone needs to ask or say to achieve closure?” Paracelsus prompted, after a few minutes.

Jules spoke up. “Only that we request any of those who said they knew people who might be interested, to come with me or Ada or Bismarck or Coleridge before you leave. We want to add some diversity to our new tribe.”  Co looked around the circle briefly before the group marched back to their places behind the delegates.

“Is there any more new business?” Paracelsus asked. 

They waited quietly for a few moments, just listening into the silence, before finally saying, “Hearing nothing, I am closing this meeting.” They paused briefly.  “We will meet again on the first of the next moon. I hope that you enjoy the rest of your time here and until the next meeting, may all your tribes continue to do well.”

“May our tribes all do well,” several of the delegates responded.

PART TWO: Mild Season, 2468

(Translated back from Post-Pulse Inglesh)

a>  The Way is Nonlinear and Iterative.

Strong Unicorn was a respected elder now but per had been a fiery activist a half century ago.

“I hear you on that,” per said, looking around the room at all the anxious faces, “but I doubt that I need to remind any of you that we have been through well over a hundred and fifty years of rough patches and near disasters and even before that we survived through two full pulses and the near extinction periods that happened between them and afterwards.  We will get through all of this the same way that we have made it through everything else, one stumbling along muddle at a time.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment after that. Quiet enough for the soft wheezing of the mechanical air vents to be heard.

For a moment the members of the Solar Spirits’ administrative council simply sat and stared at each other, none of them quite sure what to say next. The silence was only disturbed by the struggling ventilation system and a very audible sigh from Lively Sycamore.  And as the administrators sat, the anxiety level in the room seemed to rise.  Problems with the room’s cooling system and the resulting sweaty people in it didn’t help things very much either.

Fast Turtle finally shook pers head.  “It’s just short of astounding to me that the Tribal Federation is still even around.  I’m just worried that this might be the quarrel that finally tears us fully apart.”  Per wiped the sweat from pers forehead.

Strong Unicorn slowly gazed around the room. Most of pers colleagues looked at least somewhat anxious and many looked quite a bit more.  “It’s really not worth worrying this much about that little conflict,” per said in a voice calm and strong. “I mean it.  I’ve been a liaison with the Tribes for decades and we have certainly seen much worse situations than this.  You just have to have a bit of faith now and then. I have seen some really bad conflicts over the years—and quite a few of them seemed to me to be close to insurmountable.  I was afraid on several different occasions that open warfare would finally break out.  But somehow it didn’t and here we are, still talking to each other.”

“I’m just hoping that we don’t need to get involved in this dispute,”  Lively Sycamore sighed again.  “We’ve had several folks from both of the western coastal tribes come here asking for assistance, which would be fine, I guess, but they are each pushing for us to take their side.  I really don’t want us to get caught up in their fight.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worrying about,” Fast Turtle interjected, almost before Lively Sycamore finished speaking.  “They seem determined to pull us into their little conflict.  Honestly, I’m scared that if other tribes do get involved, it’s going to escalate into something dreadful.”

“I know and I hear you,” Strong Unicorn said, holding up pers hands for peace.. “But think of it this way. We have a regional council meeting coming up soon.”   At that, most of the other administrators nodded.  Just the reminder of the meeting seemed to lower the anxiety level in the room, at least a little bit. “We can talk about all this then and we can suggest that our representatives bring all this to the Continental Tribal Conference. I am quite sure that the Conference is dealing with most of this already anyway and they will have more information than we do now.  We’ve got to trust that there are people working on this already.  I’m quite sure there are ”

There was a bit more relieved nodding after that and then, for almost a moment, it was quiet in the room, quiet enough that the sounds of the air attempting to escape from the cooling vents could be heard again, as the airflow struggled to lower the warmer ambient temperature.

Fearsome Mushroom looked up at the chronometer on the wall and sighed.  Per took the opportunity of the brief respite to gather pers belongings and stand up. “Sorry, I know we haven’t worked everything out, but I have to leave now.  I need to go and talk about dinosaurs.” 

“That’s right,” Crazy Tiger said.  “You’re running that Paleobiology discussion group.  How is it going?”

“I don’t know if anyone else there is learning that much stuff, but I certainly am.  It’s amazing how much information there is on primeval life that has been saved from before the pulses.”

And with that, Fearsome Mushroom left the meeting, realizing as per left that it was not a moment too soon, because the building where per was running the group was a good ten minute walk from the central dome where the Solar Spirits’ administrative offices were.  And, indeed, the young people in the group were there waiting, rather impatiently, when per arrived.

South Bumfork, the former state of Maine 

Wednesday, April 1, 2099

I don’t know why I’m starting this diary, but maybe someday, someone will dig it up and read what life was like at the end of the twenty-first century. 

Let me start with this place.  The Way Beyond Deep Community was founded in the middle of the twenty first century by folks who thought, for some reason, it might be a good idea to build an off the grid commune in the midst of deepest, darkest Maine.  These were folks who believed in sharing everything: stuff, money, work, ideas, ideology, love, hugs, sex, and communicable diseases included.  

We’re actually several miles away from South Bumfork and our nearest neighbor is a hermit that lives about a mile up the road. I’ve seen her maybe three times since I’ve been here–and I was born here. In other words, we are rather isolated. It’s probably the only reason that we’re still around. 

Tuesday, April 7th

Yesterday morning, Terra had an announcement. “Listen up, people,” she said. “It looks like we’re coming to the end of our endless supply of dried beans and grains.  Which means that, unless anyone thinks they know how to grow kidney beans or rice, we’d better get used to eating nothing but vegetables and berries. And anything the mighty hunters can catch.” 

“That’s not true!” Biobabe said. “There are lots of mushrooms growing around here. Not to mention that I can set up a spawning room to grow more.”

“Well then,” Terra said. “That’s so very different. Vegetables, berries, and mushrooms. Such a well balanced diet.”

“I remember when we got all of our food from dumpsters,” Gander said.  

“I remember when we all got salmonella from the dumpster,” Spice said. She rapped her cane on the floor to make her point. 

“Once!” Gander said. “That happened once!” He glared at Spice.

“There hasn’t been food in the dumpsters in fifteen years,” Tyger said. “I was on the last run.  We found pasta!”

“I’ve heard of pasta,” Claudia said. 

“We used to make yogurt here,” Cathy said. “But that was before the last cow died.”

“Enough memories, people,” Terra said. “We need to figure out how we’re going to get more food.”

“We can grow beans,” Biobabe said. “Or at least I can grow beans. Anyone who thinks that they can help should join me in the back field this afternoon. We’ll start pulling out weeds and since it’s all weeds back there, it’s pretty simple work.”

Which is how I ended up spending yesterday afternoon pulling weeds. 

Simple, it was.  Easy, it wasn’t. Basically we (that was Biobabe, Cathy, and I) pulled up everything there. It was a lot of work. Biobabe was a worker.  Cathy was filled with enthusiasm and kept saying that we should get more people involved and what was wrong with everyone that they weren’t out helping us and every so often she would pull something up.

Then Ferrous came by to tell us everything that we were doing wrong. Fortunately, Biobabe knew how to handle Ferrous. Unfortunately, dealing with her meant that Biobabe wasn’t able to focus on pulling up weeds, so for quite a while it was yours truly working away.

Today I’m sore all over.  Biobabe is staking out the newly dug field and planning what goes where. Fortunately, she doesn’t need help with that so I’m sitting in a side room, writing this and licking my wounds. I’ll help with the cooking later.  We’re having vegetables tonight. Surprise. 

Wednesday, April 15th 

The word heard on the pirate stations today was that the Grandsons of Chaos are moving into our area.  

The Grandsons of Chaos are one more group of young guys that hate that all the systems have collapsed and everyone has to work three times as hard to get three times less.  I don’t blame them for that; I haven’t been thrilled about the situation myself. But their solution to this is to force everyone else to work for them. 

Yeah. The warlords were coming to town. Now I could start worrying about how a group of communal neohippie peacelovers were going to deal with a gang of real thugs. 

Biobabe has been talking about giving martial arts lessons.  I was skeptical that any martial art was going to be helpful since I had heard that the Grandsons of Chaos were heavily armed and had a habit of shooting anyone who got in their way.

Meanwhile, Biobabe’s beans are slowly coming up but it seems like it will be at least a couple of months before any of them are going to be close to edible.  If we want dried beans, it might take more than three months.  For now, dandelion green salads with wild onions and strange mushrooms have become our daily diet, along with the occasional chipmunk stew for those who aren’t vegetarian.  We have three jugs of maple syrup that were collected during the February thaw, but we seem to be saving them for some special occasion.  Like maybe the day that the Grandsons of Chaos arrive.