Category: My writing

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.

Teaching Vignette #43

(Submitted by an entrance assistant at the Springfield Caring Center)

March 4, 2120

It had been a warm spring morning and I was enjoying the weather after making it through a winter where we actually had several weeks of cold.  I guess I shouldn’t complain since this was the first winter in decades where we had more than a few random cold days all season.

The morning had been quiet so far, with only a couple of folks coming in for minor complaints.

“Good morning,” I said to the person who had just come in and was walking up to my desk.  “How can we help you?”

This is what I usually say to anyone who walks into the center, unless they are being carried in by someone else.

“I don’t feel so good,” they said.  They didn’t look so great either.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked.

As I said, it had been a quiet morning so far and although the caregivers were busy enough, I also knew that there were several that were doing routine work that could be handled later.

“I’m feeling sort of…” was all that they said before they collapsed.

I gave a yell for assistance before I scooted around my desk and felt for a pulse in the person’s neck.  There was one and it seemed strong enough, but the person, although still breathing, appeared to be unconscious.

By this time, Belinda and Curzon were beside me with a rolling cot that already had a fluid bottle set up on it.

“They’re breathing and have a good pulse,” I said to them, “but they collapsed and lost consciousness in front of me.” 

“What happened?” Belinda asked as we moved the person onto the cot.

“They walked in, said that they weren’t feeling well, and then fainted,” I said.

“Did you get a name?” Curzon asked.

“No,” I said.  “They didn’t have a chance to tell me anything else.”

I helped them get the cot past the desk and through the doors into the back labyrinth and from there to an intake room where Deanna, one of the center’s caregivers, was waiting for us.  I repeated my story but she was already checking pupils, as well as the heart, the lungs, and their belly.

As Deanna was prodding their belly, the person groaned softly and appeared to be regaining consciousness. 

Their eyes opened and they looked blearily at us.  “What… happened?” they asked in a soft, shaky voice.

“You fainted,” Deanna said, as she was putting a line in, inserting a needle that brought fluid in this person’s arm from the bottle overhead via some recently sterilized rubber tubing.  “Do you know where you are?”

“I was…” they said, looking around the room before turning an unsteady gaze on us. “I was just coming into the care center.  I think.”

Deanna pulled a jar off the shelf.  “When was the last time you ate anything?” she asked.  

“It’s been a while,” they admitted.  “I’ve been doing a prolonged fast.  It’s supposed to reinvigorate you.”

“It depends on how long you do it,” she said.  She used a glass syringe to add the contents of the jar to the fluid bottle.  I recognized the jar she used.  It contained a simple sugar and it was probably derived from syrup we had sugared from the trees on the farm that I had worked on a couple of years ago. 

Deanna glanced over at a jar of ephedra, which I knew had probably been grown in a greenhouse that was at a neighboring farm, but seemed to decide against using it.  Both the sugar and the ephedra were likely to have been compounded by the commune near us that provided us with most of our remedies.

She began unwrapping a care kit, which had a metal tray inside that contained most of the supplies she would probably need.

While Deanna was doing that, I looked carefully at the shelves in the intake room.  I’m responsible for maintaining the supplies in the care center, but it looked like the room was adequately equipped with almost a dozen kits, all carefully wrapped in cloth on the shelves. Still, I thought I might contact the community responsible for sterilizing them and order a few more.

I watched Deanna and Belinda work for a moment or two more before leaving.  Curzon had already left and with the person conscious and being treated, I wanted to return to my desk before anyone else walked in.

(Note: I was asked to submit this as an example of a situation that the center faced recently.  Our day generally consists of seeing people with much less dramatic difficulties. As of this writing, Deanna and Curzon are still at the center, but Belinda has left us to train in caregiving. As per our confidentiality norms, I omitted any information that might identify the person involved.)

Both Martha and Tom had carried rope on their backs and they tied a long length of it securely to what looked like a fairly sturdy part of the metal framework of the skylight.  Slowly the four of them lowered themselves to the floor of the warehouse.  The building looked deserted.

They were surrounded by sky high shelves and shelves of canned and dry goods. 

“I think they keep the produce and refrigerated stuff in the back,”  Martha said.

Harry looked around.  “Let’s see if we can find our way out of this maze.”

“Yeah,” said Tom.  “Let’s liberate some vegetables!”

They had gotten two aisles down when they heard a noise behind them.

“Stop,” said the cop.

The new police chief was standing there flanked by two younger cops.  They all had their weapons drawn.

The new top cop had been hired from out of town because of his reputation for order and efficiency.  It turned out he was a grim martinet, not particularly liked by the population at large or even the other officers.

Martha recognized the two cops beside him, Tim and Rick.  While she didn’t know them well, they had grown up in the neighborhood and had probably gotten jobs with the police because they were some of the few jobs left. She figured they probably weren’t very happy as cops.

“Well,” Tom said. “It was worth a try.”

Harry grimaced.  “We knew that there might be informers.”

“Alright,” the police chief said. “Quiet down and march to the door. And don’t try anything foolish.  When we get to the entrance I’m going to call for a transport van to bring you in.”

“Chief,” Tim said, a bit nervously.

“What?” he replied, irritably.

“You should pay attention to where our guns are pointed.”

He spun around only to see that their weapons were trained on him.

Before he could do anything else, Jake and Harry had grabbed him and Martha was tying his hands behind his back.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Tim said.

Rick let out a short laugh.  “I’ve been wanting to do this since he arrived.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” he screamed.  “I’ll have you all arrested.”

“I think you’ll have a lot of people to arrest,” Martha said.

“I don’t think he’s going to get a lot of support with any of that,” Rick said.  “I was listening to the radio just before I was called in and it sounded like there were break ins at food warehouses in both Portlands.”

“Both Portlands?” Harry said, sounding puzzled.

“Oregon and Maine,” Rick replied.  “And they were also reporting food riots in dozens of cities.  I think the government is going to have their hands full.”

“Alright,” Martha said.  “Let’s get these people some food.”

In the following months the government slowly collapsed, but the city endured with the help of a lot of neighborhood organizing and many mutual aid networks.  Intensive soil remediation and regenerative farming techniques had food growing by spring.  The rationing center was turned into a food co-op and, although the former food warehouse was now lying empty, there was talk of using it to create a year round farmer’s market. Many of the parks had also been turned into community gardens.

And the New New Harmony Commune was in the midst of yet another meeting.

“Okay,” Tara said.  “I think finally we’ve agreed to build a greenhouse in the back of the backyard.”

“But we’ll only grow vegetables there in the winter when they won’t grow outside,” Ginkgo declared, leaning forward like she was prepared to stand at any moment

Tara sighed.  “You’ve already said that, twice, and it’s now part of the proposal we just agreed to.  Can we move on?”

Before anything else could be said, most of the group were distracted by a commotion in the corner of the room.  Gosling seemed to be attacking the five story structure that Dawn was building.

“Stop it!”  Dawn yelled.  “Gosling is wrecking the new food warehouse that I’m building.”

“No more food warehouses!”  Pooka yelled.  “Build something else.”

“Look at Gosling go,” Rabbit cried.  “They’re a one baby demolition squad!”

“Maybe they’ve taken their role in helping liberate the vegetables seriously,” Plum said.  “This could turn out to be a career for them.”

Of course it wasn’t.  Instead, in twenty years, Gosling would be tracking and managing produce for a collective agricultural operation called, ironically, the Liberation Vegetable Farm.

Saturday afternoon, the reefer vans pulled up and were quickly loaded before they headed off to the rationing center. They were followed by three cargo vans, leaving just a couple of guards behind.  Twenty minutes after they all left, Magenta strolled up to the loading dock and managed to climb up it holding Gosling all the while.

The guards stared at her and the infant.

“Please,” she pleaded to them.  “We need food.  I don’t want my child to starve.” She ran past the two guards and stood in front of the triple locked door.  “Please let us in.  I know there’s food in there.”

One of the guards, the taller of the two, managed to find his voice.  “I’m sorry, miss.  We couldn’t get you in there even if we wanted to. Now if you’ll just go to the rationing center I’m sure that they’ll…”

As if on cue, Gosling started to cry.  “Now look at what you’ve done,” Magenta said. “My child’s hungry.  Well, I guess I’m going to have to feed them the only way I can.”  She started to unbutton her blouse.

The two guards looked terrified.  They moved closer.

“You can’t do that here,” the tall one said. “I’m sure…”

Before he could complete his sentence the arms of both guards were grabbed from behind and lashed behind their backs by four strong folks.  Another couple of people relieved them of their weapons.

Now the guards were perfectly panicked.

“What are you doing?” the shorter one screamed.  “There’s no way you can get in there.”

“We’re not trying to get in there,” Gus said.  “We’re waiting for someone to come out.”

“There isn’t anyone in there,” the tall guard said.  “All the workers left with the trucks.”

“Maybe there isn’t someone in there now, but there will be,” Magenta said.  Gosling had calmed down and there was actually a moment or two of quiet.  It looked like one of the guards was going to say something else but he was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.  

Magenta grinned. “I think there may be someone going in there now,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “We’ll let you loose when we’re all done.”  He paused for a moment before adding,  “Probably.”

Magenta turned around and looked at the sea of people gathering in the lot behind her.  It looked like most of the neighborhood was there, waiting.

Gorilla Joe was one of two members of the Denali Collective that didn’t climb.  He lifted weights everyday.  He was also a professional truck driver and was now driving Tom, Harry, Martha, and Jake to the warehouse in the Collective’s not so gently used pickup.  Once they got to the warehouse, his job would be to keep the ladder steady.

This little group couldn’t decide whether to call themselves the Storehouse Scaling Squad or the Vegetable Liberation Squad. They were still arguing about it when they arrived at the lot that was behind the fence behind the warehouse.

 It took them nineteen minutes to cut through the fence.

“I told you we could do it in less than twenty minutes,” Jake said.

“I don’t know,” Tom said.  “I’d say we were cutting it a bit close.”

They quietly took away the large segment of fence that they cut.

Once the fence was out of the way, Gorilla Joe backed the truck into place.  Tom extended the ladder and with help from Harry and Jake positioned it against the wall of the warehouse.  When the height of the bed of the pickup was added, it landed at a bit under thirty-three feet up the wall.  That left another two and half feet that each of them would have to pull themselves up and over.  Most people wouldn’t be able to do that, especially if they were balanced precariously on the top rung of a ladder, but most people weren’t trained climbers.

Martha scampered up the ladder, grabbed the top of the wall with both hands, and heaved herself up, onto the top of the wall, and then dived over.

“Impressive,” Jake said.

“We try to keep ourselves well trained,” Tom said.  “My turn.”

Tom went up a little slower but was able to heave himself over with a quick jerk.

“You’re next.”  Harry motioned toward the ladder.  “I’ll come up last.”

Jake’s movements were slow and methodical and he almost lost it at the end, but Martha and Tom pulled him over.

“Sorry,” he said.  “I haven’t been practicing.  I guess I’m a bit out of shape.”

He turned back in time to watch Harry climb over the top of the wall and swing down.

“Okay,” Tom said.  “Let’s see if we can open one of these skylights.”

Examining a couple of them made it obvious they weren’t built to be opened.

“Okay,” Jake said. “I know how to deal with this.”  He lifted his leg and put his boot right through the glass. With a loud crash, the entire skylight shattered and fell inward.  Jake almost did as well, but Harry and Tom grabbed him and pulled him away from the gap that was left.

“I hope that the New New Harmony folks were able to distract the guards,” Martha said.  “Otherwise I’m sure that that racket would let them know we’re up here.”

“I don’t hear an alarm,” Harry said.

Jake looked skeptical.  “That doesn’t mean that there wasn’t one that went off at the police headquarters.”

“Listen,” Martha said.

Everyone stopped and listened.

“I still don’t hear anything,” Harry said.

Martha smiled.  “That’s a very good sign.  Police headquarters are less than a mile away and the new police chief is an authoritarian madman.  If an alarm went off at the station, we’d be hearing sirens by now.”

Tom looked at the photos of the wall. “How tall is the warehouse?”

“The wall is thirty-five feet high but it ends in a parapet.  If you look closely, the actual roof is three feet below that,” Jack said.

“If we could get a forty-foot extension ladder, we wouldn’t need to climb at all,”  Harry pointed out.

“That’d be great,” Tom said, “We can try to find one, but I’ve got doubts we can.  On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I know where we can get a thirty-two footer.”

“Well, that’s only three feet you need to climb up beyond that,” Jack said.

Magenta laughed.  “You haven’t climbed a lot of ladders.”  She started scribbling on a piece of paper. “You want a roughly seventy-five degree angle.  That means the base of the ladder needs to be eight feet away from the wall and the reach of the ladder is going to actually be a little under thirty-one feet.  That’s if you climb to the very top rung which is not recommended.” She laughed again.   “Of course we do a lot of things that aren’t recommended.”

“Hold on,” Jack said. “What do you mean the base of the ladder needs to be eight feet away? There’s a chain link wire fence four feet behind the building. It’s twelve feet tall with a foot of barbed wire on top.”

Harry shook his head, “That’s going to be a problem. I was just thinking it’d be great if we could drive a truck up behind the building.  We could use it to mount the ladder and bring our equipment in.”

“Barb wire and chain link can be cut,” Martha said.  “You must know someone who’s good at that.”

“Damn,” Jack said.  “I should have thought of Jake.  I just don’t know where he is.  But I’ll bet I can find him.”

While Jack was trying to locate Jake, and the Denali Collective was trying to figure out better ways to scale the wall, Sam and Gus were attending the New New Harmony Commune’s weekly meeting.

“We think we can get inside,” Sam said, “but we’re going to have to immobilize the two guards on the dock.  We’ve figured out how we can do it, but we’ll need a distraction and it can’t be one of us since we’re immediately identifiable with the visual recognition system I’m sure all the guards carry now.”

“Well, I’m not in their system,” Magenta said. “Not yet at any rate.”

“You can’t go up to the guards alone,” Rabbit said.

Magenta smiled.  “Of course not.  I’ll have Gosling with me.”

It took Tara almost three minutes to bring anything resembling order back to the meeting. Gus looked amused.  Sam looked terrified.

“Okay,” Tara said, when there had been nearly thirty seconds of silence.  “Selene.  You haven’t spoken yet.  Go ahead.”

“I won’t have you endangering one of our children.  Bad enough that we agreed to this crazy scheme of yours but using our kids is out of the question.”

“Again, if the alternative is to have them starve along with us,” Magenta said as calmly as she could, “I think that it’s worth the risk.”

“But why use Gosling?” Pooka asked.

“Because babies are the most powerful distraction I know of.  Gosling will bewitch them, believe me.”

The meeting ran an hour overtime and Selene was crying at the end of it (and not the only one) but eventually everyone agreed that Magenta and Gosling could be the distraction.

Jake had escaped from four different prisons and was currently on the state’s most wanted list.  Fortunately, he no longer looked anything like the picture that they were distributing of him.

Jack came with him to another meeting with the Denali Collective.

“That fence doesn’t look like much of a problem,” Jake said.  “It’s not even electrified.  If we get some good bolt cutters and a couple of you help me, we can make it through that in under twenty minutes.”

“Good to know,” Martha said.  “You want to join us in climbing the back of the building?”

“Are you kidding?”  Jake said.  “Joining you on the climb was one of my conditions for getting you past the fence.”

Tom looked around the room at the whole collective, before looking back at Jack and Jake.  “I think we’ve got the climb figured out. If we can get through the fence in under twenty, I think we’re set on this end.”

“We’re not going to starve,” Magenta said.  “We’re not going to starve and I’m certainly not going to let Dawn and Gosling starve.”

At the mention of their name, Gosling looked up.  Dawn was too busy playing with their tiny straw-bale construction kit to pay much attention.  The little house that they built in the corner of the room was now three stories tall—that is, three one foot tall stories.

The adults, on the other hand, scattered as they were around the large room, were paying rapt attention to the discussion and when Magenta finished, several of them tried to talk at once.

“Order!” Tara yelled.  “Screeching at each other is not going to help the situation.  Rabbit, I believe you were next in stack.”

“Thank you,” Rabbit said.  “I’m not sure we have much choice.  With our land and gardens destroyed, the only way we’re going to get any food is to comply with the government. I know it’s going to mean doing things we don’t believe in and probably even breaking up the commune, but what choice do we have?  Half the city is close to starving now and I don’t see any other way that we don’t starve with them.”

“There’s a warehouse full of food sitting just a mile from us,” Magenta said.

“Are you suggesting that we break into it?” Rabbit asked, eyes practically bulging.

“That’s exactly what I am suggesting,” Magenta said.

“Order! Order!” Tara screeched into the ensuing screaming match.

The Prisoners Dilemma Affinity Group (ex-cons every one) took charge of the scouting and surveillance.  Although the original idea had come from the New New Harmony Commune (an income sharing community of twenty adults raising two kids), within less than a week almost half the neighborhood had become involved.  There was some concern that there might be informers in their midst, but so far things seemed to be going well.  Perhaps too well.

The warehouse was in an industrial park on the other side of town.  It was a large rectangular structure with thick concrete walls and nine loading docks set up on one side to accommodate tractor-trailers, although eight of the doors at the end of the docks were now completely sealed over.  The building had been used as a distribution center for electronic equipment when the internet still functioned.  Now the government controlled it and utilized a single dock to bring produce through in huge full-freezer trucks so that it could be stockpiled in the warehouse.

The same dock was also used to send out the refrigerated vans that brought vegetables, bread, meat, and other perishable supplies to the rationing center (a former supermarket), while regular cargo vans took canned goods and toiletries. From the center the authorities doled out approved rations to registered individuals and families. All unapproved gardens and farms had been torn up and salted to insure the safety of respectable citizens (and to keep them dependent on the government).

Although none of the former prisoners were allowed in the city hall anymore, Emilia, who worked there as a clerk, was able to smuggle out photographs of the warehouse from the old library archives. (The library itself was closed for repairs the government decided were needed. The government had decided a lot of libraries needed repairs and closed most of them.)

“Okay, notice the docks are closely guarded and the one door that still functions is almost impossible to open from the outside,” Jack said after everyone had a chance to look at the photos.

“Wait,” Sam interrupted.  “Then how does anyone get in there in the first place?  I mean they don’t have people working there twenty-four hours a day.”

Jack shook his head.  “I said, almost impossible. The workers get in from the outside, usually in the morning, by simultaneously using three different keys carried by three different workers and even one of those keys would be difficult to obtain. And there are six armed guards there when doors are opened in the morning and at the times when the food is delivered, as opposed to the two guards that are stationed in front of the dock door twenty-four/seven. The point is that it’d really be impossible for us to get into the building through the loading docks.”  Jack stopped and pointed to several pictures of the warehouse taken at ground level.  “But notice no one pays much attention to the back of the building.”

“That’s because there’s nothing there but a blank wall and a rather thick wall at that.” Gus looked at Jack like he was questioning his sanity.  “Are you thinking of trying to use some kind of charge to blow a hole through it?  Because I think that it’s probably thick enough to be blast proof, unless we had one of those RDX/PETN combo bombs and I doubt that anyone but the government has those now.”

“No,” Jack replied.  “Forget about bombs.  Look at these photos.”  He pointed to a couple of aerial pictures of the building, probably taken by a drone.  “There’s nearly ten skylights on the roof.”

“And how are we supposed to get up there?” Sam said.  “A helicopter?  The airport is even better guarded than this warehouse.”

“Wait,” Gus said. “You’re not thinking of free climbing it?”

“Me?” Jack shrugged.  “Nah.  But I know that several folks in the Denali Collective are enthusiastic climbers.  I bet that they could get up there.”

Most of the members of the Denali Collective had been part of a cooperatively run climbing gym before the government had shut it down for unspecified safety reasons.  More than a few of them were now climbing the walls of their house, literally.

“A sheer wall with no hand holds?  That’s going to be a challenge,” Martha said after Jack showed them the pictures.  “Fortunately for you, we love a challenge.”