Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (40 page)

She allowed
part of her brain to engage with her father’s question. “The
president doesn’t like money. I think he said we don’t need money
any more.”

David smirked,
impressed, “That’s a good part of what he was saying.”

“I thought we
were in a re …” she rifled through her stores of vocab while she
bit into her hand again, “a regression.”

David corrected
her, “A recession. That’s true, we have been. The President is
suggesting that the way out of the global recession is to forget
about money entirely. Clean slate. Eradicate money.”

“So what
happens to my piggy bank?”

David looked
glum, “It would mean your money would be no good any more, you’d
have to do something for your country to get the things you
want.”

Stephanie
crossed her feet, clicking her toes thoughtfully, “You don’t like
money though right?”

“That’s
different.”

“How?”

“I’ve never
said we should just scrap it, starting tomorrow, just pretend like
it never existed.”

Stephanie
reached into the leg-well behind her seat and searched blindly for
a bag of chips, “What the heck can I even do?”

Following
Stanwick’s lead, David tucked the Chevelle in front of the eighteen
wheeler, “What can you do about what?”

“What do I do
if I want stuff and they won't take my piggy bank. I don’t even
know how to do anything.”

David laughed,
“You’ll be okay. You know I doubt they’ll even let this
happen.”

Giving up on
the chips, Stephanie rolled her eyes and bit into her palm, sucking
up her saliva, content that her father had exhausted the topic. She
watched the little rivulets of blood flow down the creases and
folds as she flexed her hand.

West was soothed by
the scratchy voice of the talk radio presenter. He’d listened to
her for years and he regarded her show as a bastion of common sense
and balanced discussion.

“Well Tom, I’d
like to hear your take on this.”

The wavering
tone, the slight southern inflection; West thought to himself that
if he could select a surrogate Grandmother, she would be
perfect.

“Well Diane,
religious transformation or no, I want whatever he’s been
smoking.”

“Right?” Diane
laughed softly.

The man
continued, “It’s certainly not constitutional. I mean, I’m sure
that what he’s proposing is reason enough for impeachment,
certainly a vote of no confidence.”
The woman coughed away from the microphone as her laughter got the
better of her, “Right, right… I think impeachment would require an
act of treason …”

The man spoke
over her, “President Ford defined a legitimate cause for
impeachment as being whatever a majority of the House of
Representatives considers it to be at a given moment in
history.”

Another male
voice cut in, “But that’s the million dollar question right now
isn’t it? I mean, perhaps Tiernan knows something we don’t. I’m not
sure he would go into this thing not thinking he had a majority
house behind him?”

Diane spoke,
“I’m not sure if President Tiernan has had an opportunity to canvas
opinion on the hill; he’s only just returned from Valhalla or
wherever he’s been hanging out, hasn’t he?”

Both of the men
started laughing, then the first man, Tom, picked up the thread,
“Right Diane … I’m not sure how much of this I’m buying really. I
mean, there’s no way he’s naive enough to be suggesting that money
really is the root of all evils?”

Diane croaked,
“There’ll be plenty of people saying that President Tiernan is the
root of all evil after today.”

West thumbed the
volume rocker on the Boss’s steering column and the voices dropped
to a barely audible murmur.

“We’re out of
snacks already.” Charlene yelled over the ear-splitting roar of the
engine. She dropped the brown paper bag into the tiny space behind
West’s seat. “There's just no accounting for how hungry you can get
sitting in a car doing sweet F A.”

“I doubt it
will be long before we need to stop again. Honestly this car will
be the biggest problem. The mileage is for shit.”

Charlene shook
her fists in the air triumphantly, “Yey for shitty mileage. What
the H E double hockey stick’s with you guys and shitty old cars
anyway?” West sat in stony silence, watching the road. She looked
at the radio thoughtfully, “Did y’all know that this was
coming…”

West’s brow
furrowed, “Tiernan attempting to abolish currency?”

“All of
this.”

“I know it’s a
shallow basis for a friendship, but when you know that a person has
a seemingly infinite lifetime to better themselves, it’s easy to be
lost in that hope. Even though the Somnium Mirificum ended with
Tiernan as the ruler of a great nation, all bets were off for what
he would do next. Really, it was questionable if the great dream
ended because of some global calamity, or Tiernan’s death. Such
questions were debated for centuries. People have fought and died
for their belief that Tiernan’s vision would lead to a beautiful
future, even when none of us knew what lay beyond the great dream.”
He took his eyes off the road to look at Charlene, his expression
almost apologetic, “This…” he pointed at the radio, “We didn’t know
this was coming no.”

Charlene nodded
then opened her mouth and drew a breath.

“Go on?” West
prompted her, aware that she was holding back a question.

“Listening to
what he actually said, it doesn’t sound all bad really?”

West grinned
widely, his eyebrows arching as he kept his eyes focused on the
rear end of his precious Chevelle.

“No money,
everyone with their place in society, production increased,
unhindered by lack of funds, the world can set its sights on ever
greater projects. I can seen how some of it sounds innocuous. Money
is just an abstraction though, and a useful one at that. Of course,
there are only sixteen nations in the EUC, and this plan is a huge
fuck you to the rest of the world.”

Charlene tapped
the window control on her door panel, allowing the window to slide
down a couple of inches.

“Then there’s
the whole religion issue,” West continued.

“How do you
mean?”

“The symbolism
of the world leaders risen from the dead. It’s a ghoulish and
divisive move. In two days, they’ve managed to create a dialog that
will pit the world against itself.”

Allan Tiernan stood in
front of a large table, faced by the members of his cabinet.

“President,
with all due respect, you do realize you’ve just committed
political suicide.”

Tiernan’s
expression conveyed little emotion. In an ideal world, he would
have appointed a cabinet made up solely of Leechkith. He would have
settled for Second Realmers. In the end, he had been left with no
choice but to nominate Joe Faraday to the post of Secretary of the
Treasury. The man had paid his dues and risen through the party
ranks at the same time as Tiernan, and it had been impossible to
even imply that any other man would be suitable for the roll.

“Secretary
Faraday,” Tiernan waited until he was sure that Faraday was looking
at him before he continued to talk, “you are not capable of paying
me the respect I am due. I’m going to try not to hold that against
you. As for political suicide, I’m sure you’ll find that The Senate
is rather more accommodating than you would give them credit
for.”

Joseph Faraday
knew that of all the members of the executive branch, his position
was the one which was most threatened by the speech Tiernan had
delivered. His sense of betrayal was so profound that he felt
physically sick, his hand resting on his stomach in an attempt to
focus his mental efforts on maintaining his composure. “The Senate
will laugh you out of the White House, assuming the vice president
doesn’t call for a vote of no confidence.”

Tiernan glanced
at his father and smirked,“Vice President Miller, would you like to
answer Secretary Faraday’s concerns?”

“Certainly
President Tiernan.” Lucas Miller stood up and started to walk
around the table, making sure that he made eye contact with each of
the officers of the executive branch as he went, “You will all
appreciate that it was my intention to follow the course set in
motion by President Tiernan prior to the events of March tenth.
I’ve spoken with many of you about how those ends would be
achieved, but I doubt any one of you would have suggested that I
was more apt for the role than my predecessor. I have absolute
confidence in President Tiernan’s ability to marshal this country’s
resources and lead the people of the United States.”

Tiernan stood
behind Secretary Faraday and rested his hands on his shoulders in a
show of condescension which Faraday found emasculating, “Don’t fret
so much Joe, this doesn’t mean you’re out of a job. Really. You
should embrace this change. The people hate you, more than they
hate me. You’re the bearer of bad tidings; that’s how they see you.
Grim fucking reaper and champion of austerity. You did some fine
work on capital reforms, but you’ve got to know that it isn’t
enough. Working along side Administrator Burton, Secretary Pope and
Secretary Wilson the scope of your role becomes vastly more
interesting.”

Administrator Gloria
Burton had been a controversial appointment in the early days of
Tiernan’s administration. Coming fresh from a position as CEO of
one of the major oil corporations, many members of the press and
some bleeding heart liberals had painted her as an inappropriate
candidate for the position of Administrator of the Environmental
Protection Agency, but the Senate had confirmed her role with an
overwhelming majority. It wasn’t widely acknowledged by the press
that Gloria had held a position at the EPA and had moved only
briefly into the oil industry in order to oversee the introduction
of some stringent checks and measures. That was the nature of the
press corps though and Gloria had weathered the storm admirably.
Although her work as Administrator of the EPA often required her to
work closely with Secretary Wilson (Secretary of Agriculture) and
Secretary Pope (Secretary of the Interior), she had never had much
recourse to consult with Secretary Faraday.

At the
President’s mention of her name, she lifted her eyes towards
Faraday and tried to imagine a less trustworthy bedfellow.

“President
Tiernan, how exactly do you envisage that working?”

Tiernan lifted
his hands from Faraday’s shoulders and crossed his arms, “I will
leave it to the four of you to hammer out the finer details, but my
thinking was that Secretary Faraday would, with the assistance of
an advisory committee, oversee the distribution and allocation of
exhaustible resources. You understand that I’m not suggesting that
the three of you will be Secretary Faraday’s babysitters, but in
such a role, it will of course be necessary for Joe to work closely
with the EPA and the departments of agriculture and the
interior.”

Gloria leaned
back in her chair and smiled warmly at Tiernan. It was a cruel game
that he played, but she took pleasure in the fact that it was
Faraday who was being played.

As the discussion went
on, feathers were ruffled and voices were raised, but overall Lucas
Miller was surprised at how little resistance his son was met with.
He’d had his concerns over the past few years and indeed, had
voiced them repeatedly, but Tiernan’s stock response had always
been, “Friends close, enemies closer father … You taught me
that.”

The first few
times he’d heard his son pipe out the adage, he’d been quick to
point out that wherever the lesson had come from, it hadn’t been
from him. He’d given up arguing the point once he realized that
Ahken genuinely seemed to have convinced himself that he spoke the
truth. Lucas thought that it was part and parcel with the persona
Ahken had built for himself in the early 2000s. He hated Allan
Tiernan vehemently, but he loved his son and although he had some
resentments and many reservations, he appreciated that the
character Ahken had worked so hard to create was pivotal to his
ambitions.

Enemies closer
… Lucas watched how Ahken dealt with each of the secretaries of the
cabinet and he had to hand it to him; ensuring that there was a
Leechborn majority in the senate had taken years to achieve, but it
looked as if it would actually pay off. Those few party members who
could have been considered enemies had either been bought off, or
else had been appointed cabinet positions.

As the discussions
wound inexorably towards the issue of money, or rather Ahken’s
determination to abolish the American currency, Lucas Miller felt a
feint vibration in his breast pocket and so he discretely moved his
hand to his pocket and glanced at the short message that had
illuminated the screen of his tablet.

‘NYFO &
DCFO have take heavy casualties. Beach evaded capture, aided by
West Yestler and Stanwick Thrass.”

He felt the
sudden desire for steak; he would need the energy to deal with
Ahken’s inevitable tantrum. As the tablet slid back into the silk
lining of his suit jacket, Lucas Miller could only smile as he
tried to imagine Stanwick Thrass and West Yestler decimating the
Leechborn agents who had been dispatched to locate David Beach. In
fury or in friendship, they were beautiful.

Stanwick turned on her
indicator, signaling to David Beach that she was about to pull off
the interstate. They hadn’t yet made it to Harrisburg, which was
less than half the distance they needed to cover and already Brad
was complaining that he needed to use the facilities. He’d refused
to piss into a bottle in front of her, which she’d found endearing
rather than frustrating. She made it clear to him that when they
made it to the rest stop, West would be accompanying him to the
restroom and he would certainly be murdered in the most fetid
manner if he tried anything.