Pennsylvania Omnibus (33 page)

“Understanding Transport helps
us know what we need to do to defeat them,” Amos said.

“And what if they’re
successful?” It was Councilwoman Reynosa. She sat back and fixed her eyes on
Amos. She spoke respectfully, but with firm intent. “What if they’re able to
begin making these factories more productive than they are currently?”

Amos nodded at the
Councilwoman. “Those who are creative or who can
produce
have mostly
escaped the cities and are now living in the countryside—off-grid—much like the
Amish in the east. The brain drain is almost absolute.”

“If you are correct,” Reynosa
said, “then we should be able to sit back and wait. Eventually the cities will
collapse, and Transport will have failed to rebuild.”

“Unfortunately, that is not
true,” Amos said. “They have access to a portal. And with it, they can bring
through raw materials, even okcillium, all taken from the old world. History
shows us that many tyrannical governments have been able to build up large and
powerful armies using coercive industrialism. Nazi Germany is one example.”
Amos paused for a moment to let the visual sink in. “If Transport hadn’t found
a way to access okcillium from the old world, I would completely agree with
you, Councilwoman. We could contain them, and just wait for their system to
collapse. But as we have seen… okcillium changes everything.”

Bennings scowled. He was
growing frustrated. “That still doesn’t explain why the Amish have not been
destroyed.” The Councilman stood and walked closer to where Amos stood. The
approach wasn’t threatening, but it carried with it a message; and that message
was understood by everyone in the room. “If the Amish aren’t in a position to
supply goods and services to Transport up on the Shelf, why does the government
allow them to survive—when they know all the Amish will be doing is producing
for us?”

Amos looked down at the floor
and sighed. “I don’t know.” He looked up again. “I only know that food
production up on the Shelf is not sufficient to provide for the cities for very
long. We know it, and they know it.”

“And what, then, are we to
conclude from these facts?” Bennings asked.

“They must attack at some
point,” Amos said. “As soon as they feel they are strong enough, or that they
have an advantage.”

“If we know this, and we expect
an attack on the AZ, what are we going to do to protect the Amish there?”

“Everything that can be
done.”

“Can we guarantee that they
will not be harmed?”

“No.”

This answer caused a general
buzz to run through the room. The voices carried with them every form of human
emotion. Anger. Concern. Fear. Amos knew that fear, when properly curated,
could be a great ally.
It is good that they fear
, he thought.
If they
are not afraid, then they are stupid. And if they
are
 afraid, then they
should listen to me.

Amos spoke loudly to be heard
over the general din. “On this side of the cliffs, Transport forces are only
performing occasional probing actions. But we should not get cavalier and
forget the dangers. We’ve seen what they did to their own city.”

“What you 
say
they did
to their own city!” It was Councilman Graham, a politician who represented
rebels who lived in the countryside beyond the Shelf.

Amos Troyer smiled, but it was
a smile dripping with irony. “If you have information about the bombing that
contradicts the facts we know, Councilman Graham, I’d love to receive them.” He
knew that Graham was a great supporter of his. The man was just making a joke
to lighten the mood and to emphasize that some members of the Council didn’t
trust Amos Troyer with power. Not now that TRACE was winning the war.

Bennings waved off the small
performance between the two allies. “What about our soldiers who stopped the
attack on your brother in the AZ?”

Amos noted—and not for the
first time—that whenever his military actions were successful, Bennings would
refer to the soldiers as
our
soldiers.
Our
forces.
Our
actions. But if something failed, as it did in the recent limited attack on the
Tulsa, Bennings had emphasized that “
Your
people were not ready.”
“
Your
people were caught by surprise,” he’d said. Amos decided, wisely,
not to point out this anomaly, but he intended to mention it to some of the
other Council members in private conversations later.

“
Our
people,” Amos said,
“have been permitted by the elders in the AZ to stay for one week, to tend to
their wounded or to make other arrangements. But after that, they’ll have to
go. This is in accord with the agreement the Amish have with Transport, going
back to the foundation of the colony.”

“But Transport has no authority
there now!” Councilman Bennings shouted. “They’re gone from the east. Why are
the Amish still obeying Transport?”

Amos stared at Bennings for a
moment before answering. “The Amish have their own reasons for everything they
do, and you know that,” he said. “They don’t have to answer to me or to you.
However, they’ve graciously given us some insight into their decisions. The
elders realize that their colonization agreement may be voided now that
Transport has fled beyond the Shelf, but they don’t want to be harboring
violent rebels beyond the time limit that they believe allows them to satisfy
the Biblical requirement for charity and mercy. This is the best that we can
expect.”

“And what about your brother?”
Bennings asked.

“Yes?” Amos said. “What about
him?”

“Are the Amish going to ask him
to leave, too?”

“No.”

Bennings nodded. “And how does
this affect the war?”

“Although they cannot yet ask
Jedediah to leave, the elders also voiced the opinion that he should pray about
whether or not he is becoming a detriment to the future happiness of the
colony. Jed was not found to have engaged in any violence, or to have
encouraged it in any way, but they ask that he consider whether or not his
presence among the plain people is likely to encourage more violence to happen
in the Amish Zone.”

“And how does Jedediah figure
in your plans?”

Amos smiled. “I’m not free to
divulge that yet, other than to say that my brother is of primary importance to
our war effort.”

At this point, Bennings stood
and threw his hands into the air. “So you don’t even feel the need to inform
this council of your plans?”

Amos shook his head. “I do
not.”

Councilman Graham interrupted.
He had his hands spread apart like he was separating two prizefighters in the
ring. “Can you at least tell us why you don’t just mount a full attack on
Transport? Those of us who live on the Shelf would greatly appreciate the
relief. We’ve given you the Tulsa, as you asked. We’ve achieved air
superiority. We have them on the run beyond the Shelf—”

Amos raised his hand, palm out,
to silence his friend. “If we defeat them here… if we destroy them, and any
means or method they have to travel back to the old world—which is no easy
task… we still have the fundamental problem.”

“And what problem is that,
sir?” Bennings asked.

“They still have control of the
old world. According to my brother, they have now discovered a means to gather
and utilize an enormous amount of okcillium. If we win the war here, the fight
only shifts back to the old world. From there, if they are not stopped, they
can build a
thousand
portals—and flood this world again in a way that
we’ll never stop.”

Bennings looked around at the
other faces and frowned. “But if we don’t win the war here first, then they
still
control both worlds, and can shut the portal any time they
please…”

“Something they’ve already done
by destroying the City, haven’t they?” Reynosa asked.

Amos Troyer put up his hands
again, indicating a request for silence. After a moment, the talking and
bickering quieted down, and Amos waited a few more beats before speaking.

“By destroying the City,
Transport succeeded in destroying the only…
official
… travel portal
between the old world and New Pennsylvania. This is true. But we should all be
prepared to accept the reality that they would not have done this if they
didn’t already have another portal ready and operating. We suspect that this
new portal is somewhere beyond the Shelf.”

Bennings sat down in
frustration. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hands. “I guess I
hadn’t really thought about that with everything going on here. The Transport
station in the City was our main means of maintaining the war in both worlds…
and now it’s gone.”

Silence reigned for a few
moments, and all eyes were on Amos.

“The good news is that
we
have another portal, too,” he said. He began pacing again, but looked
at each Council member in turn as he spoke. “The existence and location of that
portal is currently a military secret. I will not divulge it to this council or
to any other person at this time.”

Silence.

Bennings stood again. “Either
we must win
here
, or we must win
there
—in order to guarantee
ourselves a future.”

“That is incorrect,” Amos said.
“We must win here
and
there, or we are all finished.”

“Which war is more winnable?”
Graham asked.

“This one.”

“Then we must win this one
first, and win that one eventually,” Bennings said.

“I agree,” Amos said, nodding.
“And I have every intention of making certain our eventual victory.”

When it appeared that no one
had anything else to add, Amos fixed his eyes on Bennings and approached the
man, who turned in his chair to face the SOMA.

“If we are done here,” Amos
said, “I am going to ask
you
to get out of
my
office—and off
my
ship.” He paused for a moment and then smiled. He directed his next
statement to the rest of the Council. “If the rest of you want this little man
running your war, just let me know, and I’ll turn over the keys to him. If not,
then I don’t want to see him on my ship again until this war is over and I’m
retired.”

Isaiah King’s family took Matthias
into their home—to care for him and tend to his bullet wound. Of course, this
was after he’d received first aid from Pook’s unit medic (a tall man named
Angelo), and after he’d been seen by Elder Bontrager at the Amish clinic. The
Kings were an Amish family who’d come to New Pennsylvania from the smaller
Missouri Amish Zone in one of the earliest migrations from the old world.

The Amish of the New
Pennsylvania colony were an amalgamated people. The community was made up of
converts from among the English back in the old world, Amish-raised transplants
from the four different AZ’s of Earth, and even some other plain people who
didn’t self-identify as Amish. But one thing the community in New Pennsylvania
had that has always been common to communities of plain people the world over,
was a sense of obligation to care for one another. They all possessed an
intense desire to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and to take care of the
aged and infirm no matter the cost.

Matthias’s life had been spared
because the bullet fired at him from the pistol of a Transport soldier had
missed an artery in his shoulder by an eighth of an inch. Despite the close
call, and the fact that Matthias was still not out of the woods, everyone was
hopeful that he’d make a full recovery. They were hopeful, but not deceived.
They wanted him to live and thrive, but no one could really know for sure that
he would—not yet. There were no hospitals in the Amish Zone (though there was a
clinic) and with the destruction of the City, critical medical care had become
something that, once again, they couldn’t depend on. Though they weren’t at all
hesitant to make use of advanced medical care when it was available, and when
it fit with their overall worldview, the Amish generally relied on common
sense, intensive personal attention to the sick or injured, and prayer, more
than they ever relied on some system devised by the English.

After he’d made assurances that
Matthias was being well cared for, Jed, Dawn, and Pook’s soldiers had all made
their way back to Matthias’s farm where, by agreement with the elders, they
would stay until after the barn-raising, which was scheduled for the coming
Saturday. Even with Matthias injured, the barn-raising would go forward.
However dour and serious the Amish might seem to outsiders, they are an
overwhelmingly optimistic people. Their faith, and the evidence of a thousand
years, convinced them that plowing forward despite the obstacles was always the
best policy.

But while it is true that they
are an optimistic people, they are not particularly
inclusive
. They have
their own culture and rules, and they expect to be left alone to live according
to them. So once the barn was raised, the rebel soldiers being housed at
Matthias’s house would be expected to leave the Amish Zone—and the elders were
not-so-privately hoping that Jedediah would go with them.

Back at Matthias’s small
farmhouse, the tiny structure became the temporary home of Jed, Dawn, Billy,
Pook, and Ducky—which was all the people the little cottage could comfortably
hold. The rest of the rebel squad bedded down in Matthias’s temporary “barn.”
He called it a barn because it was where he stored his buggy, wagon, and tack,
but for all intents and purposes it was a small shed that was barely
weatherproof. Built of old, re-purposed barn wood, the shed had taken four days
of lonely labor for Matthias to construct, and the young Amish man had been
clear in pointing out that he looked forward to tearing the shed down so that
he could reuse the wood yet again.