Eleven
Tarbos, three weeks later
A hyperphone message brought the first note of cheer to Bob Pritchard’s life since the explosion. The Project Directors from New Albion and Zed were on the way to Tarbos personally to replace their slain assistants. It would be another month before they arrived, but at that point the Convention could at last proceed.
Lying alongside the hyperphone message was a report turned in two days after the blast by Tarbos’ Security Chief, Colonel George Perkins. Pritchard picked it up again, reading the conclusion for the thousandth time:
And so it would seem that the two conspirators were given an explosive device with what looked like a timer, but was actually a simple detonator switch. It is one of the oldest tricks in the terrorist book, getting rid of the saboteurs at the same time as the target. It tends to be pretty hard on the bombers, but it eliminates, in this case, two possible leads as to the identity of the responsible party or parties.
The surviving delegates were quartered in Tarbos’ sole hotel, twenty kilometers down the coast, and under heavy guard by nearly half of the Company Security troops on the planet.
There was one exception. On the second day after the blast, the delegate from Forest had wheedled some field gear and a rifle from the Security troops and vanished into the unpopulated hills behind the hotel, re-appearing ten days later seemingly well-fed and grinning. This caused Colonel Perkins no small amount of consternation.
“Sir,” the Colonel had complained, “We know there’s a conspiracy to break up the Convention. We know there is someone out there somewhere willing to kill to prevent the forming of a government here. And now we’ve got this, what’s his name, Crider, just walking off into the hills all alone for ten days? He’s got to be first on the suspect list, sir, he’s just got to be.”
“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, George. Mike Crider’s the Hero of Forest. He’s not going to turn against his own kind. He’s a pioneer; I imagine it’s hard for him to keep cooped up. You know the type – we’ve still got a few pioneers here on Tarbos, don’t we?”
“Be that as it may, sir.”
And so the investigation was under way.
The Tide Pool Hotel, Tarbos
Mike was getting restless again.
His ten-day adventure had been fascinating. The wilderness northwest of the Tide Pool was mostly rolling, grassy hills dotted with riverine woodlands, and once Mike had gotten used to the unfamiliar rifle and gear, he’d had a great time. The local wildlife was decidedly odd – sort of six-legged half-mammal, half something else, hairy creatures with strange, shelled carapaces, from mouse-sized up to the size of an Earth coyote.
Not bad eating, though, once you cracked the shell and cooked them.
Ten days in the wild had enabled Mike to stand the following nine days once again stuck in the hotel, but he was getting claustrophobic. Casinos and restaurants held no appeal for the aging pioneer, and certainly he had no reason like his son’s blossoming friendship with Maria Gutierrez to keep him indoors.
On this twenty-second morning after the blast, Mike was contenting himself with a long walk down the beach, his son and the Vice President’s daughter in tow. A trio of rifle-bearing Security troops followed, not too discreetly, fifty meters behind.
As he walked, devouring the distance with a typical pioneer’s long, even stride, he stole the occasional glance back towards his son, walking hand in hand with Maria Gutierrez.
There was no doubt they made an attractive couple. Mike Junior was tall and lean like his father, blonde, blue-eyed, still dressed in his habitual jeans and blue cotton shirt. Maria was tall too, and slim, but her olive complexion and raven hair made an attractive contrast to Junior’s fairness. She laughed easily, and her eyes shone when she looked at Mike Junior with a light that the older Crider recognized all too easily. Well, he told himself, the boy could do a lot worse.
I wonder if she’d be happy living on a backwater like Forest?
Five or six kilometers up the beach, Mike stopped suddenly at a large boulder, sticking out of the sand. He seated himself on the rock and stared out to sea. For all his travels, he’d only been to two other seashores, a day on the Pacific in Oregon as a boy and one trip to the Forest town of Edgewater.
“What’s up, Dad?” Mike Junior and Maria strolled up, the Security troops following along behind.
“Nothing. Just thought I’d set and watch the water a spell.”
“Alright – mind if we walk up a little farther?”
“Help yourself. Plenty of beach.”
The young people walked off. One of the Security troops – a Sergeant, from the uniform – spoke to the other two in low tones, after which the two followed along after Mike Junior and Maria. The Security Sergeant walked over to where Mike perched on the rock.
“Mind if I join you, sir?” he asked.
“Sure thing,” Mike replied. “And you can drop the ‘sir.’ I’m just Mike, OK? I’m not a politician or a Director, just a hunter and a pioneer.”
The Sergeant took off his polymer helmet, revealing a surprisingly gray head. “I know,” he grinned. “I know all about you. I was on the Security team in Settlement that night twenty-two years ago when you and your boys knocked out that broadcast power station.” He seated himself beside Mike on the boulder, scratching his close-cropped head as he did so. He extended his hand. “Gerry Stiles.” Mike took the proffered hand, shook it.
Sergeant Stiles went on. “I was in the Mercantile. Only twenty-one, a Private in OWME Security, and I was scared half out of my wits. Those silver spider-ships were buzzing overhead, green energy bolts flying everywhere – my best friend was cut in half by one of those things before we could get inside. I figured we were all dead.”
He looked out at the rolling surf, reflectively. “Then, all of a sudden, we heard a girl’s voice – your wife – shouting at us to come outside, that the aliens’ power was out. Boy, I don’t mind telling you, we kicked some ass when we heard that!”
“I’ll bet you did,” Mike replied, quietly. His own memories of that long-ago moment weren’t too pleasant. A sudden memory came unbidden into his mind; a rainstorm, roaring thunder, green bolts and rockets crisscrossing in the dark, a brilliant young scientist working valiantly to save them all while his life drained away into the ferns. The Sergeant’s voice snapped him back to the present.
“And if it weren’t for you and those scouts, we’d have all been killed. They had us beat, Mike, and that’s a fact.”
“So, how’d you come to be on Tarbos? The company doesn’t move people around too much, do they?” The cost of interstellar travel was still high enough to deter a lot of planet hopping.
“Well, sir, I’m a city boy. Born and raised in Chicago.”
“Forest too quiet for you?” Mike grinned. It wasn’t an uncommon sentiment.
“Something like that, yes. Three years after the Battle of Settlement, old Colonel Davies gathered a bunch of us young troops around, said Tarbos was growing fast and hurting for NCO candidates. It was a chance to move up, and a chance to move to a boom planet with a real city, so…”
“So, the pioneer’s life isn’t for everyone. That’s good – if it was, there’d be too damn many of us.”
“Something like that, yeah. What’s Forest like these days, anyway?”
“Not much has changed since then,” Mike answered. “There are more people, of course. Settlement’s almost a real city now, forty thousand people. Outskirts is a good-sized town now, maybe eight thousand, and then there’s Edgewater, up on the coast, maybe twenty thousand, and an honest-to-gosh harbor and shipyard. Still no Skyhook, though – we had to go up to the liner on an old orbital shuttle.”
“This new government, it’s really going to change things, isn’t it?”
“Not without a lot of help from Earth.”
“Well, I agree with one thing. We’ll need a Navy. But one other thing, you know,” Stiles added. Mike looked at him expectantly. “You can’t just have ships, you need troops, too. I don’t care how high-tech mankind gets; you can’t have a military unless it’s built around guys with rifles. They may be all home-based on starships, but that’s how it has to be.”
“Marines. You’re talking about Marines.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Stiles joked. “Something to think about. There aren’t any former military or Security types among those delegates, are there?”
“Not that I know of. I’m probably the closest there is,” Mike said.
“Well, sir, there’s plenty of Security troops here on Tarbos that can offer you advice, and most of the officers and senior NCO’s have Earthside military experience. I don’t – that’s why I’m still a buck Sergeant at forty-three. Anyway, something to keep in mind.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Mike wasn’t accustomed to thinking in terms of having advisors.
“One other thing you should know, Mr. Crider.”
“It’s Mike, remember. What’s that?”
“Well, Mike, there’s an investigation into that explosion back at the Conference Center in Mountain View.”
“I should hope so!”
“You should also know that you’re one of the chief suspects, Mike. I shouldn’t really be telling you, but hell, I figure I owe you that much. For Forest, you know?”
“What? Me? How the hell can I be a suspect?”
Stiles looked at Mike. “You really don’t know, do you? Your disappearance for ten days into the hills raised a lot of eyebrows, Mike. Think about it. There’s an explosion, two people killed, two conspirators die in the blast, but everyone figures there’s an organization and a leader somewhere. And then, a couple days later, you borrow a rifle and some gear and vanish for ten days.”
“I was just doing a little hunting,” Mike mused. “I guess I see what you mean, though. I never thought…”
“Best you be thinking about it now, sir.” Stiles looked up the beach, where the figures of Mike Junior and Maria Gutierrez were coming back towards them. “Here come the kids back. They’ve been spending a lot of time together, haven’t they?” He stood, putting his helmet back on. “Only thing that’s holding them up is that you’ve got no motive, no reason to try to sabotage the Convention. But someone out there does, and right now the powers-that-be here are barking up the wrong tree.”
“Thanks.”
There would be no more hunting on this trip, Mike realized. At least not out in the hills. What he would be hunting would be as dangerous as any roc, though, and many times as clever. Still, a hunt was a hunt, and Mike had been a hunter all his life. His mind was already starting to work.
To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.
This book is great!
I recommend buying it, the story is so much bigger,
Thanks Animal
I’ll second that – great book(s), well worth the money.
I intend to buy this series after Christmas.
What is this, the lunchtime apocalypse? Only me, Bobbo and Slumbrew survived?
I’m here.
I do have to do my job some time.
I am here.
Nothing to contribute though.
I just have nothing to say. I know, astonishing.
Very unique tales
I, too, should be working…
I’m here. Got nada to say. Was browsing TOS. As expected, just about everyone outside of 2Chili and Liz are fucking retards: political idealists every bit as delusioned as idiot leftists, particularly the “freedom of movement” (AKA open borders) idiots who refuse to acknowledge the paramount importance of culture, even just a little.
The comments are even worse. Nothing but shit slinging monkeys.
I’m here.
Like a dumbass managed to lock myself out of my pickup going to pay property taxes.
Now I hate this ugly over budget courthouse government complex even more. Fools went with straight in parking in a county that’s 70% light trucks and still havent decided on the exterior finish of the building. https://ibb.co/qMDSyP52
I’ve just arrived!… It got damn busy after breakfast. Walked pup and am next shift starts in… 61hrs and 9min!
*swish!*
It was far colder yesterday, but I was outside in it for much longer, today. The pallets (thanks, Tox!) had to be pulled through some bits of compacted snow. My 9.62 miles don’t reflect that, unfortunately.
More to come on this later, but this would be a near-perfect post-retirement gig. (Or if it paid $40/hr or something.) I’m not content to be sedated into the lifestyle it affords, but it’s kinda-legit *fun.* Shit to do. No real stress. The busy, light-factory work is exciting. Sorry it didn’t work out for Derp, but he’s got other plans. I do as well, but it’s gonna have to wait til after the holidays.
I’ve accepted that reality and am putting the constant search (and fret) out of mind, ‘for’ the end of ’25.
America will be a unique market (as it has been since the invention of the automobile)?
“Globally, Europe, China, and other major markets continue to move forward with tighter efficiency rules and accelerated EV adoption,” said Jessica Caldwell, chief analyst for auto researcher Edmunds. “As U.S. standards shift, the domestic market may develop differently than other regions, which could influence the pace at which newer technologies or vehicle options become available to American consumers.”
Slashing the target for new vehicles to an average of only about 34 miles per gallon, versus 50 mpg under the current rules, means General Motors, Ford and Stellantis, which specialize in high-margin light trucks, won’t have to spend quite so much on new technology to make their vehicles more efficient. But they may not be able to sell those products in any other markets, clearing the field for automakers from China, Japan, South Korea and Europe to carve up the rest of the world. And the world is increasingly going electric, with new battery-powered and plug-in vehicles growing faster than demand for the gasoline-fueled variety.
What imaginary cloud cuckoo world are these people living in, in which America’s big three are flooding the world markets with American market vehicles?
*Yes, I know Buick has been a player in China.
Europe and China will continue to be too poor to afford large quantities of cars anyway.
Especially as prices keep rising to keep up with the ever expansive regulatory framework. The average price of a new car in the US is almost $50k. That’s not sustainable, and almost all of the rise can be accounted for by government regulation and inflation.
Even if they do have a meaningful impact, they will adjust and built market-specific cars, like they’ve been doing for decades. 20 years ago, Brazil had a diesel Ford Ranger, after the Ranger had been discontinued in the US, and which had not offered a diesel version in the US.
They make different models for different markets all the time. They been doing it all along. This is more of the left’s pretending to be stupid bullshit.
not pretending . . .
They know damn well that a Ford in England is backwards. They pretend they don’t.
What a fucktard. And this person writes for Forbes?
We are already a unique market, a vast majority of foreign cars can’t be sold here, and we certainly can’t export our massive trucks and SUVs.
Born in a retarded bubble, were we?
Not as retarded as the writers at Jalopnik
…new battery-powered and plug-in vehicles growing faster than demand for the gasoline-fueled variety.
“Figures lie and liars figure”, or “lies, damn lies, and statistics”?
When one has 95% of the market (gas), demand stops growing. If you go from 5 to 5.5% (electric), that is a 10% increase in demand.
Today, in ZWAK news, I went to let the dog out this AM, and somehow took a wrong step and my back has gone out. Which sucks.
😨
Ouch. Sorry.
Oh damn. Sorry to hear it.
I fucked up my lower back walking along a paved path in Zion NP, while I was out in Utah. Pissed me off, all the more because I couldn’t point to any one thing that I did. As much as I hate to accept it, this is probably just me getting old. I should start doing yoga again.
Aside, southern Utah has some really good chiropractors, even out in the sticks.
Paved path,
Thats your first mistake
I wanted an easy walk to warm up, before I tried to climb up to Angel’s Landing. (I also wanted to see the Narrows, but it was too cold to actually hike them.)
The rental places by the entrance have waders and the like for when the Narrows get cold. My neighbors have done it a few times (it was plenty warm when we went – just rented the shoes and stick).
I saw some people kitted out in chest waders, doing just that. Not really my thing, and besides, I needed an excuse to go back to Utah when it’s sunny and warm. I really do like it out there.
I enjoyed that trip even more than I thought I would. In the “let me look at Zillow” sense – just a bit of a PITA to get there from here, so not quite ‘second home’ territory. Not now, at any rate.
Being old sucks.
Speaking of retards… err, automotive journalists, I have been surveying their responses to Trump’s comments about kei cars. Spoiler alert- “That’ll never work.”
Oddly enough, all their “Who does he think is going to buy them?” arguments could just as easily have been made about Tesla.
Mega Corp has purchased a Tesla with full self driving capability. It is being passed around the engineering team that is working on future autonomy and human/machine interfaces. One of my coworkers has been driving it for a couple of weeks. She refuses to drive it in the snow with her kids in the car.
Just a random data point.
And, in the uncontinuing spread of Derp, I bring you The UnPopulist, a magazine of teeth gnawing TDS. https://www.theunpopulist.net/
And why do I bring this up? Well, guess who the editor is: https://substack.com/@shikhadalmia
But of course.
SD;WR
Someone is trying to take advantage of the independent media hole on the left….
You know, I understand the dislike of Trump from a libertarian perspective, especially the belt-way libertarian perspective. I can even agree with it.
What ‘triggers’ me is the fact that one very rarely sees the venom and vehemence from that crowd when it comes to much worse violations of any libertarian principles from the left, democrats, ‘middle’ of the road/country club republicans, etc. Tells me you really don’t care about libertarian principles in any meaningful way.
That, right there, is 60% of why this site came into existence.
Trump played pigeon chess on the milieu of American politics. And in doing so, fucked up all of their plans, dreams, and carefully constructed messaging.
They hate him because he exposed them for the frauds that they had become; Democrats in making NGO’s into massive money laundering schemes, Republicans into becoming Democrats, Libertarians into accepting this as the way the world works.
And of course that leads me back to the article a few days ago wherein some “Ford executive” talked about the collective astonishment of Ford’s big cheese whizzes at the success of the Maverick. Nobody wants a truck like that.
I do. The darn thing keeps tempting me.
The 2026 Ford Maverick will check all the boxes with a standard 191-horsepower 2.5-liter Hybrid four-cylinder engine that when paired with a Continuously Variable Transmission will achieve 42 mpg in the city
Hybrid with CVT. Fuck no.
Why do they keep downgrading it?
Is that the shit where the car constantly shuts off and restarts? Man, fuck that. Talk about unnecessary added cost to the car itself, plus added maintenance costs when that bullshit inevitable wears. And all just to appease the climate change gods.
The 2026 still offers normal engine and automatic transmission.
No, a Continuously Variable Transmission is a different monstrosity.
Maverick is available with the venerable 2.0l ford and an 8 spd automatic transmission (with available AWD). They do charge more for it, though.
From the AP:
One paragraph. So the person referred to in the second sentence is the same guy as in the first. Except he’s not. And lookie some LEO trying to get dots banned.
Well, well, well. Look who was trying to (((pass))) with the laser thingy.
Some asshole “gun expert” was on CNN talking about how much more dangerous the laser made the pistol.
“Only professionals should…”.
If one has any illusions that the purpose of the media is to inform, all they need to do to be stripped of those illusions is to read a media piece on a topic that they are technically conversant in.
He’s hunting the Most Dangerous Game?
Contrary to what most people say,
the most dangerous animal in the world
is not the lion or the tiger or even the elephant.
It’s a shark riding on an elephant’s back,
just trampling and eating everything they see.
And the female of the species, was more deadly than the male.
Women?
The Great Firster willing, Joe Biden’s presidential library will be a shack in the woods because that’s all he can afford.
Firstshallah.
She refuses to drive it in the snow with her kids in the car.
Can you even get snow tires for a Tesla? Things I have see say the controllers freak out at virtually any deviation in tire circumference. Snow probably throws the traction control into a tizzy.
Previous engineer had it in CA. The company did put “winter” tires on it when it came to Iowa.
Dude down the street has snow tires, maybe bigger than stock size, too, on his Model X.
It comes with stock all seasons which work just fine in NJ snow.
People in snow country put snow tires on them and the only issue that stops them is relatively low ground clearance.
However, you’d be pretty stupid to use any of driver aids including automated driving in the snow.
As Waymo expands it might work it out. But their cars are covered in sensors and cameras. Teslas are not.
Speaking of The Most Dangerous Game, I watched the first episode of Last Samurai Standing on Netflix. It looks like it’s going to be Squid Game set in early Meji Japan.
The UnPopulist
A mag extolling the virtues of subservience to technocratic Top Men? That sounds like a winning formula.
Good old Shikha, the not so sexy poster girl for leftwing libertarianism and bad takes in general.
Most of the writers on staff at TOS were libertarian in at least one specific aspect, and tended to be pretty good when staying in that area.
I never could figure out what her area was supposed to be, though.
I remember her hilarious tweet when TOS canned her – she was too critical of Trump for Reason.
Today in tech support hell. My team lost access to two network shares.
The solution – all four of us need to individually reach out to our tech support, give them remote access to our machines so that nothing could be accomplished followed up with putting a generic ticket to our Active Directory team to the give us access that somebody pulled. Bonus an up to 4 day resolution time.
That’s quality Fortune 100 (outsourced) IT in action right there!