Chapter One
COPYRIGHT © 2020 || CHRISTOPHER RANNEFORS
The sleek white train slithered its way down the curved gravel road through the forest like a garter snake pulsing its way through the undergrowth. The five connecting compartments shifted with remarkable intelligence as they turned seamlessly along the meandering path. Propulsion turbines allowed each compartment to float just a few inches above the ground, the gravel being misplaced only ever so slightly by the pulsating energy from the rotors. The outside of the train was coated in a thick plating of white plexus-glass, giving it an ethereal and ghostlike visage. On the sides of the forward compartment, CCA was visibly printed in large jet-black lettering. The letters were strikingly framed against the translucent white of the plexus-glass and at the head of the train was a similarly coated spherical carriage which coordinated the procession. Windowless, the carriage appeared blind, following the whispers of some distant satellite. The train ought to have been making quite a bit of noise, but what made the morning so unnerving was how quiet it all seemed to be happening. All two hundred feet of the serpent’s coil seem to pass unnoticed by the grit and pebble beneath it as it crept forward; the hidden motor in the carriage churned with an electrical hum that was perfectly in tune with the silence of the coming dawn. It was early in the morning, and the leading tendrils of the sun were just barely beginning to weave their way westward through the clouds, illuminating the earth below.
The train charted its course through a decaying forest of hickory, oak, and loblolly pine trees. Thousands of trees stretched for miles in all directions, forming a sea of auburn and crimson. Every other tree appeared ravaged and pale, each branch gripping the last of it’s wrinkled leaves and softened needles with furious determination. The healthier trees in the forest which had carried their green throughout the summer welcomed autumn’s gentle hand to once again blend their sickly neighbors’ complexion into the seasonal foliage. Despite its deteriorating state, the vast forest maintained a guise of ominous strength, hugging the graveled road tightly on both sides as if to constrict the unwelcome train whose whiteness was tearing through the ambient foliage like a serrated knife. As it carved it’s way to the edge of the forest, the carriage broke through the tree line and emerged into a clearing.
On either side there were now open pastures of yellowing grass lined by sturdy thatch board fences.The train was forced to stiffen its compartments to adapt to the road now straightened like a backbone running the entire length of the clearing. The train slid downwards with increased acceleration in anticipation of nearing its destination, a small farm in the southeast corner of the clearing. The gravel in the road which had appeared obsidian by cover of darkness had turned to dolomite in the rising sun and flowed towards the smattering of small structures which comprised the farm, gently pooling in front of the largest building, an old yellow farmhouse. It would be at least another hour until the rooster that lived in the pen nearby sounded the morning alarm. Had it wanted to, the train could have passed by unseen, unheard, almost as if it had never been, that is if it weren’t for a lone figure who sat watching the ghostly intruder from the highest window of the farmhouse.
The pale face observed the train’s progression in stoic silence. With a wild waft of auburn hair and rutted lines hiding beneath the thick rim of his glasses, it was clear that the young man hadn’t slept much that night. Still in his plaid and worn pajamas, Hans Dalton sat by his bedroom window in a knotted wooden chair, his back arched and hands gripping the windowsill as he squinted for a better look. It hadn’t been by chance that he had awoken to act as sentinel to the train’s arrival. Rather, he had been waiting for it. The window through which he watched the oncoming train was partially obscured by a thick blanket of ivy which stretched all the way down towards the porch and on to the back of the house. His home would have passed for an ordinary farmhouse when it came to the yellow clapboard siding, gabled roof and the veranda with beaded railing. But what made Hans’s childhood home marvelous was the extraordinarily large greenhouse complex which ballooned off the western edge of the building. At least four times the size of the farmhouse itself, it made it appear as if the home had ejected a parachute of glass and steel. Every glass pane in the complex was drowned from the inside in dew and condensation which blurred the interior into a gorgeous blend of greens and browns with spots of vibrant colors. From the vantage point of the serpentine train, less than a mile away now, the glasshouse was a kaleidoscope of color, an unmistakable breath of life which stood out from the decaying treeline. The largest greenhouse in the complex had several panes of glass cracked open through which a series of thick meaty vines crawled out towards the farmhouse and fed the ivy on Hans’s window.
The train finally arrived at its destination as it eased to a stop next to the barn across from the farmhouse, just fifty meters from where Hans sat watching as he found himself inching his chair further back from the window so as not to be spotted. The electric motor shut down with a gentle purr, forcing the already silent morning to swallow an entire octave. The five train cars had positioned themselves in a perfect parallel to the barn, with the carriage positioned at a slight angle towards the farmhouse. For several minutes nothing happened. Hans barely blinked with his eyes glued to the train, until his heart skipped a beat when like an egg, cracking of its own volition, the lines of a door seemed to materialize out of the side of the spherical carriage. The door cautiously cracked itself open revealing a coagulated glow of circuitry.
Suddenly two men in charcoal leather armor and belted pistols jumped out of the entryway and stood to attention as they flanked a mechanically descending staircase. As the stairs unfolded from the carriage entrance a third man stepped down them in perfect tune, every placement of his boot hovering in the air a fraction of a second before being caught by the subsequent step of the descending staircase. His heavy boots finally hit the gravel with a satisfying crunch. Hans had never seen soldiers from The Consortium in real life before, and he caught himself admiring the man’s navy blue officer’s uniform with dark black boots and silver clasps. An insignia featuring a splintered trinity knot was pinned to his right breast.
The officer reached up towards the very base of his nose, right between his eyes, and firmly squeezed downwards, just as if he was trying to coax the last of the toothpaste from the tube. When his fingers made it all the way to the bottom of his nose, small devices popped out of each of his nostrils. He placed them in his coat pocket, closed his eyes and took a long deep breath. His finely trimmed mustache bristled as he spoke to the other men, “Go ahead, pop your filters and get a whiff. The air doesn’t get much cleaner than way out here.” The two other men followed suit and pulled their air filtration devices out and began breathing audibly. The officer took one more deep breath, and then turned abruptly and began walking down the path towards the front door of the yellow farmhouse. One of the other soldiers followed him while the other stayed behind. Hans turned his head from the window when he heard a noise come from downstairs, confirming that he hadn’t been the only one inside the house observing the train’s arrival.
The officer made it to the front door, firmly took hold of the brass knocker and gave three gentle taps on the door. Hans slowly and quietly left his room to peer down the top of the stairs to see his Uncle Gunnar sitting at the kitchen table. Just like Hans, Gunnar had been patiently waiting for the train to arrive, which was surprising to Hans since patience had never come naturally to his Uncle. After the second knock, louder than the first, Gunnar stood up, made a half-hearted and unsuccessful attempt to straighten the collar of his faded shirt, and habitually wiped his weathered hands off on the front of his jeans. He walked towards the entryway, undid the simple chain lock, and opened the door.
The officer at the door towered a good fourteen inches taller than Gunnar, striking an imposing figure against the balding seventy year old man of short stocky build who wore thin circle rimmed glasses and stood barefoot in the doorway.
Gunnar looked up at the officer and summoned a toothy grin, “Well hello there friend, what brings you fine men down from the Capital?”
“Hello and good morning, my name is Darren Robbins, Vice Captain in the Consortium. Am I correct in assuming you are Lieutenant-General Larsson?”
“No one’s called me that in a long time… but yes, if you’re wondering whether you’re on the right house call or not out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, then yes, I’m Gunnar”
Captain Robbins smiled, “Well General Larsson, I’m here to…”
Gunnar cut him off with a wave of his hand and said, “Call me Gunnar, I insist. My Consortium days are long, long behind me. That’s really the best part about farming life, you know, little in the way of formalities to be spared on the trees and the cows.”
Captain Robbins nodded and smiled again,“Of course, then Gunnar, I’ll get right to the matter at hand. I’m here on two counts of business, one which I hope to assume you’ve anticipated, and the other which is of a somewhat more delicate nature. Might I step inside so that we can discuss matters.”
“Yes of course, come in.” Gunnar opened the door wider and gestured the Captain Robbins and the accompanying soldier into the small foyer, “may I offer you and your man some tea? I grow my own lemon bergamot and have some fresh leaves ready that I picked just yesterday.”
“Yes, tea would be nice, thank you. It’s been a long trip and we still have one more stop after this one so a little refreshment would do us well. You know, I don’t actually think I’ve ever had tea freshly brewed before, this will be a treat,” he said as he flashed yet another smile at Gunnar as he stepped into the small foyer and followed Gunnar towards the adjoining kitchen.
Hans sat as still as he could at the top of the stairwell listening intently. It unnerved him deeply that his Uncle was being polite. Gunnar was a gruff man, to the point, and almost never failed to forego pleasantries. His decades of forestry and managing the land had earned him a muscular physique by which he would stare down a man twice his size, and wouldn’t think twice about throwing a punch at a man half his age. Today was different, he was on his best behaviour. As the Captain and soldier walked past the bottom of the stairs and into the kitchen, Hans slunk back into the shadows of the upstairs hallway so he wouldn’t be seen and crossed his legs to settle in and listen.
As Gunnar fumbled for his teapot from a shelf high enough to cause him to stretch, Gunnar said,“I must admit Captain, your visit isn’t a surprise, but I hadn’t expected you so soon. I’m only three months late on my tax contributions, and this’ll only be the second time in three years I’m coming in a bit behind. I know the Alton farm up near Asheville had a visit from the collections agency a few months ago, but they were nine months overdue, not three... are you here to issue a warning? If so, to be honest, one of those holo-call reminders would have done the trick and saved you a trip.”
Captain Robbins pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and said, “You know, I’ve seen the holo-recording the agency sends out for collections warnings. They use a small fellow I’ve never met before, he stands there in a uniform, wide smile, and gives a nice little speech about civic duty and responsibility. Gets the message across I suppose, but doesn’t exactly drive a sense of urgency, does it?” As Captain Robbins spoke, the soldier now standing just inside the entryway to the kitchen placed his hands behind his back and stiffened his shoulders.
“Unfortunately, with recent budget reallocations, the new Minister of Commerce has tightened the reins around collections across the entire Consortium. As of three days ago, there is no longer leniency for first time offenses, and anything due past two months will be considered delinquent. I’m sorry Mr. Larsson, I mean Gunnar, but your payments have defaulted and we are indeed here to collect what’s owed to the Consortium.”
Gunnar, having brought out his mortal and pestle had begun to gently bleed the bergamot leaves, but paused to reposition himself against the counter and to look out the kitchen window. He replied, “ahh, I see… it’s not exactly the best timing as you must know, Captain. The way things are, I can’t make the payment right now.” Gunnar’s tone was stoic and proud, but Hans detected something else as he listened in. Hans knew his Uncle well and could tell when he was being sincere, and right now he was either holding something back or trying his best to put on a bit of a performance.
Captain Robbins leaned in over the table, elbows cocked and hands clasped,“I empathize with you Mr. Larsson... I mean Gunnar, trust me I do. I’ve gone ahead and looked into your account personally. You’ve had excellent filings for the past two decades aside from a few misgivings here and there. What I’ve been able to negotiate on your behalf is a collection of your livestock in exchange for a clean slate. The livestock attribution is valued at seventy-eight percent of the tax lien, and the remainder will be forgiven, as consideration for your many years of service to the Consortium. With the reduction in assets you’ll be liable for a smaller tax contribution in coming years and should be able to get by.”
Gunnar’s nostrils flared and he sneered, “hah, get by. That's all you expect us to really do nowadays isn't it, Captain? The Consortium has been accelerating collections at such a pace the past few years that what little time we have on this dying rock is being cut into fractions. Look, anyone smart enough to pay attention knows the boat we're all on… but damned if the Consortium isn't trying to set a record for sinking it.”
“Yes, Gunnar, like you, I'm well aware of the bleak outlook the media peddles… but you also know that the Consortium has done more than any other government in history to preserve a future for all of us. I'll spare you the soapbox, but you know better than most that all of us need to play a part in that future, and every collection we take in is always put towards the greater good. Trust me when I tell you, there is hope on the horizon, it’s just not easy to see right now.”
Hans heard the kettle begin to whistle on the stove, just as Hans could tell his Uncle’s guarded facade had begun to boil over, “Hope, bah. For the capital perhaps, but when was the last time we saw any investment outside of the capital borders? The only time I ever see anyone from the Consortium out here is for your damn collections. Why isn't more being done to support the forestry business? The union has seen an eighty percent dip in funding this past five years… and you can see for yourself what we're trying to save here. This is everything we have left, and yet at some point the Consortium stopped caring. Thirty years ago the Consortium was investing heavily into agricultural re-development projects, public works projects to recover arable land on the coasts, and so much fucking more… just more. Today, what is there?”
“I hear you Gunnar, and believe me when I say that being here, surrounded by the forest gives me more pleasure than I’ve felt in months back in the city. I likely don't have any answers you want to hear right now, so I think it's best we move past it to another topic. But first, before we continue our conversation, with your permission, I’d like to instruct my men to begin the collection process.”
The soldier at the door stepped closer and produced a small tablet which he presented to Gunnar, “here’s the standard forfeiture agreement per section seven dash elev…” Gunnar let out a loud sigh and grabbed the tablet from the soldier, “save me the sermon kid, I don’t like to waste any more time on lost causes, no matter how unjust, I’m just too old to give a shit,” he pressed his thumb to the pad without bothering to scroll through the countless pages of legalese and tossed the tablet on the table for the soldier to collect.
“Excellent, thank you Gunnar for your cooperation in this, I know it’s not easy,” Captain Robbins turned towards the lieutenant and nodded silently. The soldier looked at Gunnar, “Mr. Larsson, are we correct in assuming that all of your inventory is located in the southwestmost barn?”
Gunnar rolled his eyes and stiffened his jaw, “Jesus Christ boy, it's fucking cows. Stop being such a lackey and speak normal.” Still listening in, Hans knew his Uncle was holding his temper as best he could, but he couldn’t help but grin as more and more of his true nature clawed its way through the facade of pleasantry.
The soldier nodded expressionless, held two fingers to his left ear, and said, “green light on extraction, proceed on the southwest barn.” He looked towards Captain Robbins who gave him another nod and then walked towards the front door and left the house. Gunnar turned his attention back to the mortar and with his back turned he said, “you know I bought my first steer almost twenty five years ago and do you know what a fucking cow cost back then thanks to projects I helped develop, less than a…”
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As Gunnar continued with what Hans knew would quickly turn to rambling or ranting, Hans slipped away from the stairwell and snuck into his uncle’s bedroom, which had a better view of the barn. He crouched down in front of the window in time to see the lieutenant arrive back at the train just as a mechanical ladder descended from the second train compartment and led the way for six men to clamber out, all of them clad in charcoal jumpsuits and matching onyx backpacks. All six men proceeded towards the barn which had once been painted cherry red but since faded into a stubborn burgundy. One of the men walked up to the entrance and removed the steel bar which served as a crude lock holding the enormous barn doors closed. Another man gently propped one of the doors open while a third crewman, the smallest of the six, darted in through the opening and disappeared into the darkness of the barn. The men holding the door stood fast while the others removed their packs and assembled a small device with a long hose which they attached to an indistinguishable port on the side of the train’s carriage. The small man re-emerged from the barn and signaled the men with the device to enter. At this point the entire crew donned hoods and facemasks that had previously been hiding in the lapels of their jumpsuits. The four men not manning the door entered the barn with the hose and after just a few moments, Hans watched as a thick fog of amber gas began to leak out from underneath the barn doors.
After several minutes of watching the viscous haze of amber seep from the barn and slowly dissipate outwards, the two men who had remained outside wrenched the large steel doors of the barn completely open. Hans half-expected the typical clamor that would echo from the barn most mornings, but of course there was nothing. The gas was an airborne sedative that had seeped like poison from the glands of the mechanical serpent. All sixty of the normally boisterous cows that lived inside the barn were now being calmly led outside. They had drowsy looks in their eyes as they were coaxed by the men towards the multiple ramps that had now descended from the oblong doors of the many train cars behind the carriage. Each ramp led into dimly lit compartments that had been retrofitted as holding pens for livestock.
Hans knelt rigid by the window watching them work. He had spent years helping Gunnar care for the cows, learning to milk them and clean their stalls. It was a rare profession to be a private dairy farmer, even though Hans knew Gunnar’s true passion was in managing the forests. At least the trees couldn’t be drugged and taken away Hans thought to himself, but he still felt sad watching the oblivious cattle being taken away. Hans had grown up with them, had even named most of them; he knew that the farm would feel all the lonelier now with them gone. Hans shivered a bit, catching his own attention. He knew he just had to keep reminding himself of what he had found last night in the greenhouse, and how it might change things, everything really. He desperately wanted to tell Gunnar, but not now, not until the Consortium had finished their business and was many miles away. If there was one thing Gunnar had told Hans time and time again about the Consortium it was that they couldn’t be trusted.
The men continued to work swiftly and quietly, not uttering a single word to each other as they continued to fill the compartments. As each successive compartment would fill up, the ramps retracted into the doorways and the plexus glass coating sealed them shut; simultaneously several small ventilation tracts popped open on the roof of the train. Hans didn’t like the idea of the cows crammed together in the dark, but took some solace in the fact that they’d be happily intoxicated for quite some time.
Just then a searing yell erupted from downstairs in the kitchen. Startled, Hans turned his body sharply from the window, nearly tumbling backwards. He caught his balance at the last minute and launched himself back towards the head of the staircase. As he turned away from the window, the last of the cows were led into the rear compartment and swallowed up by the dark belly of the train.
COPYRIGHT © 2020 || CHRISTOPHER RANNEFORS