Richard Stephenson - Resistance

Howard refused to believe it had happened. Marshall, Howard’s adult son, broke the news to him over dinner. Howard preferred to eat alone in his command center; however, when his son starting bringing his dinner plate into the command center to eat with his father, Howard felt he couldn’t very well turn his own son away.

“What? Are you serious? If you’re joking with me, son, I don’t find it the least bit funny.”

“Dad, it’s not a joke. You’re the first president of the Pacific States of America.”

“The Pacific States of America? Now I know you’re joking. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Dad, I know better than to joke with you.”

“Well, it better be a joke because no way in hell I’m gonna be the president of anything, especially not something with a silly name like that. Why did no one bother to ask me for my opinion in the matter?”

“You made your feelings on the topic perfectly clear to everyone, Dad. You wanted nothing to do with the election.”

“And I still don’t. Why on earth would anyone want me to be the president?”

Marshall Beck and many others considered his father to be one of the smartest people on the planet; his genius was often compared to that of Albert Einstein. Howard Beck had long ago been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of high functioning autism. While his condition was thought to be the driving force of his focused genius, it wasn’t without shortcomings. Marshall’s father was completely lost when it came to social interaction. Prior to the collapse, Howard spent over two years in total seclusion in his fortress in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. His only companion was his digital assistant, Hal, the first artificial intelligence the world had known.

Marshall slowly shook his head, a loving smile on his face. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re a hero to these people. They consider you their savior. No one ran for the office of president because you are the only person they want for the job.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Dad, you.”

“That’s not… I never wanted…”

“You may not want it, Dad, but the people have spoken.”

“That’s ridiculous! Plenty of others could do a better job! Dupree or Harris would be much better suited for the position! I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do!”

Marshall leaned forward, his hand on his father’s knee. “Dad, you won’t be doing it on your own. You’ll have plenty of people to help you.”

“I don’t like this at all. I’ve got so much to do; I’ve no time for this nonsense! Why don’t you take the job?”

“Sorry, Pop, I’ve got a job. I’m your vice president.”

Howard gave his son the rare gift of a smile. “God help us all.”

Howard and his son spent the next twelve months doing their best to meet the needs of the people in the Pacific States of America. As the days and months passed, Howard’s disdain for the job intensified, yet he continued to give the job one hundred percent of his attention. Howard was insistent that the territory’s government be modeled after that of the former United States of America. Howard studied the topic, committing dozens of books on government to memory. Every night when he retired to his bed, he read the biographies of the forty-six presidents of the United States to learn from their successes and failures. The last president and one of Howard’s closest friends, Malcolm Powers, was a celebrated armchair historian. Howard knew he would never fill his friend’s shoes but figured his obsession with presidential history was a quality Howard could emulate.

Howard looked up at the huge spherical monitor in his command center and addressed his digital assistant. “Good morning, Hal.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“Status report, please.”

“Yes, sir. The UAE has not made any significant movement towards the neutral zone surrounding our borders.”

“They’re a little too busy to be worrying about us at the moment.”

“Indeed, sir. The Silent Warriors continue to make bold attacks in The Pulse Zone. I intercepted a report last night detailing an attack on a water treatment plant outside of Charleston, West Virginia. The death toll from the attack continues to climb. Terrorists continue to set fires throughout The Pulse Zone. The UAE is currently attempting to extinguish fires that continue to spread across Nashville. President Sterling recently issued a decree to abandon Washington, D.C. and declared the destruction beyond repair. Regional Governor Butler is facing many challenges in restoring the power grid eighteen months after the EMP…”

“Hal, enough about the UAE. I get the point — it’s going downhill fast.”

“Of course, sir. General Dupree is scheduled to return to Beck Castle sometime this morning and has asked to schedule a meeting with you.”

“Concerning what?”

“The general did not specify, sir.”

“Notify Richard that I’ll meet with him as soon as he arrives.”

“Very good, sir. Senator Wilson wishes to confirm your meeting in Seattle, Monday of next week.”

“Can’t my son just go to the damn meeting instead?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. The senator has scheduled a banquet in your honor; he has been planning it for the last two months. A lot of important people will be attending and will be greatly disappointed if you are absent.”

“A lot of important people who want to kiss my ass so I’ll do them a favor.”

“Shall I cancel the meeting, sir?”

“No, Hal. I could use a little fresh air, and I don’t want to suffer my son’s nagging. I can already hear it. ‘Dad, the people need to see you. You’re a symbol of hope, freedom, and blah, blah, blah.’”

“Sir, I’m afraid I must agree with your son.”

“I’m not surprised, Old Man. What bothers me the most about this damn meeting is that I already know the reason they want me there.”

“Which is, sir?”

“They want Seattle to be named the capital of the Pacific States of America.”

“And you don’t, sir?”

“Not in the least, Hal. We don’t need to create a target for the Unified American Empire. Once they find out we’re having a State of the Union address or some other stupid meeting, no doubt they’d try to wipe us out.”

“I see, sir. A wise precaution on your part; however, if our efforts are successful, we will not have to worry about such a threat.”

“Damn right it’s wise. Things are operating smoothly in our underground fortress. This bunker is impregnable, and I plan to continue running things from down here until we can move safely around the territory.”

“Sir, General Dupree will be arriving shortly.”

“Good, have him meet me in here.”

“Very good, sir.”

Beck Castle had been constructed many years ago by Howard Beck as a safe haven for what he considered to be the most important creation in the history of mankind: the first artificial intelligence, his friend Hal. He also built the massive underground complex as an ark for the continued existence of the human race in the event of an extinction-level event. Should the end of the world occur, he had originally planned to ride it out with his family and a select group of people safe and sound in Beck Castle. If the public had known Howard Beck was building an Armageddon bunker twenty years prior, they would have mocked him, the very idea labeled outlandish and wasteful. When the collapse of America brought the mighty nation to its knees, Howard had the last laugh. With the aide of his advisors and Hal, Howard ran a nation spanning over half a million square miles populated with over fifteen million citizens, from a bunker five hundred feet below ground. He had no intention of ever relocating the seat of government to Seattle or anywhere else.