Richard Stephenson - Collapse

Six months after the collapse, it was evident that the quick fix he was looking for would never come. Fighting to bring the United States back to its former glory would take much longer than Howard had originally anticipated. His closest advisors convinced him that the fifteen million residents of the territory needed a cause to fight for, a patriotic symbol they could believe in. Above all, they needed leadership. Believing it to be a complete waste of time, Howard reluctantly agreed to silence his complaining and let his people organize a democratic election. Fifteen representatives would be elected, each serving as the voice for a million people. Each of the seven states would have two senators. And most importantly, a president and a vice-president would be elected. Howard silently predicted that the election would be a failure and hardly anyone would bother to vote in the midst of chaos and turmoil. Much to his surprise, a staggering eighty-four percent of eligible voters turned out in droves to cast their vote. The primary reason for Howard’s failed prediction was that not one person had tossed his hat in the ring to be president. He quietly scoffed at the process and laughed at the idea of a democratic government when not one person had the desire to hold the top job. Once all the votes were cast and counted, Howard Beck was the sole write-in candidate for the office of President of the Pacific States of America. In fact, Howard’s name was written on over ninety percent of all ballots cast.

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 at Beck Castle; 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 there’s no way in hell I’m gonna be the president of anything, especially not with a silly name like that. Why did no one bother to ask me for my opinion in the matter?”

“Really, Dad? You bit the head off anyone who even mentioned the election and made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with any of it.”

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

Marshall Beck, along with most of the world, considered his father to be one of the smartest people on the face of the earth, his genius 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 did come with its shortcomings. Marshall’s father was completely and utterly lost when it came to social interaction. Prior to the collapse, Howard spent over two years in complete 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 with a loving smile. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“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 they want you.”

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

Marshall leaned forward, put his hand on his father’s knee, and waited for him to focus his brilliant mind on his son. “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, no time for this nonsense! How about 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. Howard disliked the job more and more as the days and months passed. His distaste for the job did not hinder him from giving the office of the president one hundred percent. Howard insisted that the government in his territory model the former United States of America. It didn’t take long for Howard to memorize dozens of books on government. 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 Powers’s obsession with presidential history was worthy of emulation.

Howard looked up at the monitor in his command center and addressed Hal, 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 region. 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. Many important people will be attending and will be greatly disappointed if you are absent.”

“A lot of important people that 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 United 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.”