identification and legal documents for those who had lost them, managing emergency housing as well as dealing with all of the standard welfare agency issues that the affected population had when the call had come through. Five hours later he’d been a QANTAS 747-400 Longreach to Leeds with two hundred staff, spending most of the flight on a conference call with the British welfare agencies, lawmakers and a gaggle of IT groups trying to figure out how to integrate everyone. They’d barely gotten the mess of bureaucracy and technology sorted out when Detroit had been hit and that had been even more of a mess due to the strange idiosyncrasies of the US social security system.
Then the Plateau of Minos reception point had been taken by the H.E.A., where it quickly became clear that the military was not capable, nor motivated to run that service into the future. The announcement had been made that a new second life welfare agency was being created to supplement and eventually replace the military-run holding and recovery facilities. Funding was a nightmare, not least because of certain elements had started raging about “welfare succubae”. Eventually, it had become clear that there were significant savings being made from retirement and old age pensions funds. People were beginning to realize that there was no real point in suffering through a painfully terminal illness when a new life and body were waiting for them ‘the other side’. Earthside medical costs were already falling as terminal care was made obsolete by the escalating suicide rate. Several countries were already discussing the legalization of euthanasia. The savings that would bring would allow the Welfare and Assistance Group to function in the interim from existing budgets. At least until a revenue stream from Hell could be established.
It had been eighteen months or more since he had taken over the operations at the camp, and progress was being made rapidly. The tent city that had been the symbol of the reception camps was being slowly replaced by Dongas, pre-fabricated dwellings designed for use at mining sites in the Australian desert, perfectly suited for use in hell. Schools, trade colleges and universities were opening to provide modern education and training. A massive hall had been constructed with the assistance of the New Roman Republic to act as a site for a career and job expo, where people could come and look at their options and be wooed by the ever increasing number of nations and corporations that required workers or citizens. Even sports and recreation facilities were now being built, the YMCA (the C now stood for Charitable) had twenty buildings either completed or nearing completion, the IOC had pitched in for the construction of an athletics ground and swimming facilities. Every attempt was being made to make the transition easier, lives better and help people become self sufficient in Hell.
For all the improvements and rose-tinted publicity though, the bread and butter of the job was still dealing with trauma, grief, shock and pain. For every former pensioner who had chosen to end their painful cancer-ridden life in favor of a healthy second life start or rich, dumb kid who’d wrapped their car around a tree and was now suing for early release of their trust fund as they’d never reach 21 years of age, he had a thousand who’s deaths from famine, disease and violence who required far more resources to support. The worst were the long-time Hell victims who needed constant support for weeks and even months on end from the team of psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, nurses, social workers and counsellors just to bring them to a level where they could begin the most basic human processes once more. Recently, the armies had started to establish their own facilities to care for their veterans but that left all too many others without a solid foundation for what promised to be a very long life.
The initial contact point was still manned around the clock, with each new arrival to the facility being processed and added to what was inevitably going to be the largest database of personal information in existence. If possible a brief interview would identify their needs, then they’d be assigned to housing. It never ceased to amaze him when he came into his office which overlooked the main waiting area at the contact point, the variety of humanity that was there. Queues of men and women of every race and age. Special areas where children from newborns to teenagers sat with nurses, social workers and other specialists as they waited to see if any family could be found to assist them. The processes that followed this initial contact were becoming increasingly complex as more and more options became available. He’d decided to make his task for the day to try and build a new streamlined framework to take into account all of the new resources. The phone on the desk rings, pulling his attention away from the mountains of briefing papers, tenders, proposals and financial data that awaited him. “Hi, Weems here. How can I-“
“How soon can you have a crisis response group ready to go?” The voice at the other end of the line was urgent and spoke with the tone that he’d learnt was unique to Colonel’s and above who needed to be heard*right now*.
“That’s a very open question. What kind of crisis? How many affected? First or second lifers? Where is it and…. sorry, who is this?”
“This is Colonel Paschal, Director of Operations for DIMO(N). We’re looking at way over fifteen thousand victims in a concentration camp environment. Hand your work over to your deputy, thin out your staff to the minimum needed and get the rest assembled for a quick move. We have a major disaster on hand and it’s a complicated scenario.”
“Complicated how?” Weems didn’t like being ordered around so abruptly but he’d learned that, here in Hell, the military forces had the upper hand and their brusque, terse approach to problems actually worked.
“Most of the victims are angels.”
Angelic Treatment Ward, Bethesda Naval Hospital, Bethesda, MD
“What is happening? Are we on Earth?” Maion spoke weakly. She was confused and bewildered by everything that had happened. The last thing she could clearly remember was the pain and filth of the prison she had been sent to. Then, the rest was a mixture of half-remembered scenes, flashing lights and humans everywhere. Humans who seemed to be in charge.
“We are. You are in a thing called a hospital, it’s where humans treat their sick and wounded. They call such people ‘patients’ and have people called ‘doctors’ and ‘nurses’ who look after them.” Lemuel paused and look rueful. “Don’t argue with them Maion, just do as they say. They get very angry if others try and interfere with them looking after their patients.”
Maion very carefully lifted her head and looked around. The movement attracted the attention of a human woman dressed in white with a name-tag reading “Grace” on it. She took a clipboard from somewhere and started writing down numbers from the equipment that surrounded Maion’s bed. “Well, Maion, how are we feeling today?”
“I can’t feel much at all.” Maion was slightly confused and also resentful. Humans were menial servants, that was how it had been all her life. The idea that one could address her, not just as an equal but as her superior, drove through the strange fog that filled Maion’s mind.
“I’m not surprised. We had to pump you full of morphine so you could recover. When did you become an addict by the way?”
“What?” Lemuel was shocked by the casual question.
“Don’t interrupt.” Grace snapped the response at him. “Maion, we ran an analysis panel on your blood, once you had enough to analyze that is, and that told us you were a heroin addict. A couple of cops we have helping out here told us where to look and we found the injection marks between your toes. That’s not a good idea by the way, you can get gangrene and lose your feet doing that.”
Maion was bewildered, she couldn’t understand a lot of what the nurse was saying and the fact that the humans had discovered her secret so easily shocked her.
“About two years, two and a half. At first it was just a bit of fun, it made parties so much better. Then, I found how bad it was if I didn’t get it. In the end, I had to work at the club to earn enough.” Maion cudgelled her brain, trying to remember what it was that she could say and what she had to keep secret. “Michael-Lan’s nightclub that is. I had to dance there and do other things, just to get my stuff. I’m sorry Lemuel, I wanted to tell you but I was ashamed.”
Lemuel moved closer to her and took her hand. Grace caught the action and smiled to herself, at least these two would help each other out. She’d seen enough addiction treatments to know that recovering from addiction was much easier if it was a joint affair. “Don’t be hard on her Lemuel, you’re an addict too.”
“What?” Lemuel was genuinely stunned by the offhand comment.
“We ran a panel on you too. You’ve been using opiates in small quantities for quite some time. You’re not hooked the way Maion is, but you’re an addict just the same. Kiddies, don’t mess with this stuff, it will really screw you up.”
“What?” Lemuel simply didn’t understand what was happening around him. He was out of his depth, flailing around in an effort to get his mind around the things he was learning.
