Neal set down his helmet. “That’ll work only for as long as the nation’s strategic garlic stockpiles hold out.”
She sighed. “That’s the thing. Take a break. There’ll be more for you to do soon.”
A table in the atrium held a small selection of food and drinks, including a pot of garlic-scented broth, and instructions to eat alone, preferably outside. Berenike grabbed a meatball sandwich, room temperature and soggy and probably fake meat, and she ate it under the vaulted stone arches at the entryway on the clock tower end of the building. How long would food last? The average city had a three-day supply of food on hand. She’d been told in a training session to motivate her to value her AutoKar job. Enjoy the meatballs while they last.
Someone leaned out the door. “The mayor’s going to speak. Come back in.”
He stood at the rail of the second floor of the atrium. “Let me get you all up to speed.” The mayor usually shaved his head, but now it had grown out to a faint white fuzz around a shiny brown pate. The fuzz matched his beard. He still wore the purple Hawaiian shirt. The public address system carried his words.
“First, and most important, we’re getting medicine and help to every neighborhood. It’s not true that we’ve banned insurance companies from serving their customers. We’re just serving everyone, and on behalf of the city I want to thank the employees who are acting above and beyond to fulfill their missions in the most extreme of circumstances.”
His voice soared, as usual. “I want to thank the volunteers who are here and the many more out in their neighborhoods who are making sure that their fellow Milwaukeeans are safe and cared for. This is a city full of heroes and love. I could say much, much more about that, but you all have to get back to work.”
Berenike didn’t want to trust politicians of any sort, but she liked the thanks, whether or not it was genuine.
“I have important news. I can confirm that the president died this afternoon at 2:33 P.M., apparently of the same cold that’s killing so many people and that he and his administration wasted so much time denying.”
A few people cheered and applauded. Berenike was about to join in, rejoicing that she’d never see him smirk and wag his finger again, but the mayor waved his hands for quiet and continued.
“Federal policies have not changed. This is still a nation divided in the same sad way it’s been divided for so long, and now it’s costing countless lives. In fact, things may be about to get worse. Until now, the women and men who manage our infrastructure have made sure at great personal sacrifice to keep it working. Our own water and waste treatment facilities have kept our water safe. This is vital. But even more vital is the electrical system. Everything, from cars to lights to the labs striving to find a cure, depends on power.” He took a deep breath.
“Now the government threatens to cut power to areas in mutiny. They can only do this with the support of the women and men who run the power plants and operation centers and distribution utilities. Most of them have said no. The Eastern Electrical Grid, which is our grid, has chosen to mutiny, as has the Western Grid.”
He looked around, arms outstretched.
“They will need continued help. We’ve already made sure they have priority medical care and supplies and food and transportation, and we’ll continue to do that. This is where the battle is now. We always expected a battle with foreign nations, not among our own beloved fellow citizens.
“Whatever the next battle is, we’ll be there for the people of Milwaukee and for the United States of America. We will not back down.”
Now he accepted applause. Berenike joined in. Was she ready to do battle? She always was, and now things had ratcheted up, finally.
“Berenike?” Neal was calling from the second floor. “You want to make another delivery? This time to a power grid station.”
“Let’s go.” Infrastructure saved lives. Cutting off electricity would kill people. She’d be on the front lines, where she really wanted to be.
Irene coaxed Nimkii into a cornfield across the highway from Berry Farm Prison, and he seemed content to stay there and ravage the harvest, a safe distance from the excitement, and keep an eye on her on the farm’s lawn in the twilight. His path across the pavement had left a bloody print. He’d hurt himself, although he wasn’t limping.
Prisoners had poured out of the barn, with the quarantine section now moved to a plastic picnic table near the farmhouse. The farmhouse-headquarters had been left unlocked and a team was exploring. Everyone was on their phone, staring at the displays or talking or listening.
Koobmeej was reveling in the escape. “Irene! Thank you. And thank the mammoth.” He gave her a hug, apparently forgetting that she was one of the quarantined prisoners.
“Um, thanks, but why didn’t the centaurs attack Nimkii?”
He glanced at him across the highway. “Yeah, that was telling. Does he look like an ordinary threat? No. There aren’t a lot of pachyderms running around in central Wisconsin. A robot system wouldn’t have been trained for that. A human would know, and humans are supposed to be running the centaurs at least most of the time, and they’re not right now. Why not?”
He grinned, still elated by fresh air or by his own self-apparent genius. She should have felt annoyed, but she wasn’t. She wanted his self-confidence. She used to be a confident, decisive person. When had she changed?
He answered his own question. “My guess is a personnel shortage, and again, why? Cold? Or defections? We know some of them wanted to defect. I mean, maybe they didn’t like what they were doing. Or they know that if we win, they’ll be in trouble unless they go turncoat. I don’t think
