The Trap

"Just so that we're perfectly clear," The Economist said to his bodyguard as he reviewed his notes, "This is clearly a trap."

Their cart ambled along slowly, drawn by the glowing eyes of a partially built horse its head bobbing eerily on a skeletal stalk of a ramshackle neck. The Bodyguard held the reigns easily in his hands, hawkishly peering down the light forest road. Maryland is Bandit Country, and the autumnal bursts of red and gold did little to mask the menace in each step.

"Only a few more miles" The Bodyguard lied. He had no idea. They would follow the tube until they found the break. They could sleep at the settlements in Baltimore if they had to. He hoped they wouldn't have to.

"What the fuck are we going to do if the break is past Philly? We don't have citizenship." He crossed his eyes and spoke in a high pitch "Oh hallo Kublah Kahn, Wurr jes' hear to fix tha Tube!"

He looked up from the tattered text in repsonce to the calculated silence. "Well!? We can't even go around. Those Luddites so much as see a bead that shines the wrong way they'll do God knows what."

"We'll go around."

The Economist Snorted, but didn't voice his concern regarding the surrounding patrols. Hunger's headache had made him cross, and forget the fact that they had a shipment of repair materials due for Newark anyways. He always got nervous when they lost sight of Silver Spring anyhow.

They had been sent to fix The Tube, which lolled a few dozen feet to the right. It was the supply chain between Washington and the front lines in Brooklyn. They had been promised Citizenship without Military Service if they were successful. That meant they could be granted access to Philly or even Anacostia. Someday their kids could go to school and be a bureaucrat and set foot on The Hill. The only safe place in the world, The Hill. For all his complaining, The Economist knew it was worth the risk.

The Bodyguard, on the other hand, had dreams of the fortune that could be found in the Staten Island Colonies. He had a strong swingin' arm, and that made him a valuable comodity just behind the front lines. There was a lot of money to be made in the slow, steady conquest of New York, and a lot of trade caravans settin' out from there. He liked The Economist because he knew what the hell he was doing, but someday he wanted to have his own little security company, make a little money without his neck on the line.

The Tube hummed for a few moments, then stopped. In the distance the imposing walls of Baltimore sat squat and glowing with light electric. The Economist did a lot of business in Baltimore - He had a reputation. He could get into some citizen only spots without too much hassle. The price of doing business while the president promised an imperial march to Boston. Take the North Atlantic. Drive out the bandit. Citizenship for All who would Take Up Arms. Citizenship for All in Victory.

The Economist didn't get it. He didn't believe in the magic of the eastern seaboard. The God-President was so sure that each of the old cities was important to the prosperity of their people but he didn't see how Boston was any Different than Raleigh. The Old Country was dead. It had shrunk in big ol' bites down to 1600 penn. ave, and burst out from there in bloody burning conquest.

At the end of the day, the nation lived on through pure bloody-mindedness. And it was bloody-mindedness that left the wake of barbarian secessionist luddite bodies in the burning wake of the citizen-soldiers who made their bloody-minded march north to Boston and whatever barbarian king resided there now. If there even is a boston anymore. All they had was the honor of scouts on that point.