I need to backtrack a year or so. When I first wanted to hang out with the X-minus teenagers, I quickly learned that I needed to be careful about my name and my diet. There are so many ways I could be discovered as a faux X-minus. Someone might see my Identification Card coded to say that I am part of a wealthy family. My clothes, appearance, speech, or mannerisms might give me away. Finally, I might be too well-fed. To an alarming degree, the X-minus almost idealizes the “famine look.” Even if someone could afford to eat better, they all want to look like their peers. To me, it all showed that they worshiped victimhood. I wish I could tell them all to figure out a better system for gathering/growing food so that all could have an adequate diet.
My problem is that if I look too well-fed, I am not welcome in their company. The name part is easy. I tell people that I left my ID at home (which was true). To truly look like an X-minus teenager, I needed to eat fewer calories to lose a sixth of my natural body weight. My mothers were distraught by this goal. We compromised: I would aim for a drop of a tenth of my natural body weight. I would complete the effect with makeup. No matter what, my parents were always taking me to the doctor to make sure that I was not doing any permanent damage.
After I left my one-week job at the dismantling center, I realized that I needed to up my game. I have reverted to my original weight goal. My mothers are going crazy again, but they know how important this is right now. I am determined to be a credible X-minus. The equations linking dramatic calorie reduction with weekly weight loss are well known. I carefully count my calories. If my weight is not changing by the expectation curves, I make adjustments to my calorie intake.
Being hungry all the time has been tough. I read books written by people who had gone on long fasts for spiritual purposes. I spent a lot of time thinking about my role in exaggerated ways. I envisioned myself as the young Joan of Arc, the one person anointed by God to make significant changes in this mortal world. Joan of Arc played a pivotal role in the Hundred Years War, which actually lasted 116 years (from 1337 to 1453). If you count back 116 years, you get to 1961, which is just two years away from the Assassination of President John Kennedy. If you listen to my mother's speeches, all of our problems (our war in this metaphor) started with the assassination of JFK. So why not envision me as Joan of Arc with the Sword of Hunger, putting an end to this new Hundred Years War?
The biggest problem has been my Identification Card. My mothers worked out a plan for me. I ended up going to court after Jane paid an enormous fee for “instant service.” This all went down on the same day as the interrogation of General Warren, so my father could not come with us. Mary was tied down monitoring my brothers. So it was just Jane and me. I asked Jane, “Don't you need to hire a lawyer for this?” Mom just answered, “No, they might get in the way. Besides, it would be hard to find a lawyer on short notice that agreed that this was a wise course of action.”
At 11 o'clock on October 15th, we were ushered into the courtroom of Joseph Dunaway. Mom told me that I had to speak up for myself. I looked the judge in the eye and said, “We are here on two related pleas. Both pleas relate to my Identification Card. First I want to change my name. I do not think that is controversial. I am sure you can imagine times when I do not want people to know who I am. The second plea is that I wish to be legally emancipated from my parents. Once that is done, my Identification Card will show me as poor, not as rich.”
Judge Dunaway looked startled. He said, “You wish to have an Identification Card that makes you look like a poor orphan, rather than as a member of the wealthiest family in America. By the way, it is a great honor to be in this court with you two; I have much respect for both of you. Before we change your name, Rose Foreman, I have some questions for you. If I recall the newspaper stories, in the aftermath of the attempt on your mother's life, you were clapped in chains by the Police. Only when your mother came to rescue you were you released. You do know that this is a cruel society. Thus you may be putting yourself into difficult positions from which it will be difficult to extract you?”
I nodded and said, “I understand, your honor. I still want to go through with this.” The judge frowned and said, “I need to make sure that everyone is of sound mind. Rose, do you have a source of income?” Mom said, “Do not worry; we will make sure that Rose has the funds she needs to accomplish her goals.” Judge Dunaway asked, “OK, I need to hear this right. There seems to be some sort of project for this young lady. Might I inquire what that is?”
Mom stood up and said, “Your honor, do you want to hear the real reason or our cover story?” The judge responded slowly, “I want to hear both.” Jane answered, “OK. Here is the fake story. In a few years, Rose will be in college. She wants to meet people without a single person at her school knowing who she really is. Rose wants the world to know who she is as a person, not who her money is. The real reason is that she will be infiltrating the leadership of the X-minus. She needs to fit into their ranks.” At that point, I let my cloak flop down, revealing my X-minus clothing, with my gaunt figure. I walked closer to the judge and exclaimed, “Justice be damned, for justice we be fucked!” in my best X-minus accent. I laughed and apologized for my lack of face paint. I added, “I do not think they would have allowed me into this building dressed this way!”
Judge Dunaway just said, “You are the bravest young one I have ever met. Isn't this a matter for the Police?” Mom pointed out that the Police were too well-fed to be able to go into an X-Minus gathering. His honor said, “I presided over the trial of one woman who killed four rivals so that she had a chance to marry into wealth. You want to be divorced from the largest single fortune in this country. I see mother and daughter here in my courtroom laughing together. I find that there is no malice or family cruelty. I find for the petitioner on all counts. I will be sealing these records within minutes. I need to know Rose's new name, the initial balance of her account in her name, and the address to send any final paperwork.” I said, “My new name is Cynthia Hussein.” Mom said, “Her initial account will have $50 in it. Please send any letters to the Omni-Hancock Hotel, care of Jane Foreman.” Within a few minutes, I put on my heavy cloak, and we were on our way. The Judge came from behind his desk to shake my hand and wished me well. His parting words were, “Godspeed. May you have as many Guardian Angels as you require to keep you safe from any harm.”
After waiting a few minutes, we went into an office where they took my picture, and I could exchange my old card for a new card. What I found particularly interesting was that the workers did not examine the cards. They did not notice that “America's richest teenager” just became an impoverished orphan (at least legally).
After being in the courthouse for several hours, we went back to the hotel and learned what had happened to General Warren. I knew that my magic Sword of Hunger had taken down a rogue general. I knew that his downfall was significant, but it was not the end of the battle. I knew that whoever was directing the X-minus needed a huge budget. I knew that hardly any of these projects could be paid for by a modest military unit. Jane, by contrast, thought that the dragon of subversion and evil had been slain by Deb.
I did learn the source of food for the X-minus in Chicago. I was told to report to an abandoned school building in the early evening of the same day I got my new Identification Card. I got there early and watched from a distance. During the next hour, hundreds of people went into the old school. I got up my courage and went into the only entrance. Almost immediately, I was looked over carefully, and someone demanded and scanned my ID card. The machine said, “Unknown to the Network.”
Two men marched me into a room where they check out new people “Unknown to the Network.” We all had to take off our clothing down to our waist. My protruding ribs, my hair, my skin, and my fingernails were carefully inspected. A woman came to me and asked me to hit a punching bag. I slammed the thing with all of my might. Someone else took me aside and asked me dozens of questions rapid-fire in a very thick X-minus dialect. I was scared that I would pause or give myself away. I imagined that Joan of Arc was guiding my tongue. She helped me to answer quickly. I knew that I was more gaunt and starved than several of the people in the room. I was asked about my sexual history. The translation of my answer is “I arrange my life so that no predator can touch me.” I was asked about my mother's sexual history. I answered in terms that no daughter should ever utter. The polite version of my answer was “My mother sleeps with both men and women as needed to support herself.”
I passed all of the examinations of my body, my speech, my clothing, and my demeanor. They rescanned my Identification Card and added me to the “approved list.” The courtyard of the school was covered by a temporary roof. There were about 50 tables set up full of people eating. I got into the line and got a plate of food. I tried to guess the calories on the plate so I could adjust the equations to keep my weight steady. I kept my eyes and ears open. At one point, I saw a group of workers taking some items back to the kitchen. I joined them. I saw many boxes and items addressed to a company called Three Eagles Catering. I want this on the record. I yelled out, “I see hundreds of boxed addressed to Three Eagles Catering but shouldn't there be a stack of boxes in this corner.” A kitchen worker yelled at me, “What the fuck. Every box coming into this room is scanned; every box leaving or emptied is scanned. Nothing is out of place. Get the fuck out of here!”
Everyone stayed in their seats after they finished eating. At one moment, twenty people on one side held up their hands above their heads. The whole group got quiet. A recording started playing. I was glad that I had an audio recorder hidden in one of my boot heels. It was a glossary. The recording would say, “Starvation means capitalism.” The group would repeat those words three times. The ones I remember are “our starvation means the struggle against the wealthy; destiny means the struggle to seize control; midnight means slavery; twilight means our present life, and daylight means success in our mission to seize control.” After the call and response glossary, they played an audio which sounded very different (different speaker, different audio quality). It was filled with phrases like “We must defeat starvation and come from twilight into daylight.” My mind was blown by how bloodthirsty the speech was, and how innocent the words were without the glossary. I had no idea how many locations besides this school were feeding this army of the dissatisfied.
At the end of the speech, the organizers passed out train tickets to Pittsburgh. As we left the meeting, we each had to hold up our ticket to show an organizer. I suspected that they had cameras to match the ticket with a face.
I know that I needed to pay close attention to my daughter. The morning after General Warren was getting thrashed by Deb on national TV; Rose came to me with an alarming story. She played the tapes of her examination and the two recorded speeches. I learned of the role of Three Eagles Catering and the train tickets to Pittsburgh. In an evening's work, she had significant clues in all directions. I directed my lawyers to start researching the financial transactions and the supply chain of Three Eagles Catering (even though it was the start of the weekend).
I asked Rose if she wanted to go to Pittsburgh. She said, “I think they may be meeting all the X-Minus people who come off the trains to tell them where to go next. I suspect that these quick meetings will be photographed. I suspect that if I do not show up, they will notice and flag me the next time I show up at one of their closed meetings. I will go, but with a small bag of clothing, so I come back disguised as a middle-class person. As soon as possible, I will slip away and change into my disguise, and slip back to Chicago without being noticed. (At this point, I forget if I am in disguise as an X-minus or when I am a so-called normal person.) Once they meet up, it will be just like the beer tent, all chaos and murder. No one will take attendance. They will assume that I am dead, badly wounded, or captured if I do not go to the next meeting in Pittsburgh.”
I asked Rose, “Do you think that the crazy violence will stop now that General Warren has been arrested?” She said, “No. These are dedicated communists. Somehow these communists played around with General Warren. He gave them plenty of false ID cards. Perhaps he gave them cover from Police investigations. But he is not financing this. General Warren was reckless, and they played him for a fool. Someone else is pouring tens of millions of dollars into this operation. We need to cut off the money supply.”
I asked Rose to put all of her memories, photos, recordings, and insights into our joint investigative file. I told her “I will give her whatever budget you need to work out a kit to switch from X-minus girl of terror into middle-income high school student. Make your kit light and practical. Have others observe your change to make sure that nothing is left to chance. No matter how attractive the bait is, do not investigate anything in Pittsburgh. Work out a good train schedule. Perhaps you should have three different tickets away from Pittsburgh in case you have difficulty slipping away immediately. Remember, you are my precious little girl and not my avenging angel.” Rose agreed. She replied “I do not want anyone to be suspicious of me. I can see that I have plenty to do here in Chicago. I bet Deb will freak out once she gets my full report.” I guessed that Rose had left out a few choice details. I figured that I would “freak out” at the full report as well.
I sort of felt helpless. Usually, I was the one in charge. I was shutting down my speech tour. I could not investigate like Rose. Her instincts for what she could do and what she should avoid were on the money. Deb could investigate with the power of the federal legislative branch. All I have is money and a name which opened doors.
I did call the mayor of Pittsburgh. I warned that there was going to be a violent episode like what happened in Chicago sometime next week. I suggested bringing in Police from as many towns as possible and having them hid in building downtown until it was clear where the violence would strike. I was relieved when she took me seriously.
I also called up the two most prominent Chicago newspapers and made them an offer. I would fully fund an investigation into the recent massacre in the streets of Chicago if they agreed to cooperate in all aspects of the investigation and kept my name confidential. The first meeting went badly. The reporters and editors swore that they could not cooperate at all.
My response was to call a second meeting. I told the newspaper people, “If this investigation actually costs one million dollars, then that is what I will pay you. Once you start working together, each team can attempt to bring in the biggest scoops. So you will cooperate broadly but also compete in subtle ways that your readers will notice. Treat me like an editor, and keep me in the loop. If you do, I might be able to add some additional scoops for your reporting. This project will make your careers and make your reputations. I will pick up the bar tab when you win your first major journalism award based on your joint work.”
The next day, both newspapers had coordinated headlines announcing the joint journalism project undertaken “For the sake of Chicago.” I started to feel like I had a role again.
As a member of the Senate, I can get pretty instant access to the banking system's computer network as long as I ask all members of the Senate, and the first seven responses all agree. A single no vote in the first seven responses is a veto.
I had the key pieces of information from Rose's report on the dinner and political speech that Rose had experienced last night. I identified the informant as Cynthia Hussein. I identified this center as the likely source of the attacks on the streets of Chicago, and from this report, it appears they are planning an attack on Pittsburgh. I included all of the key audio clips from Rose's secret recorder. I got my seven positive votes.
Using the computer keys given to me by my fellow Senators, I was able to launch a full financial investigation into Three Eagles Catering. The balance sheets showed substantial losses in operations. There were continuing money flows from some sort of financial trust from Cleveland. The computer files just listed the name of the account “LXXXIX denarios.”
It did not take a scholar to work out that this referred to 89 denarios, which were small Roman silver coins originally intended to be a soldier's pay for a day. This coin was famous for being debased over the centuries until it was almost entirely made of base metal. It was frustrating to stare at a number and the name of a coin from ancient Rome for the entire weekend. There was no name or address associated with this account. I would have to wait until Monday to make further inquiries. I figured that there was someone who was obsessed with monetary inflation or some sort of crank on historical issues who was financing all of this chaos. I could see transactions of $30,000 to $40,000 every few months to Three Eagles Catering. I knew we were close to finding the persons behind this whole series of awful events that were unfolding across the mid-section of America.
On Monday, October 18th, I could finally get access to regular banking channels. Theoretically, this was Columbus Day, but that holiday had been abandoned years ago. I was able to call the Cleveland Bank and ask for the names and addresses associated with the bank account only identified as named “LXXXIX denarios.” I was shocked beyond all telling when I was informed that the entity controlling the account was Mitchell Holdings. I knew that was the name of the central holding company for Charles Mitchell, the man who had rescued Jane Foreman from an early death and the benefactor of Warren Ohio.
I had not been in touch with Charles for several years. He always seemed such a kind person who wanted to make things better for the town of Warren. Through his efforts, Warren had more industry, better education, and better infrastructure than any other large town in the region. What had he to do with these dangerous characters that were laying waste to everything in its path?
I activated a secret communications channel set up by The Five Couples to discuss having an emergency meeting in Cleveland Ohio as soon as possible. I did not use the word Mitchell in my message. Two days later, I learned of new outbreaks of violence in Pittsburg, Toledo, St. Louis, and Knoxville. For the first time, I was terrified of what was happening to the cities of America and what we would learn from our investigation.