“A Fish Tale” by David Trammel

By Greg Hume - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61605475

March 11th, 2040.
----
He floated on a warm bed of salt water, the Sun shining down and all around him the Life Force of the Ocean vibrated through him like a musical tune barely heard. A dolphin surfaced and swam beneath his out stretched hand, his fingers touching its skin and its fin sliding beneath his palm.

Then the alarm went off.

Ben rolled over and shut it off. 5am Monday came awful early. He had never been to an ocean but his mother Elisabeth had told all him about it. She’d grown up on board the French ship her great grandfather had used to explore the World’s oceans making documentaries and doing research. That was before carbon had collapsed the ocean's ecology.

"Get up sleepy head," she said with a chuckle. "You have school today."

Saint Louis was just about as far from an ocean as you could come in America. Ben lay there for a few more moments then picked up the alarm and quickly wound it, before putting it away. His mother had opened the shutters on the room’s one window, letting in the dawn’s light. Climate change had made the weather wacky, there could be a few inches of snow or 80 degrees outside in March. They never knew so they insulated and made due.

She was sitting next to their little rocket stove, a big pot of something cooking, watching a thermometer dipped in the pot. Satisfied with the results, she pulled the pot off and set it in the nearby Haybox. No hay in that box, just rags and pieces of cloth from outfits Ben had outgrown. Still they insulated the pot just as well as hay would have. Supper would be waiting for them when they got home.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Mushroom chowder."

He groaned at the thought of more mushrooms.

His mother chuckled. The basement grow center was a booming success and their weekly "share" as members of the Co-Op always included a big box of them.

The official name was the “Broadway and Tyler Street Co-Operative Living and Business Center” but everyone just called it “American Brake”, after the company who built it back in 1901. Their name was in stone letters on the front of the building. Ben loved it because unlike a lot of old buildings, this one had huge windows on all the floors. It was never dark and stuffy. First floor was used for the businesses the Co-Op ran, while the two above were housing. The roof had the gardens and a small park.

Ben swung his legs off the upper bunk of his bed and dropped lightly to the floor. Turning, he folded both their beds into the wall. That made the room a bit more open though no one would call their "Squat" spacious. 8 feet by 10, still it wasn't an abandoned car or derelict building, both of which they had slept in when Ben was younger. He'd been born in 2025, and growing up had been on the Road always headed East. Just the two of them.

She never spoke of his dad.

Now 15 years old, they had been here at American Brake for over two years. The fear of someone attacking them in their sleep almost forgotten but his mother still locked the door when they went to sleep with three locks.

"Be right back," he muttered.

There were just two people before him to use the communal toilets. Ladies to the North, Gents to the South. At least a semi reliable water supply was high on the St Louis Government's list. The cholera outbreak in '28 had opened their eyes to the importance of sanitation.

Electricity wasn't. They got a few hours in the late evening when the business load on the Downtown Grid went soft, which the Co-Op used to charge a big bank of salvaged batteries in the basement. A spider web of old wiring feed the few 12 volt lights hanging from the ceiling here and there so you didn't go stumbling around in the dark.

Half a dozen early risers sat at the tables in the common area, coffee was being served up from the communal kitchen. "Patriot News" was doing their top of the hour reporting on the radio, talking about recent Rebel bombings in Atlanta. They would turn the room’s one television on at 6, for the local news. The days of dozens of channels was long gone. Patriot News was all that was broadcasted now.

The Party saw to that.

The personal rooms formed a center core in each of the larger bays on the 2nd and 3rd floors. There was an open communal space between that core and the outside walls that everyone called the "Patio". You could put stuff out in front of your Squat and people would leave it alone. Moses had insisted that there be a lot of public space on the housing floors.

"No damned anthill," he always said at the monthly meetings. "People need to live like people."

His mother and he had a bunch of recycled planters with various vegetables, recently seeded and just coming up, along with a couple of old plastic lawn chairs. And a garden gnome they had lugged from Kansas City. Sometimes they would sit out there and read, or just watch the sunset. It was all a hodgepodge of scavenged materials.

When he came back his mother offered him a hot bowl of oatmeal flavored with a little honey from the rooftop hives as breakfast. As he put his school clothes on, he ate.

"I need you to work some this week after school," she said. "We could really use the credits."

Ben nodded. There was a Time Bank, where you could trade labor for credits. Credits to purchase things at the Co-Op or pay your rent. Everyone contributed. Something always needed to be done.

"I'll ask Moses if I can help out in the garden," he ran a finger around the rim of his bowl, licking it clean. "It always needs weeding."

Moses Greene was the founder of the Co-Op. Now at nearly eighty, he mostly managed the gardens while his son ran the day to day. The Co-Op had been there almost 5 years now, which was the magic number. The American ReHousing Act of 2026 had stopped the wave of foreclosures happening then, and providing you stayed in a building for 5 continuous years, making upgrades, you could apply for the title free and clear. One thing that the new Arnold Administration had done that people liked.

Wall Street hadn't but then General Arnold had the Army behind him when he had taken over the government. A few financial bigwigs complained and then filed law suits. Arnold had them arrested, tried for "Crimes Against the American People" and summarily shot. Protest at his reforms had died with the bullets.

Most people had cheered the executions. Then in 2030 Arnold had gotten the US into a war in Venezuela over oil.

A collapsed economy didn’t have the money to keep the lights on and the homes heated like before. The Winter of 2027 saw millions freezing in their homes, burning furniture and whatever else they could scrounge for warmth. There had been an ongoing civil wars all across Central America and when a group of rebels had kidnapped American missionaries that was the excuse that Arnold had used to go after the Venezuelan oil fields.

When the Venezuelans had beaten the invading US Fleet in just a few short weeks, with Chinese help some claimed, the honeymoon with Arnold’s military coup had soured. Protests had broken out, bloggers and media pundits had complained. That’s when people had found out that those same quick show trials could be used on them. Thousands disappeared into “Re-Education Camps”.

Still most people supported the Government if just because they saw no other option. Arnold had outlawed both previous political parties, and his supporters, the “Patriot” Party now ran things. You could either join or be outside.

Outside meant a rough life.

And truthfully, a lot of people still supported Arnold.

"I'll be home late," his mother said. "We've run across a good section and Harron will want to work until the light gives out."

The Co-Op was involved in a lot of things but its major business was scavenging and salvage. If you knew what to look for the many abandoned buildings around them yielded treasures you could resale. Right now they had a big contract with the St Louis Government to harvest chain link fencing. Crews from the Co-Op were working their way through the old suburbs a few miles North, up Broadway and onto Grand then Hall, slowly stripping the abandoned homes and industrial lots of their chain link fences. His mother was working on one of the crews.

Rumor had it they meant to fence in the Downtown Core so the Burbies weren’t a bother anymore. Riots and mobs disrupted $20 cups of latte.

His mother had been in her thirties teaching marine biology in college at Berkeley, California when the "Summer of Rage" in 2024 had brought it all down. Now no one had time for such non-productive academic pursuits. They were lucky she had work just taking down old chain link fence. Unemployment was at 40%. He set his empty bowl in the bucket they had. They would wash up later this evening after dinner.

"Here," his mother held out a cloth wrapped bundle. "Happy birthday."

The wrappings were an old blanket he'd last seen on his mother's bed. There were two things inside, a shirt and a small belt pouch.

"I know Patriot's Day Dance is coming up and I wanted you to look good for Debbie," she smiled.

Ben blushed.

Debbie Armik was his sort of girl friend at school. Nothing formal and all. Still Ben liked her a lot and she seemed to like him. The shirt was nice, very stylish, in red, white and blue. Patriot's Day fashion.

It was the belt pouch that really caught his eye though.

"It’s a Koop and Rima," he said when he opened it. "Wow, it had to have cost a ton."

The pouch held a digital multimeter, something used to measure electricity and currents. He touched the On button to be rewarded with a soft glow and numbers. It had a small solar panel at the top of the case but also the pouch had a secondary charger, a panel you wore inside your pants against your skin. The thermoelectric module used your body heat to charge the multimeter.

Schools now focused on the core basics. You got 9 years of general knowledge then were expected to focus on a trade your last 3. That is if you didn’t score in the top 5% on your tests. If you did that, then you could apply to a college and the Government would pay for it.

Another thing the Arnold Administration had done after the Patriot’s Day Coup had been to forgive all of the student debt loans. That had gained them a lot of support among the 20-30 year old crowd. After the government had nationalized the banks they didn’t have to worry about balance sheets, shareholders or CEO bonuses.

Most kids though found mentors, either skilled craftsmen or guild masters and worked as apprentices. With the national economy in ruins, foreign trade had dried up. That meant if you wanted something now, it had to be made here in America. There had been an unexpected renaissance of people learning old skills that had brought a small measure of relief.

Resources too had been in short supply until people realized how much steel there was in an abandoned high rise office building. Repurposing and recycling had become America’s number one growth industry. The last two years Ben had been attending a variety of "hands ons" course. Several had interested him, but the one that did most was electrician.

The flow and ebb of the electrons, the way the circuits fit together. It made sense to him.

Another thing, it was a skill that was worth much now. Salvaging the derelict buildings meant you came across plenty of old tech, made valuable if you could tell if it worked or not. A good electrician was a sought after member of a Crew but they were only as good as their tools.

He stood up and hugged his mother. All the long hours, the nights she had come home exhausted to climb directly into bed made sense now. Ben didn't know what to say.

“You and me against the World,” he whispered in her ear as he hugged her. Their personal motto.

“You and me,” she whispered back.

There was a loud whistle from the ground floor.

"That's Harron, I have to go," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Don’t forget to feed the fish.”

They both laughed.

His mother’s birthday was 12 days after Ben’s. Last years’ gift from him, had been a 5 gallon aquarium tank. He’s found it when he and few friends had been out exploring the buildings around the Co-op. A feral cat had been using it as a place to sleep. His friends hadn’t recognized what a treasure it was, but he had. Especially because all the glass was still in good condition.

Surprising her with it was worth the work. Ben had traded for a few old “National Geographics” and then cut out the pictures of the fish, so the aquarium had residents. A dozen or so of various scale, held up on slivers of wood so they looked like they were floating in water.

“Feed the fish,” was their promise of Hope that they would one day have a Home.

---

"Hey Mudfoot!"

"Hey Stumpie!" Ben replied.

Kenny Nine Fingers laughed. Ben and he had a friendly game of insults going.

The 11th Street Warlords lieutenant was sitting on the steps of the building plucking at his old guitar. It was missing 2 strings so he had to improvise his tune. His girlfriend "Just Mary" was softly singing to the beat while cleaning her fingernails with an icepick. She was a member of the Sisterhood of Death, an all-girl gang off of 9th Street. The Co-Op was at the border of the two gang's territories and neutral ground. The Co-Op hired them both as security.

If tales were true it was Just Mary who had bitten Kenny's little finger off in a fight between the gangs several years back. Hence Ben’s insult. Even given his lack of strings and digit Kenny was very good. And Just Mary, who was to Ben, a dark, and scary little bit of a Goth girl, had a voice everyone thought amazing.

Ben ran down the steps and grabbed his bike.

---

There were a lot of bicycles on the streets now that gasoline was above $50 a gallon. Bicycles and not a few horse drawn wagons. Still the occasional car weaved in and out of the slow traffic. Downtowners about their business in their electrical vehicles.

St Louis had one of the micro nuclear reactors that had been touted as a way to solve the energy crunch a decade ago. Bought by the "Enclave", a billionaire hedge fund which owned a couple of dozen city blocks and the skyscrapers on them. The Summer of Rage in ‘24 and the riots in ‘25 and ‘26, had made the "Percenters" scared. They had abandoned their mansions in Ladue and Wildwood for the towers of Downtown. There they bought security and safety.

Some nights Ben and his friends would lay on the roof of the Co-Op and gaze at the lit up wonderland of Downtown. Out here in the Burbs it was total dark.

He meet up with Barry as he was going out the front gate of the Co-Op. Barry was a schoolmate and friend. School was just a few blocks away, across the Madison Street overpass.

----

The "Oxes" had a check point up.

The St. Louis Police Auxiliary Patrol, or as everyone called them the "Oxes" were a nuisance at times and a real bother at others. Local toughs and petty criminals who had official sanction to steal. Their row of little electric scooters stood side by side.

The Oxes were the police in the "Burbs" outside of Downtown. The government no longer having the money to spend enforcing the law beyond of the Core.

This checkpoint was more serious. A vehicle marked "Homeland Security" was among the scooters. The officials in their long brown trench coats, with their Pads, standing like the scarecrows the kids of the Co-Op made to protect the corn on the roof. They had a bus stopped and were searching it, comparing the faces of the men with something on their Pads. Clearly looking for someone.

A micro drone hovered above the checkpoint, making slow passes across the scene. Homeland was there to protect them, his mother also told him. Loyal patriots have nothing to fear from them. Always answer their questions honestly and stay out of trouble.

They weren't stopping women or children so Ben and Barry peddled quickly by.

---

"So, the corrupt Congress bought by special interests let the Debt crisis of 2024 again stop the government." Mrs. Cesaria, their teacher said, continuing her history lecture. "In a show of purely partisan politics they forced a default on our national debt, thinking this would win them the election. The crisis caused the collapse of the banking giant L,G & F. The financial markets froze and..."

She pointed to one of Ben's classmates.

"No one would lend?" the girl said hesitantly.

"Correct," she nodded. "Without the ability for businesses to carry lines of credits, national capital stopped. That meant nothing moved. Not material, not goods, not food."

"And what do people without food do?" she asked.

"Fight Back!" everyone in class shouted.

"Yes, it was understandable that the riots started." she continued. "But then the "Powers That Be" reacted. They deployed their troops."

"Then Cleveland," Willy Peters volunteered.

"Yes, Cleveland..." Mrs. Cesaria said. "Where police fired on unarmed peaceful patriotic protesters, killing many."

She turned to the portrait on the wall next to the American flag.

"That was when General Arnold and his men decided they had to protect the Constitution and this great land. They rounded up the corrupt politicians and the President..."

The lunch time buzzer rang out. Everyone gathered their books and bags up, heading for the door.

"Remember," Mrs. Cesaria yelled out. "Your reports on the General Arnold and what you learned from his actions in the Patriot’s Day Coup are due no later than Friday..."

----

"So you thought of a birthday present for your mom yet?" Willy asked.

Willy Peters, Barry and Ben sat on one of the tables in the school yard, eating lunch. They hung together between classes.

"Maybe," Ben said, around the sandwich his mother had packed.

Willy had a bowl of something pasta with fish, an old plastic bowl with lid. Always fish for Willy. His father ran an aquaponics store off 33rd, in a three story building they were squatting in.

Barry was just nibbling a protein bar, one of the things you got from the cafeteria off the School Lunch Program cheap. It stilled the hunger but never filed you up. Barry's Dad was out of work and his mother only part timing it.

Ben took the little bag of Co-Op cookies his mother had packed in his lunch and tossed them on the table.

"Try these," he said.

Barry reached out and took them, a look of gratitude in his eyes.

Willy after a moment, slide his half eaten bowl of pasta over too.

"I'm full," he said.

His mother's birthday was soon but he still had time to find something. With her gift of the multimeter it had to be really special though.

----

"Frakin' pipes!"

A jet of water arched up almost to the ceiling.

"Kill it," Horace Peters yelled.

Willy's dad rose from behind the large barrels filled with fish and water, wiping his face with a handkerchief. Much of that jet having hit him as well.

"We're gonna need a whole new seal on that one," he said to Penny his wife, who had been at the circuit breaker box.

"Fish, fish, fish!" he yelled, throwing the handkerchief to the side. "God what I'd give for a good well done steak dinner sometime."

His wife laughed. Clearly used to his outbursts.

The first floor of the building was filled with interconnecting 55 gallon plastic drums. Ben was familiar with the set up. Mr. Peters had been one of his instructors while he was doing his 10th year hands on. He had almost decided on aquaculture as a specialty. The water was pumped up to the third floor where the garden was, so the plants could filter the fish waste and recycle it as fertilizer.

"Hi Ben," Mr. Peters said, noticing him. "What's up."

"Can we talk?" Ben asked.

----

Along with aquaponics, Mr. Peters was one of the few exotic fish dealers in St. Louis. His second floor office was wall to wall aquariums filled with brightly colored species.

Ben slowly walked along the rows looking at the fish. One in particular caught his eye.

"That's a Queen Angelfish", Mr. Peters said. "Gorgeous blue and yellow isn't it? Just got it from a breeder in Nashville. "

"It’s beautiful." Ben whispered.

"And expensive." Horace said. "What's on your mind?"

Ben told him.

"That's gonna cost you." he said. "You'll need a tank, pump, chemicals, supplies, that won't come cheap."

Ben nodded.

"I got a 5 gallon tank and I can get the pump," he replied. "I can pay for some of it with cash, but you said you'd really like a steak..."

He grinned.

"We trading then?" Horace asked.

----

Next day after class, Ben grabbed Barry.

"Your uncle still work at that restaurant?"

Barry nodded.

----

"So I want to ask her to marry me, but it has to be very special."

Barry's uncle Kevin was on the rooftop of "Longhorn", the upscale restaurant he was head chef to, not far from Downtown. Its specialty was Canadian beef. Climate change had made the Canadian heartland a lush prairie of grass and Canadian beef was some of the best. And some of the most expensive. The owner, Rico Angeleros, whose family had huge ranches in Saskatchewan stood next to him, both men looking over the container garden on the roof of the restaurant. The produce going into the meals served to Percenters and the wannabes who dined there. Meals were not cheap.

"She's got this whole fantasy after seeing "Heavy Weapon - Reloaded". Roses, a band, some woman singing..." Kevin sighed. "Where am I getting roses?"

Rico chuckled.

"You're screwed son," he said.

"Maybe I can help?" Ben said.

----

"You set that up and we have a deal," Kevin said a few minutes later.

Ben nodded.

Mr. Angeleros just grinned.

----

"Ben, whatever are you doing here?" Mrs. Cesaria said, answering the door.

"I wanted to get my report to you," he said.

"You could have waited til school."

Mrs. Cesaria lived in one of the Collectives, groups of single homes that banded together in the After. Many of the Older ones resisted joining a Co-op, instead clinging to their single homes.

After giving his teacher his report, he paused.

"Is there anything I can help out with?" he asked. "Mom says I should help my Elders."

Mrs. Cesaria was clearly touched.

"There is one thing..."

She led him out to the backyard, where a small side building stood.

"I need this cleared out."

"What happened to the previous tenant?" Ben asked, because it was clear that she had been renting it out.

Mrs. Cesaria blushed.

"Homeland Security came, they arrested him." She stammered." I answered their questions. I told them I only rent to loyal members of the Patriot Party. He seemed harmless..."

The small building was perhaps 15 foot by 20. An old garage turned residence. The only noticeable thing was the thick row of roses growing on the side.

"They searched the room and took things," she said. "Still there is a lot of stuff that I just need cleaned out."

"I think I can do that for you," Ben said. "If you'd let me pick a few flowers..."

----

It took Ben two days after school to clean out the room. Alot of stuff wasn't worth trading, clothing, some books and just general knickknacks. He put those on the curb so the Pickers could come and gather it up for recycling. Still Ben did collected a box full of old electronics and a few books he thought he could use for trade.

He also got permission to come back for some roses. After he told her what they were for, Mrs. Cesaria had positively glowed with a grin.

"You take as many as you want," she had said.

Ben almost like her then.

----

The door had a bell on it, so it rang when you entered.

"Hello in the shop," Ben called out. It was Saturday and almost noon.

Mr. Henry's shop had a treasure trove of old electronics. A two story Squat up on 27th. It was his time spent here that had settled Ben's mind on being a electrician. Pat mentored a couple of dozen students. He was also a veteran of the Venezuelan War, missing both legs below the knees. He had some prosties he'd made with a second hand 3D printer when he had to go out but in the shop he usually stayed in his wheelchair.

He was not alone.

"Hi Ben," Pat said.

The visitor was black, short and muscular. He watched as Ben put his box of electronics on the counter, not speaking.

"Got some trade," Ben said.

"And your need?" Pat asked.

“Water pump, solar panel and battery backup."

"In the shelves." he said. "See what I've got."

Ben nodded.

----

"Adams said she has the tubes blown and finished, last time I talked to her." Pat said. "We just have to go get them."

Ben was back among the rows of shelves in the store. Mr. Henry had a huge inventory of spares and stuff but hunting for things was always an adventure. From where Ben was looking, he could see both of them at the counter. The stranger was clearly agitated.

"The kid?" the stranger asked.

"He knows how to keep his mouth shut," Pat replied.

"Branson went dark last month," the stranger said. "And it wasn't equipment malfunction. They had 4 Hams and they all went off the air the same day."

The shelves in back were full of large plastic trays. Probably more valuable than what was in them. Plastic like the oil it was made from was expensive now. There was a box in the tray Ben was looking through marked Wurm Pumps but it held a couple of 40 amp circuit breaks instead.

"You don't think Homeland is going after the HamNet do you?" Pat asked. "Hancock's is a bit of a hot head down there but..."

He let the statement trail off as he pulled the box Ben had brought off the counter and onto his lap.

"We're just about the last uncensored way people can get news anymore," the stranger replied. "If the noise on the HamNet is true, some of the changes the New Constitutional Congress are proposing to revise the government are flat out scary but you don't hear anything about that from the Official News."

Ben stepped to the next tray full of boxes.

"Let me give Sammie a call," Pat said.

He had a cell phone he used for business. The days when you could surf the Internet on your phone were long gone. Now phones just called people.

A quick glance at the next two trays yielded no pump for Ben either.

"This is not good," Pat said putting his phone away.

"Not home?" the stranger asked.

"I got her voicemail, Sammie used the go word "Daffodils" in her message. “Somehow Homeland knows you're here.”

"I still have to get those tubes." The stranger said firmly. "Kansas City and Wichita are both down to one radio, and Tulsa went dark a week ago from equipment failure. You have just about the last Tubewitch in the Midwest here. We all depend on what comes out of St. Louis to stay on the air."

Pat opened the box Ben had brought over. When he got a good look what was inside he called out to Ben.

"Where did you get this?" Pat asked.

He came out from the shelves and told his instructor about cleaning out the room for his teacher.

Pat held a copy of an old book clenched in his hands. It had something written across the front in marker. Clearly it meant something.

"Homeland got Hamilton," he said to the stranger. "This is serious. You have to get out of here."

“How can you be sure?”

“This is an autographed copy of Greer’s final book.” Pat held it up. “It was the gem in Hamilton’s bookcase.”

"Not without the tubes."

Ben saw an opening.

"I could get them for you..."

----

The stranger, who had introduced himself as Washington, seemed open to the idea. Ben's instructor though was fighting tooth and nail against. They had been arguing now for 10 minutes straight.

"I have to get home sometime," Ben finally said.

The two men looked at each other and seemed to come to a decision.

"You know what I want is contraband?" Washington asked. "Homeland catches it on you, you'll be headed to a Re-Ed camp tomorrow."

Pat was clearly not happy.

Ben smiled.

"Everyone out here in the Burbs runs something illegal from time to time they don't want seen," he shrugged. "I've done my share of it for people. No one looks at teenagers on bikes."

Washington chuckled.

“Ok,” he said. “And what’s it gonna cost me?”

----

“That’s robbery!” Washington exclaimed.

“And the water pump," Ben said. "I need that too."

Washington glared at Ben for a long minute, then finally nodded.

----

Ben was on his bicycle outside the shop. Pat had put his prosties on and walked outside to see him off.

“First sign of trouble, you be safe,” his teacher said firmly. “Get rid of the tubes. No heroics.”

Ben nodded and rode off.

----

It took him over an hour to get there. The house was in a really rundown part of the Burbs.

There was an old skeleton of an auto out front on the street. It had caught fire at one time and burned out. Maybe one in 10 houses was occupied. Most were slowly crumbling in on themselves. Ben rode past once ignoring the house, then did a quick around the block to come back. He parked his bike in the alley between the houses and slide slowly forward toward the back door of the house watching his surroundings. He was two steps from knocking on the door when the unmistakable sound of a shotgun slide clacking froze him in his tracks.

“Looks like rat is on the menu tonight,” a woman’s voice said behind him.

“No leaky boats on the Delaware.” he said the words Washington told him to say.

“Hope the General doesn’t get his feet wet,” she replied.

-----

Mrs. Adams turned out to be a grey headed tiny old woman with a grin and a shotgun almost as big as she was. She led him inside through a side door of the garage, then into the main house. Ben followed her down the stairs to her basement. There was equipment everywhere. Beakers, tools, all sorts of things young inexperienced minds didn’t recognize.

“First time?” she asked.

Ben nodded.

“You in it for the money or the principle?” she asked.

Ben felt a bit confused at the question but admitted.

“The money, Mrs. Adams.”

She sighed, sitting down across the big workbench from him.

“You know Son, democracy used to mean something. We held our elected officials accountable and when they weren’t, we kicked them out. Not like now where the Party nominates one lone representative and you just get to sign on the dotted line.” she started to work herself up on the subject. “Damned Arnold and his cronies, it’s been 17 years since the last election. This State of Emergency bull is getting kind of thin. If I had my way, I’d march every last one of those bastards up against the wall.”

It seemed an old argument to her and Ben, wise in the ways of talkative elders, just kept nodding as she spoke.

"People just stand meekly by and let Homeland Gestapo take their liberties from them. When are they going to learn that freedom has to be fought for..."

She seemed to catch him ignoring her rant and chuckled. She shook her head.

"And its Sammie to my friends, not Mrs. Adams, got it?

Ben nodded.

“Ok, be careful with the package, its breakable.”

It was about 12 by 8 by 3. The size of a thick book.

She turned and grabbed something.

“Gotta couple of “Get Out Of Jail” cards for you too.”

Ben’s confusion at the reference must have shown on his face.

“Monopoly?” she asked.

Ben shrugged. Games about capitalism were no longer played. Party's orders.

The old woman just shook her head.

“Ok, red and green.”

Sammie put two small tin cans on the workbench. One had a splash of red paint, one green.

“These will give you some distraction if you need it. Both will put out a big cloud of smoke." She pushed them across the workbench. "Red goes off quick, 10 to 15 seconds once you pop the tab. Green is slow, maybe 4 to 5 minutes. Don’t use them unless you have to.”

Ben put them and the package in his backpack

“These tubes are important,” she said. “Don’t frak this up boy.”

He finally putting it all together.

“You’re Rebels!”

Mrs. Adams slowly reached for the shotgun. It had never been far.

“Hey,” Ben said softly, feeling the tension in the room shoot up. “I got a deal worked out, so I only care about getting it done.”

Sammie gave him a long look, her hand on the shotgun barrel. Patriot News always ran stories about how bloodthirsty the Rebels were with those who got on their wrong side. If she decided against this, Ben didn’t think he could get up the stairs fast enough to not get shot in the back.

Her phone buzzed.

“Hello honey,” she answered. “You ordered pizza from a new store, which was risky of you.”

She listened to what the other said.

“I was going to give him a big tip but I’m not sure he's right for his job. I was about to call his boss and get him fired.”

She listened some more.

“Ok, if that’s what you think, I’ll ask him for a coupon for his next visit.”

Sammie closed her cell, ending the call.

“Ride safe,” she said, taking her hand from the shotgun.

----

“Anything else you need?” she asked as she let him out the garage door.

“Don’t happen to have a few guitar strings, do you?” Ben asked.

“What do you need with guitar strings?”

Ben told her.

“Oh my,” she laughed. “Mother Gaia has a sense of humor, doesn’t She.”

Ben was confused.

“Is your musician any good?”

Ben nodded.

Sammie turned looking around the old garage. It was filled with boxes and stuff.

“Ok, now where did I put that?”

----

It took the old woman almost 20 minutes to find what she wanted. Ben at first humored her, but the gravity of what he was doing, transporting contraband for the Rebels got him nervous. He was about the just beg off and get out of there when Sammie gave a whoop of joy. She tossed a couple of boxes to the side, then dug out a beat up guitar case.

“I won a scholarship to Julliard Academy when I was about your age,” she said.

Opened, it revealed a gorgeous old acoustic guitar.

“Can I have the strings?”

She laughed.

“Hell kid, you can have the guitar.”

Ben’s eyes lit up.

----

“Watch out for checkpoints,” Sammie said.

She had helped him strap the guitar case to the back of his bike. It was unwieldy but it wouldn’t fall off.

“No worries,” Ben said taking off.

----

Ben was worried.

He was half a mile for the electronics shop and thought he was home free, when he had blundered into a checkpoint. He had come racing around the corner and couldn’t turn around before the Oxes stopped him. Now he stood in line while they checked the IDs of those before him. A few they were searching. Homeland was there too, an agent checking the faces of men against some image on his Pad.

Ben was standing next to two open trash cans at the curb, piled high. Maybe if he dropped one of Mrs. Adam’s grenades in it, he could get away in the confusion. He slid his backpack off his shoulder slowly.

“What’s ya got there Burbie?”

The Ox was a big guy, and fat. He had walked up behind Ben and was eyeing the case on his bike.

“My guitar,” Ben ad libbed. “I’m taking lessons.”

“Worth anything?”

“What are you doing!” the voice had a sharp crack to it.

Ben and the Ox turned. The Homeland agent was a hard looking man, razor sharp in his brown trench coat.

The Ox stammered something.

“We’re not here to indulge your petty larceny,” the Homeland agent said. He gave a sigh of disgust. “Did you at least ask him if he’d seen the suspect before trying to rob him?”

The Ox blushed.

The Homeland agent flipped his Pad around so Ben could see it.

“Have you seen this man?”

The image was one he recognized. It was the man he had meet today at the shop, the man who called himself Washington. Ben’s mind raced. He remembered his mother’s word, always cooperate with Homeland Security, they were
there to protect them.

And the Rebels, they were criminals. What did Ben owe them?

“Is there a reward?” he asked.

“Could be,” the agent said. “If it leads to an arrest. This man is very dangerous.”

Ben looked at the image again. A big reward could help Ben and his mother out a lot.

“Yeah, I think I know where you can find him.”

----

Everyone in the Longhorn was clapping.

Ben was standing at the back of the crowded restaurant, Mr. Angeleros next to him. Kevin was still on his knee, while his new fiancée kept kissing him, her arms full of roses and tears of joy streaming down her face at his marriage proposal.

Behind her, Kenny Nine Fingers and Just Mary were smiling. Kenny holding his new guitar. Part of their deal. Just Mary had cleaned up rather well, and was actually in a dress. Black of course. Her singing as she and Kenny had come out on cue, had stopped the conversations of the diners in their tracks.

“You did good kid,” Mr. Angeleros said.

Ben blushed.

“Those two aren’t half bad either,” he continued. “Might just have to get them here on weekends singing to the clients.”
Ben grinned.

“I think that can be arranged,” he said.

"Ok, Mister Wheeler-dealer," Mr. Angeleros asked. “Who gets this steak dinner you bargained for?”

Ben dug out one of Mr. Peter’s Aquarium business cards.

“Fish,” Mr. Angeleros nodded. “You know we were thinking about offering Greenland lobsters. Might have to talk to him about the tanks.”

-----

“My dad can’t stop talking about that dinner. Mom and him went there last night,” Willy said two days later at school. He opened his lunch at the table. “Yuck! Fish…”

Ben laughed

“Dad said we can come over and set up the tank whenever you want.”

“Me and Mom are going to take the horse trolley down to the Arch tomorrow and make a day of it for her birthday,” Ben said. “I’ll talk to Co-Op security and they can let you both in.”

Willy nodded.

----

“Those were good hot dogs,” Ben said.

“Nothing compared to a Woofies,” his mother replied, as she took off her shoes, tossing them into the corner of their Squat. “They could do a chili cheese dog you would sell your soul for.”

It had been a good day. The sun out and the temperature warm but not too hot. Saturday and the Riverfront had been crowded. People out enjoying the Spring.

“It’s a shame you never had one before they closed.”

Ben had noticed the birthday present as soon as they had entered. His mother though had seen what she had seen a hundred times before and glanced right past it.

He had been wound up tight all day. Not knowing if Willy and his father had been able to get in and set the aquarium up. So many things that could have gone wrong. His mother yawned, as she took off her light jacket. She pulled down her bed and sat. Still she didn’t notice the new aquarium.

“Maybe I should feed the fish,” he finally said, fit to burst with excitement.

She turned, looking at the tank and gave a soft gasp!

“Oh Ben!” she staggered forward to the small table the tank was on, kneeling down to look. “They’re beautiful.”

His original deal with Willy’s dad had been for a dozen or so of his cheaper fish, but floating in the center of the aquarium was the Queen Angelfish, alight in yellow strips and blues. It slowly swam back and forth, almost as if it knew it was the prize of all times. Around it at least two dozen lesser fish all brightly colored floated.

"Happy birthday Mom," Ben whispered.

Her fingers on the glass, his mother softly cried her happiness that the aquarium said they finally had a place to call a Real Home.

There was a knock at their door.

----

“This came for you,” Moses said.

He held out a small package. They were on the roof in the garden. A runner had knocked on the door of their Squat and told Ben that Moses needed to speak with him. Ben like all the kids at the Co-Op knew the old black man. Most of the times a kindly white haired grandfather figure, he seemed to radiate seriousness today.

“Been running with a dangerous crowd, have you?” he asked.

Ben shrugged. He opened the paper wrapped package. Inside it was three things.

The first thing was an envelope. It contained the 300 dollars Washington had agreed to pay Ben for his going to get the tubes. The second was a short handwritten note from his mentor Pat.

“Thanks for everything. Our friend got out of town safely with his items and is on his way to Kansas City. We couldn't have done it without you.”

Ben had lied to the Homeland agent, telling him he had seen Washington at a restaurant a block back. They had shut down the checkpoint and raced to catch the dangerous Rebel before he had a chance to escape. Ben had given the agent a false name and address when he had asked, for the reward. Thirty minutes later Ben and his package were safely at Mr. Henry's electronics store.

Washington had laughed at what Ben had done.

“Kid, you’re a natural,” he’d just said.

The last thing in the package was a book.

“The Private Life of the Late Benjamin Franklin,” he read the title out loud. “I’ve heard of him, he was one of the Founding Fathers wasn't he?”

Moses nodded.

“You can learn a lot from that book,” he said. "And from that Ben."

The old man seemed to consider him for a long moment.

“No leaky boats on the Delaware.” he finally said.

Ben's eyes lit up in surprise.

“Hope the General doesn’t get his feet wet," he replied.

Moses chuckled and walked away. Ben would have to think on the revelation that Moses was a Rebel. And for better or worse, Ben was too now. Well, he thought, tomorrow would bring what tomorrow would bring.

For now he had fish to feed.