Chapter 3 – The Wayward Son – Richard
Richard was alone in his house watching the news. Tired after long days of working his land, he passed most evenings this way. Pretty sad for a 25 year old guy in his prime. Normally, the news did not show anything profound. Stories on the state of the Supply Lines, policy decisions from Mars, and features on peaceful happenings around both worlds dominated the airwaves. The Martian controlled newscasts put a great amount of effort into showing a peaceful, productive world. He understood the concept of the self-fulfilling prophecy they were trying to create: show peace and peace will follow. But it wasn't all true. There was discord all around. That night, for once, he would see it reflected.
In the middle of a story about a young girl in a nearby city who had inspired her schoolmates to create care packages for the elderly, the screen blanked out. As Richard got up to smack the TV – some technologies, and their fixes, lasted millennia – it flickered back on. Gone was the little girl, Louisa, and her care baskets. She was replaced by a bright red screen accompanied by a siren sound. Interested, Richard sat back down and watched.
"Attention, Earth Residents!" A voiceover began and the red screen switched to an image of Earth. A few seconds passed, presumably to allow anyone watching to gather the rest of the members of their household and give the TV their full attention. Finally, a live broadcast began, led by none other than Roark.
Richard wasn't surprised when he saw Roark's face. He had worked with him on the rig-boats when he was a teenager. His father had mentored them both as his possible successors. A memory struck him then, and as Roark paused on the TV screen, waiting for attention, it played out quickly in his head.
They had been friends at first. Roark was like a big brother to him. He had taken him out to a local tavern that night after a hard day's work.
"You've worked like a real man for the first time today, buddy! It's time you got drunk like one!"
He smiled sheepishly, excited by the idea of being included in Roark's plans. Roark, who could break any rule and never get in trouble just by the power of his smile. "Not sure how you think we're going to accomplish that, we're not of age."
"Awww poor little Richie is scared! You're with me, kid. I know people."
Of course he did. He bristled at being called "Kid", Roark was only four years older, but he wore the years proudly. He knew he would go along with the plan.
They had ended up at Sadie's, a bar run by a real-live Sadie. It was strange to see a business not run by the Martians, but every now and then one would pop up in an industrial area. Likely it wasn't registered, which was why Roark could drink there. That and his smile.
"Gentleman! Watch me get this kid rip-roaring drunk for the first time in his life! It's the Supply Chief's son, little Richie himself, wouldya believe it?!" He had bragged to his friends, asserting himself over Richard despite Richard's obviously more impressive birthright.
But it had been fun. Richard remembered meeting the beautiful girl.
It was strange to see the likes of her in a tavern by the docks, and maybe she hadn't been as beautiful as the alcohol made her seem. Or the years of recalling her memory, clouded by his hatred of Roark. The rejection still stung though.
"You're so cute!" She exclaimed as they danced. Richard didn't know how to dance, but she led him around just the same. "Your dad is the Supply Chief? What's he like?"
"Oh you know, just my dad. Pretty serious."
"A man of many words, I like that." She winked.
She had even gone home with them that night, but stayed with Roark.
"Nice to meet you, Richard!" She'd said goodbye as she left with Roark. He had been a fool to think it was him she had been after.
The man had always been greedy, so this sort of power-coup didn't seem out of line. His father never saw through it, simply thought of him as a go-getter with the gumption necessary to supervise the Supply Lines; Richard had seen through it as a means to an end. He was perceptive like that.
Roark began quietly, conversationally, like a friend who had come over for dinner and been asked about his latest business venture but didn't want to seem overeager in telling about it.
"Good evening everyone." He smiled, although it did not reach his eyes. "I hope this evening has found you well, and I sincerely apologize for interrupting that heart-warming tale about Louisa. It will return when I am done so you can see the outcome." He gave a warm chuckle. Like a good 'ol boy you could meet at any town tavern. "I want to take this opportunity to first tell you this is an Earth-only newscast. Our superiors on Mars are not privy to what I say here, or to your reactions. I owe this to the greatest minds of Supply Line 8 and 9, who figured out how I could broadcast to you privately."
Richard was standing at attention, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins. He felt giddy and nervous. What is this about what is this about rang through his head repeatedly.
"I wish to talk to you privately about the state of political unrest here on Earth. I know the majority of us have been unhappy with the status quo for some time now. Our role as a manufacturing plant for the benefit of those on Mars is unsustainable. I have gathered significant intel on this issue and know that you share my sentiment. This Martian Lie, the idea that those on the red planet can benefit from our work while they simply lord over us, is unsustainable."
It's brilliant, thought Richard. Roark had always been ruthlessly intelligent. Let them think everyone else thought it, and even if they did not, the majority would fall in line. He even gave it a name – The Martian Lie. This catchphrase would ring round the world tomorrow.
"You all know me as Supply Chief. This is a position of obvious importance, perhaps even the most important position on Earth, but it is not a political one. All political policy comes from Mars, as you well know. Yes, we elect representatives, but they are on Mars and do not know our daily struggles. Therefore, I do not think I take much of a leap in assigning myself the role of your spokesperson. Consider this my political campaign. I sincerely hope that you trust me to keep your best interests in mind as a guide for my actions."
"Lately, despite what the Martian broadcasts lead you to believe, many of you are struggling to make ends meet. Likely, you watch the news every night, wondering if you are the only one who does not have enough while it seems everyone else does."
Richard had to agree with him here. In fact, this was the very reason he and his father hadn't seen eye to eye. His father, Jordan Spencer, like many in his generation, was a proponent of the way things were. He felt it was his duty to supply Mars and reap the benefits of their wisdom and the peace it brought. It was true there were no wars with the Martian Utopia dictating rules, but there was also no individual prosperity. The Martians led everyone to believe they had enough, and if they felt they did not, they were simply being selfish. The Martian news broadcasts frequently showed the distribution of equal goods - food, clothing, houses. Popular TV shows told of the world before, when some lucky ones had hoarded their wealth. None of this sat right with Richard. He knew people weren't equal - he lived in the world and saw it everyday. Some still had more than others, and they were envied. Intrigued, Richard wondered if the unthinkable would happen and he could become allies with Roark.
"We are going to work together to put an end to this. The concept of Two Planets, One Mankind is outdated. Our Planet needs to look out for our people and our people only. Unless I receive pushback from a majority of you, I will proceed with my plan in six months – late next summer. I will be shutting down Supply Line 16. All other Supply Lines will continue to produce. We on Earth will reap the benefits of our own labor. The Supply Lines will be ours!"
"By broadcasting this to you tonight, I can tell as many of you as possible. If you know someone who is not watching, please let them know the contents of this broadcast. I have kept it simple so it can be easily shared among you all. My goal is for all of Earth to know by late morning tomorrow. Then, we will be united as one. Peace be with you."
His head spun. Richard wasn't one to say I told you so, but in this case, it was appropriate. Roark's plan sounded interesting enough, but Roark never played all his cards. He was likely keeping something to himself – something big.
The phone rang. "Son, we need to talk..." croaked the voice on the other end.
***
Jordan Spencer had sounded contrite, which was not his usual style. He, like the man he named his successor over his own son, liked to be right and rarely apologized. It was a quality needed to be in charge. One Richard didn't have.
Richard had been shocked by the sound of his voice in the phone. They hadn't spoken in three years, since Roark had been unofficially named his successor. Despite his father's attempt to smooth things over in favor of their newly shared political interest, he knew he could never forget. In time, he had forgiven, but the betrayal was like an old scar - healed but visible.
He had been aware for some time that Jordan favored Roark. They had both come far since their days on the rig-boats and mining fossil fuels with the laymen. That had been the plan for Richard all alone - learn the hard way, the dirty work, before learning to run the show. His father agreed that those in charge should name their successors because the general population didn't have the knowledge, but he also wouldn't be responsible for putting a son in charge who didn't know the business inside and out. Then, when it came time to move up through the ranks and learn the office work and the managerial tasks, Roark had been right by his side at his father's request.
Father and son had never agreed on the direction Earth should take with the Supply Line. Like nearly all men his age, Jordan believed in the setup with Mars. His was the generation who had sent them there. They had been born to believe in the concept of Two Planets, One Mankind and the insurance for the human race it provided. Richard, in typical fashion for the next generation, had another thought. It wasn't fair to watch the people of Mars, the ancestors of the richest and most privileged people on Earth, live in a perfect utopia while they supplied all their basic needs and they lorded it over them. In this respect, he and Roark agreed wholeheartedly.
Jordan Spencer had been afraid of what his son would do as Supply Chief. Admittedly, Richard was never quiet in his desire to begin exploiting the Martians riches. He planned to create a new Supply Line dedicated to tourism, get the Martians to come to Earth and spend money, thereby increasing their riches and political pull with Mars to become equal. His father argued they were already equal and his generation would simply create indentured servitude on a massive scale. You'd still be working for the Martians, he argued, just in a new way. A fancier way, dressed-up and sugar coated. But, nonetheless, a slave.
Of course, Roark played his role well and won the support of Jordan. He was the antithesis to Richard Spencer. Seemingly the only young man who could handle the demands of the job and also continue in Jordan's way of thinking. The conversation was etched in his mind. He had just finished a day of working with his father's assistant, learning the work that went into coordinating deliveries with the rotation of Earth and Mars so ships arrived consistently and no one on Mars went without necessary products. The job was like an air-traffic controller of old, only higher-stakes. He walked into his father's office to say goodnight, only to have Jordan burst out with the news."
"Richard, I have to speak with you." That it was about something serious was obvious.
"About?"
"Son, I'm sorry, you know I can't trust you to take over for me. I don't know how else to say it, but you're fired. I can't sugarcoat it. I read somewhere that the best way to fire someone is quickly, like ripping off a band-aid." He spoke quickly, as though if he didn't get it out immediately, it would never come out.
"I can't say I'm surprised, you do seem awfully taken by Roark lately. That's my replacement, isn't it? Like the son you never had?"
"Don't do this. It's a business decision."
"Right. Business. Or maybe it has to do with Roark's con."
"Con?"
"He wants the Supply Chains Dad, he doesn't agree with you any more than I do. All his promises are bullshit. I know Roark."
"With all due respect, you don't. I would trust him with my life."
He scoffed. "That makes one of us."
"Richard, don't do this. I don't want this to-"
"Save it."
He left immediately. Over the next two days, he cleared out his living quarters at the family compound in the Southern Quarter of the continent. He wanted to get away from the Gulf, the mining, the sea, and do something different.
Settling on the Midwest, he chose a plot of land about an hour away from Kansas City and started living his old-fashioned lifestyle. He wanted to feel like a real human being, not a pawn in the power struggle of two planets. Out here, he could forget it all existed. He imagined he lived in the time before The Father, when people were independent.
And that's where he had been for three years, when he heard Jordan's voice again.
"Son, we need to talk..."
He hadn't been surprised really, much like the moment of the betrayal, he knew his father was shrewd and used whomever he perceived he needed to further his own interests. It was why he and Roark got along, and also why their relationship would be imploding right now. He saw the poetic tragedy of it all, the betrayal and shame his father must feel. It made him smile sardonically.
"Hey there Pops, bet you're feeling a little twist of the knife in your back right about now. Et tu, Roark?"
"This isn't the time for your literary allusions, Richard. You spend too much time in the woods reading pointless stories. I need you. I was wrong to ignore my own son. Blood is thicker than water."
Richard knew his father would be theatrical about this. He wasn't much for heartfelt apologies. He rolled his eyes. His mind cast backwards in time to another incident in which his father had switched alliances so easily.
He had been on a baseball team. His coach had been a jerk to the other players. Repeatedly picking Richard to be the pitcher because he thought it would appease his important father. Give the little rich kid the most important position on the team and win the favor of the Supply Chief. Everyone wanted that kind of favor. In a time when everyone was given equal resources for their manufacturing jobs, it was nice to cultivate favor with one of the few who had more. It got you invitations, gifts, connections, that you otherwise would never have.
But that kind of behavior irritated Richard, and he purposely pitched like shit. He would throw the ball wildly. He wanted to make it obvious to everyone on the team the coach was favoring him for no reason and therefore make the coach look stupid. He came home and told his dad what he was doing, thinking his dad would congratulate him for ousting such an obvious suck-up.
The only thing was, it was Richard that Jordan got mad at.
He remembered the speech. The contempt for his own son at doing something he deemed ridiculous. "That man is only trying to get ahead. In a time like this, that shows enormous tenacity. You should reward him for that. Tomorrow, you will go and ask him to help you pitch. Let people get something out of you, and they will like you more. You need to learn the ways of the world if you ever want to follow in my footsteps. It's not required, only expected."
It's not required, only expected was a line he remembered oft repeated from his youth. It had turned out to be true.
Remembering this, and the humiliation when he had to pretend he really couldn't pitch and ask that low-down, no-good, hanger-on for help, he replied, "Actually, I don't know what you think I can help you with. I think what Roark has done is great. The Martian Lie? That was pretty brilliant, and I can't deny I agree."
"Sure, you and everyone else are going to be sucked in by his line. What you don't understand is that I have connections, and therefore I have intel. That's not his whole plan."
"I could have told you that. Unlike you, I'm not blind to the ulterior motives of Roark."
"Point taken. Do you want to hear me out?"
"Shoot."
"He's not lying about shutting down 16. He will do it in six months. No one will realize there are dissenters out there because he has led everyone to believe most are in agreement. Even if you aren't, you will think everyone around you is and fear causing strife. People like to get along. He's playing off that."
"Dad, I'm not a child. I understand the basic workings of political movements. Get to the point."
"He's going to shut down 16, but that won't bring the Martians around fast enough. He has to give them a reason to need us more than the basic comforts of life. They can make do on their own to an extent, and over time they could even become completely independent. He needs them to need us."
"And how would he turn the tables so drastically? We basically worship them, I can't imagine him getting the whole population on Earth on board to hurt them, even with his manipulation."
"He will send a virus. One that cannot be cured unless we also send the antidote. They will agree to any terms he has."
"What kind of virus? Will people die?"
"Malaria. The worst strain. It affects the brain, apparently. Some will die, most assuredly."
"I assume he isn't going tell everyone he is responsible for the virus. Mosquitoes spread malaria. He'll pretend it's a natural phenomenon?"
"Absolutely." He agreed, grimly.
"That's kind of funny. Remember that old statistic – Malaria has killed more than all the wars combined? And now it's the weapon of war. But, my question is, how is he going to avoid the campaign that will arise here? Everyone will want to help. It's hard to stop the ambition people have to help each other in times of need. If they don't know it's on purpose, and they aren't on board, they're going to want to do something about it."
"For the most part, people will not know. He will block broadcasts. You know about the broadcast blocks, obviously. He just did it. Only certain news reports can go through when the Martian Broadcasting shuts down, he simply had to take over one of those stations. The Martians will have no idea. We are more separate and far away than people believe. Their control depends on worshipful obedience, not surveillance and punitive management. It will work against them here. No one will know until the new order has been established and he is in total control. We cannot let this happen."
Richard let out a low whistle. The plan was a brilliant, clean coup. Except that like any coup, innocent people were being pulled in and would die. Those that agreed with Richard and wanted Earth Independence had long advocated for getting it through tourism and breaking the worshipful tie between Earth and Mars. They didn't want violence. Humanity was thought to have become smarter than that. The problem was, people can always devolve to their baser natures.
"You're right, we can't."
"So now do you want to hear my plan?"
"I'm still on the phone, aren't I?"
"I also have my connections in Lines 8 & 9. One can't be a Supply Chief, even a retired one, without significant pull with a few telecommunications geniuses. I can also take over a broadcast."
"And what would you say?"
"How do you feel about a counter-political party? It won't stop the shutdown, but it will allow us enough time to figure out how to stop his virus. The only viable political view out there right now to counteract a shutdown is your tourism idea. How do you feel about becoming the leader of the party?"
"Absolutely not. I live a quiet life, Dad. I've come to enjoy it."
"I figured as much. It's actually fine. I will be the leader. I have the name recognition."
"Congratulations."
"I need you to come home."
"I have work to do."
"You have nothing to do that is as important as this. You are twiddling your thumbs, living off the land when it's not necessary. I need you to get here and help me plan this. We will be recruiting people to our side and figuring out the details of our counter-strike to Roark's plan. It will be hard. The world is abuzz with what he proposes."
He sighed. "I guess it is winter, and there's not much to do at the moment."
"That's more like it."
They spoke briefly for a few more minutes, discussing the health of his mother, possible allies, and basic logistics. Never once in the conversation did Jordan say he was glad to have Richard back on his side. He didn't really believe blood was thicker than water, he just knew Richard could help him in his latest scheme, just as Roark had been able to help at another time.
But this time, Richard would be the one who would benefit.
Richard arrived at the ranch in southern Arkansas later the next day. His father had commissioned a driver who had appeared at his door unannounced. He'd thrown a few things in a bag in fifteen minutes and they were on their way. Never mind that Richard could have driven himself. Jordan Spencer wasn't a patient person, and he wanted Richard there immediately. Or as immediately as modern technology could deliver him.
The term ranch was one he used loosely. There were not herds of cattle here like the old days. That was provided by Supply Line 11, and those not affiliated with it weren't allowed to just raise cattle because they felt like it. People, left to their own devices, simply can't appreciate the damage to the ecosystem their own waste creates. Farmers are unable to see how their farm hurts others. Therefore, the Supply Line Head of Line 11 dictated who produced what and when. They saved the Earth that way. In order to monitor quality control and keep things efficient, the raising of cattle was dictated from on high - by one of Roark's cabinet members. So, the ranch was really just a beautiful, massive, plantation-style home on a thousand acres of stunning vistas and grown-over cattle pastures.
Of course, the home wasn't really from a plantation. It had been built for Jordan when he began his tenure as Supply Chief. Every chief got a house for free. Perk of the job. These homes were all in southern Arkansas or Northern Oklahoma, near Supply Line 16 and the birthplace of the Father.
He stopped for a moment on the wide, wrap-around front porch to gather his wits. It was a bit nerve wracking to be seconds away from seeing his father for the first time since he had broken the news he had chosen Roark over him. Well, what of it. There wasn't any use dwelling. Shrugging it off, he entered the front door without knocking, and walked into the open main drawing room - all marble and pillars and vaulted ceilings - subtlety was lost on Jordan - and into controlled chaos.
People on communication devices, walking to and fro, transparent computer screens suspended in the air showing maps and checklists, a group of people sitting together punching numbers into calculators and scribbling furiously on notepads. No one even looked up when he walked in. Nobody except his mother, who zeroed in on him, gasped and strode across the room and pulled him into an embrace.
"I'm so glad you're home." She whispered into his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. His mother had been a casualty in the feud with his father. The guilt he usually suppressed burned in him now that he was confronted with the top of her curly head crushed into him and her arms wrapped around him.
"I'm glad to see you, Mom. Where's Dad?"
"He really is excited you're going to help him. Please, please, let this be a new start for you two."
"I'll try." He didn't want to make any promises to her, but couldn't bear to tell her his father's suddenly loyalty could be pulled out from under him as fast as it was offered. Likely, she knew it anyway and wanted to enjoy this. In the Spencer household at least, there was no more war.
She slid her hand into his. It was cold and the skin had grown papery, old. When did they start getting old? He wondered as she led him across the room and to the scrutinizing gaze of his father, beneath a head of hair shot with grey and new wrinkles.
Jordan's welcome wasn't as warm as his mother's, but he did pull his son into an embrace as well. It was stiffer. Instead of I'm glad to see you he offered an, "I'll show you around."
They walked around the area that used to be the family room Richard grew up in. It had transformed into a rebellion headquarters.
First, Jordan gestured at the small group with the calculators and notepads. "They are using results of the latest census, trying to get a gauge on who might support us. We have people out recruiting and reporting back. From our calculations, we have determined we have strong support. Well, Roark has strong support. We assume his support will become ours when we drop our propaganda."
"And what's that?"
"We will take over the airwaves just as he did, and tell his plan. Some of these men have been investigating, working on the inside, and we have it in detail at this point."
"Just what do you plan to say?"
"The truth, son."
"You know as well as I do, there's no truth in politics."
"In two week's time, we plan to do exactly what he did. Interrupt the evening news. I wanted you to go on as our spokesperson, but you're right, I'm the one with the name recognition. I'm older, respected. Able to sway people's' opinions."
"And humble..."
Jordan narrowed his eyes at his son. "An effective leader is never humble. It's why you'd make a bad one."
"You made that clear years ago. I'm only here because I believe in this cause, whereas you're just using it because you sense it can get you power."
"If you mean to accuse me-" His father stepped toward him.
His mother let out a nervous titter. "Boys, boys... Now le- let's just get along, please."
Jordan retracted the step he had taken. Richard looked at him expectantly, waiting for more information on this broadcast.
"You may think I am doing this as a power coup, and it's possible that to some extent I am. I've missed the limelight, that much is true. But I think any leader has to have a desire for that. Anyway, you must know that what Roark is proposing is cruel, horrible. I have people at work on the inside, and I'm positive I have the right information. He must be stopped."
"You said he would send disease."
"Yes. That's the basic jist of it. He will shut down 16. At first, they will believe that's the extent of it, and they will attempt to wait it out. They will negotiate. They will try various peaceful strategies. What they won't realize is that their final shipment contains several crates of mosquitoes infected with x strain of Malaria, the worst, most dangerous kind that requires anti-malarial drugs to cure or results in death. They will have a little bit of medicine, and they won't put it together at first that it was sent by us. They'll think it's a coincidence. It is, after all, naturally occurring. They will use this as a reason we need peace. They'll try to get our pity, but Roark will admit we sent it. Human lives will be a bargaining chip. They will be desperate for help. They aren't used to famine, disease - any kind of suffering, really. They will agree because they won't have an option. They cannot stomach the concept of sacrificing human life for their freedom. Roark will be in charge. He will begin a campaign to eradicate them all."
"Sorry, dad, but even if that's his plan, I don't think people are gonna just go along with it."
"You haven't studied history then. He isn't going to just tell the whole public this! It's like the frog in boiling water. If you throw him in, he will thrash and try to get out. If you put him in when it's cold and slowly turn up the temperature, he'll boil alive without even fighting. We're in cold water now, and Roark is turning up the temperature."
"So, he's told them we're going to shut down 16 to negotiate. Build up hatred for them through propaganda. Eventually, we'll want rid of them in exchange for our freedom. By the time anyone figures out the Malaria plot, It'll seem a worthy sacrifice."
"Exactly."
"So why can't we just reveal this immediately and shut the whole thing down. Things will go back the way they were before his broadcast. I don't understand why you're waiting two weeks, when he's almost ready to get started."
"Because that's impossible. There was an undercurrent of hate for the Martians before, among your generation especially, but even some of mine. Now that it's been stirred up, the fire can't be put out. There's got to be some plan for freedom. We have to have a little time to not only out him, but give a viable alternative. That's where your idea comes in."
"So how do we convince people of it?"
"We need people on the ground, stirring up information about the tourism idea. Then, we'll blow his cover, reveal his xenophobia for Martians and his plot to hurt them. But some won't care. Some people like violence. Uniting against a supposed oppressor justifies it. We need to be prepared with what to do if our alternate party doesn't pan out."
"So we need a contingency plan. We need to stop the payload."
"There are sometimes that I know you're my son." Jordan smiled grimly.
"And what's your plan for that? You seem to have thought this all out."
"Let me tell you." Now he smiled for real.