Damian still messages Inger daily. She hasn’t responded, yet. She will. Damian is a catch. And now he has his Dad’s proclamation that she is required to marry him. Because Daddy said so. Facts.
Damian’s Daddy, Solenne Primaris Vexton Ulyth, Supreme Dear Leader of the Citadel, thinks of himself as world emperor. A declaration from the Dear Leader carries the weight of law within his fiefdom. Or it did at one time. These days his influence is closer to an arthritic chihuahua. He barks fiercely and the reply is, “there, there, be a good pupply, ok?” Ulyth loves his son though. Demanding a woman marry his son is small work.
“I ain’t no damned puppy,” thought Ulyth. True. He’s an arthritic chihuahua. His bite hurts because of bad teeth. And emphysema. Just because Daddy said so means not much. Daddy isn’t what he once was.
Placerville
Denny’s in Placerville is a couple hours from the Stateline, NV border crossing. Their last meal was breakfast in Winnemucca. Lunch was a couple Subway sandwiches they ate while in line for their 2pm border crossing appointment. It’s nearing dinnertime as they reach Placerville. Inger got off 50W at Placerville Road then made her way to Denny’s.
Tala, “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah. You hungry?” asked Inger.
“Kinda. I like Denny’s.”
“Cool. Let’s get a table.” They sat down and started with water (Tala) and unsweet iced tea (Inger). Tala ordered the fish sandwich and Inger got the Brisket Melt. Inger paid with a tip. The girls got back into the truck and headed to Safeway for fuel and more snacks. That done, it was back to 50W headed to Sacramento.
In 2025 as I write this, Winnemucca to San Lorenzo is a long day on the road. In 2125 the border between Pacific Cascadia (California in present day) and the Rocky Mountain Pact isn’t easy. Cascadia is one of the larger, wealthier fiefdoms. It is also one of the more corrupt, less well governed fiefdoms. Laws and policies passed in Sacramento don’t always filter down to municipalities.
Meaning 50W passes through the turf of a mixed bag of cartels. Most of them aren’t a problem. There is one, however, that can’t be bribed or negotiated with. Their thing is robotics. They hate robotics. Robotics are triple six, a sign of the devil. Triple six is the rot at the core of every ill. Eliminate Triple Six and the promised paradise will flower into existence.
Blue Luna Problems
It’s an hour from Placerville to Davis, usually. Deeper into the land of people who fight for purity in pursuit of a post apocalyptic utopia. Lovely as long as you follow the law, their law. The Rocky Mountain Compact is a scary place. So much freedom and self-determination. Horrible.
Inger and Tala work at the Paradise Valley Resort and Casino in the Rocky Mountain Compact in what used to be Nevada. That alone makes them dangerous. Inger grew up in the Appalachian Freehold. It’s what remains of USA. It’s what Cascadia fought to destroy. Inger is enemy. She is every evil *ist and *ism there is to name.
It’s become ritual. A small knot of protesters gathers to blockade 50W and demand pure adherence to their law. According to the signs they wave, the failure to obey explains the “decline” in Blue Luna butterflies. The girls are on the road in summer. Butterflies are pupating this time of year. Everyone knows this except the people shouting about it.
You Must Comply Because Daddy Said So
The protesters get furious if you confuse a good story with facts. Their facts are that the precious Blue Lunas aren’t flying right now, therefore someone is to blame. Therefore someone must be punished. Therefore you—yes, you—are an evil, apostate Anti‑Geo idiot.
Kenji‘s voice came through the sound system, “Breaking news! 50W is blocked by a dozen protestors.”
“Where?” Tala asked.
“El Dorado Hills just outside of Sacramento. Unironically, right where there is a strip mall. My guess why? Snacks,” said Kenji.
“Of course. Nothing says protest like a Starbucks inside a Target store.”
“I know, right.”
“How long until we get to the protest?”
“Twenty minutes, give or take. You can get around the protest by taking the exit for Folsom and staying on local streets. But already some of the group moved to the Target parking lot. Because Target somehow is causing butterfly genocide.”
Inger enters the chat, “Let me guess, the women’s bathroom is a butterfly murder scene. And there is a secondary scene at Starbucks.”
“Excactly,” replied Kenji.
Blue Luna Roads
I’m a guy. The men’s room at Target is usually clean, well stocked, and a quickie if I am just taking a piss. The damage that a dozen angry white women can do to a bathroom is on a whole other level. Paper goods gone. Soap dispensers emptied. My aim for the toilet is pretty good. Women pee seated, afaik. So I can’t imagine what sort of toilet gymnastics I might witness to explain body fluids on the walls five feet from the floor. Is this an Anti-Geo thing?
“Butterfly genocide is the thing, Kenji?”
“Apparently.”
“I gotta see this,” said Inger. She got off at the Silva Valley Parkway exit and made her way to Target. A few stragglers were on the overpass with signs. A few more were walking toward Target and Starbucks.
As they drove down an aisle in the parking lot a woman stepped in front of the truck and blocked their way, “That truck violates environmental law! Get out, hands up!” The woman moved to Tala’s side and tried to open the locked door. “Get out of the truck!”
Triple Six Drinks
Tala bent down in her seat to bring the lunch cooler to her lap. At the Last Turn she stocked up on juice boxes, cheddar popcorn, and pork rinds. The grass jelly tea was a surprise. So she bought six. Here, with an angry protester at her car door, she took one of the six grass jelly teas out and started to open it.
The protester barked, “Get OUT!” then spotted the grass jelly tea. Awkward silence, “Are you gonna drink that?” The woman asking wore a “End Triple Six Now!” merch t-shirt–all black except for the graphic. She’d cut it down into a sleeveless halter. Herself, blond, small, maybe five foot nothing, a hundred pounds on a good day, blue eyes, Mom jeans and Crocs. Her eyes said that the Central Valley heat was getting to her, “Well . . . are you gonna drink that?”
Time to test blondie’s resolve, “Maybe. Are you thirsty?”
“NO! Grass jelly tea is made from grass that butterflies eat! You are killing butterflies with that drink!”
“Am I? Do you know what butterflies eat?”
“Grass, right?” said the protester
“Not grass. They drink juice.”
“That’s NOT TRUE!”
“Ok. I’ll just drink this.”
“NO! Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s hot out here and I’m thirsty.”
Test complete. Ideals didn’t overcome needs, “Take it.”
The protester took it, cracked it open, and drank, like a starved Blue Luna butterfly. She started walking toward Target. The Muteki’s path was clear and Inger had seen enough, “Let’s go.” Inger turned the truck back toward 50W.
End of Day
They had a reservation at the Courtyard Marriot not far from the El Dorado Hills Target. Inger drove to the hotel and checked in. It was now a ten hour day. Enough for one day. The hotel had their Bistro Cafe and it served burgers and pizza.
When in Rome . . . Pizza choices were pepperoni or cheese. They ordered a large cheese pizza and unsweet tea. Inger ordered a Caesar salad. There are places to eat near the hotel. Places that they could drive to. Driving, though, felt like a chore. So pizza and salad it was.