Humanitarian Crises
"Fucking hell," Miriam grumbled, the second the door shut behind the fleeing Spider. "Bad to bloody worse. We're just begging for more refugees and we haven't even done anything about the refugees here already." She reached out, passing the report to her mother. "I swear, if those short-sighted glory hounds-"
Her mother tutted as she took a hold of the paper. "Now, darling. It's not like your colleagues didn't have a dozen other problems to deal with."
"This is just a continuation of the same problems we've been dealing with since the Accords, though!" Miriam exclaimed. "We're still hungry, we're still packed to the gills with refugees, and we still don't know exactly how many people are around. Bringing
even more people into the fold isn't the answer!"
"Well, they can't hardly say they're not aware of the problem, now. Your speech-"
"Made me look like a fucking
idiot!" Miriam threw her hands up, carelessly brushing a few sheets of paper off her desk.
"To
some of your colleagues, maybe. I would not pay too much heed to those who equate being wrong - or the lack of prophetic powers - for being unintelligent."
Miriam huffed, but after a moment conceded. "Well, whatever. My reputation is hardly the important thing here." She reached down and scooped up the misplaced papers, maps of the Commonwealth covered in hand-written annotations. "We've got thirty six thousand odd people to add to the pile."
"Thirty five thousand, eight hundred and ninety eight, specifically," Claire read from the report. "Credit where it's due, at least that's an accurate count," she pointed out. "Not to demean the Spiders or anything, but - "
"No, no, I get it. They're teens with limited training, unreliable schedules and highly variable work ethics. Not exactly a professional census team. Not hurting me or them to admit it. Well, as long as their unprofessionalism doesn't drop to Baxter levels."
Her mother hmm'd, placing the report down on Miriam's desk. "Never did like that kid."
Miriam shook her head. "Even here in Webber's Field we're not totally up to date on everyone. We're still turning up a bunch of new families every week who are new to the area. We only finished renovating the Korsey flats a week ago, and they're all occupied. Over-occupied, even, with the amount of house-sharing going on. Rest of the city needs to up its game, because we're going to run out of houses long before we run out of refugees, at this rate."
"Regardless, darling, you can't deny there's been progress. Certainly, it'll be a rough winter, but now that we don't have to worry about Victoria, and we have all these concessions, I'm sure everyone will be more than willing to turn their attention back to the internal issues."
"God, I hope so. With the Victorians shovelling money and gear at us - voluntarily, I mean, not like before, and the seaway open… we're going to have a lot of money and a lot of resources available. Just you wait, though. More shit will crop up. Or we'll get some opportunity that everyone will want to jump on. Always happens."
=#=#=#=#=#=
One of the Spiders must have caught sight of her as she made her way down what was quickly becoming one of the main streets of Webber's Field, because the Sheriff was waiting for her in the lobby of the Salina Building, sat behind what was once the concierge's desk, when she arrived.
"Waterstone. Thanks for agreeing to meet me."
"Not a problem, ma'am." He gestured to the spread of papers on the desk. "Got all my notes an' all. Jake told me you were coming."
"Mm, I thought so," she said as she took a seat. "How have things been?"
"Busy, but otherwise? Not so bad. The Wellseys, they're the family that moved into our last apartment, seem nice enough. Couple more families moved in across the street. Haven't had much chance to speak with them, but haven't heard complaints yet." He took a moment to shuffle through the many sheets of paper on his desk, sighing as he did.
"Couple of new families who showed up recently, added them to the list. No major medical issues, just old wounds. Uh, three boys got in a fistfight with one of the Victorian Pows. Fight was over when I got there. Victor's back to the camp, two of the boys are in hospital. People are sayin' the kids started it, but until we can solidly confirm…"
Miriam nodded. "Right."
"And we had to throw Baxter off the volleyball courts, again. Still trying to pretend he's still one of yours."
"God damnit. Maybe I should make the Spiders a formal federal agency. Then he'd be impersonating a government official, and we could toss him in jail. He could use the time-out. Any other problems?"
"Nope, that's about everythin' big enough worth mentionin'."
"Housing sweep, then?"
"Of the buildin's down this part of town that are actually livable, I've only got a few apartments left, at last check. Only two suitable for families, though, the others are smaller, better for couples or singles. Here, I had Sarah make a copy." He passed one paper across the desk, a map of Webber's Field with hand-written annotations all over.
"And, ah, they're all a little spartan, if you catch my drift," he added with a wince.
Meaning they'd been looted for furniture or firewood. Miriam huffed.
"Alright, then. Not ideal, but every little helps. Thanks for getting back to me on that." Miriam tucked the paper into her jacket pocket. "Not great to know we're pretty much at our limit for now, but… ugh. I guess it's better to know now than later. On a more personal note, how are the Gates doing? Kane told me Gavin was out of hospital?"
"Yeah, he's back now. They're... handling it. I for sure can't say they're doing
well., but… I can't imagine it's easy on them. He wants to go back to the Military - apparently they're going to let him, as a trainer. I'm… not sure she's happy about it."
"I can imagine. Husband comes back missing an arm, probably stress shock, they've got a kid to look after and now she's got to do most everything around the house… do you know which apartment they're in?"
"Third floor, north wing, right down the end," he answered without hesitation.
At her raised eyebrow, he added, "Thought you might want to see them. And I think it'd mean the world to them for you to visit. Little Jessie looks up to you."
"Terrible choice, honestly," Miriam deadpanned as she rose. "I'm an awful role model." Taking a more serious tone, she added, "I'll go see them in just a moment, then. Usual reminders - names for the records, don't waste food, radda radda."
Waterstone nodded, beginning to consolidate his papers. "I don't think wasted food will be a problem. We're still going through the leftovers from the Christmas party."
Miriam nodded. Waterstone and his group had travelled overland on foot through three states to get to Chicago, and arrived in the midst of what was about as close to a famine as possible that wasn't actual famine. He and his knew going hungry, and they knew how to make their food last. She couldn't say for sure, but she had to guess that the same applied to many of the new refugees as well.
"Alright. Third floor, north end. Thanks, Sheriff."
"No problem, little lady. You've been a great help for years, only fair I return the favour best I can."
=#=#=#=#=#=
Cassie was waiting for her when she returned to her apartment, sitting at the kitchen counter with a mug of hot milk and a newspaper in hand.
"Ah, heya boss," she said, dropping the newspaper and giving Miriam a little wave. "You're out late."
"Yeah. Bumped into Tammy on the way back, her pram's broken. Had to help her carry it over to the Baker's Shed."
"Aww, how is she?"
"Seems like she's settling in. Samuel's doing well, although… well, I guess
everyone looks just a little thin nowadays."
"Mm. Back to Chicago now, or too late, do you think?"
"I think we call it a night," Miriam said with a nod. "No need to be there particularly early tomorrow. Unless you have important news?"
"We got a message from New York, about the old knicknacks Victoria is handing over. They reckon they're better suited to taking them, because they have the facilities and expertise to care for them, and they're willing to shell out big to make that happen. Not super urgent though."
"Great. Personally I don't know what we'd do with a bunch of decaying relics anyay - New York wants them, they can have them. If they want them so bad they're willing to spend big to make it happen, even better. Money and supplies will get our feet back under us way faster than us waving around some old junk."
"Well, we could use the waving around of old junk to attract money and supplies in other ways," Cassie pointed out. "Having the relics of the old US makes us seem more like a legitimate successor, which could make diplomatic and trade deals easier. It'd make us look good at the Midwest Conference too."
"Ugh." Miriam huffed. "Do you know what the general consensus is yet, or is it pretty split?"
Cassie shook her head. "Didn't get much chance to gossip, sorry. I was running late myself."
"Before the Collapse-" Miriam halted, mentally adjusting her phrasing. "Well, my Nana likes to ramble about how bad the US was even before the Collapse. Not 'in your face' Victoria-style evil, but… they got up to some shady stuff."
Cassie frowned. "Really?"
"I guess. Sometimes the older people, the ones who remember the Collapse or the time before, talk about things quietly that don't paint America that was so great. They do say nostalgia is rose-tinted." Miriam shrugged. "Maybe you could ask her before we leave tomorrow. Point is, presenting ourselves as the USA Reborn isn't entirely advantageous. A lot of people would look at that kind of rhetoric and worry about the bad shit coming back, more than they'd look forward to the good. I'm sure a lot of people will argue along those lines."
"I guess so. Old rivalries and such. Can't imagine it would particularly endear us to Russia, either."
"Exactly," Miriam nodded. "Was there anything else?"
"Not really. Between reparations and the upcoming Midwest Conference there's a general wait-and-see vibe, regarding our next major moves."
"Wait and see, huh?" Miriam shrugged. "I can deal with that."
=#=#=#=#=#=
bored at an airport have an omake