Freedom TM

lot of people are following his quest.”
    “So he’s on a
quest
—as in, heroic journey and all that?”
    “They say he’s searching for something called the Cloud Gate. A portal that may unlock a higher level of the darknet.”
    “Well, best of luck to him.”
    “Apparently he’s also been appearing in places where paramilitary units have been operating—helping to develop a smart mob-alert system.”
    “Well, we haven’t had any of that stuff occur near us. It’s been in Nebraska and Kansas mostly.”
    Ross looked at the landscape and rows of abandoned houses with FOR SALE signs in suburban subdivisions. “They’re still foreclosing on houses out here?”
    “No. I think people are just abandoning them. Off to find work or public relief facilities. Driving is no longer an option for most people, and there’s nothing to live on out here.”
    “Is anyone swallowing the ‘illegals gone wild’ story?”
    “I don’t know. I think people would have noticed armed gangs if they really existed.”
    “Oh, they exist. They’re just not what the media claims.”
    “Then what are they?”
    “Paramilitary units. Terror squads.”
    Fossen just gave him a look. “I think we would have noticed that, too.”
    “Not if they move at night by helicopter.”
    “Helicopter?”
    Ross nodded. “They fly in low and fast. Drop in teams, advanceon foot, then ex-fil by chopper. They’ve hung people. Burned houses. On television the next day you usually hear how gang violence is behind it. Senators calling for martial law. And checkpoints.”
    “How do you know all this?”
    “I’ve been tracking their movements for the last several months.”
    Fossen just gave Ross a sideways look. “Are you pulling my leg?”
    Ross pointed to Fossen’s call-out. “You joined the darknet recently.”
    “Yeah. My daughter convinced me. She’s really something.”
    “You have a farm?”
    “Fifth generation—a ‘horticulturalist’ now, I guess. My daughter has made a lot of positive changes to our operation. You should come by and see it.”
    “I’d like that.”
    “Jenna’s rising fast in the Greeley holon. She’s leading two projects now—a biodiversity initiative and an education program.”
    “You must be proud.”
    “I’m proud of both my kids. Life is starting to make sense again for us. I just hope we can get other folks on the new economy in time.”
    Fossen turned the old truck onto a county road and soon they were heading out into a veritable ocean of green corn plants stretching unbroken to the horizon. This road was even louder in the old truck, so Ross just watched the landscape roll by.
    They occasionally passed through small, downscale towns. Ross was able to spot them at a distance not by their church steeples but by the local grain elevators—invariably a row of concrete tubes a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet tall looming like missile silos at the end of Main Street.
    Between the towns they passed several abandoned farmhouses,crumbling in the prairie. The clapboard ruins were choked with bushes and collapsing in on themselves.
    Ross shouted over the engine. “That doesn’t look recent. Why all the empty houses?”
    Fossen leaned close. “Been happening for decades. Farms had to get big or go out of business. Market forces. The population of this county has dropped about a third in the last fifteen years or so. It’s coming back now, though.”
    He slowed the truck down, and they turned this time onto a gravel road that was ramrod straight. They were traveling slower now, and it was much easier to talk.
    “The fields look healthy.”
    Fossen waved him off. “Those plants have as much to do with agriculture as a weight lifter on steroids has to do with physical fitness. See that?” He pointed out tiny plastic signs spaced ten yards apart running along the edges of the fields near the road. The signs stretched into the distance and all bore the image of a green leaf with a single dewdrop dripping from the tip. The text HALPERIN ORGANIX—MITROVEN 336 was written in a bold sans serif font beneath the logo. The signs looked cheerful, healthy, and inviting. “They’re all clones designed to maximize kernel production. In fact, ninety-eight percent of the crops grown in this country a century ago are now extinct.
    “This is just a big green desert. You’d starve to death out here. This corn is inedible—it’s just starch; it needs to be processed in an industrial stomach, with acids