Original Work My Best Friend, a novel of modern times

Not being quite sure on how to title this paper made finishing the work…difficult.

Father always said, when asked, that you had to set the hook in the first few paragraphs to keep the reader. On the other hand, a dissertation on the global effects of a massive volcanic explosion wasn't ever going to sell on the general market.

Hell, so few people even know how to read anymore, the data in his paper would sit, mostly unread, even if it were accepted. So much of the information I'd been forced to use had come from dubious sources – mostly the Government. I really expected the paper to be rejected outright. Just the same, a snappy title could get me the grade wanted - passing.

"Atmospheric River of Death : Mechanism of Airborne Transport of Sulfur Laden Ash to Africa via the Trade Winds" Okay, that conveyed the basics, but…dull. Still, it had the now requisite colon and double phrasing, so a good start. Have to at least run it past Dad.

"Sulfuric Aerosol Deposition in Midlatitude Africa : The Montserrat Cloud of Death"

Uuummm. Just - No. He scratched that line out.

"Deadly Side-effects of Sulfur-laden Ash : The Genesis of the Montserrat Collapse in Africa"

Better, this is more to the point and still had the colon and double phrasing. Another one to run past Dad.

I went back to the dissertation. Acid rain had killed off massive amounts of African croplands. Acid rain caused by the sulfur aerosols in the ash ejected by Montserrat when the island itself exploded, disappearing in under an hour. The resulting tsunami had devastated the Americas, but recovery was ongoing. Africa had been poisoned, entire counties had collapsed in the aftermath of widespread starvation and the resulting social upheaval. No recovery was possible there or so it seemed.

The total collapse of Africa is too broad of a subject for anyone to cover in a monograph, let alone an entire a book series. No, I took the easy way out – merely working to diagram the transport mechanism of the Trade Winds that had moved the ash to Africa and spreading it wide enough to kill everything it touched. The paper nearly wrote itself, after all, my family is all farmers after all.

With my birthday coming up this week, taking the easy way out would have to do. I submitted the paper with the simple title, "Winds of Death for Africa in the aftermath of Montserrat". Hitting the Enter key ended any debate. It would fly or not. In the meantime, I had to get on with my life.

What a fun birthday…..

My world ended for the first time just before my 18th birthday. Dad called the family together to break the news to us. To boost profits, the Corporation who owned the farm where we lived and worked would now rent out our home. The place where I grew up was up for bid. My former life and all of my plans, hopes and dreams was gone. Certainly it was going to the highest bidder.

Because he worked for the same Corporation that was tossing us out, Dad said he couldn't afford the minimum bid for the place. That's when he let us know the Corporation also cancelled our status as tenant workers. Since sharecroppers cost less, the bastards stood to make even more profits. People are more than fungible. Cash is king. All hail the king.

Happy Birthday.

We left the next morning. There was no choice. It made no sense to fight the status change. If we stuck around, a labor enforcement squad would arrive to bust up what little we did own. Then, after that, they would start busting us up. Dad loaded Mom and the other kids in the truck. They left for a place he knew of in the one of the old Canadian Provences. Once there, he'd hoped to get some work. Dad sort of apologized but told me I was on my own. Had no choice, he said. I suppose he was right.

I found out, many, many years later that my dissertation was so well received, I'd been offered a full ride scholarship. Something so rare as to be unheard of in my lifetime. Our terminal service had been cut earlier as a 'incentive' to move, more like a warning in real life. And so, another opportunity went down the crapper. I guess it was better not to know at the time, it would have made leaving even more painful.


I loaded up my cyclo and headed for a harvesting operation in the area. These kinds of operations are always on the move. As a result, they had a constant need for drivers and mechanics. At least I wouldn't have to worry about my next meal. Or so I thought. Little did I know.

I learned a lot my first two years after I left home.

The first thing I learned was just because someone works with you doesn't mean they won't try to steal everything you own first chance they get. They most certainly will, sometimes while you are watching. So, I learned to fight. Then I learned how to win. That was a painful transition but may have saved me later in life..

Because of worker turnover, you couldn't afford to trust anyone. Ever. I got lucky, I only lost my canvas hammock, not a killer. Losing my hammock just meant that I had to sleep in the dirt and crud found on the floor in the 'worker housing' that some farms still provided.

Not all farms gave you a place out of the weather to sleep. At too many other places, I just crashed in the tractor cab, there wasn't even a shelter. Didn't matter in the least. Quit and 20 other people are there to take your place. Working sunup to sundown was nothing new. Farm work is hard work. Having no real place to sleep was a bit of an...adjustment.

The next big thing I learned was that sometimes you can get something for free – and that something just could wind up costing nearly every credit you own. The medic told me I was damn lucky. The kind of VD I picked was the least expensive to treat. It took nearly every credit I had, but at least my member wasn't going to fall off. Or I was going to die.

There is some stuff floating around that is just fatal. Not a subject that was taught in Skool. I was more than a little pissed that Dad hadn't said something - but he may have been as clueless as me. Dunno, his business, not mine. I've learned that lesson and paid the dues.

Other fun things I learned...

Another lesson - Never drink with the people you work with. You might wake up dead. I've seen that happen. Sadly, more than once. That the pigs treated murder so casually was a real wake up. Pigs are not your friend. They had given up on the whole Serve and Protec t crap a long time ago. Those that paid them got the protection. Everyone else could just suck wind. Bastards.

Put some of your processed food away at each meal. Why stash food? If it rains, you don't work. If you don't work, you don't eat. Start looking for a winter job - well, you should always be on the lookout for a winter job. You really want a gig that offers room and board. Credits are one thing, but a warm, safe place to crash and eats aren't taxed. At least I don't pay 'em.

My first winter job was at a heavy equipment rebuild shop. It paid two meals a day, hot, and a decent enough place for me to sleep. Sunday mornings off. The owner was a real work of art. Insisted on paying me every day. He made a big show of putting credits on my chit, very theatrical.

The first weekend I worked for him, I hit a local food outlet and checked my credit balance. I honestly wasn't surprised to see the SOB had snatched back almost half of my daily wage. I guess for my meals that were supposed to be part of my wages. I could live with that. After all, two could play a game. Every second he wasn't around, I worked on rebuilding my scoot, using his tools, his parts and his material. Seems fair to me. I got half pay, he got half the work. Bastard.

Once things turned warm, I loaded up on his fuel. Grabbed all the food the scoot could carry and headed for the breadbasket looking for a planting outfit. I wasn't just burning a bridge. I knew I would never work for the slug again, but hated walking away from a gig that had Chow. Just the same, right now my scoot was running pretty sweet.

I learned I wasn't nearly as smart or skilled as I thought. That has got to be the hardest lesson for a kid to learn. Life will teach you just that, sure as hell - often grinding your face in it. Again and again. At least I learned to stop falling into the same hole more than once. Sometimes, I was able to avoid the hole altogether. I got by.

I was offered a gig as a labor enforcer. They were a licensed outfit, so I took the offer. The Corporate management types rarely bothered to get their shoes dirty. They actively pushed anything that even remotely looked like work down the chain to someone else. The Supervisors damn sure weren't going to deal with firing someone and putting them off the property. So, labor enforcers provided that service.

It took me more than a few bruises, but I finally figured out who would leave with a little encouragement and which ones wanted a fight. The stoners were always the worst. There was just no way to tell how they would react. Some were so mellow or stoned; you could lead then by the hand off the property, shutting the gate before it dawned on them what it meant. The scrappers were the worst.

Most outfits didn't give a damn what you did off the clock. You showed up reasonably sober and ready to work, everyone was happy. Show up a little more than stoned or ripped, you might lose a day's wages. There was always somebody just outside the gate happy for a chance to work for a few days. Hunger will do that for you.

Show up stoned enough to shove a coworker into the maw of a harvester and now nobody was happy. Least of all the shredee. I didn't actually see the guy get shredded, but one of my squaddies swore he was there when it happened. Yeah. Right. Legendary stuff, that. Just the same, that was one I was happy to miss.

The biggest thing my squaddies did teach me was how to sort out the worst of the worst by their teeth. Hygiene was optional for most the crews, you had to get past that part pretty fast. Bad gleamers is a sure sign of heavy drug use and certain trouble for any Enforcer squad. Before it was all over, two of us would travel with the recruiter team just to offer an opinion how fast we would have to bust someone's head to get them off the property.

The down side was that everyone hated you. Everyone. The gomer who eff'd up and got tossed. The stoner or Tunehead that got put out. The local pigs thought, no, make that knew that you were stealing rice from their bowl. In many ways, the pigs were much worse that the scrappers. The scrappers don't get to carry firearms.

The end of season was always the worst. Everyone on the crew got tossed with the exception of a mechanic or two selected for the routine winter rebuilds and a couple of Enforcers kept on to ensure as little as possible walked away in the off season. Pretty funny if you think about it for very long. The very people that Corporate manager's crapped on each day were trusted to keep everything nailed down tight. Had to be some ugly surprises in their lives, eh?

Things just kept getting harder and harder. Smaller crews, more work, less pay and finally, less food. Nobody had any idea of just why this was going on. The open media was a bad mix of full time advertising and rumor mongering. Food production down, they said. I knew that was BS. All the food was going to Africa, more dough could be made there, that made more sense. Speculators were sitting on huge amounts of food to sell at scalper prices later in the season. Now, that story was one I could believe. Bastards.

So I just tried to get by until everything ran out and I was looking for work again.

Several of the outfits folded altogether and the couple that remained pretty much just paid in food. When I saw the first of the automated harvesters working on the farm next to the one we were on, I knew that was it. My world ended again. All that was left to me was to decide what was possible to keep my body and soul together. I'd been hungry more than once. Dead was something I really wanted to avoid.

Just the same, I went to see the Army shop.

Happy Birthday, again.....

 

`Posted a 'beginning' for Roscoe - covers in early life in REader's Digest format....