Droning on and on and on...

George sat down to read the weekly Sentinel, it was one of his few little pleasures in post collapse United states.  For $20 a year it gave him some access to the world around him now that over the air TV and Radio were no longer free, and whose cost had risen beyond the means of many Americans.

"Ha, they got another one of the bastards!"  He yelled to his wife.  "That SOB Gibbons finally got what was coming to him.  They took him out with a drone strike Sunday morning.  If he had been a God fearing Christian, he'd been at church and they would have missed him.", He continued to his Misses.  "No loss to the county", he mumbled to himself.

State sanctioned drone strikes were usually conducted on Sunday mornings in the American South whenever possible.  It was widely known by state officials that if you could take a suspect out when they should have been in church there would be much less sympathy for the target from the locals.  Plus the area preachers appreciated the extra business, and money in the collection plates.  Times were hard and scaring extra bodies into the pews on Sunday meant more money for the church.

It was long rumored that Gibbons had been selling moonshine, but the authorities could never prove it.  But thanks to Georgia's new "Freedom From Terrorism" act,  Georgia citizens could be legally killed for suspicion of terrorism anywhere in the state.  And suspicion of distributing a potentially dangerous substance like moonshine, was determined to be just such and act, by Judge Ribner.  Oh yea, and the Honorable Ribner didn't like Gibbons either since he wrote that nasty Editorial in the Sentinel about the judge a few months back.

Reading about the latest drone strike in the paper, after hearing a distant explosion days before, was the highlight of George's week.  Justice being doled out quickly and summarily was something that George's authoritarian personality could never get enough of.   It was only beginning of June and there had already been 18 drone strikes in his county alone.  They had taken out suspected drug dealers, moonshiners, abortion providers, (abortions were now illegal in Georgia), and distributers of non official news papers.

After a drone strike, the charges the target was suspected of were printed in the paper.  Sometimes the charges were said to be secret and not given for state or even national security reasons.  It was rumored that strikes where the states accusations were classified had been mistakes, but those were just rumors.  And they would stay rumors because it was illegal to discuss drone strikes in the same way discussing sneak and peak searches had been made illegal in the Patriot Act years before.  Authoritarian Regimes love secrecy, and none were more authorial than late 21st century Amercia, the name given to the new super region of southern American states.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning.  Not a cloud in the sky. Cool for a Georgia summer day.   George decided it would be a good day to do some yard work, because most of next week was supposed to be hot has hell.  He figured God would understand his skipping one Sunday's mass.  "Funny how God always agrees with what I think." he thought to himself.  George surveyed his large garden, mostly tomatoes that would be canned for a variety of sauces to help get the family through the winter.  George's property was a clearing in the woods far off  the main road.   The plants looked great.  George scanned the sky and spotted a last quarter moon.  It was the only thing in the cloudless sky besides the sun.  He thought he noticed a small flash, but it must have been his imagination, "Eyes play tricks on a man sometimes." he thought to himself.

He went back to studying his fine looking garden.  Then he thought to himself, "Ya know, from a distance those tomato plants could look a little like marijuana, and growin' them could get a guy in some serious trouble with the law!"  Those were George's lasts thoughts. 

After an official investigation of the strike that killed George had been completed, and the remnants of his tomato plants had been fully examined, it was determined that the charges against him had to be classified.   And that's how it was reported in that week's Sentinel. 

After reading the paper that week, the consensus of his neighbors were that he should have been in church that Sunday like they were.  If he had been, none of this would have happened.

A Presidential Sized Confession

Sasha, Malia, first I want to tell you how much I loved you.  You two were the reason I did much of what I did.  I always just wanted to be sure you two and your children had a safe and secure future.

On this 50th anniversary of the last year of my first term in office, this letter is scheduled to find its way to your hands to explain my actions.  The year is now 2062, and you both are now in the last third of your lives. I have long ago left this world, after a long, wonderful, and exciting life. But of everything I have ever done, my proudest achievement was that I left you and your heirs, financially wanting for nothing for the rest of your lives.

By now you must see that climate change is having a sever impact on the planet.  We knew this was inevitable, because of how our economy had been set up.  We had to keep growth going for as long as possible, so your mother and I, and my large financial backers, could gather enough financial security to protect our heirs from the coming catastrophes. I know this is not fair to most people on the planet, but this is the way the world was setup. It was like this long before I came along, and although I was President, the true power that put me there made it impossible for me to change it.  I hope you understand.  Thankfully because of these fortunes, (and no estate tax). you and your children, along with others in our class can safely live anywhere on the planet that still has a survivable climate.

Besides financial wealth we have done other things to be sure your future is secure.  We know that climate change, and declining water, oil, and food resources would make for turbulent times, so we secured the future of our ruling class by rescinding the bill of rights and instituting marshal law for anyone worth $100,000,000 or less.  Anyone who ever attempts to harm any of you, or even make you feel uncomfortable in any way, will be dealt with harshly and quickly.  You have my word on that.

We have done our best to document the natural world on high def video, audio, and were possible we have even captured those intoxicating smells of our once great forests and jungles. We also did our best to collect as many animals as possible in the national zoo, so that our class's future generations can experience the world as it was before the coming great mass extinction.  (I wonder how far along it is as you read this?).

We have done all this at great difficulty and expense to make you and those of our status secure for generations to come.  Yes, billions have to suffer in severe poverty for our class to prosper as well has it has, but that is just the way of the world, and it was beyond me to even attempt to change it.

Enjoy your lives. I always loved you, and your children more than anything else.   Give my best to the Kennedys, the Boehners, the McConnels and the Romneys.   I know they will be great comfort and company to you all in your secure compound aptly named "American Freedom".  Remember to tell your children that "American Freedom's" high walls, armed guards, and drones are meant to keep others out, and not to keep them in.  It is important that they understand that.

Love always
Your Father , Barak…

 "Hey wadda you got over dare, Wayne?"  "I dunno, a bunch a junk and some kind of written."  Wayne yelled back to Buddy.  Neither one could read all that well.  Most people in the 22nd century just had a minimum of home schooling.

"It looks like somebody named Barak wrote somethin to a couple a girls".  "You recognize any of those names Wane?"  Buddy asked.  "Nope, notta one."  Wayne quipped.  Then he added,  "This place been empty since da great drought a 2060.  Day say all da 1%ers that lived here just dried up an blewed away back den".

"Wadda you wana do with all this junk?"  asked Wayne.  Buddy told Wayne, "Aint nothin wort keepen here.  Put da stuff dat burns in a big pile, den light it on fire use'n da letter".  "It'll help keep the ghosts of the 1%ers away!"

They both chuckled as the letter burned.