Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

have your morning briefing ready, whenever you would like to begin. I'm afraid there isn't much good news to share, besides the usual updates."

So much for my quiet morning. "Forgive you for what?"

He blinks, restoring his vision of my office—and me, seated before him. "Pardon?"

"You requested my forgiveness a moment ago." I tilt my head to one side. "Explain."

"Oh. It's just that I…" He trails off. Restarts. He's not usually flustered like this. The conversation with his sister must not have ended well. "You look like you've been waiting for me. And I didn't mean to keep you."

"The reason we do not have a set time for these morning briefings is because I have full confidence in you, Emmanuel. You always arrive on time." I grace him with a grandmotherly smile that says I find him endearing as well as entertaining. "Shall we begin?"

He nods, and his eyes glaze over again, as if staring out the window behind me without focusing on anything in particular. Beginning with the regular updates, most of which are strings of statistics, he shares how well crops are growing in the agricultural domes, the percentage of water recycled and purified as well as desalinated from the Atlantic haulers, in addition to waste management, oxygen generation, carbon dioxide diffusion, and other aspects of life that are always important to monitor in a network of self-sustaining artificial biospheres.

Catching his breath, he proceeds to the areas of concern. "Threats in the outlying domes are increasing. The complaints haven't changed, but they seem to be gaining traction among the laborers. Dome 10, in particular, remains the most vulnerable to attack."

I nod. Dome 10 is located closest to the Mediterranean, where our freighters dock to offload the plunder they've taken from the Wastes and the haulers bring in thousands of gallons of ocean water from the Atlantic for processing. If terrorists were to blow the maglev tunnel connecting Dome 10 to Dome 1, nothing from those freighters would make its way in. Dome 10 would become a city of riches while the rest of us languish without access to raw materials, supplies, and saltwater.

"Have these so-called patriots—" I cannot mask my disgust at the term. Who do they think they are, naming themselves after the fiends who instigated the events leading to D-Day all those years ago? These people are amateurs. They don't know how good they have it. "—made any specific demands?"

He shakes his head. "The usual rhetoric regarding class structure, unequal pay and representation, labor disputes, and quality of life. They claim the outer domes are peopled with second-class citizens whose sole purpose is to provide for the needs of Dome 1."

Much like the North American Sectors did prior to D-Day. Perhaps they have a point.

"We all must do our part to ensure Eurasia continues to function as well as it has for these past decades. Did someone promise them paradise? A life of leisure? I don't think so."

He almost smiles. "In other news, we have illegal religious protesters stirring up citizens in Dome 6."

Illegal on two counts: being religious and protesting. "Let me guess. They want us to invite the diseased back to live among us, to spread them out among the Ten Domes so we can share their illnesses?" I curse under my breath. There is a reason we keep them isolated. When they show signs of improvement, their level of isolation is reduced until we can welcome them back into society. "Next?"

"One last item," he says, blinking again to restore his focus on the here and now. Apparently, he knows this news item by heart. "Underworld activity. There appears to be a new ringleader calling himself Trezon—"

"Treason? Fitting."

"—and dust usage is on the rise. Addicts are becoming a nuisance in certain areas. One led a local enforcer on a rooftop chase just last night. There's video footage I can show you, if you're interested."

The snuff box in my pocket seems more pronounced. But that's just my imagination. As far as I know, paranoia is not a side effect of consistent use.

I clear my throat. "Yes, please."

He swipes his hand through the air over my desk, and the screentop comes to life, projecting a three-dimensional holographic image of the Dome 1 skyline. Two small figures run across the tops of one domescraper after another. The enforcer chases someone obviously high on dust, able to leap from one building to the next without an exoskeleton to aid in either jumping or landing. When the criminal reaches into his jacket and tosses something over his shoulder, the holo-image collapses. My desk returns to its gleaming obsidian surface.

"An EMP grenade." I steeple my fingertips. "They have stepped up their game."

Emmanuel's brow wrinkles. "The dust addicts?"

"The patriots. Who else would have access to such contraband? A mere addict? I think not. No, there is more to this story…" I rise to my feet. "Contact your sister immediately. We need to get a handle on this situation before it spirals out of control. No citizen should have access to a weapon like this, and particularly not an unstable dust freak."

He reaches for his temple to link up with Mara, but he pauses, his hand hovering there. "I don't understand how it continues to breach our walls."

"What?"

"The dust. It doesn't seem to matter how many smugglers we exile. The stuff keeps getting through." He shakes his head. "As long as there's a demand for it, I suppose the supply will continue. And the Wastes are covered in it."

Yes, they are. And as long as I'm Chancellor, there will be no end to the dust trade. It's a harmless diversion. And a lucrative one.

"The priority right now is capturing that addict and quarantining him. Once law enforcement has him in custody, we can find out where he obtained that grenade—and who his dust supplier is." I give Emmanuel a short nod. "Now get Mara on the line."

"Yes, Chancellor." He taps his temple.

Once the audiolink is established, he flicks his hand toward my desk,