Folks say the wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly, but I don’t find that’s true at all.

  In my experience, them wheels be sealed shut and don’t turn at all, but this is by design.

  See, government oversight is there because for the most part, folks can’t be trusted to do things for themselves. Infuriating is what that is, because I’m a live and let live sorta guy, happy to leave folks to do what they please so long as they ain’t bothering me or oppressing other people. Problem is, there are a whole lot of assholes out there who don’t understand the golden rule, to do unto others as you would have them do to you, so big government gotta get involved to keep things running smoothly.

  I’m not talking about the issue with them beehive ovens either. I’m talking bigger, like minimum wage for example. The Federally mandated minimum wage is currently at five dollars a day. Ain’t a great wage, but it’s enough to pay for a roof over your head and three meals for a family of two. Which is silly considering how the Feds are all gung-ho about their citizens having kids, so you’d think they’d factor for dependents when calculating their minimum wage, because who wants to have kids if you can’t afford to feed them? There’s also the fact that that monthly minimum is calculated assuming folks only work 40 hours a week for 8 hours a day. That was standard back in the old world, but here on the Frontier? You’re expected to work from every day from dawn to dusk. That’s ten to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, and most days of the year. With cheap Mage Lights being more readily available, there are employers asking for even more now, and employees willing to give it for fear of losing their five dollars a day.

  So the minimum wage ain’t enough, but it do be a baseline, except most companies don’t see it that way. Instead, they look at minimum wage and see the Federally mandated minimum cost of hiring a worker on for a full day, and then make it their mission to get as much value out of said worker without having to pay them a single cent more. Just look at Gordie. He’s paid minimum wage, but the company that hires him futzes with the paperwork by saying he ain’t a salaried employee. No, he and every other labourer like him is just a temporary worker, someone they bring on to do some work when their regular employees can’t handle the load. Thing is, them companies can’t ever handle the load because they don’t hire on enough salaried employees. All the work is done by temporary workers, with only the one Freight Captain to watch over them.

  Thing is, Freight Captains like Hugh Rhodey also makes minimum wage, but he brings home more then Gordie for one simple reason. The Freight Captain is salaried employee. That means so long as he shows up for work each and every day, Rhodey is guaranteed that five dollars a day, whereas Gordie ends up bringing home much, much less. Which don’t make sense to me seeing how Gordie works every day that Rhodey works, so they should be earning the same, right? Wrong, because being a temporary worker means Gordie is only paid for the days he works, but when the company hires him on in Brightpick, they pay him to load the wagons, but not to travel with them. If he wants to be paid to unload the wagons at the quay, then he gotta travel there on his own dime.

  Which legally is all aboveboard, but morally black as coal, because it’s a twelve-hour trip from Rimepeak to the quay. That’s pretty much a whole working day where Gordie don’t get paid, but he still gotta eat and find a place to sleep, now don’t he? The next day, he does his work loading and unloading wagons and ships, while again paying for food and shelter out of his own pocket, before spending another full day travelling home to Brightpick alongside the wagons he done packed.

  Any normal person would look at that and call it four day’s work. One day loading in Brightpick, a second day travelling to the quay. A third day working at the quay, then a fourth day of travel home. Thing is, companies and Federal law say it’s alright to call it only two, as those days travelling don’t count. Now, you could ask why folks like Gordie don’t just do the work in Brightpick and skip the travel, and the answer is because those who do don’t get hired on again. You want steady work, then you do the full circuit, four days work for two days pay, else you ain’t getting work again. Again, all legal, but at the end of the day, Gordie ain’t earning his Federally mandated minimum wage of five dollars a day. He’s earning two dollars and fifty cents a day when you average it out. Ain’t no way around it either, because there ain’t enough companies offering full, salaried positions even at that bare minimum wage. Why would they when they got plenty of folks willing to work for less?

  Despicable is what it is, and truth be told, it took me a good few conversations to wrap my head around the concept. Couldn’t help but feel like I was missing out on something. Why would Gordie accept those terms? Why wouldn’t he strive for more? Then I looked at his kids, who were thin, but happy and loved, and I understood exactly why. Because it keeps his family fed and housed, and that’s all he cares about, all that matters, and businesses like them cargo companies know good and well how to exploit that.

  Lot of folks would look at this and blame the Federal Government for falling short, and in a way, they’d be right. Setting a minimum wage ain’t enough; they gotta enforce it, close up all the legal loopholes companies use to get away with paying their workers less than they’re worth, which is easier said than done. That’s why the Government goes so slow though, because if they push something through that’s easily exploitable, then it takes time, money, and effort to go about fixing things up again.

  In a just and moral world, there wouldn’t be no need for none of this. Companies would just do the right thing and pay their people what they’re worth. Gordie would be earning a full salary, while Rhodey would get a little more on top to manage all them workers. Makes sense right? That ain’t how it is though, because companies only care about their profits, and the easiest way to raise said profits is to cut costs. They’ve collectively decided that their employees ain’t deserving of dignity, that their bottom line is more important than making sure the very people who do all the work getting those numbers up are taken care of.

  To make matters worse, those business owners think they’re being smart and are all too pleased with their obscene profits, so if someone were to try and start up a cargo company that paid fair wages, like say a fella who done just came into a whole lot of money selling a bunch of houses he’d lucked into, why those other companies would see it as a direct attack and defend themselves accordingly. Not with guns and Bolts, but through legal market manipulation or shady collaboration, underbidding the upstart company on any and all contracts because they can afford to do so since they’re paying their people less.

  That’s how Levi explained it to me, and that was enough to make me give up on my entrepreneurial aspirations. Takes a different sort to make it in the cut-throat, capitalistic market, and I don’t got the stomach for it. Or the temper if I’m being honest, because if I was in Gordie’s shoes, I’d’ve long since set fire to every warehouse and wagon owned by the three cargo companies colluding to keep wages low in Rimepeak, and I get the feeling the Feds ain’t in no rush to fix things seeing how they benefit too much from the status quo. So long as folks are working and shipments be delivered on time, then they don’t want to rock the boat as it might affect their own bottom lines.

  So really, the value of labour ain’t about what the market will bear; it’s about how much people are willing to put up with to see that their kids don’t starve.

  I don’t really got no good solutions, none that are legal at least. Lotta folks say organize and refuse to put up with those scummy practices, but American’s ain’t the type. They’re not about the collective good, and more about rugged independence, so much so that they resist the idea of unions and collective action because it ain’t in their nature. Or because most them folks are riding that red line so close that they can’t really afford to miss even a day’s worth of wages, whether it be five dollars or two-fifty.

  That’s just one facet of slow government, to say nothing of how the minimum wage ain’t been keeping up with inflation, even though you’d think it’d make perfect sense to tie the two together. It’s also been taking forever for Mr. Tillman to get all our ducks in a row so we can declare the quay an Independent territory, as you can’t just shout it from the rooftops to make it true. First, you gotta establish the limits of the territory you claiming, which is easy when you using established homesteads, but a little trickier for unclaimed lands like the areas to the immediate north and south of the village. Gotta add in the inlet and the land around it if I want to build my new home there, as well as all the real estate where our bunkhouses, tavern, casino, and whatnot is gonna go. Which means survey records to submit alongside a general plan of what we gonna do with those lands so the Federal Government can see that we ain’t just claiming territory willy nilly.

  It helps that the quay is pretty much Independent already. We handle all our water and power infrastructure in house, as there ain’t no one maintaining the pumps or dynamos besides yours truly. Well, these days I got Sasha to help, but me being me, I gotta double check his work all the same. There’s also some stuff that he can’t handle, but he refuses to ask for help, so there be days when I show up to see what’s what only to find him stuck on a problem with a simple solution like a circuit needing an Etch fixed or a wire out of place. The government don’t even maintain the cobble roadway, one that’s got a fair few dings, dents, and potholes these days. It’s only to be expected what with the Spring thaw and how many fully loaded wagons be coming and going each and every day, but while Rhodey and them other Freight Captains have been giving me grief about it, I ain’t done nothing about it because that ain’t my responsibility.

  It's the Federal Governments, which they covered by allowing Mr. Mueller to collect the dock fees when he was in charge, but that went out the window when they revealed themselves as cultists. Now, the Federal Government collects the dock fees, but they ain’t paying me shit to fix the roads, so their inaction only strengthens my bid to go fully Independent.

  Same goes for the fact that they don’t send no one to enforce the laws up here, only to collect taxes and docking fees that no longer benefit the village directly. That there is the crux of my whole argument for going Independent, or at least the one Mr. Tillman outlined for me. It more than meets the standards, or so he assures me, as anyone living in the quay would have to handle problems outside of their purview, as a lot of this really ought to be the Federal Government’s responsibility, except they’ve left it on my shoulders and all but forced me into making this declaration.

  That’s the argument at least, and a damned good one too. A bid for Independence can be outright rejected, but doing it this way means the Feds have no choice but to allow it since legally speaking, we’re not asking. We’re demanding it, as the Feds done failed to uphold their responsibilities for which we pay taxes for, and as such got no claim to the village no more. Got a history to reference and everything, what with all the smugglers I done shot or apprehended and handed over to Sheriff Patel, to say nothing of the three attempts made on my life before last Christmas. Administratively inactive, that’s the term Mr. Tillman used, and now it’s on the Federal Government to prove our claims wrong.

  There’s still a whole lot of hoops to jump through, alongside a string of Federal Inspectors dropping in to make sure we got all our paperwork right. First guy checked all the measurements and marked the borders down with a bunch of flags. Also made me redefine the actual limits of where I want my new house to be because it wasn’t ‘clearly delineated’ in the application, so I went and claimed a full 500 acres instead of settling for a small parcel of land and the shoreline connecting back to the village proper. Don’t think the Inspector cared much for that, as he spent an inordinate amount of time measuring things out and doing the math to ensure I wasn’t claiming more than 500 acres as a personal stake, but he ain’t the only one who knows how to use Rangerfinder and Appraisal.

  There were other inspectors too, people who came by to document things I’d claimed in the paperwork, like the aforementioned potholes as well as the condition of the houses surrounding area. One even tried to argue that the ranch being largely unused meant that it ought to be classified as unclaimed, but all I had to do was turn my head to the actually unclaimed forest creeping in around the edges of the ranch to show that Inspector how stupid his argument really was. Course, if he delayed his visit by another six months, then he might’ve had a decent argument, as I haven’t really been keeping up on the yard work.

  There’s only so much foliage a pack of wallies can chew through, and these ranches are the combined acreage of almost forty homesteads after all.

  Which is why I was expecting the Feds to play the long game. Delay and manufacture setbacks to draw this whole process out in hopes of finding good reason to turn it down. Even though I got no claim on the quay itself, Rimepeak, New Hope, and Riverrun all depend on the village as there ain’t no other place nearby to build a proper commercial dock. Too much rocky shoreline to the south, and too much marshy swampland to the north, so the concern is that I’ll use Independence to levy a tax on goods coming in and out of the area.

  Which is possible, but I wasn’t planning on anything more than a small fee per axle to pay for maintenance. Problem is, saying as much don’t mean shit, and I ain’t willing to put anything in writing because I like having leverage. As such, I wasn’t expecting anything to get done quick, especially with the papers taking an axe to my admittedly already terrible reputation. Soon as Mr. Tillman filed the first form, the papers were full of speculation of how I could be some criminal mastermind looking to take over Rimepeak, or a traitor angling to turn around and hand the quay over to the Qin Republic so they got a forward base in Federal Territory. Stupid is what that is, but ain’t nothing to be done about it except cut out the articles and glue them into my scrapbook to laugh at in ten, twenty, or even forty years.

  The only real upside is that all them articles make for great advertisement, as I didn’t really do much of anything to tell folks I put the houses on market. While I got a fair few applications from labourers like Gordie, I been taking my sweet time going through the applications because there’re only so many interviews I can stomach in a day. Typically, that number is one, though I got no choice but to power through more since Aunty Ray schedules them for me. I have the final say though, and I reject far more than I accept, so after a full month of living life like this, I’ve only filled half the empty houses in my daddy’s quay.

  For once in my life, dragging my feet pays off when familiar faces start showing up out of the blue come late April. “Hamish!” Greeting the big butcher’s mean mug with a bright smile, I shake his hand and stand strong as he claps my shoulder and nods back. He ain’t smiling, but for the surly Scot, that’s the equivalent of lifting me up off my feet and twirling me about. “What brings you up this way?”

  “Tired of walking soft in a town that don’t want me,” he replies, and my heart breaks to hear it. Knew things weren’t going great for him, as he done killed two men under the Mindspire’s influence last year, but I didn’t think it’d be bad enough to drive him out of town. Mistaking my silence for reluctance, he adds, “Kin do more than butcher. I kin tan ‘ides, smoke meats, make soap, carve bone, and travel to help with herd culls.” Patting the big iron on his hip, a single-action Sturm and Kitiara Knight chambered in 44-40, he adds, “Kin also look after myself and others if need be.”

  “No need for the hard sell, Hamish.” Throwing on my coat, I walk him out into the village proper and gesture towards the closest available house. “Lemme give you the tour, and if you see anything ye like, then you can move right on in whenever you ready.”

  “Prefer something over yonder,” Hamish says, pointing towards the south side of the village. “Away from the crowds and animals, and closer to the border where I can do me work in peace.”

  Hamish ends up picking Mervyn’s house right on the very border, sans caddishes of course as Nadia done raided the planters for every available seedling. He don’t mind it, as he ain’t much of a gardener, and best part is, he can afford the whole place up front after selling his shop and house in New Hope. Same goes for Shirley the scowling chef and proprietor of the one and only British Pub/American Diner in New Hope. Or former chef and proprietor, as she done sold the place outright. Say’s she’s looking to slow down as she ain’t entirely recovered from the beating she took when the Mindspire Madness went down, and I’m more than happy to have her. Accompanying her is her best customer, Olav the town drunk and tobacco aficionado. While he’s something of a troublemaker who gets thrown into the drunk tank almost weekly, he’s a good man to have at your side in a pinch. Fact is, all three of these new arrivals done stepped out to support me during last years Harpy attack, so I know good and well they got what it takes to make it out in the sticks.

  There are a fair few others from New Hope and Riverrun who drop in for a look-see, with more than half choosing to put down roots after the fact. There’s a whole lot of potential in my daddy’s quay, and even more as more settlers move in and bring their skills to the table. Ernest the cartwright is a fair hand at woodworking and got two kids who are shaping up to be pretty decent themselves, and plenty of work to go around. A couple fishermen from Riverrun move in to avoid the press of traffic across the lake, while two traders see the quay as a new potential hub that’ll pay dividends in the long run as they team up with Yussef who knows his business well enough. Most pivotal of all is Anita the Grocer, or at least that’s how I see it. She got plenty of farmland contacts to supply food to the quay and free me from having to make runs into town and sitting around on my boat while Aunty Ray stocks up. Even better is the fact that Anita’s husband Gustav is a general handyman and construction worker whose expertise proves so invaluable I hire him on as foreman and general inspector to make sure everything gets built right.

  They wasn’t even planning to move into the quay themselves, as they was looking for a place for their eldest, Friedrich, who’s turning sixteen in May, but they’re planning for the future. Anita and Gustav took one look at the quay and decided they’d prefer to live here themselves, leaving the shop and house in New Hope for Friedrich to manage with a little help and maybe one day start a family for himself. Which was a little surprising, as I’d’ve thought older settlers would prefer to live in town where it’s safe and sound. Aunty Ray saw things different, as she sees the best aspects of the Frontier here in my daddy’s quay. When you start off small, the community you build is every bit as important as the infrastructure, and while we don’t got tall walls to defend against Abby, we got that collaborative attitude in spades.

  Ain’t no idle hands here in the quay, and everyone here comes together to get things done, because there ain’t no need to compete. I’m also more than happy to pay folks for help with hauling, framing, or other general busywork as we put up a handful of commercial buildings north of town on land that technically ain’t ours just yet. Thing is, even if our bid for Independence gets denied, all the newcomers can stake their own personal claims out here under Federal law, as they’re entitled to a full 500 acres under the Homesteader Act, while their new houses only cover about a third of an acre each.

  We’re holding off from making personal claims just yet, because Mr. Tillman says that’ll muddy the waters in our bid for Independence. Which matters more to the new residents than I thought it would, as Independence is an actual selling point for most. Makes sense seeing how the majority of settlers ain’t actually American, but rather folks who settled into New Hope and couldn’t be bothered to make the trip to wherever their home Nations eventually settled down.

  Breaks my heart to hear how the growing anti-Qin sentiment in New Hope has been spilling over onto other foreigners, and they’re all looking to get gone while the going is good. Especially Innates, with eight families moving to Gunnar’s village in Providence, and two choosing to move into the quay. You wouldn’t even know the Bakari’s were Innates at a glance, as their Brand be a sigil present on the back of their calves which they don’t often show, but they’re real handy-dandy Conjurers who’ve more or less mastered Floating Disc and Grease. Makes it easy for them to find work with the cargo companies, albeit at a wage that don’t match the fact that Taye and his two sons Tariq and Kiano can do the work of nine men and two wagons between the three of them.

  As for the Torvales, the widow Fiona and her daughter Elsinor are both Transmuters, and Fiona’s made a career around Wither and Bloom, a Second Order Spell that takes the life force from one plant and infuses it into another. Great for getting rid of weeds and bolstering crop yields, while wholly ineffective on anything with a pulse, but folks still get uneasy when they see their ashy grey skin that makes for their Innate Brand. While the quay don’t got much in the way of farming besides caddishes in planters, they’re also pretty good with Mould Earth, so there’s plenty of work for them in the interim and probably lots more later on once Gunnar gets the whole Geomantic Lattice going.

  All in all, I’ve been home for less than six weeks now, with Tina and Chrissy’s birthday having come and gone alongside the nineteenth anniversary of the Advent, and the transformation has been astounding. It’s always been busy round these parts, but that was only commercial traffic that didn’t affect me none. Now, we got a whole burgeoning community coming together and I’m busy as a bee helping everyone along. Gordie got his bunkhouse built with a first-floor residence and is already adding a second floor up top, while Jacinta, Mireya, and Agnes’ bakery and burrito shop is doing some real numbers. Anita’s new grocery sits right next to the docks and has a constant flow of customers looking to buy fresh fruits, produce, and snacks, while Shirley’s new restaurant is even busier than her pub/diner was back in town, as her food and drink are both cheaper now that she don’t gotta pay for her spot on the main thoroughfare and can buy cider and alcohol from Clayton with the ‘friend and family’ discount that comes when you don’t declare their product to the Feds.

  Ain’t none of that compare to Carl’s bar and casino though. While the place ain’t exactly high class, he’s got fair few tables going for low-stakes poker and dice games against other gamblers, while my sterling reputation for shooting first, shooting again, and shooting some more keeps most them visitors in line. Only had to deal with two fools before everyone else fell in line. A pair of idiots working for some outfit in Rimepeak came in thinking they was hot shit, but I kneecapped the both of them and sent them on to the Sheriff. After a little questioning, he passed on a message saying them fools wasn’t affiliated with the Catteneos or Zampanos, who’ve pretty much given the quay a wide berth thus far. I think the work I done for the Serbs and Manfredis has got them feeling nervous, as they’re wondering if I done made new and powerful friends, while the Catteneos have gone radio silent after doing me dirty like they did.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Which is a little disappointing, but probably for the best. As fun as it might be wiping out yet another group of mafiosos, there ain’t nothing to be gained from it except for more headaches, and I’ve got no real hatred for them. Not really. Sure, they tried to screw me by leaking word of the hit on Dakota Slim, but I should’ve seen it coming. Besides, I did sorta screw them by gunning down their people in Silver Summit, but it all worked out for the best. The Catteneo’s ain’t sent Revolvers Rossi or any more smugglers out in force, while the Zampano’s have been happy to stay in their lane raiding ships along the Wayfarer while minor criminals duke it out in Rimepeak and the Feds do almost nothing about it.

  Again, because don’t none of that affect their bottom line, while the quay threatening Independence most certainly does. That’s why we get a steady stream of Inspectors, Appraisers, and Surveyors throughout the weeks, and truth be told, I’m a little surprised to see things moving so quickly. So much so that when the middle of May rolls around and Mr. Tillman informs me that the paperwork done all been pushed through and the Feds have set a date for the signing ceremony, it throws me for a complete loop. Here I was thinking this would drag on for at least another year, and even Mr. Tillman admits confusion as to why things went so smoothly, but I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Even more surprising is when the day comes and Uncle Teddy shows up alongside Mr. Tillman, who given his past clientele is looking understandably nervous to be travelling on the same ship as the honourable Marshal of the Eastern Front. It’s the first time I’ve been face to face with Uncle Teddy since everything went down in Brightpick, and even though I still stand by what I done, I don’t rightly know how to look him in the eyes. So I avoid it while doing what I can to make it look like I ain’t, holding my head up high and looking everywhere besides his slate grey eyes.

  While he still looks hale and hearty as any man approaching 54 can, I can’t help but notice new signs of advancing age creeping up on him. Got more salt than pepper in his hair these days, and a couple more toes on the crow’s feet around his eyes. An age spot on the back of his left hand wasn’t there the last time I saw him, and there’s a slight stiffness in his gait as he makes his way down the gangplank in his collared tan button up and jeans that make for the Ranger uniform. Don’t got his army jacket on as it’s much too warm for it, but he’s sporting a light-brown leather vest with white scrimshaw buttons. Aunty Ray’s work no doubt, as it got that clean, simple, and elegant look to it with the smooth curves, even stitching, and conforming cut done without having to take his measurements because Theodore Ellis is much too busy to spare an hour for that sort of nonsense.

  Aside from the uniform and badge, the only thing that marks him as a Ranger is the silver Arbiter on his hip, a single-action revolver that hits hard and rarely misses. Got a booming retort that’ll echo for miles, but that ain’t got nothing on the man himself, as one word from him will reach tens of thousands ears in a day, if not more. I’m not just talking about just Rangers and Americans either. Don’t matter what language or nationality your listeners might be, you mention The Marshal anywhere east of the Divide, and they’ll know who you’re talking about. He don’t need no pins, medals, or badges to show off his accomplishments, because all you need to do is open your eyes and take a look around.

  New Hope. Irongate. Summerbloom. Mirador. Hollow Hills. Meadowbrook. Six fortified towns built with Federal funds and connected by the state sanctioned Highway to serve as the first and only line of defense against the encroaching badlands and the Feral Abby of the Divide. There’s three more fortified towns going up south of Redeemer’s Keep, which was built by the Catholic Templars, and once they’re done, that’ll be a line of ten fortresses along the Blue Bulwark, a bulwark that wouldn’t exist without Theodore Ellis to champion it. In contrast, the wealthy Métis Nation have only built themselves three forts to the north, which is enough to contain the Coral Desert and Snake Fang Mountains behind them. The Mexican government only have the one, New Sonora way down south, but they’re still a part of the effort I guess. Sure you can argue that the Blue Bulwark exists to protect American interests, and as such it only makes sense for Americans to foot most of the bill, but it ain’t just Americans living here on this slice of the Frontier.

  And if the Marshal has his way, he’ll protect every living person he can, or die trying. That’s what makes him one of the most powerful men on the Frontier. It’s not the fact that he’s was Generalist Grandmagus before stepping through the Gate, capable of slinging 3 Sixth Order Spells from every School of Magic at the tender age of 35. Nor is it his thirty plus years of experience as a soldier, one who’s still fighting on the frontlines to this very day. It’s not the thousand loyal Rangers under his command either, or the many allies he'd made along the way, other soldiers of rank and renown like Sam Horne, Storm Caller of the Métis Nation, Knight Captain James Rigsby of the Protectorate Knights, Edward Elton of the British Protectorate, and many more.

  No, the Marshal’s real power comes from the tens of thousands of settlers who’ll drop everything to answer the call should he ever have need to make it. Actions speak louder than words, and in nineteen years on the Frontier, ain’t no one done more for your Average Joe than Theodore Ellis, so there ain’t no one more beloved than he.

  For me, it goes even deeper, as he was like a daddy to my daddy, and a grandfather to me, though I’m pretty sure he’d tan my hide if I ever called him that. Don’t change the facts that he’s family, but family I done sorely disappointed with my words and my deeds. Even then, all he’s gotta do is ask, and I’ll do anything to help him. Even join up with the Rangers if he said that’s what I ought to do, but he never did come right out and say it, so I went my own way and stumbled with every step I made. That’s not what broke his heart though. No, what done it was how I killed Corey Macintyre, someone who I thought was a dirty lawman, but in truth was an innocent undercover deputy operative working with the Rangers to uncover evidence of Sheriff Barone’s affiliation with the Pugliano family in Brightpick.

  Well, that and the fact that I was unrepentant about having done it. He never asked me to confess to the crime, but I could tell my reaction shook him. No remorse, no regret, only an offhand excuse about finding justice where there was none to be had. I’ve always been one to speak before I think, but those words might well have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, which is why I ain’t seen Uncle Teddy since. I’ve seen the Marshal a handful of times, as he do be a present figure in New Hope, and I know good and well he rode out to save my bacon around New Years when he caught wind of a Qin Kill Team operating in sight of the Watchtowers. Might well have saved my life even, because if the Rangers hadn’t shown up when they did, I could’ve bled out or be torn apart by an Abby horde after Ao Tian tackled me off of my Floating Disc.

  Passed out shortly after he arrived though, and he was long gone by the time I woke meaning I never saw hide nor hair of him. Haven’t talked to him since either, as I’m much too stubborn to just up and apologize when I don’t really mean it. I think he’d even accept an insincere apology, because in spite of all that’s happened, we’re still family. That’s why I haven’t gone to him with hat in hand though; He’s not just my Uncle Teddy. He’s the Marshal, the shining beacon of hope that gives New Hope its name, so I ain’t about to let no one use me to criticize him. He caught enough flak for taking on a foreign disciple who wasn’t even gonna join the Rangers, so I can only imagine what the papers would say if he was still teaching the foreign vigilante who may or may not be a Qin spy.

  That said, it takes everything I got to maintain a stiff upper lip as he gets a faraway look in his eyes while gazing about the quay. Though he’s doing a much better job of it, he’s avoiding making eye contact with me too, and yet all I see is pride and love as he looks upon what I’ve wrought here in the village. It’s only been this way for a few weeks now, but we got ourselves a bustling community that’s coming together to form a rising tide that raises all ships. As he moves down the docks, he stops to thank the workers for their service and shake hands with a few of the Freight Captains. Greets Anita by name, and a fair few others while he’s at it, because that’s just how he is, a down-to-earth soldier who don’t see himself as any more important to the overall effort than anyone else.

  All I warrant is a nod and a gesture to follow along as he sets out for the big house. That’s where we was gonna handle all the paperwork, as we don’t got no town hall or nothing around these parts, and I figured I’d just sign the papers and we could all celebrate after the fact. Falling in beside me, Mr. Tillman leans in and asks, “Is the Marshal here for you? Personally, I mean. To offer support or celebrate your achievement?”

  Which is confusing, because I was told the Federation would send a representative to sign the papers, and I figured that’s what Uncle Teddy was here for. “Uh… no? I mean, I doubt it. He ain’t here on official business?”

  Mr. Tillman don’t shake his head, but he do purse his lips tight. “I was told the representative would be arriving at noon and came earlier to walk you through the process.”

  And warn me against upsetting whoever shows up, because even though this here is almost a done deal, the signatory could still call things off at their own discretion. They’d have to answer for it, and I could take the Feds to court and eventually get declared Independent all the same, but it’d be a pain in my ass and a drain on my wallet. Goes to show that Mr. Tillman do be looking after my interests, as he’d probably have a few hundred more billable hours if he just left me to be me, but I get the feeling I’ve already given him more than enough work in the last year and he’s looking forward to a bit of a break. Course, we still got that lawsuit from Dave going, as well as our countersuit since he ain’t been punished by the law for drawing on an unarmed civilian without proper cause while off-duty to boot. He’s also fighting against the injunction that sees me clapped in anti-magic manacles every time I’m in town, as well as a few other minor legal affairs that I’ve more or less forgotten all about until it comes time to pay my bills.

  Out in the front yard, Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray all get a warm greeting from Uncle Teddy, as do Cowie, Pebbles, Old Tux, and the kiccaws. As for me, I stand off to the side and take it all in, wishing I hadn’t screwed it all up. Easy to see how much Uncle Teddy’s missed the whole family as he asks Tina how training’s been or marvels at all the arcana-tech doodads me and Sasha have built for her while training him on how to Etch. Uncle Teddy even tells Aunty Ray how New Hope is lessened by her absence while patting her on the head, and the warm hug she gives in return makes her seem twenty years younger as she relishes in the praise.

  It’s a rude reminder that it’s been a while since any of us have sat down and talked to him. It’s not like Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray all hung him high and dry to side with me. Not really, but the hard truth of it all is that they see less of him because they’re always up here with me. I don’t think he’s none too happy about recent conflicts, what with people leaving New Hope in droves only to be replaced by ‘proper’ Americans, but he’s made his stance on the matter clear and can’t do much else about it.

  Because he’s as by the book as it gets, and he won’t step so much as a toenail over the line.

  Still gonna build a guest room in the new house that he can stay in, or even leave room for a neighbour if he should ever retire. He might after the Watershed, as we’ll have an influx of new talent and younger bodies and minds, but we’ll see how it goes. As for the big house here, I was planning on selling it once I got my own place built or gifting it to Aunty Ray, but seeing how I haven’t even broken ground on my new house just yet, it’s a little too soon to be thinking about what happens here.

  A matter for another day, as Aunty Ray ushers Uncle Teddy inside for a bite to eat, while offering some to the Rangers accompanying him. Not people I recognize, but that ain’t surprising. Rangers will fight tooth and nail for escort duty, as it’s something of an honour to guard the Marshal, so there’s always unfamiliar faces around him. Me, I’d consider that a security issue, being a paranoid son of a gun like I am, but the Marshal he sees it as an opportunity to get to know the Rangers working under him.

  It's weird. I’ve been raised by some of the most charismatic people I’ve ever met, and yet I’ve got all the charm of a wet, smelly sock. I guess leadership is just one of those things that you can’t teach, or more likely, just too far beyond my ken.

  Knowing Aunty Ray, she’s dying to try and mend fences between me and Uncle Teddy, but she don’t say a word about seeing us together or getting me to bring him drinks or nothing. She just goes on and on about what’s been going on here at the quay while slipping in how I got my fingers in all the pies while putting most my money back into it. Which ain’t entirely true, as I been spending a fair bit, but still got plenty more where that came from. Even though I’m selling homes for much cheaper than market value, it’s still a lot of money for your average townie, especially seeing how I got no costs to recoup. Puts me deeper and deeper in debt to Luisa and the rest of them, so much so that I ain’t even sure if should shoot Froggie Matías if I spot his fat, gelatinous ass hopping around somewhere.

  I still probably will, but I’ll feel mighty conflicted about it, almost as conflicted about shooting Deputy Corey Macintyre, survived by his wife Donna, and three kids Zach, Hannah, and Tyler. Yeah, I learned their names, even though nothing good would’ve come of it. Even found a picture of them all huddled together as the man I killed was lowered into his grave. Also talked to Mr. Tillman about setting up a charity to maybe help them out, but by the time we had the details worked out to keep me anonymous, we learned that Donna and the kids had up and left Rimepeak without leaving word about where she was headed.

  That’s my cross to bear though, and one that weighs heavily upon me in the moment as Aunty Ray works her social magic and somehow manages to leave me alone with Uncle Teddy. With no one else to focus on, the Marshal fixes his gaze upon me, and I do my best to match it. There’s no anger in his slate gray eyes, which sucks because that’d be much easier to deal with than his conflicted look of pride and disappointment. “You’re looking good for a man who recently been shot,” he says, and I flash a brief smile to hear it.

  “Was no biggie,” I say, waving his concern aside. “Didn’t hit nothin’ vital, and I had Chrissy and Astrid there to give first aid.” More Astrid than anything else, but Chrissy gets upset when I don’t include her, and I’ve gotten into the habit of mentioning her name every time it comes up.

  Uncle Teddy nods, but he don’t say nothing else even though I know he got plenty to say. Like how I should’ve never been in that position to begin with, or why in tarnation did I let myself get mixed up in all those muddy waters? He probably already worked it out himself, and even if he didn’t, I’d bet dollars to donuts Aunty Ray found the time to fill him in on it. He wasn’t just like a father to my daddy after all, as he also took in Aunty Ray, Uncle Raleigh, Edward Elton, and a whole lot of other younger settlers under his wing and taught them how to survive.

  Didn’t none of them disappoint him like I did though, so he moves right on to business. “I’m not here in any official capacity,” he says, answering the unasked question looming in the air, but that ain’t the same as saying he’s here on personal business. “I’m here off the record to ask you to rethink your decision to take the quay Independent.”

  Said in the tone of a man who’s only doing what was asked of him, meaning he didn’t want to be here at all. “Ah,” I say, digesting all that information over the lump in my throat, because even almost dying ain’t enough to get him to visit. No, it took orders from above to get him to come talk to me, and even then, he ain’t all that happy about it. “I see.” Takes me a second to stomp down my emotions, gather my wits, and parse through the reasoning, but I ain’t savvy enough to see the big picture. Were it anyone else, I’d play things close to the vest and act like I know more than I do, but he’d see through me in an instant and I don’t care enough to play games. “Why?”

  Don’t know what it is the Marshal sees, but he don’t give nothing away with his reaction either. Instead, he fixes me with a conflicted look while deciding how to best explain it, as he knows I got a hair trigger of a temper and don’t care to deal with it. “You don’t wholly understand the ramifications of what you’re doing here today. An Independent territory enveloped by Federal land isn’t unheard of, but none are quite as pivotal as this quay. That’s why we built it here, to facilitate transfer of goods and personnel not just downriver, but up north along the Highway as necessary.”

  With a flick of his wrist and waggle of his fingers, the Marshal brings up an Illusion of a map of the surroundings, with the quay sitting dead centre and New Hope to the south, while the road to Rimepeak goes north and east in a slant. In contrast, the Highway moves in a straight shot to the north before turning sharply in a ninety-degree angle to go east for about half a day, only to straighten back up to a north-north-east heading that it more or less maintains all the way up until Meadowbrook. Tracing his finger along the slanted Highway, the Marshal explains, “We could’ve built the Highway in a straight shot, north to south, but that would’ve meant building our entire line of defense over to the east, round about where the innermost line of watchtowers now sit.”

  Which have long since been overtaken by the badlands, meaning it would’ve been a much harder fight to get dug in, as Abby don’t much care for competition in their marked territory. “More to the point,” the Marshal continues, drawing red arrows emerging from the badlands to represent Abby hordes on the move, “It shifts our line of defense so Abby can’t hit us everywhere all at once, giving us room to react and maneuver around them.” Blue arrows emerge from the various fortress towns set up along the bulwark to meet the enemy in battle, converging in from different angles to hit the Abby forces from all sides, only to fade away and split the horde up into a number of smaller red arrows. Some chase the blue arrows and get whittled away, while others continue onwards and crash against the fortresses piecemeal, but at the end of it all, there are no more red arrows and only blue ones still milling about.

  Makes perfect sense, and ain’t really news to me as I done heard it all before, but I get the feeling he’s working his way up to the answer because he don’t know any other way to deliver it. “Should our forces fail to contain the threat, like say in the event of the Watershed,” he continues, drawing green arrows coming up the Wayfarer and into New Hope, “Then we can expect reinforcements to come from the west, but any forces going from New Hope to Irongate will have to travel through this dangerous stretch here.” He highlights that 90-degree bend in the road that’s all open ground to the right and mountains to the left, meaning that if Abby were to show up and hit them from the flank, there won’t be no where for them green arrows to run. “As such, we can avoid this danger by rerouting any reinforcements going north through the quay here and up into Rimepeak before descending down safely on the backside of Irongate.”

  Now I’m seeing the big picture, and it still don’t make no sense to me. “So? Don’t nothin’ change even if we go Independent. The docks still belong to the Feds and they can move their troops through it all they like.”

  “The military likes to minimize uncertainties,” the Marshal replies, and I know it for truth. “Meaning that even if you remain amenable to troop movements, the brass won’t like having a foreign presence in control of a pivotal staging ground, and will more than likely take measures to eliminate any and all possible threats.” Giving me a look, he adds, “Regardless of how minor or misguided those threats may be.”

  He's not calling me minor. He’s saying he don’t believe that I would ever be a threat, hence that whole misguided part. Problem is, there no telling if High Command believes the same, as they don’t know me and could well suspect me of being a foreign agent. Meaning that if push comes to shove, they might choose to err on the side of caution and take action for the sake of convenience. Ain’t enough to convince me to back down though, because worst comes to worst, I could just send everyone in the quay into town and strike out on my own until the Watershed calms down. Hell, they’ll probably recruit a whole bunch of militia if things get that bad, and while I might not be welcome in New Hope, I bet Irongate, Summerbloom, or even Meadowbrooke would happily hire me on.

  So I say as much, and the Marshal nods in agreement, meanings there’s still more to all of this. “There’s also the fact that as a Freeholding Landowner of the United Federation of American States,” the Marshal begins, looking me dead in the eyes to show how serious this is, “You have rights and protections available to you, ones you would automatically forfeit should this bid for Independence go through with your Exile still in place. Have you considered this? The people living here, they’re still citizens of their native countries, but you would truly be Independent, with no ties to any nation and therefore no real legal protections should any foreign nation choose to act against you.”

  “Can’t say that I have,” I say. “Considered it, that is. Mostly because even as a Freeholding Landowner, I don’t really see how the Federation been protecting me and mine so far.”

  That was a low blow, and I regret saying it even as the words leave my lips, because Uncle Teddy knows he let me down the same as I let him down. He failed to keep Josie safe, and I failed to live up to his expectations, and we both gotta live with our failures. I don’t really blame him, because it’s always been on me to keep me and mine safe, but I know he don’t see it that way. He’s the Marshal, a man who set out to defend the Eastern Front, and when anyone under his protection dies, then the buck stops at him. Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly and I gotta fight the urge to reach out and hug him. Not because I don’t want to, or because he don’t want to, but because I done drawn the line in the sand and can’t be crossing it willy nilly.

  “Maybe that’s because you haven’t been looking all that hard,” he says after a long pause, and I gotta stop to think about it.

  Only for a bit though, because between all the newspaper articles, my lawsuit with Dave, the stipulations on me being clapped in chains and left unarmed any time I head into town, and Alderman Milton’s eagerness to throw me to the Qin, I’m done sick of trying to play by the Federation’s rules, so it’s high time I tried something else. “Little too late to pump the brakes,” I say with a shrug. “I ain’t the only one who wants to go Independent. A good number of folks who done recently moved in said they picked this quay because we’re planning on going Independent, so the decision ain’t mine to make anymore. If that’s all you got to say, then I’m afraid it ain’t enough, and I’ll deal with whatever comes as it gets here.”

  Uncle Teddy don’t heave a sigh, but his eyes do it for him. Luckily for the both of us, Frowny hops on in and saves us from a long and awkward pause as he nibbles my ankle and chirps in demand to be picked up. Gives me an opening to mention his whole Ritual that marks me as one of the flock and can track me from several dozen klicks away, and we get to trading theories on how it might work. Which is nice, as talking shop lets us avoid all the hot button topics while people filter back in and join the conversation, right up until Mr. Tillman announces that the Federal representative has arrived and we can move forward with the signing ceremony.

  So imagine my surprise when said representative turns out to be Alderman Milton himself, with the stern- and stone-faced Ranger Mercer looking somewhat sheepish as he’s unable to meet my eyes or the Marshal’s. Guess he’s got a conscience then, one that says he know he done wrong by letting the Alderman arrange for my arrest on trumped up charges, but he’s still here following orders so I guess he can’t be too conflicted about it.

  I put the Ranger out of mind though, and act like I don’t remember the Alderman, which really grinds his gears even though he’s gotta know I’m faking it. Either way, I tune out everything he says and let Mr. Tillman do all the talking until it comes time to sign the papers. Gotta make my mark a whole lot of times, and so too do the official witnesses, namely some toady from out east who showed up with the Alderman and Uncle Teddy for the Federation, while Aunty Ray and Carl make do for mine.

  When it’s finally all said and done, I’m ready to tell the Alderman to kick rocks, but the smug look on his flabby face makes me pause to see it. He thinks he’s gotten one over on me by giving me everything I asked for, and dumb as he is, he wouldn’t feel that way if he didn’t have nothing to back it. “Moving on,” he says, reaching into his jacket to pull out a letter much too quickly for a man as hated as himself, “Now that Ming’s Quay is officially an Independent Territory, the Federal Government has issued a request. Talks with the Qin Republic regarding the turmoil along our shared border to the south have been progressing slowly, as neither side is willing to make any further concessions with regards to how matters should proceed. As such, both parties have jointly invoked the Accords to request an Independent third party to act as a neutral facilitator and interlocutor to help move things along.”

  Rather than accept the form, I glance at Mr. Tillman, who for the first time since I’ve ever met him looks out of his depth. After a few seconds of hesitation, he accepts the letter and opens it up to scan it, but he still don’t say nothing to help. Instead, Milton maintains his smarmy smile and explains, “As outlined in the documentation, the Federal Government granted Ming’s Quay their Independence contingent upon continued constructive engagement, which this official request most certainly falls under. Should you refuse this request, then we will have no choice but to revoke access to Federal Territory for any and all residents of Ming’s Quay. We will also be suspending any and all permits said residents might hold as well as freezing any assets or bank accounts while we re-evaluate the legal repercussions of an uncooperative Independent entity so close to vital Federal infrastructure.”

  “Someone remind me,” I say, sounding cordial as can be as I do what I can to tamp down my rage. “If I were to punch the Alderman here and now, would that be considered a declaration of war?”

  Knowing I ain’t joking, Aunty Ray moves in to take hold of my shoulders and keep me from doing something I regret, but Milton here don’t know how close to the razor’s edge he really is. See, he’s thinking I asked because I don’t want to risk the heat. In truth? I asked because I figure in for a penny, in for a pound. If punching him is a declaration of war, then I might as well just shoot him dead where he stands.

  The Marshal and Ranger Mercer both catch my drift though, and move to stand in front of Milton. Idiot that he is, he tries to push past the both of them to face me head on, but don’t neither of them budge an inch. “You declared yourself neutral,” he says, acting all smug and holier than thou as Ranger Mercer drags him towards the front door. “Now prove it. The details are all in the documents provided. Don’t be late.”

  With that, the Alderman exits the house, and Ranger Mercer shuts the door behind them as they double time it off to their boat. Credit where credit is due, I’d say that judging by the sweat forming on Mr. Tillman’s brow, the Alderman’s got us right where he wants us, and now I got no wiggle room to refuse. Don’t need to ask Uncle Teddy if he knew about it, because if he did, he would’ve warned me outright. This came as a surprise to him too, so no point taking it out on him.

  Unless it gets me killed of course, because then I sure as shooting am gonna try to take Alderman Milton down with me.

  That’s the whole reason why I refused to go play liaison between the Feds and the Republic the first time Milton brung it up, because I figured it was a thinly veiled ploy to get me killed. Even if it wasn’t, that sounds like a miserable job and I don’t want to do it, to say nothing of the fact that I don’t want nothing to do with the Qin in general or folks thinking I got ties to them. Problem is, now it seems like I’ve no choice but to go, and I’ll be doing it as neutral third party as opposed to a Federal Freeholding Landowner. That means that if I’m killed by the Qin, the Feds don’t even have to pretend to be angry about it, because it’s not like I’m one of theirs, now am I?

  The worst part? Uncle Teddy done warned me this would happen. Didn’t know it’d be this exactly, but he told me straight up how it’d play out and I still walked headfirst into the trap. Ain’t nothing for it though, nothing besides deal with whatever may come, so I get Mr. Tillman to looking into the Accords to see what sort of leeway I got while planning my trip down south.

  Look on the bright side. After so many weeks at home, I was starting to feel antsy, but didn’t have no good reason to get gone when there was so much work still to be done. It’ll be good to stretch my legs and see New Sonara again. It’s been almost a decade since I last visited, and I could even drop in to say hi to Uncle Rigsby on my way down. Might even run into Alfred, Ike, Antoni, and Kacey along the way, as they been deployed down that way to help them new towns get setup.

  Sounds like a real adventure, and if I’m real lucky, then maybe I’ll even get to kill a whole bunch of Qin while I’m there. All upside, with the only real downside being the lack of a payday and risking my neck, but let’s be honest here. I’d pay for the privilege of getting to kill some Qin, and the Alderman done just handed me the perfect excuse.