Corecia Cooper found herself wishing for something to chew on. She had been a smoker outside the System, even though her higher constitution had kicked the physical habit. She found the lack of oral stimulation distracting. As the Director of Strategic Planning for Camp Plymouth, she couldn’t afford the distraction.

She dug inter her inventory and retrieved one of the new maple candies the base had managed to acquire from the Canadians. It was a delicious luxury that the severe woman afforded herself. The food item had gone over well with the Gnomes and had even managed to entice the dwarves to the east.

She sat back in her elegantly wrought wooden chair, another product of the trade with their northern neighbors. The elves and satyrs were peerless wood shapers and weavers. Their skills were something that a replicator simply couldn’t copy. Even in a post-scarcity society, there would always be room for premium goods.

Humanity as a whole had lucked out within the System. Where Camp Plymouth had run into gnomes, minotaurs, dwarves, kobolds, and goblins, the Canadians had found friends among the centaurs, elves, and satyrs. If the fey didn’t constantly plague the Canadians, they would’ve found an idyllic place to settle.

It seemed like every day, humanity ran into another race from their collective myths. As such, different economic goods developed based on their relationships and their historic strengths. She thumbed over to the commercial intelligence section of her datapad and reviewed the information. Canada was exporting foodstuffs, crafted furniture and other wooden goods, and alchemic mixtures to include a deliciously sweet ice wine to the camp.

The gnomes and the dwarves highly prized all the goods, but trading the ice wine with the gnomes was the largest source of wealth for the American camp. The gnomes couldn’t resist the saccharine-sweet liquor, and the demand for the wine was extremely high. Meanwhile, the dwarves had little wooden furniture in their mountain abodes, and the psionically shaped eleven wood were traded at a high premium for their rare metals and minerals.

The last six months had been kind to the American faction. As the only faction that could reliably move goods quickly around the continent, thanks to their new and improved Ibises, Camp Plymouth exploded with newfound wealth and development.

They were aided by the psionic energy credits hypothesized by their leader, Aidan Steele, and made into a reality by their Director of Finance, Amir Aswad. Where the taciturn man had come up with the idea for a central currency, Cooper didn’t know, but it had been a stroke of genius. Every human and inhuman faction had begun to use the credits as their primary form of trading tender.

The Americans were no slouches either. Thanks to Cooper’s plans, the faction had become the veritable bread basket for the rest of the continent. Their numbers had increased by a factor of five, and that figure didn’t include the gnome clan of Azapazils or the various tribes of minotaurs that had relocated to the camp. It wasn’t just wealth and food that attracted the other races to Camp Plymouth’s faction, but also security.

The Americans had always been the best inventors of military weaponry. It was a dubious achievement, but it translated well to the frontier environment within the System. Cooper realized she was late for a military update with a sigh.

She rose from her chair and exited her private chambers. She almost bumped into an armored trooper on the other side of the door with a fist raised to knock. The man inclined his helmeted head, dropped his fist, and quickly moved out of her way.

“Excuse me, Director Cooper,” the man apologized. “The rest of the Board sent me to check on you.

Cooper checked the chevrons and identifying marks embossed into the man’s porcelain-white armor. He was a sergeant in the base’s first company, second platoon. They were likely tasked with guarding the camp’s headquarters today.

“Thanks, Sergeant.” Cooper was polite. “I’m heading up there now.”

“Roger that, ma’am. I’ll inform the Board over the comms.”

Cooper nodded and slipped past the large trooper. She reflected on how far Plymouth had come in the last six months. When Commander Steele took charge of their little outpost, she never would’ve conceived that a trooper would be reminding her to attend a board meeting where she would mainly decide the continent’s fate daily.

As she entered the elevator that would take her to the newly built twelfth floor of Plymouth HQ, she relished her new position. Never had she been challenged and given so much freedom to establish and guide a burgeoning global empire.

Initially, she feared Commander Steele would rule the base with an iron fist. She had seen how power had gone to the heads of such men. They thought their ideas were always best and rarely wanted to listen to plans made by women like her. Those fears were put to rest in short order. The Commander worked harder than any of the directors. He did what was asked of him and went out of his way to bring prosperity to the faction.

They made contact with Canada and Mexico through his exploits and developed a strong trading relationship. The diplomat convinced whole tribes of minotaurs to leave their rural lifestyle on the plains and join the camp as capable laborers, craftspeople, and shopkeepers. If Cooper remembered correctly, the Commander was preparing to leave on a trade mission to Central and South America even as she went to this meeting.

The elevator reached its final destination and opened to the top floor of Plymouth HQ. Cooper strode down the corridor, the soft scrapes of her combat boots betraying her presence to the two troopers guarding the boardroom.

One of the troopers stowed his rifle in his inventory and held the door open for the most powerful woman in the base. Cooper nodded her thanks and entered the richly decorated room. She was annoyed that the President’s new watchdog, Jon Baker, was sitting in her chair at the head of the beautifully crafted wooden table.

The Director of Strategic Planning was more than professional enough not to let her annoyance show on her face. However, her demeanor was strained when the Chief of Staff to the President decided to make a quip.

“Forget that we had a meeting, Cooper?”

Cooper took a seat next to the man with a small smile. “My apologies, Jon. I was looking at the economic figures for the camp in preparation for this meeting, and the time got away from me.”

She looked across the assembled Board of Directors and found looks of barely concealed relief on their faces. The Chief of Staff hadn’t made friends in the short time she hadn’t been present. Then again, none of the other directors considered themselves politicians. They were military members, engineers, scientists, and experts within their fields.

“Where’s Steele?” Baker asked. “As the nominal head of the military, shouldn’t he be here to report on its posture.”

“He couldn’t attend.” Sukhjeev Kuhar said briskly. “He’s inspecting the new Wraiths with Pierre before meeting with the Colombians.”

Baker frowned. He knew the answer to the question before he asked. It was a naked attempt to lower the Commander’s prestige in the eyes of his subordinates. It was a tactic that fell flat in the face of the Board’s loyalty to their faction leader.

Baker changed tactics despite the lack of a desired response from the directors. “What’s with the Wraiths anyway? Every named piece of equipment in the camp sounds like it came from a damned graveyard. I’m not sure it’s the image we want to present to the rest of the world.”

This time, the big Scotsman McKay answered with an exaggerated shrug. “The military guys and the engineers name them. They think it’s funny and a bit fitting, I suppose.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The man started listing off the names on beefy fingers. “We’ve got multipurpose fighters called Banshees, multimission transport Ghosts, Eidolon tanks, Ghoul armored personnel carriers, and Zombie Armored Utility Vehicles.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Baker gestured. “What happened to names like Lighting, Abrams, or Osprey?”

McKay shrugged again. “We’ve got the Ibises,” he noted.

“They’re not even military aircraft anymore,” Baker said petulantly. “Ever since they were redesigned as trade cargo craft, they’re practically civilians birds.”

Cooper cut the conversation short, “Our government built us a crypt full of coffins. It’s only fitting that we name everything else the same. Besides, it doesn’t matter what they’re called, only what they’re capable of. Which brings us to the meat of this meeting.”

The Director of Strategy pulled out her datapad and made a few gestures. Her screen was picked up by the holographic projector embedded into the conference table. She navigated over to the military breakdown of the camp and then addressed the Director of Personnel.

“Kari, why don’t you tell us about the camp demographics and the military specifically.”

Cooper’s friend nodded, happy to get through the meeting without more commentary from the President’s chief of Staff.

“Certainly. In the last six months, the camp has quintupled in size.” She informed the group. “We now sit around thirty-five hundred human personnel. Of those, around twenty-five percent are pure combat classes. They’re organized into a single battalion-sized element consisting of five companies.”

“Thank you, Kari,” Cooper nodded and switched the holographic display. “What about equipment, McKay?”

The burly man rose to his feet and pointed at the hologram. “Since Pierre isn’t here, I’ll also brief his portion. We have four aviation squadrons. First, a squadron of twenty-four Ibises. Each Ibis now carries two gnome pilots and two human troopers for security. We have a squadron of twelve Banshee fighters, twenty-four Ghost troop transports, and eight special purpose Wraiths.”

McKay paused as Cooper obediently changed the display to the next portion of the brief.

“We’re not as well positioned on the ground, but have a tank company of twelve anti-grav Eidolon tanks, a medium tactical vehicle platoon with twenty-four Ghoul APCs, and a light tactical vehicle platoon with Zombie AUVs.”

The Director of Logistics and Supply sat down and looked around the table. “We have more vehicles in production, but we’re shipping half of them off to Mexico and Canada for trade. Thankfully, our Zombies are primarily used for close to medium-range scouting missions, and we haven’t had cause to use the APCs in any serious way. Going by ground vehicles alone, we only can transport half of our military in the case of mass deployment and only a fraction of our overall population.”

“What about arms and ammunition?” Cooper asked.

“We’re well provisioned, even counting our trade agreements with Canada and Mexico. Our troopers are using kinetic and laser weaponry in the field. Psionic weapons have been reserved for our special forces and aren’t subject to our existing trade agreements. As for armor, we’ve standardized the load-outs for each trooper type, the Shades, and the Spectres.”

“The Shades,” Baker scoffed.

“You have to admit the applicability of the name,” The Director of Intelligence came to the defense of his people.

“They served honorably alongside the Spectres when they destroyed the PRC base six months ago,” Gray continued. “Since then, they’ve been embedded within Canada and Mexico. They’re also disguised as traders throughout the entire gnome civilization. As soon as Commander Steele forges a better relationship with the Dwarves and the Colombians, the Shades will also be embedded in those factions.”

“No one is arguing their effectiveness,” Baker allowed. “I’m sure they’re ready to respond if anything greater than a mouse fart is detected. I just think the name is silly.”

“Shapeshifting ghosts that can practically disappear?” Gray asked dryly. “I think the name is perfectly appropriate. Besides, my people chose the name for themselves. I won’t begrudge them a bit of morale and esprit de corps.”

“Fine,” Baker relented. “I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about the subject.”

Gray’s steely-eyed glare made Baker involuntarily swallow. The Chief of Staff suddenly realized it might not be a prudent course of action to offend the leader of the Shades. Baker turned to Cooper and quickly changed the subject.

“What about the progress on New Washington?”

The Director tapped her datapad before responding. The hologram dissolved and was replaced by the schematics for a fortified mountain stronghold.

“We’ve identified the perfect location in what used to be the Appalachian mountains. They’ve become even more treacherous since the creation of Novopangea. Unfortunately, the location resides within the claimed territories of the dwarves.”

“Couldn’t we just remove the dwarves? It’s not like they can respawn.” Baked asked.

Cooper couldn’t help looking at the man like he were stupid. “Not only would that be a terrible idea considering the vast resources the dwarves are sure to possess, but their craftsmanship is superb. Even the gnomes, who are skilled builders themselves, recognize the dwarves as peerless experts in this sort of construction. Not only do we want to make friends with them, but we want them to build New Washington.”

“What’s so difficult about building the new settlement?” The Chief of Staff asked, completely missing the look Cooper shot his way.

“Humanity has never tried to build something so large or complicated inside a mountain range. Although Camp Plymouth is located in a central location that makes it a prime agricultural and trading area, it is far too exposed. You only have to remember how easily we were attacked by the Chinese to see why we need a better-fortified position.”

Baker pointed to the schematics. “What kind of protection does this location offer?”

“Beyond the obvious,” Cooper began. “It’s practically unassailable by land. The range makes it difficult to get heavy artillery in range, and even antigrav technology isn’t enough to counter the rugged terrain. It’s also surrounded by a deepwater lake that will serve as a defensive moat and a source of fresh water and hydroelectric power.”

“Fusion reactors are a great source of energy, but we want to make sure we have varied source of power to mitigate single point of failures,” Gray added.

Cooper nodded at the spook in thanks. “Further, we can fill the range with anti-air weaponry that would make an airborne attack a suicide mission. With underground residential spaces, concealed vehicle and aircraft bays, and vertical farms, Pierre projects that this structure could take direct hits from nuclear weapons and barely miss a step. Of course, assuming the missiles could even make it to the base.”

“I see,” Baker commented, but the assembled directors doubted that he really did.

“Well, it looks good,” the Chief of Staff commented. “I’ll be sure to tell the President that things are moving along and that your requisition requests for more personnel should be approved.”

Cooper was annoyed that the Camp had to rely on the Baker’s approval for anything. They had been doing fine for five months before the odious man’s arrival. The Commander had promised his people that he would do everything in his power to prevent the bureaucratic machine in Washington from putting their noses too far in the Camp’s business. Still, even Steele’s skilled leadership couldn’t stop the inevitable.

Over the last six months, Washington had pushed further and further. It started with a few low-level officials that had quickly been neutralized and relegated to unimportant positions. The Chief of Staff was just the latest in a long line of bureaucrats trying to exert their will within the camp. If it hadn’t been for the arcane System’s recognition of Steele as the leader, he might have already been replaced.

Instead of voicing her displeasure, Cooper looked around the room. “Kuhar, Diaz, Aswad, anything else to add?”

“Nothing relevant to the military,” Aswad commented.

“I just want to report that the Commander’s order to have the civilian personnel involved in training has been a success,” Kuhar stated for the record. “Most of our civilians are now sitting at around level thirty, and we’ve seen a massive increase in productivity across every metric. Higher constitution and intelligence mean that even scientists benefit from longer hours and easier breakthroughs.”

Cooper nodded, recognizing that the Director of Operations and Training only commented for Baker’s benefit. Everyone at the table outside of the Chief of Staff had seen the effectiveness of their commander’s idea within the first month of its implementation. Kuhar was narrating it as a show of loyalty to Steele.

“Thank you, Sukhjeev.” She answered before turning to the Director of Command, Control, and Communications.

“Alanzo?”

“A couple of things. We’ve established communication networks with the Canadians and the Mexicans. They can now be contacted on a secure diplomatic channel. Also, the gnomes have extended our network through most of their population centers. They don’t know we’re monitoring all the communications and trust them implicitly.”

Gray nodded in agreement with a self-satisfied smile.

A mouse fart, indeed. Cooper thought to herself.

“Finally,” Diaz continued. “We’ve established three communication networks for our faction’s use. We have unsecured, secure, and top-secret channels. It’s not quite the same as the internet, but all faction members can now talk to one another and share data.”

Gray chuckled before laughing. “I’ve already seen some types of gnome entertainment shared across the network. I’m sure there will be some enterprising humans trying to develop their own forms of engaging content. It’s a shame we haven’t figured out how to bring media from our world and share it here.”

Diaz shrugged. “Pierre thinks more study of the Codex will allow us to develop that technology. After all, the Codex exists on both sides of the divide. It isn’t an impossibility. It just might take some time to figure it out.”

Cooper smiled at the thought. She missed seeing photos of her family and loved trashy TV shows that felt like an itch that couldn’t be scratched on this side of the System.

“I almost forgot,” Baker interrupted. “Any progress on the Codex?”

Everyone looked at Cooper, and she was jarred from her nostalgic thoughts. “Some,” she said. “Pierre’s people have identified that we’re halfway through the countdown, but to what, they haven’t been able to determine.”