August's Street Trees (5)
"But—"
The chief, struggling to voice his suspicion of his benefactor, asks again.
"Isn't this help on a different level? There's no gain in it for you."
Clink. Suyeon sets a cup of coffee down in front of me. I take a sip, then let out a long breath.
A man who's been deceived his whole life can't easily trust an arms dealer's goodwill. That's only natural.
"Gain."
But what can I do if he doesn't believe me? There's truly no poison in my favor.
Chewing it over again, the Native Americans will be forced—half willingly—down that tear-soaked path, the Trail of Tears, under the invaders' pressure. I have no stake in the chief's impending misfortune.
So.
"Think of it as friendship."
"Friendship?"
"Yes. The friendship I mentioned before—the kind where I won't stand surety for you, friend."
A third silence falls over the chief. Who in his life has ever said such words to him? What fool would offer such aid?
The rougher a man's path, the more vulnerable he is to unexpected emotions. Right now, I'm touching that very sentiment.
Hard to broach at first, but once touched, it'll topple like dominoes.
This old man, weaker now than at any point in his life, betrays his inner turmoil with silences that grow longer each time. A instinctive quiet to hide weakness and regain composure.
I tilt my coffee cup, making a slurping sound, then speak.
"Your population's about ten thousand. At a five percent infection rate, and thirty thousand dollars per person in medical costs—that's a hundred and fifty million total. Add emergency livelihood support for the tribe members who lose their jobs en masse... Can your tribal government and casino alliance handle that? While paying me separately?"
Thirty thousand per person is a low estimate. The only medical facility in the reservation is a paltry clinic-level center, so all treatment must be outsourced off-reservation. The federal Indian Health Service has long been a toothless agency starved of budget. And the Natives either lack insurance or have subpar coverage. Hospitals charge what they want, and they have to pay up.
For the tribal nation and casino alliance, already drained from lobbying, it's a crushing burden. If every individual files for bankruptcy, the tribe's future vanishes.
"It's just a bit strange, though."
The chief finally reacts to my words.
"What... is?" His voice trembles.
"We've already sent five thousand kits over there. Each kit allows a hundred tests, enough for primary and secondary screenings across all five tribes in the casino alliance. So why need more?"
"...Isn't it because they were stolen?"
"By whom?"
"Who else? The Health Service unit and those damn FEMA bastards, of course! We lack the capability to test ourselves, so your gifts go straight to their hands first."
"I see."
A convenient excuse for theft. I knew the answer, but asked anyway.
"Once it passes through them, it evaporates over time under the pretext of 'more urgent needs.' There's some executive order about that, right?"
"Couldn't you send the tribe members' samples here?"
"They hold all authority over quarantine. You think they'd grant sample transport permits easily?"
"That's a shame."
The president is doing a stellar job. A man who got pissy about pride just from sending test kits would spew fire if we outsourced testing to Korea. With state governments already challenging the feds, he won't tolerate a single Native tribe jumping on the bandwagon.
There's legal basis too. Executive Order 13909, effective March 18th, grants the federal government total control over all U.S. quarantine supplies. Like the order that blew up the Natives' sacred burial grounds, it binds even tribal territories. Self-governance only followed when convenient.
Infections are suppressed nationwide now, but the damage was massive, and the virus lingers. The president still has pretext to stockpile for emergencies.
"No helping it, then."
I say casually.
"I'll secure another batch. The real issue is jumping the queue, not the kits' cost, but ten thousand should be manageable. Competitors won't be as fierce as last time. I'll throw in as many masks and disinfectants as possible."
When we sent the first five thousand, we vied with governments of well-known nations for queue spots. Now, with major countries containing the plague, it's easier third-world nations we can shove aside. Bribery costs drop.
"Truly—"
The chief sighs heavily.
"Truly shameless, but I'll owe you again. And."
"And finding connections to the beaner cartel can wait. What good is searching when you can't even move freely?"
Beaner: bean-eaters, a slur for Mexicans. Americans stuff themselves with baked beans yet mock others for it.
I swirl my coffee cup and continue.
"Don't waste energy feeling sorry toward me—focus on recovering. If you collapse, no one guards the tribe. It's still too heavy a burden for your granddaughter."
"Thank you... uh, thank you."
I pretend not to notice his choking voice.
"Speaking of which, how's Ms. Mashath? Healthy?"
"Of course. She's listening right beside me."
"Good to hear."
"She asks me to convey her deepest thanks. Her safety is thanks to your concern too."
"No need."
"If even she had gone wrong, I couldn't face my departed daughter and son-in-law. I want to thank you once more. I've truly seen you again, Chairman..."
In this parched life, how long since laughter bubbled up from my throat? Somehow, I've melted both the casino's current and future leader.
I savor the expertly brewed coffee, steadying myself. The chief secretary's skill is always impeccable.
I leisurely appreciate the flavor and aroma, then set the cup down.
"Chief. Even in the lowest, filthiest gutters, you sometimes find untarnished humanity. The Los Zetas cartel—loyal to individuals over organizations—is a prime example."
Los Zetas' loyalty is famous in these circles. Even a cartel-hating chief can't refute it.
"I'm no good man, but more noble than those war-mad butchers of humanity. Good and evil blur, but friend and foe? Crystal clear. And I say you and your tribe stand firmly with me."
So cling to me. Owe me your lives, uphold loyalty to me, pledge fealty—and when London burns, send forth your terrifying knights, bombs strapped on, to face my enemies.
I welcome you as my debtors.
"It's about three p.m. there now."
I glance at my watch.
"No other business? Better keep the call short. I'll send the requested items as fast as possible, so just focus on beating that damn plague before the heat breaks. Miss this window, and winter gets brutal."
Obscure now, but the virus hates moisture and heat. The Tucson area's high average temps help, but year-round dryness hinders quarantine.
Now's the rainy season, at least. Come winter—zero humidity, dropping temps—the virus rebounds.
The young I target rarely die from lung plague, but aftereffects ruin prime manpower. For my sake, the chief must prioritize quarantine.
"Understood."
His voice firms up. Good sign.
"We'll pull through. For you, Chairman, we'll give our all."
"Looking forward to good news next time."
Call ends.
Lost in thought, I beckon Suyeon with a finger wag moments later.
"Screen some usable journalists from our organization scholarship kids."
"For what?"
"Around when the Blue House commendation comes down, run an interview article on this aid."
Suyeon shows faint puzzlement at the order.
"Decided already?"
"Decided...? Ah."
Her "decision" means becoming this country's patriot. Before the call, I had zero interest in one-off fame; now flipping so soon invites misunderstanding.
But off-base.
"No, no. Just planting a false trail to fool the enemy."
Adeceit against the Round Table. My mentor sought me as refuge because a great Round Table master fleeing in an inferior yellow body was unthinkable to imperialists, himself included.
Similarly, I can rig deception. Suppose someday I catch Round Table eyes and suspicion. Their background check hits unexpected humanitarian acts and words.
A Round Table master friendly to Natives? What lousy joke. No knockout proof, but enough to drop me down the suspect list.
Time for sporadic good deeds.
Too flashy breeds suspicion. Subtle, selfless charity maximizes effect.
Suyeon nods crisply.
"I see. Understood. No need for big splash."
"Right."
"I'll make the article surface-level searchable. Script and direction too."
"Handle it."
How convenient—a deputy who grasps intent from one word.
I down the cooling coffee dregs, ending my post-meal leisure.
Then inspected the trees hauled to HQ. Street trees cracking roads and sidewalks from rapid growth, uprooted on local gov contract.
Bidding rock-bottom let me sweep every eyed Awakened without miss.
These Awakened... no, awakened trees fits better.
Primary use: invisible defense line around HQ. Against magic or superpowered foes, their innate fields disrupt or suppress abilities.
Like Kyung-tae said—living gates and death gates.
Not just for Round Table; prep for any future chaos.
Such measures might prove useless, but that's ideal—peace I crave.
Insurance shines unused. Those who live know fear always.
Courage vs. recklessness: knowing fear or not.
Ignorance of fear suits expendables only.