GMO 24- The Coalition- A Tale Of Prepper Survival (GMO 24- A Tale Of Prepper Survival Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
past work in the industry of weapons development had turned him into one of the wealthiest men in the country, and that wealth wasn’t obtained by being a pushover. His mind created the weapons that had put the United States into a new era of warfare. That same tenacity led him into the President’s circle as his personal liaison to the Soil Coalition. In short, Jared Farnes was the continual pain in Gordon Reath’s ass.
“Mr. Gordon, we’re receiving increased pressure from Canada and Mexico about their grievances of GMO-24 being carried by winds into their farmlands. Not to mention the Chinese demanding that we start a payment plan for the debt we’ve accumulated over the past year from the increased food imports. If we don’t take action, the Canadians and Mexicans could increase their sanctions against us in the UN, and the Chinese could stop their shipments altogether.”
“The Chinese, Canadians, and Mexicans can make all the idle threats they want, but as long as our missiles are aimed in their direction, that’s all they’ll remain: idle.”
“And what about the critical need for seeds? Most of the silos were burned down during the first few months of the crisis. The same silos, mind you, which this Coalition was in charge of protecting. It is my opinion, as well as the opinion of the President, that this Coalition has failed to deliver its intended solution,” Jared said.
“Our intended solution is to keep this country fed. And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Where are we with the production at the camps?”
Dean Grout, a gorilla of a man who was in charge of the sentry program, thumped his heavy forearms on the desk. “Production is down three percent from last quarter, but I’ve ordered all inspectors to shorten the blood test margin from twelve percent to eight, which should increase our recruitment.”
“Recruitment?” Jared asked. “You mean the slave labor you use to keep your plantations running?”
Dean leaned back into his chair and didn’t say another word. He wasn’t in his position for his people skills; he was in it for the lack thereof.
“Any other pressing news before we adjourn?” Gordon asked. “Good. I’ll see everyone in a week.” Gordon was out the door before the rest of the room was out of their seats.
***
Sydney peered through the microscope and magnified the sample by twenty. The small specks of dirt underneath the glass grew to massive proportions under the view of the lens. Then he rolled over to his computer where he entered an algorithm, which was cut short as he jolted from the lab door swinging open and slamming against the wall.
“Sydney!” Gordon said, arms extended as if he were seeing an old friend. “I hear you have some good news for me?”
“Um, y-yes,” Sydney said, scurrying to fetch a pile of papers on his desk that were jumbled together in a heaping, disorganized mess. “I-I received a new soil sample today, and you can see here that the nitrate levels are actually normal, leading to a healthy pH—”
Gordon slapped Sydney on the back, silencing him. “Sydney. I don’t need the science mumbo jumbo. I just need to know if you can grow anything in the soil.”
“Well, um, yes, but—”
“Where was the sample pulled from?”
“Wyoming, but—”
“Perfect. Send a team out there with a prepared list of what’s growable in the climate. I want this done immediately, understood? Good.”
Sydney stood there, still clutching the mess of papers against his chest. His lips quivered, searching for both the words and courage to speak up. He found both right before Gordon reached the door. “The soil area is only a one-square-foot patch.”
Gordon froze with his hand on the doorframe. Sydney noticed the whiteness of Gordon’s knuckles. Gordon took a few steps backwards, not turning around, then closed the door.
“One square foot?” Gordon
“Mr. Gordon, we’re receiving increased pressure from Canada and Mexico about their grievances of GMO-24 being carried by winds into their farmlands. Not to mention the Chinese demanding that we start a payment plan for the debt we’ve accumulated over the past year from the increased food imports. If we don’t take action, the Canadians and Mexicans could increase their sanctions against us in the UN, and the Chinese could stop their shipments altogether.”
“The Chinese, Canadians, and Mexicans can make all the idle threats they want, but as long as our missiles are aimed in their direction, that’s all they’ll remain: idle.”
“And what about the critical need for seeds? Most of the silos were burned down during the first few months of the crisis. The same silos, mind you, which this Coalition was in charge of protecting. It is my opinion, as well as the opinion of the President, that this Coalition has failed to deliver its intended solution,” Jared said.
“Our intended solution is to keep this country fed. And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Where are we with the production at the camps?”
Dean Grout, a gorilla of a man who was in charge of the sentry program, thumped his heavy forearms on the desk. “Production is down three percent from last quarter, but I’ve ordered all inspectors to shorten the blood test margin from twelve percent to eight, which should increase our recruitment.”
“Recruitment?” Jared asked. “You mean the slave labor you use to keep your plantations running?”
Dean leaned back into his chair and didn’t say another word. He wasn’t in his position for his people skills; he was in it for the lack thereof.
“Any other pressing news before we adjourn?” Gordon asked. “Good. I’ll see everyone in a week.” Gordon was out the door before the rest of the room was out of their seats.
***
Sydney peered through the microscope and magnified the sample by twenty. The small specks of dirt underneath the glass grew to massive proportions under the view of the lens. Then he rolled over to his computer where he entered an algorithm, which was cut short as he jolted from the lab door swinging open and slamming against the wall.
“Sydney!” Gordon said, arms extended as if he were seeing an old friend. “I hear you have some good news for me?”
“Um, y-yes,” Sydney said, scurrying to fetch a pile of papers on his desk that were jumbled together in a heaping, disorganized mess. “I-I received a new soil sample today, and you can see here that the nitrate levels are actually normal, leading to a healthy pH—”
Gordon slapped Sydney on the back, silencing him. “Sydney. I don’t need the science mumbo jumbo. I just need to know if you can grow anything in the soil.”
“Well, um, yes, but—”
“Where was the sample pulled from?”
“Wyoming, but—”
“Perfect. Send a team out there with a prepared list of what’s growable in the climate. I want this done immediately, understood? Good.”
Sydney stood there, still clutching the mess of papers against his chest. His lips quivered, searching for both the words and courage to speak up. He found both right before Gordon reached the door. “The soil area is only a one-square-foot patch.”
Gordon froze with his hand on the doorframe. Sydney noticed the whiteness of Gordon’s knuckles. Gordon took a few steps backwards, not turning around, then closed the door.
“One square foot?” Gordon
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