Chapter 509 (1/2)

Alan Howard believed in this remnant country, and also believed that he was the man most fit to lead it. Although it hadn’t been a close election, he still felt some lingering shreds of worry over the outlook for his second election. That, of course, wouldn’t be for two and a half years, but Alan was never a man to let go of the small details. He planned for problems well in advance.

Which was part of the reason why the System was such a great frustration to Alan. The threats it threw his way were unpredictable. Those strange beings that descended and warned the countries of Earth before the System’s arrival did not stay; they gave their warning, some hints for how to proceed, and then departed.

There was no guidance here. And Alan desperately needed some.

Sighing, he leaned back in his faux leather chair. He wasn’t actually situated in the White House, unfortunately, which also irked him. That part of D.C. hadn’t become a part of Zone 1. They mostly received a lot of the research complexes and military bases around the South of D.C. As such, this was simply a replica.

Alan’s intercom buzzed. “Father Foster is here to see you, Mr. President.”

“Send her in,” Alan grunted, puzzling over the figure of Father Foster. Although she was a woman, she led a rather large, and growing, religious group that insisted on calling her Father Foster. They were an offshoot of Christianity and a strangely extreme one. But, the only way that religious groups survived the Systems arrival was by doubling down, and this group was no exception.

They believed that the System was a construct of the devil and that as much as possible, people should avoid being tainted by it. They at least recognized the necessity of some members being “cursed” by Skills and Classes to defend them, but the religion preached willful ignorance of the System’s ways. The people did their best to ignore the woes facing the wider area of Zone 1 and isolated themselves.

Normally, this group would likely have just been wiped out by a Raid Boss. But this Father Foster was particularly shrewd, and she gathered some very powerful Classers to her side. They bore the weight of humanities sins to protect all, she said. Theirs was a grand sacrifice.

Alan couldn’t help but notice that it kept all power focused solely in a few, influential pairs of hands. But it was too late to do anything about that. An unfortunate coincidence of being one of the only surviving Christian churches and having land to spare for refugees meant that Congress had thought it a good idea to use them as a resource to ease people into the life in the System.

What it ended up doing was giving the cultist group a steady stream of scared and alone people to recruit from. The UHF took the cream of the crop for their own purposes, of course, but a lot of talented people went under the sway of Father Foster. The UHF crew was talented, but they didn’t know how to spot integrity or fighting skill. That wasn’t what they were trained to do.

Six months out from the relocation efforts, Alan realized what a mistake it was to let this petty character control the fates of so many. But like all things, this knowledge came far too late for Alan to do anything about it.

Serenely, Father Foster walked into Alan’s office. She was a woman in her early 40s with long blonde hair and purple bags under her eyes. At first, Alan had assumed that the bags were a holdout from drug addiction, but higher Vitality generally cleared up those symptoms in all people. The longer they persisted, the more perplexed Alan became, but he was ever the politician; he would take his unseemly questions to his grave.

Father Foster smiled at Alan. “Ah, Mr. President, how wonderful to see you well.”

The bags under her eyes were larger and more glaring if anything. ‘The feeling is mutual,” Alan said smoothly, indicating a chair. She sat.

After several long seconds, while the two people sized each other up, Alan spoke with a careful tone. “If I’ve been informed correctly… you have some complaints about the most recent batch of refugees that we have sent to your area?”

An easy expression on her face, Father Foster nodded. “...Yes. I do not mean to criticize your methods, but… you go to great lengths to inform the people you liberate about the devil’s System. Commendable, and in a vacuum valuable, but I feel that it is more harmful than helpful considering they will come into the loving embrace of God's chosen.”

Not even Father Foster’s bland statements were enough to cause Alan to roll his eyes. “You are requesting them sent over more quickly?”

“In a sense.” Father Foster seemed to think about it. In her mind, she was undoubtedly trying to grapple with the ungainly reality of dealing with someone who was effectively a heathen in her eyes. “If that is the optimal way to accomplish it, that is fine. There have been several incidents recently where new arrivals talked overmuch of… the outside world, and the horrors that befall the unenlightened. Ah, Mr. President, don’t think we don’t respect the sacrifices you make to protect us, we are eternally grateful, and venerate you for the sacrifices you have made. But I think your crash course in our modern world… makes them feel that endangering their own souls is a necessary evil when it is not.”