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    The Fixer
    The Fixer
    The Fixer
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    The Fixer

    By Morgan Nyberg

    ()

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    About this ebook

    THE FIXER chronicles the year leading up to the global collapse upon which The Raincoast Trilogy is based. Smith, an international problem-solver, persists in his futile duties even as the workings of our world disintegrate around him. Join Smith now for the heartbreaking final 12 months of his journey.

    From reviews of THE FIXER:
    "... it's human, it's thoughtful, it's heart-rending ...."
    "... the crown on The Raincoast saga."
    "I personally find his writing to be almost hypnotic."
    "... a masterful, eloquent storyteller...."
    "... terrifyingly beautiful ...."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMorgan Nyberg
    Release dateMar 18, 2016
    ISBN9781311528315
    The Fixer
    Author

    Morgan Nyberg

    Reviewers have said of Morgan Nyberg’s Raincoast novels:"One of the best series in the post-apocalyptic genre, hands down.""An exquisitely formed vision of a broken world.""On a par with McCarthy's The Road.""The best I've read in a post-apocalyptic setting.""This book (Since Tomorrow) stunned me with its power and richness."“Far and away the best of its genre.”Before writing the Raincoast series Nyberg had been a poet (The Crazy Horse Suite), an award-winning children’s author (Galahad Schwartz and the Cockroach Army; Bad Day in Gladland) and a literary novelist (El Dorado Shuffle; Mr. Millennium). He had worked and lived in Canada, Ecuador and Portugal. He was teaching English in the Sultanate of Oman when he felt the need to confront in fictional form the ecological crisis facing Planet Earth. The Raincoast Saga, many years in the making, is the magnificent result.

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      Book preview

      The Fixer - Morgan Nyberg

      THE FIXER

      MORGAN NYBERG

      Volume 1

      THE RAINCOAST SAGA

      The Fixer

      Volume 1

      THE RAINCOAST SAGA

      January

      Smith stood watching Najib Abouzeid, who had a mobile phone pressed to his ear. Abouzeid stared back at Smith with a face so despairing that it was blank. He muttered a few words in Arabic and put his phone away.

      He said to Smith They’ve blown up the pipeline in three more places.

      Smith just shook his head. He waited a minute, then said The pipeline is your only means of supply?

      Yes. It carries phosphate slurry from our open pit mines. I suppose we could go back to rail. But why? There is no way of processing it now.

      They stood on a gravelly rise, fifty yards from a helicopter whose rotors were turning at idle. Two soldiers with submachineguns stood off to either side. Smith and Abouzeid had spoken loudly to be heard over the engine noise of the helicopter. But now they stood silent in the winter sun of Morocco, watching black smoke rise against the blue of the Atlantic a mile away.

      Smith said Will you be able to salvage it?

      We will repair the pipeline quickly. But as for the port .... First we will have to deal with the terrorists. That sounds like a delightful task, doesn’t it, Smith - a firefight among the toxic smoke and the storage tanks of sulfuric acid. If we can’t kill them or chase them out we will have to starve them out. Which will give them time of course to blow up whatever is still standing.

      Dark roiling smoke hid most of the processing facility and port. A pair of tall smokestacks were visible, striped red and white at their tips, and a few massive spherical storage tanks. But there was a roar and a new surge of smoke, and now the stacks and tanks were also hidden.

      Abouzeid said something to himself in Arabic. He was middle aged, tall, well built and handsome. Smith was short and obese. Both wore flak jackets and helmets.

      Without looking at Smith Abouzeid said It will cost a fortune to rebuild Phosphate Marocain. We will have to borrow money. You could help us.

      Smith said We invest, Najib. We don’t lend. He looked away from Abouzeid as he said this.

      Abouzeid said No, but you could.

      They stood watching the calamity, smoke churning high, thinning here and there to reveal a tank or two, then billowing thickly again, a brief lick of flame among the main plant buildings, farther away a ship resting at a jetty.

      Abouzeid put a hand on Smith’s shoulder and led him away from the helicopter so that they could speak more easily.

      He said Because of this there will be a severe shortage of phosphate this spring, which means the price of fertilizer will rise sharply. Only the richest farmers will be able to afford it. Crops will shrink dramatically.

      You’re talking worldwide?

      Worldwide. Less food on supermarket shelves in New York. Less food in the street markets of Calcutta. And what there is will be expensive. Very expensive. There will be riots. Governments will fall. So, Smith, what does all this do for our market value? Abouzeid produced a vicious smile.

      There’s no way I can fix this for you, Najib.

      Not for me, Smith. For the population of the planet.

      Smith shrugged. We’ve got to write you off. I’m sorry.

      Abouzeid stared at Smith. Smith stared back, looking afraid. Abouzeid made a few palsied gestures, as if he needed to attack Smith physically but was restraining himself. Smith backed away.

      One of the soldiers shouted and pointed. A quarter-mile away a few vehicles were racing toward them across the arid plain. Spurts of gravel flew up near the helicopter. As the rotors spun faster the soldiers each grabbed one of Smith’s arms to hurry him to the safety of the aircraft.

      A doorman in a striped djellaba and red fez opened the door of the limo. The sun was just setting, and Smith felt the drop in temperature. He held out a hand, and the doorman helped him exit the vehicle and then hurried to open the hotel door for him.

      But before Smith reached the door he heard something shouted in Arabic. He saw the shouter as he turned - a ragged blue suit coat, a face that looked as if it had been hacked out of rock - but he could not step away before the man shoved him. Only Smith’s bulk kept him from falling. The doorman pushed the man away. There was an exchange of angry Arabic between the doorman and the assailant.

      The man dodged the doorman while shouting at Smith in Arabic and French, sprinkled with a few phrases of English. Smith heard Fat man! Fat man! He heard We kill Americans! and Go away Americans! And as the man thrust a hand, palm up, past the doorman Smith heard Money! Give money!

      Smith went into the hotel. He got some dirhams from the reception clerk and went back outside, but the man had gone. He offered a few of the bills to the doorman, who glared at him coldly as he accepted the money.

      Smith went up to his room. The mini-fridge was empty except for a half-bottle of local wine. He called the desk and asked for scotch and ice to be sent up. He was told there was no scotch. Smith said What do you have?

      We have Moroccan wine. Very nice.

      He sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes with his face in his hands. Then he speed dialed Gitta and switched his phone to speaker and laid the phone on the pillow and fell back on the bed.

      I have been waiting for your call, Smith. What is happening with Najib? It was a voice coarsened by age. There was a light German accent.

      The facility is toast. Most of the port too.

      Toast? Bread toast? Smith, are you drunk?

      I wish I was, but it seems there is nothing decent to drink in Morocco. It’s burnt, Gitta. Totally destroyed. The terrorists are still there, so the army will have to root them out. Oh yes - and the phosphate pipeline from the mines has been blown up in five places.

      Gitta cursed in German, then said Can they fix it?

      Not for a long time, if they can even find the money in today’s world.

      What does it mean besides our investment is fucked?

      Gitta, there’s nothing I can do. Don’t swear, OK?

      She repeated What does it mean besides our investment is fucked?

      What it means is, starting now there is a severe shortage of phosphate.

      Globally?

      Yes, globally. Phosphate Marocain is - was - by far the biggest producer. It is a major ingredient in fertilizers, so agriculture will be hard hit. Crops will be small, food will be expensive, the citizens of planet Earth will be ....

      "Do

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