Larry Correia - Warbound

“Yuck it up, Hammer. You know damn good and well what Carr had planned for Actives in this country. You saw the evidence Faye pulled out of Mason Island. Do you think for one second Carr was alone? Do you think he was the only one in the whole government who thought the Imperium and the Soviets were off to a good start? ”

Hammer’s smile died. She knew that Dan was right. Deep inside, every Active in the country did. “I don’t think it is going to come to that.”

“You hope it doesn’t come to that?” Francis snorted. “It sure seems to have come to that damn near everywhere else in the world.”

“You’re a walking lie detector,” Dan said. “You tell me what you really hear when they start talking about public safety and national security, and monitoring and controlling Actives for our own safety. I’ve not got your gifts, but I’m pretty good at snowing folks with words, so I can darn sure recognize when somebody else is doing it to me.”

“Well…” She sighed. “I hear a lot of folks who don’t know better. They’re afraid and they figure we’ve got to do something, but since they don’t understand the topic, their proposed somethings don’t make a whole lot of sense, and then I hear a lot of no-good rat liars willing to take advantage of Do Somethings… Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.” Hammer pulled the car to a stop. Men were already waiting for them. “All right, this is it.”

Francis’ door was opened from the outside. “Welcome, Mr. Stuyvesant. Come with us, please.” Dan started to get out his side, but that door was politely caught by another functionary. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. The President wishes to speak with Mr. Stuyvesant in private.”

That was unexpected.

“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered. “Do not screw this up.”

“Don’t worry, Dan. I can handle this.”

“Francis, wait.” Hammer looked over the seat at them as they were getting out. “Good luck in there.”

He’d heard they were building a new, nicer Oval Office, but either it wasn’t done yet or Francis didn’t rate it, because he was led to the same old office that he’d visited before. Besides the obviously increased security, the White House hadn’t changed much since the first time he’d been here, tagging along once when Grandfather had gone to visit Wilson. He barely remembered Wilson, except that he’d seemed very tall and a little frightening, like a leathery scarecrow, but in Francis’ defense, he’d only been a kid.

Another man was leaving the Oval Office as Francis approached. They made eye contact, and the fellow looked familiar for some reason. “Mr. Stuyvesant. What a pleasure to meet you.” The man nodded politely and extended his hand. Francis shook it. Firm and businesslike. Tall, humorless, he had the look of a banker. Francis knew a lot of bankers, but that wasn’t where he recognized this man from. It was from the front page of the papers. “I am Nathaniel Drew.”

They came from the same social circles, but Francis hadn’t been paying much attention to those lately. “The architect?”

“I prefer to think of myself as the designer of the planned communities of the future.”

“Of course. I hear you’re quite the visionary.” That was the polite way of saying that all Francis knew of the man was that he was another one of those opinionated collectivists who felt the world was somehow entitled to a bigger share of Francis’ money, all in the name of progress, but Drew was also a Cog of some renown, which explained why he was meeting with the President. In fact, Drew was even wearing a white armband on his suit coat bearing the meshed gear logo of the Cog. Francis frowned when he saw that. The mandatory armbands were part of the Active Registration Act, so the architect was probably sucking up to the President, and Francis automatically hated suck-ups. “Those armbands aren’t law yet.”

“Oh, this?” Drew glanced down at it. “I stand behind Franklin’s proposals and merely wish to set an example for others of our kind.”

“No, seriously…”

“Easy identification is in the best interests of public safety and builds better relations with the general public.”

Cogs were beloved celebrities. Of course he didn’t mind wearing it on his sleeve, but tell that to some poor Shard who didn’t want to be known as a freak, or a Reader who’d spend the rest of their life a pariah. “Personally, I’ll be damned if I ever wear one of those things. Like cattle with an ear tag.”

“We are all entitled to our opinions.” Drew gave him a forced smile.

“Yeah… It’s a free country. For now… Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drew. Maybe I’ll give you a call the next time UBF needs another skyscraper.”

“Sadly, I am afraid my time has been too consumed with other altruistic humanitarian projects to bother with any commercialism, but please, I was just leaving…” The architect stepped out of the way. “I do not wish to keep you.” And then he was whisked away by the functionaries, and Francis was escorted into the inner sanctum.

Franklin Roosevelt was already seated behind his mighty desk, waiting. “Well, hello, Francis. It has been a long time.” The president extended his hand to shake, but he did not bother to stand. Francis gave him a firm handshake and found himself hoping that his palms weren’t too sweaty.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”

The functionary hurried out and closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Roosevelt looked like a kindly man, with an easy smile, even a bit of a twinkle in his eye, but Francis had grown up in the brutal knife fight that passed for New York politics, where various rich families played at Machiavellian games, and he knew that this man had been ruthless enough to earn the grudging respect of Grandpa Cornelius, who had been as cutthroat a rat bastard as there had ever been. That meant Roosevelt was not to be trusted.

“Last time we spoke was at a gala event put on by your father. You were about to leave for Boston for school. How time flies.”

“Yes, it does, sir.” When they had last spoken, Francis’ greatest questions in life had been how to bed the best-looking girls and where to get the best-quality alcohol. Since then he’d been drafted into a secret war, engaged in intrigue, espionage, and outright combat against all manner of nefarious magical forces, lost good friends, been shot, beaten, and briefly imprisoned, and unexpectedly wound up as the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the world. Francis was still a very young man by most standards, but the last few years had been very full. “Yes, it does.”

The president gestured at one of the high-backed chairs which had been arranged before the desk. “We were supposed to have spoken in Miami before the unfortunate events there… Please, have a seat.” Francis did. The chair was remarkably uncomfortable. He wondered if that was on purpose. Roosevelt was smoking, and he gestured at a golden box on his desk, but Francis shook his head politely. “You know, I’ve never been able to thank you personally for what you did in Florida. You and your German friend, Mr. Koenig, saved my life.”

“That is no problem at all. We’ve all been very busy since then.” The assassin had already struck before the two Grimnoir could react, but if Heinrich hadn’t Faded the already badly wounded Roosevelt through the hotel steps, the assassin Zangara would’ve finished him with the next magical blast. “Are you well? There are rumors that the Healers weren’t able to—”

Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. I assure you, I am quite all right.”

“Heinrich and I were both glad to help.”