John Barnes - The Last President

“They do that, or so MaryBeth Abrams tells me, along with reminding me that I’m not the first woman ever to have one. You have a charming knack for liking the boss’s baby, James.”

“I wouldn’t have lasted twenty-three years in the Civil Service if I didn’t.” He sat, crossing his legs, hands wrapped around one knee. “Operation Monkey Flush turned one, killed three, and recovered two kids who were being used as cover props. The cell is shut down and there’s no evidence that there were any more.

“Bambi reports they took the thumb off one of the ones they killed, as a memorial for Steve Ecco, and bagged Harrison Castro’s assassin in boiling feathers, same way Castro died.”

Phat folded his arms. “This is terrorism.”

“It is. Terrorism exists to scare the shit out of people. And since people can’t be scared of things they don’t know about, Bambi and Carlucci made sure they left abundant evidence for the cleanup staff to gossip about. Chris Manckiewicz will run the story as the main headline in the next issue of the Post-Times , piously deploring out-of-control Feds going too far and Castle freeholders wreaking private vengeance with Federal help, and so on.”

“But,” Phat pointed out, “everyone knows Daybreak doesn’t care about individual agents, and anyway we’re much more afraid of Daybreak than it is of us, if it’s even able to feel fear.”

James nodded impatiently. “Sure, sure. Daybreak destroyed the modern world and killed more than seven billion people, this is—”

“That was back before, when it controlled less than one in two thousand people worldwide. In less than two years it’s thrown us a century or more back in tech, it controls at least 5 percent of the surviving global population, probably more like 10 percent in this country— of course we’re afraid of it. We’re losing and it means to put an end to us forever.”

“Which is why it’s so important not to say that in public.”

“There’s something wrong with democracy?” Phat’s voice was louder and harsher than Heather would have expected.

In the suspended instant of complete silence, Heather realized this was more than just another little clash; since Phat had arrived three weeks ago, he and Hendrix had bickered at least daily, but this felt different. Say something, she thought. The silence stretched another second before she ventured, “General, I wonder if the problem isn’t that it’s been a long time since any American general had to think about losing big, and it doesn’t come natural to you. James pointed out the other day that if people get the idea that Daybreak is winning—and it is—they’ll want to do what losers do: cut a deal. But Daybreak isn’t a devil we can let anyone deal with, and there are only three ways to prevent deals with the devil. One is to make sure people know it’s the devil; one is to make the devil too angry to deal.”

Phat waited. “That’s two.”

Hendrix said, softly, “Heather’s favorite has always been to make sure there’s no devil.”

“So this restored Constitutional government you’re talking about is going to kill or forcibly convert a few million people for what they believe. That’s bringing back American democracy?” Phat looked from one to the other. “I had the impression you were liberals, back before.”

Heather shrugged. “I was a Fed with a liberal mentor. I hardly ever even voted.”

James nodded. “On the other hand, I was pretty much a socialist. If you haven’t noticed, Pueblo is a socialist society; almost everyone eats most meals in a common mess hall that you get into with a ration coupon. Going to Doctor MaryBeth is free, but if she says you’re not sick, you’re SOL. Hardly anyone has paid a dime of rent or mortgage since Daybreak day. I teach, and I get paid in firewood and food by the town government, and nobody charges my students anything. Frankly I don’t want private business to come back too much or too far.”

“But government terrorism—”

“Dead Daybreakers are a public good like clean water, education, health care, or good roads, and should be publicly provided,” James said. “Wiping Daybreak out of the minds of everyone everywhere would be the best thing humanity did since we got rid of smallpox. I’m just more willing than some other people to face the fact that when you’re trying to fight an idea to the death, you have to fight it with what’s known to work: a cycle of public atrocity leading to reprisal atrocity till there are no neutrals left, and then be better at atrocity than the other side is.”

“Peace through genocide.”

“It’s been known to work. Most nicer ways have not. You’re a pretty good amateur historian, General. We’re back a century, going on two centuries, in technology, and back a lot further in our basic situation. It wasn’t us, but Daybreak, that put us back on humanity’s ancient rhythm.”

“The ancient rhythm,” Phat repeated, and then, as if it had illuminated everything, “ the ancient rhythm . Yeah. I see your point, James.” He stared into the fire as if hoping some god would speak to him.

“I have a feeling that ancient rhythm is some kind of war-history-geek, boy-code expression,” Heather said. “And to spill the secret to you old poops, I’m not actually a boy. Maybe someone could explain it?”

James started to speak but Phat answered first. “James means this is war the way the Romans, Mongols, or Goths knew it. Here we are, sitting out the winter like Caesar or Alaric, because in the ancient rhythm, wars start in the spring, when there’s time to fight—after crops are planted, roads are dry, and ships can sail.”

James nodded. “Around the time my father was born, a presidential candidate said, ‘People always cite George Washington’s wisdom and forget that his light was a candle and his transportation was a horse.’ The man who said that is much less relevant to us today, but as for George—”

“Our light is a candle and our transportation is a horse,” Heather said.

Phat nodded. “History is real information again, instead of a strange set of stories to fascinate old poops.”

James rose. “That reminds me, I must go where I can be called an old poop repeatedly for a couple of hours. Leslie’s due at my place in an hour.” He stood and began laboriously climbing back into his sweaters, explaining from far inside one, “I’m afraid I have more Christmases to get to than I have Christmas to get to them in.”

As Phat and Heather watched from her window, James scuffed homeward through the snow. “The ancient rhythm,” Phat said. “You know, that’s the whole story right there. The twentieth century freed one big chunk of the human race from the natural world. We could have fresh fruit in January, start wars in October, cross the ocean in February; we could let the authorities handle crimes instead of having blood feuds, and govern by popularity instead of ruling by bloodline, and make our wars about diplomacy and economics. We got detached. It was great while it lasted, but now we’re back in the ancient rhythm up to our necks.”

“ Temporarily ,” Heather said. “I want Leo to grow up to complain about taxes, the electric bill, and his student loans. I want him worrying about who will go to the prom with him, not how he can earn another scar on his triceps. But James is right, too, that it’s an ancient war and we have to win the ancient way.”

Phat grimaced. “But how do we escape the ancient rhythm once we’ve won?” He peered out the window again. “For a guy that old and heavy, James sure moves like a happy kid.”

“He always does whenever he’s going to see Leslie.”