John Barnes - The Last President

Heather smiled, trying to look as encouraging as she could, because Beth was often nervous around people who had a lot of schooling, big vocabularies, or impressive titles. “Well, share.”

The young woman looked down nervously. “So if Daybreak is trouble for, like, regular civilized people, and Lord Robert is trying to set up a regular civilized Domain, but it’s all made up of ex-Daybreakers or heretic Daybreakers or whatever they are… what if we gave him a shot of the original Daybreak to cope with? Something to keep him more backward, and focused on his own troubles?”

James clapped his hands. “I get it. Fighting Daybreak with Daybreak. And it gives us something to do with poor old Arnie. I’d been afraid that someday we’d have to decide he was too dangerous to keep, or all used up, and kill him. And since the research here is over… yeah, why not? Either we release him or we murder him, and the world has had enough murders.”

Captain Halleck thanked the watch that would still have been in their bunks, and said, “This is simplicity itself. I think we’ve all been staying up with the radio reports from home, and we know that things are in a very bad way indeed back there. Well, not surprisingly, the government in Athens, which created this mission and owns this ship, has sent us orders that we are to abandon our research and return to Savannah, there to be outfitted as a warship. They do not want us to bring back or report on our research; the ship’s company will be disbanded and members returned to their homes ‘as expeditiously as possible.’ I suspect but cannot prove that this precipitate decision is in reaction to some of our biologists having done some field studies, back in Florida, in which the word ‘evolution’ found its way into the titles.

“Now, there are two possible ways we can react to this. We can dutifully sail back to Savannah, protesting over the radio the whole way if we like, and when we get there, they’ll toss our research notes and samples into the bay and convert us to a warship. Or we can go somewhere else and place ourselves under their protection, and avoid going to ports in—now this is truly weird—the CSA. For one awful moment I thought someone had revived the Confederacy, but actually that’s the Christian States of America.

“Coincidentally, I happened to be talking by radio to Captain Highbotham in Christiansted, a place some of you may remember.”

Laughter and applause swept the deck.

“I thought we might take a vote.”

The vote was overwhelmingly for Christiansted. Only two very duty-conscious sailors, and two scholars who thought it would be more convenient to get off the ship in Savannah, voted the other way.

As Whorf returned to his station, Halleck stopped him and said, “I thought you might like to know that I have a relay, via James Hendrix at Pueblo and Captain Highbotham, addressed to you.” He handed him a sheet of paper, and said, “I assume this is some code I’m not familiar with.”

Whorf looked and grinned. “It’s my family code, sir, we all use it in the family business—which has just relocated to Christiansted. This is great!”

“You’re telling me,” Ihor said; he had been standing there quietly listening. “Now there’s someone I can bother for a job.”

“We’ve put enough food in your pack so that if you’re careful, you should be able to walk all the way to the Wabash from Wayne City, where the train will drop you off. If you cross any bridge along it, a patrol will challenge you. And then you cooperate, and they take you to Castle Earthstone, and you can decide what to do from there.”

Arnie Yang nodded. “Thank you. And if I ever come back out of the Lost Quarter, wanting to talk, what will you do?”

“Talk to you. Mostly about the Lost Quarter and what’s going on there,” Heather said. “We’re not exiling you for your ideas, Arnie—especially since they are not really your ideas and you don’t hold them voluntarily. It’s just that, while you’re infected with them, it’s better to have you keeping company with the other infected people, than out here.”

Arnie looked for a moment as if he might speak, then shrugged and hugged all of them before he boarded the train.

The next stop was Outgoing Crypto, where Heather told them, “All right, special request. Broadcast in clear.”

“You mean not coded, so anyone can read it?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I know it’s not really crypto if it’s not enciphered, but you folks have the biggest and best radio in this part of the country, and I need to make sure everyone reads this.” It was a short note explaining her claim to be President of the United States, resigning the office without a successor, and therefore declaring the end of the United States.

“Really,” she said, as they rode in the carriage to the airfield, “it’s almost more of a relief. Now that I’m not the President, I’m not a target, or not much of one, anyway. And it will be nice, if Bambi really does make me a baroness—”

“I’m thinking at least a countess.”

“Well, whatever. I guess I should be happy it’s not waitress or stewardess. Anyway, running a feudal fief seems like a much more reasonable job in the new world. And it’ll be a decent place for Leo to grow up, if I have any say about it, and we can bring my father out to live with us, free babysitting with bonding on the side. Certainly better than the old job here.” She sighed. “Even though I’ll miss everyone.”

A few minutes later, James and Leslie watched the Stearman, carrying Heather and Leo in the front cockpit with Bambi behind, bound off the runway and head west.

“This place was home for both of us, back before,” James observed. “And there’s still some library work to do, getting those pamphlets and brochures out to people who need them but don’t have them already. So we’ll eat, eh?”

“If you cook, we’ll eat well.” She slipped her arm into his. “It’s funny, just when I start to see how big you grew in that job, you go and lose it. And I guess after you fail at restoring America, there’s not very many jobs that could ever have the same appeal.”

James sighed. “Just when I get a job that impresses you, I find I’m more into the job than into impressing you.”

“That’s perfectly okay. Can we take this very slowly? Long walks, complicated conversations, that kind of thing? There’s just so much we don’t know yet.”

“Actually we don’t even know what country we’re going to be in yet. Slow is fine.”

Dave and Arlene Carlucci, and Terry Bolton, all began by trying to tell Bambi how sorry they were about Quattro, and how much they had liked him. It was little consolation that they were simply telling the truth, but some stern glares and aggressive subject-changing from Heather shut them up gently, and after that, the luxury of really good food in abundance made them nearly as quiet as the Carluccis’ teenagers, Paley and Acey.

It was a long time before they got down to business, too, because none of them had met Leo before, and “proper baby-admiring takes time,” as Terry pointed out. He seemed to be visibly brightening with each minute spent on the broad terrace, overlooking the sea, where Bambi preferred to entertain whenever the weather was favorable.