John Barnes - Daybreak Zero

“Yeah. Well, we all volunteered. How come you and I don’t just settle in to become the Duke and Duchess of California?”

“Because we’d have to fight a war with your crazy dad. Because we’re loyal Americans and we have a neurotic sense of duty. Because it’s more fun to fly.”

Sometimes Bambi thought she’d married him for that smile.

Morning twilight revealed the bare, dusty fields, wind-drifts of burned cars, burned-out buildings, and knocked-over water towers. On December 3 last year, one of the five biggest bombs in all of history had created a new, artificial bay in Lake Michigan, sending tornado-and-more force winds across the prairie.

“Gillman,” Quattro said. The place they were supposed to drop the team. “Highway looks totally clear—should we just land?”

“I think that’s all we can do.” She unstrapped, went back, and shook them awake.

I-57 ran straight north and south for more than two miles between two overpasses choked with dust dunes; Quattro touched down easily, taxied to lose speed, and came around to be ready to take off into the wind again. “All right, everybody out, and please remember that if you leave anything behind, you can reclaim it in Pueblo.”

Bambi opened the door and the three men shuffled off the plane. Larry looked like he was going fishing; Chris humped his pack with something between a sigh and a shrug; Jason looked around in all directions like a coked-up bush baby. They hurried away to be well clear of the stabilizers and the idling props.

While they checked to make sure they had everything, Bambi took a last look around for anything forgotten. She exchanged thumbs-ups with Larry, brought in the steps, closed the door, and buckled back into the copilot’s seat.

The engines roared; they raced along the empty highway and into the sky. Sunlight suddenly flared to their left. Quattro turned west. For the next hundred miles over the blown-flat, burned-black prairie, neither of them said anything.

Grayson laid the documents down carefully as he went through them. “Expedition from Pueblo.” He jammed his finger down on the long memo from Heather. “Direct espionage into the Lost Quarter, launched from an area we claim.” He pointed to Marprelate’s report from Pale Bluff. “Without our permission. They couldn’t have given us a more perfect reason to cancel the summit.”

“Except we’re not going to cancel it,” Cameron said, coolly.

“We have a chance to preserve everything we’ve worked for,” Reverend Whilmire said. “An almost providential chance, if you see what—”

“Oh, I understand you, Reverend.” Cam waved a hand as if trying to shake off a booger. “But I don’t care what you’ve worked for; what I am working for is the restoration of the Constitution. Full stop, period, that’s that. If you think Providence is doing this, then Providence can damned well be my enemy.” The Natcon looked from one face to the other. “The RRC in Pueblo is an agency of our government, charged among other things with researching conditions in the areas that have not yet called in. This mission is as legitimate as if I had ordered it. And it’s a tragedy that this man Ecco was killed, but among other things, we’re getting the fullest report yet, from Pauline Kloster, about what actual conditions are in the Lost Quarter—and General, you should note that it’s clear we need military expeditions up that way, soon, because what’s building up in the Lost Quarter can’t be allowed to build any longer. So my first order on this subject is that you begin preparations for one or more punitive raids across the Wabash or the Ohio; at the least, we need to trash this Castle Earthstone. The successes you had in the Youghiogheny make you my first choice for the job.”

He let that sink in for a moment; he was frustrating Whilmire, but this was a potential enhancement for Grayson’s political career. That’s right, Grayson, think about being able to run for president of the whole United States as a military victor, eh? Then, more softly, he said, “We will attend the summit in Pueblo and we will attend it in good faith. We will reach an agreement with the Weisbrod government and in 2026 there will be a restoration election in every part of the country that we control; in 2027 a fully Constitutional government will take power. That is what I’m sworn to achieve, and that is what I will achieve.” Listen close, Grayson, listen close, do you hear the chance to be president of the whole thing, instead of the reverend’s cat’s-paw?

“Subject to the Board’s approval and—”

“I reconstituted the Board, Reverend, I didn’t give it any legislative power this time around either, and the final decision is mine. Which you have heard.”

“Reverend Peet will hear about this.”

“No doubt. He not only reads the paper, he owns it. Nonetheless, I am still the NCCC, until General Grayson acquires the nerve to do anything about it, anyway.” If that’s really ambition and understanding dawning on that male-model face, they always said in interrogation class that the way to set the hook is to pull it away.

Grayson’s face went flat. “That isn’t funny.”

“It’s not a joke, General. You don’t want me as NCCC; you’ve made that clear enough. But you swore an oath to uphold the Constitution, and I’m a presidential appointee of the last universally acknowledged, fully recognized President of the United States, and your civilian superior. You can take your chance that if you help me put the country together, the people will follow you. I think that’s a smart bet. But perhaps you judge the road of Caesar, or Cromwell, or Napoleon to be less of a gamble.”

Grayson looked straight back at him, and Cameron thought, Now say it, now say yes, that’s the deal I want. Just inside yourself, for now.

Whilmire, perhaps afraid of what Grayson would say, jumped in again. “This is all beside the issue of attending the summit. We must not do anything to make the Olympia government appear legitimate.”

“And what does the Bible have to say about peacemakers?”

“Your constant sarcasm is—”

“One of the few pleasures I still have. The decision is made, gentlemen. General, if we walk into the Defense Planning Bureau and tell them we need to do raids in force into the Lost Quarter, especially into the Warsaw/ Palestine area, can they spec some list of options out for us in the next day or so?”

“It’ll make more of an impression if we go there ourselves,” Grayson said, with a half-suppressed grin. “Those guys could use a wake-up and shake-up anyway.”

“Good, let’s go.” Though Cameron was a slight, short man, set against Whilmire’s beefy lineman-type and Grayson’s tall, rangy, physique, when Cam walked between them, they parted like old-time supermarket doors, and then hurried after him, trailing their dignity behind them.

He was out in the corridor before they caught up with him. He was careful not to walk fast, because that might look as if he ran away from them, but by surprising them with that first step, and forcing them onto their back legs, he had gained enough of a head start to force them to conspicuously hurry after him. My ancestors were Confederate diplomats and the bodyguards of emperors, Cam thought. Back when yours were learning to wear shoes and not publicly lust after sheep.

After they caught up, Cam spoke softly. “I think Graham is sincerely trying to bring us together. We might yet manage real peace, maybe even reconciliation, if we’re smart enough. We won’t throw that out over a snit over authority.”