John Barnes - Daybreak Zero

“What do you get out of offering me this big chance, other than buying me off again?”

Cam shrugged. “I didn’t think I bought you before; you’re not for sale. Look, the military and political advantage is that retaking those areas would give the Temper Army a short, fast overland connection to the Provi bases and fleets on Lake Erie. That way, the next year, in the spring of 2027, the new president will be poised to take back the Lost Quarter. You know how serious I am about reuniting the country.”

“But you think Phat’s a better candidate than I am.”

“To unify the country, sure. I want him to do that, and you to win the war. As for who would be a better president, let the voters figure it out. They may well come your way if you put an end to the tribal problem. Can you see yourself in that role?”

“I can, of course. You know me well enough.” Grayson stood. “It’s a pretty handsome offer—if I can trust you after the last time. I’m going to have to go home, talk to Jenny, maybe pray; I’ll let you know whether I’m in or out. If I’m out—”

“You’ll move fast, and probably do something big. It’s the way you are, and that’s why I’m offering you this campaign command if you want it.” Cameron stuck his hand out and Grayson shook it, more in respect than in contract. Cam’s faint smile twitched momentarily into being. “General, you will not be the only man praying tonight.”

I really should not be trying to make up excuses as if I’d disappointed Mama, when the person I’m worried about is young enough to be my daughter. Grayson was frequently subject to little, odd thoughts about how weird life was; the only times they didn’t show up were during sex, combat, or sleep. My three favorite things, he thought, which is another weird little observation in its own right.

At the front door, he paused a moment to straighten his tunic and finger-comb his hair before going in decisively. “I’ve got time for a long lunch, and we should talk.”

Jenny came out of the back room smiling. “Baby, how’d the conference go?”

“Well, I either won more than I thought I could, or gave away the store, or nothing’s settled yet. I don’t know quite what I feel.”

She held him by both elbows and beamed her most hypnotic, dazzling smile at him. “Suppose I tell you right away that no matter what happened or what you said, you’re still my guy, one hundred percent and no take-backs. Then after that come in to lunch—Luther outdid himself—tell me all about it while we eat, and we’ll figure out the next move together.” She turned and led him into the dining room, her hips swaying just a little more—or was that just his imagination? Definitely, the tight short white dress was his favorite and she knew that.

Over the soup, which was as good as promised, he told her what had happened. “I guess I was so ready for him to deny everything, or confront me or be defensive, that I just stood there and listened while he explained his offer. On the other hand…”

She was half-smirking, but it seemed like it was a joke to share, not a joke on him. “Baby,” she said, “on the other hand, you are a smart man and you realized at once that he was offering you an awesome, amazing deal which you might have to be crazy to turn down. I mean, it’s true, right, that you can reconquer Indiana and part of Ohio? And make a good show of it?”

“Well—”

“I’m not modest about who I am, don’t you be modest about who you are. Modesty should be reserved for when there are people to see it.” Her eyes twinkled but he could feel how strongly she meant it.

“All right,” he said. “Straight truth, I want to do the numbers, but I’m quite sure that if we grab an intact bridge somewhere near Terre Haute on, say, April first, and if Cam can spare me the right brigades, add in the Provi rangers and scouts, who are excellent, and some of their regular infantry, who are tolerable, with some Texas and New Mexico cavalry, and a few of the RRC’s planes… then, yeah. Drive to the Miami/Maumee line for sure, probably all the way to the Scioto/Cuyahoga. Big smashing victories every week, or even more often, all summer long. If a ghost writer comes along—”

“Of course I will, darling, and no, I don’t mind camping out all summer.” Her smile had something sharklike about it. “Two years ago I was editor of the Phoenix , at Sarah Lawrence. Now, I want you to imagine just how good you have to be to get that job when you’re the conservative Southern daughter of a fundamentalist minister and everybody you’re competing with keeps calling you ‘Barbie,’ sometimes to your face. I am that good, baby. Haven’t you noticed those speeches go over pretty well?”

“Why can’t you do something about your father’s sermons?”

The big whoop was not her usual polite lady-laugh at all. “Oh, baby, I have asked him that question plenty of times, and he still won’t let me help. Now, let’s get back to our problem here. You do want what Cam has to give you. You know he has shaded the truth and cheated you in the past, but then, you know you’re not really friends either.”

“He’s not a bad man.”

“He’s not. He’s a confused man pursuing an outdated ideal that nobody else even thinks about. But for the moment, he’s going the same direction you are. So go with him. Help him, even, if he asks you to. Let him feel how smart and right he was to give you that command. And then one day, he’ll want to go one direction, and you’ll want to go the other.” Her deep blue eyes leveled into his, open and staring like a fish’s, but her mouth smiled like she tasted something good. “That’s when he goes his way, and you go straight ahead as hard as you can and run the fucking weird little gook over and leave him dead in the road.” Her smile softened. “You’ll know when the time comes. And speaking of the time—”

“I’ve got about an hour—”

“That’s plenty, baby. I love that little twinge I see in you whenever I talk a teensy bit vulgar or act a little psychobitchy. Want to teach me who’s boss, before I get too big for my tight little silk pants?”

Afterward, lying beside him, she ran her smooth thigh over his muscular, hairy one. “Now let’s talk it through; you have twenty minutes before you have to dress.”

So as they stroked and kissed, they plotted out their lives, and how they would sell the whole thing to her father, and to Cameron Nguyen-Peters, and to the country. Just before he reluctantly got up and dressed, he had another of his weird little thoughts: I am going to be far more successful but there is no way I can ever be happier than I am right now.

“Cam, can we do five very private minutes?” Grayson said, leaning into his office.

“Always.” The Natcon got up and closed the door, and they sat in the chairs in the corner that faced into the soundproofing. “I take it you have a decision?”

“I’m in. Even as far as letting Shorty Phat out to run loose, though we sure can’t have that known to anyone in the Post Raptural Church, and I really can’t have it known to Reverend Whilmire.”

“Understood. Drive the frontier to the Miami/Maumee. Whatever you say you need, I’ll find it for you. Wreck the tribes for good. Take all the credit. Run for president, and may the best man win—or rather, may the people have the vision to see the best man, and the will to support him. And I won’t be sad if it’s you.”