John Barnes - Directive 51

“Oh, Cam told both of them about it at a briefing; Norcross listened, I guess. Or maybe Shaunsen listened but didn’t care; probably he just figured that whether we’re being attacked by self-aware malware, or an international terror network, or for that matter Satan or freakin’ Monaco, why worry which? Shaunsen’s solution will always be to spend money.”

That morning, the price for a copy of the Advertiser-Gazette had gone up to “thirty-two ounces of canned food or forty-eight of dry,” according to the masthead, but Heather had still had to struggle through the crowd around the newsboy for a copy; the kid looked like he was standing in a food-drive donation bin. Back at St. Elizabeth’s, where the power was on temporarily, she paged through it quickly under an ultraviolet spotlight, and then rolled it up, ran it through a degausser, and finally let them put it under a salvaged dental X-ray machine for about ten times the dose a human being should take in a year. That was the new procedure for documents that had been exposed outside, since yesterday they’d lost a satellite uplink to biotes that had probably come in on some paper maps from USGS.

It was worth it all, though, for the experience of being able to have powdered eggs, instant mashed potatoes, and freeze-dried coffee in their little makeshift bedroom, especially since, with the power on again in this wing for the moment, they had light enough to read to each other. Heather took a turn reading the rightmost column on the front page, which carried the basic information about the Vote Where You Are program.

While Heather ate, Lenny read the roundup story on the post-Daybreak disasters around the country: the big fires in St. Paul and Boston, the rioting and looting in DC, the weather disasters unfolding across the northern states.

They switched again for Lenny to have his toast while it was warm. Heather read Chris Manckiewicz’s editorial about the already-appearing corruption of many reconstruction projects, Shaunsen’s non-answers and attempted demagoguing during the debate on KP-1, the creation of the unneeded and threatening National Unity Guard without Congressional authorization, and finally the symbolism of the limo issue: that Washington’s scarce and vital supply of tires and gasoline had been depleted “so that the Acting President may wander around glad-handing and trying to persuade people that he is fit for office. We call on the voters to elect Norcross, and because the country cannot afford more of Shaunsen, we believe that we cannot wait for Norcross to take office in January. We urge the House to impeach Acting President Shaunsen and the Senate to remove him.’ You know, I am getting to like Chris Manckiewicz and Rusty Parlotta more than—”

There was a knock at the door. “Heather O’Grainne, please report immediately to Mr. Nguyen-Peters in his office, and he requests that you bring a day bag and a firearm.”

“On my way.” She bolted the last of her eggs and potatoes, gulped the last of her coffee, and kissed Lenny tenderly; nowadays she kept a packed day bag, including a weapon, by the door.

Cam looked up from his desk as she came in; he looked stressed-out, overworked, and relieved to see her.

“What would you say,” he said, “if I reminded you that you have taken an oath—several times—to ‘support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign or domestic’?”

“I’d say ‘well, duh, Cam,’ and ask if I was being accused of treason.”

“Good. Would you say that a President—or an Acting President—who deputizes members of his staff, arms them, and sends them out to arrest someone is acting Constitutionally?”

“I think that would be a job for the Supreme Court to decide. What’s that idiot done?”

“Doing. We have about three hours. He’s sending his National Unity Guard to go arrest the whole staff of the Advertiser-Gazette at their morning meeting. We’ve got it straight from a Secret Service informant, confirmed by another inside source.”

“Christ. How can he arrest them? On what charge?”

“He just plans to hold them through the election. Supposedly he’s preventing unfair private interference in a Federal election.”

“Well, at that point he’s raped the shit out of the First Amendment, and he’s violated that oath he insisted on taking, Cam. You want me to go stop him?”

“I want you to arrest all the National Unity Guard he sends. There’s an excellent argument that he can’t appoint law enforcement officers on his own hook and all by himself, which we’ll find some good lawyer to argue for the Supreme Court. But what I really want is to catch people acting upon his orders, subverting the Constitution, arresting without warrant or charge , and several other good phrases that come right from Madison and the Federalist Papers as grounds for impeachment. Per Speaker Kowalski’s request I’m assembling a file to use in impeaching our Acting-Out President. Incidentally, how do you feel about the theory that the NCCC is responsible for making sure we have a qualified Acting President during an emergency, and that when an Acting President disqualifies himself during an emergency, the NCCC can take it back and give it to the next choice in line? ”

“Wow. Ask me again if you ever have to do that. I figured you’d just impeach Shaunsen.”

“I’d rather do it by impeachment, but if Kowalski can’t find the votes to impeach, or the Senate won’t remove, we still have to have a functioning president, ASAP. So this latest little escapade looks like one more length of rope to hang him with, and I want someone I trust to handle it. If you make it to Rusty Parlotta’s place, before the Acting Presidential Bozo Brigade shows up at eleven, and bust their asses—ideally if you can swear that you saw them try to make the arrest—I will appreciate the hell out of it, Speaker Kowalski will make great use of it, and the country will be a lot better off.”

“Not to mention we’ll both have kept our oaths.”

“I like that part too.”

“So why did you send for me?”

“Because in all of DRET, you’re the only person with Federal power to arrest who I’m willing to have improvise.”

“All right, that’s got to be them,” Heather said, watching from the window. Two young women and two young men in the black uniforms with red berets, walking like they were auditioning (unsuccessfully) for the role of the determined sheriff in a community theatre. God, it looks like “when Guardian Angels go bad.” “Rusty, Chris, are you sure you want to do this? Let me remind you, once again, I could just meet them at the door.”

“You’re asking us to throw away the best story we’ve had yet, Ms. O’Grainne,” Rusty said. “Not to mention that Mr. Nguyen-Peters is absolutely right. If they actually say they’re arresting us on the Acting President’s orders—with Betsi inside here taking notes, so we’ll have their exact words—then we can get that asshole out and a real president in. So what the hell.”

“Uh, what the boss said,” Chris said, grinning.

“All right, then, go on out, and move away from the door quick in case I need to come through fast.”

Rusty went through first, then Chris, and they moved down the front porch to the left, clearing a path for Heather immediately. She rested the door on her hand, ready to fling it open.

“Can we help you?” Rusty asked.