“Pick up the pace and expect a fight,” he told the major.
They had covered only about two hundred yards more when Grayson saw the helicopter rise vertically and fly away to the northwest.
“Did they get away, sir?”
“I don’t know, Major. I think we’ve got to go take a look. But—”
Gunfire from the van.
The main body plunged into the ditches on either side, all in the dark shadows of the trees in starlight.
A messenger was at Grayson’s side. “General, Bravo captain says we plowed into the flank of a big party of tribals, and Second Platoon, out front, is fighting them; First and Third are moving to flank. He thinks they were going somewhere else and we just ran into them—”
Grayson was shouting again, sending forces around on each of his flanks, firming up his center with his rearguard, and driving them forward to find and massacre the tribals. Frustrated by failure and betrayal, he exulted in the volleys and single shots and the screams in the dark. And either these tribal fuckers stopped Phat or they didn’t, but I was too late and too slow, and that makes me mad, and by Christ I’m going to make them pay for making me mad.
When Athens was tiny, winking red fires far behind, Chris asked, “I don’t suppose anyone would care to tell us where we’re going?” He had consumed his ice cream cone with more reverence than he had ever shown the Host as an altar boy.
The Marine captain said, “Well, they told me to get you to anywhere with a runway, and take all the fuel I wanted because Bush was dying of nanoswarm, and didn’t have biotes yet, so we’ve got an extended-range Superhawk II here. Theoretically I could run all the way to Columbia, Missouri or so, but to be safe, we’re just going to Pale Bluff, Illinois, which should be friendly and has an airfield.”
“My ex-wife and my son Sam still live there,” the pilot added, “which is why I volunteered for this mission, it’s my chance to get back there. You might have heard about it if you ever read that Pueblo paper, or listen to the radio stations that read it on the air.”
“I might at that,” Chris said.
“So poor old Bush is gone, and that’s the last carrier, isn’t it?” Phat said.
“Yes, sir,” the Marine captain said. “More coffee all around for the guests, please, Chief? And for everyone? And there’s more ice cream, guests go first but I don’t want one drop of that wasted. We’ve got a while ahead of us, these things are fast but not that fast. Randy, let me know when you want me to take over and fly for a while.”
As they flew on to the northwest, the pilot revealed himself as a man who liked to talk. Jason decided that in light of his second bowl of ice cream, he could listen for a week if he had to. The pilot said, “Funny that the old Nimitz-class carriers outlasted all the new Ford-class ones, but those Fords were bad-luck ships from the beginning—the Ford herself set a record for going aground that I don’t suppose any carrier could possibly match, the terrorists sank poor old Franklin Roosevelt the year she was launched, W was zapped in the South China Sea EMP and then eaten by nanos, and, well, who the hell decided to name a ship after Jimmy Carter? It was like they were asking for what happened to it. But the Nimitzes kept right on ticking for most of this past year. Bush was the last, though, and in twenty years no one will remember there ever were aircraft carriers at all. I guess if Sam dreams about the sea, he’ll dream about commanding a ship-of-the-line.”
Phat cleared his throat. Very softly, he said, “Do you know who I am? Because you came here to rescue me.”
“Uh, no, sir, I don’t, and I didn’t mean any offense—”
“And none was taken. Lyndon Phat, known to those who do not wish to live much longer as ‘Shorty,’ general, U.S. Army, at one time the commander of military forces for the TNG, and as soon as I get to Pueblo and announce it—candidate for president of the United States in 2026. Which I will win, if for no other reason than that I will be damned if I’ll lose to that slimeball Grayson. And as for that ship-of-the-line, by the time Sam is your age, he’ll be bucking for a berth on the expedition to the moon, to shut that Daybreak gun down. Depend on it.”
“We all like to fly, sir.” They flew on through the silent dark. Hours later, dawn raced out from behind them and illuminated the mountains. Recent snow, and wood smoke rising from hundreds of chimneys, made it all look like a Christmas card from a hundred years ago.
THAT AFTERNOON. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 3 PM EST. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2025.
Grayson had slept until almost two; Whilmire, sitting across the table from him while he ate an enormous mid-day breakfast, said, “Well, it’s not any surprise to me that you have excellent taste in wives. Jenny issued a number of remarkably brutal threats about what would happen if you were not allowed your sleep, and having known her since her birth, I knew enough to take them seriously.”
“Daddy,” Jenny said, “I’ve got a husband to take care of.” She squeezed Grayson’s biceps. “And the next president of the United States.”
“I was going to ask if that was still on,” Grayson said, “because it seemed to me, after last night—”
Whilmire smiled. “Actually, things are better. First of all, as far as anyone in Pueblo can prove, you and Cameron Nguyen-Peters were trying to free Lyndon Phat, and the Natcon was killed by people blocking your plan. I’m sure the public will have their suspicions, but for public consumption, you come out looking like a fair man so devoted to the Constitution that you’ll risk your own life to restore it. Second, the actual interference with the escape came from a surprise assault by tribals that you defeated in battle. Of course, again, that O’Grainne woman won’t believe us, she’s not stupid, but our friends have every reason to keep believing us, our enemies were not going to anyway, and the people who just can’t make up their minds have an excellent reason to lean our way, because we’ve got the more appealing story. And to top it all off, problems between the Post Raptural Church and the government will be diminishing very shortly.”
Grayson said, “I realize I’m less doctrinaire about the Constitution than Cam—”
“Oh, I know there will be less truculence from the government side, but there will be far less pressure and hassle from the Church side.” Whilmire looked professionally sad. “I am afraid that Reverend Abner Peet has found it necessary to step down.” At Grayson’s startled expression, he added, “We’ve put together a story about the stress of the job. Confidentially, what happened is that the militia, pursuing tribals who were trying to flee through town after your battle, discovered he was harboring a wounded tribal girl in his house, and when they tried to arrest her, Reverend Peet assaulted them. It emerged that she was hiding in his house because she knew he would hide her, and that the relationship had been a close one for some months. It would appear that poor old Doctor Arnold Yang was not the only person Daybreak had found a way to.”
Grayson peered at Whilmire, looking for any reaction or feeling, and saw none. “You know, I never really liked either man, and I tried to tell myself that the reason Arnie Yang could be sucked into Daybreak was that he was too interested in it, and besides he was a liberal elitist who thought he was smarter than all of us, and since I didn’t like him anyway… well. I didn’t like Peet, either, but you sure can’t say he was vulnerable because he was too smart. Or too impressed with his own cleverness. And looking back, I wasn’t being fair to Yang, just being scared about what it meant. Daybreak is going to try to take over all of us, at least if we’re potentially useful, I mean, and it doesn’t just want to kill us. And Daybreak could probably succeed with any of us; nobody’s immune or secure against it.” He shook his head, looking down into his coffee cup, not wanting either his political partner or his wife to see how shaken he was by the thought.