THE NEXT MORNING. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 8:30 AM MST. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2025.
It was a fine clear October morning, the Indian summer kind that occasionally blesses the Arkansas Valley with clear amber light, a promise of a warm afternoon, and just enough tang in the chill morning air to make everything seem extra-alive, the last brief warmth before the plunge into icy winter. The sooty skies had brought the day about six weeks early, but early or not, the day still tasted clean and fine.
Recent trains had brought sharp cheese from Green Bay, canned spinach from Castle San Jose, and molasses from Morgan City. James had made cheese, elk sausage, and spinach turnovers and molasses and chokecherry muffins, and warmed up some elk sausage for Wonder, who ate with his flank pressed against Leslie.
“Funny how eating breakfast at your place feels like home,” Leslie said. “Got time before you go to work to take a walk down along the river?”
“I’m not going in to the GPO today. Heather’s going to be talking to me about a change of job over lunch. Okay for Wonder to finish off my scraps?”
“No problem, he can wait a day to start his diet.”
On their way down to the river, they barely spoke, not because they didn’t have things to say, but because it was all so overwhelming. Wonder showed no interest in chasing sticks, staying so close to Leslie that she occasionally tripped on him.
Finally, walking by the Arkansas, where ice rafts already floated by, James thought to ask, “So, did you find your place to be too much of a mess?”
“They’d tossed it but they weren’t too rough, I guess ’cause they were trying for thorough; all my underwear disappeared. When you see Heather, tell her she’s got a perv in the staff.” She knelt to scratch Wonder under his collar. “James, how the hell do I say ‘Thank you’?”
“You already did.”
“How about coming to Monday dinners forever? I mean, I know letting you cook for me is a pretty lame way to thank you—”
“It worked just fine this morning, I don’t know why it wouldn’t work forever.”
She reached out and lightly pushed his shoulder, palm flat against it, her little gesture for I like you, I want you to know I appreciate you, but never think it’s any more than that, and as he always did, for a split second he rested his hand on hers.
“Same old deal as before?”
“Always.”
“I’m so glad. So do you have to do anything before you meet with Heather? And when is that?”
“I need to be at Johanna’s at noon. Subject to that constraint, I’m all yours, as always.”
“You’re one of the sweetest deluded old farts I’ve ever allowed to feed me.” She socked him on the arm.
“Ow. Don’t abuse your elders. Isn’t it time for your nap?”
They walked as far as the last guard post along the Arkansas, catching up on gossip, criticizing the technique of the fishermen, and relishing the freedom and safety.
1 HOUR LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 12:30 PM MST. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2025.
James was one of the higher-paid people in Pueblo, with a triple salary: he sat on the RRC Council, was a senior librarian at the GPO, and received a covert stipend from Heather’s black budget. So Heather was surprised that this was his first time at Johanna’s What There Is. “You can afford it,” she pointed out.
He shrugged. “Before Daybreak, I was a civil servant with more than twenty years in, no debt, even a paid-for house. I could have afforded Cuban cigars and high-end French wines, but I don’t smoke and I prefer beer. Besides, Johanna and I are old buds from the local cooking club, and I happen to know I’m a better cook than she is.”
Heather laughed. “Well, let’s give Johanna a shot at beating you today. She was able to get fresh beef tongue, and she’s braised it in wine and onions.”
“That deserves reverence,” James agreed. “So no business till after.”
When they had finished, Heather said, “Here’s what I’m thinking. The position of chief research director is vacant. I want you.”
James gaped at her. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve never done anything remotely like—”
“None of us is in a job remotely like what we did before Daybreak.”
“I’ve never done research or managed more than two people—”
“Arnie only directed research when it had to do with crypto or semiotics, and didn’t supervise most of what we do. What he was, was my consigliere. And even before he took up treason, not a very good one, I’m afraid; bouncing ideas off him was sort of like hitting tennis balls against a wall of Jell-O, they always came back messy and often not recognizable. I need a person who wants to improve my thoughts, not make them more creative and subtle. Also somebody who can make it up as they go.”
“Make what up? I don’t think—”
“Make up whatever needs making up, right away, make the people to do it, make it happen. Like how you caught Arnie.”
“Debbie was the one who caught—”
“Debbie tackled. You caught. Without your work I’d have had no idea what to do except arrest you both. You had all the evidence, you just didn’t have any reason to think I’d believe you. Besides, you can’t mean I should hire Debbie. Should I put her behind a desk and start parachuting you into the boondocks?”
James leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “All right. I have to admit I’m already starting to think about how to make it all work. I just want to state for the record that you’re hiring me with no experience—”
She leaned forward and pinned James with her gaze into his eyes. “James, my other possible candidates don’t have nearly the relevant skills you do, and have never done it at all. Whereas you do have the skills and have done it right once.”
“Yeah, but then you’ll expect me to do it right again.”
“Unh-hunh. And over and over. And hold you accountable each time.”
James shrugged. “It’s the kind of deal I’ve been looking for all my life. Okay. I’m in.” He nodded at the handwritten blackboard. “Do you have time for dessert?”
“For raspberry fool? Absolutely!”
“Good, because I’m feeling very much like a fool, myself.”
ABOUT THE SAME TIME. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 4:30 PM EST. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2025.
Cameron Nguyen-Peters walked to the Council meeting with a light step for the first time he could remember. So odd, I even liked Arnie Yang, and I’m sorry for what happened to him. And he did so many good things for me, before Daybreak and after. But he never did a better thing for me than he just did by getting caught.
Whilmire led the prayer, thanking God for making the United States a Christian nation, veering close to thanking him for Daybreak. Hmm. The Board demanded that I start jailing people for false preaching. Wonder how they’d react if I started by arresting Whilmire?
Cam looked around the room after the prayer. He had no expression as he said, “Late yesterday, Doctor Arnold Yang, the former chief director of research at the RRC, was executed for treason in Pueblo; he had been taken over by Daybreak. His Daybreak contact or controller, code-named Aaron, who planned and carried out several of the most damaging attacks on Daybreak day, was killed in the process of capturing Yang. Heather O’Grainne, the director of the RRC, has presented me with convincing evidence that they have completely rolled up the espionage network in Pueblo. Incidentally, Leslie Antonowicz, who was initially arrested, has been exonerated. I thought you might like to know that particularly because several of us worked with Ms. Antonowicz during the recent, aborted summit in Pueblo. Also, James Hendrix has been appointed to take Doctor Yang’s place.”