To the naked eye, the figure that had just come over a low rise in the road was no more than a dot. McIntyre looked through the binoculars. “Well, that looks like a black-powder rifle, that’s definitely a coonskin cap, and there’s fringe on his jacket. But he’s wearing leather dress shoes, and I don’t think Davy Crockett’s jacket had a zipper, either. Perhaps your Ranger training at observation is failing you.”
“Could be, sir. Maybe he’s hunting? The dog looks like it’s doing more than just hanging around and keeping company, and the sheath knife is too short to be much in a fight but just right for field dressing something.”
“I missed the knife, so we’re even.” McIntyre handed the binoculars to Heather, saying, “Well, let’s see how a Fed does with this.”
She saw everything they’d pointed out, and then laughed. “You guys missed something a law-enforcement person wouldn’t. There’s a badge on that silly hat, and I’m guessing that white armband means something too. He’s some kind of cop.”
When they had closed the distance, they saw he was young, maybe not even thirty yet, deeply tanned, and thin to the point of scrawny. He kept his black-powder rifle, which Machado whispered looked like a percussion cap/paper cartridge model, carefully pointed at the sky, and when the dog ran forward to meet them, he said, firmly, “Skip. Back here.” Skip trotted back behind him, as if saying, Okay, boss, we’ll play by the rules, but they smell okay to me.
“I’m Freddie Pranger,” the man said. “Long Range Patrolling Constable for the village of Pale Bluff, Illinois.”
“General Norm McIntyre, U.S. Army, and—”
“Then this is the party I’m looking for,” Pranger said. “I’m assuming you are Graham Weisbrod, the former Secretary of the Future?”
Graham nodded. “And current President of the United States.”
“That’s what folks want to discuss back at Pale Bluff,” Constable Pranger said. “I’m betting most of those M4s still work, so I’m not going to try to make you come along, but I was sent out to invite you in. We can give you beds and food for the night, and have a little discussion. Our governor up in Springfield has sent us word over the semaphore chain that you’re to be detained and turned over to the state, but quite a few people in the village don’t hold with our governor, being as he’s actually the secretary of state, and the wrong party too—the real gov and his lieutenant were up by Chicago when the big bomb went off.
“So the folks in town voted that I was to walk up this road and make you the offer of shelter and a chance to talk. There’re people around Alton who could find you a train west, if we passed the word to them, which I guess we’ll do if you win the vote.”
“What happens if we just walk on by?”
“Nothing—from us. Don’t know what any other town up the line might do. Probably’d depend on how they voted.” He took off the coonskin cap and rubbed his damp hair. “What I can offer you is, Pale Bluff is close, we have a lot of apple pies baking because some of our people are out to impress the president, and you’ll get a hearing at the Town Meeting; our mayor doesn’t allow people to act out much.”
“Roof, bed, pie, and a fair hearing,” Weisbrod said. “A pretty good deal.”
“Well, that, and we’re mostly Democrats here. Next few towns are iffy.”
“Then I think we have a deal, Constable Pranger.”
ABOUT THREE HOURS LATER. PALE BLUFF. ILLINOIS. 4:30 P.M. CST. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 18.
It was even easier than they had expected. A few older men, and one young woman with a big cross on her neck, made a fuss about Weisbrod’s being wanted by the armed forces and the police, but the testimony of a general— particularly one who talked as eloquently about the Constitution as McIntyre did—seemed to quiet them.
Asked to make a final statement before the vote, Graham Weisbrod said, “Let me just say that it is the essence of living under a government of laws and not of men that we have to let the laws go against us, sometimes, when it’s our turn. Right now, I don’t know what they’ve figured out about this EMP down in Athens, because they haven’t released their official statement, but the news from Radio Pullman, which wasn’t knocked out, says that the physics guys at WSU think it was centered over Pittsburgh, which, as we all know, is where KP-1 is. We all hope they’ll get back on the air soon. I expect when they do we’ll hear some more bad news from Pittsburgh itself, and from Youngstown, Wheeling, Erie, Johnstown, and so on.
“If that was where the blow fell, then depending where the Atlantic Fleet was, they may have taken some damage too. I hope you’ll remember them in your prayers.
“And please, everyone, keep looking for the pilot of that Navy fighter. He ejected and his chute opened, we all saw that, but he might have come down as much as ten miles away from where we did. If he hasn’t found a nice town like this, or a friendly farm, he might be pretty cold and hungry right now, and of course he might’ve been hurt by the fire in his plane, or in the ejection. Please keep looking out for him.”
Not bad for a guy who’s no politician, Graham, Heather thought. Some of the vets-first crowd is nodding like you really pleased them.
“Anyway, let me point out an irony here: if the Pittsburgh EMP turns out to have been a clear-cut act of war, then the political difference between me and the NCCC will be zero. None, zip, nada. If it really is a war, we’ll go win that war. And we’ll do it without abrogating or mauling our Constitution. I understand that Mr. Nguyen-Peters acted in good faith, feeling that in time of war the country must have a president who is committed to that war—but that’s not what it says in our Constitution.
“The Constitution makes the President the Commander in Chief, so it gives him the duty to repel foreign attacks. But it doesn’t require him to see them when they aren’t there. He owes you his judgment and perception as much as he owes you his loyal, energetic service.
“Up till today, I saw no war. Once I become more acquainted with the evidence—and I will be getting more of it soon, I believe, from many sources—then if indeed we are under attack and at war, I will contact Mr. Nguyen-Peters, offer him an apology, and reconcile; I will not want to lose a man of his abilities when our needs are so great.
“On the other hand, should the evidence prove—as I believe—that Daybreak and the terrorist attacks associated with it were the result of a now-extinguished system artifact, a terrible self-organization of the malicious and wilful destructive side of all of us, manifested through a technology we did not fully understand—if the evidence shows it—then I call on Mr. Nguyen-Peters, his supporters, and whatever civil governments and military units may have aligned with him, to join with us in reconciliation, without any penalty or prejudice. It is the holiday season; it is appropriate for there to be peace among men of good will, and deep though our differences are, bound though I am by the Constitution, I extend my hand, and hope to find it clasped by another man of good will.”
The vote on “Resolved: That the Village of Pale Bluff recognizes Graham Weisbrod as President of the United States of America and so will offer all needed assistance within our power,” was 289 for, 36 against.
There was one more item of business on the agenda; Quattro Larsen asked for volunteers to help him walk back to the DC-3 and see if it could be rehabbed. “I’m guessing,” he explained, “that it’s a matter of replacing some wires and fuses, and probably rebuilding the spark coil, and I guess I’ll have to figure out what to do about the deflated tires, so far away from any source of compressed air. But it seems like a shame to lose one of the few remaining airplanes, and honestly, it’s kind of my baby; I’ve worked on it so long that I guess whether I get volunteer help here or not, I’ll be walking back there tomorrow to work on it again.”