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Heather smiled. “I should have realized I could depend on your curiosity. Here we go. This is in the nature of an experiment, my dear friends. And I mean that. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about you sitting in your capitals, trying to decide what you think is going to be right, worrying about the civilization that is resting in your hands, taking on a burden too big for anyone. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t worry about my old friends, and miss you both. Believe that or not, but it’s true.”

Cameron’s nod was barely perceptible; Graham’s eyes were suspiciously damp, and he lowered his gaze to the table in front of him after whispering, “I believe you.”

“So this is in the nature of a scientific experiment that I think has not ever really been tried, though philosophers have been proposing it for thousands of years. Chris may or may not ever be the historian of the moment; you might think of him as being more like your confessor here. He is here because he tells stories well, and he asks questions well, and he’s never been afraid of a follow-up; and because, in effect, he’s not so much an expert witness as an expert at being a witness.

“So… guys… I don’t know if Chris will ever write the history, but more than any leaders before ever have, this evening you are standing before the bar of history. Chris is going to tell you some stories, ask for your reactions, and we will do that for two hours—just two hours—and at the end of that time, you may talk to each other if you wish. And after that I will give you the best meal we can manage in Pueblo and put you back on your way tomorrow.”

“What sort of stories?” Cameron Nguyen-Peters asked.

“Why don’t I just start?” Chris asked. “Coordinator Nguyen-Peters, President Weisbrod, let me explain that in my last few weeks, editing the Pueblo Post-Times, I’ve built up quite a network of correspondent reporters, all over the country, and because I think it’s important for people to get the habit of reading newspapers again, and truly nothing sells papers like good feature writing, I run a lot of features, stories from my stringers about interesting people, places, situations. I get many more than I can use, and I maintain a file of those stories. So some of these will be familiar from the paper if you read it.”

The significant pause stretched long enough for Graham to say, reluctantly, “I read each issue as it reaches Olympia. It’s important to know what’s influencing public opinion.”

“I’ve read every word you’ve published, ads included,” Cam said. “Reading’s always been what I do so I don’t get lonely while I eat, or before bed.”

“All right, then,” Chris said. “So let me tell you about Pale Bluff, Illinois. That’s where Graham gave a speech on his way to Olympia that—no, Cam, you don’t get to talk about it. Yes, I know you feel that he has not lived up to its principles. Just for the moment let’s agree that it was a speech and he gave it. Now let me tell you about something. Pale Bluff is a divided town; a beautiful little town surrounded by apple orchards, which local legend has it, quite incorrectly, were founded by John Chapman—Johnny Appleseed. They’re hoping to trade a few tons of apple butter and apple jam—and maybe some apple wine—this fall to some other towns nearby, for some things they need later on. Apples are sweet food with a lot of vitamins and they keep well in cellars, so they’re something the country needs. And all the people in Pale Bluff have all worked like absolute mules, you know, to take in about seventy-five percent of their pre-Daybreak population in refugees, and find work and shelter for everyone.

“So today, it’s not rich, and it’s not an easy life, but there’s enough fish and game, and enough gardens, and lord knows plenty of apples, with chickens and sheep and maybe goats coming on line soon. There’s a guy in town who’s trying to trap some live wild turkeys because the domestic ones need too much care, and his idea is that if he can breed enough live ones, there’ll be something special for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and everyone can at least have a few mouthfuls of tradition, you know? Also, there’s a little choir forming up, too, because people miss music, and they’ve got some good singers.”

Graham sighed. “I remember all this. Carol May Kloster’s column is what I read for dessert, after I digest the hard news stuff. I always enjoy her piece. May I ask, is this going anywhere?”

“Just getting there. You see, when Quattro and his DC-3 landed on the highway there, it demonstrated that I-64 near the village would make a good airfield. And with Pale Bluff as a center of operations, there’s real potential for getting control of the whole lower Ohio Valley.

“And what I hear from Carol May is that there are quiet little meetings going on, people in Pale Bluff who favor Athens, or favor Olympia, getting together with like-minded citizens. Right now they’re talking about putting together political parties for the elections in eighteen months. But you know, if the war starts… my guess is you each have an agent or two in those little clubs, and that in certain circumstances, you would tell that agent to start some trouble, between all those neighbors who have sweated and worked together all that time; oh, say, think maybe of two workmates that went through the whole hard winter arguing politics together… and now you’re putting it on course for one of them to murder the other. And maybe you should think about their daughters being best friends, too, you know? But then after a few murders and some burnings, and a few hearts broken forever, well, one of you would get control of Pale Bluff. And the first thing you would do, to make it defensible, is to clear the cover around that village. That would be those orchards, you know? Regrettable of course, good-bye apples, but you have to do what you have to do.

“So that was my story, and here’s my question. Exactly what can you gain in the war that would be worth a dozen or so murders and burnings in that little town, and cutting those orchards down, so that soldiers could come in and throw out the families and fortify the buildings? Cameron?”

“I see the point and it’s a well-taken idea—”

“No, I wasn’t looking for a review. Pale Bluff might be your key to controlling the lower Ohio Valley. Now just explain why you must control the lower Ohio Valley, eh? What’s it for?”

Cameron looked down at the table. “I suppose if I don’t answer it will look even worse.”

“I have no opinion on how it will look. I’ll probably write the story, and only the people in this room will see you. Though of course many of us are your old friends. I like to think all of us are, actually.”

Cameron Nguyen-Peters sighed. “All right. If we can gain the Ohio Valley this summer…” He shrugged. “All right, this is your point, of course, it doesn’t have much to do with apples or choirs or little girls who are friends.”

“It’s your call, Mr. Coordinator. But can’t you draw the line? Aren’t you willing to say that the benefits of a united country, when we’re getting ready to fight the war for our survival, are just too important—that yes, it’s sad that two kids can’t be friends anymore because one of their daddies knifed the other one for the greater good?”

“If we’re occupied and conquered—”

“Do you believe there’s a force remaining on Earth that can come to this country and do that, right now? But let me ask that hard question in an even harder way—those people in Pale Bluff—how much of their orchards, which is what they depend on for food and prosperity, and how many of the houses they’ve labored to make work in this new world without gas or electricity, and how much of the society they’ve constructed—how much of that should go down the toilet so that you can control the Ohio and parlay that into controlling the country?” Cameron started to answer, but Manckiewicz said, “Your question this time, Mr. Weisbrod.”