Sergeant Lumler walked into the Jolly Breakfast Café, took his usual seat in the back booth, and waited for Santiago. The place was quiet; just him, a very old man at the counter, and the tinny sounds of a hidden radio, broadcasting another of the Governor’s endless speeches. At this hour, almost everyone else was off at work. Down at the big algae works, most of them, the poor slobs. Well, everyone had a job to do…
Even without the distinctive black uniform of the Police Force, complete with a snappy peaked cap with a gold badge denoting his rank, Douglas T. Lumler was, at 6’5 and nearly 300 pounds, an imposing figure. Heavy-browed, stubble-chinned, and porcine-eyed, ponderous of action and thought, he was probably best described, physically and otherwise (but never to his face), by the word thick. Not fat in any way, not flabby or chubby or soft. Just thick. And dressed in his uniform, as he was now, complete with polished black combat boots and shoulder-mounted two-way radio, he was, to the 2,000 or so citizens of New America anyway, nothing less than terrifying. They all knew what it meant to be arrested by the PF; a quick trip to the Interrogation Center. Which explained why he hadn’t yet seen a waitress.
“Hey!” he hollered, and banged on the table. “How ‘bout some fuckin’ service here?!”
A skinny, wide-eyed young black woman in a pale blue uniform dress appeared from the kitchen and skittered over to the table, order pad and pencil in hand.
“What, uh… what can I get you, sir?” she asked, eyes on her shoes.
“Coffee, black,” said Lumler. “Two.”
The girl nodded and moved off. In about three seconds she was back with a pot of the hot brown liquid that passed for coffee these days and a pair of chipped, mismatched mugs. Setting them on the table, she then hovered nervously by the counter.
Lumler poured, took a sip, grimaced at the taste, and looked out the café’s front window. It was a fine early summer day. Lots of sun, not too hot. Across the way, a work crew, six men and women in distinctive brown Skilled Worker coveralls, was busy tearing down some lamp posts. Nearby, a Tech, differentiated by his orange vest and hard hat, watched the proceedings. Absently, not really paying attention to the words, he listened to the hidden radio:
“The following,” said the usual deep, officious voice, “is an official announcement from the Governor of the Sovereign State of New America, the honorable Jackson S. Armstrong. All citizens, your attention, please.”
“My fellow citizens,” came the familiar high, ever-so-slightly lisping tenor of the Governor, “good day. I come to you today with a most important message. As you all know, loyalty is one of the great founding principles of New America. Through loyalty, we have created this society. Through loyalty, we have survived the Great Sick and the upheavals of the Fall. Through loyalty, we will face the future.
“For without loyalty, what do we have? Without unity, without a fealty to the greater good, what are we? Nothing better than the animals or the violent gangs who roam the countryside. Without loyalty, we are nothing.
“Now, it has come to the attention of New American authorities that there are certain members of our society who, for whatever misguided reason, seem to feel otherwise. Out of greed, out of personal pride, or out of sheer maliciousness, these individuals seem to regard loyalty and duty as somehow restrictive or contrary to their own petty beliefs. They see the individual as somehow more important than the greater good. Sadly, they see loyalty, one of our most precious assets, as oppression.
“But I come to you tonight to say that these individuals, few as they are, shall not prevail! They will not drag New America down with defeatism and negativism. They will not infect their fellow citizens with pointless pre-Fall nostalgia or spread their lies about your Leader and his government. No, these individuals, who I will go so far as to name as nothing less than traitors to New America, shall never prevail.
“To this end, I now announce the formation of a new campaign, which will be designated Operation Undying Loyalty. This campaign, to begin at once, will be carried out by the Police Force and will entail a thorough and intensive search of all suspected domiciles and businesses. All citizens will, out of obvious necessity, be required to provide their Identicard and answer any queries that authorities may make. All citizens are also required…”
But then Lumler saw the small, thin, white lab-coated form of his friend coming down the street and quit listening; he’d heard all that crap before, anyway.
A former veterinarian, Santiago was a designated Medico, one of the precious few left in all of the world who knew anything about the healing arts. A most valuable man. He and Lumler had become friends after Lumler had saved Santiago’s life in a street brawl. They met occasionally, just to chew the fat.
“Hey, Doug,” said Santiago, shaking Lumler’s hand as he took his seat. “How’s the cop business?”
Lumler scowled. “Oh, it’s great,” he said bitterly. “Just great.”
The waitress came over to see if they wanted anything more. Lumler waved her off and she retreated to the kitchen, out of earshot. Not that any sane citizen of New America would want to be seen eavesdropping on a PF man, but Lumler had to be careful about these things. Now that he and Santiago were effectively alone, he scowled again and shook his head.
“Yeah, great,” he said again, “that is, if you like workin’ for a fuckin’ psycho nutcase.”
“Bad, huh?” said Santiago. “Pretty intense?”
“That ain’t the word for it,” said Lumler, rolling his eyes. “I mean, Christ! The man’s supposed to be the Chief of Police and he’s… shit, I don’t even know what he is! All I know for sure is that Mr. Hanson Knox is one creepy, loony motherfucker.”
“Damn,” said Santiago appreciatively, nodding. “So like, what’s wrong with him? Survie Syndrome? Some kinda paranoia thing or what?”
“Oh, he’s paranoid, alright,” said Lumler. “But then, he’s a PF man. We’re all paranoid. Goes with the territory. Never know when you might get knifed in the back or set up in an ambush. No, this dude is just a straight-up violence freak. Gets off on pain, you know? I mean, you gotta be tough with people. I unnerstand that. Like the Governor says: Without order, we are nothing. Right? We gotta keep things in line, ‘specially now with the War and all. But this Knox dude… Shit, you wouldn’t believe the shit he does to people! He calls it interrogation, but…” he paused and scrubbed his jaw, then shook his head. “Aw, fuck it. I said too much already.”
Santiago sipped his brew and nodded some more. The radio in the back somewhere kept up a steady crackle of Official Announcements. Outside, there was a metallic groan and then a loud crash as a lamp post came down. Santiago, watching, sadly shook his head.
“Too bad,” he said. “You know, I bet this was a pretty nice little city, back in the day. What did they call it again?”
“Lawrence,” said Lumler distractedly. “Lawrence, Kansas. Used to be a big college town.”