“So, Bill,” Grace said. “What have you got for us? Something positive I hope.”
It was Dentweiler’s moment, and he planned to take full advantage of it, as all eyes rested on him. “Yes, Mr. President, I do have something positive to report. Simply put, Project Omega is poised for success. The first objective, which was to recapture Daedalus, has been accomplished.”
That news was sufficient to stimulate applause, which made Dentweiler feel very good, and brought a broad smile to Grace’s face.
“Well done! That’s the sort of thing we need more of. Where is he?”
“Sheridan, Wyoming, sir,” Dentweiler replied. “Our experts are trying to establish workable communication protocols with Daedalus. Once that effort is complete, we’ll be able to open negotiations anytime we want to.”
“So, Daedalus is cooperative?” Farnsworth wanted to know.
Dentweiler smiled tightly.
“No,” he answered honestly, “I wouldn’t go that far… But, thanks to the right sort of encouragement, Daedalus continues to grow more cooperative with each passing day. Let’s put it that way.”
A number of people chuckled, but the Vice President wasn’t one of them.
“I think we’re playing with fire,” McCullen observed darkly. “The last thing the people of the United States want us to do is negotiate with the Chimera. But, even if they did support the idea, we would be foolish to trust someone like Daedalus. He may have been human once—but he isn’t any longer.”
“Project Omega is an option, Harvey, and nothing more,” Grace interjected smoothly. “And I think all of us want to have as many options as we can come up with. But enough of that… Let’s move on to the Victory Tour. How’s that coming?”
Some of the cabinet members, Secretary of War Issen among them, thought it was premature to call the upcoming swing through the heartland a “victory tour,” given conditions on the ground, but Grace had persisted. After the Lincoln Memorial incident, the people needed reassurance.
“Preparations are well underway,” Dentweiler replied confidently. “You’re scheduled to give the first speech the day after tomorrow, here in Denver. After that it’s on to Omaha, St. Louis, Memphis, New Orleans, Houston, Phoenix, and the West Coast. We’ll be busing people in from the Protection Camps to enhance the crowds. I think you can count on some extremely positive coverage in all the major papers.”
“It will boost morale,” Lasky predicted enthusiastically. “I like it.”
“So do I,” Grace agreed, “although I can’t say I’m looking forward to all those chicken dinners!” That produced a chorus of chuckles.
The meeting ground on, and the snow continued to fall.
It had been a long day, and Cassie Aklin was tired by the time she finally arrived home, and was able to close and lock the door. Her roommate had already departed for work by then, which meant Cassie had the apartment to herself, as she shed her work clothes in favor of a robe and slippers.
Then, with some Nat King Cole playing on the radio, Cassie made a simple dinner that consisted of scrambled eggs with small chunks of fried Spam mixed in, and a piece of toast. Though plain by prewar standards, the meal was special because eggs were hard to come by. The local grocer had been kind enough to hold two of them for her.
Later, after the dishes had been washed, dried, and put away, Cassie went into the living room, where a book titled The Catcher in the Rye sat waiting on the side table next to her favorite chair. She had just sat down, and was in the process of making herself comfortable, when she heard a knock on the door.
It was probably Elsie, the elderly woman who lived down the hall, but with so many desperate people flooding into town she took the moment necessary to peer through the peephole before turning the bolt. What she saw made her heart jump.
“Nathan?” Cassie demanded, as she threw the door open. “Is it really you?”
That question was answered in no uncertain terms as Hale stepped in to close the door with a backward kick and wrapped Cassie in his arms. Her lips were there waiting, and half a minute passed as they kissed and whispered private things to each other.
Then, when they broke contact, Cassie looked up into Hale’s face and smiled.
“I missed you… Could you tell?”
Hale smiled.
“No, let’s try that again.”
So they kissed again, and it wasn’t long before a trail of discarded clothing led to the bedroom, where Hale laid Cassie on her bed.
“Let’s take it slowly,” she suggested softly. “Let’s make it last until dawn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hale responded with mock seriousness, as he lay down next to her. “Your wish is my command.”
Two hours later the lovers took a shower together. And even though they had fallen well short of Cassie’s goal, neither saw any reason to complain as they helped dry each other off. Then, clad in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts, Hale followed Cassie into the kitchen, where she made a grilled cheese sandwich for him.
“So,” she said as Hale took his first bite, and she sipped some tea. “Are you on leave? I know you aren’t here for a checkup… I would have heard about that.”
“President Grace is going to give a speech in front of the state capitol,” Hale explained. “And given how unstable the situation is, SRPA agreed to provide extra security. So, being a true patriot, I volunteered to take part.”
The last was delivered with a mischievous grin and Cassie laughed.
“Liar! You wanted to mooch one of my world-famous grilled cheese sandwiches!”
“Yeah,” he agreed lightly. “You have me dead to rights. It’s all about your grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Cassie smiled indulgently. “You are a very bad boy.”
Hale’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Does that mean I’m going to be punished?”
“Yes,” Cassie answered gravely. “It’s too late to send you to bed without your dinner… But I can still send you to bed early.”
“Damn,” Hale said regretfully as he took a sip of milk. “That sounds very strict. But, if I must, I must.”
The sky was three shades of gray, the occasional snowflake twirled down from above, and a man in a red Santa Claus suit held the door open for Susan Farley and Anthony Puzo as they left Union Station. The Santa’s bell made a cheerful clanging sound and was an audible reminder of Christmases past. So Susan put both of her suitcases down long enough to adjust the blue scarf she was wearing on her head, remove a one-dollar bill from her purse, and push it down into the pot that hung suspended under a metal tripod.
That was a lot of money for anybody, given the war, and Susan felt momentarily proud of herself. Then she remembered that she wasn’t going to need any money, impulsively shoved a ten-spot into the cauldron, and bent to pick her suitcases up off the cigarette-butt-littered sidewalk. “Bless you!” the man said fervently. “Merry Christmas!”
Susan doubted such a thing was possible, but smiled anyway as she made her way out to the curb. Puzo had corralled a cab by then, and consistent with his normal manner, made no attempt to help Susan with her suitcases. Once the luggage was stowed in the trunk, and the passengers were sitting in the back seat, the driver pulled out into light traffic.