Authors: John Barnes
THAT EVENING. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 5:45 PM MST. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2025.
Heather would rather have been alone with Arnie, but everyone, including Arnie, had agreed that it would be just too dangerous. So MaryBeth Abrams and James Hendrix sat with her and Arnie while they waited for the time. They had found a secure-enough room with windows; it was too cold to have them open.
He’d had his requests: a pitcher of Dell’s beer, a fresh steamed trout and fried potatoes, and a can of pineapple for dessert. Every now and then, a tear ran down his face, but otherwise he didn’t talk much.
Finally Heather said, “Arnie, it’s getting to be time. I didn’t mention it before now because I didn’t want to trigger a seizure, but we found the notebooks. Nobody will ever be alone with them, and we’ll watch everyone who reads any part of them like a cat at a mouse hole. I wish we could keep you; your ability to analyze—”
“Would only make me brilliant at devising traps, sending you down wrong alleys, and hiding the truth,” Arnie said. “And eventually I’d find a way to plant Daybreak in some of you. I’m a smart guy and I spent my life studying how ideas move, Heather. In the long run you can’t safely talk to me with Daybreak in me, and you have no way to be sure Daybreak isn’t in me.
“Besides, having me pay for it, in public, will do you a thousand times more good as an example than I would as a research subject. Just hit the obvious themes about it: nobody’s above the law, nobody’s too big to be seized by Daybreak, be alert, never never never talk to it, fight it. Don’t save my reputation; you can’t afford to have anyone find anything attractive about this.”
The sun descended; it was inadvisable to let Arnie talk without interruption, but what he seemed to want to do most was just share memories with Heather, about the time before Daybreak, so they took turns interrupting him, encouraging him to skip from one memory to another.
When the time came, as Arnie rose to take the final walk, James said, “Arnie, I know you’ve been touching a piece of paper in your pocket. I have to ask to see it.”
Arnie reached for his pocket and collapsed in a howling seizure. Heather and MaryBeth pinned him down; James picked that pocket. The guards rushed in.
When Arnie was tied to a stretcher, Heather said, “We knew this might happen. We’ll proceed with the plan for the seizure; frankly I hope he doesn’t come out.”
James showed Heather and MaryBeth the note:
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
AND WE WILL ALWAYS
LOVE THE EARTH TOGETHER.
Arnie woke up as the stretcher neared the scaffold, but he was too weak to walk, and too disoriented to maintain any dignity. The militiamen lifted him from the stretcher, bound his hands behind him, strapped the sandbag to his feet, hooded him, and fitted the greased aircraft-cable noose to his neck (“uglier but faster than rope,” MaryBeth had promised). In the little square of the trap door, he was weeping, and struggling for his balance, and when he asked Heather for a last hug, his own whining tone must have humiliated him.
She held him tight and close, and said, “Over quick, now. All be over quick. Just stay quiet, now, Arnie. I’m so sorry.”
The muffled sound might have been “Thank you” or “Fuck you.” His breathing was harsh and irregular; MaryBeth said, softly, “He’s close to another seizure.”
“Go in peace, Arn.” Heather hugged him hard, one more time, and stepped back. Arnie had requested no chaplain, and he couldn’t be allowed to say anything to the crowd, so the executioner simply checked to make sure the trap was clear, and pulled the lever. The gallows worked perfectly; afraid of making a mess of things, the engineers had overdone everything, and Dr. Arnold Yang plummeted into a broken neck and pinched carotids.
The vast crowd made no sound until the massed low moan as Arnie dropped; they walked away as if they had all been part of some secret shame.
As soon as they lowered him and wheeled his body into the examining room, MaryBeth swiftly checked for a heartbeat, poured the ice water into the ear, focused a bright light on the pupils of each hideously protruding red eyeball. “All right. This man is dead.” She felt around the cable and added, “And unofficially, you’re lucky you didn’t decapitate him with this rig.”
In Heather’s office, after each of them had had a shot of whiskey, James said, “About that note,” and Heather said, “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’d know that messy block printing anywhere. It’s Allie.”
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.”
“ ‘ ’Scuze me while I kiss the sky,’ ” the oldest reverend said. This was the first time the old man had spoken and he was making no sense. “James Hendrix,” he said. “Jimi . . . oh, never mind.”
Grayson, who had been pre-informed, nodded approval. “Good job at Pueblo. Pity they didn’t catch him sooner.”
Cam made himself smile; it didn’t come naturally, though he felt like singing. “Luckily it was soon enough. You will all recall that talks with Olympia in preparation for the restart election broke off just a few weeks ago when it was discovered that Daybreak had penetrated the Pueblo staff. That impediment is now removed. We’ve lost a month, but there’s no reason we can’t make it back in the next thirteen months. Gentlemen, we’re going to put our nation back together under the Constitution.” He waited a moment to see that the reporter from the
Weekly Insight
was scrawling frantically and looking up with light dawning in his eyes. Now was the moment. “I am therefore contacting Olympia immediately to determine the earliest possible date at which we can meet to resume the process, and I have already received the following message from Ms. O’Grainne in Pueblo, and I quote, ‘For peace and the Constitution, our door is always open. Tell everyone they can have their old room back.’ End quote. I therefore ask the Board to endorse the resumption of this effort to restore our nation, and gentlemen, I’d appreciate it even more if you can make it unanimous.”
It was the least enthusiastic chorus of
aye
that Cam had ever heard, and at least a third of them did not participate. But the dead silence when he called for the
nays
allowed him to declare the vote closed and unanimous. When he asked Whilmire, “Reverend, could you lead us in a closing prayer now, so I can send our reply as soon as possible?” he had a clear, confident undertone of threat.
He and Grayson, as usual, were the last ones out. “General, thank you for making this possible.”
“You appealed to my oath. It’s hard to resist that.”
“Of course.” They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, and Cam added, “You’re entitled to be along for the historic moment. Please come along while I do the radio conference. How are the plans going for an expedition against Castle Earthstone?”
“I think we’ve settled on the route north of Terre Haute. The forces will be adequate for the job, and if I have anything to do with it, we’ll be ready as soon as we have dry ground in the spring.”
Cam smiled slightly. “Are you a history buff, at all, General?”
“Most career officers tend to be.”
“Yes. I was just wondering . . . you know, winning the
first
battle fought along the Tippecanoe made someone president.”
Grayson laughed. “I assure you, that’s not any part of the reason for the plan, but now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll always suspect myself. Well, I’ll supply a victory on the Tippecanoe—you supply an election—and perhaps we’ll see. You wouldn’t know any politicians named Tyler, would you?”
Cam laughed as much as he could manage, given that he almost never did, and the two men walked in what was almost companionable silence.
Now I’ve got you,
he thought,
and if that didn’t feed your ego, God alone knows what will.