Authors: John Barnes
THAT NIGHT. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 11 PM EST. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 2025.
They had pretended to sleep on the train, sharing a big couch in a private compartment, while Larry briefed them via squeeze code. The essential information boiled down to expect trouble; don’t resist the fake arrest; expect to get the rest of the script from Cameron Nguyen-Peters; and if anything went wrong, make as much noise as possible, improvise, free General Phat, and run.
“That’s a lot of light up ahead for nowadays,” Jason said, quietly, as they neared the Athens station.
Larry and Chris leaned across him to look where he pointed. “Orangey and flickering, so it’s torchlight,” Chris said. “Not good. I don’t think they’re holding a parade for us.”
As the train neared the station, silhouettes swept by on both sides of the tracks, and the train whistle blasted over and over. The dark human shapes, backlit by torches, thickened into a wall of heads above bodies, faces flaring out of it in the flickering, uncertain light, like snapshots of angry ghosts.
At the platform, backs covered with Rorschach camo blocked the view through the windows. “Soldiers standing three deep,” Jason said. “And the crowd sounds like bears.”
Their conductor leaned in. “They said to ask you not to sit too close to the windows, and wait for someone to come to you.”
Outside the praying and singing was growing louder, and some objects thudded against the side of the train car. “Is there a next station we could maybe go on to?” Chris asked.
“It’s a spur line,” Larry said. “To get off it we would have to back up. Which can be pretty easily blocked.”
So far, no gunfire had punctured the angry rumble of the mob outside, and what was hitting the train sounded like rocks or bottles, not shots. “I like the singing better than the shouting,” Chris said. “They don’t throw stuff when they sing.”
Cameron Nguyen-Peters came in. “This is going to be a nuisance. We need to make a public display of arresting you all as spies. You will be going to a discreet high-security facility and the man you came to meet will be there. My assistants will bring along your bags separately.”
He paused for a moment as the shouting and screaming outside rose to a crescendo and then quieted. “That’s our cue. General Grayson is speaking to the crowd. He can usually persuade the Post Raptural crowds to behave, at least for short periods of time. He’s defusing the situation for public peace, and he’ll do what it takes to protect you. He knows what your mission is and supposedly he’s down with it—but if he’s going to stab us in the back, it’ll be tonight, so stay alert and trust him only as much as you have to. For this ceremonial arrest, just try to look like the general has overwhelmed you by his sheer force of personality.”
As they waited in the shadow to go onto the platform, while General Grayson prayed at length, Larry muttered, “Who’s the low-rent Madonna clone beside him?”
“His wife,” Cam said. “Ten times smarter and fifty times more dangerous than he is, and don’t forget it.”
The prayer finished with the Post Raptural coda—
help us during this Tribulation to make Your chosen nation fully fit for Your return.
There was wild cheering, but Grayson held his hands up for silence. “Now we are about to proceed with a difficult moment, my friends, and I am depending on each of you to be calm, reasonable, and fair. These men believe they are carrying out their duties in accord with their oaths, just as sincerely as I believe I am keeping my oath. I, and the other competent authorities, must have the freedom and time to investigate and reach an impartial conclusion that will stand the scrutiny of God and man. To do that, we
must
have quiet and order. So I’m going to ask you to return to your homes after you see these men taken into custody. Rest assured we are dealing with any danger they may pose to God and country—but we are doing so fairly and dispassionately. Now, will you please all join me in the Pledge of Allegiance?”
It was no mere recital; the crowd seemed to speak in one passionate voice:
I pledge allegiance to the Lord
Of the United and Christian States of America,
And to the Cross and Eagle which stands for His Presence,
One nation under God, faithful to Christ,
With liberty, justice, grace, and love for all.
“I am going to find a way to crucify that son of a bitch,” Chris whispered.
“Gotta let me help,” Larry whispered back.
“He doesn’t believe it himself,” Cam pointed out.
“I don’t care whether you’re a bear yourself, don’t feed the bears,” Jason said.
When the three men moved forward into the light, the crowd fell into a deep silence. Grayson publicly ordered Cam to take them into custody for questioning. Cam declared he would hold them according to Grayson’s orders, and came forward to take Larry by the elbow.
As they passed out of the light, Grayson was urging the crowd to go home. A few little bunches of them were striking up hymns or chants, but it didn’t seem to be contagious. A long flight of steps led down along the solid brick wall of the power plant, plunging into deeper darkness.
“Why was he willing to do that?” Larry asked quietly.
“Because it means I’ve been publicly seen taking orders from him, now,” Cam explained. “That’s worth a great deal to him. Look, time’s short, here goes. Two blocks from here, I am going to lead you into a dark area behind an old classroom building. I will appear to just be taking a shortcut across a lawn. You will
silently
turn away from me and follow the row of magnolias to the north; at the edge of campus there’s a dark patch where you can run across to a warehouse. North and west of the warehouse there’s an old bike trail. Follow it about half a mile to a frame house by the east bank of a creek—if you cross a bridge you’ve gone too far. In that house are men I’ve assigned to the job, loyal to me and the United States. Give them the password ‘Four larks and a wren.’
“If by any chance you are arrested that’s the place you will be taken anyway, and the guards will free you as soon as the arresting party leaves and you can give them the password. They will release General Phat to you. He knows the extraction procedure, which is—”
“Stop were you are,” a voice said from the shadows. Cameron walked on and was gone. Chris felt his arms pinned; beside him Larry and Jason struggled. Pistols cocked, and Chris felt the press of the muzzle at the back of his neck, pointed a little upward in the executioner’s angle.
“Prisoners, hold still while we secure you.”
Bags went over their heads instantly, bars slipped between their backs and elbows as neat as knitting, and choke ropes slipped over their necks like a period onto the end of a sentence. Chris recognized Grayson’s voice when he said, “Follow me to the secure facility. They’ll be held there till morning. No noise and forget this the moment we’re back.” Hands turned him around a few times and then guided him into a new direction; he sensed the others beside him. “Prisoners,” Grayson said, “if you pick up your feet and obey your handlers, you won’t get hurt on your way there.”
Chris noticed that nothing had been said about after they were there.
THAT NIGHT. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 12:20 AM EST. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2025.
Mama had taught Jeffrey Grayson to “get good stuff that’ll last.” He’d had his first pair of good Italian shoes at the age of twelve. His first car had been a mechanic-approved used BMW. Mama’s first personal assistant had still been with her on the day she retired, they had had two cooks—mother and daughter—in all their time in the big old stone house, and the gardener’s grandfather had worked at that house. You knew you could count on quality shoes, cars, and people.
Unfortunately, what he was doing right now required low-quality disposable people, and they were behaving just like it. A squad of first rate MPs at the facility, and maybe a half dozen Rangers with him, and Grayson would have no worries.
These dopey misfits were obviously enjoying the feeling of being Big Tough Bad Guys. Parker, the closest thing Grayson had to a reliable subordinate, had to remind Ethan twice to keep his finger out of the trigger guard; probably it scared the shit out of the prisoners to hear that.
At the secure facility, it was worse. They didn’t even know how to straighten up and behave right—instead of saluting, standing at attention, and carrying out the orders quickly and crisply, they sort of waved their hands at their heads, looked around the room, and hunched and slumped as they put the prisoners into the rooms. They drawled like clerks at a 7-Eleven.
As soon as the prisoners were shoved into their cells and locked in, Grayson pulled off his ski mask and said, “There is one more empty cell and we’re going to have one more prisoner. You all on guard, stay on guard. Arresting party, go get the last one and bring him in—as gently as possible, give him the chance to come with you voluntarily, and you are by no means to use violence; if he just walks past you, let him.”
God I hope they remember what they are really supposed to do.
But at least they took off quickly, ski masks pulled down, running in the right direction, and beyond that he’d just have to hope.
“For the record,” he said, loudly, so that the men in the cells could hear him, “it was necessary to arrest this party because the Reconstruction Research Center at Pueblo has been penetrated by Daybreaker and other subversive elements, and we became aware that this purported scouting expedition was actually an attempted prison break by Lyndon Phat . . .”
The speech went on, sounding more and more lengthy, flat, and phony to Grayson himself. He wanted to just cut it entirely and tell everyone he’d be back later, but he had to drive on through the excruciating, repetitive speech, because he had to be seen here, after giving orders for which he would have independent and even hostile witnesses. There must be no question of either what his orders had been, or that he had been here, when—
Distant gunfire. It began as a few shots, then erupted into what sounded like a brief firefight that trailed off in ones and twos within a minute.
“What is
that
?” Grayson demanded. Not staying for an answer, he ran into the night as the last shots punctuated his exit.
ABOUT THE SAME TIME. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 12:40 AM EST. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2025.
If I’m not being stabbed in the back,
Cameron Nguyen-Peters thought,
then Grayson did that perfectly; we told them just enough to make sure they’ll accomplish the mission, and to cover Grayson and me if things go to shit. And the only catch is that if Grayson is backstabbing me, I’ve just given away every advantage I had. Well, they always say that if you want someone to be trustworthy, you have to start off trusting—
An explosion tore through the downstairs, shaking the building, throwing him to his hands and knees; the coffee in its fine cup flew across his immaculate desk. Plaster spattered on the back of his suitcoat.
Gunshots downstairs, and shouting. He didn’t recognize any of the voices. Probably the intruders were killing any of his surviving, wounded loyalists.
The shaking of the building frame must have jammed the window, because it wouldn’t budge when he yanked at it. He kicked it in the center as hard as he could—it was bulletproof but secured with just a few screws in case of something like this—and it fell away. He stepped over the windowsill, out on the fire escape.
A man had been waiting for him by the window, and as Grayson turned, he was facing into the muzzle of a Newberry Standard carbine.
“You don’t want to do this,” Cam said, softly.
“Shut up.”
“Grayson can’t afford any connection to killing me; do you want to be one of the few living witnesses? Do you think he won’t dispose of you, like he’s disposing of me?”
“He said not to talk to you because you’re a slick liar.”
“Well, he
would
say that, wouldn’t he?” Careful not to move his head, with only the light from the oil lamps in the office behind him, Cam studied every detail of the man, trying to make his gaze friendly and sympathetic.
No anger. No pity. He’ll pull the trigger if he sees either.
Pudgy, out of shape, lines too deep in his face, slumping like he wanted his ass out of here, the man wore a long untucked homespun shirt; his belly bulged over too-small Levi’s.
Of course. Grayson couldn’t have gotten a regular soldier for this job.
“Do you love your country?” Cameron asked him.
“What kind of a question is that? Would I be here doing this if I didn’t?”
“I was appointed by the last serving president of the United States,” Cameron said quietly, “and I appointed Grayson to his present job.”
“Who says he has anything to do with this?” Something defensive in the man’s tone.
This was going the wrong way.
Try something else.
“If he didn’t, I’m very glad to hear it. Someone sent you. Loyal American citizens don’t come armed to attack their government unless someone has been telling them stories.”
“What makes you think Grayson . . . I mean—”
“He was usually honest with me up till now. But if you’re going to kill me, can’t you tell me what it’s about?”
The man’s eyes rolled up and away, slightly, toward his low, broad-brimmed hat.
He’s thinking about that, he’s thinking—
“Hold it!” the man shouted, not at Cam. Cam did not turn around, but felt another man behind him on the fire escape.
All my life I’ve depended on finding the smart one and talking to him, but sometimes the smart one can’t—
“We ain’t spoza talk to’im.” The voice behind him was expressionless. “He said he’d get us talkin’ and we wouldn’t do it.”
“Maybe—”
“Aw, bullshit, Parker. Think think think, talk talk talk, all the time and you never wanna do nothing.”
On the last syllable, the world roared, and Cam felt an immense shove high on his back. Falling forward, trying to catch the fire escape’s railing, he barely formed the thought
Don’t
.
As he clung for a moment to the railing, a fragmentary image of the ground below was the last thing that ever crossed from Cam’s optic nerve into his brain. Then Parker shot him in the head. The world disappeared into an unbearable bright light and roaring sound.
Denny kicked the reeling body hard, and it tumbled over the railing, off the fire escape, thudding to the pavement below. “Hey Parker, hey motherfucker, we got the fucking Natcon! We’re fucking
famous
. See, when it’s time to do it, you gotta do it. Mother
fuck
er! Famous!”
Parker looked down at the gun in his hand as if it had just appeared there. He wanted to say something, or have a thought, but nothing came. He descended the fire escape slowly, as if in a drunken stagger, with Denny beside him, slapping his back, slugging his shoulder. “Got him, hey, we got him. Motherfucking
famous
, Parker, we’re motherfucking
famous
.”
General Grayson was waiting for them at the bottom, with three regular soldiers that Parker hadn’t seen before now. Grayson had been crouched by the Natcon’s body; now he stood up, an expression of horror on his face.
Now is when we’re supposed to point our weapons at him and he’ll back away, and then—but he didn’t say there’d be other soldiers.
Parker felt more than thought,
So this is what it felt like for the Natcon
, and tried to make his mouth open to say,
Please! I’ll never tell anybody!
and tried to frame the thought that they had to talk, that Denny must not point that gun.
But beside him, he felt Denny’s gun swinging up, just like in practice. Then the general’s pistol was up, and firing.