felt Martin's melancholy grow as certainly as her own.
Geri drew a deep, slow breath of the cool, open country air. Out here, everything from before seemed part of someone else's life: the shattered society, the suffering, violence, and despair—her own degrading life as a tech center VIP "hostess." Now, though, it was all coming to a certain and quick end. With the work here complete, her separation from the place, her adoptive family—and doubtless return to the hostess "stable"—were inevitable.
Geri had suffered privately through each dwindling day, clinging to the fragile, impossible hope of some last-minute program extension. But in this eleventh hour, no such relief seemed likely. So she sat, helpless to change any of it.
Until maybe now.
Geri felt about her throat for the special necklace and chrome key given her those months ago. She remembered the specific instructions on its use. Using it now was still far premature. But her desperate fingers clenched its hard, tiny outline as the only life preserver she could find in her vast, churning sea of despair.
Geri crushed out her cigarette. Clasping the key tight, she started a determined pace toward the night-shrouded battery of humming camp machinery.
The post-dinner meeting convened in a comfortable guest bungalow. No introductions were required of its gathered members. Through allegiance and necessity, they knew each other too well. Their faces belonged to a tight-knit group of conspirators.
Staff economist, Hampton. Chief meteorologist, Shields. Medical officer, Ashton. Transport manager, Clausen. Quinsel of Census and Demographics. Marquart of Communications. Security head and chief intelligence officer, Welton. All reliable and efficient to a fault, they were the nucleus of covert power in modern devastated America.
Sitting in their midst, Royce Corealis never felt he could truly call any one of them friend. But that seemed a fair enough compromise for the monumental task they'd shouldered together in the name of their country—a task which now teetered, pointless and floundering.
"Just like that?" protested the first voice to thaw. "Warrington decides to surrender, so it's all over?"
"He can't!" joined a second. "It's . . . unconstitutional."
"The Constitution is a tired old piece of paper without much current relevance," snorted a third. "Like the man said, Emergency Order 8D966 puts him in the driver's seat on any decision of national concern he chooses to orchestrate. That includes surrendering the entire country for its believed betterment, unless somebody cares to stop him."
"Regardless of what he wants—or thinks he can do," returned the second, "ours is a project that doesn't officially exist in the first place. So he has no control over it."
"Maybe. But surrendering national sovereignty to the World Finance Council is something he has plenty of control over. There's no dedicated Congress or Senate to oppose things anymore. All the regional governing groups have gravitated to practical matters closer to their own homes—and that's their individual survival.
"Face it, through disregard, the presidency has reverted back to its original father figure supremacy. Just like a monarchy, with all the now tragically obvious potential for dictatorship."
"Wait a minute," said the meteorologist, Shields, walking over.
"Royce never really did bring up the project, did you, Royce? So maybe we're just getting the cart before the horse. If we take Warrington aside and explain things as a group, he'll see it our way. He's an objective person and, deep inside, still every bit a politician."
Welton, the intelligence man retorted. "Objective? Objective enough to have been totally bypassed up to now for the sake of project security. He's always been a borderline progressive. And from what Royce says, he's gone over all the way now.
"What happens if we do take the chance, show our cards, and can't bring him into the fold? We stand to lose a lot
Geri drew a deep, slow breath of the cool, open country air. Out here, everything from before seemed part of someone else's life: the shattered society, the suffering, violence, and despair—her own degrading life as a tech center VIP "hostess." Now, though, it was all coming to a certain and quick end. With the work here complete, her separation from the place, her adoptive family—and doubtless return to the hostess "stable"—were inevitable.
Geri had suffered privately through each dwindling day, clinging to the fragile, impossible hope of some last-minute program extension. But in this eleventh hour, no such relief seemed likely. So she sat, helpless to change any of it.
Until maybe now.
Geri felt about her throat for the special necklace and chrome key given her those months ago. She remembered the specific instructions on its use. Using it now was still far premature. But her desperate fingers clenched its hard, tiny outline as the only life preserver she could find in her vast, churning sea of despair.
Geri crushed out her cigarette. Clasping the key tight, she started a determined pace toward the night-shrouded battery of humming camp machinery.
The post-dinner meeting convened in a comfortable guest bungalow. No introductions were required of its gathered members. Through allegiance and necessity, they knew each other too well. Their faces belonged to a tight-knit group of conspirators.
Staff economist, Hampton. Chief meteorologist, Shields. Medical officer, Ashton. Transport manager, Clausen. Quinsel of Census and Demographics. Marquart of Communications. Security head and chief intelligence officer, Welton. All reliable and efficient to a fault, they were the nucleus of covert power in modern devastated America.
Sitting in their midst, Royce Corealis never felt he could truly call any one of them friend. But that seemed a fair enough compromise for the monumental task they'd shouldered together in the name of their country—a task which now teetered, pointless and floundering.
"Just like that?" protested the first voice to thaw. "Warrington decides to surrender, so it's all over?"
"He can't!" joined a second. "It's . . . unconstitutional."
"The Constitution is a tired old piece of paper without much current relevance," snorted a third. "Like the man said, Emergency Order 8D966 puts him in the driver's seat on any decision of national concern he chooses to orchestrate. That includes surrendering the entire country for its believed betterment, unless somebody cares to stop him."
"Regardless of what he wants—or thinks he can do," returned the second, "ours is a project that doesn't officially exist in the first place. So he has no control over it."
"Maybe. But surrendering national sovereignty to the World Finance Council is something he has plenty of control over. There's no dedicated Congress or Senate to oppose things anymore. All the regional governing groups have gravitated to practical matters closer to their own homes—and that's their individual survival.
"Face it, through disregard, the presidency has reverted back to its original father figure supremacy. Just like a monarchy, with all the now tragically obvious potential for dictatorship."
"Wait a minute," said the meteorologist, Shields, walking over.
"Royce never really did bring up the project, did you, Royce? So maybe we're just getting the cart before the horse. If we take Warrington aside and explain things as a group, he'll see it our way. He's an objective person and, deep inside, still every bit a politician."
Welton, the intelligence man retorted. "Objective? Objective enough to have been totally bypassed up to now for the sake of project security. He's always been a borderline progressive. And from what Royce says, he's gone over all the way now.
"What happens if we do take the chance, show our cards, and can't bring him into the fold? We stand to lose a lot
Similar Books
Guardians (Chosen Trilogy Book 2)
David Leadbeater
Secret of the Mask
Gertrude Chandler Warner
Draw Me In
Regina Cole Regina Cole
Soldier for the Empire
William C. Dietz
The Dead Season
Donna Ball
To Try Men's Souls - George Washington 1
William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich, Albert S. Hanser
The Sixth Lamentation
William Brodrick
The Last Time
E. L. Todd
Silver and Salt
Rob Thurman