Daybreak Zero (23 page)

3 DAYS LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 11 AM MST. SUNDAY, AUGUST 24, 2025.

It had been a colder, wetter summer than anyone in Pueblo could remember, so the old Pueblo Courthouse’s lawn was still green even in August, and volunteers with weedwhips had been needed to make it presentable, but the dense green was pretty; the blue sky and crisp air, more like October than August, was delicious; and it could hardly have been more perfect for Bambi and Quattro’s wedding.

Heather was easily the most comfortable person there; they’d given her a chair, with a pitcher of water and a glass beside her. Leo was continuing to show promise as an extra-quiet baby, occasionally squirming just enough so she had an excuse to look down and gently touch his face; otherwise, she had about fifteen words to say at the appointed time and could just sit and watch the crowd.
Gee, other than the watch and militia on duty, I think the whole town must be here.

Colonel Streen performed the ceremony; they were going to miss him, as the TNG was sending him over to the former Cedar City to head up a joint punitive expedition against tribals who had set forest fires, smashed irrigation systems, and burned out some isolated homes.

To maximize the political benefits, Arnie had written a short speech playing up hope for the future, union between people and among peoples—not heavy-handed, relying more on the context of the scenery, because, as Arnie said, you didn’t have to look far in Colorado to realize it was the state where “America the Beautiful” was written.

Larry Mensche stood proud and tall beside Quattro.
He’s such a changed man ever since he brought his daughter back; he was already our best, but now he’s sort of . . . magnificent. Weird. Larry seemed like kind of an average FBI agent, dead-ended, had his last promotion, serving his time out . . . and now his name’s going to live with Kit Carson and Daniel Boone. . . .

Bambi looked great in an antique wedding dress, and Quattro was splendid in his tuxedo; at least the fashion for all-natural materials across the last fifty years or so had left some good clothes in good shape.

Heather rose and said the brief sentences Arnie had created for the matron-of-honor speech; there were more speeches than was normal at a wedding because this was a major news event and news went out via the
Post-Times
, so the more words to report, the better. To her relief, Heather got the words out without stumbling, sat back down, and was done with her active part.
This might be the longest break I’ve taken without being asleep since we came to Pueblo.

At last the ceremony ended with three volleys from the honor guard. (
Love, honor, and shoot the right people . . . ,
Heather thought.)

For the reception, Quattro had brought over a boxcar load from each coast—jars of pickled and dried fish from Washington, coffee from Lisa Fanchion’s fleet, dried and canned vegetables from California, molasses from Florida, sweet potatoes from Alabama, oysters from the Gulf, and beer and wine from everywhere. Quattro had contrived to give the whole town one big unrationed meal, sharing about as much happiness as he could. “That’s Patrick and Ntale’s fourth trip through the chow line, by my count,” Heather observed.

“I counted six,” Jason said. “But I might’ve missed one. Patrick said that when Ntale’s wedding comes up, he’s going to be as rich as Quattro and throw a feast like this—but
bigger, and with chocolate
.”

Arnie grinned. “It’s what I told you, Heather. Heroes. It’s a rough world nowadays, and kids can’t get by anymore on mere role models—they need
heroes
.”

“Maybe Quattro could adopt a characteristic slogan,” Heather said.

Arnie laid a finger on one cheek. “Let me guess. Anything as long as it’s not
the mail must go through
.”

NINE:

THE DYNAMITED MERMEN WASHED ASHORE

THE NEXT DAY. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 1 PM MST. MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2025.

“Mid-day from Crypto Incoming, Ms. O’Grainne. Hey there, Leo,” Patrick said.

Heather looked up from her lunch. “Hey, you have to stop bringing me more work than I can do before the next batch comes in.”

“Oh, sure, you say that, but if I stopped bringing it, you’d be extra mad. Wouldn’t she, Leo? Your mom is a tough lady.”

“Don’t try to enlist my son in this, he’s too young to encounter bad influences.” Heather gave Patrick the usual allotment of meal tickets, and a hug. He hugged back, hard, collected her outgoing crypto, and was gone,
The mail must go through!
echoing as his moccasined feet slapped down the steps.

She pulled out her big yarn and card chart and began sorting through the implications of the messages. Dave Carlucci, FBI in San Diego, reported that Harrison Castro was making more blustery noises about his right to have vassals; Carlucci thought he’d finally found a Federal judge who would issue the order Heather had asked him to seek. The message ended with PS SAW YR DAD. STILL HAPPY, HEALTH GOOD, WANTS 2 HEAR EVTHING RE LEO ASAP. Heather decided to leave CASTLE CHALLENGES as an area to watch but didn’t move its priority up or down.

Sally Osterhaus, overflying a tribal area in Central Oregon, reported what looked like a performance area for a Daybreak play; her sketch would be run by Debbie or Larry ASAP. TRIBAL/DAYBREAK LINK, no change.

From Athens, Red Dog reported that General Phat, being held incommunicado, was healthy, in good spirits, and willing to discuss the issues she’d asked him to; that advanced the FIND PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE path substantially. Nice to see some green spreading down a board dominated by red and yellow.

After the first five lines of the message from Carol May Kloster, Heather spoke aloud, and immediately added, “Leo, honey, do
not
make any of those your first word.”

She scribbled five notes, and leaned out the window; sure enough, Patrick was sitting on the park bench, reading
Great Expectations
for James Hendrix’s class. “Patrick!”

Heather would have sworn that somehow, from three storeys below, that kid managed to get to her desk before she did.

“Deliver as addressed—while they’re alone if you can, but don’t delay if you can’t. Make sure they see my OPEN ALONE IMMEDIATELY note. They won’t need to send a reply. Come right back; I’ll have another batch.” She handed him his coupons.
He and Ntale’ll eat for weeks on this.
Her feelings must have leaked through, because he went silently—but if anything, faster than ever before.

6 MINUTES LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 1:35 PM MST. MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2025.

Patrick appeared beside Chris as if he’d blinked into existence, and handed Chris the note from Heather. Chris nodded, set down the page proof he’d been going over, handed Patrick three meal coupons as a tip, and carried the message into the bathroom.

Immediately prepare anyone who needs to know for your disappearance for an indefinite period of weeks. Grab any hand-carryable items vital to your comfort or security; otherwise plan to live out of one of our standard pre-packed field packs. Come to my office at once. You will be leaving from there. Explanations on arrival. Sorry for any inconvenience but do it. Heather.

“Yow,” Chris said, emerging. “Extra special executive meeting. We need the chiefs of production, advertising, editorial, and subscriptions in the conference room now.”

The
Post-Times
actually had only three full-time Pueblo employees, one of whom was Chris, who handled all those areas, and their production room was one big former auto garage.

Abel Marx looked up from his battle with the old press and laughed, a huge white grin splitting his dark face. “Man, that joke never gets old for me, either, Chris.”

“Middle-aged men are all brain damaged,” Cassie Cartland said, from behind her desk. “That’s why they’ll keep making the same tired joke over and over. Let me finish one thought . . .” Her fingers clattered over the keys like hail on a tin roof. With her freckles, bowl-cut brown hair, and nose and chin too prominent from sheer skinniness, Cassie looked like a kid on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. She was almost seventeen, the daughter of the printer Chris had used for the
Olympia Observer
and for his first try at book publishing, and possibly had the best instinct he’d ever seen for what went into a news story. “Done. Just thought of a perfect closer and didn’t want to lose it. Do we want to use the big conference room since it’s the whole staff?”

“Wouldn’t that be
another
same tired joke, over and over?” Chris asked.

“Oh, my God, being a middle-aged old poop is
catching
,” Cassie said. “By the time I’m your age I’ll be as old as you are now.” In her ancient wooden swivel chair, she looked like a sixth-grader playing in Dad’s office. Abel set his compositor’s stool into the open space at the center of the room; he looked like a rhinoceros roosting on a mushroom. Chris sat on the only corner of his desk that was not buried in papers, and avoided thinking about what he might look like.

“Here’s the deal,” Chris said. “Over in that other job that you guys never talk about, there’s something I need to do,
now
, and I might be gone for months. Cassie, open my mail, take over correspondence for the paper, what you say or decide is good with me. Any messages relating to my other job’ll be sealed in separate envelopes; take those over to Heather that second, or send them via Patrick, but no other messenger. Drastically overpay Patrick or Heather will have your guts on a stick. For any personal correspondence, remember to respond with ‘Baby’ or ‘Dearest darlingest’ followed by their name, tell them I feel just the same way, and sign it ‘Your rampaging love-rhino.’ ”

“Yeah, right. If I see one like that I’ll suggest psychiatric help.”

“Abel, I wouldn’t begin to tell you how to do your job, because you’d stomp me into a grease spot.”

“And you don’t need to tell Cassie how to do hers, or I will stomp you into a grease spot.”

“Exactly,” Cassie said. “Headlines for the next issue are: World—Indian and Australian delegations arrive for Big Three summit in Buenos Aires. Nation One—Provi Congress passes Civil Discourse Act, President Weisbrod threatens veto. Nation Two—Post Raptural Church declares Natcon’s proposals ‘Satanic.’ Local—Larsen Weds Castro. Soon as you’re gone I’ll replace it all with celebrity gossip and beauty hints.”

“Glad to know you understand the business.”

“One thought, though. Should I write a few stories to sign your name to, so it’s at least less obvious that you’re gone? Everyone in Pueblo will know, of course, but would it be worth anything to cover for you away from here?”

“It might be. Be sure to put my name on anything about holiday decorating or fashion trends.”

“Of course.” She grinned at him and said, “Seriously, Chris, I’m scared shitless—without Daybreak I’d be hoping to edit my high school’s student news site right now, and you’re handing me the most important newspaper in America.”

Chris shrugged. “If anybody needs to look threatening, you’ve got Abel. If there’s a need for mature judgment, he’s got you.”

“I meant I was scared about how much I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Now
I’m
scared,” Abel said.

20 MINUTES LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 2:10 PM MST. MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2025.

Chris Manckiewicz arrived and took his place beside Quattro, Bambi, Larry, and Jason. “Sorry I was so slow, I needed to arrange cover.”

“You’re well within bounds,” Heather said. “All right. Let me begin with the awful news.” She detailed it quickly, sparing nothing: Ecco had been intercepted and murdered by people who were clearly waiting for him; Pauline Kloster had escaped and Carol May was recording everything Pauline could remember about Castle Earthstone. “It looks like Pale Bluff is now our last secure settlement on that frontier, which means we’ve quietly lost a whole tier of counties on our side of the Wabash in the last ten weeks. There are obviously far more people than we’d thought in the Lost Quarter, tightly organized into tribes and apparently into Castles as well, controlled by Daybreak. The best news, and it’s not that good, is that I’m now sure I can get the Temper government to mount military expeditions against the tribes next spring—but we’ll need ten times what we would have thought.”

Manckiewicz saw it first, as she’d expected. “That isn’t the worst. We must have a traitor in the ranks, fairly high up to have known what Ecco’s real mission was.”

“Pauline Kloster said Ecco was caught within five minutes of crossing the Wabash. And that he walked almost up to Terre Haute, seeing patrols all the way. They can’t possibly have the resources to patrol their border that thoroughly; they
had
to have known everything. That means high-level traitor.”

“That’s right. They knew everything,” Larry said quietly.

She looked around the room. “I’m not going to tell you who’s suspected, though I’m sure the absence of some people is a dead giveaway as to who’s suspected, but please don’t discuss that. Were you all able to secure complete cover so that you can just go straight from here to the airport? Anybody absolutely have to go get a piece of personal gear or send a note to someone so they won’t talk?”

“Covered it,” Jason said.

“That’s what I was late for,” Chris added.

“We keep most of our stuff in the Gooney,” Quattro said, “and
we
won’t be gone long, will we?”

“No, not you. Good, then. Quattro and Bambi, you’re going to take the DC-3 and haul these three guys to wherever they think they can do the best penetration from the northwest, moving toward Castle Earthstone—it’s in the Palestine-Warsaw area in Indiana. Work out mechanics of it all in flight, including figuring out where you can refuel in the middle of the night without being conspicuous. Leave
now
, before anything can leak. By dawn tomorrow, Larry, Chris, and Jason need to have landed somewhere north and west of Lafayette. Cross the Tippecanoe, go at least as far as Castle Earthstone, report on what you find.”

“What about the traitor?” Jason asked.

“I know none of you are it,” she said. “You all have solid verifiable alibis for the whole time when Ecco’s mission could have been betrayed. I’ll be doing things here to find the traitor, but in the light of what we’ve just learned about the Lost Quarter, I’ve got to know what’s going on, right now. I can’t wait to establish perfect security.”

“Why us?” Jason asked quietly. “I mean—well, I have a wife with a child coming, Chris is a very public figure, Larry just found his lost daughter—”

Heather grimaced. “Everyone will have some reason not to go. Out of the ones I can clear right away, Quattro and Bambi, you’re in because this mission has to move as far as it can by air. Larry, you’ve got the woodcraft; Jason, there has to be an ex-Daybreaker along to make sense out of whatever you find, you’ll be more use in a fight than Ysabel, and she still has seizures around Daybreak stuff. I’m assuming you don’t want me to send your pregnant wife.”

Jason nodded, satisfied.

“What am I along for?” Chris asked.

“So you can publish articles and maybe a book that will infuriate the absolute living piss out of all the civilized people and motivate them to rise up and slay and slay and slay till there’s
nothing
left of Daybreak. It’s war. The public has to want to win it. In less than three weeks we have a summit conference here to get the ball rolling for the restart election, and in fourteen months we’re going to elect a new batch of politicians. God love’em, politicians are all
about
deals, so the way I see it is, the only way to ensure no deals with the devil is to ensure there’s no devil. Now, go.”