Molon Labe! (47 page)

"Thanks a lot — I'll let you know how it shoots," replies Preston.

"Governor, you're welcome to hunt on my ranch
any
time!" gushes the old rancher.

Preston responds with an impish grin, "Are there enough elk for
both
of us?" They laughingly part, and Preston's aide writes down the rancher's phone number and handload information.

The Preston family is ushered outside by three state troopers, followed by a throng of supporters. Captain Mallory is waiting by a limo, holding open the door. "Congratulations, Governor. My men and I are looking forward to serving under you."

Preston smiles. "Thank you, Captain. I wish you all a placid term!"

The Prestons wave good-night one last time, are seated inside the limo, and driven away. During their short trip to the hotel, Juliette gently asks her pensive husband, "What are you thinking about, dear? Affairs of State?"

Chuckling, Preston gently squeezes his wife's hand and replies, "No, not exactly, Dove. I just never would have figured that old fellow for something as exotic as VihtaVuori powder. It's from Finland, you know. Would've bet he was an IMR-4831 man."

"Yeah, me
too
," Juliette deadpans. Although the Prestons had been married for 18 years, it still takes the Governor-Elect a few seconds to decide that his lovely wife, an excellent rifle shot in her own right, was joshing him.

Exiting the limo several minutes later, they were still giggling about it.

The next day the election results were published. Seven new counties were added to the libertarian orbit : Platte, Campbell, Sheridan, Natrona, Fre-mont, Teton, and surprisingly Uinta. All but the southern Democratic counties of Sweetwater, Carbon, Albany, and Laramie are in Laissez-Faire hands.

The Senate is now 56.7% controlled by freedom-supporting delegates, having added SDs 5, 17, 21, 24, 25, and 29.

The House is 61.7% in the hands of Preston's people, having added HDs 14, 16, 19, 23, 33, 36, 37, 55, 56, and 57.

The Wyoming Supreme Court is also in the libertarian camp. Of the five justices, two are already pro-freedom. One is retiring early and another had died of lung cancer. Preston would nominate their replacements. The remaining justice, an intractable Democrat from Rock Springs, would be pretty much on his own.

Both houses of the legislature, the supreme court, and the entire executive branch are now controlled by liberty-loving men and women. The hard work of eleven years by thousands of people has finally paid off. All totaled, about 38,000 new folks have moved into Wyoming as organized relocators.

America was about to have its first free state since 1789.

Members and front organizations must continually embarrass, discredit and degrade our critics. When obstructionists become too irritating, label them as fascist, or Nazi or anti-Semitic... The
[erroneous]
association will, after enough repetition, become "fact" in the public mind.

— Moscow Central Committee, 1943

Washington, D.C.

The White House

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

"Well, shit, they
did
it!" Watching the taped speech after a Cabinet meeting, President Connor continues to the room, "Either Preston's the greatest orator since William Jennings Bryan, or he actually
believes
that crap!"

Secretary of State Julius Harquist respectfully offers, "Perhaps, Mr. President,
both
assessments are accurate." Most of those present nodded at the SecState's reasoning.

Chewing on that for a moment, the President then intercoms his appointment secretary and quietly says, "Doris, have FBI Director Klein and the Attorney General join me for a private breakfast tomorrow morning at 7:30. All may not be 'quiet on the Western Front.'"

Dismissing the room, Connor asks his Deputy Chief of Staff Phillip Miles to remain. The Chief of Staff, Robert Hackett, was undergoing chemotherapy for bone cancer at Walter Reed and was not expected to return to work for some time, if ever. Miles, a relative newcomer to Washington, was filling in.

After the office had cleared, Miles delicately inquires, "Is it not just a
bit
premature to release the dogs, Mr. President? It's only
Wyoming
."

"Ever held an acorn in your hand, Phil?" the President asks in reply. Seeing the blank look on Miles's face, the President elaborates, "What you can hold in your hand today grows too large to embrace with your arms tomorrow. This Wyoming thing will become a damned oak tree, with Montana and maybe Idaho following Preston's lead. You
heard
the man, Phil — he called us traitorous parasites, and all but advocated a western secession — and that was his
victory
speech! Who the hell knows
what
he'll be urging at his
inauguration
! A militia tractor assault on Washington, I'll bet. A year from now it'll be some Patriot redoubt in the Rockies.
Jesus
."

"I rather doubt
that
, Mr. President. Still, he
does
exude a remarkable populist charm. Case in point, asking for advice on his rifle was
especially
deft, I must admit," observes Miles.

"Yeah,
wasn't
it though?" the President savagely agrees. "Who ever
heard
of such a thing? Next, we'll see him having a beer with 'the people' at some truck stop on I-25. How any multimillionaire can be such a proletarian gun-nut is utterly beyond me!"

Pouring a deep Scotch, Connor warms further to the subject. "And that crowd! Waving that 3-fingered "W" like at some Bolivian political rally. They
love
him! What's
with
those people out west — is their ground water contaminated or something?

Miles is already familiar with Connor's well-known presidential rant, so he steels himself for a long evening.

"Oh, and how about his lawyer
wife
? Just our luck she's brilliant
and
beautiful.
You
remember how far that shrewd cow Hillary took her cokehead, whorebait husband. Well, Juliette Preston could pass for Gabrielle Anwar —
plus
, she's
twice
as bright as Hillary
ever
was. Hell,
how
many languages do they speak? They probably play Scrabble in Portuguese!"

"Nevertheless, Mr. President . . . ," as Miles tries to calm his mood.

"He doesn't
play
anything, does he?" asks Connor, not hearing.

"Play?
Sir
?"

"
Musical instruments
, Phil. Christ help us if he shows up on the
Tonight Show
playing blues with the band. Clinton practically got elected by that saxophone gig on
Letterman
, remember?"

"I believe it was
Arsenio
, sir," Miles offers.

"Right, Arsenio. Hell, he and Clinton are both gone, aren't they!"

Miles says, "Anyway, Preston is only the Governor-Elect of
Wyoming
; you're the President of the United States. He's not after
your
job, sir."

VP when President McBlane had died last July, Connor was eligible for his own first election in 2016. It would also have to be his
only
election according to the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution, which read,
"and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of President more than once."
The only thing more frustrating than a two-term presidency is a one-term presidency. Even though Connor would serve out nearly all of McBlane's second term, the fact that it was
McBlane's
term, not Connor's was most irksome of all as he was politically bound to his predecessor's agenda. Connor could not totally pursue his own policies unless and until he had been elected in his own right.

That was still two full years away, and it rankled Connor to no end.

"Yeah, well, 2016 is gonna be a goddamned free-for-all. You've seen the projections on probable third party strength, Phil. That pious coalition of Libertarians and Republicans and Conservative Christians could actually take 20% of the House. The
Laissez-Faire
Party — good God! A bunch of health-nut homeschoolers! Unless Preston steps on his dick, we could see him running for
this
office in 2020."

Miles counters, "Mr. President, that's
then
, and this is now. And I
still
think that putting the AG and Klein on Preston is prema — "

"'Premature' my
ass
, Phil. I've got a bad feeling about this. The West is a damned tinderbox just
waiting
for some spark like Preston. As if the water rights issue weren't bad enough, word's
already
out about the UN's 'rewilding' Biosphere plan to redistribute most of our rural population to the metros. You're from Topeka, Phil —
you
know what that means to Preston's ranching voters. Why those people can't be content in nice apartments, I just can't fathom. Oh, and you
know
that the western states in particular are going to absolutely
shit
when next spring's assault rifle confiscation bill is introduced. I can't have some modern-day Patrick Henry fanning the flames. Preston's got to
go
."

"Sir, what are you going to
do
?" asks Miles.

"I'm going to crush that acorn before we need the chainsaws. The AG's a vicious bitch — that's why I
chose
her. She'll have some ideas. And Klein —Klein's been her lapdog for years ever since she was a DC judge. We're having a 'power breakfast' tomorrow morning to hash out how to put that hick state back in its pissant place. We'll
see
who wins this thing, Phil — Jefferson or
Machiavelli
."

"You're absolutely right, Mr. President," answers Miles.

"Well, that's what they
pay
me for. Get some sleep, Phil. Tomorrow's a long day," says the President, wickedly flashing the "W" sign.

"Yes, sir. Good night, Mr. President."

As Phillip Miles silently pads out, Connor returns to his desk, a gift to Rutherford B. Hayes from Her Majesty Queen Victoria in 1880. Hewn from oak timbers of the H.M.S.
Resolute
, the desk is actually smaller than one might suspect, though quite dense at 350 pounds. Relentlessly moved about since 1902 from the residence to the Broadcast Room to the Smithsonian, it had been returned to the Oval Office by Bill Clinton in 1993.

Connor chuckles at the debauchery likely performed on the desktop by
"Zippy"
— Clinton's nickname amongst the Presidential Protection Division of the Secret Service.
The dumbshit's mistake was
perjuring
himself over it. Imagine getting impeached over a piece of tail!
The whole Monica Lewinsky flap was like Dillinger getting caught for shoplifting.

Connor was smarter — much smarter than that.

2015

Sometimes it is said that man cannot be entrusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? Or have we found angels in the form of kings to govern him? Let history answer this question.

I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion.

— Thomas Jefferson

Liberty is always dangerous, but it is the safest thing we have.

— Harry Emerson Fosdick

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Monday, 6 January 2015

Hand in hand with Juliette, Preston steps up to the rostrum in front of the Corinthian columns of the sandstone capitol. Its 24k gold leaf dome gleams in the bleak winter sun. Their two children, James, Jr. and Hanna stand beside them, beaming. Although an icy, blustery day, 24,000 Wyomingans had enthusiastically assembled — nearly half of Cheyenne.

Chief Justice Pollard, an old friend of Benjamin Preston, smiles warmly at Ben's son as he prepared to lead Preston in the oath of office. In his sonorous voice, Preston intones the oath of 1889, with one wispy alteration.

"I do solemnly swear that I will support, obey and defend the Constitution for the United States of America, and the constitution of Wyoming, and that I will discharge the duties of my office with fidelity; that I have not paid or contributed, or promised to pay or contribute, either directly or indirectly, any money or other valuable thing, to procure my nomination or election, except for necessary and proper expenses authorized by law; that I have not, knowingly, violated any election law of the state, or procured it to be done by others in my behalf; that I will not knowingly receive, directly or indirectly, any money or other valuable thing for the performance or nonperformance of any act or duty pertaining to my office, other than the compensation allowed by law."

"Congratulations, Mister Governor."

"Thank you, Mister Chief Justice," replies Preston. He gives Juliette a discreet kiss, holding her emerald eyes in his for that extra second which conveys volumes. Preston then squares himself to the rostrum and looks out on the cheering crowd with its breathy condensation.