Moonfall (48 page)

He’d found a better way to serve the American Ideal. He’d founded the Thomas Jefferson Legion, a group of God-fearing, country-loving men and women dedicated to preserving liberty at home against the assorted shadowy manifestations of an oppressive government that was itself an arm of a world body whose only interest was to maintain its grip on power.

The colonel owned the Potluck Restaurant in downtown Staunton. The Potluck, founded by his grandfather, had been in the family thirty-eight years, and had thrown off a sister establishment in nearby Harrisonburg.

But the Potluck was not as profitable as it should have been. Unlike most Americans, whose tax money vanishes without their ever seeing it, the colonel was burdened with
actually paying out substantial sums each month to an increasingly onerous and corrupt government. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Regulators were everywhere. Inspectors from all levels of government, following the example set by the feds, harassed him continually with safety and health inspections, demanded licenses, controlled how much he paid his help, dictated whom he should hire and what medical plan he should provide. All the money went to support the vicious practices of a decadent nation, a nation that forbade God to enter the schoolroom, that allowed women to murder their children, that had so distorted the reproductive process that men were no longer necessary.

He had become over the years a fiery enemy of the invisible hand that weighed so heavily on his fortunes and on those of his countrymen. Right-thinking men and women across the state of Virginia had flocked to him, and the Jefferson Legion now had units in a dozen counties.

It wasn’t only the godlessness and the corruption that enraged Steve Gallagher, much less the money or even the inspections. Rather, it was the condescension of the official agents, their obvious belief that he was not a man of honor, that he could not be trusted, that it was necessary to keep him on a leash.

…In order to…secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…

It hadn’t happened.

Tom Jefferson had lost to the federalists, and his ideals had been sacrificed to Hamilton’s notion of an oppressive central government. The colonials had exchanged one set of chains for another. But because the second set was emblazoned with an eagle, they hadn’t noticed.

“Gentlemen,” said the colonel, winding down his remarks and wanting to send them home with something to think about, “I’d like to talk with you for a moment about something other than the exercise.” He drew himself to his full
height. “As you’re aware, last night was a disaster for the dictators. The people of this nation have finally seen their government for what it is, and the potential for revolt is everywhere. All that’s needed now is a spark.

“Be aware that I’ve been in touch with our brothers-in-arms around the state and in other parts of the country. We’re almost ready to move. When the moment comes, and I can tell you that it’s very close, we’ll be ready to seize the power brokers and give the nation back to the real Americans.”

They applauded, assured him they were with him, and went home. Afterward he sat alone in his kitchen and listened to the lazy hum of insects.

The horse is prepared against the day of battle
. But when, O Lord? When?

7.

Micro Passenger Cabin. 12:38
P.M.

Saber’s voice, speaking through the intercom, was cool and detached: “We’ve used the last of our fuel,” she said. “Tank’s empty.”

Morley looked across at the chaplain. “What happens if we have to get out of the way of one of those rocks?”

“Splat, I guess,” said Pinnacle.

Morley got up and looked down at Charlie. “I’m going to file a report,” he said. He and the president had reached agreement on what might be broadcast and what demanded discretion. All of the president’s calls, for example, were off-limits.

“Okay,” said Charlie. “Go ahead. But add that there’s no immediate danger.”

“Mr. President, that takes the bite out of the story.”

“Not at all, Keith. I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell you how to do your job, but understatement will jack up the drama.”

Keith grinned. “You’re a good politician. But I don’t think you’d make it in my profession.”

C-SPAN SUNDAY JOURNAL
1:07
P.M.
Host: Cleveland Samers; Guest: Senator Audrey Belmont (R-NJ)
.

Micro Passenger Cabin. 1:32
P.M.

The passengers heard the PA system click on, and heard their pilot’s voice. “This is Saber. We are now at our closest approach to Earth, traveling at 11.7 kilometers per second.
The
Lowell
is ahead of us, gradually accelerating to our velocity. We will rendezvous with them at about four.”

109th Airlift Group, Scotia, New York. 1:31
P.M.

The big army chopper that had brought them from Manhattan skirted the airfield and descended on a bare field behind a hangar. It blew up a cloud of dust and the pilot cut the engine. The blades slowed and drooped. Marilyn, who’d never been in a helicopter before and didn’t like planes all that much anyhow, was grateful they were on the ground.

Almost all of the people on the aircraft were from Louise’s party. They looked sodden and tired and lost. Larry sat beside her and squeezed her hand while they waited for the hatch to open. “When do you think we’ll get home again?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Probably only a few days. The water should go down pretty quick. And our stuff’ll be okay, as long as they keep the looters out. That’s what worries me.”

Louise was sitting directly across from them. She’d changed into a woolen shirt and jeans, and had contributed clothes to several of the women. “I doubt there are many live looters left,” she said. “But I don’t think we’ll be going back for a while. Place like Manhattan….” She shook her head. “I don’t want to be downbeat or anything, but there’re going to be major health problems. We’ll be lucky if we’re home by the fourth of July.”

“Goddam, Louise,” said a balding little economist near the door, “you sure know how to give a party.”

That brought some hollow laughs. Marilyn didn’t join in.

She’d changed. She wondered what the little boy’s name was. What his mother had thought when Marilyn closed the door.

Something else had happened: She felt closer to Larry than she had at any time during, or before, their marriage. He’d
been taking her for granted for a long time, but that had stopped last night. Maybe it wouldn’t last, but she felt as if she had her husband—her old boyfriend—back again.

The hatch opened to reveal two female soldiers in neatly pressed khakis. Marilyn looked past them and saw crowds of dazed people being shepherded between vehicles and buildings. Some were sitting on the ground.

One of the women wore a sergeant’s stripes and carried a clipboard. The other was barely eighteen.

“Welcome to Scotia,” said the sergeant. “The pilot tells us that nobody here has any injuries. Is that correct? Anybody hurt? No? Good.

“We’ll start unloading over here on my left. Please be careful; it’s a long step down. And I’d appreciate it if you’d give your card to Private Turner here.” The pilot had distributed yellow data cards on which they’d printed their names and other personal information. “Please note the long gray building behind me. We’ll go over there. You’ll be able to get a sandwich and some soft drinks or coffee. I wish we could provide a hot meal but we just don’t have the capability. Not for so many people.

“You’ve got about an hour before your next flight leaves. We’ll make an announcement. This is the seven-fourteen group. Can you remember that?”

“Excuse me,” one of the passengers broke in. “You’re putting us on
another
plane?”

Several people now began to talk at once. The sergeant held up a hand and waited. When they’d quieted, she continued: “I’m sorry, folks. Truth is, we’re a little crowded here right now. We’re asking for your cooperation. And your patience. We’ll move you out and get you to a permanent relocation facility as quickly as we can.”

“Where’s that?” asked one of the women. “Where are we going?”

She consulted her clipboard. “Bismarck.”

“
Bismarck?
” whispered Larry. “Where’s
Bismarck?
”

“North Dakota,” said Marilyn. She got up and started for the exit. “That might not be so bad. It’s a long way from the ocean.”

8.

SSTO
Arlington
Passenger Cabin. 2:28
P.M.

In its headlong flight, the Micro had caught up with and passed
Arlington
. Andrea had not been aware of it when it happened. But she was delighted, a few hours later, to see the gleaming, counter-rotating wheels of Skyport. Like virtually everyone else on the spacecraft, she felt lucky to be alive. Nevertheless, the overall mood was somber. The death of friends and colleagues on the lost flight, and fears for family and friends at home, weighed heavily on the passengers. They were also tired, sweaty, weary of plastic food, still frightened. It was, after all, no small thing to look out the window and see a rock the size of a small garage whistle past.

Debris now might come from any angle. The pilot explained that much of the material that had been blasted off the surface of the Moon had gone into orbit. It would, he added, probably constitute a navigational hazard for a long time to come. The unspoken implication, in Andrea’s mind, was that transatmospheric flights might be discontinued.