ABOUT THE SAME TIME. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 2:15 PM EST. FRIDAY, JULY 25, 2025.
“Everyone else is
celebrating,” Cam said, coming in with a picnic basket, “and I need
someone to celebrate with, so you’re it. I know you don’t drink so
I brought along an amazing find: pre-Daybreak
Perrier.”
“Last for a long
time,” Phat said. “The spring is around on the Mediterranean side
of France. Does anyone have any contact there at all?”
“Discovery’s first mission, next year, is to explore
the north shore of the Med. But there hasn’t been any radio contact
since March and all the Argentine expedition is finding around the
Med are tribes, and a few dug-in fortified settlements just barely
hanging on. Somehow I doubt restoring the trade in Perrier will be
a priority for a while.” Cam set out the fresh sliced ham, bread,
and sliced vegetables. “I also brought red wine. We are going to
celebrate avec des baguettes et du jambon et
des crudités, l’eau gasseuse, and of course le vin tres ordinaire. In honor of a place the
world doesn’t have anymore.”
“Wow, you sure know
how to throw a cheerful event, Cam.” Nonetheless, Lyndon Phat held
up his glass of Perrier, and clinked it with Cameron’s glass of red
wine. “To our billions of absent friends.”
“Yeah.” They
dedicated themselves to the good food, and Cameron said, “I am
having a thought that you will not approve of. I think I would like
to let you out of jail.”
“Like hell. If you
let me go, I’m going to have to flee for my life—and the only place
to flee to will be Olympia. And if they give me asylum, you’ll have
Civil War Two on your hands for sure.”
“Would you be willing
to reassume command of the Army and jail me? On grounds that I exceeded my authority by not
putting Graham Weisbrod in as Acting President?”
“Well, it’s a nice
prison, as prisons go, Cam, but it’s still a prison. Why are you so
eager to move into it?”
“Because I’ve just
slapped down the Post Rapturals and their allies in the Army, and
given Grayson a political wedgie along the way. I’m guessing I’ve
got a couple weeks before they hit back hard. And after due
consideration, as a serious constitutionalist—and sometimes I feel
like the last one in America—right now the God-Army-flag team here
is proclaiming their loyalty to the Constitution like a rooster
crowing that he’s the best hen-impregnator in the county, but
they’re violating half or more of it. The Provis at least try to go
through the forms; they’re also doing things that were never
envisioned in the Constitution, but my feeling is they’re closer to
the original intent. At least they’re
not trying to set up an established church, abolish the rights of
defendants, or carve out huge exceptions to freedom of speech,
press, and assembly. I wish the Provis weren’t so loaded up with
university types and career Civil Service, and that they had a
keener sense of the possible, but their hearts are in a better
place.
“So my thinking is
this. You and I made a huge mistake. Me by not putting Graham in,
and you by not kicking my ass out and putting Graham in. If we’d
just stuck to our oaths, swallowed our doubts, and followed the
rules, we’d have lived through our disagreements with Graham. He’s
a smart, persuasible guy, and we’d have brought him around to our
side on anything crucial that we were
right about. So . . . we broke it. Can we fix it?”
Phat leaned back,
swishing the Perrier in his mouth, and swallowed, relishing it. “I
guess we owe it to the absent friends. I think you’ve got reach out
via Pueblo; you surely don’t want Grayson and Whilmire to catch you
talking to Olympia on a back channel, but they can’t object to your
working more closely with the RRC. Do you have a channel for
contacting Heather O’Grainne?”
“Not yet, but I’m
expecting an opportunity soon. Or maybe I should say my opportunity
is expecting soon.”
“Boo. We’ll talk
again, Cameron, but if you don’t mind, since we can’t accomplish
much else just now, let’s declare business concluded. I think we
should just enjoy the food you’ve brought, especially since either
of us might soon be strictly on jail food.”