THE NEXT DAY. SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA. 8:30 AM PST. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2025.
The big thugly types
at the main gate of Castle Castro held their black-powder carbines
pointed down. Carlucci had left weapons and deputies at home; he
carried three letters. The most important one was from Natalie
Thanh, a Federal district judge. Finding that Article IV, Section
4, of the Constitution outlawed hereditary monarchy and any form of
feudal aristocracy on American territory, she ordered the League of
Southern Castles dissolved, voided all oaths of fealty to the
League, and demanded the renunciation of all titles.
Carlucci had had to
sell that one to Thanh himself, dusting off his law school
education, sitting long nights by a flickering oil lamp, reading
dusty law books rescued from basements and attics to put together
the pieces of PacTel versus Oregon,
Gregory versus Ashcroft, and
Forsyth versus Hammond , but he’d made
Thanh see it his way.
That letter was
important, but the other two that Heather had secured for him,
flown down to him by Bambi Castro, were what made it matter.
Cameron Nguyen-Peters, NCCC of the Temporary National Government in
Athens, Georgia, declared that he would use his emergency powers to
enforce Judge Thanh’s decision “as consistent with constitutional
restoration.” President Graham Weisbrod of the Provisional
Constitutional Government ordered all Federal agents to enforce
Judge Thanh’s order “without equivocation or delay.”
As on every other
visit to Castle Castro, Carlucci couldn’t help noticing that
Castro’s brawny, efficient, uniformed guards were much more
impressive than anything Carlucci had across the bay, at what was
nominally the FBI’s California HQ and actually around twenty people
in a fortified office building.
Once Carlucci had
convinced Judge Thanh that he was right, she had suggested that he
arrest Harrison Castro under RICO and the 1903 Militia Act.
And the cat should be ordered to wear a bell
under the Cruelty to Mice Act.
“Okay, they’re
answering.” Castro’s guard read the semaphore through his
binoculars. “Permit entry, all other checkpoints pre-cleared.” He
lowered the binoculars. “Well, there you go; do you still remember
the way?”
“Yeah, I lived here
for a few weeks last fall,” Carlucci said.
“Some of us hoped
things would work out so that the Feds would work with us, and
support what we’re trying to do here.”
“You never know what
may come,” Carlucci said.
Between Daybreak and
Christmas last year, Harrison Castro had admitted a few thousand
selected refugees. About three thousand adults had sworn their
allegiance to Castle Castro, and brought along maybe four hundred
kids. Since then, Castle Castro had taken over about half the old
San Diego waterfront, wrapped in concentric rings of zigzag walls.
The walls themselves were mostly the rubble of wrecked and
pulled-down buildings between chain link and boards, running across
streets between intact buildings; the outer walls were more than a
mile inland. Wonder if Castro got permission
from all those property holders? He used to be very insistent that
property rights were the whole basis of civilization. . .
.
He hated the feeling
of envy that hit him at times like this. Castle Castro had the most
reliable food supply in the area, and electricity some of every
day. Carlucci had two great teenage kids, Paley and Acey; like
others at FBI West, they sometimes went hungry and sometimes were
up all night when tribal attacks threatened, and school was a
matter of reading when they weren’t working, which was rare. Castro
had an actual K-12 high school in the main keep there, the only
problem being it taught what Castro wanted it to.
Carlucci passed
through the second line of walls and buildings; the guards came to
attention as he passed. Probably standard
courtesy for a visiting dignitary. He couldn’t help adding,
mentally, From a “foreign
power.”
The path wound past
greenhouses, fishponds, and animal barns; standing a siege right
now might have been awkward, but if the crops in the outside fields
came in and filled up their food storage this year, and with the
access to the sea and all those sailboats Castro had managed to
pull together, Castle Castro would be, for all practical, short-run
purposes, impregnable.
The central compound
and keep had been built prior to Daybreak, back when Castro had
merely been a billionaire nut enacting bizarre power fantasies.
Inside its steel fences, a complex maze of roads led anyone who
didn’t know the system around rather than toward the big house.
Wrong routes ended in cul-de-sacs under the guns of
blockhouses.
The man at the front
door smiled and said, “Nice to see you again, Mister
Carlucci.”
“How have you been,
Donald?”
“Busy, safe, and
well-fed,” the man said. “The boss is in the main office. I guess
you still know your way.”
Before Carlucci could
knock, Harrison Castro opened the door and said, “Dave. Welcome.
Come right this way.”
The breakfast table
on the balcony was set with fussy precision. “Since this is bound
to involve being rude to each other,” Castro said, “I thought we
might as well start off with something we’d enjoy.”
They made small talk
while Carlucci let himself get reacquainted with eggs, bacon, and
coffee. “One small piece of business I’d like to do before the main
business,” Castro said. “Tribes are getting bigger and worse
everywhere, and the beating we gave them here back in June doesn’t
seem to have stuck. If you need to shelter at Castle Castro against
any tribal attack, the door is open to everyone under your command
or protection.”
“Of course I accept,”
Carlucci said. Jeez, there could be a tribal
attack up from Baja any time, and I’ve got Arlene and the kids,
what else can I say but “yes”? “If you remember my number
two guy, Terry Bolton, I was going to have him contact your folks
for some liaison. We’ve got some ops going down in Baja and you’re
right, something real bad is building up.”
“I remember Terry,
and if he thinks it’s bad down there, he’s not the panicking kind;
it’s bad. All right, well, I’m out of the pleasant stuff.” Castro
had a sardonic smile. “I suppose you’re here to place me under
arrest.”
Carlucci shrugged.
“Not this time, anyway. That isn’t how the law works in this case.
I’m here to serve a Federal District Court order and to deliver
letters from the governments at Athens and Olympia. What you do
after receiving those letters is what determines whether we’d ask
the court for an arrest warrant. It’s one of those things like a
restraining order where the activity isn’t illegal until you’ve
been told to stop and haven’t complied. At least that’s what Judge
Thanh thinks. Will you accept the papers now?”
“Sure, I’ll read
anything, unless by accepting them I agree to them.”
“All you do is allow
me to say you weren’t unaware of the order.”
“No harm in that I
can see.” He extended a hand, took the three pieces of paper, and
read them. “Shall I make a statement?”
“You could send a
letter within a reasonable length of time, decline to respond but
send an attorney to Judge Thanh during business hours, or tell me
whatever you like. Or I suppose you could declare war and have me
thrown out the window.”
“Well, definitely not
the last alternative. I’ll just tell you, Dave, and I trust you to
report it accurately enough. The court order and the letters cite
the Constitution of the United States. It’s no longer in force. The
United States of America is over, Carlucci. I wish a brave, decent,
honorable man like you could see that. The Constitution was created
so that the people who were worth shit could run the country, but
it got bent around to all kinds of other shitty, worthless
purposes. So now it’s gone, and good riddance, and though I
wouldn’t have asked for Daybreak before it happened, now that it
has, well, from now on you can deal with the Earl of San
Diego.”
“We can’t address you
by that title,” Carlucci said. “Article One, patents of nobility
clause. Here’s the blunt word from a Federal court: You still live
in the United States of America. Our Constitution doesn’t permit
private armies, hereditary sovereignty, or titles of
nobility.”
Castro rose. “Can I
send you on your way with some food or something?”