Daybreak Zero d-2

by John Barnes

  Each of the six human servants awoke the morning after the seduction to the weeping of the Miz, who then took the man or woman to meet Mother Gaia, before whom the servant fell down in adoration. When all six were in full adoration, Mother Gaia raised them up to form Daybreak, and her lover, Brother Sun, came to teach them how to make weapons for the Daybreak to come.

  The servants of Mister Chemical, Mister Clock, Mister Gun, and Mister Electron danced with each other and copulated with various Mizzes to bring forth the Nanoswarm, a chorus of men costumed in lumpy gray and white rags. Mister Chemical’s servant teamed up with Mister Medicine’s servant to bring forth the thousand-headed Biotes, a chorus of women sharing one vast blanket-garment, with just their green-painted faces poking out. Debbie was one, and Larry thought it was her best work since The Three Billy Goats Gruff in second grade.

  The Biotes vowed to kill the petroleum and all that came from it, the Whole Plaztatic World, by revealing its true nature and making it rot away into filth, and change it to nourishing food for all of Mother Gaia’s children.

  Hunh. Well, I guess if you’re planning that your grandchildren will be cavemen, that’ll explain biotes to them.

  Finally, Mister Atom’s servant came forward and proclaimed himself the protector of all. He would hurl eight mighty nuclear blows against the centers of the Plaztatic World. The first two would go amiss and leave California, the heart and center of Plaztatic World, as a broken and wounded place, but not destroy it to its utmost atoms, because so many good people lived there.

  Holy crap, Larry thought. That’s why they backdated the tribe’s origins and claimed performances started so much earlier; in a few years this’ll be a successful prophecy.

  Then, Mister Atom’s servant proclaimed, the next five nuclear weapons would be overwhelming and would smash down the Plaztatic World, but then in her compassion, Mother Gaia would choose to spare people of color in the Southern Hemisphere, so the fizzling of the Buenos Aires bomb would be a sign that she would never wholly sweep the face of the Earth again. The rainbow in the Noah story, Larry thought. “I love you so much that you really better not piss me off.”

  The actors and the crowd went into a frenzied chant of so it was foretold, so it was to be, so it was, so we shall tell it, over and over, as the drums built up to a mighty crescendo and the dancers formed a circle around the Servant of Mister Atom.

  If they win, soon no one will know that they made the “prophecy” up after the event. Anyone can clearly see California isn’t in great shape but it wasn’t completely destroyed; five huge bombs did go off; and the one in Buenos Aires fizzled, leaving Argentina basically okay. Just because Mother Gaia was such a sweet chick. Or maybe she just loved to tango.

  The dance finished. The servant of Mister Atom proclaimed that he would fly to the moon, and from there, when he saw the Plaztatic World trying to come back into Mother Gaia’s sacred sphere, he would hurl his bolts against it. He would depend upon the People of Gaia’s Dawn to help him to watch, and sometimes to fight and die for Mother Gaia when he told them it was necessary.

  Hunh.

  No mistaking it. It claimed that they talked and worked with the Daybreak robot, or base, or whatever it was, on the moon. Thunderbolts from the moon wasn’t even a bad description for the caveman-grandchildren.

  The rest of the play was a lengthy singing-and-dancing-and-fighting number. The servants and the Mizzes defeated the Misters with the help of Nanoswarm and Biotes. Mister Smart’s dick-and-balls prop was removed and ceremoniously paraded around while he cried out at the loss. Gaia buried him alive (because he could not be killed) and all the servants vowed to sit eternal vigils at Mister Smart’s tomb against his rising.

  In a big erotic dance number, the Mizzes rewarded the servants by making children with them—Larry thought that the former servant of Mister Chemical, who got Miz Ocean, got one hell of a good deal. The unfortunate servant of Mister Atom had to be childless, so he said farewell, charging the People of Gaia’s Dawn with reducing the remaining population of the Earth to about ten million before ascending the ladder into the sky. I suspect that’s some cousin of the Indian Rope Trick, but it sure works well at a distance, by firelight.

  This was the cue for the last big number, a dancing demonstration about how there were tens, and tens of tens, and tens of tens of tens, up finally to 8×109, the population before Daybreak, which had been cut down to 2×109, which now must be reduced to 107.

  Jesus god. They’ve killed three-quarters of the people who were alive this time last year and the Servant of Mister Atom just told them to kill 199 out of every 200 that are left.

  In all the celebratory cheering and whooping, Larry grasped Debbie’s arm and squeezed:

  u right

  She squeezed back:

  we go now

  He squeezed C.

  Drifting through the crowd, agreeing with everyone who stopped them to say that it gave you so much to think about, they passed into the darkness outside the camp, and jogged away as quickly and quietly as they could. They were less than halfway up the ridge when they heard the angry cries behind them, and ran as if all hell were at their heels.

  SIX:

  THE PRESIDENT CAME BY

  THE NEXT DAY. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 12:25 PM EST. FRIDAY, JULY 25, 2025.

  General Jeffrey Grayson leaned across Cameron Nguyen-Peters’s desk and forced himself not to shout; the sound that emerged from Grayson’s clamped throat was a strained, half-voiced whisper. “You have apparently forgotten that you are not a king. You can’t just dissolve the legislature—”

  “This is not a dissolution because I’m neither calling a new election nor appointing replacements. And the Board of Advisors to the NCCC of the Temporary National Government is not a legislature. It makes no laws and its votes are binding only on its internal organization. So the man who is not a king is not dissolving the body that is not a legislature. What are you so upset about, General Grayson?”

  “Some people will say this looks like the start of a dictatorship.”

  “That’s the safest prediction in American politics, whenever any part of the government does anything. Look, if it hasn’t occurred to you, General, in 2026 there will be full national elections, in at least our territory, Provi territory, and the states that haven’t committed firmly to either side. If we are shrewd, diplomatic, and lucky, we might be able to get California and Manbrookstat, and maybe even Hawaii, to come in too. Do you remember your oath, General?”

  “I take my oath very seriously.”

  “But do you remember it? Because in 2026, if we don’t screw things up— and the PCG doesn’t—we are going to put the Constitution back into force. That’s what your oath said, preserve, protect, and defend—”

  Grayson glowered at him. “I don’t need a review—”

  “I disagree, but I’ll refrain from further lecture. Meanwhile, go home early for the weekend, along with the other officers.”

  “Along with the—”

  “Naturally we have to keep the frontier with the tribes on alert, but otherwise, General, being realistic, the Provis are not going to attack us, at least not soon; the Jamaicans or the Cubans or whoever are not going to land in the Gulf and the Mexican government barely has one functional regiment, which spends all its time and effort guarding their alleged government at Veracruz. So there’s a low risk of attack, and because it’s been a long time since people had time off, I issued a large number of leaves for the weekend, particularly to commanding officers in safe areas. Some of them went on leave early this morning and will be back Sunday night; some will go on leave this evening for a Monday night return.”

  The general’s face was slack at the realization. “You’ve neutered the Army.”

  “Nonsense. Every facility is functional and has proper command—admittedly they are junior officers, aware they lack authority to jump into anything big on their own hook, but in a sudden attack or emergency, they’d show the required initia
tive. Excellent status for an army on standby. Why, General, were you expecting an invasion? a rebellion? a coup?”

  Grayson opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  Cam sat forward, folding his hands over each other, and said softly, “Now, listen closely. I am giving you a leave from now till noon Tuesday. Out of my own pocket, in fact, I’ve set you up in a nice bed-and-breakfast in Savannah, and I’ve taken the liberty of securing train tickets for you and Jenny. She’s already packing; just go home, get into your civvies, and go spend a few days. It’s on me, it’s a bribe, and I want you to take it like a sensible fellow—even if you decide later you can’t go anywhere with me politically. We all might as well cool off, and we can be unpleasant later if you wish.”

  Grayson stood stock-still and said, “And you already set it up with Jenny?”

  “Yes I did. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

  Grayson’s face showed how potent that threat actually was. Beaten for the moment, he shrugged. “We’ll talk more next week.”

  “Or sometime soon,” Cameron said. “You are still my deputy and I still want you to keep that position. Now quit thinking about politics, take your pretty girl away for the weekend, and relax as much as you can. I don’t want to have to make that an order.”

  40 MINUTES LATER. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 1:35 PM EST. FRIDAY, JULY 25, 2025.

  Grayson hadn’t yet made up his mind about what he wanted to do, but when Jenny opened the door and she was wearing one of her “show me off” dresses, her hair brushed, and some of the precious cosmetics applied, he laughed and said, “I guess it’s the decision of the household executive that we ought to accept the Natcon’s bribe?”

  “It is,” she said, letting him in and standing on tiptoe to be kissed. “The men are harnessing the buggy and they’ll bring it back for us—and give Thunder and Fireball full and proper care afterward—as you know perfectly well. So you get to drive me to the station, accompanied by two burly types who will move our luggage. I’ve packed your civilian clothes so that you will not be striding around Savannah in uniform, scaring people and starting rumors. And Daddy’s at work on our response to Cameron’s coup.”

  “Our?”

  “You always tell me that a general is political but the Army is not, baby. So, our. You’ve got a political side, and it’s the one Daddy’s on.”

  He kissed her lightly. “What if we’re ever on opposite sides?”

  “Unthinkable, baby, but fortunately you have a whole weekend off from thinking, courtesy of the Natcon. I’m looking forward to this so much I’m almost grateful to the little turd.”

  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.”

  THE NEXT DAY. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 12:15 PM MST. SATURDAY, JULY 26, 2025.

  “Remember how much business in DC used to turn around getting somewhere in time for reservations?” Heather asked Arnie, cheerfully, as she dragged herself over to her main worktable. “Well, we have’em at Johanna’s, so we need to finish this quick. Wow, all those stairs are a climb in the heat.”

  “Enjoy heat while you can—the weather forecasters are saying this couple of weeks might be our only real summer, and what’s coming is going to be like a volcano winter, cold, wet, and early. All the soot.”

  “Yeah, I know, and I intend to bitch about that when that happens, too. Right here—this is eyes-only stuff for me and my top analyst, and no matter how secure Johanna tries to keep her upper room, it can’t be secure enough for this conversation.”

  Intrigued, Arnie joined her at the worktable. She laid out three single sheets of paper from a black folder. “Critical facts. Agents in TNG territory confirm that Cam handed weekend passes out like candy to base and fort commanders, and sent General Grayson out of town, just after dissolving the Board. Looks like he was afraid of a coup. Two, Cam communicated a request to Graham Weisbrod to discuss an earlier merger of the two governments, last night. So it looks like Cam is moving toward resolving the two-government problem by dissolving his own, and it also looks like he’s scared that he won’t be
able to.”

  Arnie felt strangely numb and confused, as if he’d been told that nothing he was doing mattered, but he made himself say the expected thing: “That might be good news if he pulls it off.”

  “It might. But this morning, our highest placed agent in Athens—Red Dog—reported that the Post Raptural Church is gearing up for massive protests, and Red Dog thinks Cam might be in danger of being overthrown by a religious revolution, at least as much as he might be by a coup. Red Dog’s super-deep source”—as close as I will ever get to breathing the fact that Shorty Phat is reporting his conversations with Cam to us through Red Dog—“and Red Dog himself recommend we move strongly to support Cameron. What’s your take, Arnie?”

  Arnie Yang froze in thought; there was nothing unusual about that, and given how complex the problem was, Heather preferred that he take his time. But when he finally spoke he said, “I guess you have to pay attention to Athens but I’m still really worried about the tribes, and I want to keep focusing on investigating Daybreak.”

  “Lobby me all through lunch about that and I’ll not only listen, I might be persuaded, Arnie. But I really want your take on this. Should Red Dog approach Cam, try to set up a back channel alliance? There’s a lot to gain, but if Red Dog is blown, the whole network could be rolled up. Come on, you are the best analyst I’ve got and my right hand. Analyze.”

  He looked down at the papers and said, “For some reason, I just can’t seem to form a conclusion.”

  She gave him a full minute before she said, “Well, if that’s really your answer—”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  At lunch, he talked of absolutely nothing but Daybreak, the tribes, and the need for further, deeper research.