The Distance Beacons

by Richard Bowker

  The plaza was not crowded when we got there. Martial music blared over the loudspeakers. There were soldiers around, but not many, and none were armed. Stretch found some of his buddies from work and stayed with them. Gwen wandered off to get some interviews. That left me alone to search for suspicious characters.

  I didn't find any. Or rather, all the characters were equally suspicious, except perhaps for Stretch and his pals, and maybe some of the teenagers, who didn't know any other world and therefore had only a vague idea of what they were missing. Everyone else had the sullen, dubious look of people whom life has let down once too often; everyone else appeared to have a grudge against the government. And these were the ones who had enough faith left, or enough interest, to show up for the speech.

  I ran into an acquaintance named Charlie DePaso. We had survived the youth camps together, and this creates a bond that nothing can quite sever. He was a fisherman now, a gnarled little man with bad teeth and skin like shoe leather. "Why'd you come, Charlie?" I asked him.

  "Dunno, Walter," he said. "Better'n mending nets, I guess."

  "Gonna vote yes on the referendum?"

  He shrugged. "Never voted in my life. Don't see why I should start now."

  "But no one has asked you to vote before, " I pointed out. "I hear the president's pretty persuasive."

  "Well, I'm gonna need a lot of persuadin'."

  My friend Jesus Christ—the one who looks like Flynn Dobler—was also there, dragging his cross and urging people to repent. His little son trailed behind, passing out hand-scrawled biblical slogans. "Do you support the government?" I asked Jesus.

  "Render unto Caesar," he replied.

  "Think people will vote yes?"

  He sighed and readjusted the cross on his shoulder. "The things of this world don't matter, Walter."

  "Don't peace and justice and freedom matter? What if the president can bring them to the world?"

  Jesus just looked at me and shook his head. His son handed me a piece of paper. I read the message on it:

  For Thine Is The Kingdom

  I stuffed the paper into my pocket. "See you around," I said to Jesus.

  "Repent, Walter," he replied.

  The plaza slowly filled. I was impressed by the number of people who had showed up, but I had a feeling that a moderate shower would scatter most of them in no time. I made my way to the front of the crowd and saw Major Fenneman, who was standing next to the roped-off section where the dignitaries would sit. He was listening with a glum expression on his face to someone communicating with him through bursts of static on a walkie-talkie. I figured maybe I should let him see me, in case there was any question about me fulfilling my professional obligations.

  "Can't anyone talk her out of it?" Fenneman demanded as I approached. "Christ, we've got enough to worry about without her pulling something like this." He saw me and glared. "What do you want?" he said to me.

  "Just to say hi. I'm here if you need me."

  Apparently I was the last thing he needed at the moment. He dismissed me with a quick gesture and went back to his conversation on the walkie-talkie. I wandered away—to the edge of the plaza this time—wondering what Fenneman wanted her talked out of; I figured I knew who he was talking about. I stood on a little stone bench to get a better view of the proceedings.

  In a few minutes I saw flashing blue lights in the distance, and then the president and her entourage came into sight—jeeps and shiny cars and motorcycles, with the president waving from the back seat of a convertible. The motorcade circled around the edge of the plaza, coming within ten feet of me. The president brightened when she saw the familiar face and gave me a special wave. I didn't wave back.

  "Did you see the bracelets on her?" a kerchiefed woman standing next to me on the bench said to her friend. "I wonder how much she gets paid."

  "Too much," her friend replied.

  The motorcade pulled up behind the platform, and the martial music stopped. President Kramer appeared on the platform, along with Bolton and Cowens and a bunch of officials. More waving, and then Bolton approached the microphone and spoke. "My fellow citizens, it has been a long time since we in New England have been honored as we are today, by the presence of the chief executive of our great nation. Far too long. This is a day that will live in our memories. It is a turning point in our history...." And so on.

  "I've never trusted that one," the kerchiefed woman said.

  "I've never trusted any of them," her friend replied.

  Bolton's introductory remarks were, as usual, irreproachable yet unconvincing. The crowd responded in kind, with tepid applause at all the right points, but without ever showing any real excitement. Finally he finished, and the moment had arrived. President Kramer stepped up to the microphone; the applause was somewhat more enthusiastic now.

  "She is pretty, though, you've got to give her that."

  "We could be pretty, if we had her money."

  "Do you think she dyes her hair?"

  "The hair's phony. The tan's phony. It's all phony, every piece of her. A phony president and a phony election."

  She's not going to win, I thought suddenly. She can't convince me, and she can't convince Charlie DePaso or Jesus Christ or these women. It's over.

  "Thank you, Governor Bolton, for those kind words," the president said. "My friends, I am here today to ask you to support the government of the United States of America in the referendum next week. I recognize that you may not find this support easy to give. I understand the issues you have with the American government. But I'm asking you to have faith. Faith in the government. Faith in the future. And faith in me. Of course, it's difficult for you to have such faith unless you know me. So let me first take a few minutes to tell you about myself...."

  And she launched into the story of her life, with which I was already familiar. Much of what she said after that was familiar as well. Oh, she changed an emphasis here and there, and sometimes she anticipated objections I had made. But basically she was repeating her performance of the night before.

  But if I had been the test case, the dress rehearsal, why did she think this approach would succeed? If she couldn't manage to convince me, how was she going to convince Charlie DePaso and the two women next to me? She couldn't exactly go around massaging everyone's neck and shoulders. And we weren't in a beautiful pre-War apartment, listening to music and sipping wine. We were huddled under leaden skies, cold and suspicious. What did we care about her experiences in Atlanta? What did Lincoln matter to us? Could we see the world that President Kramer saw? Not today, I'm afraid.

  But then she went further. This was the part that I hadn't wanted to stay and hear in her apartment, too afraid that I would succumb to her the way Marva had succumbed to Flynn Dobler. "All of this is nothing but words, I admit," the president said. "Perhaps some of you have heard too many words over the years, and seen too little improvement in your lives. Perhaps some of you think the referendum is pointless, because it won't put more food on your table or give you better health care. Well, let me tell you here that I am prepared to stake the future of the Federal presence in New England on the results of the referendum.

  "If you give us your support, we will immediately take steps to institute direct election of all local officials, up to and including governor, by vote of the entire adult population, not just taxpayers. Individual state legislatures will be re-established, and New England will return to being six separate states once again. As they did before the War, the new state governments will control policies and laws within their borders, and the Federal government will handle interstate issues. Federal troops will stay in the states at least until the elections are over; after that, the new governments will decide individually what role, if any, they want these troops to play within their states.

  "Now I must be honest and tell you that not everything will change. Conscription will continue, as will Federal taxation and restrictions on interstate travel—we can't allow unlimited exit visas to the So
uth. But what we are proposing is, I believe, a major step toward giving the brave people of New England what they need and deserve: a chance to determine their own future within the framework of a system that will preserve and extend our great American ideals."

  The president paused, and people applauded—rather warmly, I think. "That seems like a good idea," the woman next to me said.

  "I'll believe it when it happens," her friend replied.

  "What if you lose?" someone shouted.

  The president waited for silence. "If we lose," she said softly, "we leave. It's as simple as that. The reduction of the Federal presence will be gradual, in an attempt to prevent chaos, but within two years we will be gone. We hope the two-year time period will be sufficient to allow some sort of peaceful evolution of new political entities to take place—and we will do our best to help that process—but ultimately you will be on your own—your own borders, your own soldiers, your own laws. New England will no longer be part of the United States of America."

  There was no applause at this, only a kind of buzzing silence as people tried to come to terms with this new prospect. No one had believed that anything would change if the referendum lost; the Feds would just continue with business as usual. But on the other hand...

  "Why should we trust you?" someone else shouted.

  "We recognize that the results of the referendum will only be valid if people think they are valid," the president said. "Therefore we have asked well-known opposition groups to join with us in supervising the balloting. We renew that request today. Now if, under those circumstances, the government—win or lose—subsequently reneges on any of the commitments I have made here today, do any of you seriously believe that we could continue to govern? Any credibility we have with you, any respect we have from you, would be gone, and this whole effort would have been worse than useless. No, this is for real, my friends. You have your future in your hands, and I pray that you make the right decision.

  "The right decision, of course, is to vote yes—vote to support the government—vote to stay part of the United States. Such a vote entails responsibilities, but with those responsibilities comes the possibility of renewed greatness. You will remain a vital part of the adventure that is America, and you will help our nation take its place once more at the forefront of human progress. And perhaps a hundred years from now people will look back on this day, and say that it was then that the tide turned, it was then that the long darkness ended, and the new day began to dawn."

  The president stopped speaking. The applause that followed seemed genuine, but it also seemed tentative, and a bit confused. She had offered people what they had always said they wanted: freedom from the Feds. But did they really want that freedom if the Feds were also offering to give them a say in the way they were governed? After all, that was something else they were always complaining about. They couldn't have it both ways.

  All of a sudden the referendum was no longer a joke.

  The president waved and shook hands with the people on the platform and waved some more. The music began again. And before long the applause faded. People were going to have to go home and do some thinking.

  The president came down off the platform and started shaking hands with the dignitaries in the roped-off section. The crowd began to drift away. It started to rain.

  And then the president walked past the dignitaries and the guards who protected them, into the milling crowd, reaching out physically to the people she had just tried to reach with words. I looked back to the platform. General Cowens was still there, staring at her with his arms folded. Major Fenneman stood next to him, gesticulating with his walkie-talkie. This, apparently, was what they had been unable to talk the president out of.

  "Want to try and shake her hand?" the woman next to me asked her friend.

  "What's the point?"

  "Well, she's the president, after all."

  "So what? Come on. It's raining."

  A lot of people seemed to feel the same way. There was no surge to greet her, no spontaneous outpouring of respect and affection. The weather was more important than Ann Kramer.

  Still, there were hands to shake and an occasional baby to kiss, while her grim-faced bodyguards stood by and reporters struggled to record what was happening. I stayed where I was and watched her progress across the plaza. She was progressing, I noticed before long, toward me.

  I got down from the bench. I saw Gwen among the reporters. I wondered if I should leave. It was raining, after all. President Kramer smiled at me. "Well, Walter, what do you think?" she called out as she approached.

  "Great speech," I said.

  "Did I convert you?"

  I shrugged. "You certainly gave me a choice to make."

  "But you haven't made it yet?"

  I shook my head. "Maybe I'm too—"

  The gunfire interrupted my reply.

  For a moment I didn't understand. What was that noise? Why were people ducking and sprawling and screaming? I turned and saw a large green car come roaring out of the crescent of abandoned shops and offices beyond the plaza. Two masked men leaned out of the front and rear passenger-side windows. They were firing submachine gun rounds into the air. The car was heading right at us.

  I reached for my gun. No gun.

  I turned back to the president. Her bodyguards were pulling her down to the ground. She stared at the car as if she couldn't believe it was real, as if this were just a nightmare that would soon pass. The gunfire stopped and I heard the squeal of brakes just behind me. I turned once again. The masked men were out of the car and coming toward me. It occurred to me that I was literally the only person standing between them and the president. Not a position I would have chosen, but here I was.

  I tried to think of something to do. Nothing came to me. I wanted to fight, but fists can't accomplish much against submachine guns.

  So I stood where I was and wondered if I was going to die as I watched the men approach. I noticed their black masks, their shapeless tan jackets and dungarees. And—and—

  I didn't have time to finish my thought. One of the men pushed his machine gun into my midsection. I clutched my stomach and gasped for breath. Then the other man swung his weapon at my head, and all thinking ceased.

  * * *

  When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was an out-of-focus General Cowens. He was conferring with Major Fenneman. I tried groaning to see how it felt. It felt awful. Cowens turned and looked down at me. "He's conscious," he said to Fenneman.

  "What do you want me to do?" Fenneman asked.

  "Take him to Nashua Street. Find out what he knows." Fenneman made a gesture, and a couple of soldiers came into view. They reached down and picked me up. I glanced around. No green car. No president. Plenty of soldiers—with weapons now. And there was Gwen—standing just beyond a line of troops, gazing anxiously at me. I tried a smile for her. It felt awful.

  The soldiers tossed me into a jeep and sped away from the plaza. I closed my eyes as we bounced along and felt my head throb. I had a feeling things were not going to get any better for me. Apparently I was being taken to jail, although I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.

  Chapter 12

  The Nashua Street Jail was a brick pre-War monstrosity on the Charles River, not far from the Federal compound. It had survived the Frenzy, but just barely. Entering it felt like entering a mausoleum. The soldiers handed me over to a fiendish-looking old man with a limp, who led me through dark corridors, meanwhile muttering unintelligible phrases that could have been prayers but were more likely curses. He deposited me in a small dark cell, where he left me to ponder my fate with the part of my brain that was still able to ponder.

  I didn't like being in jail. There are drawbacks to growing up after a nuclear war, I grant you, but it does give you a good bit of freedom in many ways. And you grow fond of your freedom, because you don't have that much else going for you. I hadn't enjoyed the youth camps; I hadn't enjoyed the army; and I certainly di
dn't enjoy being locked in a prison cell with a splitting headache and no idea what was going to happen to me.

  I tried to think about what had happened back in the plaza. It was mostly a blur and a roar in my memory, but some things stood out: the green car appearing out of nowhere; the approach of the masked men, their little eyes fixed on me; the president's expression as she was dragged to the ground. Was she all right? It didn't seem likely; her bodyguards weren't armed, and everyone else was too far away to help. If she comes, she faces our wrath, TSAR had warned. That made me feel even worse. It seemed so stupid, so preventable.

  It had been my job to prevent it.

  I closed my eyes. There was nothing I could have done, right? If there was something, I would have done it. Right?

  There had been something, it occurred to me. Not something I could've done, but something I could've... I tried, but I couldn't bring it back. And then it was too late.

  "Sands?"

  I opened my eyes. A soldier was peering in at me. The fiendish old man was unlocking the cell. "Uh-huh?" I said.

  "Let's go," the soldier said. "Major Fenneman wants to talk to you."

  The soldier escorted me through more dark corridors to a small, windowless room. There were two wooden chairs and a table in the room; Major Fenneman sat in one of the chairs. A naked light bulb hung down from the ceiling. "Sit down," Fenneman said.

  I sat in the other chair. I didn't like this room any more than the cell. Fenneman regarded me from across the table. "What happened?" I asked. "Is the president all right?"

  "I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind," Fenneman said. Uh-oh, I thought, he'd been studying his tough-guy lines. "Why were you eavesdropping on me before the speech?"

  It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. "What do you mean, 'eavesdropping'? I went over to let you know I was there, in case it mattered to you. Then I left."

  "But you stayed long enough to find out what the president was planning to do after her speech."