Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1)

by Marcus Richardson

  For the first time, the President picked up the Order and read it carefully. Hank Suthby sensed his moment. “Sir, this is the right thing to do. As soon as you sign that, I’ll call my people still in Washington and the others in Denver—everything is in place, we’re just waiting for your say-so.” He paused, trying to read the expression on the President’s face.

  “My people will have all state, local and federal authorities working together, we’ll get the food distributed, we’ll get the water distributed, we’ll make coming to the Safe Zones mandatory, the people will be protected and—“

  Just when it looked like the President was ready to sign, he shook his head as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes were bright when he looked up, the exhaustion and weariness suddenly gone from his face. “Hank, I will not sign this Order. We are handling everything at the moment. I cannot sign this order and give away the birthright of every American citizen. We’ve eaten away at too many rights already—“

  “Sir!” squealed Director Suthby, a look of pained frustration on his brow.

  “Hank, shut up! I’m not signing your Devil’s Deal, and quite frankly the more you pester me about it the more I’m inclined to tear the damn thing up.”

  “Mr. President, I have to say I agree with Hank,” began the Secretary of State. “But…well…”

  “Tim, I know…and I respect the fact that you’re nervous—we all are. But dammit, we can’t go this far!” the President said, clutching the unsigned Executive Order in his fist. The President smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheet and stared at the door.

  “At least, not yet…”

  CHINA

  First Strike

  HIGH IN EARTH orbit seven days after the initial attack on America, the Chinese satellite Sino-star glinted in the sunlight as it sailed through the blackness of space around the globe. Technically a communications satellite, Sino-star was carrying a payload not listed on the official records. Few Chinese, let alone Westerners knew of the deadly package hidden deep in the bowls of the overly large—to NASA’s standards—tele-comm sat.

  The monitoring stations in NORAD and the US Space Command noticed nothing when the satellite shifted its position in orbit ever so slightly. While the tracking system employed by the United States was by far the best in the world, able to track every single orbiting spacecraft and many millions of pieces of spacecraft and space debris down to debris particles less than a few inches across, when an object merely rotated to face another direction, it didn’t register.

  Sixteen other Chinese satellites, telecommunications, weather, and military alike, began rotating in orbit, facing new directions. Anyone in space with them would have noticed the cameras and antenna arrays no longer pointed towards the earth far below. The satellites were looking at something new.

  With the detailed information stolen by Chinese agents from the Los Alamos National Laboratories under the Clinton Administration’s nose, the Chinese had uncovered many of America’s space technology secrets. Everything from nuclear weapons to launch systems to satellite information was obtained through the high level access the Chinese agents employed. One bit of information led to another, and before long the Chinese knew far more than the Americans feared.

  Each of the Chinese satellites in orbit had now been targeted on top secret U.S. military communications satellites. These birds were affectionately touted by the American military as the deck of cards that were stacked in America’s favor. The satellites provided instant and reliable communications. They were hack proof, jam proof, untouchable. No one would dare launch anti-satellite missiles from the ground, because the US Space Command could pin-point who did it and the military would clean up the mess. But with the information garnered by the Chinese, they didn’t need to launch from the ground.

  Identical panels on Chinese satellites slid open in the silence of space, exposing crude but effective laser systems. Three minutes after five o’clock in the evening, Washington time, the lasers on the Chinese satellites lit up their American targets.

  Seven minutes after five o’clock in the evening, Washington time, the American military began to go blind and deaf. The Pentagon had scores of military satellites in orbit, some for spying, some for communications, but over the past decade, America had come to rely on a select group of seventeen global positioning and encoded-communication satellites. Those seventeen were now worthless space junk.

  The back-up satellites were decades-old and the components were failing on more than a few. That was part of the reason the U.S. had switched to the new birds. The Chinese satellites shifted orbit—something picked up immediately by NORAD—to seemingly harmless orbits and began selecting new targets, again using information obtained covertly.

  China had moles in every American agency and institution. The spy game was being played by China the way the Russians had under the Soviets. America was still playing catch-up.

  The price to be paid for being politically correct was about to be realized.

  SARASOTA

  Darwin’s Game

  ERIK TUNED THE little radio and waited for the static to clear. He was listening to a shortwave broadcast, courtesy of the BBC, of the latest meeting of the United Nations. The international body was meeting in full assembly to discuss and resolve the matter of the United States. Erik shook his head at the marvel of radio, that he was able to hear a live transmission from The Hague, on the other side of the world.

  “My fellow delegates, I must remind you all that it has merely been a week since America entered the current troubles,” said the representative from the United Kingdom. The exhaustion in his voice was clear. He was beginning to fear his was a lost cause. He was beginning to fear for the world when the wounded and cornered America decided to really defend herself.

  “And I must remind you,” snipped the French delegate. “That America is not a Balkans, nor is it a Yugoslavia. America disintegrating is a far bigger threat to the rest of the world, including our friends from Mexico and Canada—“

  “Here, here!” cried the Mexican delegate. Erik could almost see the man’s smile.

  “We all appreciate that the threat posed by a United States breaking apart—rogue military units and commanders, and such, cities in open rebellion—“

  “But, my dear friend,” hissed the Frenchman. “You must see the light of reason. We, as the representatives of the world, cannot stand by and take our time discussing and thinking about the situation as it unravels, like we could over lesser countries like Bosnia or the Congo,” the French delegate uttered sarcastically.

  Thunderous applause broke out, only gradually silenced by another delegate trying to speak. Eventually Erik heard a gavel smashing in the background over the sporadic clapping. When silence reigned, one tired, clear voice rang out over the thousands of miles: “I, as the duly appointed representative of Her Majesty and the people of the United Kingdom, must try one last time to warn you—do not do this. The American delegate has already left our body. America is no longer a member of the United Nations. You will be facing a nation besought with its own troubles, cornered and wounded.”

  Erik had to turn up the volume almost all the way, the man was speaking so quietly: “We learned over two hundred years ago just what type of resolve the American people have. I believe there are more than a few nations here who know all too well that same lesson. We will take no part in relearning that lesson again. While Great Britain is not pulling out from the United Nations, neither will we aid you in this disastrous course of action. You will have to commit suicide without the help of the people of England.”

  More gavel pounding and a new voice cut through the mumbling. Erik assumed this man was the Secretary General. “Assembled delegates of the world, I call this body to cast a final vote on the matter. We shall now vote the resources for an international Peace-keeping force to send to America—-which I remind the Gentleman from England, the mission itself has already been voted on and approved by this body. Now then, do I have a seco
nd?”

  Erik gasped. He had only tuned in part of the way through the debate on something, he just didn’t know what. “My God,” he whispered.

  He spent the rest of the day debating with himself on what to do with the information he now possessed. Should he call the Council? What about telling the gathering tonight? What did it mean? The broadcast had sizzled into static after the call to vote, so Erik didn’t even know if it had passed. Deep down, he judged that the response of the Frenchman’s speech meant that the vote would be carried. America, invaded by Peace Keepers. The thought was so alien, Erik was stunned into silence for more than an hour.

  At sunset, Erik found himself on the Stage, waiting to call the nightly meeting to order. He had found something else to worry about. The residents of the community were all gathered, shouting at him and expressing their worries at the same time. Ted looked nervous and slightly ashamed.

  “How dare you!”

  “—bringing in a bunch of dirty bikers!”

  “—probably drug users and sellers…”

  “Who knows if they’ll kill us all—“

  “Is this some kind of dictatorship?”

  Erik raised his hands to try and get some order. It took a few minutes but finally things settled down. He was upset because most of the residents had spent the day arguing over what to do and why. Hardly any work got done concerning building defenses or training guards. Erik thought about the news he had heard over the radio that morning. If they’re flipping out over Hoss and his boys…they’ll go absolutely apeshit over the invasion threat.

  Erik was therefore forced to spend the first few minutes of the meeting trying to explain the circumstances to everyone.

  “The main problem is that you didn’t talk to us!” someone shouted. “You just took ‘em in—no meetings, not even with the Building Reps!”

  “If we had done that, it would have been hours before they could get in out of the rain,” Erik tried explaining.

  “That’s not the point!”

  “That’s exactly the point!” Erik roared back. “They’re my friends, and I wasn’t about to let them sit out there in the rain, bleeding and wounded like they were. For cryin’ out loud they’re not murderers—“

  “They’re bikers, what’s the difference?” someone else shouted from the back. The residents, all fifty or so, erupted in heated arguments and accusations. A handful of people had actually spoken to the bikers and realized they were not the hardened criminals so often portrayed by the media before the Troubles. Those people were few and far between.

  As the minutes ticked by, Erik could look around and see the organization he had tried to establish start to break apart. The mob mentality that he had last seen days ago when he rose to power was coming back. The fears and nervousness and selfishness of the people who lived at Colonial Gardens were resurfacing.

  The Building Reps, siding with Erik were coming under verbal attack by their neighbors for allowing the bikers to enter the apartment complex and take over a whole building. It didn’t seem to matter that the building had been abandoned a week ago. It didn’t seem to matter that for the most part the bikers were too tired and wounded to hurt anyone. All that mattered was they had weapons enough to do so.

  Shout and scream as he might, not even Ted could get through to them. He could not get the idea across that the bikers, tough and scary as they may seem to the residents, had gotten their own asses handed to them by some other group. The other group was the ones they should all fear. The residents did not agree. Why worry about the devil outside when you had a devil inside?

  As the sun sank fully behind the horizon and another muggy early summer night crept on, Erik realized that these people really didn’t see what he saw. They had no clue, or if they did, they were deluding themselves about the future. Most were still of the mindset they were before the power went out. Only a handful, the enlightened ones, saw the coming Dark Age that Erik saw with every rumor from the lips of the passerby.

  Every time a National Guard truck drove past the neighborhood, speakers blaring and offering shelter at the local school, promising food and water. Every time a newscast from England was picked up or a nationally repeated message of hope from Washington was heard on a radio, the sheeple bleated and smiled, believing the end to be near and happy. The darkness was coming.

  Over the din of the near riot going on all over the pool deck below, Erik said to Ted, “They just don’t get it, do they? Even after all we’ve done, all we’ve seen and heard, they don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know if they ever will, man. Hell it’s just been a week and a half. This time two weeks back they were eating TV dinners and watching the game on the boob tube. You have to have seen something like this before; lived it…like we did over in the Sandbox,” Ted said. “Or you have to know so much about it…“

  “History repeats itself…I wonder if someone was saying this exact thing a week after Rome fell…” muttered Erik.

  Finally the crowd got itself calmed down and one person stepped up to the plate. “This ain’t no kingdom, is it?”

  Erik looked around at the angry and confused faces. More than a few had apologetic and frustrated looks. His supporters tried and failed to win over the herd mentality. “No, of course not—“ he said.

  “Then you’re not the king of us are you?”

  “How could I be, you all voted to put me in charge! I’m here because you asked me to be here.” Erik regretted those words as soon as he said them.

  “Then we can remove you too!” The clamor started instantly.

  “—gone too far by letting those animals in here!”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “They’ll kill us—“

  A single gunshot erupted from the stage, effectively silencing everyone and causing many to drop to the ground. When the screams subsided and everyone had their attention focused on Ted, pistol still raised in the air, he spoke.

  “Don’t you people forget for God-damn second that if it hadn’t been for Erik getting us all to work together, you’d be without food and water right now. You’d probably have gone to the ‘safe zone’ and not be living in your own place right now. Don’t you forget that for one second!” Ted barked angrily. Not a single person spoke or stirred.

  Erik could sense the mood of the crowd getting ugly and put a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Thank you Ted, but it’s okay.” Inwardly he sighed. If this is what it takes, so be it…

  “I can see you’re not happy with my decisions lately as your leader—“

  “Damn right we’re not!” someone shouted. Erik pondered for a second how funny it was that people grew bold when hidden in numbers.

  “So, I’ll resign and step down. Someone else can lead you.” With that, he simply turned and stepped down off the stage, Brin following him with a shocked look. Ted and the other Reps simply stood with mouths open. Erik took his place in the crowd and looked up at the stage while everyone else looked at him. The crowd erupted again.

  “Now wait a minute—“

  “Fine! Let’s put someone new in charge!”

  “He can’t just quit like that, can he?”

  “What are we gonna do now?”

  “We need someone who’s used to running an organization, not a damn kid!”

  “Hey! What about…”

  Ted forced his way through the crowd and found Erik and Brin. He gripped Erik’s arm and whispered harshly, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Stepping down. Literally!” Erik said, smiling. The weight of leadership had vanished from his shoulders the moment his foot left the Stage. He suddenly realized how much pressure he had been under, trying to get the complex organized. “They obviously didn’t like the way I was running things, so let ‘em find someone new. I have no problems with that…Hell, if they screw things up, Brin and I—and you and Sue and the kids of course—we’ll all just head to Dundee and set up at my Great-Grandad’s lake. My family’s got a house out in the
boonies, middle of an orange grove. Should be pretty much untouched, I would think.” Ted stared blankly at Erik’s words.

  “Josh Lentz!” someone shouted, louder than the rest, stopping Ted from arguing further with Erik.

  In seconds, Mr. Lentz’s credentials were argued, passed around and ratified by the mob. Before too long, a group of people began chanting his name. In a few minutes, it was all over. Josh Lentz, a resident in Alfonse’s building, former superintendent of a school system in Illinois before retiring to Sarasota, had been elected leader pro tem, just like Erik had been. He would get a trial period, and if the people of the complex liked him, he’d be put in charge on a more permanent basis. The details were to be worked out later.

  Lentz was a bureaucrat. He knew how to grease skids and sooth ruffled feathers. He knew the way the ‘system’ worked—or had worked, and he had a plan for institutionalizing Colonial Gardens. He was a kind but firm man. Well liked and now in charge of leading the little community through its darkest hour, all this he said without really saying anything of worth. With much clapping and cheering, he took over the Stage. The Council, without Ted, remained on the Stage, unsure of what to do.

  Lentz got the crowd to settle down then spoke, his gravelly voice in clear contrast with Erik’s youthful deep sound. The man was an orator and utterly comfortable doing what bureaucrats did best—getting power, keeping power, and keeping people happy so he could remain in power. “I want to thank you all for this tremendous vote of confidence. I wish to first say that I think Erik did a great job running things…“

  Some cheers and claps, but mostly silence or a few jeers. Erik ignored it. He was watching Lentz to see what kind of a man had been chosen as his replacement. When they were looking for a leader a few days ago, Lentz decided not to do anything. Suspicious by nature, Erik had an itch between his shoulder blades he couldn’t scratch and that made him pay very careful attention to how things changed in the next few days.