By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  Though the glow guttered and eventually vanished before he arrived, Eric found little trouble in following the trail of smoldering wreckage. First he found a small section he figured was a tail fin, then a long trail of skewed shards punctuating the snow. An obvious control surface lead him to believe that had been part of a wing. The creaking and popping of rapidly cooling metal lead him onward to the steaming remains of the battered and blackened hull amid a small lake of semi-frozen mud. A thin layer of snow was just beginning to stick on the surface.

  “Damn,” Eric muttered as he fished out his tablet and took hurried photos as he circled the wreck looking for anything that appeared useful. Several minutes of slogging around the shattered drone produced nothing. Eric sighed with resignation. Nothing. Dammit. Hey, is that an access panel? Seeing lettering next to the hatch, he wiped off the soot and grime to find a simple label: avionics access.

  “What have we here?” Eric mumbled. He frowned a few seconds later as prying at the panel with his boot knife only bent the edges and caused bits of the fractured coating to flake off. The shorn spar he retrieved from the drone’s shattered wing provided enough leverage to pop the crumpled panel clear off. Cheater bar always wins. Eric stared at the mangled electronics behind the panel. Shit, oh well--heh, bingo.

  A metal box sat nestled in the back, half hidden by loose cabling and broken, half-melted circuit boards. He gingerly reached into the mess and carefully tugged out it out of its retainers. High bandwidth data connectors plastered the back end of the case. With a slow grin, he turned the case over and popped the latches.

  “Bingo. Turing will find this interesting. Now to get the hell out of here.”

  Eric had barely made it a kilometer when he heard the arrival of the first drone and ducked into a copse of pines. Not long after, echoes from a series of explosions rippled through the mountainside. The pattern repeated three more times in the next hour. Still as a mouse and freezing, Eric waited another four hours before he emerged and made off for home.

  Day 817

  “Good to see you,” Turing said as Eric pushed open the door to the man’s study. “I was worried the bombing indicated we were wrong about the relays. Did you find Gliar’s men?”

  “Find them? Yes, but this might be a little more important,” Eric said and dropped his pack. He fished the case out and tossed it to Turing.

  “What is--no, where did you get this?” Turing said breathlessly.

  “Those explosions weren’t random. One of their drones came down in the snow storm.”

  “And you recovered this from the crash site?”

  “And they pounded it with everything a few minutes after I’d left.”

  “Speak of this to no one. Not even Byron and Hadrian until we speak again on this.”

  “But--”

  “No buts, Eric. You never came back with this. I’ll get what data I can off of these drives, but I can’t promise anything useful.”

  “You’ve heard the grumblings, Turing. Folks need a morale boost.”

  “Oh, they do. Trust me, I know. That morale boost will be temporary at best when this comes back to be nothing. With the discontent as of late, it might even hurt morale more than it helps. There’s already a sizable faction of these newcomers questioning our judgement. If this gets out and nothing comes of it, that discontent will spread. What about your original mission?”

  Eric sighed. No use in rehashing that argument.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that Chris’s intelligence was right. Gliar’s people are spread out over a wide area on the other side. Temporary camps. It looks like they move every few months, probably to keep from hunting out an area.”

  “Probably,” Turing concurred.

  “The whole time I was out, I didn’t hear a gunshot. The hunters I did find were using spears and bows, but they did have firearms on them so they’re not out of ammunition. It would make sense if they were conserving that ammunition for something more important, I think. Probably us.”

  “That is likely.”

  “Either way, I have photos and video. It could’ve been a lot worse. I was worried I’d find just empty camps.”

  Turing nodded. “I’d worried something similar. Not a peep from them this year had me on edge. This narrows things down a bit. Actually, find Hadrian and Byron and let them know I want to see them this evening at their earliest convenience, would you? I need to streamline the chain of command a bit. How do you feel about additional responsibility?”

  “About the same as I’ve felt with all the other responsibilities you’ve given me. No extra pay, no extra vacation time. Why are you smiling?”

  Day 830

  Eric looked up at the door to his new office.

  “Enter,” he said. “Oh, Elias. Please, have a seat,” Eric followed up, hurriedly finishing signing off on another project Denise was asking about. He closed his email and sat back. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  “Well, first I’d like to congratulate you on your promotion,” the doctor said.

  Eric tried not to roll his eyes at what he saw as blatant manipulation. He had an email chain going back several months between him, Byron, and a few others about problem children showing up to bitch about how things were being done, about how things would be so much better if the decisions being made were done more fairly. Per Byron, every one of these people were either closely associated with Doctor Lainz or were close friends with someone who was. Lainz had been helpful when he’d first arrived, but as far as anyone could prove, somewhere along the way, the man became a veritable font of discontent with how Turing had been running things, almost overnight.

  “Thanks. Is this a social visit or do you need me for something in particular?” Eric asked.

  “A little of both, I suppose. Other than the congratulations, I was hoping that with our mutual past, I’d be able to convince you to review some of Turing’s policies now that you’re the one calling the shots.”

  Eric sat back in his chair, making a show of thinking about it before commenting, “Well, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Lainz. I didn’t take over Turing’s position of authority, I’m merely a caretaker for that authority while he’s indisposed. Besides which, he and I are of much the same mind on things.”

  “Are you sure I can’t appeal to your sense of fairness?” Doctor Lainz asked plaintively.

  “Doctor, things are about as fair as they can be while ensuring all of our mutual survivals. If folks find how we run things is that intolerable, we do have a number of empty cabins throughout the valley that we can make available.”

  “None of which have your protection from the Legion.”

  “Odd how that works, Elias. I’m sure you remember where the door is. Do please find the other side of it and let me know what it looks like when I see you next.”

  Day 922

  “So what have you been up to? Other than work?” Leah asked as she passed Eric the salt.

  “Still getting used to Turing making me his factor. Thankfully not much has gone on today, so I’ve mostly been reading. ”

  “Careful, people might think you’ve gone soft, Eric,” Leah giggled.

  “Gone soft? Well, if you hear that, you’ll just have to tell them I’m as hard as ever. If anyone would know, it’d be you,” Eric told her with a wry grin. Leah responded with a faux scandalized glare and rolled her eyes.

  “If they’re cute, maybe you could invite them upstairs,” Eric said. He trailed off on seeing a particularly disheveled Turing shuffle into the dining room.

  “My, you’re up early,” Leah said.

  “Or up late?” Eric added.

  Turing’s red-rimmed eyes jerked up from the floor.

  “Oh. Sorry, but what time is it?” the man asked.

  “Seven?” Leah replied.

  Turing’s brow knit with thought.

  “PM,” Eric told him. When that didn’t change Turing’s affectation he followed up with, “Friday.”

 
“Oh, well, that explains that,” Turing said.

  “Explains what?” Leah asked.

  “Why I’m so tired. I came down to get some coffee.”

  “Don’t you normally drink tea?” she asked.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m all right. It’s just insomnia,” Turing said as he shuffled into the kitchen behind them.

  A glance to his wife told Eric she’d also heard Turing’s verbal lag between sleeping and well. Haven’t been sleeping is more likely, looking like that.

  “Is he alright?” she whispered to him. Eric glanced back at the partially open kitchen door.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve had six people ask me the same question in the last week.”

  “Well, he did tell everyone that he wasn’t to be needlessly bothered and to go through you.”

  “Yeah,” Eric whispered back and sipped his milk. “He’s been acting particularly off. Jeff was telling me Turing put in a request for two dozen metal hooks with pad eyes drilled into them.”

  “Metal hooks with pad eyes?”

  Eric nodded.

  “Each one’s about the size of your hand. Jeff showed me the sketches, holes are big enough to run decent sized rope through.”

  “What for?”

  “Fucked if I know,” Eric said with a shrug. He speared a chunk of potato as Turing shuffled back into the room.

  “Do you think he’s finally lost it?” Leah whispered.

  “Mind if I join you?” Turing asked before Eric could answer.

  “Go ahead. This is your house after all,” Eric said and the man sat.

  Turing’s eyes closed as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “This is how I know God loves us,” he said with a weary smile.

  “I didn’t think you were particularly religious,” Leah said.

  “I’m not, but if there were a loving God, coffee would be His gift to mankind.”

  Leah smiled and nodded.

  The three sat in silence for a short time before she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not working on some super secret project?”

  “Hardly. I get bouts of insomnia all the time. They’re almost never this bad, though,” he said, lowering his head. His narrowing eyes stayed fixed to Eric’s. The two men shared a long, knowing look that ended when Eric shook his head almost imperceptibly. Turing answered with a similar nigh imperceptible nod.

  “Oh,” Leah commented. “So what have you been teaching Eric? He’s always got his face in a book or that tablet lately.”

  “Teaching? Suggesting reading material is more like it. What have you been learning, Eric?”

  “That the Protectorate method of running a government is a travesty and their economic concepts are so nonsensical they approach wronger than wrong. Or maybe ‘not even wrong,’ I forget the proper usage,” Eric said. He didn’t miss his wife’s shocked glance.

  “Interesting. Why is that?” Turing asked.

  “Legitimate power comes from the consent of the governed. The Protectorate gains that consent only by concealing the truth. Your rant that night a while ago, Turing? You were right, it’s all lies. The Protectorate is little more than a cartel. What was the term? A plutocracy?”

  “As I’ve said before, everyone should expect politicians to lie, Eric,” Turing commented. “What’s particularly egregious in this case to give rise to travesty instead of embarrassment?”

  “A government’s purpose is to protect the rights of its populace, not to arbitrarily dictate them in a fashion that benefits only those in power. A proper government doesn’t use the farcical ruse that they’re protecting its citizens while instead it’s actively preying on them.”

  “My, that’s an interesting concept,” Turing said through a cat’s grin and asked conspiratorially, “Can you defend it?”

  “Defend it? Which part? That the Protectorate lies about everything or what the purpose of government is? One is obvious to anyone who pays attention, the other is so nearly self-evident I’m confused why you’d ask about it.”

  “Pretend I’m one of our newly acquired residents,” Turing told him with a wry grin.

  “Well, then I’d have to apologize for everything you think you know being unfit for even a compost pile,” Eric started. “There’s so much wrong I barely know where to begin.”

  “Try starting with the necessities of what you consider proper governance then,” Turing prompted.

  “Necessities, huh? Well, a functioning government needs several things to function properly. An educated citizenry is one, a means to transmit information amongst the populace is another.

  “Now, the Protectorate makes a big deal about how free everyone is and the media goes along with it. But the joke? From what little you’ve said about those documents you recovered, Turing, the Inner Party doesn’t just control the media, they are effectively the media. Your freedom of the press? It’s a giant stage play, a hall of smoke and mirrors. The media tells people what the Inner Party wants them to hear and every now and then, they make a calculated disclosure of truth. When the censors slap them, it’s all been planned out and calculated to perpetuate the system. Thanks to you, Turing, I’ve seen some of the University textbooks on how they do this. There’s a degree path for it. It’s called Social Engineering.”

  “They do. I found the courses distasteful, even then,” Turing agreed with a sour grimace. “Continue.”

  “A properly functioning government needs an efficient system of creating and maintaining its body of law,” Eric said. He snorted, “What you guys have? You have two chambers of legislature that meet and accomplish nothing but what they’re told. The Inner Party effectively dictates what the laws are to a very large degree. What they can’t dictate, they still steer because they control the means of communication. Your media is complicit and so are your elected officials.

  “Your justice system is a joke. At best, it’s a legal system. A properly functioning system of justice does not care who you are, who your parents were, or what affiliations you have. Yet almost every law has some sort of escape clause written into it. The Inner Party influences who gets punished and to what extent. Reality seldom asserts itself in the courtroom because if the judges aren’t Inner Party, they want to be. In fact, the only thing that the Protectorate seems to be good at is maintaining the military and police.

  “All of this made possible, no, condoned by the populace because they believe that you can trust a self-appointed group of people with total control of their civilization. Of course, they’re so much smarter, just better people as the arguments I’ve read go, right? From what I’ve read, Turing, you’re an outlier. The average Inner Party member is not much smarter than the average citizen, just better connected. I would be repeating myself indirectly to point out they’re also far less honest and far more ruthless.”

  “Honey,” Leah interrupted, “The Inner Party gets used as a boogeyman all the time. They’re not as bad as you’re making them out to be.”

  Eric snorted and then mentally cringed at the hurt in Leah’s eyes.

  “Leah, the Inner party does not care one iota about anything but itself and the accumulation of power. They’re not just used as a boogeyman, they are the boogeymen,” he told her. Blood drained from Leah’s face as he summarized parts of the history of the Protectorate that Turing revealed to him so many nights before.

  “Turing, this is true? Your family--” Leah asked.

  “Did all that? Helped this happen? Yes, all of it,” Turing said quietly and continued more confidently with, “Well, you’ve done a decent job trashing our way of life, Eric. What is your alternative?”

  “Liberty,” Eric replied.

  Someone sighed behind him and said, “Freedom? That’s it?”

  Eric turned in his chair to find a half dozen people standing in the kitchen door. How long have you guys been standing there?

  “Well, Doctor Lainz, Turing asked what the alternative was. Freedom is the simplest, most concise answer. Granted, as you’re a Univ
ersity taught sociologist, I don’t expect you to understand that.”

  Doctor Lainz’s face flushed while he sputtered.

  Go ahead, Doctor, get angry. I’m tired of having someone come complaining to me about how unfair shit is here only to find you’re the one who put the bug in their ear about it. We’d been better off if they’d shown you the airlock and not the shuttle down.

  “Mister Friedrich,” the young man standing next to Lainz exclaimed.

  Eric cut him off, “Shut up, Wesley. You’re even less of an expert on this topic than he is, though that hasn’t stopped you yet.”

  While Wesley sputtered, Eric pushed on, “What Doctor Lainz is about to say is that my alternative is akin to anarchy. That I would have everyone living like animals, like the pirates or mucking about in their own refuse like the Confeds. He wants you to believe that the freedom I’m talking about is dangerous. Am I right, Doctor? Is that a yes? Silence is consent.”

  Doctor Lainz regarded him coldly but remained silent.

  “I’ve done nothing but read history and policy documents in what little free time I’ve had the last few months. Presenting freedom as dangerous and akin to anarchy is part of the current prescription by the Inner Party’s social engineers. Isn’t it, Doc? I’d advise you not to incriminate yourself with that one, Doctor Lainz. People tend to be rather nonplussed when they find out their trusted friends and leader types have been manipulating them.

  “Look, make no mistake, freedom is dangerous. When you are truly free, you are not just free to decide, you are also free to make mistakes. You are free to fail, and as any astronautics guy will tell you, not all failure modes are survivable.

  “The most concise way I can tell any of you why freedom is the only answer, why it is and will always be better than the Protectorate approach is simple. Information can only move so quickly, only so much data can be compared at one time. One person or a group of people can only oversee so much. Economies are too large, societies are too large for that kind of central planning. No matter if you have one person or a group of planners, they are always too far away from the data to ensure it’s all current and even then they can’t see the whole picture. Every transaction ruled only by the people involved in the transaction works best. Admittedly, they need accurate price information to be informed of the bigger picture, but my alternative has far better long term results. Capitalism is the worst economic system after all the others.”