Empire e-1

by Orson Scott Card

  Cole pushed seek on the radio to find a broadcast station running news.

  They were all running the news. But it was still scattered. Some kind of disturbance in New York. Two downed jets. Firing reported. All landlines and cellphones silent. Rumors of aliens, of military convoys heading north through New Jersey, warships sailing toward New York, Marines getting ready to land, National Guard troops called out in New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut.

  And, oh yes, preparations for the funerals of those who died on Friday the Thirteenth.

  “Great. That’s how they’re going to refer to the assassination of those good men,” said Reuben. “Friday the Thirteenth. As if their deaths were simply a stroke of bad luck.”

  “This is what you were doing, isn’t it,” said Cole. “Working with weapons sales and development. You know how weapons systems are hidden and how they’re found.”

  “I think I was their patsy all along,” said Reuben. “I’ve been going over shipments and contracts. I was tracking some, I was carrying out others. Bidding, buying, selling, passing money to third parties to pass along to fourth parties. They told me I was fighting terrorism, helping penetrate organizations. But I think I may have shipped some of this stuff to the staging areas.”

  “They did this using government budgets?”

  “I don’t know whose money I was using. I was a middle man. An errand boy. I had to be smart because sometimes the assignments were dangerous. Guys who’d rather take what you delivered and keep the money, which meant killing me. Sending me helped assure that things didn’t get ugly.”

  “How did you prevent it?”

  “I recognized the problems going in. If it looked bad, I aborted the mission. Phillips joked that that’s why I was getting the big bucks—for knowing when to walk away from the deal.”

  “Big bucks?”

  “It was a joke,” said Reuben. “I drew my salary, period.”

  “I bet you were a good boy and didn’t keep any records.”

  “I wasn’t that good. Encrypted files on my PDA.”

  “What’s your password?”

  Reuben couldn’t believe he asked. Then he realized Cole was right. “I guess we’ve got a new system of classification now. Top Secret. Eyes Only. Coleman Only.”

  “You could have died today,” said Cole. “They could arrest you or kill you at any time. You need that PDA out of your possession and someone else needs to know the password. If you think it has evidence.”

  “I never even told Cessy my passwords,” said Reuben. “To protect her.”

  “It only protects her against a rational enemy,” said Cole. “An irrational one won’t believe she doesn’t know it till she’s dead.”

  “I think these guys are trying to play by some version of American rules.”

  “Those bullets pouring into the Chinese restaurant at us didn’t know who was behind those walls.”

  “Maybe they had software that recognized our faces. Maybe getting us was worth some collateral damage.”

  “Password,” said Cole.

  “And maybe you’ve been my shadow the past few days just so you could get that password before you kill me,” said Reuben. “Maybe you’re working for these clowns. They accepted that you might have to kill a few of their guys to earn my trust. You get my password, then you take my PDA and kill me. I don’t know you, Cole.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Cole. “For a minute there you trusted me, though.”

  “I did.”

  “How’s it working out so far?” asked Cole.

  “I asked for you to be assigned to me,” said Reuben. “Then again, I chose from a list. They provided the list.”

  “We don’t know who they are,” said Cole. “But hang on to the PDA for a while yet. I’m not going to try to force the issue. It’s foolish. But I understand the paranoia.”

  “Thank you,” said Reuben. “I still trust you, Cole. I’m taking you home to my family.”

  “I know,” said Cole.

  “They didn’t know where we were, but they’ll figure it out,” said Reuben. “Where else would I have gone on the Jersey side of New York City? A little research and they’ll be at Aunt Margaret’s. Maybe before we even get there.”

  “So let me out before we get too close,” said Cole. “So they don’t get us both.”

  “I keep the PDA at home, or I’d give it to you right now.”

  “But not the password.”

  “No, not the password. You’d be my off-site storage.”

  “Who’s trying to arrest us?” said Cole. “Is it the guys who just invaded New York—the ones who are working inside the government to subvert it? Or is it the good guys, who figure it can’t just be coincidence that we keep showing up right where the crisis is?”

  “All that planted evidence,” said Reuben. “They can’t ignore it.”

  “Is it just coincidence we keep showing up?”

  “It’s only happened twice,” said Reuben. “First time, they watched us. Not coincidence. Part of their effort to pin it on me. On an American soldier. But today—no, they had no way of knowing we’d decide to take a five a.m. drive to Ground Zero. They certainly weren’t going to time this invasion to fit our whims. The second day after the assassinations. Still within the time of maximum chaos. Who’s in charge? Nobody’s established the chain of command again. What will this President want? How long will he wrestle with the problems before he acts? Ideal time. Nothing to do with us.”

  “Except that I don’t care who did this,” said Cole. “They were killing cops. They were killing uniforms. They may think they’re saving the Constitution, but they’re saving nothing. It’s all about imposing their will on unwilling people.”

  “But Cole,” said Reuben. “Don’t you understand? When you have the Truth, then anybody who opposes you is either ignorant or evil. You rule over the ignorant and you kill or lock up the evil. Then you can make the world run according to your perfect Truth.”

  “On the Left and the Right,” said Cole. “Same thing.”

  “The English Civil War,” said Reuben. “On one side, Divine Right of Kings, patriotism, the status quo, the cool long-haired Cavaliers. Oh the other side, the Puritans, guardians of God’s word, short-haired, Bible-carrying perfectionists. Most people couldn’t care a rat’s ass either way.”

  “The Puritans had Cromwell.”

  “So they won. For a while,” said Reuben. “But as soon as they had power, they started trying to enact their program. No Christmas, no sports, can’t twitch on Sunday, lives of unrelenting work and prayer. No playing, no plays even. No bear-baiting. No heresy tolerated, and that includes the familiar trappings of religion. Ten years of that and the people were ready to bring back the kings—even if they might have Catholic sympathies.”

  “So you’re saying that people will get sick of the excesses of whichever group of perfectionists just took over Manhattan.”

  “Eventually,” said Reuben. “But that doesn’t mean they can get rid of the Puritans that easily. Cromwell died without a strong successor. Castro flat out didn’t die. Hitler and Stalin were too ruthless to be overthrown. Pol Pot just killed everybody. Whenever the fanatics take over, it’s a crapshoot whether you can ever get rid of them, at least without a long and bloody struggle, or decades of oppression. Generations.”

  “So you’re saying you have limited optimism about the future.”

  There was nothing to say to that. They drove in silence for a while as they took some back roads to avoid sirens and Cole studied the state map that Charlie O’Brien carried in his car.

  Reuben knew Cole was right about the password to the PDA. The information on there might be the key to finding out where these weapons originated. There was that series of shipments that were going to the Port of New York, ostensibly for overseas shipment. But what if they only got to the port and sat on the dock waiting for the command to take over the city? The trouble was, Reuben wasn’t sure where the shipment originated. Agai
n, it seemed much of it was coming from the Port of Seattle. But did that mean it came from overseas, or somewhere else on the West Coast, or maybe it originated in Washington, or maybe it was paperworked out of Washington but in fact was shipped from Mexico. For all he knew.

  Still, it was a start, that link to Seattle. If he really had helped to arrange shipment eastward.

  These bastards, plotting to take over New York City, and using government money to pay for it and government agents to handle the paperwork and payments.

  Could Phillips possibly be clean? There he was in the White House. He had to be the one who notified the terrorists!

  No, no, Reuben told himself. No leaping to conclusions. If they were smart—and so far they’ve been smarter than me—they’d never have the same guy working on shipments of weapons and serving as the inside guy to tip off the terrorists. They’d use two different people.

  Two people inside the White House, betraying what was supposedly the most fanatically conservative presidency in history, to hear the Left talk about it—or an endemically corrupt, power-hungry government no matter who was in power, to hear the Right talk about it.

  And who inside the Pentagon? It was time to call DeeNee and find out if she knew anything yet.

  She wasn’t at the office, of course. Or maybe she was—on a Sunday with New York under attack, everybody would be called in. He called her cellphone anyway. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” said Reuben.

  “I got the preacher to hold the prayer till I’m off the phone,” said DeeNee.

  “Not really, right?”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Not in Washington,” said Reuben. “If you don’t know—”

  “I know,” she said.

  “What do we know?”

  “Well, we know you’re supposed to be under arrest near the Holland Tunnel,” she said, “and there’s a guy standing here telling me not to say this.”

  The phone was apparently torn out of her hand as she said the last few words. A man came on the line.

  “Do you realize how guilty you’re making yourself look?” Reuben recognized the voice of one of his debriefers.

  “I was in New York looking at Ground Zero,” said Reuben. “One of their pod monsters started shooting at me. Some cops and I got the sucker down on the ground and looked inside. Then I got a dozen or so cops out of the city and helped plug the Jersey side of the Holland Tunnel. There I pulled a semi-living soldier out of one of the mechs for later interrogation. I also saved the body armor and personal electronics of one of their ground troops. And you want to arrest me for something you know damn well I tried to prevent?”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Hell, Malich, I don’t want to arrest you, but that’s the orders we’re getting.”

  “Getting from where?” said Reuben. “Doesn’t it occur to you that the same people who gave my plans to the terrorists might be the people who are ordering you to arrest me?”

  “Major Malich, you know as well as I do that it’s possible to be a hero and a traitor. Benedict Arnold was.”

  “Not on the same damn day,” said Reuben. He turned the phone off.

  “Probably talked too long,” said Cole.

  “They already know I’m in Jersey.”

  “I’d throw away that phone.”

  “And lose all my speed dial numbers?” Reuben tossed it out the window. “This is getting expensive. I wish I had some of the budget these guys had to build the mechs.”

  “I thought they were pod monsters.”

  “One is the brand name, the other’s the generic. Like Coke and soda pop.”

  “Or heroin and smack. I noticed how you made yourself the lone ranger. I did this, I did that.”

  “Trying to keep you out of the discussion.”

  “Yeah, like the cops will forget there were two Army guys helping them.”

  “I can’t stand to share credit,” said Reuben. “Live with it.”

  Reuben came toward Aunt Margaret’s house from the north and parked the car two streets away. “Keeping your weapons with you?” he asked Cole.

  “I’m not taking a piss without my weapons, sir,” said Cole.

  “Just don’t yank the clip out of the wrong one,” said Reuben.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” Cole got out of the car.

  Reuben drove on to the house.

  Nobody waiting out in front. No news vans. No police cars. No military vehicles. No unmarked black cars with guys in suits.

  So maybe the guys who were after him weren’t perfect.

  Or maybe they just didn’t care enough right now to make him a top priority, compared to, say, conquering New York.

  When he went into the house, Cessy greeted him with a hug. She had been crying. “Where were you?” she said.

  “I don’t think we can make it to Mass this morning,” he said.

  “You were there, weren’t you. You and Coleman, you had to go into the city, didn’t you?”

  “We didn’t know this was invasion day,” said Reuben. “But we got out alive. Now we’ve got to get out of here. They know we’re in Jersey, it doesn’t take a genius to think of checking the homes of known relatives.”

  “Who’s after you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s an order from the Pentagon to arrest me. But I don’t know if it’s the good guys, who are fooled by the phony evidence planted against me, or the bad guys, hoping to use that as an excuse to get their hands on me and shut me up for good. Where are the kids?”

  “I confined them to their rooms. Mark and Nick are entertaining the girls and J. P.”

  Aunt Margaret came in dangling keys. “Take my PT Cruiser.”

  “We won’t all fit,” said Reuben.

  “You aren’t taking the kids,” said Margaret. “Don’t be insane. People are shooting out there. This is a nice little house in a nice little town in the Garden State. But the two of you are very smart. You need to get away from the kids to keep them safe.”

  “In your PT Cruiser.”

  “I have your nice SUV. Where’s the one you borrowed to come here?”

  “In the city,” said Reuben. “I don’t want to leave the kids.”

  “Neither do I,” said Cessy.

  Her cellphone rang. “I guess it’s not you,” she said.

  She said hello and then listened. Then she said “all right” about five times and hung up.

  “That’s one hell of a cold-call salesman if you just bought new carpet,” said Reuben.

  “That was Sandy. LaMonte wants us to meet with him.”

  “Us? You and me?”

  “And Captain Coleman. Where is he? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “He walked the last couple of blocks in full battle gear. In case this place was surrounded.”

  The doorbell rang. Aunt Margaret opened it. “You have blood on your uniform, young man.”

  “I had a cut thumb,” said Cole. He held up his Minimi. “In a neighborhood like this, I feel like a little kid playing army men. Can I come in?”

  “May I come in is more proper,” said Aunt Margaret, opening the door wider to let him pass. “But it’s rude to correct people’s grammar, so I never do.”

  The PT Cruiser didn’t like going faster than 65. At 70 it started trembling.

  Then again, Cessy didn’t like driving faster than 65 anyway. And she was driving. Cole was sitting behind the seats with the shelf over his head. They looked like two nice citizens on their way to or from church. Unless you looked closely and saw all the weapons on the floor of the back seat. And the guy in the back with the machine gun.

  Aunt Margaret was taking the kids to the home of some very good friends in Hamilton. “Good Croatians,” she said. “They’ll not breathe a word. And I’ll stay with the kids the whole time.” She was only driving Charlie O’Brien’s car as far as Lawrence, and her friends were picking her up there. She
’d mail Charlie’s keys to him and tell him where to get the car. “I feel like a spy,” she said.

  “You should feel like a refugee,” answered Cessy.

  But it still tore her apart to leave the kids behind. And she could see that even though Mark was as manic as ever and Nick as quiet, they were scared. There was terrible stuff happening on the news, and their own parents were right in the thick of it, and now they were going into hiding. The girls, of course, were irritated that Mom and Dad were leaving them, but they had no clue about the outside world. They’d be fine, she was sure of that. Fine fine fine.

  “I thought I turned down that job in the White House,” Cessy said.

  “Well,” said Reuben, “technically, since the President isn’t in the White House… ”

  Cessy wished she could have heard the discussions when LaMonte told them he wasn’t going to Camp David or any of the known locations. “Since we don’t know whom we can trust,” LaMonte would have said, “we can’t vouch for our security anywhere.”

  “Some political adviser was bound to say, “It’ll look like you’re in hiding. It’ll cause confusion and make you look bad.”

  “I’m not running for anything right now,” LaMonte would have said. “And the country doesn’t need another dead President right now.”

  But… why Gettysburg?

  “Gettysburg?” she said out loud.

  “It’s an appropriate place,” said Reuben. “He’s not moving the whole government there, just himself and enough aides to keep communications going. Lots of parkland. A good buffer. Relatively easy to maintain reasonable security.”

  “Plenty of places for people to sneak past checkpoints,” said Captain Coleman from the back.

  “Symbolically,” said Reuben, “it’s the place where the last Civil War we had broke its back. And it’s close to Washington. He can come back whenever he wants.”

  “Also lots of motels for his staff,” said Captain Coleman.

  “And since the visitors information office is closed most of the time, it won’t really interfere with park operations,” said Reuben.

  Cessy explained to Captain Coleman. “He’s still irritated that we got there after six on a summer day and they were already closed. Three more hours of daylight. This was two years ago, remember.”