Chapter 2
“FDR can go to hell. I’m a man. Not a type, not a number, and sure as hell not something that can be summed up as a logo to wear on my sleeve. A man. And I ain’t registering nothing.”
—Jake Sullivan,
quoted in the San Francisco Examiner, 1933
Washington, D.C.
The chair of the Congressional Subcommittee on Active Registration was clearly furious. He was red-faced, with veins standing out on his forehead, and he kept blinking his left eye far too much. The man looked like he was about to have a stroke. Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant prided himself on being able to have that effect on statist bureaucrats, and they were only fifteen minutes into this particular hearing. If they managed to make it the full scheduled hour, he could almost guarantee that the chair would go into an apoplectic fit. “What did you say?”
Francis banged his hand on the table. “You heard me right the first time, congressman, but I really should rephrase my remarks. Calling you and your OCI lackeys whores is insulting to hard-working prostitutes everywhere.”
There were gasps of outrage from the gallery, though a few people laughed, including several members of the press. Dan Garrett was sitting to his right, and he just put his face in his hands. Poor Dan, but he should have known what he was in for when they had asked Francis to attend.
“How dare you make a mockery of these proceedings, Mr. Stuyvesant!”
“Mockery? Let me define mockery. The OCI taking innocent Americans to secret jails without any due process is the real mockery. Holding them prisoner without trial is a mockery. What Bradford Carr did made a mockery of the Constitution of the United States. I was kidnapped, beaten, and set up as a patsy while one of your employees tried to blow up Washington, and then a government demon rampages across the city, and you accuse me of making a mockery of your proceedings? How dare you? Keep your manure, Congressman. I don’t feel like shoveling.”
Several people in the gallery cheered and began to clap. A smaller number booed Francis.
“I am warning you. You will be held in contempt of Congress!”
Francis turned and looked theatrically to Dan. “Is that even a real thing?” And then back to the panel. “Do I at least get a public hearing this time, or do you just throw me in a secret prison because I’ve got magic? How does that work?”
“Please calm down, Mr. Stuyvesant,” cautioned another of the congressmen.
“You calm down!” Francis shouted. Dan reached over under the table with his foot and tried to kick Francis in the shin. It didn’t do any good. “Any bum off the street can tell you what the OCI did was wrong, but then Roosevelt comes along and signs a law that says we should do it again, only bigger and more official, and we’re supposed to respect that? I say hell no!”
The cheering section had gotten a little out of hand, so there was quite a bit of gavel pounding and shouts for order, until the Capitol policemen forcibly removed some of the more vocal Active supporters. Because of the nature of the crowd, and the fact that Dan Garrett, a known Mouth, was also testifying today, there was a single Dymaxion nullifier spinning on the congressmen’s long table. The Capitol building was a magic-free zone today. Even though he now owned the only company capable of manufacturing them, Francis hated the anti-magic device on principle. But if he’d protested the use of one during this hearing, the press wouldn’t have believed a word he or Dan—especially Dan—had to say.
Dan leaned over during the chaos and whispered to Francis, “This isn’t helping our case. Seriously, leave the diplomacy to me and just state the facts.”
“We’ve already lost with these bozos,” he whispered back. “Let the press get some good quotes.”
Despite being born into a political dynasty, Francis had always hated politics and despised politicians. After all, his good-for-nothing father had been a very successful politician, which told young Francis pretty much everything he had needed to know about the lot of them. However, since being dragged into the spotlight, despite an instinctive hatred of the political game, it had turned out that he was actually pretty good at it. It must be in the blood. Being one of the richest men in the world surely helped.
He’d leave the diplomacy to cooler heads like Dan, but Francis had discovered a gift for demagoguery. The OCI had screwed with the wrong man, and as a result, Francis had declared war. Not a literal war, but if Roosevelt got his wish, then they’d have that too eventually.
The audience had been quieted down, and a congressman from South Dakota went on a tirade about the destruction wrought against Washington, thereby proving that Actives were far too much of a menace to society to remain uncontrolled, and blah blah blah. Francis wasn’t really paying attention. He’d heard it all before.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt had already given the executive order pertaining to the official monitoring of everyone with magic, not long after taking office. The climate in Washington after the great demon rampage had made it easy. The Active Registration Act was just icing on the cake. Right now they were only going to round up the Actives they considered to be the most dangerous, but anybody with half a brain knew that was the tip of the iceberg. America was going to follow in the steps of the Imperium and the Soviets, treating magical people like just another resource to be cultivated and controlled, and the Grimnoir would be damned if they’d get away with it.
The really hard part about being a secret society was who you tended to be secret, which meant that the few of them which had been exposed as members got the unenviable duty of becoming their public face. Dan was their most eloquent speaker, but he hated this sort of thing. Luckily, Francis had discovered that he sort of enjoyed it.
“Save us the platitudes,” Francis cut the congressman off midsentence. “Sure, Roosevelt is just trying to protect us Magicals from ourselves like we’re children, which is mighty nice of him, since the only reason he’s even alive is because I used telekinesis to chop an assassin’s head off with a serving tray while my friend used his Fade magic to carry the president to safety . . . By the way, do you know how the government paid my friend back for that?”
“Your peanut gallery has been removed, so you don’t need to entertain the mob.” The congressman leaned toward his microphone. “We have all read the court transcripts, Mr. Stuyvesant. There’s no need to dwell on—”
“They paid him back by beating him mercilessly and torturing him in a cell on Mason Island.” He didn’t need to add that Mason Island had been sucked into a black hole. Everybody knew that. Luckily, hardly anybody knew that the giant magical vortex had been Francis’ doing. He didn’t particularly want that bit on the Congressional record.
“That was an anomaly. Bradford Carr broke the law—”
“Oh, so now you make that sort of thing legal and it is all supposed to be okay? You are simply validating every horrible thing Carr did. Roosevelt’s new act is the first step toward putting a hundred thousand Americans into camps. That’s despicable.”
“No one wants to hear your tired conspiracy theories, Mr. Stuyvesant. The government would never do such a thing. Enough of your slander.”
“The government already has—”
“Gentlemen,” Dan chimed in. Even when he wasn’t using his magic, he always managed to keep it smooth. “You must understand the reaction of the Active community. The destruction in Washington was caused by an out-of-control agency of the federal government, yet it would seem that we the people are being held accountable for it. The fulfillment of Roosevelt’s proposals will deprive many law-abiding Americans of their rights and property. This is an extreme and unnecessary act.”
There was one man on the panel who hadn’t spoken yet, the new Coordinator of Information. He was a composed, middle-aged fellow with a stern look about him that suggested he was not a man to be trifled with. He didn’t bother with his microphone. “If I may?”
“The Chair recognizes William Donovan, newly confirmed head of the Office of the Coordinator of Information.”
Dan and Francis exchanged a quick look. This man was an unknown quantity. He had been a decorated hero in the Great War, and had been involved in New York politics for years, having even run and lost a bid at the governorship, but his opinions, if any, on Actives had never been made public. The word was that he was an old college chum of Roosevelt’s, brought in to clean up the “corrupt” OCI.
“Mr. Stuyvesant, you mentioned your friend, who was unfortunately and illegally mistreated by my predecessor. I believe his name was Heinrich Koenig, a German immigrant . . . Is that correct?”
“That is correct, sir,” Dan answered quickly.
“He’s the one in that picture that was in all the papers. You know, the one where he’s fighting your gigantic out-of-control government demon,” Francis added smugly.
“Yes. The infamous photograph of the Fade with the pickax. It is a very moving image, especially since it happened right down the street from here. Yet, I have to wonder, as Mr. Garrett and Mr. Stuyvesant have protested so vehemently about Actives not being any more dangerous to the fabric of American society than any other particular group, and that there are no Actives plotting any sort of insurrection against the United States, where it is your friend Mr. Koenig has gone . . .”
“I have no idea,” Francis lied under oath. He was sure the OCI man already had the answer anyway, especially since Sullivan had already tried and failed to get the government to believe him about the Pathfinder. Of course he lied. It wasn’t like Francis could warn the Imperium that his friends were on the way.
“Pardon me. I was not finished. I was about to say I wonder where Mr. Koenig has gone, along with several dozen other extremely powerful Actives, including a former public enemy number one, the infamous Heavy Jake Sullivan? A number of them were last seen boarding a heavily armed experimental warship provided to them by United Blimp and Freight. A company which, I might add for the record, you are the president and CEO of.”
There were even more gasps and murmurs now, and a whole bunch of reporters started scribbling in their notebooks. The new Coordinator looked rather smug.
Maybe I’m not very good at this after all, Francis thought to himself.
After maneuvering through the mob of shouting reporters and cameras, Francis and Dan made it down the Capitol steps.
“So that went better than expected,” Francis said.
“You must not have been in the same meeting as I was,” Dan muttered. “That Donovan fellow played you for a fool.”
Francis grinned. “At this point, any time I have a meeting with the government and come out of it without having somebody like Crow working me over with brass knuckles, I consider that a home run.”
“Thankfully, Donovan shut you up before you said anything really stupid. It wasn’t like he didn’t use something everybody already knew anyway.” The Washington Mall was still under heavy construction. Many of the buildings were still being repaired, and a few had needed to be torn down, leaving gaping fenced-in holes where there had once been landmarks. “And to think, last time I was here, I was about to get stepped on,” Dan said.
“How’s that different than this time around?” The great claw marks were still visible on the Washington Monument, as nobody had really come up with a satisfactory method to fix that damage yet. No wonder everyone is so scared now.
Dan sighed. “I suppose it’s a different behemoth doing the stepping, but we’re still getting squished.”
“That’s not very optimistic.” But who could blame him? Soon it was going to be the law of the land that every person in America with magic was going to have to wear an armband identifying them as an Active and what type of magic they were capable of, all in the name of public safety. “You’re starting to sound like Sullivan . . . Or worse, Heinrich. Come on, let’s get a drink. I’ve had enough nonsense for one day.”
There was a car waiting for them on the street, only it wasn’t Francis’ regular car, and it certainly wasn’t his regular driver. This driver was far too pretty. The lady was tall, statuesque, and doing her best to hide her good looks behind big dark glasses and a floppy hat. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said, gesturing toward the open rear door of a plain government Chevrolet. “Someone important would like to have a word with you.”
“Why, Pemberly Hammer.” If Dan was surprised to see her here, he played it cool enough you’d never be able to tell. “How nice to run into you.”
She tipped her big hat at Dan. Between it, the silver-blonde wig, and the fake glasses, nobody from the press would recognize the now-infamous corporate-espionage expert turned BI agent. “Why, Mr. Garrett,”—She sounded sweet, with just a hint of east Texas—“Why, bless your heart, you know you can’t lie to me.” Hammer was, after all, a Justice, and since Justices could always recognize the truth, lying to one was simply a waste of time.
“Got me there. It’s not nice to see you. It’s frankly a bit suspicious . . . Nice car. Not as nice as that fancy Ford you used to have though.” It was a dig, and not a very subtle one, since Dan had been partially to blame for her last one getting wrecked by an Iron Guard.
“Actually, before he up and disappeared off the map, Sullivan wired me some money to replace my car that he stole.”
“He promised he would.”
“Well, it was his fault the last one wound up on its roof.” Hammer smiled. “Imagine that, a man who keeps his word.”
“Jake always keeps his word. He’s old fashioned like that, reliable as gravity.”
“Yep. Good old Jake. Though I do wonder, where did he get off to with that fancy new warship of his?”
“You should ask your boss. I’m fairly sure Jake asked for his help and got turned down.”
“He didn’t ask me for my help,” she sniffed.
“Okay, enough. Agent Hammer . . .” Francis didn’t know her very well, other than that Sullivan had vouched for her character, and she’d helped rescue him from Mason Island, but she worked for J. Edgar Hoover now, and it would be a cold day in Hell before Francis trusted Hoover or anybody on his payroll. “Where’s Sidney?”
“Your driver was sent away, Mr. Stuyvesant. He tried to argue, but I did that whole flash-the-badge thing and he moved right along. I ever tell you how much I enjoy that? Don’t worry, I’ll have you back to your hotel in time for your dinner reservations. In the meantime, you need to come with me. Important top secret government business, that sort of thing. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know how that is.” Francis looked to the street and lifted an arm. “Taxi!”
“All right, all right,” Hammer lowered her voice. “Look. I know you’ve had some bad blood in the past with my new boss, but this is legitimate.”
“I’m not in the mood, lady. I’m way past trusting your people.”
“It was the OCI that kidnapped you, not the BI.”
“All a bunch of letters from the same damn alphabet.”
“And to think, they sent me to pick you up because of my positive relationship with the Grimnoir.” Hammer sighed. “I wish you could just read minds, Dan, so we could just get this over with, and you’d know I’m telling the truth. You Mouths can do that a little bit, can’t you?”
“Sort of. I can get a sense of things, a handle on someone’s emotions, how to move them better, sort of an instinct about where they’re swayable, maybe little bits of images of thoughts that are right at the top, if I’m burning a lot of Power . . .” Dan said. “Not that I’d do that to you, of course. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.”
“Of course it helps that you know I’d plug you in the knee for poking around in my head.” Hammer patted the revolver-shaped bulge beneath her floral-pattern blouse. “But we’re wasting time, so go ahead. You need to know I’m being earnest here. We need to get away from those reporters before one of them decides to take my picture. I need you to come with me now. It’s important.”
“Very well. Just keep that Colt holstered because I like my kneecaps the way they are.” Dan closed his eyes to concentrate. He was about the best Mouth in the business, and usually he could play it so cool you would never know when he was using his magic on someone, but now Dan was obviously pushing hard, not even bothering to be subtle. Dan’s eyes popped open. “Seriously, Hammer?”
“Serious as can be.”
“I wish you would’ve just come out and said so. Hell . . . Get in the car, Francis.”
“She’s legit?”
“She’s legit.” Dan seemed upset. “Get in the car now.”
Their destination was only minutes away, but Hammer insisted on driving around for a little bit to make sure they weren’t being followed before circling back and taking them to the White House.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Francis muttered.
“Nope. Afraid not,” Hammer answered as they stopped at the gate. They were keeping it low-key now, but the Army had been handling security in the Capitol ever since the demon rampage. The soldiers at the perimeter looked at Hammer and checked her ID while other soldiers gave Francis and Dan the once-over, then they were waved right through. They were definitely expected.
Francis had been to the White House before for social events. His father had been an ambassador and a man of considerable authority, he had uncles who’d been senators and governors, and of course, grandfather Cornelius had bought politicians like a farmer would buy pigs at auction. That said, attending a secret meeting with the president was still a little intimidating.
“Let me do the talking,” Dan warned.
“I won’t screw this up,” Francis answered.
“No, you won’t, because I’m going to knock you over the head, tie you up, and hide you in the trunk,” Dan warned. “Oh, you think I’m kidding? Wipe that smile off your face. This isn’t some congressman from Podunk, North Dakota you can shout at.”
Hammer chuckled. “Dan, I never get tired of seeing you sweat.”
“Yuck it up, Hammer. You know damn good and well what Carr had planned for Actives in this country. You saw the evidence Faye pulled out of Mason Island. Do you think for one second Carr was alone? Do you think he was the only one in the whole government who thought the Imperium and the Soviets were off to a good start?”
Hammer’s smile died. She knew that Dan was right. Deep inside, every Active in the country did. “I don’t think it is going to come to that.”
“You hope it doesn’t come to that?” Francis snorted. “It sure seems to have come to that damn near everywhere else in the world.”
“You’re a walking lie detector,” Dan said. “You tell me what you really hear when they start talking about public safety and national security, and monitoring and controlling Actives for our own safety. I’ve not got your gifts, but I’m pretty good at snowing folks with words, so I can darn sure recognize when somebody else is doing it to me.”
“Well . . .” She sighed. “I hear a lot of folks who don’t know better. They’re afraid and they figure we’ve got to do something, but since they don’t understand the topic, their proposed somethings don’t make a whole lot of sense, and then I hear a lot of no-good rat liars willing to take advantage of Do Somethings . . . Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.” Hammer pulled the car to a stop. Men were already waiting for them. “All right, this is it.”
Francis’ door was opened from the outside. “Welcome, Mr. Stuyvesant. Come with us, please.” Dan started to get out his side, but that door was politely caught by another functionary. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. The President wishes to speak with Mr. Stuyvesant in private.”
That was unexpected.
“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered. “Do not screw this up.”
“Don’t worry, Dan. I can handle this.”
“Francis, wait.” Hammer looked over the seat at them as they were getting out. “Good luck in there.”
He’d heard they were building a new, nicer Oval Office, but either it wasn’t done yet or Francis didn’t rate it, because he was led to the same old office that he’d visited before. Besides the obviously increased security, the White House hadn’t changed much since the first time he’d been here, tagging along once when Grandfather had gone to visit Wilson. He barely remembered Wilson, except that he’d seemed very tall and a little frightening, like a leathery scarecrow, but in Francis’ defense, he’d only been a kid.
Another man was leaving the Oval Office as Francis approached. They made eye contact, and the fellow looked familiar for some reason. “Mr. Stuyvesant. What a pleasure to meet you.” The man nodded politely and extended his hand. Francis shook it. Firm and businesslike. Tall, humorless, he had the look of a banker. Francis knew a lot of bankers, but that wasn’t where he recognized this man from. It was from the front page of the papers. “I am Nathaniel Drew.”
They came from the same social circles, but Francis hadn’t been paying much attention to those lately. “The architect?”
“I prefer to think of myself as the designer of the planned communities of the future.”
“Of course. I hear you’re quite the visionary.” That was the polite way of saying that all Francis knew of the man was that he was another one of those opinionated collectivists who felt the world was somehow entitled to a bigger share of Francis’ money, all in the name of progress, but Drew was also a Cog of some renown, which explained why he was meeting with the President. In fact, Drew was even wearing a white armband on his suit coat bearing the meshed gear logo of the Cog. Francis frowned when he saw that. The mandatory armbands were part of the Active Registration Act, so the architect was probably sucking up to the President, and Francis automatically hated suck-ups. “Those armbands aren’t law yet.”
“Oh, this?” Drew glanced down at it. “I stand behind Franklin’s proposals and merely wish to set an example for others of our kind.”
“No, seriously . . .”
“Easy identification is in the best interests of public safety and builds better relations with the general public.”
Cogs were beloved celebrities. Of course he didn’t mind wearing it on his sleeve, but tell that to some poor Shard who didn’t want to be known as a freak, or a Reader who’d spend the rest of their life a pariah. “Personally, I’ll be damned if I ever wear one of those things. Like cattle with an ear tag.”
“We are all entitled to our opinions.” Drew gave him a forced smile.
“Yeah . . . It’s a free country. For now . . . Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drew. Maybe I’ll give you a call the next time UBF needs another skyscraper.”
“Sadly, I am afraid my time has been too consumed with other altruistic humanitarian projects to bother with any commercialism, but please, I was just leaving . . .” The architect stepped out of the way. “I do not wish to keep you.” And then he was whisked away by the functionaries, and Francis was escorted into the inner sanctum.
Franklin Roosevelt was already seated behind his mighty desk, waiting. “Well, hello, Francis. It has been a long time.” The president extended his hand to shake, but he did not bother to stand. Francis gave him a firm handshake and found himself hoping that his palms weren’t too sweaty.
“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
The functionary hurried out and closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Roosevelt looked like a kindly man, with an easy smile, even a bit of a twinkle in his eye, but Francis had grown up in the brutal knife fight that passed for New York politics, where various rich families played at Machiavellian games, and he knew that this man had been ruthless enough to earn the grudging respect of Grandpa Cornelius, who had been as cutthroat, a rat bastard as there had ever been. That meant Roosevelt was not to be trusted.
“Last time we spoke was at a gala event put on by your father. You were about to leave for Boston for school. How time flies.”
“Yes, it does, sir.” When they had last spoken, Francis’ greatest questions in life had been how to bed the best-looking girls and where to get the best-quality alcohol. Since then he’d been drafted into a secret war, engaged in intrigue, espionage, and outright combat against all manner of nefarious magical forces, lost good friends, been shot, beaten, and briefly imprisoned, and unexpectedly wound up as the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the world. Francis was still a very young man by most standards, but the last few years had been very full. “Yes, it does.”
The president gestured at one of the high-backed chairs which had been arranged before the desk. “We were supposed to have spoken in Miami before the unfortunate events there . . . Please, have a seat.” Francis did. The chair was remarkably uncomfortable. He wondered if that was on purpose. Roosevelt was smoking, and he gestured at a golden box on his desk, but Francis shook his head politely. “You know, I’ve never been able to thank you personally for what you did in Florida. You and your German friend, Mr. Koenig, saved my life.”
“That is no problem at all. We’ve all been very busy since then.” The assassin had already struck before the two Grimnoir could react, but if Heinrich hadn’t Faded the already badly wounded Roosevelt through the hotel steps, the assassin Zangara would’ve finished him with the next magical blast. “Are you well? There are rumors that the Healers weren’t able to—”
Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. I assure you, I am quite all right.”
“Heinrich and I were both glad to help.”
“Of course. Allow me to thank you now. Miami was just another warning of things to come. This has been a time of crisis for our nation. I’ve got a country to get through difficult straits. Things were bad enough as it was, our people low on hope and long on debt, and that’s before the added complication of assassins’ plots and their schemes within plots. The greatest among those plots would not have been exposed if it had not been for your help.”
Yet the Grimnoir were still being painted as the bad guy, as if only they hadn’t been there to be scapegoated in the first place, then none of this would’ve ever happened. “It would be nice to hear you say that in public.”
The president laughed, even though Francis had not been joking. “You remind me of your father. That’s exactly the sort of angle he would’ve taken. He was hotheaded, a bit impulsive in our youth, of course, but there was a stalwart Democrat for you.” Francis only nodded along. He was a Republican, but that was only because when he had first registered, he had declared he was the opposite of whatever his father had been. “Has anyone told you how much you look like your father?”
Not lately. Thankfully. Francis was also told that he resembled Cornelius before he’d gotten fat. “I don’t think you had me summoned here to trade pleasantries about family.”
“Of course.” Roosevelt’s smile went away too quickly for it to have been real in the first place. Regardless of the fact that Francis had helped save his life, this was politics now. “I must remember that you are a titan of Wall Street, a captain of industry. Your time is so very valuable.”
“No offense intended, Mr. President.”
“You are correct though. Time is of the essence, and every day my proposals are stymied makes our situation that much worse.” The pretenses were gone, and now Francis was clearly speaking to the man who thought it was a fine idea for Actives to have to wear identifying badges like they were livestock brands. “I heard about your testimony earlier.”
By the time the evening papers went out, the whole world would hear his inflammatory testimony. “I stand by what I said.”
“You may want to tread more carefully in the future. You are not making yourself any friends.”
“If they don’t like the truth, then maybe I don’t really desire their friendship.”
“Regardless . . . One needs friends in this town.”
“That’s a shame. Whoever will I play bridge with?”
Roosevelt chuckled. “I see how this will be . . . Then let me clarify a few matters for you, young man. I now know quite a bit now about your society. I am familiar with your code and your manifesto. You see yourselves as chivalrous defenders against tyranny, I grasp that and I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“However, I do not believe you grasp the magnitude of the situation before us. This nation teeters at the brink of ruin and the world stands at the edge of chaos. I inherited a mess. Our industries and businesses are failing, our people are broke and hungry, and above all, they are worried about terrible events such as Mar Pacifica, Miami, or Washington. We must take firm, decisive action to assure the people that steps have been taken to prevent future acts of this nature.”
Francis gritted his teeth and cut off his angry retort. “I’ve seen your proposals. I don’t think they’ll have the outcome you’re looking for.”
“And on that point we are in disagreement. I believe my proposals will ensure our liberty and our safety.”
Now Francis couldn’t help himself. “Look, I’m not some yokel you’re going to sway through a fireside radio chat. What is it that you really want?”
“The American people deserve to be kept safe from the magical menace.”
“Magical menace?” Francis sputtered.
Roosevelt smiled. “I understand your antagonism toward the term, but men like you are not the problem. You’re one of the good ones, Francis. You will be able to go about your life and your business with no undue extra burdens. Every other great nation in the world either has or soon will take steps toward better utilizing and protecting their Active population. We are at a crossroads of history. America must do the same.”
“Like the Imperium and their torture schools?”
“Of course not. That is barbarism.” Roosevelt acted offended by the suggestion. “However, you bring up an important point, which I fear you fail to understand. The world stands at the brink of war. World peace is threatened. I know you are far more aware of that than most of our countrymen. You are in the business of building the machines of war, and I know of your personal vendetta against all things Imperium. If it does not happen soon, I can promise you it will happen within the decade. The Soviets have turned their attention on a vulnerable Europe, and we both know the clock is ticking toward our collision against the Imperium in the Pacific.”
“I would not disagree with you there. I’d be surprised if we make it that long.” Francis leaned forward in his chair. Roosevelt knew damn good and well who was behind Mar Pacifica, not that he would ever admit it since the country wasn’t ready for a war. The event was still being blamed on Active anarchists. “We’re headed for a confrontation all right, and it will be a big one.”
“Obviously, a student of General Pershing’s would understand this. Not to mention, I have no doubt the Navy will need many new UBF airships . . . Yet, no matter how capable our military becomes, both of those nations have utilized their Actives and developed their magic to heights as yet undreamed of here. You’re no doubt familiar with Second Somme. You know how incredibly dangerous a concentration of magicals can be during a war. We are in an arms race, and America hasn’t even found the starting line yet.”
“So the ARA is just an excuse to catalog us . . . See who’s useful, who’s not. Probably get rid of the dangerous oddballs while you’re at it. That’s what Stalin does. Stick them in camps, out of the way, where they can’t hurt anybody, until you need to use them as weapons against another country.”
“There is no such plan—”
“Granada, Minidoka . . . I’m a Mover, so I guess that’s where I was supposed to go. Gila River, Topaz . . . Ringing any bells, Mr. President?”
“Save me your sanctimony. Those were the plans of Bradford Carr’s cabal. I was as much a victim of his machinations as you were.”
“But you’re continuing his dream! You’re putting the framework in place to accomplish all of his goals. All your talk of safety is just an excuse to take advantage of people’s fears. Actives are citizens. You’re taking powers never meant for your office.”
Career politicians never liked to be called on their bullshit. “How dare you . . .”
“Oh, I dare all right.” Francis was getting rather upset. “Carr had an extermination list, and now you want me to trust the same government? Even if I trusted your administration, which I don’t, what about the next one, or the one after that? Hogwash.”
“Do not take that tone with me.” Roosevelt was certainly not used to being spoken to like this, maybe in an editorial, but never to his face.
Francis hadn’t realized he’d raised his voice. “Forgive me. Extermination orders get my blood up.”
“We must modernize.”
“What you call modernity, I call slavery.”
“A loaded but misleading term.” Roosevelt sighed and shook his head sadly. “We simply have a difference of philosophy. Whether you like it or not, there will be a compromise reached. The more unreasonable your side is, the more likely you will not like that compromise.”
“I had this same conversation with Bradford Carr, in his dungeons, while I was chained to a wall . . . He thought that the government owned people. I say the people own the government. There is no compromise between those two positions.”
Obviously angry, the president put both of his hands down flatly on his great desk. “Oh, there will be a compromise. I will get my reforms and you will not stand in my way.”
“Is that a threat?”
And now the knives came out. “I’m the President of the United States. You’re the petulant spoiled brat of a blimp merchant.”
“I’m a very successful blimp merchant,” Francis corrected.
“Though I’m not sure how long you would be able to retain that position if the full weight and attention of the federal government was to be turned against UBF. Many have been clamoring to me about how UBF is a monopoly, and how breaking it up would do wonders for the economy. If that were to happen, you might find yourself in a new line of work rather quickly. That would be unfortunate.”
Not only was that a threat, that was one hell of a threat.
“I called you here so I could appeal to your senses, Francis. I need something from you. You can either cooperate, or you can be obstinate.”
“And what would that be, exactly?”
Roosevelt put away the knives and went back to being the kindly radio grandpa who just wanted everybody to be prosperous and happy. “Simple. You own Dymaxion.”
So that was what this meeting was really about. Francis bit his lip. Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Nullifiers were the only thing in existence which could completely block an Active’s access to the Power and there were only a few remaining in existence. “You want more magical nullifiers.”
“I’ve been informed that you refuse to sell them.”
“If I had a device that made people with good eyesight go blind, or made folks with excellent hearing go deaf, I don’t think I’d sell those either. I’m practically one of your consumer safety activists.”
“I’ve been told these devices are vital to national security. The OCI still has a couple, and it is only a matter of time before some Cog is able to reverse engineer them. So any bullheaded foolishness will ultimately prove pointless. In the meantime I would be greatly appreciative if you would begin selling those to the government again. I understand these are valuable, time-consuming works, each one practically a work of art, so I can see to it that you are extremely well compensated for your labor. Surely, if UBF is supporting the government in this endeavor, then there would be no point to my new regulators paying your company any particular mind.”
Because if threats don’t work, you can always try bribery. Francis smiled. “Because without Dymaxions you can’t round up and enslave a bunch of ticked-off Actives?”
Roosevelt’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t liked that one bit. “Out of a long-time respect for your family, I tried to be reasonable, but you are being a very unreasonable man. You will turn your remaining stock of Dymaxions over to the government, and you will show us how to make more, or there will be severe repercussions.”
Francis had once boarded the Imperium flagship to slug it out with a platoon of Iron Guards and the world’s greatest wizard. Franklin Roosevelt had seriously underestimated his ability to not give a shit. “You said I remind you of my father, but there’s one big difference between him and me. He had flexible principles. I don’t. Do you want to go to war with me, Mr. President? Because if you think you can just seize my property without due process, then that’s where we’re headed.”
“Very well, Mr. Stuyvesant. If you want to do this the hard way, then that’s how we will proceed. History does not look kindly upon those who stand in the way of progress.”
Dan Garrett was so not going to be happy. “Well, this meeting is over.” Francis stood up. “Good day, Mr. President.”
Roosevelt pushed a button on his desk. The doors opened and a functionary came in to escort Francis out. The president’s icy glare left no doubt that Francis had made himself a formidable new enemy. “I have one last question before you go.”
He was still red-faced and angry, but he was trying to maintain some respect for the office. “I’m happy to help,” Francis lied.
“Only one man has been able to successfully nullify magic, and he works for you. Where is this Buckminster Fuller?”
Oh, there was no way in hell I’m letting these vultures sink their claws into my most valuable Cog . . . “You know how those Cogs can be, what with their heads in the clouds. If I see him, I’ll tell him you inquired about his health. Last I’d heard he was taking a vacation.”