The Great; The Untitled

Dedicated to a better future than some have imagined.

Lewis Samuels stood alone on the great balcony, at the very cusp of world leadership. Throughout the campaign he had remained the clear favorite of the people, and at this moment in time, the office he had sought was by far the most powerful single position on Earth. Lewis was the final speaker of a series, poised to deliver the very last speech of the campaign. But he was about to disown this dream, to step back; to say no, forget it. I will not do it. I don't want it.

His several aides stood in the very large marble-floored room behind him, whispering between themselves.

“What's he doing?”

“I don't know!”

“He won't wear the Robe?”

“Worse than that! He tore up his speech!”

Worldwide, in every town and city, in daylight and in darkness, billions of people had gathered in thousands upon thousands of town squares. They were there to watch and to hear the final speeches of the remaining three candidates who were vying for election to the single ten-year term of Supreme Governor of Earth. The election was to begin on the morrow. Huge screens everywhere were divided in two, with both frontal and side views of the speaker clearly visible. And although Lewis was young, strong, tall and handsome, he did not at that moment look like the leader most people had believed him to be.

Lewis leaned forward and placed his hands on the curved marble of the balcony railing. A hush fell over the throngs, everywhere in the world. What was he waiting for? Why was he not wearing the Robe of Leadership? Every final candidate always did so. The newly-elected Governor would also wear the Sash of Authority. It was to be presented to the successful candidate after the election, by the exiting Governor, in public ceremony.

But not only was Lewis not wearing the Robe, he had doffed his suit jacket, had removed his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, as he was most comfortable. And every man and woman on earth witnessed the deeply troubled look on his face, the single tear that escaped and trickled down his cheek, and the tell-tale quiver of a lower lip. Something had to be terribly, horribly wrong.

As Lewis drew himself up and began to speak, I, his top aide and campaign manager, hurried from the room, striding past the sitting Governor without acknowledging. I couldn't bear to listen, or to watch. I entered my candidate's quarters and looked around. From where I now stood, I could hear Lewis' voice but I couldn't make out the words. Already his voice was rising in volume, and whatever he had to say, it would be delivered well. None alive had ever seen or heard an orator quite like Lewis.

There, within his private quarters, on a small table was a sheaf of papers. There were many pages, he must have been working on it for a while. Maybe it held some answers to this debacle. All of it was in Lewis' own handwriting. I sat down and began to read.

Beginning of text:

I - Opening Day

No question about it, Billy was building a rocket. A long, silvery, pointed metallic tip lay beside him on the gravelly surface. At that moment, I had to wonder if it had explosives in it.

In fact it did. Hand-wired, uncommonly-powerful explosives.

The rocket was no child's toy. A toy rocket would probably have been about the diameter of a man's thumb and no longer than your arm. He was busily loading and packing solid propellant into a genuine offensive weapon with tail fins, almost two meters in length. Aside from that nose cone, which I couldn't imagine my fellow fifteen-year-old would have been able to produce by himself, the body of the rocket was an ugly-looking corroded piece of aluminum tube that was bigger in diameter than a man's fist, and that looked like it had been scavenged from a scrap metal bin. I would later learn, that was exactly how it had been acquired.

“What the heck are you doin', Billy?”

Billy didn't look up. “What's it look like?”

“Okay, I can see. But why?”

“For me to know, for you to wonder about. Watch you don't step on anything. The burst diaphragm is fragile.”

Billy and I had known each other since we were toddlers. The old limestone quarry where I'd finally found him was one of our hangouts, a place we'd played when we were younger. It was one of the secret, hidden locations that boys seek out. Every boy finds places to go where he can feel free to be himself, places where he has to be careful not to get hurt. We were no different. But something had changed. Billy didn't seem much like a kid anymore. There was a hardened look on his face, something I'd only seen on the faces of men; and not every man, at that. He had passed me up, and was somehow, older than I.

It was an evening in the beginning of July. The sun wouldn't be setting for another hour, but here, in the ancient and cavernous quarry, everything below a rising bright line on the far rock wall was already in shadow. Down here it would be dark before night shrouded the valley floor, some three hundred feet above us. Up there, the rim of the rocky gash of the quarry-pit was overgrown with brush and tangled wild grapevines. Freezing and thawing from a century of winters had deposited irregular gray boulders from the sheer walls onto the floor of the chasm, the gravelly surface devoid of vegetation because there was no soil. Billy looked like he was almost a part of it. No, wait. He looked like he needed a bath.

“How long since you've been home, Billy?” I ventured.

“'Bout a week.”

“I noticed you weren't showing up for your shift at the factory. That's trouble, you know that, right? I've been looking for you, everywhere.” Billy kept working and didn't reply. Not a word.

“Well what gives? 'Zit a secret?” I queried.

“Kinda. Well, not all of it. Gram died. The feds were coming to take me to a work farm, so I made sure I wasn't there. I can't go back, not ever. At least, not until...well, anyway.”

The things Billy had just said raised more questions than they'd stood a chance of answering, so I knew Billy wanted to talk. Why wouldn't he?

“Billy! Your gram died?? How? And how come they haven't tracked you here, if they wanted you?”

Billy extended his left forearm for me to see. “Gone!” There was a reddened scar where he had removed his tracking chip.

“Shit! Shit! You cut out your 'momma' chip? - Did it hurt?”

“Momma chip! Never had a mother, you know that! All I had was Gram, and they killed her too! Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em all!”

“They killed her?”

Billy was quiet again, the look on his face even more grim than it had been before. He was concentrating on his task, scooping propellant from a diminishing pile into the long tube.

“So you're not worried that removing your chip is a federal offense? If you get busted, they'll fry out your memory.”

“So I've heard. But without the chip, they'll have a damn hard time bustin' me.”

“So you've gone totally outlaw? Aren't you scared?”

“Can't matter. They were gonna haul me off to a work farm. As far as I'm concerned, it's slavery. That was supposed to be illegal almost two centuries ago. Now everything else is illegal, and they practice slavery! Fuck 'em!”

“What happened to your gram?”

Billy stopped loading the rocket, gently laid it on down and looked me right in the eye. “All Gram did was check her mail. She'd forgotten to look, and it was about ten minutes after midnight. I'm sure she didn't know what time it was. There was a drone patrolling nearby, and it saw her. Ten minutes after curfew, and it hit her with a paralyzing beam. Most people it would have just dropped, so the feds could pick 'em up. But she was too old. It killed her. Twenty feet from her own front door! And you know what? They don't care at all. They'd do the same to you or me for bein' out after eight, just because we're under eighteen!”

Billy picked up the tube and resumed his work.

“So what's the rocket for?”

“For a drone!”

That, at least, made sense. For a minute more, I just watched him. I knew there had to be more. Billy wouldn't have had access to the items that encircled him on the rocky surface, and I doubted he would have known how to mix up a propellant. I wouldn't have. And most materials of any kind had been unavailable to anyone, during my short lifetime. There were no hardware stores, no department stores, no drugstores. So where did he get all the stuff?

“Do you want some help?”

“Yeah, I could use some help. But face it, you aren't up to it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you haven't got a reason, like me. He paused, then cast me a sideways look. 'Least, not one you know about.”

“Tell me. What don't I know?”

Billy stopped pushing his makeshift ramrod and again looked over at me. “Like, what happened to your dad.”

“I know. He was killed in some war.”

“Ha! Is that what your mother told you? If she did, she's protecting you from the truth!”

“And what do you think the truth is, wise-ass?”

“He was working an underground supply line, and they found out. They shot him. Simple as that.”

“Bullshit! Bullshit!”

“Truth. If you ask your mother, she'll hesitate. Then you'll know.”

At that moment, it was a little too much for me. I don't remember getting up and leaving, or even climbing the long path to get out of the quarry. I'm sure I ascended the trail as fast as I could, I just don't remember doing it. The next thing I knew, I was running along the road, headed for home.

Home was a multi-family tenement apartment. You took what you got. It wasn't much.

I burst through the door and worked my way through the people to the kitchen, where my mom would be putting something together for our supper. I knew that wouldn't be much, either.

“Mom!” I said, breathlessly. “One of my friends said the feds killed Dad! Is that true?”

My mother stared at me, all of a sudden wide-eyed. But she didn't hesitate.

“Don't you ever say that out loud, to anyone! If anyone makes a fuss out of it, you'll be marked! And you'll be next!”

It was all I needed to hear. I turned and ran to the bathroom. There, I found my father's old straight-razor among our stuff. Then I found the little lump on my inner forearm, gritted my teeth, and I cut around it.

It hurt, but it didn't take long. I clapped a piece of gauze over the wound and made my way back outside. It was still light enough to see, so I found a rock and picked it up. Then I found another. I made sure that “momma” chip was ground into dust, or at least, as close to dust as I could make it in a couple of minutes. Then, I headed back to the quarry.

When I got there, there was Billy, still sitting beneath a limestone outcropping. He was packing a second aluminum tube.

“Hey Billy!” I called out. “Came back to help!”

Billy immediately stood up, and he looked mad. “You ass-wipe! It's just after eight! You'll have a drone here, now! You got a damn chip!”

“Not anymore,” I answered, walking toward him. I held out my bloodied forearm as I approached. “You were right about my dad. I'm with you.”

Billy put his hands on his hips, and he slowly smiled. “Well, I'll be damned! Welcome in, brother!” Then his face displayed a concerned look. “Where did you destroy it? Halfway here? You did destroy it, right?”

“Right outside the tenement,” I replied. “Before I headed out anywhere.”

“Hah! You're thinkin! You'll do alright!”

“So, when are you gonna use that rocket?”

Billy got all serious again. “Right to the rockets? Who wants to know?”

I was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Billy sat down and resumed his task. “I mean I can't trust nobody. Nobody who's not part of it.”

“Not part of what?”

Billy kept working, but tipped his head and peered up at me slyly. “Opening day.”

I soon found out more, but not a lot more. At first, all Billy would say was that he didn't go home anymore, and that I couldn't either, at least for a while. We wouldn't move about after curfew, because the drones would pick us up, chip or no chip. Billy told me he'd be able to get me hooked up with “the effort.”

“The effort?”

“It's all I can tell you right now.”

I asked, “Where are we sleeping?”

“Right here. Even though it's July it still gets pretty cold at night, down here. I have two blankets. You can have one of them. No way we're building a fire.”

“Billy?”

“What?”

“What are you gonna do about winter? Still gonna be living out here?”

“Hope not. Might not even be living. Who knows?”

I had to wonder what I'd gotten myself into. I drifted off to sleep after a while, thinking about my father. I'd been too young when he was killed to remember him at all. I wondered what he had been like. I wondered how different our lives might have been, if he hadn't gotten involved in whatever he'd been doing.

********

I woke with a start in the morning chill. Billy hadn't been kidding, it had been a cold night. I glanced around and saw Billy, warming his hands over a small propane stove.

“Come get an MRE,” he offered. They're a little out of date, but if you're hungry, they work.”

I could see I'd be able to believe him. But I wasn't hungry enough yet to finish an MRE. Damned things were terrible.

“Let's get going,” he said, after a few more minutes. “Gotta get there.”

“Where?” I asked, surprised. “In daylight?”

“They won't be expecting it. Come on. You wanted to know when. It's now.”

Billy hurriedly folded the blankets and tucked the propane stove behind them in a niche beneath the overhanging crag. Then he showed me how we would carry the rockets together. “This'll be great,” he said. “I woulda had to make two trips to get 'em both out of the quarry. This will make it easier all around. Be careful of the tail fins, and we'll go up the trail single file. I'll take the ends with the warheads.”

“Warheads??”

“That's what they are. Let's move. Step carefully.”

“Where we goin'?”

“Just follow. We're headed away from Montville.”

I decided not to ask any more questions. Montville is a sprawling community of about twenty thousand, surrounded by what used to be farmland. There wouldn't be any drones out there. A gigantic shoe factory was all Montville had, and shoes were all Montville made. A lot of towns had simply been shut down, the people were moved to population centers and that was that. People figured Corporate must have their reasons for keeping Montville up and running. Probably it was the limestone, still needed for some of the things they manufactured. But to this point, the big rotary lime kilns were still stopped and rusting, the quarrying and mining a bit of the town's long past. Now Montville was about just shoes.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, with mostly blue sky. The air had warmed up fast. I saw a bird, only the second one I've ever seen, flitting from one of the brushy shrubs to another. I'd always heard that seeing one was good luck.

I hadn't even known these paths were out here, winding through the underbrush. I had to wonder how they had happened. There were no deer, or for that matter, any other wildlife left anywhere, except, people say, in the far north. That meant these paths had to have been made by people. But who? After about an hour of moving at a hurried walk, I decided to pose one more question. It was something I'd always wondered about, and maybe Billy knew.

“Billy?”

“Yeah.”

“Why d'you s'pose we have drones, all the bigger Montville is?”

“Shit. Everybody's got drones.”

“I know, curfew. But why do we have 'em in daylight?”

“Because they think somethin's up in Montville.”

“Is it?”

“You bet. Did you know, all the weapons the feds have are supposed to be 'non-lethal'?

“Yeah, I've heard that,” I said. I was sure he was thinking about his gram.

“Well, they're not. Drones carry armament heavier than these two rockets we're carrying. The feds developed non-lethal weapons for population control, for decades. When Corporate moved in and took over, they didn't need 'em anymore.” Billy slowed and stopped. “We're here.”

I followed his lead and we placed the rockets on the ground, together. Then I looked around. “We're where?” It didn't look any different from the brush we'd been passing through to that point.

“The staging area!” A gruff voice had come from somewhere else. I quickly looked around, and saw a grizzled, gray-haired, unshaven old man stepping from behind a rock into the very small open area in which we had stopped. “Bill,” he inquired, “who's this guy?”

“Somebody whose last name you'll recognize. This is Lew Samuels.”

“Samuels? Jim's son?”

“This is him.”

The old man stepped forward with a hand extended. “Shake my hand, son. Your father is a hero. Has anyone told you that?”

“No,” I replied. “If he is, he's a dead hero.”

“A hero nevertheless! He might've given us all up when he was caught! He was taking the biggest risks of anyone, and he was bound to get caught, sooner or later. But without his efforts, and his silence, we wouldn't be around today! Pleased to meet you, Lew! My name is Harlan.”

I shook his hand. It was a really firm grip. But I wondered, why didn't my father think about my mom and I? “Who's 'we'?” I asked.

“Good. Billy was instructed not to say anything to anyone. There are about a hundred of us in this location. All told, though, we are hundreds of thousands, and we're worldwide.”

I gasped. “Sure it's time to pick a fight? Corporate is everywhere! They can see us, right now! What about that?”

Harlan straightened himself up. “It's time for them to see. Yeah, it's time!”

I couldn't help it, I frowned. Okay, I was doubting, and I was pissed. “You've got kids making rockets in quarries, and you're gonna take on Corporate! Is that what you've got? Any idea what's gonna replace it?”

Obviously I had amused him. He laughed. “You're your father's son, all right! That's the forward thinking I would expect! No, it isn't 'what we've got!' And yes, we do know what will replace it! For starters, freedom! Bring the rockets around to the launchers. We don't waste anything, especially the hardware.”

Billy and I picked up the rockets and we followed Harlan. I soon realized the rock that he'd stepped behind was on the edge of what appeared to be a rock-filled sinkhole. The area was full of these, and for centuries, farmers had used them as a place to deposit stones picked from the fields. And on the side of the sinkhole toward Montville, two rough rocket launchers stood, made of old boards and rusted angle-iron, and weighted with rocks. I noted the angle at which they were set was about thirty degrees from vertical. As we carefully placed the rockets into their cradles, I also noticed a heavy machine gun mounted on a low tripod. Harlan inserted igniters carefully through the rocket nozzles and attached a thin strip to the side of each of the rocket tubes, using heavy spring clips.

“Guidance,” he explained. “It's why the burst diaphragm is fragile. There're three nozzles inside. Now, all you guys do is watch. The start of everything will be right here. Everything!” Harlan picked up a pair of binoculars, and began scanning the sky above Montville. I judged we were at least three miles away from town, possibly more.

“There it is,” he declared. “Twenty-four-seven. It's an electric.”

Harlan positioned himself behind the machine gun and took careful aim. Then he said, “Hold your ears!” He flipped a lever over and pulled the trigger.

Budda budda budda budda! Budda budda budda budda!

I objected, “Surely you don't expect to hit that thing from here!”

“Nope.”

“He's bringing it here,” Billy explained. “Drawing it away from town.”

“Here it comes,” added Harlan. “Want to make sure it knows where to come! Don't sweat it, it'll never get here!”

Budda budda budda budda!

Electric drones aren't exceedingly fast, so I expected we had at least a couple of minutes. I had a lot to learn. Harlan donned a pair of headphones, and almost immediately, he ordered us, “Stand clear!” Both Billy and I backed away from the launchers, and none too soon. I wondered from where the rockets were being controlled, because Harlan didn't do another thing. But one rocket launched almost immediately, as a stinking, billowing cloud of heavy, sulfurous smoke filled the air around us. The cloud was actually yellow.

“Don't breathe that shit,” Billy advised. He didn't have to tell me.

We watched the rocket climb rapidly until it rose above the altitude of the drone; then it began to arc downward toward it. I saw the drone turn to one side quickly in an evasive maneuver, but the rocket corrected to compensate. It was a direct hit, and a thunderous blast reverberated across the valley. I had never heard anything like it, and I marveled at the power of the explosives we had been carrying over the countryside. There were no visible pieces of the drone to be seen, only a geyser of smoke from the point of impact, and a cloud of falling shards.

“Perfect!” Harlan celebrated. “It's on! The first day of it, and it's on!! I have waited most of my life for this day!”

I couldn't help it. I was kinda pissed. What would happen to Montville? Who in the town had any idea what was coming? Everyone knew Corporate couldn't raise an army. They had tried, but with the exception of their few agents, everyone hated them. Eventually they had gotten tired of killing the people who refused them, and they built fully mechanized forces instead. And that was what we were going to have to deal with. The drone aircraft had been around for a long time, and they weren't the mechanized force I was worried about.

Harlan was doing a dance, in his glee, sliding one foot around and then the other, and boogying like I'd never seen anyone dance. Not that I had really ever seen a real person dancing, other than in old movies. Nobody'd had a reason to, in my lifetime.

“What was the second rocket for?” I asked.

“In case the first one missed! Couldn't afford to miss! Come on,” he almost shouted. “Let's get back to HQ! We have maybe ten minutes!” He grabbed up the machine gun and stepped carefully over the rocks of the sinkhole, toward the bottom of the pit. Billy followed, his straight brown hair bouncing as he bounded down the hill recklessly behind him. I came last. I've always been more careful than Billy and I was still very worried.

At the bottom of the pit he stepped around yet another boulder and disappeared into a dark crevice. Caves and mine shafts were things that I never liked, and I stood there for a bit, thinking about climbing back up over the rocks to the valley floor. But then I heard Harlan's voice, muffled a bit, but clear. “Come on, Lew! Now!” So I did.

By the dim light of an antique lantern, we hurried through the darkness along rusted old mine-car tracks. Obviously it hadn't been a sinkhole at all, but a disguised mineshaft entrance. The timbers and the tracks may have been ancient, but the transporter we soon came upon was definitely not. Harlan handed the lantern to Billy and then loaded the machine gun into the car, and we all climbed in. The lantern was turned out, plunging us into total blackness. The transporter began to move.

I have to be honest, I didn't know anything in the world that was ground-based moved as fast as that thing did. I didn't know how its builders did it, but it moved quickly and almost silently through the darkness, and I could tell it was accelerating steadily. I imagined one of the ancient timbers dropping in the darkness and taking our heads off. Finally, though, it began to slow down as we ascended a gradual grade. Then, as suddenly as that rocket had hit the drone, we burst through some plastic flaps and into the light, the car decelerated quickly and stopped.

I guess I thought we'd be stopping while still in darkness, or if in the light, there would be someone there to greet us. Neither was so. But there were people everywhere, in a large, well-lighted room that had walls lined with computer monitors. Everyone was busy, and one man was barking orders. He didn't even turn around when he nearly shouted, “Great job, Harlan! Excellent kickoff!”

“Thank you sir!” Harlan motioned to us to follow. “Everybody else still waiting?”

“Yes, they are on hold, they'd damn well better be, Jean, get the Paris feed back up! I want Reykjavik on main screen!”

I felt a bolt of excitement pass through my chest. Reykjavik was the location of Corporate's main base, its capitol and primary location. I realized in fact that it was a worldwide offensive, I had been one of just three people who had been present at its point of initiation, and that obviously, at least a major part of it was being administered right here, before my eyes! But, where was this place? I had no idea.

II -The Diversion

I turned to Billy for answers. He didn't have all of them, for sure, but he did know that a large portion of the high, rounded mountain nearest Montville had been hollowed out during the heyday of limestone mining, for the steel industry. The mountain, he said, was full of huge compartments, each one big enough to put a high-school gymnasium within it, with space left over.

“Best of all,” he added, “the biggest rooms are located near the base of the mountain. Someone would have to either know exactly where to get in, or they'd have to tear the whole mountain down to get to us. That's where we are, right now. Inside the mountain.”

“But where...how...” I began.

“That's what your father was involved in, Lew.” It was Harlan speaking. “People had to be fed. We needed food, materials, and something to build some munitions with. Corporate did a good job of locking things down. But all they really did was to slow us down, and their constant, ridiculous law-making and heavy-handed enforcement actually helped us. We've had no trouble keeping it quiet. No one wanted to help the bastards.”

“Here they come!”

On the main screen, Reykjavik glistened in the midday sun. Nothing looked out of the ordinary there. But on several smaller monitors, which were quickly being surrounded by curious people, I could see repeated images of a small force of six drones, apparently inbound on our own location. All of them were the jet-powered variety, and I knew they were likely also the autonomous robotic kind. They would be much harder to bring down.

“Ready SAMs!”

“Surface-to-air missiles. This whole thing is a decoy, a distraction,” offered Harlan. “The idea is to get Corporate's attention, to draw it all here. Then, everybody else will cut loose.”

I felt my earlier anger returning. “So the people of Montville may have to pay with their lives, to provide a distraction for the others?”

I hadn't realized that the rest of the room was quiet as they watched the monitors, and that I was getting louder as I spoke. The man who was obviously in charge turned and looked at me. His quick and intense stare immediately made me very uneasy.

“Who's the kid?”

Harlan spoke up for me. “This is Jim Samuels' son, General, sir. He's just come on-board. He helped carry in the two home-grown missiles.”

“General! Drones closing fast, ten nautical miles. At speed, ETA is forty seconds...”

“Excuse me,” said the general. “As-planned! First round, they are individually targeted, then a barrage if we don't get more than half of them! Lieutenant, at one mile! Ready...”

I saw one man, apparently the one with the firing capability, flipping a switch on his control panel. Immediately we felt a soft and distant rumble as six missiles were launched in unison. We watched in amazement as each of the targeted aircraft released a burst of chaff and rolled, dove or elevated. They were definitely autonomous, able to think for themselves. Not a one was hit. And now, they knew where the missiles had come from. Two of them continued toward Montville, the others rolled and banked toward the mountain.

“Barrage! Six units each on the two headed in! Fire!!”

This time there was a much larger rumble, as no fewer than fifteen rockets converged on

the incoming group of four. And it was too much for the drones; apparently only one still had chaff to release, and it wasn't enough to fool that many incoming missiles. One plane crashed at the edge of Montville, another never got close, and the remaining four were obliterated closer to the mountain. All were carrying heavy munitions and all exploded violently, shaking the ground around the facility. A resounding cheer erupted in the command room.

“What's next?” I wanted to know. Again, the general heard me. He stalked over, and I thought, “now I'm gonna get it.” Instead, he extended a hand. I shook it, wondering.

“Someday soon,” he advised, “We're going to sit down and talk about your father. We don't have time for it now. In answer to your questions. Montville is at risk. Better that than Paris, or Philly, or Baltimore. And since it's small, maybe they won't bother it. If they try, it's up to us to stop them. At this moment, the enemy has no idea what's coming, and now we have their full attention, hopefully all of it, directed right here. We think we have just enough munitions to manage that, if we're lucky and we shoot straight, before the real offensive begins. After that, they won't have time for us.”

“I understand, sir,” I said, “It makes sense. Thank you for explaining.”

The general smiled. “You are indeed your father's son, aren't you? I can see it. Very clearly.”

“The lad wanted to know if the home-grown rockets were what we had. Should I explain, sir?”

“Please. I need to see what's coming in next.”

The general walked back to the control panels, and Harlan began. “You see, the machine gun fire had no real chance of hitting the drone. But on its way to our launch point, that drone was sending intel back to base continuously. They all do. That means they saw us, and also saw relatively simple solid-fuel rockets throwing a cloud of zinc and sulfur behind them. It's a great propellant, but it's messy, and you couldn't power SAMs with it.”

“So they were part of the ruse!”

“Exactly,” Harlan replied. “And they were even carried in from a direction opposite our location. But now that they know better, the next attack will be ratcheted-up. The bigger it is, the more of a distraction we've provided. But of course, then it's less survivable. That's the risk. We can't predict. But when we took out their six autonomous drones, you can bet they started to wonder what else was out there. So it's not clear how effective this part of the effort will...”

“General!! Incoming! Mach nine!” The alert was shouted. “Make that Mach twelve, and accelerating!”

“What the hell is it?” the general inquired.

“They,” came the agitated response. There are two of them!”

“Missiles!” someone snapped. “Gotta be missiles!”

The general stood with one arm behind his back looking over the radar operator's screen. “Can we tell more?'

“Afraid not, sir. This unit is pretty old. We can see them, they aren't stealth weapons. But they sure aren't cruise missiles, too fast for that. The signature indicates they're flat, and wide. But no plane...”

“Yes they do,” Harlan interrupted, “They do have planes capable of up to Mach fifteen, and that was at last report. Doesn't mean there aren't warheads on them.”

“Bunker busters!” the general exclaimed. “They couldn't see us, so they've surmised we're underground! How many could two planes carry?”

“If you're right, depending on the weapon, could be two to six of them.”

“Ouch!”

“It would only take one well-placed...”

“ETA! Gimme an ETA,” barked the general.

“Less than a minute,” came the reply.

“Adrian! Get the message out immediately! If we don't report back in three minutes, the diversion is over, and we have been destroyed! The push must begin immediately afterward!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Do we have a chance to hit them at that speed?”

“No sir, but they can't deliver at that speed. They'll have to slow to below Mach one.”

“They'd be slowing already, so are they??”

“Yes sir, already down to Mach 6, 5, 4.”

“Okay, people, get ready! SAMs online! Target!”

The tension in the room was so heavy that the silence didn't seem like silence, at all. All we could do was wait.

“ETA now, at Mach one, twenty-seven seconds!”

“Get the SAMs in the air, dammit! All rockets! Now!”

“Firing!” We all felt the rush of multiple launches from the hillside batteries.

“Aircraft are taking evasive action... it's a hit! We have a hit!”

One of the aircraft, a sleek, black robotic dart, spiraled out of control with only half of its wingspan remaining, and crashed somewhere within the limits of Montville. We could all see that the ordnance it must have been carrying did not explode. If there were any people in the buildings, and certainly there had to be, they were dead. However the other one had not been hit, and it was at the same moment, dropping its ordnance. Obviously they didn't know we were within the mountain, because the hole it made in the earth was somewhere near the point from which Billy's original rocket had been launched. For sure, no mines in that area would ever be usable again. The ground shook a little at first, then a lot more, and the walls of the command room began to move visibly from side to side. Clipboards fell from tables onto the floor, lights began to wink out, and everybody held onto something as the in-ground blast built and the shock wave passed through the rock. The rumble was much deeper than thunder and it seemed certain the mountain would collapse on top of us. I think everybody expected it to. But it didn't.

“Sir! We have reloads on four batteries! They are the last we have. Fire?”

“No,” the general responded. Quiet. Wait. Let it think we're done for. Kill the radar!”

“Yes, sir!”

“If it leaves and things are quiet for a bit, we'll assume we've made it through and it's over, and we'll give the go-ahead to launch.”

The room fell silent, and some of the lights that had dropped out, came back on.

“Should I report?”

The general checked his watch. “Hold,” he said. We have another minute and a half.”

“Sir, without the radar I can't be sure, but the surviving aircraft appears to be gone.”

“Alright. Report. Tell them to stand by.”

“Sir? Check out monitor seventeen. Evidently, from behind the hills, we had another landing. Maybe two.”

“Throw it up on main screen.”

And there, in color across two meters of widescreen, was the horizon of the low rolling hill that stood closest to the mountain. It would have looked like a thousand wild Indians from the old western movies I'd seen, except that there's weren't a thousand, and they sure weren't Indians. They were tracked robots and robotic bipeds, all heavy with armament. I'm going to say there were about a hundred of them, and they were all stopped along the top of the ridge.

“Crap.” The general just looked. “What are they doing?'

“Probably awaiting instruction from base, sir.”

“Okay. Let's watch. How many missiles do we have?”

“Four, sir. Just four.”

“If they head for Montville, we'll have to engage them.”

“There they go!”

“Okay.” the general stood with one hand on his hip, and with the other, he rubbed his balding head. “Take out the lead bot, then when they move again, take out the next closest one. And so on. Until all missiles are used. Get our foot soldiers out there.”

“We only have twenty men available, sir...”

“I damn well know that! But they do have shoulder-fired antitank rockets. They can get at least some of them. Whatever they get, won't be killing civilians!”

“Yes, sir!”

Billy jumped up, and I joined him immediately. “I wanna go, sir!”

“Me too,” I declared.

“You boys don't know a thing about shoulder-fired weapons, and I don't believe we have enough of them, anyway! Those bots are armed with machine guns and missiles! I'm not sending you out there to die!”

There was enough forcefulness to his delivery of that statement, that no discussion could follow. Harlan, however, was already on his way down to ground level to make it twenty-one.

*********

I desperately hope I never see anything like that battle, ever again. I learned, for the very first, what true valor in the face of certain death means. These heroes were outgunned and outclassed but truly awesome in combat, standing up to more than four-to-one odds. No man can run as fast as a tracked robot can move. But they were there to save lives at the expense of their own, and that's exactly what they did. The only advantage our side had, other than a human brain, was the ability to quickly step behind what little cover they could find. As the general had ordered, the first four bots to head in the general direction of Montville were blown to smithereens. It became clear, at that, just how much armament they were carrying, because each of the secondary explosions were felt within the depths of the command center. The machine gun fire from the bots didn't sound like machine guns at all, because they were so fast. They sounded more like elongated burps. And often when they sounded, someone fell. The men fought well, nonetheless. I really couldn't tell which of them was Harlan, because not one of them was wearing a uniform or a helmet. Several of the men were nearly the age of the general, and they fired rocket after rocket, usually removing one of the closer bots from the fray. Among the people watching through the monitors, there were frequent cries of anguish. There were many, many tears. But there were no words.

The battle had raged on for about twenty minutes, and finally there were but eight men still alive, to only about thirty robots that hadn't been destroyed. Some of the men hadn't gotten off a shot at the beginning, so the remaining soldiers had done quite well. Still, the imbalance remained at nearly four to one.

But after the first twenty minutes, a pattern of activity was apparent that had been working well. It takes two men to fire a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher with reasonable frequency, and that was what the eight remaining men were doing. The shooter would stand and fire and then drop immediately for reload. And before he stood again, both shooter and loader would roll to a new position. They mixed it up, even varying the time between firings. And they always took out the closest machine, which did appear to slow the approach of the bots considerably. Had they charged together full-on, it probably would have ended quickly in favor of the bots. But we could see very clearly, the human side was finally gaining the upper hand.

At last, there were but four men standing and only two robots, both of them tracked. As terrible as it had been, it seemed sure it would end with the four still alive when the last bot was destroyed. It did. And when it came, one man jumped and whooped and tore off his shirt in celebration. He looked like Tarzan, powerfully-built and heavily muscled. “Bixby!” shouted one of the watchers in the control room. The camera zoomed in, and I realized with gladness that his firing partner was Harlan. He had made it! And all of the bots had apparently been destroyed.

The camera was trained on the men still, when we realized that something had obviously changed. Suddenly, all four men seemed to be looking at the sky. The general barked, “What do we have on radar?”

Just as the camera zoomed back, I heard, “I don't believe it” from the radar man. Then we saw it.

I cannot imagine how an aircraft could have even moved it. There must have been several aircraft involved, and the thing had been assembled somewhere behind the hill. It was far and away the biggest robot any of us had ever seen, or imagined. But someone had. It was at least ten stories tall, and about one-third as wide as its height. It was a bipedal machine, and had stepped up onto the hilltop and stopped, scanning and surveying the valley before it. It looked a lot like the giant actualization of a toy I had once, called “Optimus Prime.” Except this machine's feet weren't proportionately that big, and it was all silver-gray, with no discernible head. It had a weapon of some kind mounted on each arm, and one more on its left shoulder. The camera operator zoomed on it, and we could see these words printed below its glistening breastplate: LEDDRO IND. - GARGANTUA II

We all watched in silence as one of the teams loaded their rocket launcher and fired. First the rocket exploded harmlessly against the thing's breastplate. Then, the giant bot fired a laser-like beam from above its chest that might have been invisible in just clear daylight, but the smoke from the battle displayed it clearly. Both men dropped. Harlan and Bixby quickly hid behind some brush, and seemed to be discussing it. We knew they wouldn't try to come back inside, as that would show the machine where everyone else was. But doubtless it already knew, because whatever the smaller bots had seen, Corporate had, as well.

“My God,” said the general. “We're done here.”

“What about Montville?” The woman who had been manipulating video feeds to the screens, wanted to know.

“What would you suggest we attack it with?”

Billy and I looked at each other. I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.

“Lieutenant, send the go-ahead to initiate the real attacks. Worldwide! We won't be here to send it later.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Everyone out. Everyone. We have a means of escape to the other side of the mountain. Let's do it.”

As people moved quickly for the rear doors to the command center, Billy and I slipped unnoticed through the flaps, and into the blackness of the mine shaft.

III - Gargantua

“Billy!” I exclaimed in a low tone, “how're we gonna see?”

“Hang tight,” he answered, “Just till the command center empties out. Till we hear the door close!”

“What then?”

“Then we take the transporter.”

“Can't do that, buddy,” I reminded him, “the tunnel's gotta be blocked! The bunker buster, remember? No way in hell it's clear!”

“There's no other way! We'll have to hope there's a way out to the surface.”

“Can't we go out the way Harlan did?'

“Oh, hell no, that big mother robot is looking right at the mountain! We wanna get behind it!”

“Billy, it's suicide launching that thing down the tracks in the dark!”

“It's got lights. And a go-pedal. And brakes. Harlan just didn't use anything but the accelerator.”

“But I hate caves...”

“Give it a rest, willya? Are you with me or not?”

We heard the door close at the far end of the command center. Neither of us said much after that. We pushed the plastic curtain flaps aside, Billy took the drivers seat and turned on the lights, and it started to move. I jumped in the seat beside him, and back into the tunnel we went. We weren't fifty meters into the shaft when we felt the first of several explosions shake the ground. I admit it, I was terrified that the whole thing would close around us and we'd never be found, now or in the future. It didn't help my frame of mind that Billy mashed the pedal and accelerated. I knew the tracks would be blocked, and I nudged him to slow down. A long minute passed, the shock from surface blasts shaking the walls. Bits of rock frittered down around us as we flew along the tracks, through the dust and the darkness.

And I knew it would be blocked. I was right. At the speed we were moving, there was no way we could get stopped. Billy reversed the electric motors and applied the brake, and we gripped the metal rim of the car. But when the car hit, we were both thrown from it, and there was nothing but rocks to land on. I think Billy broke his arm then, but he didn't say a thing, or cry out. He just gripped it and picked himself up. I had taken a pretty hard shot to the head, but I was only dazed. That was good, because it hurt enough that I wasn't scared anymore. I can't explain it.

One of the two lights on our transporter was still burning, and I looked hard at new pile of fallen rock that lay in front of us. There was a place as wide as a man's body on the right side of the blockage that appeared to be open. I pointed, and grabbed the lantern out of the bottom of the transporter. At that point, Billy said the only thing I would hear from him.

“Wait!”

He reached into his pocket with his good arm and came up with an old butane lighter. He fumbled the glass up out of the way, and I took the lighter and lit the wick. Then we moved on into the blackness.

The muffled sounds of the fourth and fifth explosions echoed through the tunnel; but I knew we were too far in to go back. How was it, I wondered, that we could even hear them? I didn't know it then, but we hadn't traveled half as far as we'd come before. And now, in the dim light of the lantern, we realized that just ahead, our path was completely blocked.

Billy grabbed the lantern from my trembling hand, and put it out. “What're you doin?” I gasped. But then I saw what he had already seen. Right in front of the blockage was a bit of light, coming from the left side of the tunnel. I tripped over ancient railroad ties getting there, while Billy came right behind me. A pile of rotted oaken planks were lying in a heap at the bottom of an access shaft. Maybe it was a ventilation shaft, I don't know. But there was only a bit of jagged rock we had to squirm around to get into brighter light, and there, all the way up the concrete walls of the shaft, were u-shaped steel rungs, like a permanent ladder. They were cemented right into the wall.

I'd always known Billy was a tough kid, but I never knew how deeply that toughness was rooted. He motioned for me to climb, and I did. Each time I looked back, I saw Billy still coming, but he was doing it with just one hand, letting go at the risk of falling all the way back to the bottom. Each time, he rapidly grabbed at the next rung and secured it. I couldn't watch that. I also couldn't help him, so I just climbed.

I hadn't realized we were that close to the surface, but still, it was more than thirty meters of climbing. The explosions had stopped, and I wondered if the gargantuan machine had finished off the four surviving warriors and had headed for Montville. Reaching the top, I poked my head over the edge of the concrete square that surrounded our escape route, and looked all around. The brush was just thick enough that I couldn't see anything, so I climbed out and helped Billy pull himself over the edge.

The concrete was a little over a half-meter higher than the ground at the mouth of the shaft, and Billy, to my shock and surprise, climbed right back up onto it to get a better look-around. Then, still without a word, he hopped back down and started running, still gripping his right arm with his left. I followed.

What we had both been thinking of was the unused home-built rocket. If we were lucky, it had been ignored by the advancing bots during the battle, and would still be there. The charge of explosives in that warhead just might be enough to do some serious damage. We both knew the blast delivered by shoulder-fired rockets was much smaller. Of course, with the command center empty, we would have no guidance system. I really didn't even know how the igniter worked. But I did know there was no other heavy weapon available, while very likely there still was one, somewhere, out here.

Billy had known where he was going. I was right on his heels when we arrived, a couple of minutes later, at the “staging area” where the rocket that started it all had been fired. One of the launchers was on its side, the other was still upright. But there was no second rocket. Billy and I looked at each other, and I realized for the first that he was in a whole lot of pain. We began looking for the rocket, still without speaking. I saw it first.

The rocket had been knocked over because it had intercepted a bullet, no doubt from one of the many machine-gun bursts from the bots during the skirmish. The force of the bullet had knocked over both the rocket and the launching cradle. Then one of the tracked bots had run over the tube of the rocket, narrowly missing the warhead. The aluminum tubing was mashed almost halfway flat, and the warhead was lying beside it, as if squirted from the tube like a bit of silvery toothpaste.

The staging area was further away from the mountain and closer to the point where the bots had lined up, on top of the next hill. I stood up and immediately saw the monster bot, standing stock-still and facing away from us. The thing looked even bigger from out here. There's really no way an image on a monitor screen could ever convey just how huge it was. We didn't know that it had stopped, and it was listening. It knew it had not killed everything that had moved, but it couldn't see any more movement. So before it would move either toward the command center or Montville, it was just – listening.

Of course, we didn't know that.

Most likely, the monster bot was attuned to gather sounds directionally, toward the mountain. It knew that was where the telltale sounds would come from, sooner or later, and it hadn't detected our running footsteps behind it. But when Billy grabbed a rock and started pounding on the aluminum tube with his one good arm, making the top of it almost round again, that got its attention. The big bot probably used two big steps to turn completely around, and in a few more, it was nearly on top of us. I think it was only the very last step it took that we actually heard, before it reached down. A turbine wound up and we heard the loud squish of rushing hydraulic fluid and metal joints moving, and we looked up, just in time to see a great set of steel claws closing around Billy's body.

It might have simply crushed us both where we were, in fact, I'll never know why it didn't. The bot straightened itself up and seemed to be regarding the kicking, shouting human creature in its claw with some sort of curiosity. I realized it was probably sending images of Billy back to Corporate's HQ. Moving as quickly as I could, I rammed the warhead back onto the rocket, noting that wires were jammed alongside the nosecone and the insulation on them had been cut through. Maybe it wouldn't even work. I flopped the assembly unceremoniously into the standing launcher cradle, grabbed one side of the launcher and spun it around, pointing it in the general direction of the huge bot. Then I looked at the igniter wires, still connected to a big battery through a control box. No one would be firing it remotely. I took a chance and tore the hot wires away from the control box, twisted one of them onto one of the igniter leads, and very nearly connected the other one as well. That was when I realized it might fire at the moment I did. The rocket hadn't been aimed.

I remembered playing sandlot tackle football when I was eleven, right before we'd been required to start working at the factory. Billy had told me, “Take out his legs! The biggest guy in the world can't do shit, if you take out his legs!”

With one hand, I heaved on the launcher, tipping it forward to aim the rocket at a huge metal knee, propping the corner of the launcher against my leg. With two fingers of the other I twisted and held the last two wires together, completing the circuit to the igniter. The rocket fired! As it left the cradle in a roar, I gave the launcher a last-microsecond adjustment that probably made all the difference. The last thing I remember hearing came but an instant before the thundering launch initiated. It was Billy's own blood-curdling scream.

For a few minutes, I was out of it. Within seconds of the contact of the wires, the concussion of the explosion came. It was so close and so loud that I heard nothing; it knocked me to the ground, hard. The choking cloud of sulfurous exhaust had obscured everything, but the shock wave blasted it away. I heard a sound that I think, sounded like a loud squeal. Then, I both heard and felt a massive, thundering crash.

The next thing I knew, Harlan was picking me up and carrying me away while trying to run. He sat me down on the ground and was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear anything. My vision cleared just enough to see the giant bot, now lying on the ground and kicking with one leg, as if trying to walk from its prone position. The turbine that had powered it was spewing ingested vegetation everywhere. Then I saw shirtless Bixby, wearing a small backpack and clambering up onto the big bot using writhing, torn hydraulic hoses as ropes. Up onto the top of it he went; and then I saw him stop and kneel. Finally he made a great leap and jumped off of the bot to get away, just before yet another explosion took place.

After that, the robot was still. Its back was too high for any man to leap from without getting hurt, even Bixby.

I turned to Harlan and said, without hearing my own voice, “Where's Billy?”

Harlan didn't respond at first. I knew exactly what he meant when at last, he looked at the dirt and shook his head, sadly.

My best friend in the world had been crushed to death, even before the rocket he'd assembled himself had done its work. His broken, lifeless body was still within the monstrous claws.

***********

IV - Legacy of the Twentieth Combatant

It was, after all, the very first coordinated strike against the Corporate entity that had seized world power. Ours was the conflict-opening battleground. Our resources had been very limited, our losses far from insignificant. My father's death had come before it, and his was one of thousands who had also labored tirelessly and at their own peril. It was they who enabled the resistance that resulted in the offensive, that Fourth of July.

There were other witnesses to what had transpired in the last of that initial conflict. Billy and I had been missed, and two men returned to the interior of the command center to retrieve us. Instead they found the transporter missing. That discovery was not understood until we were seen from the monitors, locating the second of Billy's rockets. The two who had come back for us had been unable to tear themselves away from the monitors, and could see that the gigantic robot was occupied with trying to take out Harlan and Bixby. When our would-be rescuers didn't come back out, others also returned, and six people saw what happened to Billy, and to the bot. They saw Bixby sticking a block of plastique to its back, and they saw it explode while he was still in the air, jumping from the machine. He was knocked out by the concussion, and he suffered broken ribs and a broken leg from the fall.

With the destruction of the Gargantua bot, our part of the overall conflict had ended. The worldwide offensive had been coordinated to begin all at once. When it did, the Corporate powers were too busy to send anything more after us. I was to learn that attacks were also coordinated with Corporate's own air power, turned against them by our confederates within. We watched while the Reykjavik facility was blasted to kingdom-come by their own machines. Some of the people who had seized control of them were killed by the airstrikes within the very facilities they attacked.

After twenty-four hours, it was all but completely over. Corporate had maintained six centers in all, similar to Reykjavik in that each was capable of directing all operations worldwide. All were destroyed; and with no flow of data to and from their machine forces, Corporate's power was quickly neutralized. People caroused and danced in the streets, by daylight on the one side of the world and by firelight on the other.

The weeks following were somewhat chaotic. To some degree, it may have been unavoidable; great damage had been done everywhere on the planet by decades of an unimpeded rape of resources and near-slave labor on farms, in mines and in factories. All of it had benefited but a few who had gripped humanity as possessions rather than as beings with human value. Individual freedoms had long been stripped, physical infrastructure had been abandoned and had deteriorated. Thus it was not possible simply to restart the world as it had once been. Worse, the planet itself was dying.

And as if that wasn't enough, humans did return to some old habits as if they had never been abandoned. Local despots rose to power and state raged against state, as regimes rose and fell, and rose again. It was like the fabled and forgotten packs of wild wolves that had once roamed the forests of our planet. Only one could rule, and any other potential leader was killed to forestall a loss of power. In my later readings of history, I had to liken it to other wars where the fall of a despot resulted in greater chaos and killing.

That was why I resolved to study and to learn all that I could. The leaders of the resistance had laid careful plans to install new local governments, to coordinate leadership through a restart of the shuttered United Nations facility, to immediately establish enough infrastructure to continue distribution of foodstuffs, and to assemble and to empower the scientists that were still living to plan recovery for the planet. There were some successes, to the credit of the planners. But responsible agriculture and manufacturing with a qualified, paid, non-slave workforce, and restoration of a worldwide infrastructure takes more than a few years. And no one could even agree as to whether the planet could be saved.

Because of my actions on that day, the last of the combat at Montville, and because of my father's part in establishing and supplying the resistance, I am now regarded as a hero. In fact, I am not. My father may have been. My best friend Billy was, most definitely. The reason I am sure of it is because I was there. Perhaps the lives of the entire population of Montville were spared because of what he did, and because of his bravery and sacrifice. Which is in no way more of a sacrifice than the nineteen who gave their lives that day, before him.

Today, on the town square in the center of a recovering Montville there stand statues of bronze, of two figures. One is of my father, facing east. The other is of Billy, facing west. Beneath Billy's likeness is a small plaque bearing the words, “The Twentieth Combatant.” I cannot visit the shrine. I cannot handle the reality it brings flooding back into my mind. Others may forget, but, Billy. I never will. Your legacy deserves far better than what we have done.

I have come to realize that we have done no differently than had our predecessors, in fact, if anything at all was learned from decades of despotic Corporate rule, I have yet to see it. At one time, the halls of elected representatives were filled with career politicians who sold their votes as if they owned them. This is clearly how Corporate gained the upper hand to begin with. And history now repeats itself as the same things are just as clearly happening. With food in short supply everywhere, the opulent luxury of beefsteaks were to be offered my entourage for their luncheon, together with potatoes and century-old wine. Of course it was all a gift. Of course, favors were expected in return. Of course they were. I experienced anger beyond what I believed I was capable of feeling. I broke the bottles of wine, smashing them on the stone floor of the kitchen. I cleared all personnel save for one chef, whom I directed to return all of the steaks to the freezer. They will go back to their source. The potatoes will be distributed to the people with all of the other available food stocks.

When Billy offered me an MRE the morning of opening day, it was at least fifteen years out of date and unsafe to consume. We didn't know that. And today, people still keep them, here and there, because if irradiated the contents may provide some nutrition without great peril. I asked for and was provided six of these culinary disappointments, and at mealtime I deposited one at each of the places at our table. Everyone was aghast. I said, simply, “They're a little out of date, but if you're hungry, they work.”

Today I must try to get through to the masses. I believe I must fail. I have gradually become more and more disturbed by events, to such a degree that I've enjoyed no full night of sleep for a very long time. The world will end some day, and when it does, mankind will end with it. That's a best-case scenario. In fact I doubt our species will last that long. Humanity might have lived on for far longer than our own planet of origin will exist, but it is clearly not to be. And I will not lead the people in their passage to extinction.

End of text.

*******

I am Lewis Samuels' campaign overseer. I am his closest aide. I am Harlan, of whom Lewis spoke in his account. I am now eighty years of age. Twenty years to the day have passed since the opening day of the conflict that ended Corporate rule. Every word he wrote is exactly as it happened. We were all heroes that day, and Lewis was one of us. In part for the sake of historic documentation, below is the speech Lewis finally delivered, with full force of his oratorical skill and with great passion, to the masses of humanity that had gathered everywhere on the planet.

*******

To all peoples of the world. I am Lewis Samuels, a former candidate for Governor of this planet. I have resolved to utilize this opportunity to address you on issues that you cannot afford to ignore. And yet I expect you shall. Too many days have come and gone since mankind first walked this earth, to allow anyone who's still in possession of any degree of common sense, to believe otherwise. Days became years; years, centuries; and centuries, millennia.

I have watched and waited patiently for the time when the turmoil between peoples would begin to stabilize and to diminish. I have pushed and cajoled relentlessly for reforms within our own government. I have served on committee after committee in fruitless efforts to coordinate planet-saving, scientific efforts.

And what have we accomplished in twenty years of what should have been, shall I say, a significant recovery? I say to you, nearly nothing! NADA!! There remain those among us who feel they have the right by might, to rule their own nation-states! There was greater order and less despotism to be endured, all the way back in the nineteenth century! And that is why I say to you, the fall of Corporate rule was not an improvement. For it was not simply Corporate that wronged us! We were Corporate! All of us! Yes, we are the heroes! Yes, we are also, the villains!

Now allow me if you will, to tell you what I know about humanity. From our earliest beginnings, we were gifted with the capacity to love one another, to help one another, and to co-exist. Research has shown that the mental capacity of true humans has not much increased for at least, many thousands of years. So even long ago, people might have embraced a different way of living and co-existing. Of course, they did not. People of conscience have long fretted about “the human condition.”

Thousands of times I have asked myself, “Well why not fix it?I have seen for myself, there are good people, even great people, everywhere. This is completely without exception! So what, exactly, is the problem?”

Well, this is the problem. Here it is, ladies and gentlemen. Each of us has at least two sides. This is no secret. We all know it. Students of the mind, the religions of the world, great philosophers, all have discussed it. The same man, or woman, that can lift and kiss a child or help an elderly person to cross a street safely, can cut your throat. Or steal your food. Or commit rape. Or enslave a nation. It's a matter of choices made. Far, far too many of us consistently make the wrong choices! And as a result, humanity shall die out. We shall cease to exist as a species. Without a fundamental, basic change in attitude toward every other man, woman and child, our kind will pass from existence.

At one time, we were in possession, not only of the capacity to live, love and co-exist, but also of a supportive planet, verdant with wildlife and forests, a higher percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere, oceans teeming with plankton and the creatures it fed. Now, nearly all of it is gone. Elevated sea levels have rendered large areas of the land masses upon which we reside, completely uninhabitable. Planetary weather conditions have become erratic to such a degree that we lose two-thirds of crops we plant, every year. Already, we barely exist and manage to subsist, even though our numbers have fallen to half of what they were in the late twentieth century. During Corporate rule, people reluctantly but of necessity, fed their pets to their families in an effort to keep their children alive. That activity, once unthinkable, is a resource no longer. Tell me, what will happen if we have a particularly bad year, and there isn't quite enough food to go around? You know the answer to that question! You already well know! And you would blame your leaders, would you not? Would you not?

For a while, I thought I could best serve all of you by holding the highest of offices. I was encouraged, even pushed forward to do so. But in fact, I am the same as you. I am no better than are you. I cannot force you to change. No one can! It is an individual decision, a proper choice that only individuals can make, of their own volition. Their own!

And so, as I step aside, step down, remove myself forcibly from consideration, I will make this last, single, heartfelt and desperate appeal to you all. Whomever serves you from this position, follow that man or woman. Think carefully before you cast a vote, every time you do. Do not ever allow your representatives to serve for longer than their current single term. Not ever, for any reason. Do not tolerate interference of any kind with the representation you are guaranteed under the law.

I frankly don't care if you have a god, or if you do not. What I care about is that you act like one! A loving god! A forgiving, gracious, benevolent lover of creation! Treat every other individual with the respect every child deserves. We were all children once. In many respects, we still are, even after we've become adults. And never, ever tell anyone else how to live. Without freedom, life isn't worth living. Period! Lead by example, and those that can see, will follow. Perhaps it is you, who should follow someone else.

To our makers of laws. Abandon your personal goals, and especially the goals of any who have inappropriately tried to influence you, right now! The efforts to save our planet may come too late. But without action as your top priority, there will be no effort. In the event of our failure, another world must be found. There is no motion toward such a goal, of any sort, whatsoever.

To those anywhere in the world who hold positions of seized power. Step down immediately! If you do not, you will be remembered throughout whatever human existence remains to be lived, as the last of the tyrants. For if any more such as you arise, even one, I swear I will kill him myself.

For you see, I also have two sides. And I am no better at all, than are you. I deserve no office. I have earned no title. I shall never be known by one.

I must repeat, for your consideration. Human beings have always had the capacity to live, to love and to support one another. It's a choice; it's an attitude. Make the right ones, and only the right ones, from now on. It is your, it is our, only chance. It's your personal responsibility. Live up to it. Start now. Start right away.

Or die.

Lewis was leaning forward, his gesturing hands finally still, both of them planted firmly on the balcony railing. His eyes flashed, his voice rose and fell with emphasis throughout his speech. Now, he stared intensely out over the masses. You could have heard a pin drop. There was not a single clap, not a boo, not anything. I don't think anyone was actually breathing, for a few moments, anywhere in the entire world. No one moved. Until Lewis turned around.

I hadn't yet heard all of the speech. I had skimmed most of his writing, and had read parts of it, at that point. I thought I understood. I went back to stand behind him, as I've done throughout his career. Whatever he decided, I resolved, was his choice to make.

But when Lewis turned to walk from the balcony, he was met with two others of our entourage. They carried with them the Robe of Leadership. They stopped him, placed the Robe about his broad shoulders, and turned him back to face the crowd once again. Immediately, the masses erupted. Such a roar, I'd never even imagined. It came with a volume that has never been matched by anything less than an exploding volcano.

But there was to be more. Our sitting Governor himself stepped up behind Lewis, and gently placed the Sash of Authority over Lewis' shoulder. The volume of the roar from the crowd actually doubled. I'm told it was the same, everywhere.

Someone in the telecast control room was right on top of it. Worldwide, the strains of Times Like These, music recorded all the way back in 2003, thundered from the PA systems.

Lewis closed his eyes, tipped his head downward and silently wept.

Fade to black.

*********