The advisors stared. Venz appeared distracted, Graves indifferent. Vice President Reagan began to sweat and loosened his tie, while Ren and Quell looked curious about why the president was so angry. Jace was riveted and quite indignant that everyone else wasn’t as well. Still, he held his tongue. He didn’t want to step out of line and cause his father’s fury to fall on him.
“A report from the front,” Luther growled. “They haven’t even reached their first objective, and we’re already down fifteen thousand men. The Navy failed to capture New Charleston—can you believe it? Lost their ships andcrew. Captured or destroyed. And Garcia got caught with his pants down in an ambush in some godforsaken swamp. I tell you this is all Crane’s fault!”
“What of the enemy losses?” questioned Vexler. “Surely they lost more, which is a greater blow as they have fewer troops to begin with.”
Luther shoved the crumpled paper toward him. “See for yourself.”
“My solar-powered laser cannons.” Venz sat up, adjusted his glasses, and appeared interested for the first time. “Did they work?”
Vexler scanned the report. “It says the Navy successfully captured Forts Hammond and Jasper and holds the Gulf Coast. Garcia couldn’t say how many Verdancians attacked his caravan, but estimates they killed five thousand—and they captured an important general, son of some high-ranking lord.”
“Yeah.” Luther flicked his wrist and wiggled a shoulder. “I received a letter from the queen’s ambassador requesting a prisoner exchange or some such nonsense. I’ll see those prisoners executed before I give them over to her to continue their resistance.”
“But, Mr. President,” Reagan said timidly. “Don’t we want our prisoners returned?”
Luther smirked. “We have legions of soldiers and more rushing to enlist every day,” he answered dismissively. “They do not.”
“We can spin this to our advantage,” declared Minister Graves. She reminded Jace of his old school principal, whose rod of discipline and sharp threats terrified the children. Jace faced her like a grown man, her superior’s son, curious about her proposal.
“We report an overwhelming victory in our first land encounter with the enemy and play up the capture of Fort Hammond. Tell the people we now control the mouth of the Mother River and soon all of Verdancia,” she explained. “The public has no need to hear casualty figures.”
“I agree,” said Reverend Quell. The distinguished-looking revival preacher had been a close friend of Jace’s father for years and often joined the family for meals. He was kind of like an uncle, though Jace always thought of him as a snake oil salesman.
“The Scriptures of Dominion, a holy companion to the old Bible, say that omitting a fact or engaging in selective truth-telling is not the same as lying. We are well within our moral rights.”
Director Ren, who now held the report, said, “These lost ships can’t easily be replaced. It will take time, resources, and manpower. Thank heavens Garcia’s artillery and vehicles are all accounted for, save a few motorbikes.”
“What does it say about my laser cannons?” Dr. Venz snatched the page from her hand, scrutinizing it like a bug under a magnifying glass.
Graves resumed her proposal. “The president should make a formal announcement praising General Garcia’s progress and our naval victories. No mention of New Charleston, of course. Then our two major newspapers should print differing reports to encourage conversation and debate. One paper should celebrate our brave soldiers and fearless leaders; the other should highlight the enemy’s underhanded guerrilla tactics.”
“I don’t want to praise that stupid Garcia,” Irons thundered. “I want to pummel some sense into him.”
“Now, now, Luther,” Quell soothed in a placating, rhythmic tone. “God can use even fools to accomplish his will and purpose. We must present a united front before the masses.”
Luther grumbled, drumming his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “I suppose I can overlook his stupidity in my speech. After all, congressional elections are coming up, and the Dominion Party must hold its majority. We shall present a unified message of success where the war is concerned. Jace,” he said, recognizing him for the first time. “How goes our ammunition production?”
“Quite well, Mr. President.” Jace straightened, adopting an air of importance. “Working in shifts around the clock has allowed us to double our production. The belts only stop turning on Sundays, so our workers can attend church services and the maintenance crews can attend to any upgrades or repairs. We have a new shipment ready to send to the front on your order.”
“Do it,” Luther said with a proud nod. “Now, on to other business. Beatrice, are any underground resistance factions still propagating the outlandish story about me sending the Army to murder unarmed protesters in Chickasaw?”
Jace’s breath caught in his throat at his father’s words. This was the incident that led to General Crane’s execution and Colt’s banishment. Both had sworn the protest was peaceful—until the military arrived. No weapons. No violence except what Garcia’s troops rained down on them. Women and children killed.Colt was as annoying as hell, but he never lied about anything.And yet here was his father calling it an outlandish story.
Jace felt torn between his brother and his dad. Needles pricked his gut. One of them had lied … or believed a lie.Colt was there. Dad wasn’t.He glanced around the table. Graves would say or do anything to advance her position; Quell and Vexler, the same. Venz was lost in his own little world; it fell out of Ren’s purview, and Reagan was generally out of the loop.
They moved on to other subjects—rationing, propaganda, crowd control, the water crisis. One thing Jace was sure of: they had to win quickly, or people would starve.
Amaretta Irons had just returned from making a public appearance at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new theater opening in Dominion when her husband swaggered into their apartment. She never liked living in the Iron Keep but tried to give it all the elegance and comfort of a proper home.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. Amaretta knew that tone. He was irritated about something.
“The opening ceremony for the new Lakeshore Theater. Remember? It was on the calendar.” Setting her hat aside, Amaretta unpinned her hair. Luther dropped into his favorite chair and threw his feet on the coffee table. He shot her an annoyed look.
“Oh, yeah. I don’t see the point of opening a theater when we have a war to win. Where are the people’s priorities?”
Amaretta opened the window and clicked on a fan. The keep and a few other buildings had electric generators but not an air-cooling system. Being the presidential family came with privileges. “Luther, you know more than most that the people need entertainment, something to think about other than their loved ones’ lives being at risk in Verdancia.” She slowly crossed the room’s lush carpet, her airy, flowered skirt brushing her calves.
Her husband hmphed, his frown cutting deep.