The finance secretary stared at her, mouth agape. “Why would you do that? We are in crisis, trying to fight a war with a huge deficit hanging over us. We need every tax coin we can get.”
“Don’t tempt me!” Azaleen cut the air with her palm, conflict wrestling with resolve. “The best way to build the national treasury is to ensure our citizens have a clear path to prosperity and wealth, then take our percent—notby burdening them with unnecessary taxes. The only reason for the tax was to slow the purchase of dwindling supplies. Let the people have their tea and coffee. Next week, they could be fleeing for their lives.”
Vera glowered, pivoted on her heel, and strode away.
Azaleen turned to Stark, her mind clicking. “How is the Plan B strategy coming along?”
“We’ve mapped out the best routes to clear the city,” he said quietly as they walked toward the beverage table. “We’ve created a system based on neighborhoods, assigning each an optimal route. My man in logistics is contacting everyone along the coast who’s registered a fishing boat or any kind of vessel that holds more than one passenger.”
“That’s good,” she nodded, lifting a glass of melon water from the table. Lou had slipped a mint leaf into it for an extra kick. “Now, call in every mechanical and electronics specialist in the city. I wish Wes was here,” she added under her breath. Meeting the general’s gaze, she said, “We need to figure out how to kill a robot.”
At the same time in Dominion
“Mr. President,” said Colonel Vexler.
Jace sat between Vexler and his father, trying to look like he belonged. He wore dress clothes and a studious expression. Though he thought he could contribute more to the war effort at the factory, he loved how it felt to be included. His dad had spent all those years grooming Colt, and now it was his turn to sit at the table with the president and his council. He wouldn’t take this honor for granted or mess things up like his brother did—even if it meant he had to sit beside this creepy guy.
“I took the liberty of having the secret police arrest that group of anti-war protestors this morning,” Vexler continued. He fingered his matchstick, then clamped it between his teeth.
Jace didn’t like the way he sprawled in his chair, leaning back with a boot propped on his knee, taking up way more space than he should. It was arrogant. Disrespectful. Luther didn’t seem to mind.
“Good initiative,” the president praised him with a grin. “Can’t have those rag-flag, peace lovers swaying the resolve of patriotic Republicans, hey? Probably Union Coalitionists or Verdant Font folks. Beatrice, how are things looking for the election?”
Jace recalled his father berating the other political parties for their flaws and failures. He was probably right. After all, the Dominion Party had provided clean water for all, expanded the military, and increased the number of oil wells and factories nationwide. They unified the people. Mostly. There would always be some dissenters. Those protesters had probably been paid by Luther’s political enemies to disrupt the capital. Why would anyone protest a war they were winning?
“The most recent poll numbers still have us in the lead, but the margin is down a few points.” Minister Graves, a Dominion pin on her gray coat’s lapel, passed out papers with the latest polling results.
Luther frowned. “We let the Unity Coalition continue to exist as token opposition, not to be a legitimate threat to the Dominion majority. They can’t be allowed to flip the House. Find a way to reverse this trend, Beatrice. Do it now.”
“It’s the war’s effect on the economy, Mr. President,” said Advisor Ren. She twisted a ring around her middle finger.
“What?” Luther snorted. “War is good for the economy. Everyone’s employed. Factories on overtime. All the fighting is on foreign soil. What are they worried about?”
“Shortages, their husbands and fathers being killed, no soldiers left to defend the Republic if someone else were to take advantage and attackus—”
“Like who?” Vexler didn’t straighten, only raised his chin defiantly at Dalia. Jace knew she was the one responsible for cleaning up the water and constructing the distribution system.
“I don’t know.” She hunched her shoulders under Vexler’s glare. “The Navajo Nation, or Colorado, or the Anáhuac Federation.”
The council gawked at Ren before Luther broke into laughter, and the others followed his lead. Jace sat quietly, feeling sorry for Dalia. While he agreed that her concerns were unfounded, he thought it rude to laugh at her for sharing them. Only Reverend Quell remained reserved.
“What a hoot,” his father said, his face turning red. “We’re about to conquer the civilized world, and you’re worried about savages with bows and arrows. Do we even know there’s still a country there?” He lifted his palms, passing a glance around the table. “I heard they all got wiped out by the plague fifteen years ago. Nobody’s seen one of ‘em, nor heard a peep from the rustin’ buzzard bait. As far as the Pacific Confederation, they keep to themselves. We’ll leave them for last.”
Quell spoke for the first time. “The Doctrine of Manifest Destiny states that the Republic will spread from the Atlantic to the Pacific oceans; however, it is vague on the northward and southward demarcations. Once we have secured the land God has promised to us, we can devote study and prayer to discerning the rest.”
“That’s right,” Luther agreed. His belly had finally stopped jiggling. “Now, back to the elections. I know Garcia’s last correspondence said he hasn’t captured Marchland yet, and he had to lay siege; it’s only a matter of time. I told him to take that fort so we’d have a big win going into the elections, but Beatrice, I might need you to fabricate some news. Just bump the results up a few weeks. Better yet, make certain the key polling venues and vote counters are already in our pocket. If bribes don’t work, use threats. Leave a dead cat on their doorsteps. Kidnap their puppies. Just make sure the Dominion Party keeps the House.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”
Jace shifted uneasily in his chair but remained silent. In school, he’d learned all about democracy in his government class. Sure, education wasn’t mandatory,and half the population couldn’t read, but, back when he was a kid, his dad had insisted upon it, even sent him and Colt to private school. Jace knew what a democracy was supposed to be. This was not it.Was Colt right? But … he’s my dad. He must have a good reason … to cheat.
Chapter thirty-five
Dust on the Horizon
Fort Desperado, the same day
Colt sat at his desk, filling out a requisition for supplies while the limp overhead fan creaked slowly in circles, stirring dust. He’d settled in as best he could and learned the names of all sixty men stationed at Fort Desperado. He had earned the respect of some, but others remained wary or resentful of anyone in authority. It was what it was. Though only a few weeks had passed since his exile, Colt missed his family. He even missed Jace.I wonder what he’s up to?