Twilight's Last Gleaming by John Michael Greer

Author:John Michael Greer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AEON Books

18 September 2029: Mount Weather, Virginia

“How many?” Weed asked, horrified.

“Thirty-seven dead,” the aide repeated. “More than 100 wounded—they're not sure how many more. Trenton tried to send paramedics into the neighborhood, to try to get care to the walking wounded, and they got fired on.”

“That's bad.” Weed tried to clear his thoughts; there had still been no word from the Chinese, and the wait was chewing on his nerves. Back when the plans to close the freeways were drawn up, he wondered irritably, had anyone ever thought about how people would react?

“Have Homeland Security find out if the city government needs anything,” he said finally. “But this has got to be kept out of the media. We can't afford that kind of PR disaster. Frieda, see to it.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The press secretary left the conference room. The aide gave Weed an uncertain look, then left also.

Ellen Harbin watched them go, turned to Weed. “Mr. President, I'd like to suggest that that's an overreaction. If anything, the news ought to strengthen our position overseas. Nobody is likely to doubt your resolve if word of this gets out.”

“The rest of the world won't be voting in 2032,” he reminded her. “Let it go. What were you saying about the Iranians?”

She reached for the portfolio on the table, pulled out papers she'd pushed into it in a hurry when the aide and Frieda Thaler had arrived. In a low voice: “There's a real possibility they're about to launch an invasion of the Gulf. The Revolutionary Guards units we've been tracking since the beginning of the month—”

“The ones they moved to the Iraqi border.”

“Exactly. Satellite data shows them making preparations for an assault. They may think they can take advantage of the crisis.”

Weed considered that. “Or they're stone cold crazy. Got it.”

“Once the Chinese back down, we may have to tackle that right away,” she warned. “Having the Saudi oil fields in Iranian hands would be a disaster—and there's the risk of a general Mideast war if Turkey gets involved.”

Weed nodded. “Got it,” he repeated. “Get in touch with Bateson and get some options drawn up—and not a word to anybody about this Trenton thing. That could be a major mess.”

Unfortunately for Weed, it was already too late to contain the news. Two decades of cat-and-mouse games with NSA and a baker's dozen other federal agencies that wanted to keep the internet under some kind of control had spawned an entire outlaw web—the Undernet, the media called it, once the phrase “dark web” became passé—that could more or less evade government censorship. Even the draconian curbs imposed at the beginning of the nuclear crisis barely slowed the Undernet down. Within minutes of the shooting, the first reports began to spread; photos taken by cell phone cameras in the crowd soon followed, and the lack of any media coverage allowed terrifying rumors to move unhindered. Somewhere in the process, the events in New Jersey that afternoon received their enduring name: the Trenton Massacre.

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