Free The Last President by John Barnes Page A

newspaper editor.
Not good.
    Bambi and Quattro wanted his thoughts about their scheme to hand over taxing authority to a legislature,
not easy when you’re already a Duke and a Duchess and most Californians would be happy to make you the King and Queen.
    Blue Heeler said he saw no prospect of avoiding the Provi government in Olympia declaring a deliberate policy of genocide against the tribes. Allie Sok Banh had left all idea of restraint behind after fighting off Daybreak’s assault on her mind just a few months ago, and since she was First Lady, Chief of Staff, Secretary of State, and almost any other job she wanted, only her opinion really mattered. President Weisbrod was too weak and tired, and General Norm McIntyre too afraid, to restrain her.
    Five pieces moved,
James thought.
The Commandant moves for more power, the Duke and Duchess move for less, Allie Sok Banh moves for vengeance, Jenny Grayson moves for independence, and Daybreak moves, but I don’t know why. It’s a big, complicated board.
    He looked up to see the last of breakfast disappearing into his brother-and-sister messengers. “So,” he said, “how’s that
Hamlet
thing doing, Patrick?”
    â€œI just wish I could figure out why that guy does anything.”
    â€œYou have all the evidence anyone else does.”
    â€œAnyone else doesn’t have to be graded by Mrs. Thrammer. And how can there be so much evidence and no conclusion, anyway?”
    â€œGet used to that question,” James said. “Expect to be asking it forever.”

THREE:
NINETEEN RED CARDS
    3 DAYS LATER. PUEBLO. 6:30 AM MOUNTAIN TIME. MONDAY, JANUARY 12, 2026.
    In Pueblo, the lockdown against the impending EMP had begun at 8:00 Sunday night and would continue until 2:00 this afternoon. For most people in the still-civilized parts of the Earth a lockdown was a chance to sleep in, with nothing to do but wait to hear that the EMP had fallen somewhere else before disconnecting all the protective grounds, taking the precious surviving gear out of its metal boxes, and resuming work. For a few people the lockdown meant a tense fire watch, but probably their concern was unnecessary: Pueblo went on and off the air briefly, at low power, much less than had ever been known to draw the moon gun’s fire before.
    So this should have been sort of a nuclear-electronic snow day,
Heather thought.
Too bad Leo’s not verbal yet, so he missed the memo, and still expects his feeding on time.
    Heather poked up the fire, and her little room underneath her office was cozy as she dragged her rocking chair over to the west window, perfect for watching the sunlight creep down the Wet Mountains.
    She had been rocking for a few minutes, humming something silly to Leo, watching the stars fade and the sky creep from black to indigo, when the snow on the far-off mountains turned for an instant to burning silver, and the twilight-muted red, yellow, and brown bricks of Pueblo flashed in a second of full color.
    Heather was already on her feet before she realized she’d heard crackling and smelled ozone. She set Leo down in his crib, grabbed the bucket, and poured sand over the glowing-red ground wire that connected her old metal filing cabinet to a water pipe. Watching to see that the wire didn’t smolder or flare, standing well back in case of a residual charge, she pulled her sweater down and picked up the wailing Leo. “Brekkers is interrupted, buddy, we gotta—”
    A knock. “Ms. O’Grainne, sorry, but we’re evacuating—”
    â€œOn my way.”
    She pulled on her boots, coat, and hat, put another blanket around Leo. In the stairwell, the ozone odor was strong, but without much smoke—yet, anyway.
    Outside, the sun was still not quite above the horizon; the last upper edge of the crescent moon was a parenthesis enclosing the mountains. The first whispers of the east dawn wind were crisply chilly. She squeezed her tube of