Read Online Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles by Larry Correia - Free Book Online
Authors: Larry Correia
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country did. “I don’t think it is going to come to that.”
“You hope it doesn’t come to that?” Francis snorted. “It sure seems to have come to that damn near everywhere else in the world.”
“You’re a walking lie detector,” Dan said. “You tell me what you really hear when they start talking about public safety and national security, and monitoring and controlling Actives for our own safety. I’ve not got your gifts, but I’m pretty good at snowing folks with words, so I can darn sure recognize when somebody else is doing it to me.”
“Well . . .” She sighed. “I hear a lot of folks who don’t know better. They’re afraid and they figure we’ve got to do something, but since they don’t understand the topic, their proposed somethings don’t make a whole lot of sense, and then I hear a lot of no-good rat liars willing to take advantage of Do Somethings . . . Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.” Hammer pulled the car to a stop. Men were already waiting for them. “All right, this is it.”
Francis’ door was opened from the outside. “Welcome, Mr. Stuyvesant. Come with us, please.” Dan started to get out his side, but that door was politely caught by another functionary. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. The President wishes to speak with Mr. Stuyvesant in private.”
That was unexpected.
“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered. “Do not screw this up.”
“Don’t worry, Dan. I can handle this.”
“Francis, wait.” Hammer looked over the seat at them as they were getting out. “Good luck in there.”
He’d heard they were building a new, nicer Oval Office, but either it wasn’t done yet or Francis didn’t rate it, because he was led to the same old office that he’d visited before. Besides the obviously increased security, the White House hadn’t changed much since the first time he’d been here, tagging along once when Grandfather had gone to visit Wilson. He barely remembered Wilson, except that he’d seemed very tall and a little frightening, like a leathery scarecrow, but in Francis’ defense, he’d only been a kid.
Another man was leaving the Oval Office as Francis approached. They made eye contact, and the fellow looked familiar for some reason. “Mr. Stuyvesant. What a pleasure to meet you.” The man nodded politely and extended his hand. Francis shook it. Firm and businesslike. Tall, humorless, he had the look of a banker. Francis knew a lot of bankers, but that wasn’t where he recognized this man from. It was from the front page of the papers. “I am Nathaniel Drew.”
They came from the same social circles, but Francis hadn’t been paying much attention to those lately. “The architect?”
“I prefer to think of myself as the designer of the planned communities of the future.”
“Of course. I hear you’re quite the visionary.” That was the polite way of saying that all Francis knew of the man was that he was another one of those opinionated collectivists who felt the world was somehow entitled to a bigger share of Francis’ money, all in the name of progress, but Drew was also a Cog of some renown, which explained why he was meeting with the President. In fact, Drew was even wearing a white armband on his suit coat bearing the meshed gear logo of the Cog. Francis frowned when he saw that. The mandatory armbands were part of the Active Registration Act, so the architect was probably sucking up to the President, and Francis automatically hated suck-ups. “Those armbands aren’t law yet.”
“Oh, this?” Drew glanced down at it. “I stand behind Franklin’s proposals and merely wish to set an example for others of our kind.”
“No, seriously . . .”
“Easy identification is in the best interests of public safety and builds better relations with the general public.”
Cogs were beloved celebrities. Of course he didn’t mind wearing it on his sleeve, but tell that to some poor Shard who didn’t want to be known as a freak, or a Reader
“You hope it doesn’t come to that?” Francis snorted. “It sure seems to have come to that damn near everywhere else in the world.”
“You’re a walking lie detector,” Dan said. “You tell me what you really hear when they start talking about public safety and national security, and monitoring and controlling Actives for our own safety. I’ve not got your gifts, but I’m pretty good at snowing folks with words, so I can darn sure recognize when somebody else is doing it to me.”
“Well . . .” She sighed. “I hear a lot of folks who don’t know better. They’re afraid and they figure we’ve got to do something, but since they don’t understand the topic, their proposed somethings don’t make a whole lot of sense, and then I hear a lot of no-good rat liars willing to take advantage of Do Somethings . . . Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.” Hammer pulled the car to a stop. Men were already waiting for them. “All right, this is it.”
Francis’ door was opened from the outside. “Welcome, Mr. Stuyvesant. Come with us, please.” Dan started to get out his side, but that door was politely caught by another functionary. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. The President wishes to speak with Mr. Stuyvesant in private.”
That was unexpected.
“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered. “Do not screw this up.”
“Don’t worry, Dan. I can handle this.”
“Francis, wait.” Hammer looked over the seat at them as they were getting out. “Good luck in there.”
He’d heard they were building a new, nicer Oval Office, but either it wasn’t done yet or Francis didn’t rate it, because he was led to the same old office that he’d visited before. Besides the obviously increased security, the White House hadn’t changed much since the first time he’d been here, tagging along once when Grandfather had gone to visit Wilson. He barely remembered Wilson, except that he’d seemed very tall and a little frightening, like a leathery scarecrow, but in Francis’ defense, he’d only been a kid.
Another man was leaving the Oval Office as Francis approached. They made eye contact, and the fellow looked familiar for some reason. “Mr. Stuyvesant. What a pleasure to meet you.” The man nodded politely and extended his hand. Francis shook it. Firm and businesslike. Tall, humorless, he had the look of a banker. Francis knew a lot of bankers, but that wasn’t where he recognized this man from. It was from the front page of the papers. “I am Nathaniel Drew.”
They came from the same social circles, but Francis hadn’t been paying much attention to those lately. “The architect?”
“I prefer to think of myself as the designer of the planned communities of the future.”
“Of course. I hear you’re quite the visionary.” That was the polite way of saying that all Francis knew of the man was that he was another one of those opinionated collectivists who felt the world was somehow entitled to a bigger share of Francis’ money, all in the name of progress, but Drew was also a Cog of some renown, which explained why he was meeting with the President. In fact, Drew was even wearing a white armband on his suit coat bearing the meshed gear logo of the Cog. Francis frowned when he saw that. The mandatory armbands were part of the Active Registration Act, so the architect was probably sucking up to the President, and Francis automatically hated suck-ups. “Those armbands aren’t law yet.”
“Oh, this?” Drew glanced down at it. “I stand behind Franklin’s proposals and merely wish to set an example for others of our kind.”
“No, seriously . . .”
“Easy identification is in the best interests of public safety and builds better relations with the general public.”
Cogs were beloved celebrities. Of course he didn’t mind wearing it on his sleeve, but tell that to some poor Shard who didn’t want to be known as a freak, or a Reader
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