Res Publica Pro Tempore [IC]
Posted: Sat Aug 03, 2019 6:17 am
Melinda Delcastillo
1925 hours
15th September 2067
Air Force One
United States Airspace
Above Spartanburg, South Carolina
1925 hours
15th September 2067
Air Force One
United States Airspace
Above Spartanburg, South Carolina
“I understand, Nathan. You served the people well, I could not have asked for a better regimental commander for my Marines. I’ll speak with governor Pierce, see what we can for you in Oklahoma”
The Colonel had been very frank in telling her about his retirement plans. Living out his final years on an Oklahoman farm with Grace… It was a prospect she could understand his longing for. It was never something she could herself, she knew. Given a rustic farm on the edge of civilisation, she would turn it into a listed for-profit corporation within three years. It was never in her nature to calm down and enjoy what she created. There was always another stone to turn, another field to plough, another cow to milk…
She looked down at her hands, and clasped them together. When she was 17, she had used them to knock a guy out in some Phoenix club she used to visit. The… what was it called again… the ‘Santa Ana’ or something like that. She chuckled lightly, her eyes lighting up as she did. Back then, dudes were all over her, salivating over the prospect of a dance with her. Too quick with their hands, too. Far too touchy. But once she laid into that guy… A punch like that would break all the bones in her now withered hands. She played with the golden ring that still adorned her ring finger. Only her granddaughter – Will’s daughter – knew that story. She had turned pale after hearing that, and then they had laughed together for 15 minutes straight. To her, it was hilarious that her old, frail grandma could lay out a dude with a single punch. Nowadays, she would have a Marine do it.
She often wondered what had become of that guy. He was probably sitting down to have an early dinner with his own grandchildren in Phoenix by now, having lived a full and plentiful life. Telling stories about how the First Citizen once kicked his ass in a bar in Phoenix. Or keeping that story to himself in fear that it would get him into trouble still, as if the FBI would be knocking on his door with an indictment for ‘slapping the ass of the First Citizen’. The Tribunal would have a field day with that.
Alternatively, he could have been killed during the Drive to Los Angeles, when Phoenix was almost levelled by the Air Force laying into the retreating forces moving through. She’d signed off on it, full well knowing what the consequences were going to be. That was the day that solidified her position: the woman who would burn down her home town for the Union. That day, she became the United States.
Nathan was the second person that had come to talk to her about retirement. Dick, too, was planning to give up his position, in the way that admiral Nelson was giving up his ship. Huntington’s Disease was a scourge. With the top medical care available, he would probably only last another five years. She would give it to him, of course. She would probably have a few more shouting matches with him before the end. Hamilton would probably give up on himself before she did. She would have the last laugh, speaking at his funeral. The funeral of an old friend. She never thought she would outlive that rough-and-tumble 34 year-old she made director when she was already in her 50s. Filling a hole that Will had left behind. But Dick had never been able to quite fill the void. Somehow, he expected him to speak at her funeral one day, helping Laurence through the transition.
But perhaps it was better this way. Nathan retiring, Dick giving up the ghost (he would never have left any other way), Mandelbaum was getting old too… The future belonged to people like Ripley and Wright and Laurence. Perhaps it was for the better. The whole blood-stained mess of the Crisis needed to go, and they were the last remnants of it. Perhaps it was better that Hamilton would not outlast her. Unbeknownst to the world, the United States had been at war with itself for over forty years, and all that needed to end.
“I’m sorry, Nathan, I gotta go. Call of nature” she said, laying her old hand on the shoulder of her body guard. She did not like endings. Walking through the aisle of Air Force One, she could see the sun setting to the West, beyond the horizon. There was Arizona. The colours were beautiful and captivating, and she could hardly look away. The sky turned pink and orange, the clouds turned golden. As she made her way down the aisle, she passed Laurence and his husband. She began to play with her ring again. Peter would have loved such a sunset… And so would Will. Of all the things she had broken over the course of her life… her family, the skulls of thousands, the nose of that guy back in Phoenix… She wished she could mend one thing. One thing had not been worth the sacrifice.
Suddenly, she stood still. Even though she looked away from the windows, she could still see the sunset imprinted on her retina. The vibrant colours, getting ever more vibrant by the second. Then came the spots, taking away parts of her vision, and looking like the snow on an old television set. She closed her eyes, but the sun was still there. It got brighter and brighter, and it began to pain her. It felt like a migraine, like her head was about to burst. She clasped her head with both hands, and gritted her teeth, but the pain did not subside. It became nauseating. Her breath became erratic, and she drew the attention of nearby attendants. Laurence got up, spotting her distress.
“Are you okay, Mama?” He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“FFFFFFFFFF....” It was the sound of air escaping between her pursed lips and gritted teeth.
“FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUCK” she managed to get out, before the pain overwhelmed her. Suddenly, her vision turned black, and all sensations disappeared. Right there, she collapsed, her head striking a nearby coffee table before she hit the floor.
Laurence Delcastillo
2004 hours
15th September 2067
Air Force One
Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport
Atlanta, Georgia
2004 hours
15th September 2067
Air Force One
Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport
Atlanta, Georgia
As soon as the hypersonic plane of the President touched down, the airfield was flooded with flashing lights from ambulances and police cars. The hulking figure of the plane looked like a National Mall monument, lit up like a New York skyscraper. As soon as it had come to a halt, the cargo door in the belly came open. The Marines did not wait for it to open entirely, instead pushing the stretcher down the descending ramp as it came down. Just before they reached the edge it touched the tarmac, allowing them to swiftly run up to the runway. It was a strange sight, these Marines in their formal dress uniforms, their white caps and gloves, running beside a stretcher holding an old woman. At that moment, the First Citizen looked like any other 80 year-old being rushed to a hospital. An IV bag hung from a steel mount, and her face was half-covered by a breathing apparatus. Following the stretcher came another platoon of Marines, who immediately requisitioned an ambulance and whatever police cars were present. Without much fanfare, the Atlanta city police was tossed out, and seconds later the convoy took off.
As the Marines sped off, the presidential limousine was lowered from the belly of Air Force One. Laurence was impatiently tapping on the seat of his driver.
“Come on, come on…” he said, gritting his teeth. The last hour had been a blur, and it had lasted a seeming year. From the moment his mother went down, the her being resuscitated, to the IV being injected into her arm. The doctors were unable to tell him anything. The response had been nothing short of chaotic. The Presidential Emergency protocol had not been implemented in years, and many were out of practice. Main cabinet members received immediate phone calls from present staff, just with the information that the First Citizen had fallen ill. No instructions were given. Some people were on more lists than one. The Solicitor General got two phone calls, both for Delcastillo has President and her as Supreme Court Justice. The Joyce Wu was informed both as third in the line of presidential succession and as the House counterpart to the President Pro Tempore. Laurence even got three calls, as President of the Senate, VP, and her son, despite being present.
Now, the convoy was careening down the I-85. The late Tuesday traffic had just seconds to get out of the way. Marines drove even more violently than normal ambulance personnel, having no trouble weaving in and out of traffic. More than once, one of the police cars connected to another car, but luckily control over the vehicles was maintained. Once the convoy came to the Atlanta Medical Centre, the doors of the ambulance burst open. A few Marines had drawn their firearms and were making a path for the stretcher. Those who did not move out of the way in time were unceremoniously pushed aside, no matter their affliction. An old was violently shoved to the floor, losing his glasses along the way.
“EMERGENCY… MOVE”
Seconds later, the limousine came to a halt. Laurence got out first, followed by the presidential secretary, Anne Corinth. Anne was feverishly working on her phone, trying to reach all the people lower down the line that had lower priority than cabinet-level personnel. She was trying to reach the agency executive of the Bureau of Reclamation.
“What should I tell the Press Secretary?” she asked. Laurence did not respond at first, not realising the question was aimed at him. Anne’s questions were always answered by the voice of his mother. After a moment, Laurence looked in her direction, suddenly spotting her questioning look.
“Oh, ehm…” he thought. “Tell her the full story, I think?” he said, rushing to catch up with the stretcher.
“Yeah, but… what should she tell the press?”
Laurence realised, all of the sudden, that he was now in charge of strategy. He had never been good at strategy. His mother had always been a star in that, always knowing exactly what information could go to the public. She kept a pulse on the situation, and managed to give a consistent view of the White House in any situation. What would she have said?
“Just… just tell them she is in good hands, but that she’s not out of the woods yet”
“So, we should publish that she fell ill?”
Laurence had not thought about keeping it all under wraps. He could just keep it all under the rug, and wait until his mother came by. She would know what to do. Could he do that? Would that be smart?
“Just do what I said, Anne. We’ll figure out the details later”
At that moment, the stretcher crashed through the doors of the operating theatre, Laurence and Anne in hot pursuit. However, a Marine stood in their way, blocking the way in.
“I’m sorry, Vice President, ma’am. We cannot allow you in, the doctors need to do their work” she said.
“But…” Laurence tried, but he knew she was right. She was in good hands now, the doctors needed to do their work.
“Alright… Just give a word when you know anything”
“I will, sir”
The presidential security detail had cleared out a room as a command and control centre. Phone reception was not great, so aids were constantly running in and out of the room. After half an hour, the coffee machine had been emptied out, so nurses came in to supply those present with anything they needed. It was not long before the room was made to smell like a mix of coffee and sweat, combined with hospital meals that were provided by hospital staff running voluntary overtime. No-one knew exactly what was going on, but the presence of Marines and the VP was enough to clue them in to the broad strokes of what was happening. No-one dared make eye contact with Laurence.
Laurence was going through the contacts of his phone, seeing who he still needed to call. All cabinet members had been informed, as had most important governors. High profile senators, the intelligence community, the DC mayor… At the bottom of the list came the name Laurence was most hesitant about.
William (Will) Delcastillo.
Laurence hesitated for a moment, but then pressed dial. It took a moment before he heard a sound on the other end of the phone.
“Hey Will… It…”
On the other end was the voice of his niece.
“Oh, hey… Could you pass me on to your dad?”
A moment of silence.
“Will? It’s Laurence… I’ll send someone to pick you up, you need to come to Atlanta. Right now. Please.”