I must admit, though, to some hesitancy in writing these pages. Not only because of the enemies they will inevitably make for me within the inner circles of the regime, but also because in doing so, I am forced to relive the tumultuous and horrific events of the past twenty-four hours. Images I had hoped to bury forever have now come flooding back into my consciousness, images of violence and carnage that sear the soul. 

 It all began early yesterday morning with my hastily-arranged flight from New York to the capital. It was perhaps the roughest flight of my life. Staring out the window of the Army transport at a mostly overcast sky, my thoughts were centered on the upcoming meeting between the government and Youth Guards. I knew we were at a watershed. It had been six exhausting months since General Craig Williamson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and leader of the country, first asked me to act as a "go between" — mediator — in order to make a last-ditch effort at bringing his government and the revolutionary Youth Guards together. During the past half year I had finessed, cajoled, arm-twisted, ranted, raved, cursed, and done everything else I could think of to get the two warring parties to agree to an acceptable compromise, all to no avail. We were now at the end of the road. Both parties had already stated categorically that if today's negotiating session didn't produce tangible results, then there would be no more talking. And if the two sides didn't talk, there was only one thing left: to fight. 
 

"I am aware of the emotional attachment some hold for these documents. But I am confident you, my loyal Americans, will understand why I have taken this action and support it.

 "I thank you, my countrymen. And good day."

 "He's done it. The son of a bitch has finally done it," Dan said. 

 After recovering from my shock, I yelled, "Dan, for the love of God, did you have any wind of this?"

 "No," he replied, his voice shaky. "No. Bill, you know what this means? Bill!"

 I didn't bother to reply. Of course I knew what it meant. If the General was serious about this insane scheme to hold a public execution for the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, there wasn't a chance in hell the Youth Guards would even agree to attend today's negotiating session, let alone bargain in good faith. 

 "Dan, I've got to get to the Pentagon," I said, drying myself off. "It's damage control time. The thing is, is the General really serious about this? This could be some kind of ploy to extract that one last ounce of concession from the Youth Guards."

 I quickly dressed, all the while talking to Dan. 

 "Dan, you know, I know, and all of Heaven's angels know this is unacceptable. Heck, remember it was those rumors last year that he was going to do this that caused the Youth Guards to grow like wildfire. Before the rumors most of us regarded them as a bunch of arrogant, loudmouthed kooks. And that changed overnight. Why? All because of that little leak from the Ministry of Information. General Williamson was testing the waters, seeing if he really could do it — destroy the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. He knows, the Militarists know, that as long as those two documents exist they can never feel completely safe. They've been itching, itching! to get rid of them any damn way they can. And this in the country of Jefferson, Lincoln, and Washington!"

 I took a deep breath. I had expected some comment from Dan. He listened intently, but in silence. 

 "One of the things we've all been fooling ourselves with since the Militarists seized power is that it was necessary, that after the War, and the years of chaos that followed, someone had to do what they did. Perhaps a period of dictatorship was needed to get the country back on its feet. We all accepted this. But it was also understood at some future date there would be a return to democratic government. If the General goes through with this, that means that democracy in this country is dead. Dead."

 Jerri finished her speech to wild applause. She stepped aside and Lisa took her place at the podium. Lisa was an impressive woman, though not in any physical sense: above average height, jet black skin, beautiful — a stately, sloping chin stood out; but nothing overly telling. Rather it was a presence, a feeling you were in the company of eminence, that she was one of those few people whom the world revolves around.

 Lisa preferred the microphone to the bullhorn. The mob was quite vocal, and it took a few minutes before she got the absolute silence she always demanded when speaking publicly. She then began to speak in that subtle, yet powerful, voice of hers. 

 "Let me say, first off, how proud I am to be standing here. I haven't said it nearly often enough, but I am proud to be your leader. 

 "I go into today's meeting hopeful we can reach an accommodation with the government. I know, after the absolute moral bankruptcy demonstrated by the General this morning, many of you want me to cancel the meeting. But I believe to do so would be wrong. If the government wants to destroy the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, let it. I have told you this many times: We must put our faith, not in parchment, but in sacred truths and principles. 

 "There are many powerful weapons in the world today, but perhaps one of the most powerful isn't a weapon at all. It is called a mirror. Every day, each of us has to look into that mirror. Sometimes we may not like what we see. From that mirror we can discern, not only a person's outward features, but his inner self, his soul. Thus far, the Militarists have escaped looking into the mirror we all have to. I believe the time has come to hold up a mirror to the government of this country and expose it for what it really is. 

 "The Militarists have sought to erect a state without precedent in the annals of recorded history: A state devoted solely to the production and deployment of armaments. One of the great tragedies of war is that it destroys, not only men's bodies, and even souls, but their rational faculties, their ability to think rationally. 

 "The Militarists employ a curious logic: That Other World was destroyed by war, therefore they have sought to amass more arms than that Other World ever dreamed of, in the strange hope of averting the fate those same arms in lesser numbers wreaked upon our predecessors. They have turned reason on its head, made it a slave to their twisted logic, and have chosen the path of fighting their enemies, not with superior ideas, but through force of arms, through sheer might. And what has been the result? A world torn apart by unspeakable suffering, with disease, famine, war, and hate running amuck. It is but the logical conclusion of a flawed and illogical ideal." 
 

 This time, however, there was no kidding, no snide remarks. The hall grew remarkably quiet. The reporters all looked at each other oddly. It seemed rather strange but I didn't think much of it. 

 Diane tried to move forward ahead of another reporter, and seeing her path blocked, stood on her tiptoes. It was then that I noticed it. She was wearing a dark blue single-breasted jacket and a white turtleneck. Just below her left breast pocket was her press ID card with her picture on it. Written on the card above her picture was her name, DIANE WEBSTER. Directly below that was written simply, DEFENSE DAILY. Defense Daily, of course, was the government-owned paper. 

 The shock was so great I was left speechless. Nothing in one's experience can prepare a man for something like that. My first gut reaction was anger — anger that what wretched little there was in this world that was decent and good had been corrupted, like some sparkling stream defiled by pollution. Diane was the one person apart from Lisa I was certain was incorruptible, who could never be touched by the Militarists. 

 I had bet much of this country's future on the fact Lisa and Diane would remain true to their ideals. This went beyond a 
yearning on my part for simple human decency somewhere in the world, but hard-headed self-interest. I needed Lisa at the head of the Youth Guards, and Diane at the helm of the Democrat, to keep pressure on General Williamson. But the government, in somehow co-opting Diane, had won itself some valuable breathing space. There was still a free press, of course. I was standing before it. But Diane was the most vocal, and by far and away the best known of that press. Her scathing editorials criticizing the government had made her something of a legend and someone to be feared and hated by the Militarists. 

 "How can this be?" I turned over and over in my mind as I stood atop the chair, stunned. How could it have happened?...

"Bill, why did you almost quit in that asylum up there?"...

 "Don't you know?" I responded.

 "Just because I work for Defense Daily now? What's the difference? Bill, when you looked into my eyes this morning, God, I felt as if someone had reached into my body and ripped my soul out. I knew you would be disappointed, but I thought at least you would understand."

 This was more than I could take. I exploded. 

 "Understand! All I understand is that you sold yourself out like some damn two-bit whore on a street corner!"

 "How can you say that? You don't know what I've been through."

 "I bloody well know what you've been through. Damn it, Diane, are you so vain you think you're the only one the government's tried to break? That you're the only one who knows what the inside of a prison cell looks like? Well, I got news for you: you're not! The difference is that there are tons of people out there who've been through what you have and had the courage to tell the government to go to hell!"

 She started for the door, then stopped and said, "Bill, want to know why I said I'd work for the government? Because it doesn't matter anymore. When I was working for the Democrat, I was speaking what I believed to be the truth. Now I'll be speaking what the government says is the truth—"

 "Like some little straw puppet with a thousand strings attached to it."

 "Yes. Like some . . ." She looked as if she was about to cry. 
"Bill, as I sat in that dim, dank cell, as I was being beaten like a wild animal, not a human being, as I saw the hate in the eyes of those who were doing this to me, I knew I was up against something that was stronger than any of us. We can't fight it."

"Oh, yes we can. What the hell do you think—"

 "What happened today? The compromise? It means nothing. Nothing!" she snarled with a cynicism that startled me. "Damn it, Bill, the forces that run the prison camps, that reduce men and women to numbers, ciphers on a chalkboard, the forces that tell me and you where we can go, who we can see, what we can do, they'll gang up and beat this agreement to the ground. When Lisa and the General sign whatever it is they're going to sign Friday, they'll be signing this country's death warrant. In the horror that's coming, it won't matter if you're for the government or against it or somewhere in between. We're all going to perish. That's why I figured I might as well have some decent food in my stomach and decent clothes on my back. It just won't matter."
 

To that end, they have employed strikes, work stoppages, protests, and with ever-alarming frequency, violence, against the regime. Against all odds, they've been successful. No, we weren't a democracy yet. But their tactics have forced the Militarists to the negotiating table. It has been a wonder to behold.

 Lisa once told me she knew from the start that trying to defeat the Militarists would be akin to toppling a pyramid: the base was so wide and so strong as to make any conventional notion of toppling the pyramid unthinkable. What one had to do was flood the base with water, and let the pyramid sink under its own weight. It was a startlingly simple idea, and one Lisa has used to great effect. Her primary weapon: her voice. Lisa's speeches have struck a rare chord with the American people. In sheer eloquence, she certainly rivals Thomas Jefferson. Her speeches and writings have been the "flood" that have undermined the very foundation of the regime. 
 

 "And now that it's all out, Bill," he added grimly, "you might as well know General Johnson's escaped. I ordered him placed under twenty-four hour guard, but those fools! they still let him get free. It looks like forces loyal to him engineered it. From the intelligence reports we have coming in, we're pretty sure he's holed up at Lanchester. It seems the entire base has gone over to him. We've got the base surrounded now. I've given them an ultimatum to lay down their weapons by dawn. If they refuse, I won't have any choice but to order our troops to storm the base."

 I stood there in total shock, in stunned disbelief. My darkest nightmares — all of them — were now coming true. And I thought how cruel it was that General Williamson's creation had now turned on its master, and was threatening him, and the rest of us, with extinction. 

 "You worry too much, Bill. Have faith," the General said, trying in vain to reassure me. "Militarism, the soldier's way of life, patriotic devotion to the state — these are the ideals upon which our nation was founded, and these ideals will endure. American dictatorship is stronger than all of us."