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"Because God doesn't need to send plagues. They just come, naturally, like earthquakes and lightning and drought and asteroids that fall onto the Earth and blow it to smithereens and wipe out most of life. God doesn't have to make up disasters, they're part of life. What he cares about is how we respond. Sometimes we're pretty bad. Sometimes we're the disaster ourselves. But sometimes we do okay. Like this time. Like the way some people heard the call and came."
"I didn't hear any call," said Cecily.
"Oh, Cecily, you did hear a call, and don't you forget it. What difference does it make if it was Mark's voice you heard, or God? But your boy brought you here and you did a mighty work because of him."
She cried again then. She cried most days. Sometimes many times a day. But it was different now. She cried for Mark, but she wasn't crying in despair, she was crying out of love and grief. This was familiar territory now. It was like her tears for Reuben. It didn't mean her life was over. She no longer wished to die.
Then one day Babe and Arty came to her with the news that the first person had been cleared to go back to the United States. "That radio dude," said Arty. "Bastard ran around without a mask and he never caught it. He just cleared his three-week quarantine and he's going home. But that opens the door for those of us who are now immune."
"You're going home?" asked Cecily.
"We have formally requested to be assigned to train soldiers in the use of the Noodle and Bones," said Babe. "Since we've had real combat experience with them, and nobody else in the military has, it's not like we've got a lot of competition for the job. And since the equipment has proven itself to be worth the cost, they're going to need a lot of training."
"Well, that's good."
"You sound a little disappointed," said Arty.
"Well, I've been spoiled, and so have the children. Having you all in the D.C. area, you know."
"Oh, well, not to worry, Cecily," said Drew. "Old King Cole talked to his buddy, His Imperial Majesty the President, and we're going to do all our training out of bases in the D.C. area. Specifically because, as he put it to old Averell, if he tried to do it anywhere outside of easy visiting distance to you and your family, we'd all resign our commissions then and nobody'd get the benefit of our experience."
"I bet he didn't say it quite that way."
"We were all in the room listening to the conversation," said Arty. "On speakerphone, so the dude would know we all meant it."
"Well, you're very kind. The children will be glad." And then, once again, she burst into tears. "I'm so tired of crying. I'm emotional all the time."
The paperwork started. She was strong enough now to walk around, to talk to other caregivers. The first wave of them were pretty evenly divided between those who were going to stay and continue nursing the sick, now that they were immune, and those who were going to go back to America, having done their service.
And, of course, there were the thirteen percent who wouldn't be doing either, because the nictovirus had killed them. As it had killed fifteen percent of the soldiers.
It was Cole who brought her the news that her travel orders and permits had come through. "The President wants to see you, he says, but only when you feel up
to it, and he doesn't expect you to resume your duties until you feel strong enough. And Cecily, he says—and I think he means it—that if you choose not to return to work, he'll not only understand, he'll make sure that your income will continue regardless."
"That's not right, not with taxpayer dollars," said Cecily. "I was overpaid as it was."
"It won't be taxpayer dollars. He knows you well enough for that. He talked to some businessman friends. Told them your story. What you used to do for him. How you got things working here. He says about a dozen of them are fighting to have you on permanent retainer, as a consultant, whether you come in and actually consult with them or not."
"Charity money," said Cecily with a little bitterness.
"Right," said Cole. "And if the families of sick people here had refused to let you nurse them because it was 'charity nursing,' would that have been stupid?"
"We'll see," said Cecily.
"I'm going back, too," said Cole. "I'm back to being Colonel Coleman again. The stars disappeared with the job."
"Who's doing it now?"
"Nobody. Torrent got what he wanted, he's had his war, he now has control over African borders."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Cecily.
"I've been around the other guys too much," said Cole. "Talking like they do. I mean, Torrent needed us to help deal with the first, ugly, panicked responses to the nictovirus and the quarantine. Like the attempted genocide by the Hausa, the anarchy in the CAR, taking down a few brutal regimes. By the time we got sick, our job was done and some others were stepping up to the plate. South Africa got rid of the sick government in Zimbabwe. Actually, quite a few presidents-for-life were arrested. Or tried to flee their countries and live on stolen billions in Swiss bank accounts, only to find that all the money in the world couldn't get you out of Africa. It's been a good change. It's not democracy everywhere, but responsible government is actually on the rise, and graft is way down."
"That's good news, but what do you mean about talking like the other guys do? It sounded like you were saying President Torrent engineered all this."
"Look, it's the things he's written over the years. While we've been cooling our heels here we've had good internet access, and they've been showing me all kinds of speeches he made back when he was a professor, but also stuff he's said here and there since he was NSA and even as President. He's actually kind of obsessive about the need for America to become an empire. A benign one, but an empire all the same. To create a worldwide Pax Americana."
