A Hole in the Sky by William C. Dietz

She was about five-eight, had light brown hair, and intelligent eyes. She had a hot cup of coffee ready and he paused to accept it. As he did so, Voss knew he was surrendering himself to whatever Aklin had scheduled for the day. In fact there were times when Voss wondered who was in charge. Him? Or the woman with the PhD in psychology?
    Aklin had been employed by SRPA. Then, when what remained of the government had been forced to flee Denver, she had agreed to act as his chief of staff and nothing more, in spite of his best efforts to engineer a closer relationship.
    For her part Aklin claimed to be attracted to him, but insisted that it wouldn’t be ethical to be both his lover and chief of staff. “Let me put it this way,” she had said recently. “Which do you want more? My body? Or my mind?”
    Voss wanted both, but he knew that even a marriage wouldn’t be enough to erase the ethical dilemma. And he knew something else as well, or thought he did, and that was the fact that Aklin had been in love with the legendary Nathan Hale. Part of her was still mourning his death at the hands of another soldier. So, with the exception of whatever affection was implied by the morning coffee ritual, their relationship was dishearteningly professional.
    Aklin smiled as he took a sip. “Good morning, Mr. President.”
    Voss wasn’t sure that the “Mr. President” thing was appropriate given their circumstances. But Aklin insistedon it, because as she put it, “The title is an important part of what we’re trying to restore.”
    Voss smiled. “Good morning, Cassie! What have you got lined up for me? Will I be meeting with foreign dignitaries? Or cleaning out the filter for the septic system?”
    Aklin grinned. “Neither one, although you did a great job with the pump, and the maintenance crew was grateful. You’re meeting with a member of the press this morning.”
    Voss raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who?”
    “His name is George Truitt. He works for KGHI in Little Rock and he walked more than a hundred and fifty miles to talk to you.”
    Voss knew that a handful of radio stations were still on the air across the country. All of them were operated by brave men and women who couldn’t broadcast for more than a few minutes a day for fear of being tracked down by the Chimera and killed.
    But so long as the stations continued to exist, Aklin saw them as an important way to get the administration’s primary messages out to the public and Voss knew them by heart: “The United States government still exists, we are going to inoculate the population against the Chimeran virus, and this country
will
rise again.”
    It was more than a message of hope, it was a promise, and one Voss intended to keep. “Good. Where is Mr. Truitt?”
    “In conference room one.”
    It was an old joke, but Voss laughed anyway. The cavern’s main floor was divided into three sections. The lab facility run by Dr. Malikov occupied one end of the huge room. The kitchen, a medical clinic, and two sets of communal showers were located on the opposite side of the oval space. Everything else was right smack dab in the middle. And that included “conference room one.”
    The rectangular space consisted of little more than a table, some chairs, and plywood partitions for an illusion of privacy. There was no conference room two. “So, if you don’t mind,” Aklin added, “we’ll serve your breakfast in the conference room.”
    “I’m sure Mr. Truitt would appreciate one of Ruth’s famous cinnamon rolls,” Voss put in, as they followed a gravel path to “Main Street,” where they took an immediate right. Half a minute later they were in the screened-off conference room where Truitt, Kawecki, and two of his soldiers were waiting. Truitt was about six feet tall and dressed for the outdoors. His head was covered with a black hood, the idea being to keep the exact location of the facility’s entrances and exits a secret.
    “Please remove Mr.