Noon: The Rise to Power Book 2 The Resurgence

The man in the black topcoat recognized him immediately. Although there were tens of thousands gathered in all directions, the skull tattoo on his face and the top hat and cane he sported made him distinct. Skullface stood against a tree, had four men flanking him.

Could have been 100.

Wouldn’t have mattered.

The man in the topcoat bent over and whispered into the ear of a woman in a wheelchair.

With deep concern, she took his hand.

He shook his head.

Her lips became a thin line as tears welled in her eyes. Tears that begged, pleaded.

He stared coldly at her.

Finally she nodded, pressed the joystick and disappeared into the crowd.

The man in the topcoat walked over to Skullface who was engrossed with something on his wristscreen, and as his concerned companions watched, the man tipped down Skullface’s wristscreen and said, “The last time we met I broke your nose, and I got a line of scars on my back from a barbed wired chain. I shoved the guy who gave it to me in front of a subway train and as I escaped, I promised I’d kill you all.”

Skullface grinned and twisted the top of his cane.

As he did, a foot-long, high-powered electric dazer prod slid from the topcoat man’s sleeve into his hand.

He eyed Skullface hard.

“The only reason I don’t kill you right now is because I don’t want to disrupt the governor’s swearing-in. But the second it’s over I’m coming for you.”

One of Skullface’s companions took a step toward him and immediately the air crackled with electricity as white light lit up the space between the dazer’s electric points.

He stepped back.

The man said to Skullface, “That is the last and only warning you’re going to get. The next time I see you I am going to kill you.” 

This particular January 1st was a cold, dreary day in the state capital of Albany, New York, with heavy gray clouds and a light drizzle. On nearby elevated highway I-90, cars and truck tires hissed across the wet asphalt while tens of thousands below braved the weather to attend Dr. Alexander Noon’s inauguration.

Many held posters showing their support; others applauded wildly each time the doctor’s name was mentioned. On the other side, hundreds of POWERS THAT BE funded protesters and anti-Noon activists attempted to disrupt the ceremony with loud and disruptive boos, catcalls and jeers.

As television stations from around the country and the world recorded the event, numerous fights broke out forcing the Guardian Corps members to wade into the fray and separate the factions.

Still, at 12:00 pm. Noon took his oath of office and officially became Governor.

Once the swearing in was completed, Governor Noon, dressed in a black topcoat, black gloves and a wide-brimmed black hat, stepped to the podium, tapped the earpiece microphone, looked out over the crowd and began his inaugural address.

“My fellow New Yorkers and trusted friends,” he said, his voice echoing from the speakers, “at no time in New York’s considerable history have matters been so grave. The state is nearly 190 billion dollars in debt. Fires and explosions have gutted commercial and residential buildings. Many streets in New York City are buried under rubble and debris. It will be six months before an adequate police force is assembled for patrol. Public hospitals, schools and social services are strained to the maximum. Food banks and blood supplies are at an all-time low. As a result of our federal government’s refusal to assist us in our hour of need, thousands dead from the pre-election riots had to be loaded onto trucks and incinerated to avoid a pandemic, and there are still thousands unaccounted for. Most are believed to be buried under the remaining debris.”

A man holding a sign with Noon’s photo inside a circle with a line through it shouted, “They’re there because you killed them, you monster!”

The protester had barely gotten the words out when the man in front of him spun around and punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground. As the downed man’s friends retaliated, the Guardian Corps raced in.

Using pepper spray to quell the violence, they attempted to separate the warring parties when one Corps member was dazered and collapsed. The assailant tried to fire a second dart but was hit on the head by a Corps member wielding a billyclub. Bloodied, the man staggered and dropped to the ground

With the television cameras zooming in, the GC member turned to the crowd as if to ask. ‘Anyone else?’ With no takers, the troublemakers were dragged away. 

“Did you see that?!” Senator Jacob Blount, a craggy-faced, white-haired, impeccably dressed four-term member of Congress said as he leapt from his seat inside his opulent townhouse in Virginia. He pointed at the TV screen, gestured to his fifteen or so guests and again said, “Did you see that? Noon’s Guardian Corps thugs physically assaulted that man. They are not police officers. They have no legal authority. This isn’t the Wild West.”

“We all agree, Jacob,” the nattily dressed junior senator Arlon Hobbs replied. “The entire election was a sham. The people of New York were terrorized into voting for him.”

Blount was about to echo that sentiment when Noon’s speech recaptured his attention.

  “In our nation’s capitol, our so-called elected representatives continue to ignore our statewide shortages of food, medical supplies and debris removal vehicles.

“No matter.  Our fate lies not in their incompetent and uncaring hand, but in our own. We are New Yorkers; clever, inventive and hard working. We will overcome all obstacles and rebuild this great state.  We do not need their help, nor will we tolerate their interference.’

Most of the crowd applauded wildly. Others booed.

“The gall of that sonavabitch!” Blount shouted at the television. “He will not tolerate our interference? Who does he think he is? For that comment alone we ought to drag him to Washington by his balls. We…” he turned back to the TV.

“So to begin,” Noon said gripping the edges of the dais.

“From this moment on, our number one priority is to stop the financial hemorrhaging. We spend tens of millions each day with no tangible results, yet no one in the state government seems to know where the money goes, or how it is spent. Obviously, someone must be held accountable; someone has to take charge, and so I am here to assume that responsibility.”

Chants of “Down with Noon” erupted but quickly went silent when GC members charged.

“Starting today, all state agencies must have my approval before disbursing funds. They must also submit a detailed description of what they do, who the decision-maker is and why the money is necessary. Any agency that does not comply will be closed and its employees dismissed.

  “As for the private sector, come Monday, all striking union members will return to work. All management officials and union representatives whose workers are on strike will be taken to Riker’s Island penitentiary and incarcerated until a new contract is reached…

“He can’t do that!” Blount shouted. “He doesn’t have the authority!” Noon’s aggressive rhetoric particularly enraged him. The 61-year-old politician had used all his influence to block aid to New York hoping popular backlash would drive Noon from office. Instead it had galvanized his supporters.

“In regard to the state government,” Noon continued, gesturing to the State Capital building, “all elected and appointed members of all three branches will receive a 20% salary cut. All members of the legislative and judicial branches must resign all part- time or consulting positions by the end of February. By March 1st, the New York State Legislature will work for New York State and for New York State only.”

  “In order to avoid a lengthy enactment process, I am placing the State of New York under the protection of the Emergency Powers Act of 2027. This statute, which was enacted during the Middle East Wars, gives the governor the power to create and enforce executive directives when the state is under extreme circumstances. Since the state is in the worst position in its history, I have assumed these powers under law.”

With eyes wide and face bright with rage, Sen. Blount stormed across the room to his aide, Ray Tilmyer, and said, “Get Justice Ambrose on the line. See if he’s watching this. Noon can’t just take over. It’s unconstitutional. He’s doesn’t have the authority to put New York under martial law!”

As Tilmyer tapped his earpiece to make the call, Blount returned to the screen.

Several gunshots rang out.

GCs jumped in front of Noon as the cameras panned over the crowds attempting to locate the gunman. A camera zoomed in as a group scattered, nearly trampling one another to get to safety. As the GC vaulted over the panicking mob, one man standing alone, wearing a ‘Time’s Up, Noon!’ sweatshirt, reached into his pant’s pocket.

Seeing he was on camera, he fashioned a huge grin, pulled out a second string of firecrackers and brought his lighter to the fuse.

That was as far as he got before one burly GC member plowed into him and sent him and the firecrackers flying. Moments later, he was dragged away.

“Finally, and regrettably, “Noon continued, with a notable expression of distain, “there will be no financial compensation to the families of the pre-election riot victims other than what’s provided by their life insurance policies. New York State will neither accept nor process any wrongful death lawsuit claiming governmental culpability. What happened was a tragedy. It was unforeseen and unpreventable, and I will not allow this horrific event to become a cash bonanza for accident/injury attorneys. Nor can I allow grieving survivors to slow the rebuilding process by demanding we sift through the rubble for loved one’s personal items. There will be no DNA scans made on found remains. It is an exceptionally expensive process and we don’t have the funds. After two months, there is no chance anyone of them is still alive and we must move on…

Noon ended his speech by announcing that he would not be moving to Albany as numerous wire-tapping devices had been found in the governor’s mansion. Instead, he would conduct business from the Hudson Towers in Manhattan until a full investigation was conducted and those who had installed the listening devices were in custody.

Following Noon’s inauguration speech, the federal politicians supported by the POWERS THAT BE rushed to the airwaves to condemn his initiatives and push the PTB agenda, confident they could force Noon from office once they reorganized.

Behind closed doors, the remaining PTB supported members of the New York legislature promised their benefactors that none of Noon’s policies would be enacted and those with overwhelming public backing would be shunted from one committee to another until political videos damning such measures whittled away all support.

Sen. Blount began a daily television campaign demanding a second gubernatorial election be held under federal scrutiny. He claimed the pre-election riots and aggressive actions of Pro-Noon fanatics so terrified the electorate that they were afraid to leave their homes on Election Day.

  “I have received messages from all over New York asking for help,” he said. “And since many of their elected representatives are among the missing, I feel it’s my duty to step forward and insist that the needs of these frightened people be addressed.”

Later that day, in the hallways of Congress Sen. Blount met up with Rhode Island Sen. Arlon Hobbs. The two were scheduled to discuss campaign finance for the coming off-year congressional elections.

“I heard your speech calling for a second election. Very convincing,” Hobbs said as the two walked down the hall. “But I think we have a better chance of removing him from office through the impeachment process.”

He had barely gotten the words out when Blount spun toward him. “I don’t want that bastard impeached,” he hissed. “I want him dead!”

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