From New York Times bestselling author, Harry Turtledove, critically-acclaimed novelist, James Morrow, and Nebula Award finalist, Cat Rambo, comes a masterful anthology of three sensational novellas depicting a dark fictional future of the United States. And the Last Trump Shall Sound is a prophetic warning about where we, as a nation, may be headed. Mike Pence is President of the United States after years of divisive, dogmatic control by Donald Trump. The country is in turmoil as the Republicans have strengthened their stronghold on Congress, increasing their dominance. And with the support of the Supreme Court, more conservative than ever, State governments become more marginalized by the authoritarian rule of the Federal government. There are those who cannot abide by what they view as a betrayal of the nation’s founding principles. Once united communities break down and the unthinkable suddenly becomes the only possible solution: the end of the Union. The authors’ depiction of a country that is both unfamiliar and yet unnervingly all too realistic, make you realize the frightening possible consequences of our increased polarizationa dire warning to all of us of where we may be headed unless we can learn to come together again.
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|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.70(d)|
About the Author
Dubbed as “The Master of Alternate History” by Publishers Weekly, Harry Turtledove has written a number of classic bestsellers in the subgenre, including How Few Remain, The Guns of the South and The Man with the Iron Heart. He uses his study of history (with a Ph.D in Byzantine history) to create alternate worlds in intricate detail; crafting enthralling adventures that have garnered him high critical praise as well as making him one of the most successful bestselling authors in alternate history. Turtledove has won, or been nominated, for nearly every major award in science fiction (multiple times, for many) including the Hugo, Nebula, Sidewise (alternate history), Homer (short stories), The John Esten Cooke Award for Southern Fiction and the Prometheus Award. Many consider him to be one of the most distinguished authors of alternate history to have ever written in that sub-genrehe is certainly one of the most critically acclaimed.Harry Turtledove is married to novelist Laura Frankos. They have three daughters, Alison, Rachel and Rebecca.
Read an Excerpt
Nicole Yoshida clicked the remote’s channel-up button, first once, then twice. The same story led on Fox News, Fox-CNN, and Fox-MSNBC. At President Pence’s order, the governor and lieutenant governor of Connecticut had been remanded to protective custody on a charge of treason for refusing to cooperate with federal court-mandated immigration sweeps.
Connecticut state Cabinet officials had unanimously resigned in protest; the media said they had, anyhow. On a temporary basisso every network’s newscasters assured their audiencethe chief of the Connecticut State Police had been appointed acting governor of the state.
The governor of California made a disgusted noise and turned off the TV. She remembered when the difference news channels each had a different spin on things. She remembered when some of them dared disagree with the federal government.
It hadn’t been that long ago, either. They’d stayed that way well into President Trump’s second term. The good old days, she thought sourly. Then consolidation hit television and radio and what was left of the newspapers. That social media had already gone the same way made finishing the job easier.
“‘Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee,’” she quoted.
Her CHP bodyguardone of her CHP bodyguardslet out a snort. “Yeah, the whole country is Donne to a turn,” Captain Myron Flegenheim said with malice aforethought.
She winced to let him know she’d noticed what he’d done. “How long till the Last Trump blows for me?” she replied, just as maliciously.
His pained expression told her he’d hoped a governor would be above such things, and she’d just disappointed him . . . again. “The United States is washed up,” he said. Then he added, “Anybody got a cigarette?”
“Go outside,” Governor Yoshida told him.
“I always do,” Flegenheim said.
And he did. Even almost a third of the way through the twenty-first century, even with vaping driving cigarette manufacturers batshit, some stubborn people with a nicotine jones still got their fix from good, old-fashioned tobacco. Captain Flegenheim was one of them. He was polite about it, but he was.
Being polite helped only so much. People who smoked smelled bad all the time. The odor clung to their clothes, their skin, their hair, their breath. You couldn’t tell them so, either. They refused to believe you. They’d got so used to their stink, they were noseblind to it.
Nicole Yoshida wished she were. She’d thought now and then about asking Chief Musavi to take Flegenheim off her guard rotation and to replace him with a nonsmoker. She hadn’t done it yet. He had a lively, sardonic wit, which was about as uncommon in cops as it was in politicians.