The Nexus Colony by G.F. Schreader

phenomena and all the disinformation associated with it. Bill Korbett was one of Payne’s strategists, most noted for his organizational skills in getting things done the way this President wanted things to get done. Quietly with no paper trails left behind.
    Despite wearing the heavy cotton shaker sweater that Emmy had given him for Christmas, Korbett shivered as he saw the puff of cold breath emanating from the courier’s mouth as the man got out of the car down in the driveway. The courier noticed him in the window and waved. Korbett gestured he’d be right down.
    Opening the front door, Korbett felt the cold moisture instantly crystallizing in his mustache. He waved the young man quickly inside. “Sure is cold this morning,” Korbett reprimanded. “Where’s your hat, son?”
    The courier only smiled. “I don’t like hats, sir. Never wear them,” he replied, unlocking and opening the courier pouch. He handed the manila envelope to Korbett.
    “Don’t you young people know that over three quarters of your body heat goes out through the top of your head?” Korbett admonished.
    The courier smiled again, obviously used to being good-naturedly reprimanded by old generals and admirals. “No sir. I didn’t know that.”
    “Hrr-umpf,” Korbett grunted for effect, knowing that the younger man was patronizing him. But he didn’t mind it. He got along well with young people, and they seemed to sense that.
    Korbett put on his bifocals. The address on the envelope was hand written. It read quite simply:
    Major General William A. Korbett, USAF, Retired.
     
URGENT. EYES ONLY.
     
    Korbett looked up. “Thanks.”
    “Sure thing, sir.”
    “How’s Ted? Haven’t seen him since Christmas.” Not that Korbett really cared.
    The young man smiled with the same expression. “He’s fine sir. Grumpy as ever, I guess.”
    Korbett patted him on the back as they moved toward the door. “He’s not so bad. Growl’s worse than the bite.” Might as well patronize the young man, Korbett thought.
    “Suppose so, sir.”
    “Thanks again,” Korbett said. “Be careful. Looks like it might snow.”
    Korbett watched from the door as the young man drove back down to the entrance, turned right out of the driveway, and disappeared along the carefully landscaped tree line that lined the affluent neighborhood. A puff of wintry air swirled around his neck to remind him just how cold it was outside, sending a shiver down his spine. He pushed the front door shut.
    Bill Korbett was as Texas as they came, one hell of a football player in his day back at the University of Texas. He had spent thirty-four years in a brilliant military career, starting back in the Vietnam era where he was an F-4 fighter jock. Not many ex-fighter jocks ever made it into the ranks of the generals, especially into the intelligence sector. But Korbett was one of those rare introspective individuals with an IQ to match most all of the high-ranking military strategists. He accomplished virtually everything he set out to do. Everything he was assigned to do.
    Washington wasn’t Texas, but Bill Korbett didn’t mind the area so much. You get used to any place after having spent an entire military career in every god-forsaken place on the planet. You just accommodate yourself. Don’t like Washington in January or February, though. You can have that.
    Korbett went down the long hallway and opened the two French doors that led into his private study, closing them behind him not so much for the draft, but rather for the privacy. Though the house staff were trusted employees, Bill Korbett was still a government intelligence official. Even Emmy respected that completely, and seldom bothered her husband when he was closed in his study.
    The Exchequer desk was relatively free of clutter. Korbett sat down in the plush, leather chair, broke the seal, and peeled back the gummed flap. Making certain his hands were dry, he removed the document and placed it on the desk pad. All