“They may crucify you for it.”
“I hope not literally.”
My humor failed in its goal. Philip slumped on a concrete stair. “It’s vital that we cleanse the planet. But I don’t want to sacrifice you to it.” His fingers toyed with his shirt.
“Philip ... no, look at me. Into my eyes. Do you recall that day in the launch?” We’d sailed almost into Earthport’s lasers, to end the transpop war.
“Yes, sir.” His voice quavered.
“We were prepared that day for a greater sacrifice. If I’m made to retire, I’ll still have you. We lost each other for a while. Now I have you back, little else matters.”
Something in his eyes seemed to calm. Slowly, his fingers stilled.
I sat at the well of the Rotunda, resplendent in my best clothes. I’d instructed my chair to wheel itself in, and then, in full view of holocams and the Assembly, had Philip and Mikhael transfer me to an armless chair. I wanted no mechanical curiosity to distract from my theme. Poor Mikhael, in his best crisply ironed jumpsuit and neckerchief, was so nervous he almost dropped me, but I didn’t think anyone noticed. It was important that he understand the extent of my trust.
I stared at the expectant Assembly. In the front row, Arlene and Philip glowed with pride. The boys had retreated upstairs, in the galleries. Seats below were unavailable. Branstead had heard they were being resold, at scalpers’ prices. Many wanted to witness the fall of the perpetual Seafort Administration. Row after row was filled with prosperous politicians, their hair perfectly coifed, their suits the latest style.
At various levels of the hall, holocams pulsed. No address since my fervent plea to the world during the Transpop Rebellion, a dozen years prior, had been beamed to so wide an audience. My words would be simultaneously translated into more than fifty languages.
The hall quieted. I cleared my throat, looked down at the expectant faces.
“I have come to confess my error. An error you share.” My hands lay still in my lap. “For years—for decades—our gaze has been turned outward. To the produce of our colonies, to the exploits of our magnificent Navy, to warding off, and then repairing, the depredations of the fish.”
My voice was flinty. “And now we must pay the price. One which would have been lower, had we acted sooner. One which will strain our purse, but which can and must be paid.”
An uneasy stir.
And then I laid before them my grand strategy. A massive reestablishment of agriculture, corresponding cutbacks in industry. An end to the filth that poured into our air, and to the particles that devastated our ozone layer.
All the wild-eyed schemes for which I’d belittled the Enviro Council over the years.
As I spoke, my tone was serene, but I saw I was losing my audience. There was that look of calculation, while Assemblymen contemplated which industries in their districts might falter, which wealthy contributors would shut off the tap of their munificence.
I had to persuade the fifteen hundred men and women in the room, else my aspirations would miscarry. The joeys in the fine leather chairs before me were the world’s only hope.
My speech slowed.
No. It wasn’t so.
They were only the delegates of my true audience. It was the joeys of the world I dared not lose, not these self-satisfied politicos stuffed into their well-padded seats.
I would have to sell the world my ideas. Or failing that, sell myself. Above all, the people trusted me. For years I’d scorned them for it. Now I would call upon that trust.
But, how to reach them?
Danil Bevin’s earnest face floated before me. You ought to tell them about our trip ...
I abandoned my memorized text.
“Perhaps some of you, in your cities, your villages, your towns, saw how I traveled tonight, to reach this Assembly. A heli from my compound, a jet from Potomac Shuttleport to New York, a fleet of helis to carry my staff to the Rotunda.”
Mediamen held up tiny recorders, aghast that I’d departed from the speech Branstead had just distributed. Now they’d actually have to think.
“I don’t always travel that way. Sometimes I jounce around in a motorized chair, a cumbersome contraption with a mind of its own.” As I’d hoped, titters loosened the mood of the hall.
“And then there’s the trip my security joeys hope I won’t reveal. A few days ago, I hopped into a heli—well, hop isn’t quite the right word.” I grinned.
Chuckles, that broadened into guffaws.
“It was an old battered heli, a rental. I won’t tell you which company supplied it.” Laughter. “And once we were aloft, I switched off my transponder. No doubt I had U.N. Security climbing the walls.”
I had them now, every ear.
“And we went on a holiday of sorts, my son and I, and two aides. The joeys who saw us dismissed out of hand my resemblance to the SecGen. After all, even Seafort wouldn’t be such a fool as to travel alone.”
A roar of mirth.
I told them of the woman who’d accosted me at the Carolina restaurant. My evasion evoked gales of laughter. I spoke of the Kansas hail, the Bavarian floods, the bisque doll in the drowned hausfrau’s hand. Of the broken highway in Florida that symbolized America’s dream.
Casually, I mentioned every town we’d overflown, every motel at which we’d slept, every restaurant in which we’d eaten. I strove to make my audience see me not as a remote authority, but a fellow voyager roaming the same world as they. I told them how Philip dented the chair that had the effrontery to fling me to the mud.
My tone was gentle, cheerful, in fact, very much like the manner in which I’d spoken to Mikhael about Alexi, after his daily exercises. Just old friends, enjoying a quiet chat.
I told them what I’d seen on my journey, and the horror it evoked, and my resolve that while I remained in office, I would not allow it to continue. I laid out our plans that would reverse the worst of our depredations in a very few years. Moving so fast would cause greater turmoil, I said, but it had the incomparable advantage of producing results quickly enough to persuade citizens that their sacrifices were not in vain.
I spoke of the vast combination of interests that would oppose our design, that included many of the joeys in this very chamber.
An uneasy rustle.
“It is up to you,” I said. “All of you across the world, who hear me today. We cannot allow politics to prevail. We cannot let economic self-interest threaten the continuance of our very race.”
I paused, gazed solemnly into the holocams. “If the Assembly and Senate of the United Nations support us, well and good. But those members who don’t, I ask you to remove. If our bills are amended without my consent, I will dissolve the Senate and Assembly—”
A murmur of protest. But from more than a few, willing applause.
“—and call new elections. Fellow citizens, we have edged our way to imminent disaster. It is time to reverse course. The need is great, the goal achievable, and the reward infinite. For yourselves, your children, and the honor of Lord God, I ask your support and your trust. Thank you, and may He bless us all.”
At first, silence. My face impassive, I stared back at them, daring their hostility.
The applause began slowly, uncertainly. Then, like swelling thunder heralding an approaching storm, it rolled in great waves across the hall. Whistles. Calls. The gallery rose in enthusiastic ovation, followed, shortly, by much of the Assembly itself. But there were those few, Terries and Supras among them, who remained seated, arms folded.
Through it all, engulfed in adulation, I sat unmoving, trembling beneath my calm.
It was the greatest performance of my life, and the most dishonest. I’d spoken to the holocams as to a friend. I’d offered a version of myself I knew to be untrue: a friendly, cheerful soul revealing himself to the public for the first time. An Everyman, a neighborhood joey who happened to hold a special office, a ...
Enough. What I’d done was for Philip, and for Father. Over many year
s I’d done worse, and for less.
I would abide the cost.
14
INTERVIEWS WITH HOLOWORLD, NEWSNET, and Holoweek, from the Skytel Sheraton. A much publicized visit to the New York Seawall, where I scowled at the Hudson estuary lapping at its massive algae-stained blocks. Then a suborbital to Brazil, and a tour of the wasteland of worked-out farms that generations ago had been rain forest.
Vehement speeches in Rio, São Paulo, and Brasilia. Then on to Buenos Aires and La Plata. Montevideo. Mexico City.
Our days fell into a wearisome routine. Mikhael, Tad Anselm, and Bevin helped me get in and out of my chair, ran errands, took charge of our gear. When there was time, I let them out to explore.
Arlene reviewed drafts of my speeches, amending them to keep me on point and lucid.
Jerence Branstead orchestrated quiet meetings with local leaders, in which I tried to win them to our program. I soon became adept at emphasizing the new manufactories that our enviro crusade would call forth.
Still, persistent questions dogged us. Why had I submitted to Eco League extortion? Would a covey of anonymous terrorists dictate enviro policy? I tried my best to keep my temper.
Over dinner, Arlene soothed me. “It’s part of the process. Every political leader has gone through it.”
“Genghis Khan didn’t.”
Anselm snorted. Mikhael repressed a grin.
“Be patient, Nick. You’re succeeding.” The polls showed us holding our support. Our foes in the Assembly would take note. Few dared oppose us openly; I’d crafted a weighty coalition. Instead, they would kill our plans with hearings, with studies, with helpful amendments.
I called Cisno Valera. “Tell them it won’t work. The package goes to the floor in three weeks, or I dissolve the Assembly.”
“They can’t move so fast.”
“They’d better.” I would make the issue their political survival.
“Mr. Seafort ...” He sounded uncomfortable. “As Deputy SecGen I can’t support what amounts to a coup against the legislative process.”
“Is this a parting of the ways, Cisno?”
He backpedaled. “The Senate has rules, procedures, customs ...”
“Hurry them along. Three weeks.” I was too tired to be diplomatic.
The next morning we were in Ireland. I spoke at the Naval training station, near the site of the Belfast nuke. “There are those who would counsel delay. Perhaps they mean well. Meanwhile the tides rise two inches a year. We can afford no caution. We need action, strength, and resolve.”
That night Anselm failed to come home to the hotel. Karen Burns woke me at three: he’d been arrested in a drunken brawl at a Navy bar. Did I want him released?
“No.” I went back to sleep.
In the morning, groggy and disgusted, I reversed myself, sent an aide to arrange bail. When the middy appeared, I sent him for a caning, with instructions not to go easy. Mikhael saw his demeanor afterward, and laughed outright.
Trouble, but no time to deal with it; we were on to South Africa. Forty-seven U.N. Senators announced they would block my legislation after the Assembly was through with it. Jerence Branstead scrambled for a key to their conversion.
Finally, after fifteen exhausting days, we flew home. A conference with the Patriarchs awaited.
Anselm sat next to me on the suborbital. I’d barely spoken to him in the days since his lapse. “I’ve decided to send you back to Devon.”
He flinched. “Yes, sir.” Then, “You don’t know why I was fight—”
“I don’t care.”
“They called you a traitor to the Navy!”
“Who?”
“Lieutenants and middies, on leave from Seville. They said—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“That you sold out. That you went over to the ecos!”
“Bah. Idle talk, by drunken louts. And you were one of them.”
He flushed. “I—yes.”
“Why’d you drink? The dream again?”
“No.” He squared his shoulders. “I was feeling sorry for myself.”
“You imagine you did me honor, standing up for me? I despise it.”
His voice was tremulous. “So do I, now I’m sober. But when I heard them—”
“Perhaps you’ll do better in your next posting.”
“Yes, sir.” His tone was forlorn. A last appeal. “I don’t think I’ll do it again.”
“Too late.”
“I’m ready to swear—”
“You already swore to obey all lawful orders. Your word is worthless.” Brutal, but I no longer cared. The Senators were inflexible. I had too many burdens, and a miscreant middy was more than I could deal with.
He cried, “Help me rather than ruin me!”
“Tad, you’re not the center of my life.”
He put his head in his hands.
After a moment I asked gruffly, “How?”
A glance, as if hoping against hope. “Keep me busy. Give me extra duties. Those letters you wanted, to the Norwegian legislators. I’ll draft them. You said you’d like to have Charlie Witrek visit. I’ll arrange it. Anything you say, I’ll do. Just let me talk ...” He blushed furiously. “Let me talk with you and Ms. Seafort sometimes. I get so lonely.”
On base, or aboard ship, middies were among their own kind. They had the wardroom, their mates, for companionship and solace.
While I mused, he fidgeted. “Sir, I won’t drink. I can’t stand it anymore.”
“Being drunk?”
“The caning. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m seventeen next week. That’s supposed to be too old for—I’m sorry, no criticism, sir. But I’m not a joeykid. To be bent across a barrel, and have some lieutenant beat me, his knowing that I disgraced myself, that I was slobbering drunk ...” He bit back a sob. “It hurts so. And then to come home to Mikhael’s laughter, and your contempt, that’s the worst part.” His eyes were damp. “Sir, it won’t—I don’t know how I’ll stop myself, but I will.”
If I didn’t send him home to Devon, I’d be responsible for the consequences. And yet ... “A caning every time you drink: that won’t change.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you fail to inform me, you’re dismissed from the Service.” Honor was everything.
“I know, sir.”
“Tell Mr. Branstead you’re to help with my appointments list. Evenings, you can help Warren sort my mail.” I rarely spoke with my puter in the Rotunda, preferring to let him handle routine inquiries. He sounded more like me than I did myself.
“Sir, I thank you with all my heart.” An old-fashioned phrase, that moved me unduly.
We broke out of the clouds, into the smog of the Northeast.
“Most unwise.” Bishop Saythor glowered. His colleagues seemed to agree; their expressions were unfavorable, some downright unfriendly. All the Patriarchs save one were assembled in Council, at the magnificent, soaring Reunification Cathedral in Chicago. I sat alone, facing them, nervously tapping the arms of my chair.
I said, “It must be done.”
“Just as our economy was starting to rebound—”
“Sir, is this about wealth?”
The President of the Latter-day Saints wagged a finger. “Not wealth, but what it represents. The power of Lord God made manifest, His embodiment on Earth—”
I was still jet-lagged, and resented being summoned so abruptly. “Was Jesus not that?”
The Bishop of Rome bristled. “You dare argue theology with us?”
“No, sir, I apologize. I was wrong.” Inwardly, I cursed my folly. Theirs was to speak on matters ecclesiastical, mine to obey.
“By shattering the wealth of nations, you threaten Mother Church herself.” Saythor was stern. “It’s vital that we advance the good name of the Church at home and in the colonies.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Scale back your ambitions.
Accomplish what you may without wreaking havoc.”
“You wouldn’t have me forsake enviroism altogether?”
“You spoke publicly, for the Government. You mustn’t be seen to reverse yourself.” But I had reversed myself, in my speech to the Assembly. Abruptly I’d revoked a decades-old policy of benign neglect. What the Patriarchs meant was that my proposals had gained too much popular support to be abandoned utterly.
Bishop Saythor said, “As much as we dislike the thought, the Church must be run as a business. Destabilizing change, one that leaves our parishioners in poverty, impacts inevitably on Church finances and on its work.”
I watched curiously. Would Lord God strike him dead? Surely He would not allow such thoughts to be uttered in the name of His Church.
But He was silent.
So was I.
“Well, Mr. SecGen?”
“I’ll think on it.” Why did I temporize?
“We need more than that.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, sir.” I held his gaze.
He flushed. “Yes, we can disavow you. We’ve discussed it.”
“And?”
“The time isn’t opportune.” They’d read the polls. I’m sorry, Lord. I apologize for Your vicars.
Later, I called Arlene. “I still hold office.”
“Shall I say it’s a relief?”
“Not for you, I know.” My tone was gentle. “It won’t be long now. I have a sense.”
“Before I forget, Mark Tilnitz called. He’s most anxious to see you.”
“What about?”
“He wouldn’t say. Nicky, something’s wrong; I think he’s gone glitched. Be careful. Talk to him by caller.”
“I’m not afraid of Mark. If he wants his job back I’d be delight—”
“Twice he asked me who else was on the line. Security’s a horrible job; the pressure may have been too much—”
“Mark’s as stable as they come.” I shrugged, forgetting Arlene couldn’t see. “Call him back, have him to the house tonight.” A few hours wouldn’t matter.
On the way to Daley Shuttleport a priority call from General Donner. “We have a lead on Booker!”
“Praise God.” The murderer of my cadets would be brought to justice. “How? When?”
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 25
