The President

by Parker Hudson

  WASHINGTON—Since Ryan had proposed to her, Leslie’s life had seemed to have more purpose. She knew where she was going. They’d decided it would be impossible to schedule the wedding before the election, given their responsibilities, so they tentatively chose the Saturday after Thanksgiving as the date.

  That sunny May afternoon she was working in her office, preparing for the nightly news, in which she planned to spotlight a speech by the vice president on the need for pluralistic diversity in education. There was a knock at her open door.

  She looked up to see a young man dressed in an immaculate blue suit whom she knew to be one of their assistant directors—he had often been on remote locations with her, most recently at the People’s March on Washington—but she had forgotten his name.

  “Ms. Sloane, hi, I’m Porter Doran. Do you have a minute?”

  Leslie smiled but knew her time was tight. “Yes, Porter, but I’ve got this piece to write for tonight. What can I do for you?”

  The young man came in, obviously feeling out of place one-on-one with a national personality. He hesitantly took a chair in front of her desk.

  “Ms. Sloane, I, uh, guess this isn’t so easy for me, but I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since the march, whether you’ve ever felt the power of God in your life?”

  Oh, no! she thought What is this all about? “Uh, no, Porter, I don’t guess I have, and I don’t expect I ever will, since I don’t really believe too much in God.”

  “Well, I have, and I wanted you to know about it. You know those groups during the march that we kept panning away from all the time, the ‘strange’ ones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Three years ago I would have been in one of those groups, half-naked, doing those things.”

  “You, Porter? That’s hard to believe.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know. And that’s what I want to tell you about.”

  Thirty minutes later Leslie had been challenged to imagine that there might be a spiritual side to life just as real as the physical side because this intelligent young man had described experiences that appeared to be unexplainable in any other way. But everything in her mind fought it.

  As he rose to leave, he said, “I know you’ve got a lot to do. But is there anything in your life that I can pray for?”

  Leslie was taken aback. No one had ever asked her that question before. She waited a moment and then replied, “Uh, why I guess, Porter, you could pray for my upcoming marriage to Ryan Denning, and also that we do a professional job in our reporting of the election.”

  Porter took out a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote down her two prayer requests. “Okay, I’ll be praying for those. And would you mind telling me when God answers either one, so I can cross it off?”

  She smiled. “Sure. Sure Porter, I’ll let you know.”

  NORFOLK—After returning from the Mediterranean deployment the crew of the Fortson spent almost a month in a stand-down status, allowing for extra leave and a chance for the crew to catch up with their families. Hugh had been ecstatic to see Jennifer and the children waiting at the pier, and he had done his best to be sensitive to her as she adjusted to having her husband in the house again.

  Enough time had now passed that they were back to normal, and Hugh had caught up on events, both personal and public, which had happened in his absence. He was intrigued to see how seriously the nation appeared to be taking his brother’s challenge, and their church had even laid out a grid of their neighborhood, hoping to insure that every house heard first-hand about the need for a God-believing Congress in Washington.

  Jennifer had spent some of her free time in his absence reading the Bible and being discipled by an older woman who led a small women’s study group on their street. Hugh was impressed with his wife’s growing knowledge of Scripture and her commitment to the Lord. And she had in turn encouraged him to reach out to those in his own special workplace, which was what brought him to be standing outside the door to Captain Robertson’s cabin that afternoon. He knocked.

  “Come in. Oh, hi, Hugh. What a coincidence. I’m just reading a letter from Seaman Tyson. He says he’s really happy in Newport, and he appreciates our help in having him moved. And he says to tell you that so far God has continued to watch over him.”

  Hugh entered the cabin and stood by the captain’s desk. “That’s great, sir. I hope he continues to do well.”

  “Yes. But he may have to come back in about six weeks and testify.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Well, the XO and I were called to the admiral’s office this morning, and it looks like we’re going to have some sort of human rights inquiry on the Fortson.”

  Hugh looked surprised. “Why?”

  The captain motioned for Hugh to have a seat. “Well, it seems the experts running our experiment with women, gays, and lesbians became concerned when they found out that we’d had one tragic death, a lawsuit pending, a homosexual ‘expulsion’—that’s what they call Tyson—and disciplinary action for the lesbian show. Apparently they’re questioning our abilities as officers, and so they’re sending a team to investigate the ship’s senior officers—which includes you—for our ‘fitness’ to serve in the navy.”

  “You mean they’re questioning decades of service, when they’re the ones who created this situation for which none of us was trained or prepared?”

  “That doesn’t seem to matter, Hugh; at least not to some of them. The admiral has promised his full support, and we’ll just have to pray that whoever they send is fair and just. Hopefully they’ll understand that none of us could have foreseen those events. But, to tell you the truth, Hugh, it is a bit discouraging.”

  Hugh could tell his captain was actually feeling the implied lack of confidence much more than he’d expressed.

  “Sir, it’s funny, but that’s sort of why I came to see you. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I noticed that this stuff sort of gets you down sometimes, and I just wanted to encourage you in general, and also urge you to vote in November for candidates who’ll work with my brother to change some of this.”

  The captain smiled. “Thanks, Hugh. We all need encouragement sometimes. I’m embarrassed to tell you, but I don’t think I’ve voted in over twenty years. Trudy and I have moved around so much to different duty stations— and it’s such a pain to vote by absentee ballot. So I haven’t thought much about it.”

  Hugh spent several minutes explaining why he thought the upcoming election would be so important and how he felt God’s hand starting to work in his own life.

  As he finished he asked for and received a commitment from the captain to register—both he and Trudy—and to vote in the election for candidates who shared the president’s worldview.

  “Captain, is there anything I can pray about for you?” Hugh asked.

  “No one’s ever asked me that before... I guess besides the obvious of praying that this inquisi—I mean inquiry will go well, I’d ask you to pray for Trudy. She’s going in for some tests tomorrow, and we’re hoping that it’s not cancer.”

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. Let me write those down, and please let me know about her. Anything else?”

  THE BLACK SEA—Despite the clear night and ample moonlight, the captain of the Bright Star was using the ship’s surface search radar to assist in threading through the heavy traffic of small boats as they departed the Bosporus. Sadim stood on the darkened bridge, reflecting on how greatly they appeared to be blessed in their endeavors. Kolikov assured him that they had made up the necessary time and would be able to leave the Mediterranean by mid-October at the latest.

  They were on their way for what should be their last visit to the Ukrainian port of Odessa. It would also be their largest and most complex pick-up of equipment since they’d transferred the bomb itself on board. The passive sonar array and electronic warfare antenna were supposed to be crated to look like farm machinery. We should have no problems, Sadim thought, unless some official insists on being more nosy than sm
art. And that possibility concerned Sadim, since they had so few options for escape when tied to the pier in a port that was, at best, neutral to their cause. He believed that enough bribes had been paid to insure a smooth loading and no problems. But Sadim did not expect to get much sleep for the next few days.

  24

  The Congress...desirous... to have people of all ranks and degrees duly impressed with a solemn sense of God’s superintending providence, and of their duty, devoutly to rely...on his aid and direction...Do earnestly recommend...a day of humiliation, fasting, and prayer; that we may, with united hearts, confess and bewail our manifold sins and transgressions, and, by a sincere repentance and amendment of life...and through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, obtain his pardon and forgiveness.

  CONTINENTAL CONGRESS

  MAY 16, 1776

  Tuesday, July 2

  Six Weeks Later

  ATLANTA—As Rebecca drove to work that morning she thought about the billboards along the interstate and the banners on cheap hotels (and on one or two pricey ones) that had been erected since the Supreme Court had ruled in early June that states and cities could regulate prostitution but not prohibit it. The justices had decided in a six to three opinion that prostitution was simply a personal service business and the state could not deny the rights of those who wanted to participate in this occupation. Almost overnight there was wholesale advertising, and just this week she’d seen the first television spot on the six o’clock news extolling the virtues of a particular brothel.

  Some in the media had asked whether this ruling was a delayed but pointed reaction to the president’s verbal attack on the Court in his State of the Union address.

  But all of the justices retained their customary reticence. The ruling cited a long list of recent precedents in which actions previously considered unlawful by way of prohibition in the Bible were ruled now to be quite appropriate. The Court went out of its way to state that from this point on it would look with displeasure on any law whose only foundation was its biblical precedent. “We have moved beyond ancient texts as our tools for deciding what is right and wrong between consenting adults, when there is no victim,” the justices in their wisdom had proclaimed.

  No victim? Rebecca thought again as she rode the hospital elevator to her floor. What about the girls lured into lives of degradation, violence, and disease by the promise of quick money? What about boys for whom sex is just another trip, like going to the grocery store for food? What about families, torn apart by a husband’s infidelity? What about AIDS? Drugs? Where are the ultra-feminists on this one? I hope at least some of those women and their friends are on their knees, searching for answers this morning, while I have to deal with the pregnancy and the disease they’ve helped to create by their “rationality.”

  Rebecca had to smile to herself as she prepared for her first patient. It’s amazing. I would never have been thinking like this a year ago. I guess brother William has had more of an effect on me than I sometimes realize.

  She checked at the central nurses’ station on her floor and then looked down the list of women who were already signed in that morning. Eunice Porter and Sally Kramer. Here they are again. I meant to check on their records. And there are all those other women who keep showing up pregnant and then just disappearing.

  She walked down the hall, stopped at Room 317, opened the door and smiled. “Hello Eunice. How are you this morning?”

  “Fine,” she said, but looked away.

  “Let’s see. You’re about five months now. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Fine.”

  Rebecca was present while the doctor examined Eunice. Afterward, as Rebecca was about to leave the room, her curiosity led her to ask, “Eunice, it’s probably none of my business, but I’m sort of curious. Haven’t you and Ms. Kramer gotten pregnant now twice together? And didn’t both of you have almost full-term abortions? Is that by coincidence?”

  Eunice looked down. “I guess so. And I don’t guess it’s any of your business anyway.” She got off the examining table and walked into the curtained-off dressing area.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, standing outside the curtain. “It’s just that I’m in the business of healing and protecting life, not ending it. I assume you won’t be aborting this one.”

  “We’ll see,” was the noncommittal response.

  “What? It’s against the law again to abort a baby as far along as yours. Why are you even thinking that?”

  “Uh. I’m not. I didn’t understand. I know about that law.

  “Rebecca was silent. When Eunice came out of the dressing area, Rebecca felt led to say, “If I can arrange it, right now, would you like to see the baby— maybe even tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “How?” Eunice buttoned the last button on her maternity top.

  “With ultrasound. Come on, I bet we can squeeze you in, and I’ll be there with you. It doesn’t hurt at all, and I think you’ll see things you never believed possible.”

  Eunice was hesitant, but Rebecca’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Well, okay, I guess so, if you think it’ll be okay.”

  “Sure. Come on with me, and we’ll set it up.”

  Rebecca took Eunice gently by the arm and led her down the hall. Forty-five minutes later, Eunice, with Rebecca holding her hand, had seen the little boy inside her womb. And for the first time in five months she found herself calling him a baby, not a fetus.

  RALEIGH—Sarah walked into the Prescotts’ breakfast room late that morning and sliced two bagels in half. She and Katherine, who was visiting again that summer, had worked the evening shift at the sandwich shop the night before.

  “Mom, we heard last night that Denise Farris is pregnant.”

  Mary looked up from writing her Fourth of July dinner grocery list. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. Can we talk to her about adoption?”

  “I think she’s probably going to consider it. I haven’t talked to her personally yet. Maybe Katherine and I can go see her this afternoon. But I guess this will cut into her starting at Yale this fall!”

  “Probably. But hopefully she could get a deferral.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Sarah, isn’t this, what, eight girls in your class who we know are pregnant?”

  “Uh, let’s see...yes, eight.”

  “What a shame.”

  “Mom, I know that but for the grace of God there go I...”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I thank him every day and pray for those who haven’t been so blessed.”

  Katherine came into the kitchen, still looking a little bleary from sleep. “Hi. Were you talking about Denise?”

  Sarah answered, “Yes. Mom, when is that hearing on the computer grant? Will I get to speak before we start at UNC?”

  “They’re apparently still gathering applications for the grants, but BioTeam is bringing pressure through our local congressman to be heard quickly. I think there’s going to be a regional competition in August and then perhaps a final national interview this fall.”

  “Can you have the data ready on your senior class by August?” Katherine asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah answered. “It’s not too scientific, I guess, but it’s real. Not everyone would answer the questions, of course, but I’m sure most of the pregnant girls will testify, at least at the regional level.”

  Katherine spread strawberry preserves on her bagel. “I hope that’s as far as BioTeam goes, from what you’ve told me.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Mary answered.

  NORFOLK—The executive officer and department heads had assembled in the wardroom that morning at eleven, and a few minutes later they rose to their feet as Captain Robertson escorted Rear Admiral Robert Waldrin in to start their meeting.

  “Please be seated,” the admiral said and took his place at the head of the wardroom table, the captain and executive officer on each side of him.

  “I’ll get right to the point. You of course know that a committee from the navy�
��s Human Rights Commission has been here for a week investigating all aspects of the experiment in which you have participated for over a year, particularly the events that were tragic or unusual, such as the death of a female petty officer and a live sex show viewed by junior officers. You also know that some have questioned the circumstances of those events and even suggested that the officers and chiefs on the Fortson are either incompetent or bigoted or both.

  “As I’ve just briefed Captain Robertson, you’ll be pleased to know that the committee, after extensive interviews with individuals from every group and minority on the ship, has tentatively ruled that these events were either accidents or isolated incidents and that there is no reason for any action or reprimands. In fact, in most cases the leadership on the ship appears to be all that could be expected under these sometimes difficult circumstances. After seeing the progress made on the Fortson, the commission approved six more ships for this manning configuration in January, even before the final report is in, and many of you will have the opportunity to transfer to those ships, if you want.

  “I used the word tentative because the one recommendation we will be implementing is for the Human Rights Commission to study the situation on board firsthand for an additional six months. For that reason, normal transfers and rotation of personnel will be frozen until the end of the year, so that the same individuals can continue to interact; and two members of the commission will be assigned to the ship for that same period. The Fortson will be assigned to various training exercises along the East Coast, then enter the shipyard at the end of the year to begin the decommissioning process. I guess she’s finally going to retire after many exemplary years of service to her country. That’s it, and I appreciate the time many of you put into helping the committee with its work. Are there any questions?”