First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  Chisum waved him down. ‘They didn’t and they haven’t. What d’you think this is – amateur night? You’re looking at a professional. If I offer to fix something, I fix it!’

  ‘How?’

  Chisum eyed him with a sly smile. ‘How? Huh! Do you think I’m going let you in on all my secrets? What’re you aiming to do – muscle in on my operation?’

  Steve managed a half-hearted grin. ‘Some chance. No. I’d just like to be able to square this with you one day but – where I’m going…’ His voice tailed off.

  The elevator reached the service bay. Chisum patted Steve on the back as they stepped out and walked towards the parked wheelie. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be back up. Who knows? One day, you may find me asking you a favour.’

  The President-General, George Washington Jefferson the 31st, stepped out of the private elevator that linked his office in the White House with Cloudlands, and walked to his desk. Jefferson was a silver-haired, solidly-built man in his mid-sixties. He was a few pounds heavier than his personal physician would have liked but he moved easily, with the kind of straight-backed assurance you would expect from the man at the top of an extremely competitive heap. His medium tan made his pale grey-blue eyes look even paler. People facing him always watched the eyes. They were the kind that could twinkle one minute and turn to ice the next. When the light went out it was bad news.

  Though not an exact copy, Jefferson’s office had been modelled on the Oval Office used by the presidents of pre-Holocaust America. Like his predecessors in the First Family, he liked to think he was keeping alive the link with the great and noble traditions of the past; all that was brightest and best in a once-great country that, one day, would be reborn; would rise to even greater heights than before…

  Two flags hung draped from crossed poles behind his chair, surmounted by a large eagle carved from dark wood, its neck arched defiantly, its wings half extended. The flag to the right, when seated, was Old Glory, the other was based on what had once been known as the ‘rebel’ flag; a diagonal blue cross outlined in white on a red field. The cross carried nine white stars – representing the Inner State of Texas at the centre, flanked by the eight Outer States and New Territories. Two tall windows with wooden frames were set in the curving wall on each side of the flags.

  The President-General gazed for a moment through the windows at the autumnal tints gracing his favourite computer-generated image of pre-Holocaust New England countryside then, with a brief sigh of regret, he settled down in his comfortable high-backed chair and addressed his multi-screen video. ‘Nancy…?’

  The head and shoulders of the Presidential aide on duty in the outer office appeared on the big centre screen. ‘Good morning, Mr President.’

  The P-G nodded in reply. ‘Is Fran there?’ A needless question: no one was ever late for an audience with the President-General. The question was asked because the wielder of absolute power believed – again like his predecessors – in the maintainance of a courtly, old-world protocol.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Ask her to come in. And Nancy –’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ said Nancy Reagan Jefferson. Like most of the P-G’s personal staff, she was a close relative.

  ‘Put Brickman’s file summaries and any related material up on my screen.’ One of the luxuries of presiding over a push-button world was having other people to push the buttons. The P-G’s video unit was activated by the sound of his own voice – as were the doors to his private elevator and the elevator itself.

  Fran Delano Jefferson pressed the door buzzer. The action put her picture on another of the P-G’s desk-mounted video screens.

  ‘Enter…’

  This time, the P-G’s voice activated the revolving door linking his office with those beyond. As Fran entered the cylindrical compartment, it rotated, carrying her into the P-G’s presence. Doors of similar design – known as turnstiles – which only allowed authorised personnel through one at a time, were now fitted to all high security areas. Turnstiles had been installed in the P-G’s office complex some two hundred years ago following an attempted ‘palace coup’ in which six first cousins of the then President-General – George Washington Jefferson the 22nd – had burst in and gunned him down before being apprehended.

  ‘Pull up a chair,’ said the P-G.

  Fran did so, adopting an upright, attentive pose, her hands linked together in her lap.

  The P-G waved his hand at the display on the first of his screens which Fran could just see sideways on. ‘I think I’m going to have to hire someone to summarise the summaries,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Give me the bottom line on this young man.’

  ‘Brickman was shot down over Wyoming. Instead of being killed he was befriended by some of his Mute captors who nursed him back to health. They seem to practise a form of “natural” medicine. A mixture of herbal remedies and the laying on of hands. It works. Brickman’s left leg – which he claims was broken – was x-rayed in the unit downstairs. No sign of a break. It’s completely whole. His two principal captors were wordsmiths – Mr Snow and Cadillac, his heir-presumptive. You’ll find them mentioned in his statement to the Board of Assessors. What he didn’t mention was that Mr Snow is also a summoner. Seventh Ring…’

  ‘A Storm-Bringer?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He came within an ace of wrecking The Lady from Louisiana. The incident is mentioned in the combat sit-rep filed by Commander Hartmann for June 12th. You may find that worth reading. Mr Snow is definitely bad news. He and Cadillac are – according to Brickman – highly intelligent.’

  The P-G nodded. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. COLUMBUS had predicted the possible evolution of “smart Mutes”.’

  ‘Cadillac, the second wordsmith is young. Eighteen. He’s not a summoner but he, too, has an ace up his sleeve. He’s a seer. He claims to be able to read the stones. Brickman did not witness this but Cadillac’s statement was corroborated by Mr Snow.’

  The P-G studied Fran. ‘Do you think it’s possible?’

  ‘That Cadillac is a seer? Or do you mean the whole idea of being able to foretell the future with the aid of seeing stones?’

  ‘Both…’

  ‘Sir, I, uh – I’m not qualified to make a judgement in that area. But if you were to press me for a personal opinion I’d have to say I approach such matters with an open mind.’

  The P-G smiled. ‘You sound like a Supreme Councillor. Is there any more?’

  ‘Indeed there is. Brickman didn’t waste his time. He got the Mutes to help him build a hang-glider using bits from a couple of wrecked Skyhawks and in return, he taught Cadillac to fly. Within a week, the Mute was handling it like a graduate from the Academy.’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Brickman also discovered that Cadillac’s sleeping partner – a sixteen-year-old Mute female called Clearwater was a summoner of the Second Ring. She and Brickman had a brief physical liaison prior to his departure. It was, literally, a one-night stand but it appears to have left its mark. It’s not clear from Brickman’s “confession” whether the young wordsmith is aware of this.’

  The P-G nodded. ‘I guess it depends which stones he’s been sitting on.’

  Fran laughed. Her relationship to the P-G was close enough to permit a certain measure of informality. ‘Yes. But don’t let me give you the wrong impression. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Brickman may – as Trail-Blazers say – have “bounced beaver” but he hasn’t gone native. Mr Snow is a true lumphead but both Cadillac and Clearwater are straights. More than that. They are – to use Brickman’s own words – “superstraights”. Not only are they straight-boned and smooth-skinned – they are also clear-skinned, bright and gifted. Ideal candidates for the Talisman target-list.’

  ‘Incredible…’ mused the P-G. ‘Did Brickman say anything while he was under the truth drug as to why he concealed all this from the Assessors?’

  ‘Yes. A misplaced sense of loyalty. He felt he owed his life on more than once occasion to Mr Snow. He gave the
old man his word never to reveal the clan’s big secret – that not only are Cadillac and Clearwater gifted but that, bodywise, they’re indistinguishable from Trackers.’ Fran paused. ‘Add in this Mr Snow and you’re looking at a lot of power packed into one clan.’

  ‘Too much,’ said the President-General.

  ‘There were two other reasons why Brickman kept quiet. He happens to be somewhat smitten with this… young lady. Given his background it’s not surprising there was some reaction. And also, being a well-trained, ambitious young man, he didn’t want to damage his career prospects by talking about magic’

  The P-G nodded. ‘Why did they keep him alive? That’s what really intrigues me. Did he throw any daylight on that?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he did. The clan wanted to show him – and for him to tell us – what the Plainfolk were capable of. They also gave him something else to bring back. The Talisman Prophecy. It seems to have made a deep impression on him.’

  ‘It impressed me too, Fran. Still does… after all these years.’ The P-G swung his chair round to the right and gazed reflectively out of the windows for a moment then turned back to Fran. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, sir – apart from a couple of footnotes. The M’Calls – the Plainfolk clan that held him captive – apparently told Brickman that he was linked to the Talisman.’

  The P-G’s interest quickened. ‘You call that a footnote? What else did he say.’

  Fran spread her palms. ‘Q-6 did their best but there was no further clarification. The actual phrases Brickman used were “linked to” and “under his protection”. It appears that Cadillac and Clearwater also come into this category. That might be more interesting. As “superstraights” they make an ideal breeding pair.’

  ‘Yes…’ The P-G’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over what Fran had said. ‘And there are also other permutations…’

  Fran didn’t understand what he was getting at but chose to remain silent. She saw the P-G look at her expectantly. ‘Uh – the, uh – second item is from Brickman’s statement to the Board of Assessors. It concerns the people who supply the Plainfolk with their crossbows –’

  The P-G cut her short with a wave of his hand. ‘Yes, the Iron Masters. I know about them. At the moment, we have that particular problem on the back burner.’

  Fran inclined her head respectfully. ‘I understand, sir. The fine print of what we’ve discussed is in his statement to the Assessors and the Q-6 report. Both are attached to the summaries of his bio-file that you now have on-screen.’

  The P-G ignored the material displayed on his video. ‘I prefer to listen. In my experience I’ve found that, with an oral briefing, you not only acquire information, you also learn a great deal about the person who’s presenting it.’ He paused briefly to let that sink in. ‘What do you think, Fran?’

  ‘About Brickman?’

  ‘You’re his controller. You also presided over the board that questioned him for the last five days.’

  Fran pressed her lips together as she considered her answer. ‘He’s got what it takes.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what we all think.’

  ‘He also delivered some really high-grade intelligence.’

  ‘Is that why he came back?’

  Fran smiled. ‘I’d like to think it was but our Mr Brickman is not that straightforward. No… he came back for all sorts of reasons. Even so, I think Programming has done an amazing job – on both of them.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the P-G. He grimaced thoughtfully. ‘It’s this possible link with Talisman that causes me some concern. I’d like to think it was all nonsense but – if this “link” was activated – would the mind-blocks hold?’

  ‘We must make sure they do,’ replied Fran.

  It was the P-G’s turn to smile. ‘Easier said than done. It was a unfair question. None of us can predict what will happen when the joker in the pack turns up – if he ever does. But there is no point in storing up more trouble for ourselves. If there is any serious doubt about Brickman…’ He didn’t need to say any more.

  ‘That, of course, must be your decision,’ said Fran respectfully. ‘If he’s scratched then, obviously, any potential threat is eliminated. You have to balance that against what we might gain by having him under our control.’ She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘If it turns out he is one of the links in the chain – or becomes a source of power that we can turn against the Mutes… Isn’t that the real reason why he and the others are on the ST-list?’

  The P-G nodded soberly. ‘It’s one of them, yes…’

  ‘Then it would be a pity to waste all the effort that’s been expended on getting him this far. He also happens to be the only person that can lead us to Mr Snow and those two superstraights.’

  ‘Yes, that just occurred to me too,’ replied Jefferson.

  Fran said nothing more on the subject of Brickman but, inside her head, she was playing back the video-tape Chisum had made of Brickman and his kin-sister. And she recalled with an inward smile her feelings as she had watched Roz strip off her uniform and climb on top of Steve. Fran had been surprised to discover herself watching with less than clinical detachment. In fact, she had found herself wishing – albeit briefly – that she could have taken Roz’s place. She pushed the thought out of her head again. Ridiculous…

  As the man who – in order to stay on top of the job – was expected to have an encyclopaedic grasp of everything that was going on at every level throughout the Federation, the President-General was bombarded with a never-ending stream of information twenty-four hours a day. And this was despite a fifty-strong team of loyal, closely-related aides whose job it was to sort out the dross from the gold. The pre-Holocaust maxim, ‘knowledge is power’, still held good but, since becoming Head of the First Family some fifteen years ago, the P-G’s appetite for glowing green phosphor screenfuls of facts had become slightly jaded. He was still a skilled manipulator – that was part of the job profile – but he preferred to talk over ideas on a one-to-one basis or with a small group of close relatives. Best of all, he liked to retire to Cloudlands, where he could be alone to think things over while he tended his roses.

  This morning, however, Fran’s presentation had aroused his interest. Brickman – or, rather, what Brickman had stumbled across – was too important to ignore. Jefferson the 31st had often tried to wish the problem of the Talisman away but he knew it was a real threat that would have to be faced sooner or later. It would be a betrayal of his sacred duty to neglect to do whatever could be done to protect the Federation. Summoning up his remarkable powers of concentration he scanned the file summaries covering Steve’s background and development, then began to read the transcripts of his examination by the Assessors and his interrogation by one of the many truth-drug squads – Q-6.

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, two days after his talk with Fran, the President-General walked from the Oval Office into an adjoining, windowless conference room. The nine Supreme Councillors who had answered his summons rose respectfully as he entered and remained standing until he had taken his seat at the head of the long table.

  The P-G’s pale grey eyes fixed upon each of the group in turn as he greeted them with a practised smile and a nod of the head. He knew them well, and they knew him. They were all members of the exclusive First Family – the perpetual holders of power within the Federation. Apart from their other Family duties, this particular group – Group Nine – were responsible for planning the overall strategy of the secret operation code-named OVERLORD – Amtrak’s response to the threat contained in the Talisman Prophecy. The purpose of the present meeting was to take certain decisions concerning the ‘neutralisation’ of the Plain-folk. The main item on the agenda was the clan M’Call, Steve’s cooperative jailers.

  ‘Have you all scanned the data on Brickman?’

  They all nodded to show that they had.

  The P-G looked at the print-out on the video set on the table in front of him. The others in the group all had similar
screens to look at. ‘You have Ben’s proposal in front of you. What is your verdict? Does it compute?’

  Ben – who was sitting on the President-General’s right – was Commander-General Karlstrom. His full name was Ben Karlstrom Jefferson but, amongst the Family, the historic surname was not used except on certain formal occasions. Karlstrom was the current head of AMEXICO – the AMtrak Executive Intelligence Commando – a select, highly-trained group working under the direct orders of the President-General. Not only was it the most secret operational unit in the Federation, it was also a secret within the First Family. Less than a tenth of their number were aware of AMEXICO’s existence and even fewer knew the details of its past history or the full extent of its present activities. Its operatives were, inevitably, referred to as ‘Mexicans’; the unit itselfby the abbreviated initials ‘MX’.

  Abraham Lincoln, one of the President’s first cousins and the director of Group Nine replied with an affirmative nod. ‘The boy has all the necessary qualifications. His survival as a captive of the Mutes and his escape flight shows he has the necessary courage and resourcefulness. The big question is – given his background – can we trust him?’

  The President-General smiled benignly. ‘Abe – the reason why the First Family is still in control of the Federation is because we never ever put ourselves in the position of having to trust anybody. Of course we can’t trust Brickman. Nevertheless he has all the qualities we need.’ He let his gaze rove round the table. ‘Behind that honest face lies a devious, calculating mind and a burning ambition to succeed –’

  ‘The result of years of careful programming,’ said Quincy Adams. As Director of the Life Institute, he was anxious that his department’s contribution should not be overlooked.

  ‘Quite so, Quincy,’ said Jefferson the 31st, hiding his displeasure at being interrupted. ‘He will jump at the opportunity to return to his new-found friends but he will balk at what we are asking him to do. However, he will accept the assignment because, with his Tracker upbringing, it is his solemn duty to do so – and also because we intend to make him an offer he can’t refuse. And he will do his utmost to come back with the goods because the Federation is the only place where young Mister Brickman’s lust for power can be satisfied.’