by Dani Kollin
Irma and Michael stood remembering over the grave, watching the holodisplay loop endlessly in sixty-second spurts. It would stop when they left, but neither of them could. They stood transfixed as scenes of the young girl’s life played out over and over again. The weather was cruelly beautiful. The rustling leaves of the nearby trees were full of birdsong; the air was pleasant and the sky clear. The gravecrystal, like the message etched into it, was simple and economic: “Saundra Morrie—a good friend, terrific lover, and diligent reporter.” Unfortunately, Saundra had been caught in the cross fire while reporting about the rebellion on Mars. Though she’d been wearing the appropriate garb identifying her profession, she’d been cut down just the same. It was only later discovered that she’d been felled by a neurolizer, rendering her death permanent.
“You can’t go, Michael,” blurted Irma, staring intently at the holodisplay but no longer hearing Saundra’s infectious laughter.
“I have to, Irma. The story’s no longer here.”
“What story?” Irma said through gritted teeth. “Justin Cord is a murderer and a rebel. He’s caused the death of millions, if not more. I curse the day I broke that story and will not lose another member of my team. I … I … won’t allow it.”
Michael took Irma’s hand in his, staring directly at her until she finally looked up. He was surprised to see she’d been crying. All the while she stood next to him she hadn’t made a sound.
“Irma,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could muster, “you’re upset. Don’t blame yourself for breaking the story.”
“But … I did.”
“No, you figured it out first. Hektor broke it.”
“Small consolation, Michael,” Irma said while wiping away tears with her sleeve. “Saundra’s still dead.”
“Yes,” answered Michael as he briefly eyed the holodisplay, “yes, she is. But she was a grown woman. She knew the risks. And we both know she would’ve gone regardless. So would you and so would I.”
Irma managed a small nod.
“We’ve known each other for de cades, Irma. And we’re even pretty good reporters, judging from the trophy room at The Terran. Given that, can you honestly tell me that Justin Cord, the man we both spent so much time with, is a bloody revolutionary? That he planned all the death of the gray bomb, orchestrated the action wing, and somehow managed to get into the very heart of the Beanstalk, kill The Chairman, and then miraculously escape to launch a revolution? It sounds preposterous just saying it!”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Michael,” answered Irma, moving away from the noisy distraction of the holodisplay and the memory of her friend and apprentice. Michael followed as Irma continued to speak. “Why can’t you accept that he fooled us? I know you might think it difficult, Michael, but I’m convinced. He didn’t do it all on his own; I’ll give you that. He contacted or was contacted by dangerous people and he used them to get what he wanted. I don’t like to admit it, but he fooled me too. The evidence is quite compelling.”
“Irma.” Michael grabbed her shoulder to stop her in place. The reporter whipped around, seething in anger. Michael remained undeterred by her glare. “That evidence,” he continued, “is at best circumstantial. Perhaps you’re biased.”
“Me? That’s a laugh, Michael. You know me, there’s not a biased bone in my body.”
“You did have a special affinity for The Chairman, Irma, and let’s be honest, a certain comfort, for lack of a better word, with the new one.”
“And you’re not a little biased,” she answered, choosing to ignore his challenge, “because of your connection with Justin Cord, Mr. First Interview?”
Michael paused. “Maybe I am. But there’s more to this. I don’t buy Hektor Sambianco as the good guy.”
Irma smiled. “Oh, trust me, Michael. Hektor is many things, but a good guy is not one of them. But Justin Cord is a bad guy and Hektor has been the only one saying so from the very beginning. As if a murdered Chairman and half of New York lying in ruins wasn’t evidence enough.”
“Again, Irma, circumstantial. We only have Hektor’s word on the murder, and there was nothing linking Justin Cord to the gray bomb.”
“Right,” she answered, “as if leading the Liberty Party absolves him. If anything, Michael, it implicates him further.”
“If the incorporation movement is so good, why are so many people against it?” “Ten percent, Michael.
Ten percent. Hardly ‘so many people.’”
“Now we’re splitting hairs, friend,” he answered. “Four billion is hardly negligible. Yes, mostly in the outer system, but we both know Belters are not easily manipulated or led. Cord, as famous as he is, couldn’t have just waltzed right in and become their President. There was discontent all along. Much like what we saw on Mars and even to a degree here on Earth.”
“Michael,” she answered, almost pleading. “There will always be discontent. Don’t you see that? Our system managed to mollify it … for the first time in centuries.” Her face grew stern once more. “We both helped unleash this … and caused …,” she said, motioning back toward the fresh grave, “that. We can’t give it … him … any more legitimacy. I won’t.”
Michael looked over at Saundra’s resting place. “That doesn’t sound very impartial, and it’s certainly not what Saundra would’ve done.”
“We don’t know what Saundra would’ve done, Michael,” answered Irma, once again moving away from the grave and toward the waiting flyer. “She’s not here to tell us.” Irma then stopped and turned around. “And you’re right about one thing, by the way.”
“Really? And what would that be?”
“When it comes to protecting our very way of life, I’ll admit it. I’m not impartial. Justin Cord represents a past that can’t be allowed to return or everything we’ve learned about the VR plague, the Grand Collapse, Tim Damsah, everything … was for naught. He doesn’t need to be understood, Michael, or explained or interviewed. He needs to be stopped. I didn’t understand that until it was too late. I will not lose any more people to this insanity, especially you. As long as you’re my reporter you are not going after that story, is that understood?”
Michael saw the determined look on his boss’s face and didn’t bother to answer. She’d already done that for him.
Two days later Irma had Michael’s resignation in her hand. She’d planned on confronting him personally. They’d both said things they regretted; of that she was sure. It wasn’t the first time they’d had a spat, and there’d been worse. The last thing she wanted was to lose one of the best reporters in the system and one of the few close friends she had, all over a difference of opinion. And yet she couldn’t help but notice that her situation wasn’t unique. She’d read, heard, even written about and now experienced firsthand how the war was creating a demarcation line right down the center of society. She’d thrown out the 10 percent figure to Michael in the heat of battle, but his response had been spot-on. A billion is still a billion, especially times four. And those who hadn’t declared but were debating Cord’s ideas, they numbered in the tens of billions. Those debates were pitting brother against brother and, in Irma’s case, friend against friend.
Despite her considerable contacts, Irma hadn’t been able to find Michael anywhere. And now she found herself alone atop the world wondering if perhaps some of what he’d said had been correct. Perhaps she was too biased; maybe there was a story. But she still felt in her gut that the path the world was heading down was just that, down. Well, Michael had made his choice and she’d made hers. They’d both have to live with the consequences. She turned when she heard the sound of a door being opened. Hektor suddenly appeared before her. He was dressed in casual clothing: nice slacks, mock turtleneck, and his trademark cowboy boots. Nothing he wore indicated the power he held. It was the rare man who could pull that off, she thought.
Hektor came forward to greet her. “Irma, I probably shouldn’t be saying this to a reporter, but it’s damn good to s
ee you.” He took her hand in his and brought it to the tip of his lips. The lingering grasp, thought Irma, was in some ways more intimate than that of a passionate kiss.
“I shouldn’t be partial either, Hektor,” she replied, pulling her hand back, “but, off-the-record of course …”
“Of course.”
“Of all the people who could’ve become GCI Chairman, I’m actually glad it was you. We need you.”
“Well, isn’t it ironic then?” he said, allowing a laugh.
“How so?”
“I called you here because I need you.”
Hektor led her past the waiting room, an executive assistant who didn’t bother to look up, and into his office. He motioned Irma into an alcove. They both sat down on two ergo chairs in front of a tall open window. Though the view was equally spectacular from what Irma had just seen, neither of them bothered to look out. The verbal parry had begun and now the facial expressions and mannerisms would make for far more interesting viewing.
Irma allowed a small grin. Might as well throw the opening salvo. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with changing the preamble to the Constitution, would it?”
“Not changing, Irma,” answered Hektor without missing a beat, “adding to. One word, to be precise. I assume you somehow managed to get a copy of the not-to-be-released-on-pain-of-death proposal.”
“You assume incorrectly, Mr. Chairman,” Irma answered, making sure to keep her eyes level. He wouldn’t believe her, but she was telling the truth and direct eye contact was essential.
“Call me ‘Hektor,’ please,” the Chairman insisted.
“Not for lack of trying … Hektor,” continued Irma. “Normally a Confederation assemblyman will sell you pictures of his daughter’s deflowering for a ten-credit note and a promise of favorable mention in The Terran Daily News, but not this time. Figuring it was you was an educated guess.”
“Good guess, then,” answered Hektor. “I’ve clearly educated you well.”
Irma ignored the patronizing remark. It was, she accepted, Hektor’s way.
“Want to know what the addition is?” he asked.
“Of course. What’s the catch?”
“No catch, dear. Remember what I said. It’s I who need you. Plus I think you’ll agree it’s important and maybe, if I’m fortunate, you’ll even try to help.”
Irma hesitated. “What about the impartiality of the press?” The question, she realized, was more for her than him.
“You know as well as I do that these are not impartial times, Irma. Too much is at stake.”
Irma nodded. She hadn’t agreed to anything but a notion. That wasn’t breaking the reporter’s creed, was it?
“It’s a simple change,” continued Hektor. “You remember the preamble, ‘we the people of the Terran Confederation, to ensure domestic tranquility—’”
“‘—keep the peace,’” continued Irma, reciting a piece of text practically inculcated from birth, “ ‘and protect the individual from the arbitrary, unjust, and immoral depredations of society and government, do hereby enact this Constitution.’”
“Yes, that one,” answered Hektor, smiling approvingly.
Irma said nothing. Her look indicated he should continue.
“Well, the amendment I propose will change it to read: ‘We the people of the Terran Confederation, to ensure domestic tranquility, keep the peace, and protect the incorporated individual from the arbitrary, unjust, and’ yada, yada, yada.”
Irma stared blankly at her subject. “That’s it? One word and suddenly all our problems are over?” How, she thought, was this taking charge?
“Oh yes, Irma,” answered Hektor, suddenly leaning over to slap her on the knee. “And then Tim Damsah himself will come back to life and proclaim an end to all this nonsense!”
The man’s jovial demeanor faded quickly, replaced by the arched frown and intent stare that Irma knew to fear.
“No,” he said, leaning back in his chair and exhaling deeply, “it won’t solve anything. What it will do is put the issue in the proper perspective and enable the government to act.”
“The government?” spat Irma. “Are you kidding me, Hektor? What good are they for this sort of thing?” She then leaned forward a little and her sotto voce voice spoke. “We both know who runs the show.”
Hektor didn’t respond but rather sat in place with a provocative grin. Irma knew he wasn’t one to rush his answers, preferring an awkward silence to a hasty assertion. It was interminable, but over the years she had gotten used to it.
“Irma,” he finally offered, “I wish what you said was true, but it’s gone beyond what the corporations can do.” He suddenly stood up and walked the few paces to the window overlooking the Earth. “Even,” he continued as he stared out at the vista, “those as big as GCI.” Just as suddenly he swung around. “My dear woman, a government created the system we have now and then had the good grace to get out of the way. But Mr. Damsah and the other greats of the past never could have foreseen a Justin Cord. Our Unincorporated Man is now beyond the power of the corporations alone to stop him. We need to unite the majority of humanity behind one goal: the complete destruction of everything Justin Cord believes. In history there are only two organizations capable of uniting a vast majority to do anything in a short period of time: government and religion; and I don’t know how to make religion effective again, nor would I care to if I could.” Hektor then slowly made his way back to his seat, crossed his legs, and outstretched his arms on the wide chair. “As distasteful as it is, that leaves government.”
Irma mulled it over. She was actually beginning to enjoy the brief respites between conversations. “I don’t argue,” she said, “that it would be wonderful to unite all our energies in order to end this mess.” Her face had twisted into an almost misbegotten shape. “But government?”
Hektor nodded in the affirmative.
“How,” she continued, “do you know it’ll even work?”
“I don’t.”
“I mean you’re really going to put all that power into a bureaucrat’s hands and … and …” Irma stopped talking. A sly grin formed as she began to shake her head slowly. “You’re a real piece of work, Sambianco.”
Hektor got up from his chair and clapped his hands twice. “Bravo, Ms. Sobbelgé. Bravo. In a year’s time there is going to be a new President of the government. I intend to run for the office and win. And Irma, I’m going to need your help to do it.”
The Fifth Amendment to the Terran Confederation Constitution changing the preamble has passed. Ironically, it was only with the secession of the outer orbits that the three-fourths needed to pass it was obtained by the remaining areas of the Confederation. In related news, the province that formally made up the area of the Alaskan Federation has called a meeting of its legislature to announce plans for secession. Hektor Sambianco, Chairman of GCI, has arranged to speak to the Alaskan assembly to, in his words, “reason with them and turn back the Cordian challenge to the unity of the Earth itself.”
—Irma Sobbelgé
The Terran Daily News
Irma found herself standing in a cold, dank staircase nervously awaiting a speech. The building she’d entered had once been the city hall of Anchorage, Alaska. It had become over time as famous as Carpenters’ Hall in Philadelphia, home of the First Continental Congress of the United States of America. And it had become so by virtue of any number of historic speeches Tim Damsah, found er of the incorporation movement, had made from its hallowed halls. The building, she mused, was about as chilly as the surly audience now awaiting the Chairman in the filled-to-capacity auditorium. The edifice, she noted upon entering, was in the mode of classical architecture, including the small square-like protrusions beneath the cornices, the simulated two-tone rustic exterior walls, and the circular arched entranceway.
What had once housed everything from the mayor’s, police, and firemen’s offices to a jail with a drunk tank had now become the pivotal center for all things Poli
tical in the Alaskan territories. To night’s speech, as evidenced by the standing-room-only crowd, was expected to be one such event. Though Irma wasn’t giving the speech, she was nervous just the same. Over the past few weeks she’d busied herself subtly supporting the new Chairman’s every move. Choosing which stories to run and which to hold. Assigning skeptical reporters to puff pieces and pliable ones to critical events. To night’s was important enough that she’d chosen to cover it herself. And so she paced nervously at the foot of a staircase waiting for Hektor to show up. He’d said that he wanted to meet her briefly before speaking.
A side door squeaked open and a large burly man poked his head around, looked back, and then quietly entered. Hektor followed quickly and then another guard slipped in behind him. Both guards took up positions on either side of the door as Hektor made his way over to Irma. She smiled gravely.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, taking sips from a coffee cup she’d been using more as a hand warmer than a receptacle. “Let’s just say they’re not exactly a happy audience in there.”
Hektor could make out the sounds of the rumbling crowd on the other side of the door, but didn’t appear the least bit worried.
“Nice to see you too,” he answered.
“I don’t see how you can convince them to stay in the Confederation,” she replied, pointedly ignoring the Chairman’s stab at humor.
He looked at her, bemused. “I can’t.”
“So you’re here to see them secede and then be the first person arrested by the reborn Alaskan Federation? That’ll make it difficult to run for a presidency that you haven’t even announced yet. Though I should thank you in advance.”
