Confrontation

by William Hayashi

“I didn’t say it would be easy, Stu. But you’re the president of the United States, you can get it done—no, you will get it done. We’re not asking for much. We funded that damned mission to the tune of half a trillion dollars. You think that was charity?” Templeton asked.

  “Listen, you son of a bitch, you can’t come here in this office and strong arm … ” Laughlin began, as Dawkins pulled him back when he began to rise.

  “Mr. President, I think it would be a good idea to hear everything they are demanding,” she said in an effort to contain his anger before it got out of control.

  “President Laughlin, please calm yourself. What we’re asking is not so unusual. When NASA sent the Apollo astronauts to the moon, didn’t the United States directly benefit from the scientific discoveries as well as the technologies developed to get them there and back?” Manchester said, also trying to cool the atmosphere. “What my less-than-subtle colleague is merely saying is should any such discoveries be made in the course of the Jove mission, GST is the natural agency to evaluate and study whatever the crew encounters,” Manchester continued.

  “And is Mathews in on this extortion?” Laughlin inquired.

  “Not at all. I hardly think he’d go along with it anyway. His interest is in that woman in the colony,” Templeton said dismissively. “That’s why I wanted to discuss this with you directly. We aren’t looking for anything more than what we believe GST is due, given our considerable investment in the Jove mission.”

  Manchester took over. “Mr. President, let us imagine that the colonists bless us with whatever they have developed to lengthen their lives. GST has far greater resources to test and evaluate their finds than any government agency. There’s no telling what a blood sample from any of those people could tell us. And Mr. President, do not think for one minute that we wouldn’t be extremely appreciative of your consideration; such appreciation would be extended to you and your—extended—family,” she said, nodding toward his chief of staff.

  Laughlin rose and began to pace back and forth, trying to keep from losing it completely. Dawkins was concerned that one false word could turn the mission into something everyone would regret.

  They all waited Laughlin out.

  Moments later he stopped, leaned against the wall and asked, “And what are the consequences if I refuse?”

  Templeton and Manchester looked at each other, Templeton shrugging his shoulders.

  Manchester turned to face Laughlin and asked, “For such a reasonable request? Are you considering refusing? Why? What harm is there in what we ask?”

  “First of all, it’s hardly asking. It’s just short of blackmail. And all you’re going to do with anything they bring back is get even richer off of it,” Laughlin accused.

  “Over the years you’ve been the direct beneficiary of our wealth, Stu. Isn’t this being just a little bit hypocritical?” Templeton prodded.

  “It’s not the same at all,” he protested.

  “No, it’s exactly the same. Everyone who contributes to campaigns does so because they want something from the candidate, in either setting policy or having access. I believe it’s safe to say that there’s no way Project Jove could have been completed without the contributions of GST. Hell you can’t even get into space without our ships. It’s now the policy of this nation to privatize space exploration. Are those who foot the bill not supposed to receive benefit for our contributions?” Templeton asked.

  “This country pays GST and all the rest of the private contractors for their transportation—their shipping for want of a better term—and their research and development services. You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your collective, corporate, greedy little hearts. And you have the nerve to march in here and demand that we—that I—give into your every whim? You know, I could just have you shot,” Laughlin said quietly.

  “So could I,” Templeton replied, startling the two women with his offhand tone. “As you know, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Enough!” Manchester shouted. “This is getting us nowhere, and it’s not why we came here,” she said, wagging her finger in Templeton’s face. “Now apologize.”

  “What?” said the confused board member.

  “You heard me. Otherwise, I’ll let them shoot you and back any claim the president makes. You’re supposed to be friends. Is this how friends behave, both of you?,” she barked.

  Templeton stood and offered his hand to the president and said contritely, “I truly am sorry, Stu. I let my temper get out of hand.”

  Laughlin laughed, shook Templeton’s hand and replied, “You’re no different than when we were beating those Wall Street crooks at their own game. No harm done, Beau. Say no more.”

  Laughlin directed Templeton back to his seat and then sat.

  “Look, I’m sensitive to the situation, and I don’t have a personal problem with GST taking the lead in the evaluation of whatever the mission brings back. But I do have a problem with anyone coming in here ordering me around and a friend threatening me.” Laughlin held up his hand to forestall the two from GST saying anything.

  “But I would like to remind you that Dr. Roscoe is in command to keep anyone with undue influence from commandeering the mission. I’m sure you have your own dossier on her, do you not?” Laughlin was delighted to see the uncomfortable look pass between the two. “Since you’re here, you couldn’t find any leverage you could apply to the good doctor, could you? There was a slim chance you could have suborned Ambassador Ortega; she was the wild card as far as I was concerned. Nothing in her background connected her with any multinational, especially your rivals, so she looked like a straight arrow. So you came to press upon our friendship to ensure your influence over the outcome of the mission, and barring that, a subtle hint or two, and barring that, a threat,” Laughlin said, chuckling.

  “Mr. President, the potential impact of any of the separatists’ technologies being released unfettered on the world market is incalculable. What would be the impact of doubling the life span of our current seven billion souls on this Earth? Half of the people on this planet go to bed hungry every night as it is. We have lost more than eighty percent of the oceans’ biomass in the last eighty years.

  “So you see, there’s more than just greed at play here, Mr. President. GST has no intention of filling its coffers without regard for the impact new technologies exploding across the globe will have,” said Manchester. “Government regulation of technology isn’t new, nor is it unexpected. I’m British, and I love my country. Were the Jove mission to bring back the secret to lengthening life spans, I would fully expect for some measure of discipline be applied to distribution of such a treatment both here and at home. But I will not tolerate such technology being left only in the hands of the American government. And I admit that the idea of making such a treatment so prohibitively expensive it cannot be achieved by the average man in the street just might be the way things play out. But whatever happens, whatever we may glean from those extraordinary people living out in space, GST at least deserves the right of first refusal in obtaining and evaluating any such technologies.”

  Everyone in the room was silent, thinking through the ramifications of the situation. Dawkins was appalled at the attitude of these people of such wealth. They treated the president of the United States as their fetching boy. In the back of her mind she wondered if she was at all at risk for having witnessed this private exchange.

  “Mr. President, if I may be blunt, I believe we’ve probably stayed well past our welcome,” Manchester said, getting to her feet.

  The others scrambled to stand, caught off guard.

  Laughlin and Templeton actually hugged, both truly glad to see each other again, and embarrassed over their behavior.

  “Beauregard, don’t ever change, I wouldn’t know what to think if that ever happened,” Laughlin said, clapping his friend on the back.

 
“Stu, however this mission turns out, nothing’s going to ever change between us. Stay sharp, the country needs you.”

  The two shook hands at the door just before it was opened by a Secret Service agent who conducted them back to the car.

  When the door closed, Dawkins immediately said, “What in the hell was that, Stuart? I wouldn’t have believed it had I not been here.”

  “Want a drink?” he asked.

  “Coffee, how about you? I can go get it,” she offered.

  “Sit down. I want to go over a couple of things,” he said. Then activated the intercom and asked that coffee be brought for them both.

  Returning to the couch across from Dawkins, Laughlin said, “Well, Debra, I hazard you’ve never seen that kind of behavior anywhere but on a playground before.”

  “Those people are the most powerful industrialists in the world, do they really see the entire planet as their domain to do whatever they want with? And what’s up with your so-called friend threatening you? Shouldn’t something be done about that?” Dawkins asked, simply incredulous that anyone would treat the president of the United States in such a manner.

  “Beau used to threaten me, and everyone else in the investment group, every day. He hasn’t changed a bit. His mouth always got him in trouble. I will say this, he actually seemed better than in years past. What surprises me is that he’s on the board of GST at all.” Laughlin shook his head, chuckling to himself.

  The door opened and a cart was wheeled in with a small coffee urn and a plate of cheese and crackers. The aide pushed it to the end of the president’s couch and poured cups for them both after putting sweetener and cream within reach on the table before them.

  When he left the office, Dawkins asked, “So, what now?”

  “Absolutely nothing. The mission goes on as scheduled, and as tasked. There’s no need to change a thing, and you know why?” he asked.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m convinced that they’re not going to come back with a damn thing,” Laughlin said quietly.

  Dawkins was silent, letting the president talk it all out.

  “Seriously. The message sent out a decade ago said it all. I reread it again this morning. In a matter of days we’re sending our people out in brand-new technology, needed technology if we’re ever to live beyond this planet. What I’m worried about is if the colonists, separatists, whatever you want to call them, if they’re going to allow us to colonize the planets at all. They have proven their mastery of space, and they can travel to any planet in the solar system at will. What if they lay claim to Mars, for instance and forbid us from landing our people there? Then what, Debra?”

  “Whitey’s shit out of luck?” she answered.

  Caught by surprise, Laughlin laughed until tears ran from his eyes.

  The president wiped his eyes as his laughter trailed off, then said, “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”

  “But, Stuart, I was completely serious. Whitey’s days are numbered in this country,” she reminded him, smiling.

  “Maybe so. But I’m serious about leaving the mission alone. Paul Milton has already briefed the crew endlessly about the mission objectives, which essentially boil down to ‘do no harm.’ They’re going to be at a complete technological disadvantage. That’s the reason I resisted every suggestion to arm the mission in any way, shape or form. I don’t want us to give any of those people so much as a paper cut.

  “Debra, this country is still a racial cesspool, and it’s gotten worse since the separatists were discovered. Some psychologist said it’s because their existence destroyed the notion of white exceptionalism in America for good, and they’re not far off the mark. You’ve got whites in this country worried that when they become the minority here they’re going to be treated as badly as they’ve treated nonwhites through America’s history. People imagine others will do to them what they would do another,” Laughlin said with a sigh.

  “It wouldn’t break my heart if the country was coerced into some better behavior, a leveling of the playing field would be nice too. But the fact is that forcing people to behave differently isn’t the way to go; it never works. With all their technological superiority, the separatists obviously decided that America was beyond repairing,” she observed.

  “Is that why you took this job, Deb? You thought you could help some of that change along?” Laughlin inquired.

  “Maybe a little. But being chief of staff isn’t the kind of job that really impacts national policy,” she said.

  “Maybe not directly. But I do listen to your counsel. Your coming up with Susan Roscoe was brilliant. The achievements of the separatists prove that there’s no difference in potential between the races. It all boils down to a matter of education, and to a lesser degree, financial status. But this country is full of assholes hoping that the South will rise again, and because of that damned actor who demonized welfare from the White House, the dumbed-down contingent of white mouth-breathers out there thinks every black or Hispanic family in America is on the dole.” Laughlin paused, looking off into the distance.

  Then he quickly turned and focused his attention fully on her and asked, “How angry are you as a black woman, Debra?”

  “Excuse me? What do you mean?” came her shocked reply.

  “Exactly that. How much anger are you carrying around because of the shit you have to put up with for simply being black?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure I really want to have this discussion, Stuart,” she said warily.

  “Why not? Is it because you think being honest with me is going to impact your job? I think I deserve a little better consideration than that. We’ve been friends since before Jessica and I got married; hell you stood up at my wedding. All right, let me ask you this: Why don’t you want to have this conversation?” Laughlin asked, coming at her from another direction.

  Dawkins shook her head slowly, as she marshaled her thoughts, trying to decide what she could tell, what she wanted to tell, and finally, what she should tell the leader of the free world, and her friend.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation because I think it would serve no good purpose. There are aspects to being black that you have no idea about, that you can’t understand. I mean no disrespect, but Stuart, you just don’t know.”

  “So educate me.”

  “I can’t. I can’t teach you about a lifetime of slights, a lifetime of insults, a lifetime of watching your family and friends eat shit and have to like it for no better reason than their skin color. I can’t show you the pain because it’s all used up and been consumed in a white-hot anger that would kill you for the insult of ignorance. You can’t learn, you can’t understand, don’t you fucking get it!” she practically shouted.

  The president was shocked speechless. He backed up on the couch to put as much distance between himself and this angry stranger sitting across from him.

  Dawkins’ breath was ripping in and out of her in unabated rage, her eyes wide and her hands balled into fists. Laughlin waited, uncertain what to do to calm her, fearful of causing insult by appearing to be patronizing, completely distraught seeing his chief of staff, his friend Debra, in a light unknown to him until that very moment.

  After several minutes of silence, Dawkins visibly calmed herself, unclenching her hands, taking a moment to glance at the deep tracks in her palm her nails had dug.

  Giving her another minute to further calm down, Laughlin then quietly asked, “Can I get you something, Debra?”

  Dawkins looked up at Laughlin and shook her head. When her breathing calmed, she started to say, “I’m sor—”

  He immediately interrupted and said, “Forget it. I suspected, but as you say, I have no real idea. It is I who should be apologizing to you. Debra, I’m truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “I never should have snapped at you like that.” she sai
d at nearly a whisper.

  The president got up and poured a healthy measure of vodka for Dawkins and scotch for himself, and they drank in silence, neither wanting nor willing to say anything.

  After a few minutes of companionable silence, Laughlin ordered a car to take Dawkins home, suggesting she take it instead of driving herself home. He assured her it would be at her disposal in the morning to bring her to work and not to worry about leaving her car in the lot over night.

  Once Dawkins left the office, President Laughlin sat alone with just the desk lamp illuminating the room. Unfortunately, he had gotten the answer in spades to his original question. Debra Dawkins was as sharp as they came, but if she had that level of rage living just below the surface of her existence, the motivation for the separatists’ decision to abandon any relationship with Earth was all the more understandable. They would never share their technology with Earth, no matter what was offered.

  He laughed out loud, thinking about GST’s board expecting exclusive access to the nonexistent technology the Jove mission would be bringing back. What a waste of a trip, he thought of their visit. He also felt sorry for the ambassador’s upcoming futile effort to try to negotiate normalized relations with anyone from the colony.

  He was going to have to mend fences with Debra. Laughlin and was under no illusion about exactly how inappropriate his behavior toward her was.

  Laughlin knew he couldn’t cancel the mission, it was entirely too late for that. After a decade of silence, and some four decades of their perfect concealment from the entire world before that, he had no expectation at all of anything changing.

  Chapter 18

  SPACEMAN

  “Stand by for deorbital burn,” radioed pilot Harriet Manson, as she checked the computer’s program for the tenth time. Copilot Sybil Woodson was monitoring the data stream between NASA and the ship.

  The two were in the forward pilot’s compartment, fitted into the nose of the Jove spacecraft. It looked much like the cockpit of a Boeing 747 from the outside of Jove. Directly below them in a compartment aligned with the floor toward the rear of the spacecraft was the rest of the crew. The specialists working consoles around the periphery of the ship’s cylindrical skin, while the rest were strapped into acceleration consoles clustered in the center of the compartment. Jove enjoyed the roomiest crew compartments ever built, owing to the fact that the ship was assembled in orbit and didn’t have to lift itself out of Earth’s gravity well. And, because of the months-long mission and large crew, NASA psychologists knew that with so many in close confinement, space for crew members to go off by themselves would be essential to maintain the best possible working relationships and crew members’ peace of mind.