by Jim Wurst
“Only that you will receive periodic briefings in addition to your daily briefing. The scheduling and means of communications will be dictated by need and conducted by people far above my level.”
“Thank you.” He was also saying goodbye.
After Nancy returned after escorting Rogers out, she saw Cranston had not moved. She mouthed “Sean” and the senator waved her off. “Nancy, find out if Dr. McDowell has had her briefing. We need to talk. Where is she right now?”
“On her way to Seattle.”
“Well, she can’t turn back, and I can’t go there. She must come here as soon as the Seattle rally is over.”
“She’s due in Albuquerque next.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Here.”
CHAPTER 9
There was nothing about this experience that Lilly McDowell liked. Well, except for the seat. That was much nicer than the average airplane seat. But she hated flying, so the comfort of the seat didn’t count for much. Elena Lopez was sitting across from her, facing backwards. The other two seats were empty. This was a private cabin, but the rest of the plane was not much larger. Only 20 people could fly in this state-of-the-art aircraft. This was the elite of the elite, only the richest and most powerful people could have access to the luxury and safety it offered. Absurd, Lilly thought every time she boarded this thing, that I have any business on such a craft. It would be over in a few months and she would have her normal life back. But for now, she traveled in luxury, had a staff and was, generally, listened to. Absurd.
As a scientist and tenured professor, she was the least likely politician to come onto the scene in decades. Lilly was in her 50s, about the same age as Cranston, but that was where the similarities ended. She was born in China, adopted by American parents, and had little use for the public and private machinations of politics. She was shy, all intellect and no passion, and was running for vice president of the United States.
Absurd.
Elena was briefing Lilly about the rest of the itinerary. Lilly was not looking at her but at some distant point, probably in the past, she wasn’t a big fan of the future at the moment. Elena knew well enough not to mistake lack of eye contact for lack of attention. She could read Herodotus Histories, and Lilly could repeat it back to her. Her casual intellect was what Elena liked most about her. Lilly liked Elena’s enthusiasm. They were comfortable together.
“… You have an interview with the Post in ten minutes. A press conference at the airport before the motorcade to the hotel. After the speech, you have a private dinner with five donors…”
“How private?”
“Just them and spouses. No aides.”
“That means chitchat. I hate chitchat.”
“Well, one is an oceanographer, so it would be possible to raise the level of conversation a bit.”
“Can we talk about deep sea drones?”
She wanted to say, “but it’s a fundraiser,” but stopped herself. “You can try…”
As much as she hated chitchat, she truly loathed large crowds, so this evening would not be the worst thing imaginable. “Pressing the flesh” was still an expression, but few did it. The fear of communicable diseases made even the thought of it repulsive. Politicians would still make public appearances and even sometimes walk through a crowd, but it wasn’t common. The public no longer expected that. For Lilly, this was a minor relief.
There was a knock on the cabin door. An aide walked in without waiting. He was even younger than Elena. He had survived his teens in Florida. Determined never to return to a state that committed itself to suicide, he signed on to the first opportunity that promised him escape. No promise of wealth, security or success of course, just escape. That was enough. Working for a loser wasn’t the worst job in the world he was from Florida. At least McDowell never yelled at him. She never yelled.
“Dr. McDowell, we just received a communication from Senator Cranston. He says you have to come to Washington after Seattle. It’s urgent.”
“Meaning?”
“There seems to be a security issue involved. He didn’t want to go into detail. The senator says Sean has sent a message to Elena.” Elena immediately reached for her pocket computer, but the aide interrupted. “Um, the instructions are that you are not to open the message until I leave. Only the two of you can see it.”
This was beyond odd. “Anything else?” Lilly asked.
“No, ma’am.” And with that, he dismissed himself. Elena immediately took out her computer and started reading. A small smile crossed her face.
“This better not be a love note.”
Elena sputtered. “What? No, ma’am! It’s just that it’s in a kind of personal code. We designed it for use on unsecured lines.”
“Well?”
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s about my aunt visiting that’s you and, well, the senator needs to brief you on a national security matter that impacts on the campaign and it involves, um, an Asian country, probably China or Japan. I mean, it’s not exactly a sophisticated system.”
The aide poked his head in again. “A message from the White House. You will receive a security briefing after you land in Seattle but before you speak.”
“Obviously not a coincidence.”
“No, ma’am.” And he left again.
“Elena, as soon as you can, please devise a more specific set of codewords with Sean, and for God’s sake, could you please make a distinction between China and Japan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You realize that means we’re not going to Albuquerque.”
Yes, ma’am.”
Elena’s computer pinged. “Oh, the interview. Are you ready?”
“If I must.” Elena pressed the intercom button. “Send the reporter back.”
The aide brought in the journalist, also a young man. “When did I become the old lady?” Lilly said to herself.
He sat down opposite Lilly, while Elena pressed another button on the console and a small computer descended. He removed a chip from his pocket and inserted it into the panel. Elena pressed another button and a screen lit on the journalist’s side, showing Lilly in her seat. He settled in, barely looking at Elena other than to judge the length of her skirt. He clearly found it regrettable.
Protected by party and parents, he slid up the ladder. He was very easy to read but he didn’t care. They set him up for life.
Elena took on the ridiculous role as enforcer. “Remember, you have ten minutes.”
“Right, so shall we get started?”
“Please,” Lilly said, barely disguising her boredom.
“Ms. McDowell…”
Elena interjected. “Doctor McDowell, please.”
He looked at her with that “girly, why are you still here?” expression that Elena had seen a thousand times before and had ignored a thousand times before. “Doctor McDowell, as a leader of the Expendables, do you feel equipped to represent all the people of the United States?”
Elena tried not to grimace as Lilly immediately took the bait. “I am not a leader of the Expendables. The Expendables are not an organization. I am the Federalist Party candidate for vice president of the United States, and I am perfectly qualified to represent all the people of the United States.”
Could have been worse.
“You deny being a leader of the Expendables?”
“There’s nothing to deny. The Expendables is an expression. For nearly 30 years it is how we’ve referred to US citizens who were born in and adopted from China. It was simple irony at first, nothing more. It is not a secret society with rings and secret handshakes.”
Still ok, but now Elena was fantasizing about whether to slug him in the nose or his big mouth.
“But you coined the phrase…”
“No, I did not. True, it was first used at Columbia when I was there, but I was not the o
ne to call Chinese orphans expendables. I used the phrase then, true, as did most of us. But it was in a youthful fit of defiance. A way to define that moment in history, but it is not now, nor was it ever, what you imply.”
“So, was it an act of defiance against the American couple who saved you?”
“I will not allow you to make this about my parents.”
Boom!
Realizing she had done it again, she added, “Do you have any policy questions?”
“Seeing that China is the great rival of the United States, can the American people trust you not to harbor some sentimental attachment to our enemy?”
Elena interrupted. “Interview’s over.” Why should only one side be subtle?
Rather than protesting, the reporter grinned at her and took his chip out of the monitor. He had what he needed, no reason to make more work for himself. “Thanks, truly enlightening.” With a ‘you-don’t-dare-do-what-you’re-thinking-of-doing’ grin, he turned to Elena. “Mucho gracias.”
After he left and the air became less toxic, Lilly asked, “Does every journalist covering this campaign work for the Doctrinists?”
“Pretty much. Even if they’re not officially on the payroll, they know the lines. Cross the president and your bandwidth starts to shrink or reception drops. Everyone remembers what happened to Goldstein. Lost 80 percent of his bandwidth in less than a month. If those hackers hadn’t boosted him just to annoy Ailes, then he would have disappeared even faster. No one wants to shrink like that. I can get the unedited version on our site before his version comes out.”
“I’m not sure the unedited version is going to help us any.”
“They’re going to make this an ‘us against them’ story with you as the ‘them.’ The unedited version has to be better.”
“Remind me again why I’m running?”
Elena repeated the party line. “Because you’re uniquely equipped to represent all the people of the United States in these troubled times.”
“George is going to kill me, isn’t he?”
Nodding, she answered quietly. “Yes, very slowly.”
CHAPTER 10
Bureaucracy is always a growth industry, especially when the leaders who hate bureaucracy need it. A clever politician can fob off decisions to bureaucrats and then rail against bureaucrats who impede the people’s will. The trade-off for the bureaucrat is that he has a job, a considerable factor. Mr. Anderson was a bureaucrat for the Minnesota Bureau for Internal Migration. His primary responsibility was to say “no.” He looked straight ahead. Unfortunately, there was a face staring back.
“You’re too old for an A Visa.” Mr. Anderson stared into the screen looking at a man not much younger than himself. He didn’t pretend he was interested.
The tired man stared into his computer screen, trying not to look tired. “I have a long and unblemished work history.”
“You understand, an A Visa, permits you to migrate to Canada. How am I supposed to justify giving you a ticket to Canada?”
“I don’t want to go to Canada, I have family in Minnesota, and I have plenty of skills you need.”
Mr. Anderson glanced at a side screen displaying the applicant’s dossier. He didn’t have to; he knew what it said, he just wanted an excuse to look away. “I’m sorry but you don’t.”
“The wind farms need repair staff. I’m a skilled mechanic.”
“There is a three-year waiting list for working on the wind farms. Sorry. And besides, there is another problem.”
Like a falling man grasping for a branch he passed ten seconds ago, he asked, “What?”
“You were working in Louisiana four years ago…”
Another branch came within reach. “Exactly, on industrial cleanup. That is a valuable skill. That requires judgment, attention to detail, and...”
“But you didn’t list it on your work history. I found that in your official record. Why did you exclude it?”
“Must have been an oversight, I’m proud of the work I did there…”
“Frankly, sir, were you exposed to Texas Cholera?”
Forget the branch, the whole damned tree just snapped.
“What! No, of course not. Never.”
“I’m sorry. I have to reject your application. Check your screen, you’ll see the address of the Appeals Office. But I seriously doubt my decision will be overturned. I’m sorry…”
“But you have to hear me out.”
“I have heard you out. You’ve used your allotted time. Good day.” With that, Mr. Anderson reached for his best friend, the off button.
With a groan and a useless rubbing of his temples, Mr. Anderson leaned back in his chair. Recognizing that sound, his neighbor McKinnon peeked over the common wall of their cubicles. “Rough one?”
“By all criteria, he should not even have applied. He’s too old, lied on his application, and was likely exposed to the Texas Cholera. He has the nerve to think he can move north. They should have screened him out at Level One. I’m sick to death of being the one who makes the hard decisions. Sometimes I just want to quit and go to Canada myself.”
“Why don’t you?”
“They’d hold it against Ron. It’s uphill enough for him as it is. If I leave the Bureau, leave the country, they’d be able to say his family isn’t loyal enough.”
“Seriously, I’m sorry, but do you really think Ron has a chance?”
“He was in the top ten percent of his class. He’s gotten nothing but excellent evaluations from his superiors on the station…”
“He’s the son of a clerk, a member of the wrong party, the wrong kind of Evangelical. Besides, he has to complete his rotation at the station and then he’ll be rotated to Earth. God knows what kind of crappy assignment he’ll get. By the time he gets his Moon assignment, if he gets it, they will have selected the crew. His chances are next to nothing.”
“And nothing if I quit. Besides, there’ll be other missions.”
“Sure, for his son.”
A reminder bing from Mr. Anderson’s computer interrupted the depressing imaging of the life of Ron’s unborn son.
“Next one up.” His expression changed to one of relief. “Oh, good. She’s 23 years old and applying for a C Visa. This’ll be easier.”
CHAPTER 11
The mother screamed and flailed. The father fretted and bit his lip, clenching and unclenching his fists. Soon a head appeared, shiny and red. Then the rest of the body, matted with fluid. Ruth watched it all on a monitor. She was aching be to there, to mop the mother’s brow, to make a clean, quick cut of the umbilical cord, and yes, to hold the baby as soon as the mother would allow or more likely the father. He would undoubtedly be ready to break Ruth’s arm, seeing the agitated state he was in. The baby screamed, a shrill bellow that relaxed the father some, but did little for the mother who was still thrashing about. Ruth could see it was a boy. The father reached down, picked up the baby, and brought it up to his mouth so he could bite through the umbilical cord.
Ruth turned to Jamal, the captain assigned to her station, and smiled. A trained solider, emotion was not the first option. He nodded and smiled. He was pleased; he had a proper mission now. But he knew better than Ruth that this was not a simple assignment. She was an excellent colleague. She knew everything she knew and never pretended she knew what she didn’t. It helped that she knew a lot. She was uncharacteristically petite. This kind of assignment usually required more heft, but she was fearless. Fearless and brilliant was a combination he could work with. There were no fainting couches or therapists here. It pleased him that babysitter was not part of his brief.
Ruth was not Malay like Jamal. She was likely Chinese and Caucasian, but judging by the accent, American, not Chinese. He of course knew she was American, that wasn’t a secret or exotic. She didn’t say much about her family, which was odd. Her mother was a pro
fessor, her father a doctor. In his limited experience with Americans, he knew those who came to a place like this were not tourists or trust-fund babies. They were here because they knew they could do it. “It” in this case meant making sure this baby survived.
“You see? It’s a boy.”
“Yes, it’s a boy.”
“A boy,” she said, as if the options were unlimited. “What’s today?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Rabu?” she asked, practicing her limited Malay.
“Yes.”
“Ok, so ‘Rabu’?”
“Sounds good.”
“Rabu it is. Welcome to the world, Rabu.”
And just like that, Ruth was responsible for the first live birth of an orangutan in the wilds of Borneo in five years.
CHAPTER 12
It was an old song, and Ron thought about it almost every time, but somehow it never got old. “Here, as I’m floating in my tin can.” Compared to other ships, especially the mother ship, The USS Theodore Roosevelt, his wasn’t much more than a tin can. The Roosevelt and its twin, the USS John Glenn, were the most technologically advanced space stations in existence. The US, China, Europe in partnership with Japan, Russia and the United Nations all had stations in orbit.
They all had the same essential design: a double wheel with an axis connecting the circles. The old style of oblong vessels with massive solar panel wings was no longer possible since the debris of the Satellite War would tear apart anything so fragile. The wheels could withstand all but the largest piece of junk. The wheels also created its own gravity only half of earth’s, but better than months in zero gravity. With a crew of 120, it had to be large enough to give everyone at least the illusion of privacy.
The Roosevelt covered the Northern Hemisphere, the Glenn covered the Southern in an abbreviated polar orbit. Rather than the traditional orbit where a satellite would cover the entire planet in 92 minutes, each station covered their half of the globe in 29 minutes. The Roosevelt ran a wave pattern of 70 degrees north, meaning most of Russia and Canada to 25 degrees north meaning all the US and almost all of China. The Glenn was on a shallower orbit since there was less land south of the equator, and because an array of satellites over Antarctica made it unnecessary for the ship to dip that close to the South Pole.
