by Frank Zafiro
“You had a curious expression on your face just there.”
“Oh.” He forced a smile. “I was just thinking about how Senator Chavez was going to react to our eventual conversation.”
Young returned the smile, but it didn’t touch the suspicion in his eyes. “Of course. I look forward to hearing about it.”
“Probably more than I look forward to having it,” Alex said, heaving a sigh. “But it must be done. He’s the most prominent senator associated with the Mexico Movement. Any road to reconciliation leads through him at some point.”
“I hope so. But it should be an interesting discussion, at any rate.”
“Because I prefer the Canadian option?” It wasn’t necessarily true but Alex enjoyed goading him.
Young’s smile faded to a frown. “That’s not even funny, Alex. If someone of less...patriotism made a comment like that...”
You’d take them away? No, not yet, my friend. But I’m sure that is in the playbook for the fourth quarter, isn’t it?
Alex waved away his concern. “Relax. It’s just us three here. And a little humor keeps things from becoming too morose.”
“We live in serious times.”
“And so we should avoid always being so serious.”
“It’s the only way to deal with such times.”
“Talking is the only way to deal with such times,” Alex corrected him. “And for that reason, I thank you for coming to me. Let Washington know that I will bring my best efforts to bear.” He stood and held out his hand to Young.
Young didn’t immediately follow suit. He took a few moments, no doubt to make the point that Alex didn’t order him about. He rose before the gesture became rude, however, and took Alex’s hand. In typical party fashion, he pulled Alex’s hand brusquely toward him, pumping it twice in the process.
Ah, yes. The Presidential handshake.
Alex ignored the move, releasing the handshake as if nothing untoward had happened. Miriam didn’t bother standing herself, knowing full well that Young wouldn’t offer her a handshake.
True to form, Young gave Alex a curt nod, ignoring Miriam. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“I look forward to having something good to share soon.” He walked Young to the door and held it open for him. “Have a safe trip back to D.C.”
Young smiled coyly. “Oh, I’m not headed back just yet.”
Alex raised his eyebrow.
Young ignored the unspoken question and left without another word.
Alex closed the door, then turned to Miriam. The anger she’d been holding inside was on full display now.
“That bastard!” she growled, her voice low.
“I know.”
“How can you treat with him like that, Alex? He’s a slimy, worthless—”
“I don’t have a choice,” Alex said, his tone brusque. “I’d like nothing more than to smash him right in middle of his smug face, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to do what’s right for the citizens of California, not what feels good for Alexander Derrick. That’s leadership.”
“Yes, I know that’s leadership,” she snapped. “You don’t have to lecture me on the sacrifices of leadership. Did you see me claw his eyes out when he called some of the finest people I know radicals? Or when he completely ignored me and didn’t offer a handshake on the way out the door? Not that I’d want to touch that smarmy piece of gutter trash, anyway.”
“Then why get angry about it?”
“It’s the damn principle of the matter,” Miriam said. “I’m a senator for the great state of California, but because I’m a woman, that doesn’t matter to him. And yet, hypocrite that he is, he still wants my vote, my influence.”
“Neither of which you will give him.”
“No, but he can’t know that.”
“There’s a lot he can’t know.”
“Little piece of bird shit. That’s what he is.”
“We both know what he is, and who he represents.” Alex didn’t fear Young. Young was the orc, not the eye. “And now we know what they want.”
“We already knew,” Miriam said. “Reconciliation. Or whatever you call it when you get back together before actually breaking up.”
“I call it survival.”
“Do you really think so? This isn’t the 1860s, you know. Peaceful separations do occur.”
“Name one.”
“Czechoslovakia after the Velvet Revolution. They split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia.”
“That was almost forty years ago.”
“Fine. What about Quebec? And Scotland? Both happened within the last decade.”
“And both were only partial secessions. Both retain significant governmental ties with the mother country.”
“We’ve left that option open. The draft of the Declaration specifically says that.”
A secret draft, Alex thought, but didn’t say. He supposed it was, in reality, something of an open secret in most circles. “No one will hear anything after the word secession.”
“I don’t agree.”
“How nice that we live in a nation where we can disagree.” Alex shook his head. “We have to slow things down, Miriam. Even if this happens, it can’t be something we rush into. There’s too much at risk.”
“You really believe it would come to war?”
“I think it most likely will. And that isn’t even my greatest fear.”
“What is?” Miriam asked.
Alex didn’t answer. He just stared at her, letting her work it out for herself. When her face turned white, he knew she had.
“He’d...never...” She couldn’t seem to finish the thought.
Alex wasn’t sure, either. But he knew he never wanted to place a bet on what a desperate President would do if defied, and more to the point, if he lost.
“Finish your drink,” he told her. “And let’s have another.”
Because, he thought, we live in serious times.
Chapter 8
When a reporter asked about the importance of institutions and tradition during the tense period leading up to the crisis of 2029, Governor Sarandon famously answered, “I believe in tradition. I believe in certain institutions. Tradition and institutions are important, wonderful things in this nation. Until they aren’t.”
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
ALEXANDER CHECKED HIS watch. He’d been waiting for twenty minutes, and his appointment was scheduled to begin fifteen minutes ago. He suppressed a small sigh. If there was one thing about the governor that he didn’t necessarily admire, it was her lack of punctuality. She routinely kept people waiting. Alex didn’t believe it was intentional or malicious, and he chalked it up to her long career as a film star. She was used to people operating on her schedule, and he figured she was likely unaware that this wasn’t simply the way things were supposed to be. Or maybe they were supposed to work that way, he considered. The time of important people, however you wanted to define that, was more valuable than those who were less important.
Of course, he knew the governor would never say that, or even think of it in those terms. He knew her as a kind woman, usually warm, and an excellent listener. That was often why she kept her next appointments waiting. She gave each person her undivided attention and never hurried a meeting. It was an enviable experience, unless you were the one waiting for the next meeting.
It didn’t help that she made Alex mildly nervous, especially in the first few moments of every meeting. At eighty-three, she looked every bit the regal, grand madam of California politics, but sometimes when she smiled at him, he still saw the sultry figure she played in Bull Durham. That always made him feel momentarily guilty, as if he were being unduly chauvinistic. It was an uncomfortable experience, and something he went through virtually every time he met with her.
Sitting and waiting outside the door to the governor’s office for an extra fifteen minutes didn’t help any.
When the door finally opened, the Governor escorted out a
young black woman in a wheel-chair. Alex recognized her as one of the Governor’s unofficial advisors, Ebby Lawrence. Her area of expertise was computer science. Alex was embarrassed to admit that he had once wondered if the obvious clash against archaic stereotypes gave Ebby an inside track to the Governor’s inner circle of advisors. It took all of one meeting with her to scrap that idea. Her knowledge of computers and the Internet was about as advanced compared to his own as any neurosurgeons’ knowledge of the brain.
Ebby said something in a low voice, causing the Governor to laugh gently and pat her on the forearm. “I know you will,” she told her. “That’s why I count on you. We’ll talk on Wednesday, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ebby replied, and wheeled away, beaming.
The Governor turned her gaze to Alex, and smiled. The wattage of her smile was only exceeded by its warmth. “Alex! So good of you to come.”
“My pleasure, Madam Governor.”
She motioned for him to follow her back into her office. “Hold all calls, Harold, if you would, please,” she said to her administrative assistant. “Unless, of course, the President has finally been impeached, in which case, do please interrupt us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The Governor waited for Alex to enter the office, then swung the door shut behind them. “Harold is the most efficient desk master I’ve ever had, but his sense of humor is a bit lacking. I think he might actually be checking the ‘net for news of impeachment.”
“Mainstream news would never call it impeachment, anyway,” Alex said.
“Probably not. Besides, we both know that ship sailed by the end of his first term.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She waved away his words. “Get that formality out of the way now, Alex. I get enough of it from Harold and everyone else out there. So sit down, and let’s talk.” She sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk and held her hand out toward the other.
“Yes ma’am,” Alex said, and felt his face flush warm for a moment.
The Governor laughed. “All right, be stubborn then. But do sit and let’s see what we know.”
Alex sat down. He could feel his nervousness slip away, as it always did once he’d been around the Governor for a couple of minutes. He wondered how long it would take to get over that first few moments, though. Probably never.
“I understand you had a visit from the bag man,” she said, crossing her legs and putting her folded hands in her lap. Her expression was open, but her intelligent eyes were fixed on him.
Alex nodded. “He wanted me to bring the different Senate factions to heel. Or to create some kind of a pro-federal coalition. Hard to tell.”
“Perhaps he was sent to sound out your position.”
“If so, I gave him nothing.”
The Governor shook her head. “Oh, Alex, that’s never true. I’m sure he managed to wrangle out something of value. That’s what his kind always do. It’s how they remain relevant.”
“I gave him nothing,” Alex repeated, firmly. “As far as he knows, he was successful.”
“Why is that?”
“I said I would talk to the moderates first, but I didn’t promise anything beyond that.”
The Governor cocked her head at him slightly and gave him a wry smile. “Does he have something on you, Alex?”
“No. There’s nothing to have.”
“Oh, Alex...there’s always something. I learned that myself the hard way.”
Alex shook his head. “There’s nothing. I’ve lived a purposefully clean life, just so I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder for people like Young.”
“And yet he came to you.” She cocked her head the opposite direction. “Are you playing both sides of the fence, Alex?”
“Of course not!”
She looked at him for a while, as if taking the measure of him. He met her gaze and waited, his conscience clear. After a long pause, she said, “No, of course not. But you’ll have to forgive me for asking. We live in treacherous times.”
It was his turn to smile.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Something Young said to me. He said we live in serious times.”
“Also true.” She was quiet for another moment, then asked, “Where do things stand in the Senate?”
Alex took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts before speaking. The addition of five new senate seats eight years ago had altered the landscape of the senate, but he’d worked hard to adapt to the changes. More than anything else, the five new senators ensured that the only way a tie vote could occur any longer was if a senator abstained.
“There are at least twenty uncommitted to any form of secession at this point,” he said. “Though I think at least half of those could be convinced.”
“How?”
“It would take a precipitating event.”
“A Sarajevo, you mean?”
He considered the analogy. The death of the Austrian Archduke Ferdinand in the Serbian capital had sparked the First World War over a hundred years ago. The Governor knew her history. “Something like that, yes.”
“Well, that’s one thing you can say about this President. He does create incidents in his wake. Perhaps one will sway some of those who remain unconvinced. Is there a common theme as to their reasons?”
Alex shook his head. “They’re all over the map. Some are Unionists when it comes to secession, and the idea itself is unacceptable to them.”
“The kind of person who refuses to get a divorce despite a miserable marriage.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“What else?”
“There are the pragmatists who believe the danger is too great, that we can never succeed, or that we would simply suffer too much financially. A few are just afraid. And then there are two or three who are Party members.”
She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “It’s those last ones I can’t abide. Who in their right mind can still support this President? And who in their right mind votes for that kind of person?”
Alex considered listing the districts with senators of the New American Party, but she already knew who they were. In fact, she knew everything they’d discussed already, a trend that would likely continue for a few minutes longer. But he understood that this was her process, the foundation of the conversation she liked to lay before delving into darker, unknown territory.
“It takes all kinds,” he said blandly.
“All kinds of assholes,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Anyway, remind me how are the other twenty-five divided?”
“There are three camps. A contingent of twelve favor secession followed by a petition to join Mexico.”
“I believe the term that group uses is rejoin.”
“It is.”
“Not an entirely inaccurate depiction, I suppose,” she mused. “And the others?”
“About evenly split between secession followed by a petition to join Canada and those in favor of strict secession and going it alone.”
“No one buying into a Pacific States of America?”
“Most of the secessionists are in favor of it, with one or two exceptions. They don’t see it as mutually exclusive with their stated preference.”
“Meaning we can secede and then join with Hawaii, Alaska, Washington, and Oregon no matter what? Even if we were to become part of Canada or Mexico?”
“Exactly.”
“Can I ask you a question, Alex?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
The Governor uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her seat. She motioned for Alex to follow suit. When his face was near hers, she asked in a stage whisper, “Who’s to say Canada or Mexico would take us?”
He smiled. “We’d double Canada’s population and their GNP.”
“And we’d quadruple their problems.” She shook her head and leaned back. “It’s a pipe dream. At least at first. If we eventually decide to go this route, we will be in the same position the first thirt
een colonies were in. We will need to win our own independence, or at least make a good showing of it before any other nation will risk helping us, even unofficially.”
“Well, it worked for those thirteen colonies,” Alex suggested.
“Thanks to France.”
“But it worked.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “And it most decidedly did not work for the eleven states that tried next.”
“Well, the Confederate cause was not just.”
The Governor sighed. “If you mean slavery, then I agree entirely. But over my lifetime, I’ve come to understand that history is not nearly so clean when it comes to motivations, or good and evil. There was another issue that also drove those secessions, one that some have argued was the main reason, and it is one that directly corresponds to our own situation.”
“States’ rights,” Alex said.
She nodded. “I shudder to admit that some of the same arguments those slaveholders made to justify their right to continue that terrible institution mirror some of our own arguments not to be a slave to the federal government.”
“Some of the more daring political reporters have labeled it The Great Irony.”
“Well, at least reporters are proving to be good for something these days,” the Governor said wryly. “My top legal advisor calls it a treasure trove of legal arguments, and not the only one available to us. He seems to think we can litigate our way out of any federal law that clashes with our state law or constitution.”
“I agree,” Alex said. “What does the Attorney General think?”
“That there’s a seat somewhere in Washington, D.C., waiting for him. I can’t even have an honest conversation with the man. I might as well just wear an open microphone to the White House.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Either we figure out a way to resolve our issues as part of this country, or we will have to fight. There is no way this President will allow us to peacefully secede.”
“It’s happened elsewhere,” he offered helpfully. “Miriam reminded me recently of the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia.”
“That was a nation that wanted to separate and had a poet for a president. It hardly applies.”