by Frank Zafiro
“Yes, ma’am.”
She feigned sadness. “And here I thought I was just Susan for a little while.”
Alex laughed, bleeding off his own tension a little. “All due respect, Madame Governor, but you just asked me to be your Secretary of State. It’s kind of hard to be informal at a moment like that.”
She laughed with him, conceding the point. “Well, if you accept, maybe then we can be informal on occasion.”
“I’d like that.”
“In fact,” she said, “why don’t you join us tomorrow night? I’m having a few of my advisors here to watch the live feed of the Concert for Freedom.”
Alex gave her a confused look. “I didn’t think any of the networks were going to carry that.”
“No, they’re not. I think there might be a fringe outlet that will, but we’re actually getting the direct feed from the HSA Arena.” She raised her eyebrows dramatically. “Sometimes it pays to be friends with The Boss.”
Alex recalled the long-standing friendship she and her former husband had with Bruce Springsteen. “That’s a nice perk.”
“He’s a thoughtful man. We’ll be seeing the house feed, with no commentary from anyone that isn’t on stage. It’ll be almost like we’re there.”
“How can I refuse?” he said.
“Not a fan?”
Alex shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. But when you grow up in St. Louis...”
“The blues,” she said, matter of factly.
“Nothing better.”
“But you’ll come.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” She picked up her glass and raised it to him. “To the blues.”
He raised his. “And the Boss.”
They drank.
“Madame Governor?”
She didn’t reply.
“Susan?” he ventured.
She smiled. “Yes?”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what, exactly?”
“This.” He waved his hand at the expanse of the Governor’s mansion. “All of it. Knowing the right thing to do.”
The Governor sipped her wine, her expression thoughtful. Then she shrugged. “You just have to believe, Alex. Believe that your cause is just. Believe that treating people well, that caring for them, is still the right thing to do. That hate is not the answer.”
Alex nodded, and sipped his own wine. They sat for a long while, enjoying the silence and the taste of the wine. Alex stole a glance at the Governor, and her eyes seemed distant and cloudy.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it? The weight.”
She nodded slowly. “It is during times like these that I begin to think that I can understand what all of those presidents felt like. So many lives resting on every decision. You described it correctly. It is a weight.”
“Why me?” Alex asked. “Why did you pick me?”
“Because you’re the best choice,” she answered simply.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Oh, Alex. It’s the only answer.” When he started to speak again, she raised her hand. “Listen, choosing the right person for any position is as much an art as a science. You pick the best person, plain and simple.” She smiled wickedly. “And if she isn’t available, you ask whoever still happens to be there.”
Alex laughed, and raised his glass. “Touché, Madame Governor.”
“It is only government, Alex, after all,” she added, laughing with him.
Alex let himself laugh with her, shedding some of his own weight, and hoping that maybe some of hers slid away, too, for at least as long as the glass of wine lasted.
She deserves that, he thought.
Hell, we all do.
HE DROVE HIMSELF HOME. Since he had a slight buzz, he engaged the auto-drive. He still wasn’t sold on this technology, but it was supposedly a learning computer, and he’d driven from the mansion to his own home multiple times, so there was plenty of data there to merge with Google Maps. Plus, traffic was light.
Some of the senior legislators had a driver who also doubled as security. The State Police would provide him a security detail upon request, but since the nationalization of all police, Alex was unsure where the California Highway Patrol stood. There were white nationalists openly within the organization, and the New American Party exerted its control, but he also knew that a number of commanders and some of the rank and file were not in league with them. In the end, he believed that the CHP would come down on the side of California. Still, he didn’t feel the need to have personal security on an ongoing basis, whatever their politics.
Alex considered the question of the police, not for the first time. He believed that the majority of county and municipal agencies would side with California, despite the nationalization. He’d spoken at length with his brother about how the New American Party had taken a firm hold of St. Louis Metropolitan Police. Though Ryan’s indictment was scathing, he allowed that even in a department that was almost completely taken over, there were still dissenters. Alex’s contacts and intelligence told him that most of the agencies in California gave no more than lip service and some empty gestures to their recent federal membership. Only a few departments went the way of St. Louis. Ironically, Sacramento PD was one of those he was worried about.
Not for the first time, he wondered if, in the event of secession, it made sense to relocate the state capital to someplace more secure. Los Angeles seemed a natural choice. Or San Francisco. He made a mental note to bring it up the next time he spoke with the Governor.
The Governor. The taste of wine was still strong on his tongue, and in the aftermath of their meeting, he felt very much at ease. There was something about being around her that eventually evoked that state, despite that initial case of nerves that he almost always felt in those first few moments.
He thought about her offer. Secretary of State. He had to admit that he was flattered by the offer. His first instinct had been to decline, but he resisted it when she asked him to think about it. He wondered why refusal was his initial reaction. As he drove, the answer occurred to him easily.
I don’t want to let her down.
He realized that this was exactly why he would have to say yes. If it came to it, and he hoped it did not, he knew he would step for her. For California. He didn’t know if he was the best man for the job, but—
His phone rang, cutting into his thoughts. “Answer,” he said, and the Bluetooth clicked.
“You have reached Senator Derrick,” the auto answer voice intoned.
Alex waited for the caller to speak. If he didn’t want to talk to whoever it was, he could tell the auto-answer to guide the caller to the appropriate voicemail account.
“Engage the live line, Senator,” a pleasant voice directed him. “My client and I would both prefer not to be directed to voice mail.”
Alex hesitated, waiting for more.
“Come now, Senator. I have a Hyperion upgrade to my system. I know for a fact I’m connected to your vehicle Bluetooth, which means in your car. Which means you are listening to this now, or the Bluetooth wouldn’t be engaged. So do us both a favor and answer live, please. It’s in both our best interests. But especially yours.”
“Answer Live,” Alex snapped.
“Call is live,” the system voice announced.
“This is Alex. Who is this?”
“Ah, thank you for answering, Senator.”
“Who are you?” he repeated.
“I’m an associate of some people you know,” came the pleasant reply. “But that’s not important.”
Alex sat up straighter in his seat, bristling slightly. “Listen—”
“No, sir, you are actually the one who should probably listen. You had a visit from Mr. Young recently, yes?”
Alex hesitated. “My affairs are none of your business,” finally said.
The man sighed. “I wish you’d had some affairs, sir. It would make things so much easier. But no matter. There are always ways.”
&nbs
p; “What are you talking about?”
The man ignored his question. “Are you doing as Mr. Young suggested, Senator? Convincing your colleagues? Hmmm? Bringing them into line?”
“We’re talking,” Alex said cautiously. “It’s a delicate subject, and politics move slowly.”
“Certainly true. But there are some disturbing reports coming out of Sacramento, sir. Reports that indicate you are perhaps not as diligent as Mr. Young and his clients had hoped you might be.”
“Reports from whom?”
The man clucked his tongue. “Oh, don’t be naïve, Senator. You know I can’t share that information with you. It’s not important, anyway. What is important, however, is the question I am about to ask you. Are you prepared for my question, sir?”
“Go ahead,” Alex said.
“Are you doing everything you can to resolve this impending crisis, Senator?”
“I am,” Alex answered with conviction.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment.
“Hello?” Alex said.
“I’m still here, Senator.”
“All right. Then you have your answer.”
More silence.
Alex waited for a few seconds, then asked, “What else to do you want?”
The man sighed lightly. “I can hear the conviction in your voice, Senator. Very resolute. Very genuine. But...slightly off target. I get the strong sense that you believe you are doing everything you can do to resolve this crisis, but in the way you think best. And that is not what Mr. Young has asked of you. In fact, he has asked you to do something very specific, did he not?”
“I don’t work for Carl Young,” Alex said firmly.
“Quite true. But I believe you had an agreement. A very clear one.”
“I said I’d do what I could,” Alex said, “and I am.”
“As you say. Well, if that’s the case, then I’m certain what I’m about to tell you will be of little consequence.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your sister-in-law?” the man said. “Nathalie Derrick?”
A cold lance of concern shot through his stomach. “What about her?”
“She’s applied for citizenship, as I understand. And has an appeal pending?”
“How do you know that?” Alex asked, then immediately felt foolish. Of course they knew. If it was federal, they knew.
“I get the sense that, as things now stand, her appeal isn’t going to receive a favorable ruling, Senator. And time is ticking for her, isn’t it? The President’s deadline for non-citizens is approaching, just a handful of months away. And if she isn’t a citizen when the clock strikes midnight, then we both know she’ll be deported to...where? Greece? Or Senegal? I’d think she’d prefer the former, given the way things are going in the latter. Nasty business there, lately. Unrest, military crackdown. It’s even spilling into the streets. But of course, if she waits that long, she may not get the choice of her destination.”
“I won’t be threatened,” Alex growled.
“No one is threatening you,” came the easy reply. “If anyone is under threat, it is poor Nathalie. And they have a daughter, too, don’t they? It’d be a shame if she had to lose her mother.”
“I am doing everything I can,” Alex insisted. “Leave my family out of it.”
“Ah, Senator. If you’d led a more interesting life, perhaps we could. The perils of being a proverbial boy scout, I guess. But rest assured, your erstwhile sister-in-law isn’t a mere pawn in all of this. What journalist is? And we have deeper suspicions about her, as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that sometimes people bring down a reckoning upon themselves all on their own. But maybe she can still avoid it. Certainly, your actions will have a lot to do with that.” He paused, then asked, “Is my implication perfectly clear, Senator?”
“It is,” Alex grunted.
“Very well. Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. Oh, and if you’re thinking of warning your brother or sister-in-law, I’d advise against it. Communications are so easy to monitor these days, and it would be a tremendous shame if some harm were to befall any of them. The world is such a dangerous place these days.”
“Leave my family alone!” Alex shouted into the mic.
“I hope to,” came the amiable reply. “But that depends on you, sir. Doesn’t it?”
The call disconnected.
The rest of the way home, Alex stared out his window, thinking. When he got to the house, he poured himself two fingers of bourbon, but ended up letting it sit on the counter, while he paced through the living room, his mind buzzing.
He wondered who among the senators was feeding information to Young. August Emerson would seem to be the most likely choice, but somehow Alex didn’t think so. Despite his reconciliation stance, August had a very refined sense of honor.
James Mallory, then? Did Mr. Undecided decide to be a snitch?
Or some staffer?
He didn’t know. But he did know that, moving forward, he would have to be more careful.
They all would.
Chapter 12
History is often an examination of nations, of government, and of the politicians that manage or lead both. Great impact is assumed and frequently assigned to political actors, and with the benefit of hindsight, outcomes are attributed to these same political figures.
What is often overlooked is the influence of the arts upon the political canvas. Even when historians recognize such influence, it is often deemed as secondary or reactionary in nature. Much like historians, artists are thought to be recorders and interpreters of what is happening around them. Only the rarest of instances seems to merit consideration as having a driving impact upon events rather than being merely a reflection of the times. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin is one such exception, as are the works of Alexander Solzhenitsyn.
In the time preceding the crisis of 2029, dissident views did not have a great many outlets, and were frequently ignored, or dealt with harshly. Filmmakers and television stars (although still non-interactive, these mediums remained the most prevalent of the time), novelists, and musicians trying to attain or maintain popular appeal were largely compliant with the unspoken boundaries that had evolved since the meteoric rise of the New American Party. Dissent was limited to subtle, ambiguous expressions, or outright avoided.
However, some celebrities, the majority of them actors and musicians, seemingly enjoyed a different level of freedom, one that owed its existence to the simple fact that these few were already established icons of America before the President and the New American Party came to power. Each of these artists treated their rare status differently, depending on their individual character, but a handful were exceedingly vocal in their firm rejection of virtually everything in the New American platform.
Given their celebrity status and position in the public eye, there was little direct action the White House could take, aside from the occasional derisive tweet (a message posted online within a widespread social media program called Twitter, a technological ancestor of today’s multi-platform Brimsey). But behind the scenes, a hush campaign seems to have been initiated, and while most of the celebrities targeted refused to be intimidated, some did capitulate. Others simply found it more and more difficult to find a stage, both figuratively and literally, and thus became less influential as a result. Certainly, the repeal of net neutrality further stripped these performers of most of their legitimate channels to reach the masses, ultimately causing some to fade into obscurity, while driving others underground.
A select few chose to be more public in their opposition. This approach was the genesis of what was eventually viewed as a watershed moment in the increasing tension between California and the U.S Government: the Concert for Freedom in St. Louis, Missouri. While no one would make the claim that this affair itself drove subsequent events, per se, few could argue against the symbolism that a
rose surrounding the incident itself, and in the aftermath, delayed or otherwise.
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
ALEX SPENT THE NEXT day performing. He performed for his staffers, he performed for his fellow senators, he performed for the journalists, but most of all, he performed for whoever was reporting back to Carl Young and the New American Party. He met with legislators from both the Senate and the Assembly, as well as key business people. In each of the meetings, he took a page from the Governor’s playbook, listening more than he spoke. When he did speak, he was cautious, always preaching moderation.
By dinnertime, he was both famished and exhausted, but confident that reports would find their way back to Washington, D.C., or wherever Young was holed up, that he’d been clearly brought to heel and was toeing the party line.
Even if it wasn’t his party.
He let his staffers go early, and grabbed a sandwich in the car on his way home to shower and change. Less than hour later, he was outside the Governor’s residence again. A tall man with a distinctly British countenance answered the door.
“Sir,” he said, by way of greeting. While his tone was formal, the accent was clearly not English, destroying the image Alex had created. “If you’ll follow me.”
He led Alex into a cozy room. Comfortable looking chairs had been arranged in a u-shape, facing a drop-down screen. A mostly empty stage was projected onto the screen, with the occasional roadie or technician appearing to adjust something before shuffling off stage.
“Alex!” The Governor waved at him. She was standing next to Ebby Lawrence and her husband. Alex tried to remember his name and couldn’t do any better than he thought it started with a C. He did remember that he was a software engineer, though.
He shook hands with the Governor, then with Ebby.
“You remember Curtis, my husband?” Ebby asked.
“Of course,” Alex said, reaching for his hand. “Software engineer, right?”
“That’s right,” Curtis said. “I’m impressed that you remembered.”
Alex shrugged. “Some things stick and some don’t. Good to see you again.”