“Of course.”
The young man at the front finished his speech with a crescendo and a flourish and a few people politely applauded.
“So really, why the hell do we care what Constitution the Kaldisians get?”
“The Solar Empire is there because they are tired of losing emigrants, especially rich businessmen, to Kaldis. We’re there because we want to curry favor with the Solar Empire.”
“So is it civil war?”
“I don’t know what you call it. There are so many alliances. Most of them last less than a week. I met militiamen who didn’t even know which side they were fighting on; they just follow their leader. One minute the city of Whitehill is Neo-Constitutionalist, the next minute the whole northern quarter is in rebellion. The next day they are Paleo-Constitutionalists, and then suddenly there’s rioting in the streets, only no one can tell what for. Half the planet is peaceful enough; the other half is a mad house. But it’s not always the same half from one month to the next.”
They reached their stop, and upon exiting they found themselves walking near the young preacher. He approached them with an eager and expectant smile on his face and reached his hand out to Alistair, on the verge of some pleasantry.
“Get stuffed,” said Alistair without so much as looking at him.
Oliver stared in amusement; the young proselytizer stared in shock.
“You heard him,” said Oliver, perfectly willing to take up the game. “Get to it.”
One does not lightly cross men like Alistair and Oliver. The campaigner abruptly turned around and sought friendlier faces.
They reached Alistair’s home after a brisk walk, and upon entering Oliver collapsed into a chair in the kitchen. Alistair tossed his coat on the rack, but then caught the sound of voices around the corner. Following the sound, he walked in on his father and mother in the study. There were three men with them, two of whom stood at the sides of another who was seated across from Alistair’s parents. The strangers were impeccably dressed in dark colors, their suits the sort only the right connections could procure. Their faces were expressionless. When Alistair appeared in the doorway, the one seated in the middle was calmly adjusting the red handkerchief in the chest pocket of his suit. Whether from the look of suppressed anxiety Nigel and Mary flashed their son, or the body language of the other men in the room, Alistair tensed.
“I just got back with Oliver. Is everything alright?” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe, his dusty workman’s clothes a contrast to the elegance of the visitors.
“We were just talking a little business,” said Nigel with a lightness in his voice Alistair knew was feigned. He rose wincing, grabbing his hip, and introduced his child. “This is my son Alistair. Alistair, this is Mr. Wellington.” He indicated the seated man who slightly nodded at Alistair, still ruffling the scarlet handkerchief. Alistair returned his gaze but not his nod.
“Should I show them to the door?” he asked a bit more loudly than was necessary, and his mother flinched.
“We were just on our way out actually,” said Mr. Wellington as he rose. One of his companions pulled his seat back and replaced it when Mr. Wellington stepped away. “We’ll leave the rest for another day,” he informed Nigel and then brushed by Alistair’s cool gaze and also slid by Oliver, whose large frame now took up most of the space behind Alistair. Alistair refused to cede the doorway to Mr. Wellington’s large companions, and his companions refused to turn so as to better fit through. This resulted in their shoulders smacking together, a collision all parties pretended did not occur.
When they were gone and the door closed behind them, Alistair turned an inquisitive gaze on his father.
Nigel lifted his hands as if to settle his son down. “Don’t get riled up about this, Alistair.”
“Is there something to get riled up about?”
“They just want to buy the restaurant.”
“And you said no, I take it?”
“Alistair,” said his mother as she rose, “let’s just forget about this. Oliver, are you staying for lunch?”
“Did you say no?”
“I don’t want you involved,” said Nigel and he turned and hobbled out of the room.
Following him, Alistair said, “I just want to know what the answer was so I can tell him personally if I ever see him here again.”
Nigel turned to face his son. “Damn it, Alistair,” he said, but softly, wearily. “I’m not a helpless old woman. And what the heck is the matter with you? You can’t pick a fight with men like that.”
“I can pick a fight with whoever the hell I want.”
“Alistair, what’s the matter?”
“You tell me.”
“No, with you? What’s the matter?”
Looking away, Alistair swallowed an angry lump in his throat. “I’m fed up.”
“Well, relax a bit. I can handle negotiations with Mr. Wellington. As much as I appreciate your concern.”
With that he gave Alistair a conciliatory smile and left, limping. Alistair noticed his sister at the other end of the hall, looking at him with an ineffable expression. He went to her, sensing she had something to say. Oliver hung back, unsure what to do or where to place himself.
“They want this specific plot of ground for some treatment plant or something,” she said softly. “It’s right by the spaceport. With rail traffic as backed up as it is…”
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he pondered the new information. “Now’s the part where you tell me what the government has to do with this.”
“Mr. Wellington is threatening to have the property seized and given to him if Dad doesn’t sell.”
“Does that explain the political poster in the dining room? Dad is counting on Aloysius to win and wants to sidle up to him now?”
Katherine searched for a response. Finally, she said, “That’s how the game is played.”
“Shitty game.” Alistair knew his sister was becoming uncomfortable. In the silence that followed he carefully chose his next sentence. “Katherine, if a government has the power to take your home from you, what can’t it do to you?”
“I’m not getting into it right now.”
“A government that can take your home could steal your husband too, for instance.”
Katherine blanched, set her jaw, and stood up with her back straight and glowered at him. “I have no idea what happened to Eddy, and neither do you.”
“He starts a student group criticizing Voluntarist policies. He disappears a few months later. And you think I have no idea what happened to him?”
Katherine’s eyes shone with tears she refused to let fall. Rather than fashion a cutting retort, she turned her back and walked away, leaving him to wonder if there was anyone else he could alienate in the next few minutes.
Chapter 5
The building before Alistair was entirely unremarkable, identical to scores of others scattered throughout the city. It was not just plain: it was dirty and in disrepair. There were State edifices, pristine among the general decrepitude into which Arcarius had fallen, that commanded all the attention and resources, but the present structure was not one of them. To the same degree the Mayor’s Palace was maintained, this one was neglected.
He entered through the sagging wooden doorframe and found himself in a waiting room. In the atmosphere of bored disinterest, dozens of patients lounged, few of them with any discernible ailments. Passing through the odor of unwashed bodies and clothes, as well as a whiff of alcohol on someone’s breath, he came to stand across a desk from a seated nurse. She was speaking on an old, patched audiphone, her voice bored to match her expression and everyone else’s. She did not look up when he towered above her, and went so long without acknowledging him that he was weighing his options of getting her attention when she finally set the device down and directed a quizzical, though still bored, look at him.
“I’m here for Gregory Lushington.”
The woman wrote down a n
umber on a ticket and wordlessly handed it to him.
“Actually,” he began before she could get lost in another conversation, “I’m not here as a patient. I have something for him.”
Sighing as if put upon, the woman languidly lifted open the front cover of a folder and searched through some listings. “Room 234, second floor.”
He didn’t bother with a thank you or good bye, and she was just as content not to extend the conversation. The elevator was out of order and so he went instead to the stairwell. Braving the moldy smell, he reached the second floor and wandered around before finding a crooked sign directing him to room 234. Its door was open and Gregory, dressed in a white lab coat, was inside with another man with sullied work clothes who sat on the examination bed, leaving dark smudges on the sanitary paper. A nurse stood by Gregory’s side looking uncomfortable.
“It seems to me your leg is fine,” Greg was saying as Alistair approached.
“Still hurts,” the man tersely replied.
“There’s nothing physically wrong with your leg. It looks like it has healed quite nicely.”
“Still hurts,” insisted the patient.
Greg nodded thoughtfully. “I can prescribe you some mild pain killers.”
“Can’t go back to work with it like this.”
“Well, Mr. Adams, your leg is fine. If there is some residual pain I suggest you take something for it, but I can’t write you an excuse slip. You’ve been away from work for seven months now.”
“The other doctor gave me a slip.”
“You didn’t get the other doctor; you got me.”
The man stared daggers at Gregory. “I can just get back in line and wait for another.”
“Then that’s what you’ll have to do.”
The man grabbed his coat with a fierce movement and stormed out of the room and past Alistair who could not resist saying, “If you limp at least a little it would be more convincing.”
The man whirled on him but, upon seeing his size, thought better of it. Greg came out into the hallway and watched him leave.
“He’ll have his slip in another eight hours,” he sighed.
“You did the right thing.”
“Did I?” He paused, then, “What brings you here?”
“Do you have a minute?”
Alistair followed Greg back into the room as the nurse was leaving. “I thought you were a junior surgeon,” he commented as Gregory shut the door behind them.
Greg’s room was oft used but scrupulously clean. The concrete walls were cracked in spots, and the floor creaked. There were a few stains on the ceiling, and one of the lights had come loose from its moorings and dangled in the air, but the counter tops were clean and dusted. The equipment was neatly and logically put away. The floor was swept.
“I do a shift each week in general practice to relieve some pressure on the waiting lines.”
Alistair hopped up on the examination bed. “I need to ask a favor of you.”
“Go ahead.”
“My dad needs surgery on his hip.”
“His operation is in three weeks, isn’t it?”
“It just got pushed back half a cycle.”
There was silence in the room until Greg exhaled through pursed lips. “Alistair, you’re not honestly asking for a private operation?” Alistair said nothing and Greg shook his head. “Out of the question. It’s illegal.”
“Why should it be illegal?”
“It doesn’t matter why, it just is! You can’t question these things.”
“The hell I can’t. My dad’s had a bad hip for a cycle. Now he’s got another half cycle to wait. At least.”
“We’re really backed up right now.”
“It’s the third time his surgery has been postponed.”
“Al, I know it’s tough. But a bad hip is not life threatening. There are other people who need attention first.”
“Greg, do you know how long my father would have to wait for surgery on Kaldis? About two days.”
“You’re not on Kaldis.”
“I’m willing to pay you for the surgery. What the hell does the government have to do with it? If you agree to perform the surgery, and my dad agrees to be operated on, what the bloody hell does the government have to do with it?”
“Alistair,” said Greg gently, with infinite patience, “I’m not going to explain our entire government to you. There are reasons these laws are passed.”
“That’s what everyone always says,” growled Alistair. “‘I’m not going to get into it with you, Alistair, but there are reasons for these things.’ Just once I’d like someone to get into it with me.” He fixed a penetrating gaze on his friend. “My dad is in pain and you can help him.”
“We have a planet-wide health care system because we as Aldrans decided to take care of all our members, not just the rich. If we let people handle their health care privately, the rich would outbid the poor for all the resources and the system wouldn’t work. There, I just got into it with you.”
“My dad is living with pain, and is going to have to for another six months. Is your system really working?” With that, he took a small gold bar out of his pocket and laid it on the table.
“I don’t want your money,” Greg said coldly, in almost a whisper as his body stiffened.
“I know you don’t. But the Sisters of Charity Orphanage could certainly use the help.”
The look Greg flashed him was coated with anger and trepidation. “They can’t spend a gold bar.”
“They wouldn’t have to. I can convert this to just about anything.”
Greg pursed his lips until the blood drained out of them, and his face contorted. He gripped the edge of the examination table until he spat out, “You want to know why I hate your goddamn Free Market? This is it! Damn it, Alistair! If we left everything to individuals this sort of thing would happen constantly.”
“What? People offering money for things they want?”
“I’m talking about exploitation! You don’t give a damn about the orphanage. You just want to use what I have for your own benefit.”
Gregory immediately regretted his harsh words, but he offered no apology. Instead, he released the table and shoved his hands in his pockets, half turning from his visitor. Alistair was silent a moment while he let him regain some composure. When he spoke, his voice was smooth but unyielding.
“It’s not true I don’t give a damn about the orphanage. But it doesn’t matter whether I do or not. You have something I want, and I’m offering you something you want. Whether I hate you or love you, whether I care about parentless children or not, there is a trade here that will be mutually beneficial. You give me your time and talents; I give you something for the orphans.”
“I also have to use government property.”
“Which was purchased with our taxes. The choice is yours. Turn it down and you’re no worse off than if I hadn’t made the offer.”
He wasn’t sure whether Gregory heard him. By degrees he had turned from him until he was now looking in the corner and all Alistair could see was his back. When Gregory spoke his voice was cold and unreadable. “I’ll find a good time to get an empty room. I’ll recruit a couple assistants. They’ll want to be paid.”
“I’ve got more gold where this came from. Gregory…”
Dr. Lushington turned and met Alistair’s gaze.
“You’re doing the right thing. Thank you.”
“You owe me.”
“No I don’t. That’s what the gold is for.”
***
Alistair left one discussion with Gregory and returned home to another with Gerald. The sun had set, and his family was gathered together in the kitchen, having just finished tea, the fifth meal of the day. His sleeping schedule left him weary again, and with a haggard face and drooping eyelids he dropped his coat on the rack and plopped down on a seat in the kitchen.
“You missed tea,” Gerald said by way of a gentle scolding.
“I got it somew
here else. How’s your hip, dad?”
“It’s OK. It was a little sore this morning.”
“I’ll bet.”
His mother cringed, hearing in his voice that something was coming.
“How much specnine did they manage to seize today?”
Gerald ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to decide whether to engage or ignore. “I work for the Bureau of Transportation. How would I know?”
“I sure hope it was worth it. Lots of other things to be done, but I’m sure it was worth spending time and resources on specnine.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“At least we got a thorough inspection this morning. The citizens are safe from harm now.”
“Alistair, how intent are you on picking a fight? Is there a chance you’ll go away if I ignore you, or should I start shouting to get this over with?”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Just call me a son of a bitch and get it over with.”
“Actually I was always fond of your mother. How about I just call you an asshole?”
The kitchen went silent. Mary rose from her chair and left and Nigel sighed in long suffering frustration.
“Alistair,” said Katherine gently, “why don’t we save it—”
“I’m not saving anything. It’s about time we had it out.”
“Let it go, Alistair. You’ve lived a privileged life. Maybe if you saw a bit more –”
Alistair leaned in so his face was close to his brother’s. “Privileged life? Who is this coming from?”
Katherine stepped between them, and Nigel laid a hand on his livid son’s shoulder. He was about to speak some soothing words when they were interrupted by an explosion. The house’s walls shuddered and a flash of light lit the outside, visible from the kitchen window. After the flash, a softer orange glow flickered and grew.
Alistair bounded out the kitchen and then the front door. He was gone before anyone else reacted.
“Alistair!” his father shouted, but his son would not have stopped even if he had heard.
“Call the Guard!” shouted Gerald and followed his brother. Nigel grabbed his cane and hobbled outside too.
Withûr We Page 4