Withûr We
Page 94
Alistair studied Oliver while that one greeted his brother. He had become portly in the intervening cycles. Though still young and not exactly fat, there was a softness to his middle and a fullness of the flesh of his neck not there before Alistair was exiled.
“I got quite a shock a couple minutes ago. I never thought – come with me! – I never thought I’d see the day.” He was walking away, towards a small carpeted area with several cushioned chairs and a cabinet at the side. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. When you put your mind to something…”
Reaching the cabinet, he opened it, took out a crystal decanter and glasses, and into them poured a brown liquid with an orange tint.
“Ice?” he asked.
“None for me,” said Gerald. “I’m due elsewhere.”
“Ice for me,” mumbled Alistair.
After handing Alistair his glass, Oliver shook Gerald’s hand and thanked him. While Gerald walked to the door, Oliver took a nearby seat and Alistair gingerly sat down across from him, uncomfortable and suddenly not looking forward to the next few minutes. Oliver drained a good portion of the contents of his glass and Alistair took a small sip. The sound of the door closing after Gerald resounded in the room.
“So how did you manage it? How did you make it back?” asked the former rugby star. He wore the same wide yet distancing smile he had been flashing since the moment he turned to see them enter.
“Stole a ship from the Gaians,” Alistair said, his expression mirthless and his tone flat. “Outfitted it with some other things I salvaged here and there.”
“Gaians?”
Nodding, Alistair took another sip. “Srillium is watched over by Gaians.”
If Oliver was waiting for more, he was disappointed. Finally, he made a face of appreciation. “Only you could do it.”
He fell silent, indicating it was Alistair’s turn to think of something to say. Uncomfortable under the weight of that unchanging smile, Alistair cast his gaze around the expansive meeting room.
“The ceiling’s new. You should have seen it when we moved in. This is a real nice one.”
“So what did I miss?”
Oliver spread his arms out. He might have been indicating the room, the Palace, the city of Rendral or the entire planet.
“We won.”
“And now you’re president.”
His disapproving tone made Oliver chuckle, and he rose to pace.
“I envy philosophers,” he proclaimed with a jolly bellow, and it was a couple seconds before the echoes subsided. “I envy idealists. I envy them for the position they must be in to be an idealist. No man in my position can hold onto idealism.”
Oliver paused to regard Alistair, but he sat still, holding his glass in his lap with both hands, returning Oliver’s look but saying nothing. Oliver broke into a knowing smile and resumed his pacing.
“We had excellent ideals when we were younger, didn’t we? We knew liberty, knew what was wrong and how to fix it. There just weren’t enough of us.”
Oliver came to stand by the window again, a small figure in a giant frame, watched by the busts of presidents past and staring at a new bust being formed. With one tip of the glass he swallowed the rest of his drink, never taking his eyes off the workers on the hovering platforms, and Alistair never took his eyes off Oliver.
“Every man who closes his book and leaves his study, who goes out into the real world, has a compromise thrust on him,” continued the Aldran Head of State and turned to walk back to his vacated chair. “Life demands compromise. Our ideals are a guide, a compass, not a set of laws. There are fleeting opportunities when we can put our ideals into practice, and we do the best we can. Other than that, we have to be realistic, practical.”
Reaching his chair, he sat down again, setting his glass on an end table. When he spoke, his tone changed from relaxed reminiscing to an indignant, almost angry, defensiveness.
“I defy anyone to look at the Aldra of a few cycles ago and tell me we aren’t better off now.” The flash of anger left and Oliver relaxed again. “I opened up all that unused land, first come, first served. The Homesteaders dream was finally realized. Tell me that wasn’t a victory for liberty.”
“Gerald told me about that,” said Alistair with a nod. He set his glass, still almost full, on an end table. “You only opened up the land around Rendral.”
“There’s still fighting going on. It’s hard to defend a populace scattered all over the face of the planet. We have instituted policies to encourage people to congregate around the cities, especially Rendral. You can’t believe how the farm industry has taken off… well, I’m sure you can believe it… but it’s amazing. We went from starvation to plenty in the course of a single cycle. It’s liberty at work, our ideals put into practice!” He had the enthusiastic tone of a salesman now.
“Why can’t people own gold?”
“They can own gold,” Oliver said with a note of exasperation. “They can’t own or circulate gold coins. Jewelry, bars of gold… these are fine.”
“Why can’t they circulate gold coins?”
Oliver sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t want to do it. I even got rid of the Credit and allowed private banks to print money.”
“You gave five banks a monopoly privilege to print money.”
“In exchange for their support. A support instrumental in ending the war here.”
“So why can’t people circulate gold coins? And why are these five banks printing five ounce-notes for every ounce of gold they actually have?”
“Those conditions…” Oliver shook his head, despairing of ever impressing Alistair. The mask he had worn was off. Behind the contrived smile and congeniality had been a grim realism which was nearer to sincerity. Behind that, nearer still to sincerity, was uncertainty and even guilt. “Those conditions were dictated to me by the other colonies.”
“Why should the other colonies be able to dictate anything to you?”
“We got loans from them,” Oliver replied like a man making a damning admission. “It was all part of ending the war. Twelve and a half million people had died, either from fighting or starving or disease. There was no end in sight. But the government developed Overlay technology. Naturally, the other colonies and Earth wanted it. We promised to sell it to them in exchange for their support.
“They lent us money, but we had to conform to certain standards if we wanted to join their economic community. Any mad rush into a stronger currency can set off hyperinflation in the currency being dumped. Some of those other currencies are inflated… they weren’t going to risk things by making exceptions and we couldn’t get their help without accepting their demands.” Oliver glumly stared at the floor. “At any rate, it’s had its uses.”
“Banks can print five ounces worth of notes for every ounce of gold in their vaults.”
“Yes.”
“But the ratio used to be four to one.”
“I lowered reserve requirements.”
“And I can tell you why you did it, no explanation needed,” said Alistair with a cock-sure certainty of tone. “In exchange for guaranteed loans from the banks, probably under very favorable terms, you snapped your fingers and conjured twenty five per cent more money to lend out. Also, this will make prices rise, which means more tax money coming in to pay other loans that fall due in the next couple years. A debtor is always in favor of cheaper money, and with all the fighting you’ve been doing you must have enormous debts.”
The silence that followed confirmed Alistair’s understanding.
“You opened up trade with other colonies, but later imposed conditions, designating certain zones for foreign ships who are always under supervision.”
“There is still a resistance, and if we got helped by smugglers then so can they.”
“You lowered taxes, but you’ve raised them again.”
“Debts fall due, Alistair. We have just fought a war and a Revolution must be paid for.”
“You dec
lared freedom of speech, but certain controls have since been put in place.”
“The pen is mightier than the sword.”
“You’ve restricted gun use.”
“Only in certain areas where we can’t be sure who supports us and who is fighting us. Enough!” Oliver roared when Alistair made as if to cite another imposition on liberty. “I also legalized specnine and streamlined the criminal justice system. The black market in specnine and all the crime and misery it caused are things of the past. Lawyers are no longer required to have a license… and let me tell you how much support it cost me to do that. I had a riot the next day.”
“I’m sure you did. The legal system was so complex you needed an anointed guide to get you through it, and lawyers made a good living at our expense. When I left, nearly one in ten Aldrans was an attorney or working in the legal profession.”
“It’s about one in fifty now.”
“Fine, but for how long? Taxes are getting raised again, speech is being curtailed, the money is being debased… pretty soon you’ll need someone else’s support and then—”
Oliver jumped out of his chair and said, “But how do you expect me to change it? I instituted reforms; things are better now. I’m sorry if I can’t bring about a utopia single handed! If things do go back to how they were before, we at least had a brief time when they were better. I can’t do it by myself!” The outburst concluded, Oliver fell back into his chair and a loud crack issued from it.
When Alistair spoke, his voice was soft and sad. “You should have been a teacher, not a leader.” A sharp look from Oliver moved Alistair to speak further. “You should have convinced people of the ethics of liberty, taught them about freedom. Instead, you chose to lead them, and even if you wanted to lead them to liberty, a leader requires the consent of those being led. Authority is not yours; it is granted to you if people choose. When you lead, you must get people to grant you authority. That’s when you start compromising principles, not when you close your book and leave your study, but when you command authority. That’s when you grant monopolies to bankers: when you need a grant of authority. That’s when you restrict speech: when you need to prevent others from undermining you. That’s when you go into debt: when you need even more. You should have been a teacher.”
“Someone was going to do what I did. If people believe in being led, someone is going to step up and lead them. Would you prefer someone else had done it?”
They sat in contemplative silence, and neither moved except to breathe. Finally, Alistair ended the stillness by reaching for his glass and taking another sip.
“Katherine wants funding for a voyage.”
“I know. Are you here to ask for taxpayer funds?”
“I’m just relaying my sister’s request.”
“Now is not the time. We’re in debt and still spending money… after the fighting is over.” Oliver, in noticeable discomfort, shifted in his seat. “The old regime won’t die, Alistair. When we took Rendral, we immediately saw the use of Overlay technology. We used it to end the fighting. We thought it was over, that we could put it behind us, but… Somehow they got their hands on it. Now the positions are reversed: we sit here exposed while they attack from the shadows.”
There was a loud rapping on the door, which opened an instant later, and Alistair heard a familiar voice say, “There’s another attack.”
Though Oliver was on his feet the next instant, Alistair was at first too stunned to move.
“Come and see,” said Oliver, his voice grim and, now that there was another observer there, as close to regal as he could make it.
Alistair lifted himself out of his chair and turned to see Stephanie Caldwell in Civil Guard uniform, more decorated than when last he saw it. His visage had the same effect on her as her voice had on him, as unsettling as a thunderbolt. Her hands, clasped behind her back when she delivered the message, came unclasped; her arms fell to her sides; her eyes widened and lips parted.
“I believe you two know each other,” said Oliver as he strode out the door.
She managed the most hesitant and curtest of nods before turning to follow Oliver. Alistair hustled to catch up and finally reached them as they left the suites and came to a sliding electric door.
“This one’s right here in the city,” Stephanie was saying as she typed in a code on a keypad in the wall next to the door.
In response to the code, the door swiftly opened and revealed a transparent walking tube that, curving like a serpent many yards above the ground, connected the Civil Palace with Aldra’s grandest skyscraper, the one that climbed the wall of the Birth Crater on its way to piercing the clouds. Stephanie did not wait, and Oliver and Alistair were right behind her. Looking down, Alistair saw they were walking above some extensive gardens tucked behind the Palace, between it and the crater wall.
“They’ve never attacked the city before,” said Oliver while Alistair walked shoulder to shoulder with him. “They usually hit the countryside, sometimes small cities. We think they’re trying to disrupt the food supply.” Something in his tone indicated he was not entirely satisfied with that explanation.
When they were within a few yards of the other end of the tube, Alistair tilted his head back and let his gaze go skyward. The gargantuan skyscraper, sleek and black, loomed over them, reaching so far above, its top was like the point of a needle. Stephanie typed another code while the two men waited and once again the door slid open. On the other side were several others waiting for Oliver. Four armed Civil Guardsmen stood at attention, rifles in hand, while a gaggle of officials greeted the Head of State, their faces emanating the importance they felt in themselves.
Oliver was enveloped by the group of officials, and when the entire retinue finally fit inside a voluminous elevator, Alistair found himself standing next to Stephanie. The four Guardsmen focused on nothing but the door in front of their eyes, while the officials, when they bothered to glance at Alistair at all, spared only a brief, inquisitive look. For her part, Stephanie Caldwell eventually decided a conversation would be less awkward than ignoring the man standing at her side.
“Who rescued you?” she asked, her query barely audible under the loud discussion carried on by Oliver and his state officials.
“I rescued myself. When I left here, we were enemies.”
“I was thrown in prison. Oliver realized he had a nation to run and needed personnel to do it.”
“It’s kind of hard to tell whether you switched sides or he did.”
The elevator passed into the middle stories, and the back wall became transparent so that they were given a view of the entirety of Rendral as they, picking up speed, rose higher and higher above the city. The morning sun hung over the eastern edge of the crater, several miles away. The attack was immediately apparent, consisting of a swirling cloud periodically illuminated by great flashes. Hanging over the southern part of the city, it belched out sparks and balls of electricity, and when it passed over the tops of buildings, they disintegrated, like a sand castle in a windstorm, and what was left of their material was sucked into the cloud.
Though the Civil Guard did not lose their discipline, the state officials crowded to the back of the elevator, those nearest to it placing their foreheads up against the back window. A hush fell over them and all stared at the terrible display. They rose several dozen stories higher before a woman finally made an awed remark which Alistair, farthest from the back of the elevator, did not hear well.
“It’ll be years before the damage is fixed,” said a man in a louder voice.
“Why did they wait so long to attack the city?” asked another woman but received no answer.
Up they went, closer to the sky. The buildings in the crater looked like children’s toys by the time they reached the upper levels. The back wall of the elevator shaft became opaque and they lost their view of the city. However, a moment later the elevator stopped, provoking the familiar feeling in the pits of their stomachs, and the doors opened.
At the edge, they saw the same scene witnessed from the elevator, only now they heard cracks and rumbles of something like thunder. Gripping the railing, Alistair ignored the attack for a moment and looked down over the edge of the building. He was struck, like so many times before, with the grandeur of the skyscraper. He thought of all the great cities he had been to: Rendral, Mar Profundo, New Boston, New York, Londinium, Tokyo, Whitehall, Sao Paulo. He thought of what an amazing feat it was to build something as superlative as a skyscraper. The enormity of the task and the quantity of toil involved inspired awe. Then, he looked at the attack, at the effortlessness and remorselessness with which it disintegrated so much work.
“I thought maybe they were leaving Rendral alone because they wanted to take it back,” said Stephanie as the wind whipped her hair, causing it to lash at her face and scalp. She took no notice. “Maybe they changed their minds.” Her tone indicated indifference.
There was a flash of light and the attack broke apart. The murky cloud stopped swirling and turned to dust which was dumped on the city below. Moments later, an aftershock of the attack buffeted them in the form of a wind as of a hurricane, and it carried with it the screeches and booms and rumbles of a great battle. A couple officials stumbled and fell to the ground and everyone moved away from the edge of the building. Oliver, flanked by two men busy explaining something to him, paused a moment when he was about to pass Alistair.
“That’s what we’re dealing with!” he shouted over the noise as the wind tore at his clothing. He pointed an insistent finger in the direction of the attack. “Talk to me of ideals after the battle is won. Sometimes sacrifices must be made!”