by Pam Uphoff
He sat back and eyed the pretty Newsie. “But we are not identical. We are all individuals, and should be judged as such, not categorized and put in a box and required to conform to society’s preconceived notions of how someone from that box ‘should’ behave.”
She raised eyebrows. “But you reject genetic engineering?”
“Yes. We are both who and what we are, and genetic engineering changes the what. Does that also change the who? We are all the sum of the interactions of our genes and our environments. Where are the studies of personality changes, with genetic engineering? And which genes? How many?
“And why? I have heard of a few anecdotal instances of people touching the power of the One after receiving a One Power gene. But no actual studies to say what percentage of the engineered ever touch power, or how many gain a truly useful amount. How many have accidentally injured another person, having had no lessons in control and caution?”
“I haven’t heard . . .”
“Because there have been so few. What happens when millions of people get genetic engineering?’ Insa threw his hands out, the right one still bandaged.
“No one knows what people may be doing to themselves!”
Dave nodded. Finally, something of the fire and passion. But . . . the wrong issue for a One Firster.
Insa leaned toward the newsie. “The . . . social status of the One is due to our being the descendants of the Prophets. Some artificial chemicals added by a Native Wizard doesn’t make anyone a descendant of the Prophets.”
The Newsie was frowning at him, now. Not getting what she wanted.
“What about the bus? Did you realize you were risking your life for a pack of Multitude kids?”
Insa paled. “That didn’t matter. They were kids in danger, and I did my best. The Black Horse Guards did most of the saving. If I hadn’t tried . . . I wouldn’t be fit to be president.”
“You cried over a girl who was already dead. Are you strong enough to be president?”
Insa was blinking back tears. “Yes. I’m strong enough to care. Smart enough to do things that will work, not things that sound good.”
Ycrw called him a weakling and a Native Lover.
His wife filed for divorce and half his staff quit.
***
There was no progress on the investigation. An auto-drive truck stolen a month ago. Old fashioned explosives made from easily obtained household and farm chemicals. Commercially available electronics reengineered to trigger the explosion.
Someone was watching Insa’s campaign HQ, and had the timing right to send out the truck. So many things that could have delayed us . . . but a check of all public records we can find, and there’s no sign that they’d tried before, but not been in the right position.
Well, sometimes you do luck out on the first try. But even so, they were just a bit too far away. Damn those sons of filthy dogs.
***
With the excitement over, and nothing for Dave to do but comb through gigabytes of news and threatening letters forwarded by Insa’s campaign, he not only got to keep regular office hours, not too much overtime, he was able to catch up on his sleep . . . and have dinner with Qamar.
And stroll a bit in the twilight.
Qamar sighed. “What was I? Ten years old? The first time I told you I was going to marry you?”
“Something like that. The Commander laughed, and Umaya never left you alone with me, after that. Even after you both came up to Rangpur when it looked like the fighting was over until spring.” Dave frowned, thinking, remembering. “I was horrified you were trapped there, the commander’s little girl. All the other kids, too. Davos was frantic about Jadida and Ali. We all wished to hell you were safe, away somewhere.”
“But in the end, it all worked out.” Qamar was quiet for a bit. “I’m glad we were there. Ra’d had a rough transition to modern life. Umaya and I helped. I don’t like to think what he might have been like without us to . . . sort of anchor him. He . . . felt very strongly that he’d abandoned his father to die. Knowing I was dead, had died a thousand years ago, might have added more than he could deal with.”
“Yeah. But he’s recovered, adapted. And he’s done a lot in sixteen years. ”
Qamar nodded. “I . . . wasn’t quite so bad, although I did attack Izzo, when he caught up to us.”
“Really?” Dave laughed. “I doubt you hurt him.”
“Umm . . . I think I power punched him. I was frightened and angry . . . and I’m very glad there wasn’t a train on the tracks I shoved him onto.”
Dave snickered. “I hadn’t heard about that!”
She ducked her head. “And all of the lessons from Rael and other people, and I can’t do it again, deliberately.”
“Yeah, we’re still the class dunces, and I miss more than half of the classes anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Acceptance
28 Jumada 1415
Arno eyed the sender’s address . . . University of the Empire, School of Directorate Studies. “Well . . . Good news or bad?”
Ryol leaned to peek at his screen. “Oh One! Are they sending acceptance letters?” She jerked back and started clicking on her comp. “I have one too.”
Arno opened the letter.
We are pleased to accept . . .
“Yes!” Arno heaved out a deep breath and started reading the details . . .
Ryol bounced in her chair, “Me too! We’re in!”
Congratulation from around the room. Izzo looked in to see what was causing the commotion, and added his congratulations. “Well, other than losing staff . . .”
“Not as fast as Insa . . . he’s really sunk in the polls of One Firsters. You can probably stop mentioning rabble-rousers and start in on cold-blooded, unfeeling, power seekers.”
Izzo grinned. “Yeah. Heroics that would have won any other party’s nomination . . . but the One Firsters are horrified. Well, Ycrw always was the bigger threat to me.”
Ryol, still grinning, turned around. “Actually him being the bigger draw than Insa is good. It pulls more voters from the War Party and the Isolationists.”
“True.” Izzo shook his head. “Kids . . . advising a presidential candidate.”
***
Then Arno called his mother, and then Aunt Rael, uploaded a note to the Wolf Kids’ private bulletin board . . . and got back to work.
Izzo and Pug—Wpgu—were unique in that they were both pushing their moderately similar agendas, without getting extreme or attacking each other.
The other primary races were a gold mine of extremist quotes that were going to be very useful . . . hopefully for Izzo. And vastly entertaining, even when they weren’t usable.
They headed home before the rush hour hit and found a party waiting for them. Mother beaming, then Dad getting home early, also beaming. The little brats excited, except for a brief wide-eyed minute of realizing their big brother and sister would be leaving and only get home a few times a year . . . from now on.
And it’s true. I’m a month away from turning eighteen . . . and suddenly I don’t feel very grown up.
Chapter Twenty-five
Primaries
29 Rajab 1415
“The One are just one more minority in the Empire. The smallest minority!”
Dave turned and looked at the screen. “Seven percent. Not that any self-respecting Oner would ever vote for Ramos, but . . .”
Insa walked over. “He’s crazier than I am.”
“Less than seven hundred million people! And barely a billion Halfers—and that’s counting anyone with even a single insertion! They might as well join the Multitude, instead of looking up at those pathetic genetically engineered animals.”
“Suicidal. Or just not good with numbers. Halfers are about twelve percent of the population, right?” Dave glanced around Insa’s main room. Half the seats empty, but then it was lunch hour. Of course someone tactfully removed half the chairs already, and spread everyone out, so it didn’t lo
ok so bad.
His head turned back to the big wall screen as Ramos . . . “Did he just imply that over two billion people are too stupid to figure out who to vote for and should just do as they are told?”
Insa nodded. “And they really don’t like being called Chinamen.”
On screen, Ramos turned his attention to the second largest chunk of voters. “Even though India climbed into bed with the Oners early on, still they’ve held the contamination to six percent of their population. So the majority there needs to vote Multitude Party and let me lead them into the position they deserve—at the top of the Government.”
“Climbed into bed!” Insa yelped.
“Contamination.” Dave shook his head.
“Well . . . it’s always comforting to know there are worse campaigners than oneself.”
Dave snorted. “Utterly tone deaf. Didn’t anyone tell him that China and India between them hold nearly half the votes?”
“Must not. He can’t possibly win the Multitude primary after insulting nearly everyone, can he?” Insa sighed. “Not that I’m going to win the One Firsters’ nomination.”
Dave winced. “I’ve got a note about the Pacifist Debate. It says, starts out boring as hell, fast forward to ten point three five. Shall we watch it?”
At ten minutes in, Oscu Withone Badlands mumbled, “. . . leave them alone and we’ll be fine. Earth is not an enemy, and the chance of Helios striking the Home World had never been high enough to justify . . .”
At which point “Beautiful Flower” grabbed the microphone and hit him over the head with it.
Her mouth moved . . . she glared at the broken mic and tossed it over her shoulder. Took a deep breath and projected her voice.
“Seeking peace, and being a doormat, oblivious to the aggressive actions of other polities are two entirely different things! Sometimes you have to be strong to be left in peace!”
“Oh my One.” Insa whispered. “I think I’m in love.”
“The primaries are tomorrow. I bet she’ll win in a landslide.”
***
Faster than Izzo’d believed possible it was suddenly Rajab and time to run frantically around the globe encouraging people to vote for him as the twenty-ninth arrived and the Polls opened.
Xiat had reserved the main ballroom at the Saint Honorine for the poll watching, and hopefully victory party. And a penthouse suite so he could step out and . . . flop on the bed.
“I can’t keep smiling. My face hurts.”
Xiat snickered. “Yes, Dear. Relax for an hour. Then we’ll go over the exit polls before your next interview.”
“Umm . . .”
“Relax. They look very good, everywhere but Paris. Homestead is in your pocket, as we expected. Now relax for a little bit.”
Guess I’d better. This is just the prelims. I just hope we don’t have any more bombings.
***
Insa conceded early. Circulated, thanking all the hard work and loyalty his shrunken staff had given him. “Remember that you are the best people. Not the ordained tyrants.”
Dave tried to keep one car and send the Guards home. Scar shook his head. “Nope. He’s getting the full escort, none of this slinking away home, defeated crap.”
So they drove him to his oversized home in the Alcairo Enclave, gave it a quick sweep . . . removed a nasty—but neither illegal nor dangerous—present from his soon to be ex-wife.
Dave eyed the man. Sad but not depressed. Solidly centered. “Going to rabble-rouse for Ycrw?”
“No . . . I’m not dead sure what I will do. Now.”
Dave nodded. “You might look into the effects on personality of adding power genes to adults. I conned a better researcher than me into digging for information . . . and there simply are not any studies out there.”
Insa eyed him. “All the Lucky Dave stories said you had the priest gene, not the power gene.”
“I got the power gene the day after I . . . arrived. Almost two years ago.” He shrugged. “I don’t think—or feel—like my personality has changed. My magic has increased by a tiny amount. Measurable, but tiny. And I’m a man who was trained rigorously in the use of power from the time I was five years old, because of the priest gene.”
Insa nodded. “I’m glad to hear about the personality . . . and mixed on the rest. Because, you know, Halfers are the descendants of the Prophets. And even a lot of Multitude have some of the non-insertion genes. So . . . maybe I was completely wrong.”
“We are all the children of Allah, or God, or however we all variously call the Creator. Even the ones who vehemently deny his existence. Good Luck.”
***
Izzo napped, showered, and headed back down, to look confident, talk to Newsies. To thank all his staff, both volunteer and paid. Uncle Zipo was looking happy about the money that had rolled in the last few days.
Midnight, and the last polls closed on the far side of the world. The actual numbers started rolling in . . . half an hour later Ugpw conceded.
Tomorrow it starts all over again, with a slightly different focus.
Chapter Twenty-six
Last stretch
30 Rajab 1415
The Black Horse Guards reorganized for the general election. And the analysts as well.
“Agfu, for the War party. Ovil for the Isolationists, Ycrw for the One First Party.” Rael was reading off her list. “Izzo for the Modern Federalists. Diego Jesus Blanco Ramos for the Multitude Supreme, Ketzel of Falconhurst for the Nativists, Beautiful Flower for the Pacifists. The two independents are still running. So, nine people to guard. Volunteers? No, you cannot all have Izzo.”
That was good for a snicker.
“So . . . Idlo, how are you getting along with the Crow?”
“Poorly. I’m not an admirer, therefore I am the enemy. Same with the Guards. I’d recommend trying a whole new set of people to liaise with his people, and that they avoid too much contact with the man himself. That way they might remain neutral and do a good job of warning his security.”
“Ouch. Right, anyone want Afgu or Ovil? Ammo?”
“I’ll take Afgu, he’s a pretty standard politician. I understand the mindset.”
“You’ve got him. Idlo? Ovil’s all yours. Echo, how are you doing with Izzo?”
“Umm, he’s got so many competent people I feel like I’m getting run over by a fleet of trucks. I mean, no problem, but you might want to put in someone new, who can establish a better rapport than I did . . . Actually, working with an icicle like Ycrw will suit me.”
“Hmm, Dave, I think we’ll throw your mystique at Izzo’s staff. Then we have Ramos and Ketzel.”
Ydro waved. “I’ll take Ramos. I grew up in a Multitude neighborhood.”
Mick volunteered for Ketzel, “I lived on horseback all of my early life. From his interviews, I’ll like him, even if it isn’t reciprocated. Plus he’s got a wife and a princess, a teenaged daughter and two younger boys. I’ll ask Major Eppa to send guys who like horses.”
Save rolled her eyes. “I’ll stick with Miss Fluffy Beautiful Flower. The woman’s insane, and driving her new princess crazy. It’s entertaining.”
“Good. Yjjo, you get Atty, and Opnu, Wglo’s all yours. From what I’ve seen they’re single issue candidates, just working to raise awareness of, for Atty, the environmental mess in Siberia, and Wglo, the demands of the pre-nuclear war Amerind tribes in North America. So they’ll both continue with minimal Guards. But if they do actually scare up some interest, or trouble, let me know.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Directorate School
15 Shaban 1415yp
And so the long busy summer came to an end and it was time to report to the Directorate School.
It’s not like we were indispensable to Izzo’s election.
“The Prophet Nicholas . . . recommended you to us.” The counselor drummed his fingers. “How did you meet him?”
“At a garden party at Government House.”
The couns
elor clicked for the next page. “So, how did you bag recommendations from the two worst troublemakers the Directorate School has ever had?”
Arno raised his eyebrows. “Really? Troublemakers? Well, Ebsa’s a distant relative, well, step relative. I met Ra’d on Embassy a few years ago.” He shrugged.
“Embassy, eh? Well, your stepfather worked for Izzo for a couple of years. So I suppose that explains a recommendation from a presidential candidate. He’s going to lose, you know.”
“Could be, sir.”
“And the usual recommendations from your high school. Top Science and Math grad, and you come to us with almost two semesters of college credit. Well, we’ll see about that when we put you in our classes.” The counselor eyed the screen in front of him. “And the last one is from a Black Horse Guard. You certainly have met some interesting people. So, you are requesting Team Track, despite not getting much in the way of martial arts training. At least you scored high in the incoming ranking. All right. Your class list is approved and I’m sending it to your comp. Good Luck!”
Arno stood, thanked him and walked out. Found a bench and opened his comp.
“Calculus, History of the Multiverse, Bio 2, Chem 2, Physics 1, Introduction to Magic, Martial Arts section B, Firearms Practicum, to be tested . . .” he glanced at the time, “in an hour.”
“What’s in an hour?” Ryol plunked down beside him.
“Firearms test. Do you have one scheduled?”
She opened her comp. “Oh drat, Martial Arts section C. That’s the one for women. Dammit! Oh, yeah, Firearms test in an hour.”
Arno checked the campus map . . . “On the far side of the campus. We might as well head that way now.”