Ultimatum

by Matthew Glass

  Wen kept going on that theme. He kept stopping for applause. In the Oval Office, the group listened in somber silence. Only Wen’s triumphant voice, and Oliver Wu’s following it a moment behind, were audible.

  “This is like watching Hitler dance his jig in Paris,” murmured Olsen, and he shook his head in disgust.

  Still Wen talked. Applause kept stopping him. He was eulogizing the party now, its determination, its iron will to recover every last piece of alienated Chinese territory. On and on he went about it. The speech seemed to be going on forever.

  Benton looked at a clock. The Chinese president had been talking for almost an hour.

  He had demanded a public statement. It had to come soon. If it was going to come, it had to come soon.

  Wen kept going. Only the party could have harnessed the will of the Chinese people in this way. Only the party could have led the people to the dawn of this glorious day.

  “Now the party will show that it can lead the whole world. China will show what must be done to reduce the emissions of carbon gases. As we know, President Benton of the United States has put forward a plan which, in reality, is a plan that came from the government of the People’s Republic of China. Now I think President Benton has learned that China is not told what it should do, but chooses what it will do. We choose to launch the plan that President Benton announced, and we call on him to join us and ensure that the United States of America fulfills the responsibilities that the plan entails.”

  Wen stopped. More applause broke out. It was almost hysterical.

  In the Oval Office, there was stunned silence.

  “What the hell was that?” said Larry Olsen.

  Joe Benton shook his head in disbelief. “I think that was President Wen saying yes.”

  ~ * ~

  Monday, November 7

  Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C.

  There was no handshaking, no smiles, as Joe Benton made his way onto the Senate floor. The faces that watched him were grave. He walked quickly and silently to the rostrum.

  He had struggled long and hard with what he would say. Whether the words were right, or not, he didn’t yet know. First the joint session of Congress, then the world, then history would judge.

  All of Congress waited for the president to speak.

  “A little more than a year ago today,” he began, “the people of this great nation paid me the highest honor it is in their gift to pay. They asked me to be their president and lead our nation for the coming four years. I knew then what we all know, that leadership involves hard choices, hard times. A week ago today began the hardest time that I, and any of us, can imagine.

  He paused. The moment he had first heard about the strike on the Bay area was alive in his mind, as it was, for each person in his or her individual way, in the mind of every man and woman listening.

  “I stand before you, I think, as a president who bears the gravest burden a president has ever borne. Two nuclear strikes on our country. Millions of our fellow citizens dead. The number isn’t yet known, perhaps never will be fully known. But whether one has died, or one million, the pain for the victim’s loved ones is the same. I share the grief of every relative, every friend, every acquaintance of one of the many who died or lies injured today. I share the grief of every father and mother. My daughter was among the victims. Her name was Amy Wallcott Benton, and she was twenty-three.”

  He stopped again, felt the emotion welling up inside him. He knew, if he didn’t go on, the tears would begin to run. Yet he didn’t know if he could go on.

  In the Senate chamber, many were in tears now.

  “I also grieve…” He stopped, frowned hard, then drew breath. “I also grieve for the many Chinese men, women, children who have died. I made a decision to strike back once we had been struck. I will relive that decision for as long as I live. Perhaps, in years to come, historians will decide whether I was right. Whether I could have done otherwise.

  “When life is suddenly taken away, we seek a reason. We want to be able to say our loved one did not die in vain. Like any bereaved father, I want to say this. Can we? My fellow Americans, history will judge on this as well. But already there is one thing we can say. Out of this catastrophe has come a new path forward. China, and the rest of the world, has agreed to play its part in the Carbon Plan. The knowledge of this is more than a mere glimmer of hope. It is a moment of salvation for our planet, it is the guarantee for our children, and our children’s children, and their children beyond. Today our wounds are fresh, our pain is raw. Let this knowledge be a balm, however small, however insufficient, that will grow more soothing with time. They did not die in vain. Only if we fail to carry through the work that lies ahead of us, will this be so.

  “There is work ahead. There will be difficulties, there will be challenges. But when we get beyond these—and we will get beyond them, we will overcome the obstacles that today seem so great—our world will be a better place, and we can be secure that we have made it safe for the generations to follow.

  “Our first priority, today, is to help the survivors and the families of those who are gone, and we are doing this to the utmost of our ability. Many private citizens have made important contributions to this effort, and in their vast response we are seeing the spirit of our republic at it finest. In addition, as we do this, preparations for the programs and legislation to put the Carbon Plan in place are under way. After what has happened, this will be more difficult than we expected. We will have to try harder, we will have to sacrifice more. But we can do it, and we will do it. Rest assured that I and every member of my administration will spare no effort, no resource, no ounce of our energy, no moment of our time, no attempt that is humanly possible to bring our nation through this. This is not the moment to dwell on the details. In the weeks to come, I will be putting these before you.

  “I will also be asking Congress to hold an investigation into my administration’s handling of the recent crisis. If there was any misjudgment or negligence that ought to exclude me or anyone else from office, I want this to be known and the appropriate action taken, even if it involves myself. Especially if it involves myself. Last week, on the White House lawn, I said the buck stops with me. And so it does.

  “But now, as I said, is not the time to dwell on the details. I believe that our republic, and the nations of our planet, have the potential to emerge from this crisis, and from the shared endeavor of the Carbon Plan, a better place. Surely if we have learned one thing from the past week, it is that our capacity to destroy when we are divided is great, but our capacity to build when we are united is even greater. Out of the ashes of the fires that burned, I sense arising a great spirit of hope and fellowship across our nation and across our world. Let this truly be a turning point for the community of nations, let us capture this spirit and hold fast to it always as we go forward. From our shared endeavor we will emerge a more humane world, a more understanding world, a more friendly world. I know that nowhere will this spirit reign more truly than in these United States of America, for it is the very spirit in which our republic was founded so long ago. By helping each other, we help ourselves. By giving opportunity to others, we create opportunity for ourselves. By welcoming into our communities those who have been displaced, we make our communities stronger for all who live within them. These communities, my friends, will be the monument to those who gave their lives. A year ago, I asked you to build with me a new foundation. Tonight, I ask you again. Let us build it well. Let us build it strong. Let us build it worthy of those who are no longer with us.

  “God bless America. God bless every nation on earth. God bless the great and shared endeavor on which, this day, we all embark.”

  ~ * ~

  On the ride back to the White House, Heather stared out the window. The November night was rainy. The drops clustered on the glass, streamed back in the wind.

  “Heather,” he said softly.

  She didn’t turn.

  “Heather, what I said b
ack there, I believe it. There is a spirit of hope now. If we harness it, this country can do great things, all the things we always talked about and more.” He hesitated. “It doesn’t bring her back. But at least it means it wasn’t in vain, doesn’t it?”

  Heather shrugged, still staring at the night.

  “I don’t know if it had to happen like this. Maybe . . .” Joe Benton frowned. He had gone through every step, every step, and he would, he knew, until his dying day. A horrible suspicion was beginning to form, deep within him, that it had always been the case that something like this would have to happen. That only a massive catastrophe would shock the world out of the delusion that half measures and half steps would be enough and that the problem would be solved tomorrow, if not today, without any price to be paid. Maybe it had always been inevitable that some agonizing convulsion would be needed to galvanize the will to do what should have been done—and could have been done—-so much more easily, and less painfully, ten, twenty, thirty years before. And maybe it had always been the case that this catastrophe would have to be something that human beings inflicted on each other, since all the catastrophes that nature so abundantly inflicted seemed not to be enough. And yet it was almost unbearable to think that this was true, that despite all the science, the evidence, the analysis and the projections that the most sophisticated computers could produce, in the end it would take the crudest, most primitive argument—death, millions and millions of needless deaths—to make this happen. It shook his faith in humanity. It made him wonder whether human beings had ever made any progress at all, whether, deep down, they weren’t still just tribes of cave men clubbing each other into the mud.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can make a better world out of this. That’s what we have to do, Heather. That’s what Amy would have wanted.”

  He watched her. He wished he knew better how to comfort her. He wished he knew better how to fill the great emptiness that Amy’s death had left within himself.

  He laid his hand lightly on her arm.

  Heather turned.

  “You know what the thing is?” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “We don’t even have her body. There’s nothing left of her. Nothing at all.”