Hidden Empire

by Orson Scott Card

  "There were rumors flying all over Nigeria about how the American soldiers had the monkey sickness," said Cecily.

  "Right, and Sudan has always had close, close relations with snitches in Nigeria."

  "They certainly had friends in the Hausa government."

  "There's always an alternate path," said Cole. "I say this to them, and they nod, and then they go right on believing that it's Torrent. He sets things up, he knocks them down. This attack on our base—what vital interest of Sudan's did it serve?"

  "When has Sudan's government ever done anything that served any interest? They're motivated by hate and the lust for power."

  "And faith!" said Cole.

  "Faith as a mask for thuggery and evil," said Cecily.

  "Agreed," said Cole. "But what if they were given the handheld EMP specifically so they would carry out that mission?"

  "You think President Torrent has some loose cannon selling EMPs to rogue nations?"

  "The guys think that wasn't it amazing the Sudanese had exactly the right information to carry out this mission so fast the Marines didn't get here in time, and happened to have been given the only weapon that could prevent us from using our Noodles and Bones as effectively as we otherwise could have?"

  "Nothing in that points to Torrent."

  "Except that because of this event, Torrent got the political clout, internationally, to begin redrawing the map of Africa. First in Nigeria, where the new lines are actually pretty clear because this place has been civilized for a long, long time. Then in Sudan. And now working west and south through all of black Africa, getting rid of the old colonial lines and replacing them with … new ones."

  "New colonial lines?"

  "Not the old kind of colony," said Cole. "But these new nations, they're going to be limping along at first. Huge cities whose only industry is spending government money suddenly aren't the center of government. Everything's going to be discombobulated for many years. And there's Averell Torrent, extending a hand, making them dependent on the United States, their good friend, their big brother in the West."

  "He's being a good president!" said Cecily. "What should he do, snub them? It's a chance to bring peace and order to a place that has desperately needed it … "

  He was grinning at her.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Torrent knows how to fix the world, Cecily. He knows how to fix it. All he needs is the power to do it. And that power requires public support in America and international cooperation outside it. And to achieve those, he needs a few little things here and there—a Sudanese incursion to destroy an American base right when they're sick with the sneezing flu. An itsy little civil war in the United States."

  Cecily raised a hand. "Be careful now. You're coming perilously close to saying that President Torrent had Reuben killed."

  "I'm saying that Torrent sets things in motion and then takes advantage of however they play out. I'm betting that if the other side had won that civil war, Torrent was all set to become, in short order, the consensus president in the new Progressive Restoration."

  "He can't possibly be that cynical."

  "Look at him! He's a Democrat and a Republican. Why not a Progressive? Or a Green? Just so it gets him into position to save the world."

  "He did not kill my husband," said Cecily. "He could not have sat with me, week after week, talking to me, listening to me, befriending me, if he had killed my husband. I would have seen it in him."

  "Would you?" said Cole. "What if the reason he's consulting with you, seeing you constantly, is because he knows that he's ultimately responsible for Reuben's death. He didn't give the order, but he set things in motion that eventually put DeeDee in Reuben's office when your husband became the key figure in the assassination of a president?"

  Cecily's head hurt already. She didn't need this argument. "I'm done," she said. "I can't go through any more of this. Whatever I say, you have yet another conspiracy to throw at me."

  "Here's the last one, then. And for once it isn't one of Torrent's. I'm going to give you a quotation, and you tell me what it means. 'Torrent thinks he's Octavian, but if he is, who's Julius?'"

  Octavian—the man who became Augustus Caesar, the one who united the empire under his leadership after the civil wars, when a grateful public accepted the de facto end of the republic even though he kept the forms of it alive.

  But whoever said that was denying that Torrent was the great peacemaker who created empire out of the ashes of other men's broken ambition. Because there was Julius Caesar, the consummate politician from an old but poor family, who parlayed his way to power through borrowed money, sucking up to the public, and at the same time forging alliances and winning military victories that made him the greatest Roman of his age.

  And then he was killed for it by people who feared that he would destroy the republic.

  Of course, he already had. Killing him didn't bring it back, it just changed who would be at the head of the new empire.

  "Do you really think they're planning to kill him?" asked Cecily.

  "I don't know. They're coy about that. But they joked about using the Bones to get past the White House defenses—and that was the first night I ever saw the Bones and Noodle in use. From the start they've been thinking of that as a possible use of this equipment."

  "God help us all if that's what they have in mind."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Even if they're right. Even if Torrent is the death of democracy in America and the beginning of a new world empire, if he gets killed, what takes his place?"

  "The old messy chaos?" asked Cole.

  "We already have a Pax Americana. Not complete peace, but enough of it that we have this whole vast world economy that absolutely depends on safe transportation and communications from every place to every other place. But it requires us to keep putting out fires. So let's say Torrent really is trying to get the whole thing so well organized that there are no more fires to put out. A system that can last a thousand years, like the Roman Empire. So he's gathering all this power into the center, and then somebody kills him. Do we go right back to where we were before? Or do we break through the floor and go back to the way it was before the global economy? We're in the middle of a huge epidemic. Torrent is the only reason it hasn't already spread throughout the world. If he's suddenly gone, does the quarantine hold? Does American support for the changes in Africa continue? And what do the Chinese do? And the Koreans, and the Iranians, and the Russians?"

  "So you're against assassinating him," said Cole.

  "On practical as well as moral grounds, Cole," said Cecily.

  "What if we had proof that he caused both sides of the civil war a few years ago? What if we had proof that he set in motion this Sudanese raid with the handheld EMPs? The first one killed your husband. The second one took your son. If he set those in motion, Cecily, would he deserve to die?"

  Cecily turned away from him. "Don't play that card, Cole. It's wrong of you."

  "I'm telling you what they're going to say when they talk to you in the States. You're the only person they'll still listen to. They think they know that Torrent set in motion the plans that killed Reuben, and now Mark. They think he has exploited their deaths in order to gather really incredible amounts of power to himself. They believe his empire is built on the bodies of people that they love—people you love. They hate him, Cecily. They want him dead. And they want your blessing."

  "They won't have it."

  "Good," said Cole. He stood up.

  "You really came here for this? To drag me through this?"

  "To prepare you so that when they come at you, you'll know exactly what's going on."

  "So you're planting seeds. Making sure I do things your way."

  "Making sure you do things your way. Decide what you want, Cecily, but don't do it because you were blindsided, played on. Do it with your eyes wide open."

  Cecily turned away from him. "Well, you've done what you came to do."
>
  "I'm sorry you're angry with me, Cecily."

  "I'm not," said Cecily. "I'm just sad. I didn't think I could get any sadder than I already was, but I'm so sad I can't even cry. I lost my husband, I lost my beautiful boy, and now I find out that my husband's friends, these men who have been uncles to my children since Reuben died, I find out they're plotting to kill the President?"

  "I don't know if they are," said Cole. "I just think they might."

  "I'm going to go back to Virginia," said Cecily, "and I'm going to go into my home and I'm going to lock the doors and only come out to buy groceries."

  "Won't work," said Cole.

  "I know it won't work," said Cecily. "Any more than Torrent's quarantine of Africa. All I ask is to be safe for a while. That's all anybody ever gets, and I'm not greedy, I won't ask for more."

  "God knows you deserve more," said Cole.

  "I don't know what I deserve," said Cecily.

  "I do," said Cole. "And I'm sorry you already can't have it."

  "Oh? What is that?"

  "Happiness," said Cole.

  "And what is that?"

  "A man and a woman together, watching their children grow up to have happy marriages and many children of their own."

  "That's it? That's your whole definition of happiness?"

  "It's the only one that nature gives us."

  "No heaven? No eternal bliss?"

  "I don't know about that," said Cole. "I believe in God and I believe that in the long run, good people will be happy with him. But here on Earth, where we have to make our life. That's the happiness that a person can find here, the only one that lasts. And I'm so, so sorry that yours has broken. What's left is still really, really good, Cecily. The other kids—they're great too. But it won't ever be complete again. Not in this life. That's what makes me sad."

  "Well, Cole, by your standard, you're worse off than I am, since you don't have any part of that."

  "I don't know about that," said Cole. "For a long time, I borrowed a little of yours. Being Uncle Cole to your kids—that was great. And all the cookies."

  She laughed. She could do that? Laugh? Apparently so.

  "And now I've got a son. Adopted. Not formally, yet. But he cared for me and my jeesh alongside Mark, when we were all sick at once. And then he stayed with me after the battle, watching out for me, keeping me hydrated and medicated. When everyone else thought I was probably going to die. He was there whenever I opened my eyes."

  "Chinma," she said.

  "I'm bringing him back with me. I cleared it with Torrent. Even though there's no reason for him to have asylum now, he's still an orphan and a hero in the service of America. The President made the State Department see it that way, and Chinma now is a legal immigrant, a permanent resident, whatever they call it. And I'm his legal guardian."

  "I always thought he'd stay with us again."

  "I hoped you'd feel that way. Because he'll be a lot better off living with you, with your kids. But that doesn't change the fact that he's mine. Your kids were not mine, I just borrowed them, had to give them back. But there's nobody left that I have to give him back to. I can put my hopes on him. You see? I'm part of it all, with him."

  "I'm not sure how this is going to work."

  "It will," said Cole. "And if I ever actually find a woman to fall in love with, she's just going to have to deal with the fact that I already have one son, this African kid I didn't even meet till he was twelve years old, but he's my son."

  "Good for him," said Cecily. "Good for you both. And yes, he can stay with us. And you can visit all you want. And I'll probably even make cookies again."

  "Frankly," said Cole, "that's all I really care about right now. Torrent? He can take care of his own damn self."

  He reached out, clasped her hand in both of his for a few moments, and then let go of her, stood up, and walked out.

  Two days later, Cecily and Chinma got on a plane together. She thought she might find it hard, to take this return flight with a boy who wasn't Mark. But instead, it was a great comfort to her. Chinma's life had been so hard. Harder than hers. And now she would be part of making it better.

  SIC SEMPER

  A ruler's friends judge him by his achievements, his enemies by the means he used to attain them.

  Cole brought Chinma early to the ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery, and watched all the others arrive. He greeted them all, of course, but then engaged in little conversation. Not that anyone seemed all that chatty. Everyone had things on their mind. Remembering how close they all had come to death. Remembering those who had died.

  There had been a very different feeling at the graveside memorial for Cat Black. Though he died of the nictovirus and not in combat, his service record earned him a place at Arlington. The official ceremonies with military honors were repeated for those whose bodies were sent home while their comrades were still in quarantine in Africa. The actual burial had belonged to the family. But the second ceremony belonged to Cat's comrades. Not all the family was even there—few had a taste for going through it all a second time. So before and after the salute was fired into the air, there was chatter. Old stories about Cat, comic and courageous. Tears were shed but there was laughter, too, and if someone had measured it the laughs would have outnumbered the tears. Cat's death was months behind them now. Before the assault by the Sudanese soldiers. In another time. He was missed and he was mourned, but the keen edge of grief had been dulled by time.

  The second ceremony for Mark Malich was different. Cole felt it himself, between him and Chinma. The boy was often playful, and as his English got better, he turned out to have a sly wit, though he persisted in making puns between English and Ayere words that no one on earth except a few professors and some Ayere who had gone to live in cities before the massacre could have understood. Here, though, there was no playfulness.

  Cole wondered what memories Chinma was reviewing in his mind. Memories of Mark? Their service together as they cared for Cole and the rest of Reuben's jeesh? Their time together in Mark's family's home, when they shared a bedroom but little else? Or were his thoughts on others—his family, whose burial had consisted of flames and earth piled on by bulldozers? Or his brother, who had died bleeding after a monkey bite?

  Chinma said nothing and showed nothing, but Cole had learned by now that this blank, almost fierce expression was what he did when he was feeling strong emotions that he didn't want to show.

  When Reuben's jeesh arrived, two by two, there was none of the joviality that had quickly surfaced at Cat's services. And Cole was left to wonder what these pairings meant. Simple carpooling? They were the same pairs that had formed in Calabar—Benny and Arty, who had remained behind and tried as best they could to protect the sick and the caregivers, then Mingo and Babe, Drew and Load, the pairs that had gone out in the city. Cole was the odd man out, of course. He always had been, since he had never really been part of the jeesh until after Reuben's death.

  But they had come and saved him when he was pursued through D.C. by the Progressive Restoration's hit squads and then their deadly machines. They had followed him into battle dozens of times, with never a sign that they didn't trust him. He had thought of them as his best friends in the world, and perhaps they were. But there was still a solidarity among them that left him out. And never more so than now.

  Rusty Humphries showed up. Cecily had told him she was inviting him, and Cole was pleased that he had not brought any recording equipment. He came straight to Chinma and shook his hand and talked to him with real interest for a few minutes. "I'd like you to come out to Oregon to visit me. My only combat duty was those three minutes at the stairs in Calabar, and you were the soldier standing beside me, so I want my girls and my boss and my producers to meet you."

  Soon, though, Humphries retreated to a corner of the tent that had been set up for the ceremonies and was as quiet as anyone. The mood had taken him, as well.

  Cecily arrived just before the ceremony was to star
t—not that it would have started without her. She had been to the grave before; Benny and Arty got back to the States a week later than the rest, and she had scheduled the ceremony to give them time to get back with their families before bringing them out to Arlington.

  Aunt Margaret was with them—Cole had known her long enough now, both in her house in Jersey and in his frequent visits to the Malich home in the past couple of weeks, that he called her Aunt Margaret to her face. It wasn't as if the kids needed adult supervision. Even six-year-old John Paul behaved with perfect dignity, and Lettie didn't goad her little sister Annie or find any other way to become the center of attention. Nick waved to Chinma and Cole, but that was all the fraternizing before the ceremony. The family went to the front and sat down, and only then did the others find chairs and sit down.

  But still the ceremony didn't start. The delay wasn't long, but it was inexplicable, until Cole looked out through the transparent plastic side panels of the tent and saw a lone figure in a dark suit walking toward them. It was Averell Torrent, without Secret Service, without entourage, without media tagalongs.

  He came and did not take any place of honor. He sat among the others; took a chair, in fact, right beside Chinma. He shook the boy's hand and nodded, but said nothing to anyone. The only deference to him as President had been to hold off on starting until he could arrive. He had done it perfectly.

  The Arlington chaplain said a few words, and then it was Cole's turn to read the citation that Congress, at Torrent's request, had voted for Mark. It was almost identical to Chinma's citation, except that Chinma's did not mention giving his life.

  Though it was early October, it was a sunny day with only a light breeze, so they came outside to watch the rifle salute. Sixteen soldiers, an unusually large number, and the regulation three volleys, just as if Mark had been a soldier in the Army.

  As President Torrent had said in the message he sent to Congress requesting medals and honors for those who had taken part in the defense of Calabar, Mark was too young to have served in the military, but he did a soldier's duty all the same, taking the place of a soldier who was too weak with illness to hold his weapon. So he was retroactively enlisted, with his enlistment beginning, as nearly as could be determined, at the exact time when he picked up Benny's weapon to fire it into the corridor to draw the enemy soldiers to their door.