by MF Bishop
Chapter Eighty Eight
Helen's high didn't last long. Only two days after the Senator's announcement of candidacy, Helen came into the office a little late. She had been up until three the night before, completing a major policy speech the Senator was scheduled to deliver before the University Club. No one was working. Mail bags lay unopened and phones rang unanswered while the staff gathered in several little groups, with a copy of the Post at the center of each group.
"What the hell's going on," she began, thoroughly pissed that nothing was getting done.
"Oh, Mrs Holtzman," Mrs Gaither said, "its the Game. Look at this story in the Post."
"They talked about it on Morning Edition, too," a secretary said.
Helen took the paper and read: "Unprecedented defeat...major Japanese naval losses...minimal U.S. casualties...."
"Maybe our Game players finally got it figured out," someone said hesitantly.
Helen gave her a dirty look. "Even those incompetents are going to get lucky sometimes," she snapped. "Nothing has changed, they're still a collection of boobs."
But something had changed. Every day brought a new list of victories for the United States Game players and defeats for the Japanese. So quickly that Helen could barely grasp it, the Game was over. The Japanese players conceded defeat.
Victory for the US team in the Game world became defeat for the anti-Game faction in the political world. The coalition around Dugan Loughlin melted away. The moderates were repelled by the spying and cheating that was apparently aided by unidentified electronic traitors. Jingoists were swept up in the flood of advancing fleets and armies, even though they were imaginary. Military men and defense worker unions saw the writing on the wall and quietly withdrew.
One week after the Japanese defeat, Chuck Halloran left Washington to accept a position with a conservative think tank in San Diego. The next day, Senator Loughlin announced he was withdrawing from the Presidential race, resigning his seat in the Senate and returning to his home in suburban Albany. His spokesperson cited 'health and personal' reasons and would say no more. The Senator could not be reached for comment.
Loughlin's announcement led the evening newscast. With no speeches to write or appearances to plan, Helen was home early. She watched the newscast in her bedroom. She had closed the shades and the room was lit only by the flickering image on the screen. The neutral tones of the evening anchor told Helen what she already knew, as Loughlin had gathered the staff after lunch and made a brief statement. Everyone else had listened in stunned silence, but Helen tried to talk to him, to reason with him, to point out his duty to his country, to his staff, to her. He had simply patted her hand and turned away.
"You fools," she said to the television screen, "can't you see this will destroy us? We can't give up now, turn our defense over to a bunch of god damn video game players."
I'll never give up, she thought. Let Loughlin quit, let Halloran cut and run, let the damn generals and admirals take their damn retirement checks and to hell with the country. I'll find new allies. There are still true patriots out there, not everyone is eager to sell out.
The newscast ended and Entertainment Tonight came on. Helen lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. A year ago she would have cried, but tonight her eyes were dry.