Power Failure

by Ben Bova

  Three national news media stars sat facing the five candidates, who stood on a raised platform, each of them behind a lectern. The auditorium was filled to the rafters with people who had come to see fireworks.

  The order of their appearances had been settled by lot, with Senator Sebastian first, Yeardley Norton second, and Tomlinson third, followed by Governor Hackman and finally Senator Morton.

  Sebastian offered no fireworks. Instead he radiated calm, experienced competence: a smiling, knowledgeable grandfather in a dark blue suit.

  “I’m glad you asked that, Phil,” he said, in answer to the first question posed to him. “The biggest issue before us is the economy. The present administration has stumbled there quite badly, with inflation on the rise and real wages stagnating. We’ll have to work very hard to bring prosperity back to the middle class, but we can do it and we will do it.”

  A wave of applause filled the auditorium.

  Dr. Norton was a waspish, peppery little man: lean, sharp-featured, with a voice like a dentist’s drill. Somehow he reminded Jake of Harry Truman.

  “You want to get the economy moving again?” he challenged. “I’ll tell you how to do it. Get rid of the dad-blasted tax code, all two thousand pages of it! Institute a flat tax: ten percent of your income. No deductions, no exceptions.” He paused for a heartbeat, then fairly shouted, “And shut down the Infernal Revenue Service!”

  The auditorium erupted with thunderous applause, whistles, cheers. A lot of Norton backers here, Jake realized. But this is the Midwest; mavericks always thrive here.

  The third news media representative, a sleek, chic-looking woman with long blonde hair and a mid-thigh skirt, waited patiently until the tumult died down. Then she asked:

  “Senator Tomlinson, what do you feel are the major issues of this campaign?”

  Tomlinson smiled at her and replied, “I agree that getting the economy moving forward again is very important. In fact, it’s central to everything we want to accomplish.

  “The continuing war against terrorism is important, too. Vital. We’ve got to back our troops fighting in Colombia and Venezuela with everything we’ve got. And we’ve got to improve our relations both with our key allies and with nations such as Russia and Iran that have opposed us in the Middle East.”

  “But you’ve been concentrating on your ‘Back to the Moon’ space program,” the blonde said, almost accusingly. “How is that going to help the economy, or the war on terrorism, or our foreign relations?”

  Tomlinson’s smile widened. “That’s a very good question, Gloria. You know, America has always been a frontier nation. And we have a frontier now, today, just a hundred miles from where we’re standing.”

  Pointing straight up, Tomlinson went on, “The space frontier is sort of like the frontier of the old west. It offers us tremendous riches, waiting to be developed, more wealth in energy and natural resources than the entire Earth can provide. It’s there, we’ve seen it, we’ve measured a tiny bit of it. Nobody owns it. There are no natives to drive away. It’s waiting for us to go out there and develop it and use that wealth to create new industries and millions of new jobs. To make life better for every human being on Earth. To make America stronger than it’s ever been.”

  Looking across the other candidates standing behind their lecterns, he added, “And we can accomplish all this without spending a penny of taxpayers’ money—if Senator Sebastian would stop his opposition to the loan guarantee bill that’s currently bottled up in the Senate.”

  Before any of the newspeople could react to that thrust, Tomlinson went on, “There are untold riches in space, waiting for us to develop. New wealth means new jobs—jobs right here on Earth. If we share this new wealth from space fairly, equitably, with all the peoples of Earth, we can cut out the roots of terrorism. We can bring new hope to the poorest people of Earth. And we can certainly improve our relations with the other nations, whether they’re allies of ours or not.”

  Tomlinson stopped and looked out over the audience. Not a sound. No applause, no cheers, nothing but silence.

  Absolutely struck dumb, Jake thought. With a sigh, he remembered that the audience at Gettysburg didn’t applaud Lincoln’s little speech, either.

  Reaction

  “Like a lead balloon,” Tomlinson groused as he sat, shoulders slumped and head bowed, back in the dressing room. It wasn’t crowded now: only Jake, O’Donnell, and Lovett were there with the senator.

  Sitting next to Jake on the room’s tatty sofa, O’Donnell murmured, “Like a turd in the punch bowl.”

  “It wasn’t a barn burner, that’s for sure,” Lovett admitted, standing at Senator Tomlinson’s side. “But the point is, Frank, that you got your point across. Space can help grow the economy and make this country a world leader again.”

  Tomlinson looked up at his campaign manager. “The reaction was awfully quiet.”

  “You’ve given them a lot to think about.”

  The door opened and Amy entered the dressing room, with Tami right behind her.

  Jake shot to his feet. “Tami, how’d the newspeople feel about the senator’s ideas?”

  She glanced at Tomlinson’s downcast face, then replied, “They’re skeptical, mostly. Some of them call the space plan pie in the sky.”

  “So you’re going to have to convince them, Frank,” said Lovett.

  “We’ve got plenty of evidence on our side,” Jake said.

  “Do you?” O’Donnell asked.

  Jake snapped, “Yes. We can prove that the technology developed for the Apollo lunar program led to home computers, the Internet, cell phones, GPS—trillions of dollars added to the economy. And millions of jobs.”

  “That was then,” O’Donnell said, sourly. “This is now.”

  Amy piped up with, “Well, Frank’s got his work cut out for him, doesn’t he?” Turning to beam her cheerleader’s smile at her husband, she added, “And you’re just the man to do it, dear.”

  O’Donnell shook his head. “It’s a long road, a really long road.”

  Tomlinson smiled wryly at his chief of staff. “Even the longest journey begins with a single step, Kevin.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Let’s get started.”

  Lovett broke into a grin. “Let’s see what the polls say before we throw in the towel.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Senator Tomlinson said with some heat, “We’re not throwing in any towels, Pat. I’m in this race to stay. And to win.”

  Suddenly Amy quoted Churchill. “We shall fight them on the beaches and the landing fields, we shall fight them in the cities and the streets … we shall never surrender.”

  She almost got it right, Jake thought, surprised.

  Then he heard O’Donnell mutter, “Churchill also said that they’ll have to fight with beer bottles, because that’s all they had left.”

  Lovett kept his grin in place as he said, “Don’t be such a sourpuss, Kev. The campaign’s just getting started. If we’re going to quote Winnie, remember this one: ‘Let us so conduct ourselves so that a thousand years from now men will still say, “This was their finest hour.”’”

  That’s not exactly correct either, Jake knew. But he kept his mouth shut.

  * * *

  “What do you think?” Jake asked Tami as they rode a taxi to their hotel.

  “He’s in a hole, and it’s going to be tough to dig out of it.”

  “Lady Cecilia wants to do a sit-down interview with him.”

  “Another one?” Tami asked. “Frank did a sit-down with her last week.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, Jake confessed, “I … uh, I sort of promised her. Payback for dropping the Manstein story.”

  Tami fell silent for several moments. Jake watched the lights from the street reflect off her pretty face as the taxi weaved through the downtown Chicago traffic.

  “Well, if you promised her I guess we’ll have to go through with it.” Then she added, “If Cecilia is still interested.”

  “There is that,�
�� Jake admitted.

  * * *

  The next morning, Jake was surprised to see that Tomlinson had actually risen in the nationwide polls. Not by much, less than three percentage points. The pundits’ analyses of the slight bump almost all agreed that most of the people polled hadn’t heard about Tomlinson’s space plan, and were curious to know what it was all about.

  Tomlinson was still in fourth place, barely ahead of the feisty Dr. Norton. But at least he hadn’t lost any ground.

  Be grateful for small miracles, Jake thought.

  As he sat in his office scanning through the polls and analyses, Jake thought, It’s not much, but it’s better than we expected.

  Interview

  Jake accompanied Senator Tomlinson to Lady Cecilia’s house for his post-debate interview. It was well past ten p.m., the tag end of a long day of news media appearances and rehearsals for new television ads.

  “It’s been a week since I’ve been in the Senate,” Tomlinson muttered as the limousine drove slowly through the narrow streets of Cecilia’s Capitol Hill neighborhood.

  “Kevin’s keeping you apprised of the Senate’s business, isn’t he?” Jake asked. “You haven’t missed any important votes.”

  “The vote on raising the debt ceiling comes up next week,” the senator said. “Kevin thinks it’s just as well that I miss it.”

  Nodding, Jake said, “You can’t be blamed either way if you don’t vote on it.”

  Tomlinson made a sound that might have been a resigned groan. In the darkness of the limo’s rear seat, Jake couldn’t make out the senator’s facial expression.

  But he said, “I ought to take a stand on the issue.”

  Jake countered, “Listen to Kevin. Either way you vote, the other side will use it against you.”

  “I know, but … I don’t like weaseling out on it.”

  “When you’re president you can take a stand.”

  Tomlinson went, “Hmmf.”

  The limo stopped in front of Lady Cecilia’s three-story house. Every window was ablaze with light. Tomlinson opened his own door and ducked out of the limo before the chauffeur could get to him. Jake slid across the rear bench while the driver held the door open for him.

  “Beat you again, Danny,” Tomlinson said to the chauffeur, grinning.

  “You’re just too fast for me, sir.”

  Lady Cecilia was standing in the front doorway as Jake and the senator came up the bricked walkway.

  “Right on time,” she called to them.

  Tomlinson replied, “For you, Cecilia, we skipped two cocktail parties and an ambassadorial dinner.”

  He bussed her on the cheek. Cecilia’s froggish face beamed happily, but she said, “You’re a charming liar.”

  Feigning innocence, Tomlinson protested, “It’s true! Ask Jake.”

  Jake said not a word as Cecilia showed them into her home.

  * * *

  Senator Tomlinson sat, seemingly at ease, to one side of the small desk in the room Cecilia used to record her interviews for her Power Talk blog. Sitting at the desk, Cecilia wore a maroon blouse with gold piping. Tomlinson was in a dark blue suit: his Washington uniform, Jake thought.

  The senator looked tired. Jake saw lines around his eyes that he’d never noticed before. Why shouldn’t he be tired? We’ve been running him around like a racehorse for weeks now. And there’s months more to come.

  Cecilia wasted no time with preliminary chitchat. After introducing the senator, she opened the interview with:

  “You said in last night’s debate that your space program could help to invigorate the economy. How?”

  Tomlinson launched into his standard patter about new industries and new jobs. Jake, sitting to one side of the bearded, overweight techie who was handling the camera, nodded in rhythm to the well-rehearsed lines.

  But Cecilia interrupted the senator’s spiel with, “Well, maybe your program could generate jobs for engineers and astronauts. But what about the millions of ordinary folks who are unemployed or underemployed? What about them?”

  Smiling tiredly, the senator answered, “Engineers and astronauts need plumbers and carpenters, secretaries and truck drivers, babysitters, grocery clerks, bank tellers…”

  “Isn’t that the trickle-down economics theory?”

  Tomlinson hesitated, then replied, “Cecilia, the unemployment situation is basically a problem of education. Our schools are not turning out graduates who are prepared for high-tech industries. They’re failing our kids in that area.”

  Putting on a surprised expression, Cecilia asked, “You mean our public schools aren’t doing their job?”

  Very seriously, the senator answered, “I’m afraid they’re not. Most youngsters graduating high school aren’t prepared for high-tech jobs. Or even low-tech jobs, for that matter. That’s why I hope that a vigorous space program can get our schoolchildren interested in science and technology again.”

  “The STEM subjects,” Cecilia said. “Science, technology, engineering, and math.”

  Nodding to Cecilia, Tomlinson said, “I’m hoping that our return to the Moon can stimulate kids to tackle those subjects. And motivate our educators to emphasize them. That could be a powerful boost for our educational systems. And for our economy as a whole.”

  Looking delighted, Cecilia said, “Thank you, Senator Tomlinson, for your very insightful views.”

  Firestorm

  “Well, Frank, you’ve just thrown away the teachers’ vote.”

  Patrick Lovett was perfectly serious as he faced Senator Tomlinson. Not angry, but deadly troubled.

  Then he turned to Jake, “And you let him do it. You just sat there and let him make an enemy of the National Education Association. Three million votes down the drain. More.”

  The three men were at the campaign headquarters, holed up in Tomlinson’s makeshift office. Outside, aides and volunteers were answering phone calls and handling their routine chores. Tami was out there, Jake knew, fielding inquiries from the news media about the senator’s “attack” on the nation’s public schools. Inside the office, the normally unflappable Lovett was standing in front of Tomlinson’s desk like an accusing prosecutor.

  “I didn’t say anything that isn’t true,” Tomlinson replied stubbornly.

  “What’s truth got to do with it?” Lovett snapped. “The NEA is powerful, Frank. It’s resisted every attempt to reform the schools since god knows when. Remember Bush’s No Child Left Behind program? Where is it now? In the garbage can, that’s where it is. And that’s where we’re going to be if we can’t patch things up with the teachers’ union.”

  Jake thought, At least Pat said “we” and not “you.”

  His jaw set, Tomlinson said, “I’m not going to back down from what I said.”

  Lovett plunked himself down on one of the rickety chairs in front of the desk. “There’s a firestorm blazing out there, Frank. Cecilia’s blog has been picked up all through the Internet. Major news media outlets want to interview you—not about your space plan but about your attack on the teachers.”

  “I can’t back down.”

  “Nobody expects you to back down, but you’ve got to soften the message. Don’t be so confrontational.”

  “Jesus Christ, Pat, it’s the truth!”

  Lovett sucked in a deep breath. Then he said, slowly, patiently, “You assume that the National Education Association is involved in education. It’s not. It’s a union, like the United Auto Workers or the Teamsters. It’s the biggest goddamned union in the country!”

  “But—”

  Lovett steamrollered on. “Its main goal, its purpose, is to protect its members. Not education. Not teaching kids. It exists to protect its members and get them the best employment conditions it possibly can. Remember that, Frank.”

  Tomlinson muttered, “Okay, I’ll remember it.”

  “And remember this, too,” Lovett said, leveling a finger at the senator. “Fighting with the NEA takes away from your real, central point, yo
ur space plan. And you’ve got no choice but to put this firestorm out, one way or the other. Otherwise your real message gets lost.”

  Jake heard himself offer, “Maybe we could use this to get Frank more media time, get him noticed more.”

  “Making lemonade out of the lemon?” Lovett responded. “Nice trick, if you can do it.”

  “Could we arrange a meeting with the head of the NEA? A sort of peace conference?”

  Lovett stared at Jake for a long, silent moment. Then he suggested, “Yeah. Maybe with a couple of astronauts included.”

  “We’d be trying to work out ways where public schools could start to put more emphasis on STEM subjects.”

  “Who do we know in the NEA organization?” Lovett asked.

  Senator Tomlinson’s dark expression eased into a small grin. “There’s my cousin, Connie Zeeman.”

  Jolted with surprise, Jake blurted, “Connie’s with the NEA?”

  Tomlinson nodded. “One of their fundraisers. Didn’t you know, Jake?”

  Before he’d met Tami, Jake and Connie had been involved in a brief but intense affair. The senator had introduced the two of them to each other, and seemed to know every move they made together. Jake had often suspected that Connie provided detailed accounts of their tumultuous sex games to her cousin.

  “No, she never mentioned that,” Jake choked out.

  “Let’s see if Connie can help us meet with NEA’s upper management,” Tomlinson said, grinning knowingly.

  Lovett, apparently oblivious to the byplay between Jake and the senator, said, “That’s a beginning. Meantime, I’ll tweak some of my contacts, see what we can accomplish.”

  “Good,” said the senator.

  Lovett got to his feet, but before he turned to leave the office, he leveled a warning finger at Tomlinson. “Make no mistake, Frank. This is a fire that’s got to be put out quickly. Every minute you spend appeasing the NEA is a minute taken away from the story you’re trying to tell the voters.”

  “I understand,” Tomlinson said, looking solemn once more.