Mike Maden - Drone Command

“That’s why I support a national draft,” Pearce said. “Everybody should pay taxes, and everybody should serve the country either in a military outfit or some kind of public service.”

Myers nodded her agreement.

“Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country,” Ito said, repeating President Lane’s campaign slogan.

“Exactly,” Pearce said. President Lane hadn’t called for a national draft, but Pearce decided then and there he’d raise the subject with him when he got back.

Assuming he ever got back. The mission was far from over, he reminded himself.

Mrs. Ito raised a finger. “Perhaps nations are no longer needed. Some believe nationalism is the cause of all of our problems, not the solution.”

Myers licked her tingling lips. “Individual rights are defended by national government. If we lose the state, we lose our freedoms and our protection.”

“Oh. So a nation does have the right to defend itself, then.” Mrs. Tanaka said. It wasn’t a question in her tightly woven mouth.

“Yes, of course. The only question is how,” Pearce interjected. He decided to play his role tonight, awkward as it was. Myers clearly needed him to. “Alliances are even more important than tanks and planes.”

“So we can count on the United States to send the George Washington into the East China Sea tomorrow?” Tanaka asked.

“I’m sure the president and his security team are discussing their options even as we speak,” Pearce said. He instantly regretted it. He knew that Lane had decided against the move. At least for now. Tanaka already knew this. Lane would have communicated directly with Ito if the carrier group was on its way.

“My husband says that your drone demonstration was very impressive,” Mrs. Tanaka said.

“But not persuasive,” Pearce said.

“On the contrary. My hope is that NEDO and our self-defense forces will now more enthusiastically embrace drone combat technologies, thanks to you.” Tanaka smiled. “But, of course, not at the expense of conventional systems.”

Myers rubbed her hands together, her eyes focused on her numbing fingers.

Pearce saw this. So did everybody else. Myers appeared to be drunk. Pearce wanted to keep the room focused on him. He asked Tanaka, “So what do you think is the main difference between Japan and the United States?”

Tanaka set his empty glass down. “We Japanese take pride in our uniqueness as a culture. You take pride in your uniqueness as an idea.”

“We try to take the best ideas of every culture and incorporate them,” Pearce said. “My research director is of South Asian descent, the head of my IT department is a Scot, a German heads up my nuclear deconstruction division, and my UUV specialist was actually born in Japan.”

But we seem to celebrate the worst of cultures, too , Pearce wanted to say.

Tanaka tented his fingers. “We also define ourselves by our history, even as you ignore yours. The Imperial House of Japan is the oldest monarchy on the planet. Emperor Akihito traces his lineage back to the Emperor Jimmu, more than six hundred years before Christ. My own family scroll dates back to before the Normans invaded England, and my wife’s even further.” Both Tanakas beamed with pride.

Pearce couldn’t even name his great-grandparents. Knew his dad’s dad only through stories. “History has its advantages and its burdens.”

“That depends on how you remember it,” Ito said. “Hitler and Stalin understood the power of history and the power that came with changing it according to need.”

Pearce wanted to point out the controversy of Japanese history books glossing over wartime atrocities but decided against it.

“Our history is the history of immigrants. I believe it’s one of the reasons why we still produce the most patents every year.”

“How did mass immigration work out for the Native Americans, I wonder?” Mrs. Tanaka asked, not even trying to hide her smirk.

“Our population continues to grow, thanks to immigration. Japan has the opposite problem, doesn’t it?” Pearce asked. Japan’s demographics were collapsing. The old were living longer than ever, and the young had little interest in childbearing, and a growing number even abstained from sex altogether. Of course, ethnic Europeans throughout the Western nations and the former Soviet Union were depopulating as well.

Tanaka chuckled. “As Dr. Ikeda suggested, we feel that the revolution in robotics and automation will solve that problem. Robots won’t bring failed cultural values into our society, won’t go on the public dole, won’t bankrupt our pension plans, won’t strike for higher wages and benefits. Neither will they crowd our prisons, as so many immigrants do.”

Pearce clenched his jaw. He hated this shit. Tanaka kept baiting him. He’d rather throw a punch or just get the hell out. But this is what he signed on for. Better to change the subject.

“Our danger is that we’re losing our sense of national identity. We’ve left it up to each person to decide for themselves what it means to be an American,” Pearce said. “And with fifty million foreign-born residents, that means a lot of different opinions.”

“Then we are more alike than I imagined,” Tanaka said. “Both of our countries are under assault.”

Tanaka’s wife whispered in Japanese. More like a growl , Pearce thought.

“I apologize. My English is so terrible. My wife informs me that the better word for ‘assault’ is ‘transformation.’ But at least you have the freedom to choose your destiny. Without the authority to defend our national interests, we must rely on good allies like the United States to dictate to us what our national interests must be.”

“Or China,” Mrs. Tanaka snapped. “Did you see the television news about the riots?”

“Frightening,” Myers said, slurring the word. Her bourbon glass sat empty by her elbow. Pearce frowned.

“Orchestrated,” Mrs. Ito said.

Ito shook his head. “Politics. What a shameful way to ruin a lovely evening.”

“Politics is the world. We can’t escape it,” Mrs. Tanaka said. “Might as well face it head on.”

“Thursday,” Myers said, standing, wobbly. “El Paso.”

Everyone else rose with her, surprised. Was the evening over?

“Excuse me, Margaret?” Ito said.

Myers extended a shaking hand to Ito, then crumbled to the floor at his feet.

Flashing digital cameras lit up the room like a Milan fashion show. Photographers shouted questions in Japanese and English, a cacophony of noise and blasting lights. Television crews were there, too.

So much for keeping her appearance in Japan private.

Myers fought to keep her practiced smile, taught to her by her campaign manager in her first run for governor of Colorado. It never failed her.

Standing next to her was the white-coated hospital president, the chief of surgery, the chief of the endocrinology department, and the three nurses who assisted in the procedure, all smiles. Prime Minister Ito was there, too, along with Tanaka and Pearce.

Ito signaled for the press to quiet down. He spoke in Japanese first, then English. “President Myers would like to make a short statement.” He nodded in her direction.

“Thank you, Prime Minister Ito. First of all, I want to thank the wonderful staff of this amazing hospital for their excellent care. Everyone has been extremely kind to me, and they have provided world-class medical service to me. I am forever grateful.” She bowed slightly toward the Chiefs on her left and the Indians on her right. They bowed in return, in some cases, a few times, enthusiastically.