Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

“We have to,” Celine said firmly. “We have to reach the office of international space activities in Washington.”

“Do you now.” The mechanic wiped his hands on his pants. “You got money?”

“Not a penny.”

“So how you propose to pay?”

While Celine was considering her answer, Wilmer said, “We’ll tell you a story. It’s worth more than the price of any telcom call.”

The man looked Wilmer and Celine up and down. “You know, I might just be inclined to believe that. Let’s go inside. Australian, aren’t you? Then I reckon you won’t say no to a beer while you’re talking.”

The storm moved quickly through the city. By seven in the morning, the only signs of its passage were ravaged trees and sheets of standing water on the Mall.

Sarah Mander sat at the highest level in the Capitol, stared vacantly toward the Monument, and sipped spiked ginseng. Last night’s deluge had been replaced by a warm, gusting wind from the southwest. Shallow pools of water dwindled and dried as she watched. In the bright light of morning her face was pale and tired and revealed the faint lines of expert surgery.

“I am not,” she said at last, “a morning person.”

“Don’t be upset if I say that’s obvious.” Nick Lopez was smiling, bright-eyed, and brimming over with energy. “I suggested that we meet here this early only because it’s quiet. And I already checked this room for bugs. It’s clean. Every bugging device I know about died when the chips did.”

“What time did you get here?”

“Shortly before six. I was up at five.”

Sarah Mander inhaled steam and blinked as the spiked augment hit her. “Five. In the morning. Are you always like this?” And even before his nod, “I hope to God I never wake up next to you. Not that there’s much chance of that. I’m sure you’re thinking the same thing.”

“Sarah, my dear, I would never be so ungracious as to refuse any invitation from the House Minority Leader.”

“Sure.” Sarah placed the plastic cup on the window-sill. “Save the oil for your boyfriends, Nick, and let’s get down to business. Why not give me your general impressions, and I’ll do this when I disagree.” She waved a languid hand. “I probably have enough strength for that. I’ll talk more as I wake up. Ready when you are.”

Lopez bounced to his feet and began to pace, his footsteps loud on the mosaic of marble tiles. “To say it in one sentence, we are recovering faster than anybody thought possible. All our submarine forces were untouched, and they have as much firepower as they ever had. We have a few working fighter planes — modern ones — in a couple of the western underground facilities. The fix-ups for older ones, fighters and bombers, go faster every day. The supply of chips from deep warehouses is bigger than expected—”

“ Old chips.”

“Sure. But they work, and the main differences are in memory. The toughest problem is making sure that the chips go where they’re most needed.”

“Do you think Steinmetz is doing a bad job on that?”

“No. His performance is first-rate. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is in deep shit. They’re killing each other around the Golden Ring, and they’re eating each other in South America. God only knows what survivors in Australia are doing. It doesn’t really matter, because I don’t think there are many of them. The case for a global Pax Americana grows stronger every day. All we need is for the President to lead it—”

“Which he will never do.”

“ — or get out of the way. I’m not sure you’re right about Steinmetz. He’s a bleeding heart, but he’s also a pragmatist. And he’s no fool. There may be ways to persuade him — or get others to.”

“That I want to hear. What do you have?”

“Mixed news. First, I struck out completely with the Secretary of Defense. I don’t know if General Beneker mishandled it at Admiral Watanabe’s memorial service, but Grace Mackay blew him off. She seems rock-solid loyal to Saul Steinmetz.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. And I got nowhere with Lucas Munce. We can forget about the Secretary for the Aging.”

“I thought you had his great-niece in your pocket.”

“I did — I probably still do. But I’ve lost faith in her. Athene Willis told me the old man has lost it, that he’s become senile and had no idea what she was talking about. I’m damn sure he knew exactly what she was getting at. I heard him testify to a House subcommittee a couple of weeks ago on the special problems that Supernova Alpha presents to the elderly. He spoke without notes, and he poured out facts and figures like a twenty-year-old. Highly impressive. He manipulated her.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I don’t. He’s still a nigger. He just happens to be a smart nigger. The worst kind.” She stared around her. “This place better not be bugged.”

“It seems a little late to worry about that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Nick. If we recruited Lucas Munce, I’d work with him as willingly and as cheerfully as I work with you.”

“I’m sure you would. I’ll take that remark in the honest spirit with which I assume it was intended. But it’s no, so far as Lucas Munce is concerned.”

“And it’s no for Grace Mackay. Mixed news, you said. What’s the good part?”

“I decided that since we were having no luck with intermediaries, I would become directly involved. I now have a pipeline right into the heart of the White House.”

“Really? I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who and how?”

“Sarah, you know I would trust you with my life.”

“Can it, Nick.”

“All right. The person is Auden Travis, that delightful young man who serves as the President’s secretary and close personal aide.”

“Ah. I should have guessed. That’s someone I could never have delivered — though I question whether your pipeline runs into his heart. Isn’t he loyal to Steinmetz? Everything I’ve heard about him suggests that.”

“He is. Auden is principled and honorable, and he sees his duty to the President as a sacred trust. But lovers have a special relationship. I serve on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. In any investigation, pillow talk is assumed — no matter how sensitive the issue. Auden pours out to me his dreams, his hopes, his fears, his daily concerns.”

“And receives in return?”

“My unstinted and eternal devotion. What else? But Auden is deeply troubled at the moment. He is worried that the President is being led astray by unscrupulous women.”

“I’m sure you agreed with that. Did Auden Travis name names?”

“Of course — after a little innocent coaxing on my part. The person most under Auden’s skin is another aide, Yasmin Silvers. She’s actually a relative of mine, a second cousin’s child. Do you know her?”

“Enough to talk to. Not well.”

“Auden doesn’t know that I gave Yasmin the referral to help her get her job at the White House, and I don’t want him to. I sense a personal jealousy there. He’s convinced that Steinmetz wants to fuck her.”

“The delectable Yasmin. Who wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t, to name one. Auden wouldn’t, to name another. But the woman Auden is more worried about is Tricia Goldsmith. Which means that it’s your ball. Did you talk to her?”

“Of course. We had lunch together, the night after she dined with the President.”

“How did that go?”

“For the first half hour, very proper and sedate. Anyone at the next table would have seen a social lunch between two old friends. You have to understand Tricia as well as I do before you can have any idea how much she longs to be First Lady. She missed it once, because of some wrong information she was given. I told her that if she plays along with us, she’ll get what she wants this time. Guaranteed? she asked. Guaranteed, I said. You should have seen her face. I thought she was having an orgasm on the spot. She said that the dinner with Saul ’couldn’t have gone better.’ Reading between the lines, she had him drooling and panting and climbing up the curtains. He’s as hot for her as ever.”