Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk in the sunshine, and I’m going to daydream that I’m safe home on Earth, and I’m going to imagine that all my responsibilities are over. And then I’m going back to being the same insecure, nervous worrier that I always wanted to be.”

Yasmin hung back when the others left. Saul gave her an odd look, but he didn’t tell her to leave. Since the night at Indian Head they had yet to redefine their relationship.

“I suppose it’s none of my business, sir. But I wondered what you did with the information about Tricia Goldsmith.”

“Do you honestly believe that it’s none of your business?”

“I suppose I don’t. Or I wouldn’t dare ask you.”

“In that case, I’ll tell you. I haven’t done a thing — not even run a check on why Crossley and Himmelfarb went out of business. But I’ve thought about it more than you would believe.” He stared at her steadily. “You’re smart, and hardworking, and ambitious, Yasmin. You may have what it takes to go all the way in politics. Would you like to find out if you do?”

“Yes, sir. Unless I have to do something, well, you know—”

“Nothing illegal — though in politics it wouldn’t be a first. You told me you’d like to learn all I know. I’m going to give you that chance. There will be a meeting here tomorrow afternoon. It’s probably going to be the most difficult session in my life.”

“Do you want me to attend it?”

“You can’t. That would be an absolute impossibility. I want you to watch and listen, and we’ll talk about it afterward. I’ll have a secret camera here in this office.”

“Won’t whoever you meet with expect that?”

“I’m sure they will. It won’t make any difference. I’ll be the one making the pitch, they’ll mostly be listening.”

“Very good, sir. Is that all?”

“Send Auden in. I need to have a word with him, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Yasmin began to walk out, but she hesitated at the door. “You know, if there’s any way that I can help you to deal with Tricia, I’ll do it gladly.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He smiled. “Not yet, at any rate. There’s too much going on.”

“It’s an open offer.” Yasmin walked through to the outer office. Auden Travis stood by his desk with a distressed expression on his face. He was holding a telcom receiver. She said, “Are you all right, Auden?”

“No, I’m not. I was, until half a minute ago. I just got a call. The President’s mother died twenty minutes ago. I’ll have to tell him.”

“He wants to see you anyway. Shall I tell the crew at Andrews to prepare Air Force One?”

“Better do that. Say, for a takeoff in half an hour.”

Yasmin looked after Auden as he left. She was upset by the news, as he was, but her first shameful reaction had been a different one. I hope Saul gets back by tomorrow afternoon, so I can be in on that special private meeting.

Is that what it takes to go all the way in politics? Ambition first, everything else back in the pack?

And if it is, would any sane human want to have what it takes?

Auden Travis had been in a huge hurry. He stared at Art and Dana as though he had never seen them before in his life. Then he frowned and said: “Oh, yes. On the street south of the White House. Be there by eight forty-five. There’s a small change, but they’re expecting you. You’ll have to tell the driver where you want to be dropped off, I wasn’t sure.”

Art and Dana had been up since seven, but couldn’t find Auden or anyone else until it was past eight-thirty. They rushed away at once. By the time they passed the White House checkout points and were through the south gate, a far-off church bell had struck the quarter hour.

They surveyed the street. A dozen vehicles were parked there, but nothing remotely like a cement truck. Dana was saying, “Do you think it went without us?” when a frail, birdlike man in a dark green uniform and peaked cap came up behind her and said, “You the two for Harrisburg?”

He looked as though a random gust of wind would be enough to send him airborne. Dana turned. “Yes. Except that we want to be dropped off near Thurmont.”

He pointed his sharp nose at her and cupped a hand to his ear. “Eh? Damned implant don’t work no more.”

“We want to be dropped off near Thurmont.”

“Eh?”

“THURMONT. WE HAVE TO GET OFF AT THURMONT.”

“Ah. You are the ones, then. Let’s get moving. There was a change of plans, see, I’m supposed to be up in Harrisburg by midday. In a pig’s ear.”

He led them to a long, sleek limousine with tinted windows.

“This?” Art said.

“Eh? Oh, yes. I know it’s old, and it drives like a barge. But once we’re out on the open road you’ll see it goes just fine.”

“This is luxury,” Dana said. “We thought we’d be riding in with a load of cement.”

She and Art climbed into the back. The wall between the rear compartment and the driver had space for a bar and entertainment unit, now both long vanished. The seats were comfortable, but the brown fabric covers were old and worn.

So, it seemed, was the engine. They moved away in a cloud of blue smoke that a year ago would have made the pollution monitors of the city’s AVC system spring into action and turn off the offending vehicle’s engine. Today the limousine rolled on unimpeded. The only obstacles to progress were the traffic cops, unused to controlling with hand signals a flow of improvised methods of transportation that ranged from handcarts to bulldozers. Art noticed that every driver of a motor vehicle seemed to be eighty years old.

The weather had become bright and pleasant after the storm of the previous night, and the gusty wind had little effect on the heavy car. But the signs of recent devastation were everywhere: burned-out buildings, shattered storefronts, hulks of useless vehicles waiting to be towed away, ominous body-sized areas marked off on roads and sidewalks. In spite of everything, people were on the streets in increasing numbers. It was enough to suggest that, in this area at least, the worst effects of Supernova Alpha were over. Recovery was finally on the way.

Art and Dana sat, side by side and silent, all the way through the northern suburbs and up onto I-270. Finally she sighed and said, “All right, I know I talked too much last night. I shouldn’t have gone on and on that way, and I’m sorry.”

Art turned and stared. “Do you mean about your son? I didn’t mind at all. I knew how hard it was for you to tell me what he did, and why he’s hiding out down south under a false name. But it just made me feel closer to you. I liked that. It wouldn’t be fair if you had to listen to me, and I didn’t listen to you. And I did my own share of talking — more than I ever have to anyone.”

“But now you’re wishing you hadn’t.”

“I’m not.”

“I think you are. You haven’t said two words to me in over an hour. And your face says you’re upset.”

“I am. But it’s not with you. I thought last night was wonderful, all of it. I’m worried about today. What will happen when we get to Catoctin Mountain Park?”

“I’ve been relying on you to answer that. I’ve never been there, and it’s your home ground. You don’t think Seth and Oliver Guest will already be up there, do you?”

“I doubt it. They would have to have traveled awful fast. But even if they’re not there, we have to answer some questions. I guess I’m having second thoughts. When we were at the Treasure Inn, it seemed obvious. We had to wake Oliver Guest, so he could tell us how to continue our treatments. I hope he does that. But suppose he comes through, and we get what we want. What are we going to do with Oliver Guest afterward}”