Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

Lucas Munce was Secretary for the Aging. At eighty-seven he was exactly what Saul wanted to be at that age (not very likely, Saul admitted, unless he could somehow add six inches to his height and turn a rich chocolate brown). Munce made a stately entrance, inclined his shaved dome to the President and to General Mackay, and moved to the indicated seat.

Saul waited until he was comfortably settled, then went on: “In the past two weeks I have received reports of the crippling effects of Supernova Alpha on this country’s military strength. To put it in simplest terms, most of our high-tech weapons have become pieces of junk. The only exceptions are the submarine command and anything in deep mountain storage. It seemed that three months ago we were secure. Suddenly we have become vulnerable.

“At Indian Head I learned that I was asking the wrong question. Military strength means nothing in absolute terms. If I have a spear, and you have nothing, I have military superiority. I want to know the supernova’s effects on other nations. Are we relatively stronger or weaker than we were before? That is the issue I would like you, General, to address.”

“I will take it as my top priority.”

“Call Captain Kennecott at Indian Head. Request the services of a civilian scientist, Dr. Madeleine Liebchen, to help with the work.”

“Yes, sir. May I tell Captain Kennecott that this is a presidential order?”

“That will be fine. But let me warn you, Dr. Liebchen hates Washington.”

“I was once in the same position myself, sir, and I can appreciate it. I will find a way to handle things.”

Saul turned to Lucas Munce. “Which brings me to my next point, and I’m very glad you’re here to respond to it. My experience at Indian Head suggests that although our military forces love new weapons, they hate to throw anything away. Around the country we have big stockpiles of equipment thirty years old and more. It doesn’t depend on microchips — but it does depend on people who know how to operate it. I want you to seek out men and women with experience of turn-of-the-century military equipment. Most of them will probably be retired. I would like them brought out of retirement for as long as the present emergency lasts. Do you think that is possible?”

“Mr. President, it’s more than possible. It is a wonderful opportunity. Many retirees will jump at the chance. The most difficult part of my job is to make older people feel needed.”

“I’d like you and General Mackay to work together on this.”

“Yes, sir.” Munce said nothing more. He sat quietly, his long-fingered hands interlocked.

“But you wanted to see me about something else,” Saul prompted.

“I did.” Lucas Munce looked pointedly at Grace Mackay. “This is a personal matter, and one of some delicacy.”

She stood up at once. “Anything else for me, sir?”

“I’d like an estimate of the military strength of other nations in three days.”

“I’ll have you preliminary numbers, sir, within twenty-four hours.”

As she nodded and left, Saul wondered what Munce was going to tell him. He knew for a fact that the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary for the Aging had a high regard for each other. What could Munce have to say that he would not say in front of Grace Mackay? Was he going to announce his retirement? Was he sick? He certainly didn’t look it, but he was eighty-seven years old.

Lucas Munce waited until the door had closed, then said at once, “Let me immediately come to the point, sir. I am being recruited.”

Saul hid his sigh of relief. Who wouldn’t want Lucas Munce to work for them? The man was honest, intelligent, had enormous presence, and worked harder than most people half his age. He was also a man who had lived long enough to be aware of his own worth. The puzzle was that Saul had always thought him beyond financial temptation.

“Government can’t compete with industry when it comes to money, Lucas. You know that.”

“I have little interest in money.” Munce smiled. “At my age, Mr. President, the attainable modes of enjoyment are restricted. In saying that I was recruited, perhaps I chose the wrong way to put it. I was approached last week by Athene Willis. It seems that she is a great-niece of mine, though I hardly know her. But I checked, and she is indeed Eileen’s kin; so I agreed to meet her. As it turned out, being a relative was just a convenience to attain my ear. The significant fact is that she is close to the Congressional Senior Caucus. In a most delicate and subtle way, she suggested that great changes were on the way for this country. She informed me that those changes would be brought about by Congress; that they could offer wonderful opportunities to me, personally; but that those opportunities would never materialize so long as my loyalties remained with President Saul Steinmetz.”

“She came right out with all that? Lucas, it sounds neither delicate nor subtle.”

“It didn’t begin that way, Mr. President. The first time through, I made it clear that I had no idea what she was talking about.” Munce’s voice changed, becoming thinner and creaky. “I’m just an old man, you see, who can’t follow anything that’s not shoved right up my big old nostrils.”

“You didn’t mention that you lecture at Wharton on econometric theory?”

“I fancy that somehow slipped my memory, Mr. President. Anyway, when young Athene realized how decrepit I was, she began to work at it harder. I still didn’t catch on, and she finally let slip a reference to one group: the office of the House Minority Leader. She caught her breath when she realized what she’d done; but of course it was all right, because I did not react to it.”

“House Minority Leader. Sarah Mander. Not the most obvious person to recruit Lucas Munce.”

“My impression exactly. So far as Ms. Mander is concerned, I am just another jungle bunny.”

“Don’t feel too bad. To her, I’m an upstart kike who bought his way into the White House. But Sarah is smart in some ways. She knows that if she could get you, you would deliver a huge constituency. How many people in the country are over sixty-five?”

“Before the supernova, there were fifty-seven million. That is close to twenty percent of the population. Today, I’m not sure. Disasters hit hardest on the very young and the very old. One might argue that the old, who are aware of the extent of the problem as the young are not, are likely to be claiming their Final Rights. On the other hand, suicide generally diminishes in times of war, which the present situation may well approximate. I am still seeking accurate figures.”

“Suppose you say no to your recruiters?”

“I intend to. You mean, will I be safe?” Munce paused, and rubbed at his gray-stubbled cranium. “I think so. They gain little by taking me out. I’m expendable, since you would appoint another Secretary for the Aging. My question is, are you safe? They can’t make big changes unless the President goes along.”

“I already had that thought myself. I think that I’m completely safe, but I need to talk to the Vice President.”

“Brewster Callaghan?” For the first time, Munce seemed surprised.

“That’s right. He is my personal shield.”

“But isn’t the Vice President on the West Coast?”

“He is indeed. Better that he be there.” It was a rare moment of satisfaction for Saul. Lucas Munce usually knew and understood everything; now here was something that had escaped the most senior Senior Citizen. “Do you remember the Watergate hearings, and the resignation of President Richard Nixon, back in the 1970s?”

“Remember it?” If Lucas Munce was perplexed by the change of subject, it didn’t show. “Mr. President, I don’t just remember that event. I was there. At the time of the Watergate hearings in 1973 I was in Washington, working as an aide to Senator Howard Baker.”