A World Between (17 page)

Falkenstein nodded. “Too much policy between us,” he said. But he did feel a surge of something very like friendship for Lindblad. Childlike in some ways, vastly sophisticated in others, these Pacifican buckos had it in them to be men of true galactic stature, and Lindblad himself seemed to be awakening from the arrested adolescence in which his cultural matrix had trapped him. Perhaps I’ll liberate him from this planetary parochialism yet, Falkenstein thought, and the planet with him. What, after all, are friends really for?

“I still think you’re making a big mistake, Carlotta,” Royce said, as they sat in his office in the Ministry of Media watching her taped announcement running on the gov channel. “Why get yourself booted out of office over the inevitable?”

Carlotta’s attention was multiplexly fragmented as she watched the four live screens of Royce’s net console. Part of her was watching her own image calling for a Parliamentary vote on establishing an Institute on Falkenstein’s terms in seven days. Another part of her was watching a taped playback of Falkenstein himself, as he transmitted the diktat of his possibly nonexistent Council in yesterday’s press release. Yet another segment of her attention was on the Parliamentary computer’s projection of the outcome of such a Parliamentary vote, and the fourth screen displayed the latest depth-poll figures. In addition, there was Royce’s attitude to contend with.

Her own taped voice was that of a neutral technocrat announcing a procedural matter. Falkenstein’s attitude seemed falsely regretful and smarmy. The Parliamentary computer projected a ten- to fifteen-vote majority in favor of an Institute. The depth-polls showed 37 percent in favor of an Institute, 3I percent opposed, a whopping 32 percent undecided; a deep split along male-female lines; and 8I percent of the Cords now in Falkenstein’s pocket. Royce’s attitude seemed sullen, contentious, and perhaps even hostile.

Nevertheless, Carlotta had already integrated the data into a total gestalt and reached a decision. Now, she thought, I’ve got to try to explain that process to my own bucko.

“By making it a vote of confidence in me, I may swing enough Delegates to squeeze a no vote through,” she said, not really believing it herself.

“Not a chance,” Royce said. “This issue transcends political charisma, and you know it.”

“You’re probably right,” Carlotta admitted. “But if I lose the Parliamentary vote of confidence, it’ll force an electronic vote of confidence, and if I win that, there’ll be Parliamentary elections, and probably a majority in the new Parliament for rescinding permission.” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m really after. The rest is just maneuvering.”

“Oh, crap!” Royce snapped, pointing at the depth-poll figures. “Look at those figures! You’ll lose the electronic vote of confidence, too, and then what will you have accomplished?”

“I see 32 percent undecided, Royce, and those votes will be decisive.”

“They sure will,” Royce said, “and the trend is from the nos to the undecideds and from the undecideds to the yeses. It’s moving Falkenstein’s way already, and he hasn’t even made full use of his ammunition yet. What do you think the prospect of eternal youth will do to those undecided votes?”

Carlotta got up, walked to a window, and looked out over the islands of Gotham, so normal-looking from this height in their midday bustle. The sky was a crystalline blue, the bright sun shone on the waters, the bridges and buildings sparkled in a rainbow of colors, and floaters skipped blithely over the waves like discrays. To the east, the Island Continent speckled the ocean with fair green isles. This world was beautiful, life here was good, what men and women had built together on Pacifica was precious, it was home, and no matter what the personal cost, it was worth defending.

“A lot can happen between now and a final electronic vote of confidence,” she said, turning to Royce. “And you’re the bucko who can make it happen.”

“You mean using vyour own campaign to stick it to Falkenstein?” Royce said.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Carlotta said. “In an electronic vote of confidence, we can go after the bastards in a way we can’t as gov officials. Falkenstein’s had the media blitz business all to himself so far—that’s why the trends are all in his direction.” She smiled warmly at Royce. “But when
Royce Lindblad
has a chance to go after those undecided votes with no holds barred... well, bucko, we both know who the master is.”

Royce looked across the room at her with a most peculiar expression—narrow around the eyes, laughing around the mouth.

Carlotta walked across the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “We can do it together, Royce,” she said. “Not just the standard political treatment, but muckdigging, scripted interviews, entertainment satires of Transcendental Science, I could even challenge Falkenstein to a debate...”

Royce frowned. “It’s my considered professional opinion that it won’t work,” he said.

"Why?”
Carlotta snapped. “This defeatism just isn’t like you.”

Royce stood up, pulled away from her, and began pacing in small circles. “Damn it, Carlotta, I’ve
been
there, I’ve seen some of what they really have. As far as anyone knows, no planet has ever said no to an Institute. Have you asked yourself why? I think not even the best media blitz can beat them because even
I’m
not convinced that they
should
be beaten.”

“Are you telling me you’re going to oppose me on this, Royce?” Carlotta said softly, finally voicing the unthinkable.

Royce stopped pacing and stared right at her. He hesitated. He shook his head. He shrugged. “No... not exactly ... I mean ... sophomoric as it may sound, I just want to let the system work. Pacifica is supposed to be a democracy, so let the people really decide. Not you and me predetermining a position and then trying to use the net to engineer public assent. I think I belong in the undecided column, too, Carlotta.”

“You’re a high gov official, Royce. You can’t avoid taking a stand on an issue like this. When it comes down to a Parliamentary vote of confidence, you’ll have to vote either for me or against me.”

“Torch it, Carlotta, you
know
I’d never vote non-confidence in you I” Royce blurted. “If we really do disagree, it stays here in this room. You’re the Chairman, babe, and when you take a public position, I’ll back you up...

“But your heart won’t be in it,” Carlotta said. You’ll do it because you love me, she thought. Because I’m your lady.

Royce sat down on the arm of the lounger where she stood. “I’m not even sure of that,” he said. “Because I’m not really sure what you’re against—Transcendental Science or the effing Transcendental Scientists.”

Carlotta looked down at him, finally beginning to understand, groping for some middle way. “It’s the Transcendental Sciences you think we can’t afford not to have, right?” she said.

“Yeah, that’s the bottom line.”

“And I
know
we can’t afford to have some Machiavellian Institute mucking up the life of this planet. Thing is, the Femocrats are right about the Transcendental Scientists—they
are
faschochauvinists. They’re playing the dirtiest sort of psychosexual politics. Maybe they can’t even help themselves; maybe they don’t even know what they are. They’re a disease, and as long as their faschochauvin-ist pathology is synced into their Faustian goodies, that disease will spread into every male psyche, into every bedroom on Pacifica.” And I’m beginning to wonder about
us,
she thought nervously.

Royce stood up. He fingered his lower lips thoughtfully. “If we could have Faust without the faschochauvin-ism...e said. “Could you buy that?”

“Sure,” Carlotta said. “But would Falkenstein sell it? “No way,” Royce said ruefully. He snapped his fingers. “But maybe
we
could,” he said. “Define the issue as narrowly as possible. No to their terms for an Institute. But without kicking them off the planet.”

“And then what?” Carlotta said. “As long as they have media access, they’ll keep playing the same game.”

Royce shrugged. “But it would buy us time, it would put them on the defensive, and if we couched it that narrowly, I think you might be able to squeeze through an electronic vote of confidence. Make it a vote to expel them, and the result will be an Institute and a new Chairman backing it.”

Carlotta’s political instincts were all against the idea. As far as she was concerned, the real issue at this point was Falkenstein’s meddling. And this would only extend the present situation indefinitely,
if
it worked...

Unless, she told herself, it made Falkenstein decide to leave on his own. He just might, she thought uneasily. We have no way of really knowing, do we? “I suppose it’s worth a try,” she said dubiously.

Royce’s expression brightened. He took her hand, and beamed at her like a little boy. “Great!” he said. “Now we can
really
work in sync on this thing.”

Carlotta smiled at him, a mere mask over the doubt she felt. Don’t kid yourself, she thought This isn’t a political decision, it’s a personal one. You’re doing it for Royce. You’re doing it for
us.
Politically, it’s a lousy compromise, it’s just postponing the crunch, hoping it’ll go away.

Thanks to Falkenstein, politics had invaded the bedroom. And now, for the first time in her career, she had compromised her political judgment for a simulacrum of domestic peace. Was it a compromise with the Minister of Media or with the man she loved? Had love invaded politics as surely as politics had invaded love?

8

“PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT!”

Carlotta Madigan was jolted rudely into abrupt head-pounding wakefulness by a klaxon and a shouting voice emanating from the bedroom’s auxiliary net console. The single screen was strobing an angry eye-killing red in the darkness. “Oh shit...” Carlotta groaned, disentangling herself from Royce’s arms and propping herself shakily up against the bedboard.

“PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT!”

“What the fuck—” Royce sat up beside her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He fumbled for the bedside controls and finally found them. The racket ceased, and a distraught face appeared on the screen.

“What’s going on?” Carlotta demanded. “It had better be at least a major earthquake! Do you have any idea what time it is, whoever you are?”

“Madison, Net Monitoring,” the man said brusquely. “What’s going on is
this.”
A woman’s face appeared on the screen, yellowish complexion, almond eyes, a short cap of black hair, her voice soothing in register, but harsh with underlying tension.

“This is Cynda Elizabeth of Starship B-31, out of Earth. Our ship has been struck by a meteor, our propulsion system is damaged, we have crew members suffering from gee-fatigue, we need medical assistance and permission to land at once. Planetfall in five days. This is an emergency. Starship B-3I in distress...

“Great grunting godzillas,” Royce muttered as the Net Monitoring tech appeared on the screen again, “effing
Femocrats!”

With a conscious effort, Carlotta shook the sleep from her mind and made her voice sharp and authoritative. “Is this channel scrambled?”

“No,” the tech said.

“Why in blazes not?” Carlotta snarled. “Do you want this damned thing leaked all over the planet?”

“It is already,” the tech said. “They’re broadcasting this on ten different wavelengths—comchannels, news channels, gov channels, the works, all unscrambled and in clear.”

Goddamn bitchesl Carlotta thought. They’ve got to be doing this deliberately. Disabled ship, my sweet ass! A blanket distress signal to make sure they leave us no choice.

“Cute,” Royce muttered. “Very cute.”

“You think it’s a phony, too?”

Royce grimaced. “You can bet they’ll produce some gee-fatigue cases when they land, and you can also bet it’s going to take some time to repair their propulsion system, too,” he said.

“When
they land?
If
they land, bucko!”

Royce shrugged at her in the darkness.
“We
have a choice? With the whole planet listening to them scream for help?”

“Arrr!” Carlotta snarled wordlessly. “You’re right, damn it!” she said. “Tell them permission to land is granted and all medical assistance will be rendered,” she told the tech. “Send that via their ten bloody broadcast channels. Then send them another message by tight tachyon beam. Tell them to maintain total silence until further contact. And tell them if they don’t, they can bloody well stew in their own juices and suck vacuum.”

“Shall I phrase it somewhat more diplomatically than that?” the tech asked.

“Yes,” Carlotta sighed. “Say it as sweetly as you please as long as you make yourself abundantly clear.”

Royce unplugged the circuit. Carlotta turned on a soft yellow night light. They sat there side by side in the warm glow for a muddled moment “Now what?” Royce asked.

Carlotta took a deep breath and exhaled with slow deliberateness. “Now,” she said more calmly, “we’d better take some time to think.”

First things first, Carlotta thought. What has to be done immediately? The Parliamentary vote on the Institute was scheduled for two days from now, three days before the Femocrat ship was to land... “We’ve got to postpone the vote on the Institute,” she said. “Indefinitely.”

Royce nodded in agreement. “I find it hard to believe that the timing of all this is coincidence,” he said. “Odds on, Falkenstein knew these Femocrats were on the way here all along, and I’d give even money that the Femocrats already know the
Heisenberg
is here. Since interstellar voyages take so long, they both must’ve known for a long time, which means that contingency plans have been worked out in detail already.”

“So?” Carlotta said.

“So I know what
I’d
do if I were Falkenstein. My media blitz would go as follows: Carlotta Madigan opposes the Institute, Carlotta Madigan has allowed the Femocrats to land. The Femocrats oppose all Institutes of Transcendental Science. Therefore, Carlotta Madigan is a crypto-Femocrat. Therefore, a vote against the Institute is a vote for Femocracy. He’s thoroughly established the psycho-sexual vector already.”