Another chunk of THE REASON
The double presidency was a genius stroke of appropriate political stupidity. In those regions that favored a two party democracy the system elects a winner and leaves a loser. In some, NA in particular, to appease the hurt feelings of the loser the Second Presidency was created, along with a Second Vice President supported by a minor Second Executive just like the First Presidents; which keeps thousands of the losers second place supporters, who otherwise would be endlessly complaining in opposition, busy doing useless government stuff of their own. Second Presidency while considered more worthless a position then First Vice Presidency has never been refused.
So... I was now locked in a grim silent struggle eyeball to visor thingy with the personal assistant to the Deputy Assistant Under-Secretary of the NA Second Vice President. I will not relent. No way am I talking to that loser! She begs.
“Mister Dvorak please, please! She must see you immediately in private.”
Private! There is no private in our future of cameras and microphones everywhere! My suits got thirty microphones scattered from ass to elbows, cameras got me vid all around. Promises of privacy are recorded frequently. This must be some kind of set up. An hour ago I was just another drunk on a bar stool at the Rocket Lounge, now I've got a national loser trying to trap me into political relevancy.
Turning her off would be easy if she was a holo call, I'd hang up. I've tried to hang up on live people, best way is with a door. My mistake for getting cornered like this. Space and I were barely out the Rocket lounge door stumbling our way to a handy Hilbert when I was ambushed by this PADAUSNASVP. And then she did something I did not expect: slapped the warrant and subpoena on me!
It's a summons: “You can come with the easy way or the hard way.”
“You can't make me go anywherrrr...” The tranq dart to the neck proved they could. Things turned from begging to kidnap pretty quickly there.
My brain cells spark my mind back to consciousness two, three cells at a time. My body follows only as far as the straps will allow. Safety straps, the kind they use on Bearcat passenger seats.
“You passed the biologic testing.” Said a face in the fog. “Can't meet a Second VP if you're infected. The DNA says you are who your suit says you are.” It was becoming clear. By the glow on the windows not shaded I know we are dropping into atmosphere. The face became more distinct, the hand beneath waving what looked like brains at a very groggy Space.
“You bastards!” Don't they know he'll eat anything!
The Bastard that sent them to get us ruled a closet of an office from a clear plastic desk. I could see all the junk in the drawers! It was indeed actually a closet. The Personal Assistant to The Deputy Assistant Under-Secretary to the Second Vice President had to hand coats to people from the hanger pole that traversed the room.
“Excuse me” “um... sorry, blue one, thank yuuu.”
“I should get tips!” She thought that was funny.
“It's the budget. No money for closet space.” She seemed resigned to it. Space gave a yip when he heard his name. “Once again I apologize Mister Dvorak. The darting was an unfortunate misunderstanding. The zombie protocols you see, our hands are tied.” I raised my hands to her.
She had to reach around Space to release the shackles.
“This is really an opportunity for your report. Access to the highest echelon of the Second Presidency. You must tell the story of...” I untied the gag myself with my now free hands.
“The puffy one there please. With the flashing graphics. That's right... thanks.” I slid the jam lami they had stuck on my suit into his pocket.
Personal Assistant didn't act like she noticed suit power up even while I blocked her face with displays and a holo call to Helen to come get me and Moody to see what I can do legally to this abductor.
“Paul.”
“Dvorak?”
“Helen pick me up I'm in a coat closet somewhere in Washington DC NA. Triangulate me suit.” “Sure.”
“Moody! What are the laws against kidnapping a Senior Researcher?!” I gave her a steely stare. She said nothing but looked pleased.
“There are no laws specifically. I mean local ones apply. There are no specific Solsys laws protecting Researchers. We lose a lot of researchers because the Library won't show favoritism. If you don't have a Librarian with you you are on your own.” And he hung up! That is the longest speech I had ever heard him make.
The door opened and I expected to hand over another weather garment. Instead a womyn in formal military uniform adorned with gold ropes held the door open, pressed a lami that played a rousing fanfare: “The Second Vice President of The United States of America.” Who entered in two long strides accompanied with a gesture to close the door.
“Mister Senior Researcher Paul Dvorak and Space.” The Personal Assistant to the Deputy Under-Secretary to the Second Vic President gestured an introduction of me and my doggy who growled aggressive postures behind my legs.
“Mister Dvorak.” I am acknowledged. “When will you be meeting with the First President?” Meeting?
“Immediately after this meeting.” Answered the desk.
“Good. Good.” She had a Second President kind of giggle. A bastards 'gotcha you bastard' kind of back of the throat giggle. “We can't wait to hear what she says about the votes.”
Votes? What votes?
“Yes. Not using the nuke on Charleston left the situation obvious.”
Obvious?
“Three hundred thousand zombie voters! Like no one would notice!”
Zombie voters!?
“They had trouble making up names. Finally gave up and just registered batch numbers!”
“Now the Presidency is in jeopardy. Those three hundred K won the election! Canned minus domestic product units are not sentient enough or genetically enough to be voters in that district!” “Any district!” ”They all had shared birth dates!”
My neck was feeling the looking from one to the other. Fortunately to turn my head to follow their delight my mouth passes suits marstini sippy tube. I know now what they want.
Another person squeezes in under the hanging coats who has the shifty eyed hangry look of the Government Lawyer. “It's all set!” He announces “The subpoenas and warrants will be valid!”
Warrants? Subpoenas?
“Where's the Librarian?”
The Second Prez knows: “Orbit.”
I understand why I’ve been drugged and brought here: they want my Librarian! Don't they know he's French! And has no assault troops! Voter fraud is for some other Researcher! Some NA one that would care! I mean... hey, I've got their First President anyway in my evolving report: her original constituency was Charleston SCNA; the name Gerschlicter appears on her donor rolls often; they certainly would have needed some political help to pull off all that kilometers of tunneling and building underground secret canned minus bioflesh servibot factories. First Prez used the power to make things secret like they will my unwritten report. The NA prez knew where all the alcohol went and what it was used for and pretended to be concerned in public while in secret trying to break the sentience laws to get votes.
But why zombies? Did the protos all vote when they were decanted into the barracks levels before being zombied through the chow? And were the Zurich proto zombies voters too? And the Ciudad Mexico horde?
Helen appears in my ears: “Gotcha Paul!”
“But where the hell am I?” I blurt out loud to their political confusion. Suit gets geo coordinates. I tell the Second Vice President: “I'm not researching voter fraud zombies...” I paused for a long marstini slurp... “I'm researching alcohol ships!” by the look on their faces it must have sounded a lot like “alcohool shhiittz!” They gave quick looks to each other. In a blink I was alone with the plastic desk the hanging scarfs and parkas.
Suit had a route out flashing. It was a long walk. Two armed guys in bubble suits followed at a distance.
Helen swooped down apparently allowed inside the missile defenses.
“Where to Paul?” She asked as I settled into the plush command chair which she had explained is the safest being in the back by the fission coils. Space fit onto Helen’s lap.
“Lets just park here for awhile. Let them wonder what I'm doing.” I commanded.
“We're cleared to exit the exclusion air space.”
“Not yet!” I shout holler the twelve meters through the Bjorn from the command chair to the cockpit. “Just a minute.” I make a holo call to Librarian First Class Jean Cluny. He is unavailable; I am offered to leave a holo message or any of many more media. I hang up.
“They want us to use this traffic window.”
“Um? One mo... tell them we are delayed,” “I bet they figured that out already.”
Fortunately my command chair contains its own bar equipment! I get a real launch Tank of Marstini... it's misty froth inspires retrospective pause. Aren’t the NA water Marines the personal combat force play toys of the NA Executive? Has she been onto me from the start? Wasn't their mission: 'to make sure I'm dead'...!?
“They say they need this landing spot for some one else.”
The knocking at the window pulled my reverie away from the paranoia. The gold rope uniform is there making 'answer the phone' gestures. Suit says I have a holocall pending from a priority override government phone account.
On the seat across the toilets access aisle from me condenses most of the image of who I assume to be the First President of the United States NA. Suit through the priority coms protocols says the government says the caller is who the phone company says she is...
“Mister Dvorak.”
“Hello... ah em... mam? Sir?”
“I understand you are a Senior Researcher.” Could this be more awkward? “Have you learned anything disturbing?” And it got more awkward. What a weird question! She seemed sincere, which must be her political superpower. How to answer this rather straightforward query:
“Yes. It's all very disturbing. Proto pork zombies that vote is disturbing. Secret tunnels full of zombies aimed at cities is disturbing. That I was drugged and abducted into a closet disturbed me!”
“Won't you come back in and we can talk this over personally? I want you to fully understand the lies and distortions.”
She seemed in earnest enough so I told her the truth: “I want all the lies and distortions I can get! I would expect nothing less from you.”
Did she misunderstand me? She held this smile halfway between a grimace and the pursed lips of someone who had eaten something very sour, a kinda constipated Mona Lisa smile.
Suit tells me they, the local NA government, has declared my unwritten report 'Top Secret' and are demanding my shiny blue spacecraft back.
“Let's get outta here fast!” Is my command decision squeaked in falsetto at Helen. Holocall terminated before the makers of top secrecy can terminate me. Helen is quick with the thrust for a slot up to a low orbit before any missiles can lock on.
I get a glimpse of the bucolic turmoil that is the Ciudad Diverso Washington NA. We lift a swoop over the pastoral gardens scattered amid the grand architectures across the wrought iron security barrier fencing with it's tastefully landscaped missile emplacements. Beyond the comfortably weaponized border, the other, the public side of the fence, crowd the tourists the protesters the flitting aircraft large and tiny flanked menacingly by the riot police shooting tear gas bombs at the opposing politics. The zombie voter scandal has apparently leaked like Space on fence post!
While I was happy they didn't shoot us down part of me thinks it was only because they didn't want to damage my bootleg Bearcub. Do they know it is still fully armed? Would they have let us park where they did if they knew?
We Researchers are taught the best way to avoid being sucked into any political vortex is to run perpendicular to the murderous mob. Straight up into space is as perpendicular as you can get from Terra.