A World Between (44 page)

I sure hope you’re right about this, babes! she thought, exchanging a quick glance with Royce, who now sat in the center of the ideologically rearranged Parliament. The Femocrats sat to her extreme right, the Bucko Power Delegates to her left, and the center block in the middle, and none of them, she thought, will be expecting
this
.

The Madigan Plan still had eight days to run, this was supposed to be an ordinary session dealing with the economic situation, and everyone, even those who counted themselves her allies, would be caught totally flatfooted.
Nobody
was going to like it. Once more, she was going to deliberately provoke a vote of confidence she couldn’t win, and this time the resulting electronic vote of confidence would
really
be critical. Win or lose, there would have to be a new Parliamentary election afterward, because
no one
would be able to form a governing majority with
this
Parliament after the chaos this move was going to create.

“It’s a setup,” Royce had insisted when he broached the idea to her two days ago. “Falkenstein and the Femocrats will be caught with their pants down. Parliament is sure to vote it down, and they’ll find themselves suddenly in the middle of an electronic vote of confidence a week before they expected it. Their reaction will be to attack you from both sides; we’ll just let them gibber and scream, then hit them with the bombshell on election eve, and you’ll win the vote of confidence in a landslide.”

“Maybe,” Carlotta had said. “But if we’ve got the clincher, why not spring it
before
the Parliamentary vote and settle the whole thing without elections?”

“Because we
want
new elections.”

“We
do?
^t9

“Don’t
we, Carlotta? Okay, we could expel Transcendental Science and Femocracy now with this ammunition with a cute little Parliamentary maneuver, without risking elections. But what would we have then? The same damn ideological power-blocks turning the next decade’s politics into an endless bout of recriminations. Getting rid of the off-worlders isn’t enough—we’ve got to get rid of their rotten legacy, too, and the only way we can do it is to shatter the Bucko Power and Femocratic blocks and elect a new Parliament that’s overwhelmingly non-Femocrat, non-Transcendental Science, and pro-Pacifica. And if that means risks, we’ve got to take them.”

“Of course, you realize this means chaos...

Royce had smiled wickedly, nodded, and said: “For sure. Chaos is the dissolution of the existing order, and the existing order
sucks.
Now is the time for all good men to destroy political parties. Trust me, babes, let’s take the chance.”

And after sleeping on it, Carlotta had decided that he was right. There would have to be cauterizing new pain before the infection could be destroyed, in order for the injuries done to the body politic to have a chance to heaL Carlotta glanced around the chamber one more time and took another deep breath. We who are about to lie salute you! she thought fatalistically.

“The Madigan Plan period ends in eight days,” she finally said, “and at that time the legal mandate for both the continued presence of the Femocratic mission and the continued operation of the Institute will run out Therefore, I’ve decided that, in order to prevent a period of total confusion during which the legal status of the Femocrat mission and the Institute would remain in limbo while we decided what to do next, a vote must be taken on these issues
now
.”

The expected pandemonium broke over her. A low murmur whooshed through the chamber, cresting into a series of incoherent shouts. Virtually every light on her board lit up with Delegates demanding the floor.

“Order!” Carlotta shouted, turning up the amplification of her microphone to override the din. “I’ve got the floor, I’m in the process of introducing a resolution, and you can damn well wait till I’ve finished before you lynch me.” The shouting faded quickly into a guttural murmur again, and then into an even more ominous silence as a hundred pairs of eyes glowered at her with shock, distrust, and no little hostility. And you ain’t heard nothing yet, kiddosl she thought.

“The Madigan Plan was passed during a period in which the conflicting forces of Femocracy and Transcendental Science were threatening to tear this planet apart,” Carlotta said. “The idea was to postpone the decision now before us so that we would be able to judge the practicality of a permanent Institute of Transcendental Science and a permanent Femocrat presence—and to judge them by deeds, not just words.”

She frowned sardonically. “Well, since then we’ve had plenty of both!” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, both Femocracy and Transcendental Science have had their chances to demonstrate their goodwill and compatibility with our way of life, and they’ve both failed dismally. Therefore...”

She paused. The silence was a palpable quivering thing, a giant wave pausing to crest into a roaring, foaming breaker.

“Therefore... Resolved: that the Institute of Transcendental Science be closed forthwith; that all
Heisenberg
personnel be banished from Pacifica; that all Femocrats from Earth be likewise banished; and that both the
Heisenberg
and the B-3I be ordered to leave our solar system within two weeks of the passage of this resolution.”

An animal roar of outrage rocked the Parliament chamber. Delegates leapt to their feet shouting and waving their fists, Femocrats and Institute supporters alike. The men and women in the center block for the most part sat there stunned and confused, babbling incoherently to each other.

“The floor is now open for debate on the resolution,” Carlotta said with inane-sounding sweetness.

“If no one has any further words of wisdom to contribute to this most enlightening debate, I’ll call for a vote on the resolution,” Carlotta said with sardonic blandness. Royce Lindblad sat in the middle of the bedlam as he had throughout the whole endless and meaningless debate, silently admiring the way Carlotta was handling the situation. Using a high setting on her microphone to aurally dominate the cacophony, she had controlled the acrimonious debate—or at least kept some semblance of order—without once raising her voice or even bothering to respond to the shrill insults, threats, aiid charges flung at her from all sides. While the Femocrats ranted about “treason to her sex” and the Bucko Power boys raved about a “sellout of Pacifican buckohood,” Carlotta had remained the voice of sweet reason, the statesman rising far above the ugly three-hour temper-tantrum.

And that, Royce thought, is what’s going to come across on the net: a serene Carlotta Madigan democratically presiding over an unseemly Parliamentary chaos. The way she had rattled the bars of the cage with gentle patronizing sarcasm throughout the debate had admirably served to milk the situation for as much political capital as it was worth. No one realized it yet, but the media campaign to win the electronic vote of confidence had already begun.

Now a spent and confused silence prevailed. Perhaps, Royce thought, the Delegates are finally beginning to realize that they’re in the process of being had, though they can’t figure out how. The Femocrat and Bucko Power Delegates were not about to let this resolution pass, but by now they had to realize that the failure of the resolution was going to mean an electronic vote of confidence, and an election campaign under these confusing circumstances was not exactly what they wanted either. So no one wanted to end the‘debate, but no one had anything coherent left to say either, and perhaps the Delegates were also beginning to realize what public asses they were making of themselves.

Royce shrugged. Why not a small act of mercy? he thought. “Second the motion!” he called out. “I call for the vote.”

A sullen murmur swept the chamber that guttered quickly into silence.

“Any other seconds?” Carlotta asked.

Dead silence.

“Objections to an immediate vote? Points of order? More speeches?”

Only a wordless snarl of discomfort.

“Very well...” Carlotta said neutrally. “Ayes for the resolution, nays against...”

Numbers flickered across the tote-screen behind her as the Delegates pressed their voting buttons. After a minute or two, the final tally appeared to oohs, ahs, and uncomfortable muttering: 3I votes for the resolution, 72 against. Even the centrist block had not held firm behind Carlotta Madigan.

Carlotta shrugged. “Motion defeated,” she said with unsettling geniality. “The Chairman’s motion having been defeated, an electronic vote of confidence is hereby scheduled for seven days from now.” She laughed. She favored the chamber with an enigmatic smile. “The Chairman wishes to state at this time that she holds no hard feelings against those of you who voted against the resolution. No hard feelings at all, kiddos. This session of the Parliament of Pacifica is now adjourned.”

For a moment the Delegates stared at her in stunned silence. Then dim comprehension dawned—somehow, Carlotta Madigan had tricked them again. But why? And how? Why would she deliberately force an electronic vote of confidence on an issue where the numbers seemed to be two-to-one against her? How have we been screwed this time?

A moment later, the floor broke up into dozens of little impromptu debates and shouting matches. Royce winked at Carlotta, and she winked back. Half a dozen Delegates caught the exchange and favored Royce with lizard-eyed stares. Royce shrugged and smiled back sweetly at them. You’ll never figure it out, he thought. Not in a million years.

A full shot on Roger Falkenstein standing in front of the Institute building. Between Falkenstein and the Institute, lines of male Pacificans are trooping somewhat sullenly into four large helicopters. Falkenstein himself looks grim, his face taut with ill-concealed (or perhaps artfully crafted) anger.

Falkenstein: “Citizens of Pacifica! Although your Parliament has rightfully voted down the perfidious resolution, introduced by Carlotta Madigan, to close the Institute, it is my judgment that the Institute can no longer function in safety and security as long as Madigan is Chairman of Pacifica. She has unilaterally attempted to abrogate two agreements concluded between her administration and Transcendental Science. Therefore, we have the same lack of confidence in her that your Parliament has just expressed and that I hope you too will express in the coming electronic vote of confidence.” *

Cut to a much longer shot on the Institute building, the lines of students entering the helicopters, and crews of
Heisenberg
personnel who are disassembling domes and outbuildings with matter transformers. One by one, the small buildings wink out of existence until only the bright silvery disc of the Institute itself remains.

Falkenstein’s voiceover: “Though it pains me to do this, I am now dismissing the Institute’s Pacifican student body and dismantling some of the facilities themselves. The teaching staff will be returned to the
Heisenberg
. The Institute will remain closed until Carlotta Madigan is defeated and the Pacifican Parliament grants us
permanent
permission to operate an Institute of Transcendental Science on this planet”

Cut to a closeup on Falkenstein, looking regretful but determined.

Falkenstein: “Should such permission not be forthcoming within thirty days, the
Heisenberg
and all within her will leave this solar system forever. Pacifica will be permanently excluded from the interstellar communion that will one day encompass all human worlds. Only the empty shell of the Institute building will remain as a monument to the shortsighted folly of your gtDvemment...

An exterior time-lapse shot of the silvery Institute building. Jungle undergrowth grows in the cleared area. Great trees shoot up, godzillas roam among them, vines begin to creep over the Institute building itself, until all is obscured by the renascent Godzillaland jungle.

Falkenstein’s voiceover: “....nd soon enough even that will sink back into the primeval slime...

A series of shots slowly dissolving into each other: an artificial sun over a verdant Thule, great buildings springing up to form a fantasy city on the dun sands of the Wastes, an old man melting into a vision of youthful vigor, a great fleet of fancifully baroque Arkologies orbiting Pacifica.

Falkenstein’s voiceover:...nd all that will be left to you is the sad lost memory of what might have been.” Cut to a closeup on Falkenstein, shrugging ruefully. Falkenstein: “And for
what?
For some dim concept of planetary nationalism that was moribund before man reached the stars? To gratify the bloated ego of Carlotta Madigan? Because you fear growth and change? Perhaps not. I hope not. I think not. I cannot believe that you will let this happen when the time comes for you to vote—for a place in the forefront of human evolution, or for moral cowardice, primitivism, and ultimate retrogression. But the choice is yours. May you have the greatness to make it wisely.”

In her hotel room high above the brilliant nightscape of Gotham, Maria Falkenstein sat on the edge of the bed listening to Roger shout at her on the comscreen.

. . what do you
mean
you won’t go? I’m your husband! And I’m also the Managing Director of the
Heisenberg,
and I’ve ordered all
Heisenberg
personnel to return to the Arkology until Madigan is defeated and Parliament grants us a permanent Institute! That certainly applies to you! What do you think Madigan and Lindblad would make of it if they learned you were still on Pacifica against my direct orders?”

“I don’t know, Roger,” Maria said. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Maria sighed. She had come to Gotham in the first place to clear her head, to come to a better understanding of these people, to decide who they really were, who she really was, and what she must do. But now they suddenly seemed more alien than ever. What was happening now was incomprehensible to her. But at least now I’ve got plenty of company, she thought “What’s happening is quite simple, Maria,” Roger said testily. “Madigan has made a catastrophic mistake. She will surely be soundly defeated in this electronic vote of confidence. With her out of the way, this ‘Pacifica for the Pacificans’ movement will evaporate, and politics here will boil down to a straightforward confrontation between our supporters and the Femocrats. Therefore, we’re forcing the electorate to face reality by closing the Institute and removing ourselves to the
Heisenberg
. Which is why
you
must return to the
Heisenberg
with me at once!” Roger’s angry face, his voice, his scenarios, his clear certain logic seemed to Maria like a pale spectre of the dead dim past, a thin surface reflection of the deeper, more complex, and far more ambiguous reality that now rolled over Pacifica and which writhed in convoluted tangles within her own mind. I can’t go back, she thought. I’m not the same person anymore, and perhaps Roger isn’t either. Or if he is, it only proves what a sleepwalker I was before I set foot on this planet. A human computer running on preprogrammed logic circuits. I can’t be that any more, even if I want to. And perhaps I do... perhaps I do...