The Distance Beacons (15 page)

The president pondered my response. "I agree, Walter," she replied finally, "but surely your experience will tell you that a utopia doesn't appear by magic. In the kind of world we lived in after the War, anarchy or repression was much more likely. You're old enough to remember what it was like, aren't you?"

I remembered a childhood in Maine filled with grim long winters and perpetual hunger and marauding gangs and death.

And then I came to Boston, and had to face the Frenzy. "It sucked," I admitted.

"Yes," she agreed softly, "it did." She leaned back on the couch, and she got the familiar glazed look of someone remembering the old days. "I grew up in Washington, Walter. My father worked for the Environmental Protection Agency." She laughed humorlessly. The name was one of those jokes that weren't very funny. "We survived because we were on vacation when it happened. But of course before very long we were wishing we hadn't survived. My mother died of typhus, and my younger brother was shot to death by a gang looking for food. Then my older sister just disappeared one day, and we never found out what happened to her.

"That left my father and me. Somehow he'd heard about what was happening in Atlanta, and decided that we had to go there. It was a long and dangerous trip. All I can remember was how terrified I was—not so much that I would die, but that my father would die, and I'd be left alone in the world. I was twelve, Walter, and I didn't know anything.

"We almost made it. He died of an infection just after we reached Georgia. I managed to find a nice group of people, none of whom wanted to rape me or make me a slave. They took me in, and I could've stayed with them until they started dying too. But it was in my head that I had to get to Atlanta. I didn't know why, but it had been important to my father, so it became important to me. Everything would be fine if I could get to Atlanta. So I went off again, on my own this time. It was awfully stupid of me, but I made it.

"And then when I got to Atlanta, I wondered what was so magical about the place. Like everywhere else I'd been, there wasn't enough food and there were more than enough diseases, and people were very interested in a stupid twelve-year-old girl." She fell silent for a moment, as people often do in these reminiscences, overcome by what they have endured.

"But you changed your mind about Atlanta," I prompted.

She nodded. "I found a friend of my father's, and he took me in. It was an absurd coincidence, I suppose—I was begging on a street corner when he walked by and recognized me. Maybe it was fate. At any rate, it was the happiest day of my life, at least since the War. He had been a congressman, and now he was involved in setting up the new government. I couldn't have cared less about that at first—I was too happy just to have a roof over my head and someone to take care of me."

"And you stayed on in Atlanta?"

"That's right. And without realizing it, I was getting a first-hand view of what people like my father's friend had to go through in rebuilding America, the unimaginable problems they had to try and solve. Before long I went to work for the government—it was far better for me than any schooling I could have gotten—and I've worked for it ever since.

"But I'm not telling you all this to make you admire me or feel sorry for me or anything like that. Everyone has similar stories. I just want you to understand that I haven't been cloistered from the real world—I haven't always lived in fancy places like this and drunk French wine. I know what it's like out there. And I know what the government had to go through to make things even a little bit better. I don't want people to turn their backs on those accomplishments. If you were to start fresh, I doubt that you'd do any better. And you could do much worse."

That was true, I supposed. I had no more confidence in Flynn Dobler than I did in the Feds. But still, something about her argument didn't convince me. I wished Henry were with me; the Angriest Man in America would have known how to respond. I gave it a try. "I'll grant that the Feds have done some good things," I said. "But I just think their premise is wrong. They're trying to preserve the old-fashioned nation-state"—thanks for that term, Henry—"when the War has made the nation-state a bad idea, if it was ever a good one. I mean, Florida has different problems from ours. We don't care about Florida, and Florida certainly doesn't care about us. So why not just go our separate ways? Florida won't have to support us with their taxes, and we won't have to be ruled by southerners. Everyone's happy, and no one's big enough to get involved in another nuclear war."

The president went into the kitchen and poured herself another glass of wine. "Were you happy during the Frenzy, Walter?" she asked in her soft voice as she returned.

I had to admit that the Frenzy did not rank as one of the high points of my life.

"Florida helped stop the Frenzy. I'm sure a lot of people in Florida felt the way you do: who cares about those Yanks? Let them kill each other off; we'll still be okay. What saved you was simply the idea of the Union—the idea that we can accomplish more together than we can on our own. Even if that means that some of us have to make a sacrifice in the short run so that we can all eventually benefit. You've heard of Abraham Lincoln, haven't you, Walter?"

"Of course."

The president put her feet up on the coffee table and stared into her wineglass. "I think about Lincoln a lot nowadays. He believed in the idea of the Union. He believed in America. A lot of people died because of his beliefs—but it was worth it."

"He was one of the ones who died," I noted.

She looked at me and slowly nodded. "I think America is worth that kind of sacrifice, Walter. And more. Because America is not just another nation-state. It is the best expression of the highest ideals of which mankind is capable. Not perfect, mind you—and we've had to compromise some over the past twenty years just to keep the dream alive. But the best anyone has been able to put into practice. And that makes America vitally important."

The president put her feet down and leaned forward, her eyes boring into me. She suddenly seemed ready to let me in on the deepest secrets of her life. "We live in terrible times, Walter. No one can deny that. But out of the despair and the misery comes opportunity. Russia is back almost to feudalism, in the places where things haven't broken down completely. Europe is limping along, but it lacks the resources and the will to make any progress. The rest of the world is a mess. Everyone is tired of war and tired of anarchy and ready to change. I can feel it.

"How many people over the centuries have dreamed of a universal government, Walter? But here we are—here I am—with a chance to do something about it. One government, Walter, embodying America's ideals and America's dreams. One government, to ensure peace and freedom and justice for every human being.

"You know, a lot of people disagree with me about this. I was appointed president because Congress thought it was time for new blood, new ideas—someone who would look to the future instead of the past. But a lot of people in Congress are worried now; they think I'm moving too fast, endangering the progress we've made already. I respect their opinion, but I can't agree with it. I respect what they've done, but I want to do more. And we have to start now, because the opportunity may never come again. We have a duty to humanity."

Now normally this kind of talk would provoke nothing more than a cynical private eye's smile from me.
Peace
,
freedom
, justice... lovely words, but I hadn't seen much of them lately. It was tough enough getting peace and freedom and justice for one person, never mind all of humanity.

But somehow, listening to Ann Kramer, I seemed to have temporarily misplaced my cynicism—despite knowing clearly how she was trying to manipulate me. As Gwen had said, the president was both calculating and sincere; and as a result, I found myself not believing... and believing. Her words, like her perfume, seemed to surround me, tantalize me, entice me. Peace, freedom, justice. Sure, they were a dream, but they were a dream worth having—weren't they?

"And you think the referendum is the start for all of this?" I managed to say, since she seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Yes," she agreed quickly. "It's the key. America isn't complete without New England, and New England simply isn't cooperating like the rest of the country. Perhaps it's that independence of spirit I mentioned. Perhaps the British occupation after the War still rankles, or I suppose the Frenzy just took too much out of you. Whatever the reason, I need to know that you people are on my side before we move ahead. If all Americans aren't united, we simply won't have the moral strength we need."

"So what happens if you lose the referendum?"

"But I'm not going to lose, Walter. I'm not going to lose." She suddenly stood up and paced with her determined strides through the soft light of the room. "You can accomplish anything you want if you're willing to risk everything you have. And I am willing to do that, Walter. New England will support me, and a united America will support me, and then we can take our message to the other nations. We can show them what faith in your fellow man can achieve. We won't conquer them by force of arms; we'll convince them by force of example."

Baloney, I thought.

Inspiring, I thought.

And then she was standing behind me as I sat on the hard chair. She put a hand on my shoulder. I looked down at the manicured nails, the expensive gold bracelets. I felt the warmth, the pressure. I listened. The music had stopped; when had it stopped? There was only her voice. "Can you see it, Walter? Can you see the world I see? It will be the best that we can create. We won't make everyone rich or abolish crime or cure all diseases, but what it is possible for humans of good will to accomplish, we will accomplish, because we will be working together. Because we are all part of America."

She fell silent, but she did not remove her hand.

I felt weak. I felt empty—ready to be filled.
America. Perfume. Peace. Bracelets. Justice. Warmth. Freedom.
America coming together. I had returned for my friends. But weren't my friends a part of America?
Can you see it?
Well, yes, maybe I could, somewhere in the soft light, shimmering just out of my grasp. Why hadn't I seen it before?

Because I needed this woman to show me. Why not believe in it now?

Because...

I couldn't think of a reason.

Perha
ps I should reach up and grasp her hand. Perhaps I would feel better if I turned and lost myself in her. Put an end to thinking entirely.

But before I could do that, I had a final thought. No not even a thought. An image, a fleeting memory—of a gorgeous woman in a blue robe standing in the doorway of a newly built building, watching me leave, confident that I would return.

Before I came here, I wasn't alive.

Without thinking, I had pitied Marva, pitied the mindless life she must have been living, caught in the spell of Flynn Dobler's soulful eyes. Her happiness did not make her less pitiful.

So what was the difference between her and me?

The pressure of the president's hands suddenly felt like the weight of history on my shoulders. How many people had stopped thinking through the centuries, losing themselves in the warm, comforting world of someone else's dream? It was probably easier to count the number of people who hadn't. And look where it had gotten us.

Private eyes aren't supposed to stop thinking. Private eyes are loners; they live by their own code, not someone else's. They seek justice one case at a time, and let the rest of the world take care of itself. Of course, it wasn't clear that I was much of a private eye. But if I had any aspirations to become a better one, it was time to shape up.

Can you see it?

"I dunno," I said.

The president's hand tightened its grip. And then she placed her other hand on me, and she began gently massaging my neck and shoulders. "It's important to me, Walter," she murmured. "Important that you understand. Important that you believe."

She certainly knew how to give a massage. I suddenly wondered to what lengths she was willing to go to get my vote. We have a duty to humanity. I decided I didn't want to find out. I stood up and turned to face her. "Well, I certainly appreciate your taking the time to talk to me like this," I said.

She stared at me. "What's the matter, Walter?"

"Nothing. It just seems as if you've made your case, and now I have to take some time and think about it."

"You're not convinced?"

"Well, you certainly are persuasive, and I'm sure your speech will be a great success. But I guess I'm just going to keep an open mind."

The president couldn't seem to believe what she was hearing. "This is important, Walter."

"I understand." I started backing toward the doorway. I didn't want to listen anymore to that low, persuasive voice, to inhale that perfume, to feel those hands on me.

"Are you at least interested in hearing about some of the political reforms we're considering?" she persisted. "They may help change your—"

"No , no, I don't think so. I'll wait for your speech. I really have to go now."

I was at the door. I looked at her, and she finally seemed to accept her defeat. "You'll be there tomorrow?" she asked.

"I've got a job to do," I said. "I'll be there."