Vatican Ambassador (3 page)

BC addresses his com unit. “Answer all calls with the following message. Begin recording: Hello. This is Father Bernard Campion, the Ambassador for the Holy See, Vatican City, and his holiness Pope Linus the Second. I’m not available right now. And I will not be responding to any ridiculous allegations made by any politician who uses the news media to sully the reputations of others for their own personal political gain. Thank you. End recording.”

“Recording ended. Message sent,” the unit says.

“Keep using that announcement to answer all incoming messages until I tell you to change it,” BC orders the unit.

“Answering incoming signals with the recorded message until further instructions,” the unit informs BC. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I thought I told that thing to… oh, it’s the door. Oh no…

“Who is it?!” BC calls out.

The door speaker crackles.

“Father Campion? This is ‘Lunar Prime News Service’, we just want to ask you a few questions about Daniel McEntyre’s allegations today that you are a…”

“No comment!” BC shouts. “Door lock secure! No interruptions! Do not disturb!”

Goddamn him!

BC paces across his stateroom.

“Com unit! Get me Governor Marc Edwards,” BC barks.

“Governor’s office,” a young sounding male voice, not Edwards, answers.

“Governor Edwards, please. It’s Bernard Campion and it’s kind of important I speak to him immediately.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” the guy answers back.

Jeesh, a comedian… who is this kid? I don’t remember him.

“Yeah, okay, please, just put me through to Edwards, okay?” BC tries asking nicely.

“He’s in a meeting right now.”

“This is an emergency!” BC stifles the urge to crawl through the com unit and strangle the kid. He tries to keep his voice even toned. “I think the governor might want to talk to me
right now
.”

“He’s talking to my dad ‘right now’. They’re busy. I’ll give him the message you called.”

“Your dad? Who is this?” BC demands.

“I don’t have to tell you,” the kid teases BC. BC scowls.

“Visual on!” BC commands. He can now see the young teen sitting at the governor’s reception desk.

“Capture and ID!” BC orders.

“Visual off! Com off,” the boy yells. The viewer blinks as the picture disappears and sound clicks off.

“Subject is a minor,” BC’s com unit tells him. “Justin Spear. Only child. Son of Julius Spears and Margaret “Maggie” Spears. Maggie Spears deceased, December 25, 2109.”

Mother died in the Christmas attacks. Don’t know the mother or the father…

Heh… I do like these new security features!

“Identify Julius Spears?” BC commands the com unit.

“Spears, Julius,” the com unit begins. “Born July 13, 2061. Earth. United States sector of Universal Trade Zone. Graduated with honors, Jersey City Polytechnic Institute for Media, May 2082. Employed by MediAdvisors of Lunar Prime.”

“MediAdvisors?” BC queries.

“Advertising agency,” the com unit informs him.

MediAdvisors? I don’t know them.
Marc must have brought them in to help on the campaign. I’ll
have to tell him the guy’s kid is a brat…

“Com unit, get me Marc Edwards, please,” BC asks.

“Governor’s off… oh, you again,” the kid answers, then cuts off the com.
Why you little prick…

BC hears something rattle. The sound comes again. It’s a rattle, coming from somewhere near the door to his stateroom. And again. BC places the sound.

It’s the glasses up on my shelf up next to the door, shaking together… someone must be
hammering the outside door pretty hard! That’s beyond knocking!

“Com unit, get me security.”

“LSC. This is Security,” a woman answers.

“Yes, this is Father Bernard Campion, the Vatican Ambassador,” BC tells her. The glasses rattle again, louder this time. “There are people right now trying to break down the door to my stateroom, I was hoping you could send some officers over to stop them from doing that.”

“They’re trying to break into your stateroom? Right now?” the officer asks him. Rattle.

“Right now,” BC says.

“Yeah. I can see them on our security viewer. Looks like a few media teams. We’ll clear them away for now, but you know them, they just keep coming back,” she tells BC.

“I know,” BC says with a sigh.

“Sorry,” she says. “We’ll call back when it’s all clear, Father.”

“Thank you,” BC says, and cuts the com.

Should I bother… what the fuck?

“Com unit, get me Marc Edwards, please,” BC asks again.

“Governor’s Office. Oh. Why do you keep calling?” Justin Spears asks him. “Good buh…” he’s cut off as a voice echoes in the background over the com unit, shouting, “Justin! What are you doing?”

“Visual on!” BC commands in time to see an older man who looks like the boy come into the picture.

“Who are you?” the man who must be Julius Spears asks BC over the com unit.

“I’m Father Bernard Campion, Mr. Spears. Would you please put the governor on?” BC asks. The man’s brow furrows.

“He’s not taking calls right now, Father,” Spears says tersely. “I’ll pass your message along. Good Day.”

The com cuts off.

What a prick! Like father, like son, I guess! What the fuck is going on?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeep.

I thought I turned that off?

“What?!” BC yells out.

“Take it easy, BC. It’s me, Edwards.”

“How did you do that? Get through past my message, I mean?”

“Oh. Some kind of Governmental override, I guess. I just told the com to get me through to you. Sorry about Spears. Ad guys. You know how they are.”

“Yeah, his kid’s a real charmer, too. He cut me off, twice before,” BC tells him. “What are you doing, talking to him about the campaign?” BC asks Edwards.

“Yeah. I obviously need the help,” Edwards explains.

“Spears was a political consultant before branching out into commercial advertising. When I found out he was here on Lunar Prime, I thought I’d talk to him, see if he could offer me any advice.”

“Could he?”

“Sort of. But I’m not listening to some of his advice, or I wouldn’t be talking to
you,
” Edwards laughs.

“What? Has it come down to you not being able to talk to me? Because of McEntyre?” BC asks.

“Yeah. He’s turned you into a ‘hot potato’, Spears said. Told me I shouldn’t go anywhere near you or be seen talking to you,” Edwards tells BC.

“That’s probably good advice,” BC admits. “Thanks for ignoring it.”

“You’re welcome. But I do need you to lay low, and I can’t be seen talking to you. Not until this election is over,” Edwards breaks the news to BC. “I’m sorry, BC. You do what you have to, but I’m going to have to show everyone you aren’t somehow pulling my strings, you know?”

“It’s stupid, I know, but it’s true. Spears has it right,” BC admits with regret. “I’m just going to make a statement, and then try to ride this out and ‘lay low’ for you, like you say,” BC assures him. “I’ve been told to lay low by the best of them, trust me. I’ve got lots of practice,” BC says wryly.

“You know, Marc, I’ve gotta say one more time, you could always bring up the charge that he cheated on Meredith with that girl back on Earth…” BC suggests, already knowing the answer.

“No way!” Edwards protests. “I know, I know, you keep telling me I should, but I don’t want to go negative! Besides… how ‘come I’ve gotta remind
you
one more time that you’re a priest? You shouldn’t be sharing her information in the first place! I’m just… I don’t wanna go there. End of story, okay?”

“Okay. I just had to try one last time before I go incommunicado,” BC says.

“Thanks for understanding,” Edwards says earnestly.

“You’re welcome,” BC tells him. “Good luck, Marc. Com unit off.”

Well, fuck. This isn’t looking good. Edwards is getting desperate. Huh. Getting? He already
stinks of desperation! McEntyre acts like he can smell Edwards’ fear like a dog. And Edwards
won’t go on the attack…

BC’s life the next day and a half becomes a continuous game of cat and mouse with the news media: They keep trying to get him to comment on McEntyre’s allegations; he keeps dodging them. It accomplishes what McEntyre obviously hoped it would: a sideshow is created that distracts people from the real issues over the weekend before Election Day.

BC leaves his quarters to vote first thing Monday morning, Election Day. He pushes past the perching media people and walks to the polls with a parade of them trailing behind.
McEntyre set us up to lose, but good. If we had ignored him and continued to meet and
strategize on the election, McEntyre would’ve been able to point and say, “There! See! They are
collaborating! Edwards is in the pocket of the UTZ!” We don’t meet and he says, “See! They
obviously have something to hide! They’re not meeting because of what I said! They’re pretending
that Campion isn’t an advisor to Edwards! Campion’s dodging the media! That proves what I
said!

Blah blah blah blah blah…

I’ve got a bad feeling about this…

“No media past this point!”

An LSC Officer barks at BC’s entourage as BC approaches the polls. “You all know that,” the man with the badge admonishes BC’s following. “No media within one hundred meters of any polling place, that’s the law!”

“Thank you, officer,” BC says to the LSC. The man grunts back at him

Personable. Nice fucking guy. Least he keeps them at bay…

BC signs in, heads for the curtained voting booth, and casts his vote for Edwards. He draws back the curtain of the voting booth and looks around the polling place, looking for an exit different from the way he came in. He sees one, off across the other side of the room.

Time to escape my entourage…

BC ducks out the side door. He looks around. The media hounds seem to be unaware of this exit from the polling place. None of them are in sight.

BC jogs down the corridor towards the main dome. He makes his way over to McGrady’s Pub. Edwards is using the pub as his election headquarters for the day today and, hopefully, for his victory celebration tonight.

I might as well show up there now, and hide out in the corner. Try to hide in plain sight…

BC finds the pub nearly empty. He waits after he gets inside, listening for the door to open again behind him and the media to swarm.

There’s silence.

BC smiles.

“Hey. You okay?” the bartender calls over.

“I’m okay,” BC says, looking back over his shoulder.

BC stands there for a moment, still waiting for the media hounds to follow his trail into McGrady’s. Still nothing.

BC is still smiling.

“You expecting someone?” the bartender asks him.

“Oh, I hope not,” BC says.

“Uh huh,” the bartender grunts, “Well, so far so good, huh? “

BC laughs. “So far…”

“BC!” Edwards calls over from a table in the center of the pub. Julius Spears and his son are sitting there with him, along with two of Edward’s aides. BC walks over.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to be here,” Spears says to BC as he reaches the table.

“Tough,” BC says, dismissing the man with a word. He turns away from Spears and toward Edwards.

“Marc, I just voted and lost the media that were trailing me. Mind if I hide out here in a corner somewhere and read, or knit, or something?”

Edwards laughs. “Thanks!” He smiles. “That’s the first laugh, hell, first time I’ve even smiled today,”

Edwards says. Then his face falls back into a frown.

“It’s bad, BC. The poll we did late last night was horrible. McEntyre’s gonna win, and he’s probably gonna win big.”

“You never know,” BC cautions Edwards, tries to raise his spirits. “Maybe when people get in the booth to vote, and see both names, they’ll go, ‘oh yeah, Daniel McEntyre, he’s that asshole’ and realize they’ve gotta vote for you. See? It’s simple.”

“Damn, never realized you were such an optimist, BC,” Edwards says. He laughs ironically. Julius Spears gets up from the table. “Come on, son, we’re leaving,” he says to the boy. As the kid gets up, Spears turns to Edwards. “I’m not staying where my advice is clearly being ignored. Good luck, Governor.”

“Thanks, Julius. I know you tried to help. Good luck with the agency.”

“Right. Thank you,” Spears replies. He and his son leave the pub.

“Have a seat, BC, looks like we’ve got the room,” Edwards jokes half-heartedly.

“Actually, Marc, I wasn’t kidding about hiding in the corner,” BC says.

“Really?”

“Really. The media have been merciless!”

“Like you’re telling
me
anything,” Edwards says with a chuckle. “Well, go ahead, hide away.”

“Thanks for understanding, Marc,” BC says. “Hey, bartender,” he calls over. “Could I get a pint and an order of fish and chips?”

“You got it!” he replies.

“I’ll be over here, over in the corner,” BC tells him.

BC ponders the pub and milks his ale, playing with his food for hours. More Edwards’s supporters arrive as the day goes on. By evening, the pub is full, but the mood is subdued, and the crowd oddly quiet, anticipating doom. By the time the media figure out that BC is in McGrady’s, he’s not the story anymore. The polls are closed, and Marc Edwards is the story.

Edwards loses the election, and the Governorship of Lunar Prime, to Daniel McEntyre. Edwards makes the announcement to the crowd in McGrady’s.

“Well, everybody, it’s happened,” Edwards says with a crooked smile. “Daniel McEntyre has won the race for Governor of Lunar Prime. And I have lost.”

Edwards pauses, struggles a little to keep his composure. He looks up and continues.

“I want to thank all of you for all your support. You’ve all been great! We’ve got a lot to be proud of!

We all worked together to rebuild Lunar Prime…we did it! They can’t take that away, no matter what! I promise to work with Daniel McEntyre and his people as we begin the transition to a new administration.”