“Mr. President,” said the congresswoman from New York. “I would like to allot three minutes of my time to the Honorable Senator from Arkansas/Oklahoma.”
“Noted,” Sumi said automatically. “You have the floor, Mr. Gerber.”
“Thank you,” said the gentleman, with the aplomb of a snake oil salesman.
As he began to speak Sumi drifted. She had yet to completely figure out why she was here. And the only man who could tell her was long dead. She had managed to avoid Mr. Li from the time she had taken the job until his death because she’d feared him sexually. Now here she sat, bored and alone, symbol of American political leadership since Gideon had hidden himself away in the White House.
“Mr. President!” The voice startled her. A Senate page tugged on her sleeve. “Someone wants to see you. He says it’s important.”
“Who?”
“Lewis Crane.”
“Crane’s here?” she said loudly enough to be heard in the chamber.
“He’s waiting out in the corridor, sir.”
“My God,” Sumi said. She’d had no personal contact with Crane since Reelfoot. She turned to the page, a pimply-faced federal judge’s son, and said, “Put him in the old Supreme Court downstairs. I’ll meet him in a moment.”
The page hurried away, Sumi fully alert now and excited. Crane may have been many things, but he was never boring. She turned the gavel over to the sergeant at arms to call the majority leader, and slipped out of the chamber and into the hollow, echoing halls.
She’d heard that once six million visitors a year had come here to listen to proceedings and see democracy in action. No one came now. They were all anachronisms, living out their lives in a two-hundred-year-old building that was crumbling because of George Washington’s nepotism in choosing his own inferior rock quarry for the materials to build the damned thing.
Lewis Crane had come to her territory. He must want something. But then, Crane always wanted something. Now he wanted something before Yo-Yu took power. In a government where the votes were purchased, Liang’s rival had more purchasing power. Yo-Yu could get control of the government without taking one seat in an election. She’d even been approached with bribes … and had considered the possibility. America tended to have that effect on people.
Crane waited with Lanie in the gallery of the tiny preserved eighteenth-century courtroom while the rest of his entourage toured the entire facility. The room was an incongruously small space for producing the big decisions that had been handed down there—
Dred Scott, Marbury vs. Madison—remarkable precedents in jurisprudence. Modern American society had been formed in this place, then deconstructed in the large faux Greek building across the street.
Lanie put her hand over his. “Don’t worry,” she whispered as if she were in a Cosmie church. “It’s going to work out.”
“We haven’t seen Sumi for a long time.”
“I have faith in you,” she said. “You’re coming to the right place at the right time.”
Crane hoped she was correct, but was skeptical—and, he felt, appropriately cynical about politics. He would make his judgments about Sumi after they’d talked. His bad arm ached terribly. There was going to be a major quake this afternoon on the Cocos Plate where it met the Caribbean Plate. Later tonight, in Africa, the Great Rift would separate a little bit more as part of it pulled away from itself, creating grabens and opening huge fissures. There would be mudslides tomorrow in California. Evacuations of the affected areas were already underway, thanks to the Crane Report, his monthly newsletter about the state of the Earth. He gave populations a two-month lead time on any impending quake.
“Crane!” came a voice from the doorway. He turned to see Sumi Chan, in black silk pajamas, standing with arms outstretched, smiling broadly.
Crane jumped up to hurry over and give Sumi a bear hug. “You’re looking well.”
“Looks can deceive,” Sumi said, walking past Crane to greet Lanie. “Congratulations on your impending marriage. I hope I will be invited to the ceremony.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Crane said, as Sumi kissed Lanie on the cheek. “We wanted to invite you personally.”
“Right,” Sumi replied, turning back to Crane and smiling. “And maybe do a little business while you’re at it?”
“I can always do business,” Crane said, the three of them taking seats. Crane noticed a slackness to Sumi’s features. The man needed a challenge. He pulled a magazine out of his back pocket and gave it to Sumi. “Here, the new Crane Report, hot off the presses.”
“I’ve already got one. Required reading for any acting head of state. When is the big day?”
“July twenty-third,” Lanie said. “At exactly two thirty-seven in the afternoon.”
“In the Himalayas,” Crane added.
“The Himalayas.” Sumi smiled. “Your fortunes have risen since last we met, my friend.”
“As have yours.”
“No. I am simply doing what I did when you first met me, hype and PR, only I’m doing it in another place. I feel like a caretaker, just watching the office until the real Vice President shows up.”
“Then it’s true what we’ve heard about Yo-Yu?” Lanie asked.
“Probably more true than you realize,” Sumi replied. “The Syndicate scored big with new chips that I hear are better than dorph. People want Yo-Yu. Once they started their ozone regeneration project I knew Liang was finished. Yo-Yu has managed to replace five percent of the ozone layer this year alone. People like that. They vote for that.”
“Is your power completely gone?” Crane asked.
“Not completely,” Sumi said, her eyes already sharpening. “How’s Dr. Newcombe?”
“Haven’t seen much of him in person the last few months,” Crane replied. “He’s on a sabbatical, trying to fine-tune his EQ-eco to better fit soil liquefaction. We see him on the teev all the time though.”
Sumi nodded. “He’s in Washington more than I am. New Cairo is still news to people and he’s the NOI spokesman. I think his public conversion has had a lot to do with the people’s greater acceptance of the Nation of Islam.”
“He’s a geologist, not a politician,” Crane said, not troubling to hide his contempt. “He needs to spend more time on the important things.”
“Have we hit a sore spot?” Sumi asked.
“Dan’s talented.” Crane shrugged. “Wasting his talent on nonsense is incomprehensible to me … no disrespect intended to you.”
“There are those who find the notion of an Islamic State in America something other than ‘nonsense,’ ” Sumi replied. “I know the people at Liang look at it as a top priority.”
“The people at Liang can—”
“Crane,” Lame interrupted as she pointed to her wristpad.
He nodded, then smiled, surprised to find himself nervous. “Have you wondered why I haven’t tried to contact you for so long?”
“I assumed you were angry with me,” Sumi said, bowing slightly.
“Oh, Sumi, no. Think about it. Who better than I to understand how one can be pressured, tormented, ultimately coerced to do things he does not really want to do? Who better than I to understand the rationalizations that lead one to conclude the end justifies the means?” He shook his head, an expression both wise and compassionate on his face. “I have put the past behind us. Please believe me, and do not think of it again.”
Sumi and Crane looked intently at each other. They connected and there was understanding and forgiveness between them.