This is the twenty-fourth (and next to last) installment of
an exploration of some of the possible futures discussed on this blog, using
the toolkit of narrative fiction. At a final meeting between our narrator and
Isaiah Meeker, President of the Lakeland Republic, certain unstated agendas are
revealed and the future of one of the post-US North American republics takes an
unexpected turn...
***********
A taxi brought back to my hotel from Janice Mikkelson’s
mansion—one of her flunkeys called it for me—and I spent most of the ride
staring out the window and thinking about what she’d said about the prewar
rich. I’d heard plenty of stories along the same lines, of course, everybody
has, but for some reason my mind kept circling back to the way that they’d dug
their own graves and then jumped into them. Why didn’t it occur to them that
voting themselves one billion-dollar bonus after another, while driving their
own employees and the rest of the country into poverty, was going to blow up in
their faces sooner or later?
I was thinking that, staring out at the darkening sky, when
a little pale streak brought me back to reality. The dozens of governments and
corporations that kept launching satellites even after 2029, when the Kessler
syndrome in low earth orbit should have given them a wake-up call, had gone
waltzing just as cluelessly into a preventable disaster of their own. I thought
of the mess we’d gotten into back home by going long on nuclear power plants in
the 2040s, long after it should have been clear to everyone that nuclear power
was—what was Fred Vanich’s phrase?—a subsidy dumpster, one more technological
white elephant that never paid for itself and only looked profitable because
most of the costs were shoved out of sight one way or another. I thought of the
war going on a thousand miles south of me just then, and wondered sourly why a
species that was so smart at coming up with clever technologies was so dumb
about so much else.
The taxi stopped outside the hotel, and I went in, climbed
the stairs to my room, and made a phone call. Yes, the call was to Melanie
Berger; yes, we spent the evening together; no, I’m not going to go into any of
the details. We didn’t talk about progress or technology or the future of the Lakeland
Republic, in case you were wondering.
Another taxi brought me back to the Capitol Hotel about
seven-thirty the next morning. I tried without noticeable success to coax my
electric shaver into giving me a decent shave, then showered and got everything
but the day’s clothing packed. I’d considered more than once putting on
ordinary bioplastic businesswear for the trip back, knowing that people back
home would look at me as though I had two spare heads if I got off the train in
Pittsburgh dressed in my Lakeland clothes, but that resolution lasted just
about long enough for me to reach into the closet and grab a business suit. The
slick clammy texture of the thing made my skin crawl. So I dressed in hempcloth
and wool instead, checked my appearance, put on my trench coat and porkpie hat,
and headed out the door to my final appointment with the President of the
Lakeland Republic.
The weather had turned cold and damp overnight, and stray
raindrops spattered down as I walked the familiar six blocks to the Capitol.
Another round of scaffolding had gone up on the unfinished dome, and
stonemasons were already clambering around up there, laying another course of
marble blocks beneath the shelter of brown tarps I guessed probably weren’t
made of plastic. Down at street level, people were already picking up the
latest papers at Kaufer’s News. I bought
the Blade, glanced at the headlines on the front page: the fighting in the Gulf and in northeastern
Texas seemed to be grinding toward a stalemate; the other North American
republics had appealed to the Brazilians and Chinese to stay out of the
fighting and try to talk their respective client states into accepting a
ceasefire; one of the big Indian telecom multinationals had gone bankrupt—the
first corporate casualty of the satellite crisis, though I knew it wouldn’t be
the last by a long shot—and stock markets everywhere but Toledo were doing
another sickening downward lurch in response.
I stuffed the paper into one of the big outside pockets of
my trench coat, crossed the street, and went up
the long walk to the main entrance of the Capitol. It was five to nine,
still too early for kids on field trips or photo ops in the Rotunda, so the
only people I saw were members of the legislative staff hurrying this way and
that, getting ready for what would probably be another hectic day, and a couple
of white-haired politicians, one light-skinned, one dark-skinned, talking
intently as they ambled toward the Senate end of the building. Me, I headed
straight across the rotunda to the door in back and went in.
It still startled me that you could just walk into the
offices of the President of the Lakeland Republic. No doubt the uniformed
guards in the Rotunda weren’t the only guards in the place, but they were the
only ones I saw. I went down the corridor into the front office, said hi to
Gabriel Menendez, waited while he called back, shed my coat and hat in the
cloakroom, and then through another corridor and the round room with the spiral
staircase to Meeker’s office.
“Mr. Carr,” said the President, as we shook hands. “It’s
good to see you again.” He gestured toward the side of the room. “Please have a
seat.”
The same people who’d been present for my first meeting with
Meeker were waiting: no surprises there, though I hadn’t expected them to be
sitting in precisely the same chairs. I shook hands all around. “Mr. President,
Mr. Macallan, Ms. Patel, Mr. Vanich—” With the faintest of smiles, just for
her: “Ms. Berger.”
We got settled. “Before we get to business,” the President
said, “I have a bit of good news to pass on:
to you, or course, but also through you to Ms. Montrose. Our State
Department heard backchannel last night via an embassy I won’t name that the
Confederate and Texan governments are both potentially willing to talk about a
ceasefire. No word yet about when or where, much less what terms either side’s
likely to demand, but at least they haven’t rejected negotiations out of hand.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said.
“We certainly have hopes,” Meeker went on. “That’s all we
have so far, though.” A gesture dismissed the issue. “I hope you’ve found your stay here—shall we
say, instructive.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I replied. “I don’t mean any
criticism at all when I say that in some ways, it’s been two very long weeks.”
Meeker nodded. “Melanie mentioned that you’ve found yourself
reconsidering some of your ideas about technology and the like.”
I considered him. “Again, that’s one way of putting it—and
that brings me to one last item I’d like to mention before I leave for home.”
“Of course,” said Meeker, smiling. Fred Vanich and Melanie
glanced at each other, and I wondered if they’d made another bet.
“I suspect you’re aware,” I said then, “that I had more
reasons for coming here than the ones we discussed earlier.”
Meeker turned to look at Stuart Macallan, who said, “Mr.
Carr, I hope you won’t mind if I state the obvious. None of us could think of
any reason why Ellen Montrose would have sent one of her key advisers here
right after the election, when almost any competent staffer could have handled
the preliminary work on the the three agreements we worked out. We’ve had
plenty of other unofficial envoys come here since the borders opened, of
course, and most of them had some agenda other than the one they told us about.
We assumed you had one too.”
“With that in mind,” said Meeker, “I’d be most interested in
hearing what your other reasons for comong here might be, to the extent that
you can talk about them.”
“Fair enough,” I said, meeting his gaze. “You know that
Ellen won the election promising across-the-board changes in our national
economic policy. She means it, too—we’ve already got the first round of
legislation drafted, and everybody’s going to hit the ground running the day
after inauguration. I’m sure you know the basic thrust of it.”
“What’s been made public, yes,” said Meeker. “She hasn’t
mentioned defaulting on the foreign debt Barfield and his predecessors ran up,
but that’s almost certainly going to have to be part of it. Even before this
business down south got going, there was no way she could keep her election
promises without renegotiating the debt, and that means at least a technical
default.”
I gave him a bland look and said, “I can’t comment on that.”
He chuckled, and I went on. “The new administration’s going to have its hands
full getting the economy a little less dysfunctional, and now there’s what the
satellite crisis is doing to stock markets and the telecom industry, not to
mention the Confederate-Texas war, to add to the fun and games. Beyond that,
though, there’s another set of plans relating to economic regulations, the tax
code, and a range of other policies. Those haven’t been made public yet, but
when they are, you’re going to find some of them just a little familiar.”
“Indeed?” Meeker said, his eyebrows rising. “Please go on.”
“The short form is that she wants to redirect government
support for business away from the high-tech sectors of the economy and into
manufacturing and agriculture, and change the tax code and other public policy
incentives so that they reward employment rather than automation.”
Jaya Patel waited a moment to make sure Meeker wasn’t about
to speak, then said, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how sensible that
sounds from our standpoint.”
“No. When she suggested it to me, though, I told her to her
face that she was stark staring nuts.”
That got slightly glazed looks from the others. “I’d be
interested in knowing how she took that,” the President said.
“She expects that sort of thing,” I told him. “You’ve heard
about her reputation for blunt talk, right? She hires staff who will talk to
her the way she talks to them. Half the
problem with Barfield’s administration is that he only hires people who tell
him what he wants to hear.”
He nodded, gestured for me to go on.
“I told her that there was no way the Atlantic Republic
could go back to a twentieth-century economy, that nobody would put up with it,
and even if we could and they did, it just meant that we’d be eaten alive by
less backward nations that kept up with the latest technology. She pointed out
that the more we invested in the latest technology the further behind we got,
and I dismissed that as the product of outside factors. We had a fine
donnybrook—the kind where everybody else on the floor gathers outside the door
to listen—and I finally insisted that it simply wouldn’t work. She just smiled
and said that it was already working.”
“So she knew what we’ve done,” said Melanie.
I nodded. “I don’t happen to know where she got her
information. I know Barfield sent someone from his inner circle over here right
after the borders opened, but her report went into a locked file as soon as she
got back and I don’t know if anyone but Barfield ever saw it. Ellen’s got
connections in surprising places, though. But she told me that policies like
the ones she had in mind were working on this side of the border. I simply
wouldn’t believe it, and so we made a deal.
If she won the election, she’d come up with some plausible reason to
send me over here for two weeks right afterwards and see for myself. After that, if I could give her a good reason
why her proposals wouldn’t work, she’d reconsider them.”
Meeker paused, watching me, and then asked, “And what will
you tell her when you get back?”
The words came more easily than I’d expected. “Something
that I couldn’t have imagined myself proposing a week ago. I’m going to advise
her to go considerably further than she’d planned, and begin moving the
Atlantic Republic in the same directions that you’ve gone here.”
When I was a kid, my grandmother used to talk about deep
silence by saying it was quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. That’s
what came to mind just then; I’d have had to drop it onto Meeker’s desk—the
floor was carpeted—but if I’d done it, nobody in the room could have missed
hearing it. Everyone but Melanie was staring at me; she was smiling.
“Well,” Meeker said, recovering before any of the others.
“If I may say so, Mr. Carr, that’s quite a compliment.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m not sure whether it’s a compliment
to the Lakeland Republic, though, or a criticism of everyone else. It shouldn’t
have been so hard to figure out that if you’ve gone down a blind alley, the
only way you can go forward starts by backing up.”
Fred Vanich glanced at his boss, and then at me. “It’s a
little more complex than that, Mr. Carr,” he said. “Progress, development,
going forward. Those are powerful metaphors, and it’s not always easy to think
clearly when they’re being waved around by those who have blind faith in
them—especially if rich people stand to get much richer by convincing others
that here and now, going forward means buying whatever technology they happen
to be selling.”
I gestured, conceding the point. “Have you decided how
you’ll propose going about the transition?” Jaya Patel asked.
“No,” I admitted. “I’ve only had a couple of days to think
about it, and quite a few other things to do in that time. When we get the
first couple of rounds of legislation passed, cope with the end of satellite
services, and figure out how we’re going to deal with the blowback from the war
down south—ask me then and I can probably tell you.”
“If there’s anything our government can do for yours in the
process,” Meeker said, “I trust you’ll let us know.” With a sudden amused
smile: “For reasons that are not entirely altruistic, of course.”
“I know Janice Mikkelson would love to sell us some
streetcars,” I observed.
That got a general laugh. “Yes,” Meeker said then, “but
there’s also the point you made when we first talked, about not wanting a war
zone or a failed state on your country’s border. If I may be frank, if the
Atlantic Republic had kept going the way the Dem-Reps were leading it, it’s an
open question whether you could have avoided serious trouble for long. The
changes Montrose has announced will help, but it’s going to take quite a bit
more to achieve the kind of economic and political stability we’ve managed
here. If we can help you make that happen, that’s an investment we’ll
consider.” He smiled again. “‘You’ in this case meaning the Atlantic Republic
and Ellen Montrose primarily. I don’t claim to know what role you personally
will be playing in all this.”
“That’s another issue,” I said. “My position in the new
administration was one of the things hinging on my deal with Ellen. Of course
there’s the confirmation vote on our side and the usual formalities on yours,
but part of our deal was that if I ended up agreeing with Ellen, I was
committing to four years as our ambassador to the Lakeland Republic.” I drew in
a breath. “So I expect to be back here early in the new year, if everything
goes according to plan.”
Meeker considered that and nodded. “That’s welcome news, Mr.
Carr.”
