Rita said, “While my baby is born without him and raised in the same vacuum!”
“You would be compensated for that.”
“With what – a substitute husband?”
One of the committee members – the man who had smacked his forehead – leaned forward and his lips moved, but Rita and Ganesh heard nothing. Clearly, however, the committee did, for the chair looked squarely at the couple and said, “We need to discuss an issue in privacy. Do not leave your skene” The skene went blank, remained so for what seemed hours but was in fact fifteen minutes, long enough for Ganesh to get them a bowl of snacks and two energy drinks (real energy, not caffeine as one of the Pensays had said the Founders drank). They consoled each other; Rita, who liked a certain amount of uproar, kissed him and said hew as brilliant. He said, “Worse is coming.”
“How do you know?”
“They didn’t go dark to have a piss.”
Abruptly, the skene came on; the same seven were there. Before Rita or Ganesh could react, the chair said, “One of our members will address you directly. He may say things that are classified. Your skene will go on encryption mode. Sharing what transpires with any other person will subject you to the punishment detailed in the First Protocol.” Ganesh and Rita said together, “Thereare no punishments in the First Protocol!” but their skene had already gone dark, to come on again with nothing but the face of the man who had smacked his forehead.
He smiled at them. He said, “Let’s straighten this out right off the reel.” (Ancient expression, maybe referring to some aspect of weaving.) He went on, “I’m the head of security for the Bureau of assignments. Surprise, huh? You didn’t know we have a little intelligence function. No, no, please don’t interrupt; your turn will come. Are we straight-arrow on that?” (Arrows had not been used in more than a thousand years, straight or otherwise. The expression had appeared in several of the Pensays; this man used it as if he had read it off a card.) He said, “Ganesh, the people love you. You’re the logical choice to lead the reenactment, which, by the way, is an inspired idea. My problem is that my sources tell me that – this is strictly classified and not repeatable – four other people have been inspired to offer themselves to the people as choices for the role of leader, director, whatever, of the reenactment. They are not as selfless as you: one man has surrounded himself with “guards,” some sort of to date unarmed men; another, a woman in the Mars colony, is staging “gatherings” in private houses to get folks to write letters urging her appointment; the other two, on the moon, are doing something similar, one of them with flags that suggest affinity wity the old Nazi flag. This is dangerous stuff, people. This is a step – all four have taken a step – to personal glorification. Ego. Self-promotion. Things we don’t allow. Do we?”
Ganesh, who had been m interrupted, who had been moving on the couch as if it was too hot to sit on, talked down the other man by raising his own volume until the other stopped. Ganesh said, “Hold it, hold it, no , sunfuck, SHUT UP! Go back a little. What’s all this about ‘intelligence’? I never heard a peep about any ‘intelligence’ function in the Bureau or anything else.”
The face on the skene had looked startled, then annoyed, at last bland. He said, “That’s classified.”
“By whom?”
“By the Bureau.”
“Under what authority?”
“We have that authority.”
“Who says?”
“Well, we do, obviously.”
“On your own authority.”
“It’s not as simple as that. It says in our charter that have the authorty to direct individuals into roles that will best serve both them and the polity. We have to have knowledge of the person to perform that function. Sometimes that knowledge doesn’t come from public sources. It’s as simple as that.”
“Without the people’s knowing?”
“In some cases.”
“How many?”
The man smiled, chuckled. “I couldn’t possibly have that figure at my disposal.”
Rita said, “Why not?”
“It’s a complex subject.”
Ganesh said ,”You used the word ‘sources.’ The implication is that these are secret sources. Are these people?”
“This isn’t relevant to—
“It’s the heart of what you’re saying! Do you or do you not use other people as sources for private information?”
“I won’t answer that.”
“Meaning yes, you do.” He sat back. He looked at Rita. She looked at the man on the skene and said, “You’re chosen for the Bureau for life.”
“I was so honored, yes.”
“All seven of you were chosen for life. By your predescessors, am I right?”
“Yes, that’s how it works. The idea was that—”
“Fuck the idea, you’re talking about a monstrosity” She looked at Ganesh. “This Bureau is a monster! We’re so used to it – everybody relies on it, everybody every five years depends on it – and it’s a monster! Holy sunfuck, Ganesh!”
The man on the screen chuckled. “We not a monster, Rita.”
Ganesh said, “Yes, you are. You’re tunneling right to the heart of the First Protocol – and while I’m at it, tell you chair that there are no punishments in the that document. She’s so used to lying she thinks she can just make stuff up!”
“You may not talk to me like that.”
“Oh, really? I just did.”
“I warn you—
“And I warn you! You’re in an illegal organization that somehow you’ve twisted out of what was intended as an almost mechanical service to the citizens. You have corrupted it into a monstrosity that believes it can threaten citizens. You lie to the citizens. You conceal what you do from the citizens. You have lost both the specifics and the spirit of the First Protocol. I will refuse to have anything more to do with you; I believe my wife will do the same.” He looked at her; she nodded. “Don’t give me any more bullshits!” (A very old term, bulls never present on the moon or the Outlands). “I don’t trust you, but I’ll ask you one more question. How many spies do you have?”
“We have no spies; don’t be ridiculous.”
“You may call them something else – agents, tattle-tales, informers – how many?”
The man’s face was no longer bland; his jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed. “None.”
“But you said ‘sources.’ How many sources?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Let me try a number on you. Because I’ve done a five-year stint in a bureaucracy and know how they work – how does a thousand sound?”
The man laughed,the sound false, tinny. He was very angry, as his locked face showed while he made laughing sounds. When he was done with that he said, “We’ll appoint you head of all operations for the reenactment and appoint your wife director of construction and site planning, with all the benefits of a birth and child-care term. That’s the deal. Yes or no?”
Rita shouted, “I don’t want to have a baby and run a construction operation at the same time!”
“That’s the offer.”
“You have an agenda.” That was Ganesh.
“Our only agenda is to do the best we can for the people. For the shit’s sake, Ganesh, I told you about these four would-be demagogues so you can see the danger we’re trying to prevent!”
“You’re the danger. What’s your agenda?”
“There is no agenda!”
“There is, you’re lying and the answer is No!” He took a breath and bewllowed, “Bafungula!” Ganesh hit the Off button so hard that the well-anchored skene tilted. Rita grabbed him, planted a kiss on him through a huge grin, said, “I’m so proud of you.” He was shaking with rage, staring at her but not seeing her. “I’m not. How can I never have scoped this out? You were right – they’re monsters!” He started to tell the wall to get him Nonno, stopped before he said the name; he put his fingers to his lips, then to Rita’s. He pulled her close and whispered into her ear. “We have to leave here subito. Nonno’s got a travelbug; it will take three. We have to go instanter.” His voice as still shaky.
“Where?”
“Moonbase. I’m calling an emergency Colloquium.”
She pushed him back so she could look into his eyes. She saw what she needed there despite his rage, then pulled him close and hugged him, let go and strode off toward their rooms. He shouted after her, “Pack me two dashikis and some underwear!”
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