Distraction - Bruce Sterling [15]
“That’s not news, boss.”
“You and I, we just ran our second political campaign, and we got our man elected Senator. That’s a big accomplishment. A federal Senate seat is the political big time, by anybody’s standard.”
“Yes it is. And?”
“And for all our pains, we’re back in the political wilderness again.” Oscar knocked a reeking branch from his jacket shoulder. “You think Mrs. Bambakias really wants some goddamn rare animal? I get a voice call at six in the morning, from the new chief of staff. He tells me the Senator’s wife is very interested in my current assignment, and she would like to have her own exotic pet animal, please. But she doesn’t call me—and Bambakias doesn’t call me—Leon Sosik calls me.”
“Right.”
“The guy is sandbagging me.”
Pelicanos nodded sagely. “Look, Sosik knows full well that you want his job.”
“Yeah. He knows that. So he’s checking on me, to make sure I’m really out here doing my time in Backwater, Texas. And then he has the nerve to give me this little errand, to boot. It’s a no-lose proposition for Sosik. If I refuse him a favor, I’m being a jerk. If I blow it or get in trouble, then he runs me down for that. And if I succeed, then he takes my credit.”
“Sosik knows infighting. He’s spent years on the Hill. Sosik’s a professional.”
“Yes, he is. And in his book, we’re just beginners. But we’re going to win this one anyway. You know how? It’s going to be just like the campaign was. First, we’re going to lowball expectations, because nobody will really believe that we have a serious chance here. But then we’re going to succeed on such a level—we’re going to exceed expectations to such a huge extent—we’re gonna bring so much firepower onto this campaign that we just blow the opposition away.”
Pelicanos smiled. “That’s you all over, Oscar.”
Oscar lifted one finger. “Here’s the plan. We find the major players here, and we find out what they want, and we cut deals. We get our people excited, and we get their people confused. And in the end, we just out-organize anyone who tries to stop us. We just outwork them, and we swarm on them from angles they would never expect, and we never, ever stop, and we just beat them into the ground!”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“Yes, it is, but I’ve brought enough people for a big job. They’ve proved they can work together politically. They’re creative, they’re clever, and every last one of them owes me a lot of favors. So you think I can get away with this?”
“You’re asking me?” Pelicanos said, spreading his hands. “Hell, Oscar, I’m always game. You know that.” And he permitted himself a merry little laugh.
The Collaboratory’s aging dorms offered sadly grim hospitality. Dorm space was in high demand, because the federal lab hosted endless numbers of scholastic gypsies, contractors on the make, and various exotic species of para-scientific bureaucrats. The dorms were flimsy two-story structures, with common baths and common kitchens. The rooms had basic-brown federal pasteboard furniture, some scrappy little sheets and towels. The dorm’s card-swipe doorlocks ran off Collaboratory ID cards. Presumably, these smart cards and smart doorlocks compiled automatic dossiers of everyone’s daily ins and outs, for the benefit of the local security creeps.
There was no weather under the great lozenge-shaped dome. The entire gigantic structure was basically a monster intensive-care ward, all mobile shutters and glaring lights and vast air-sucking zeolite filters, with a constant thrum of deeply buried generators. The Collaboratory’s biotech labs were constructed like forts. The personal residences, by stark contrast, lacked serious walls, roofs, or insulation. The flimsy dorms were small, tightly packed, and noisy.
So, for the sake of peace and quiet, Donna Nunez was doing her mending and darning on the wooden benches outside the Occupational Safety building. Donna had brought her sewing basket and a selection of the krewe’s clothing. Oscar had brought along his laptop. He disliked