Distraction - Bruce Sterling [165]
“I agree with you that it’s interesting. But that has nothing to do with our agenda. This situation was never in the plans. We were supposed to be helping Bambakias with the Senate Science Committee. The campaign krewe are supposed to be here on vacation. You were never supposed to become a spook who works part-time for the President, while you take over federal facilities with the help of gangsters.”
“Hmm. You’re absolutely right about that, Yosh. That was not plannable. But it was doable.”
Pelicanos sat down and knotted his hands. “You know what your problem is? Every time you lose sight of your objective, you redouble your efforts.”
“I’ve never lost sight of the objective! The objective is to reform American scientific research.”
“Oscar, I’ve thought this over. I really hate this situation. For one thing, I don’t much like the President. I’m a Federal Democrat. I wasn’t joking when we were doing all that hard work for Bambakias and the Reform Bloc. I don’t want to work for this President. I don’t agree with the man’s policies. He’s a Communist, for heaven’s sake.”
“The President is not a Communist. He’s a billionaire timber baron with a background in the reservation casino business.”
“Well, the Communists are in his Left Tradition Bloc. I just don’t trust him. I don’t like his speeches. I don’t like him picking fights with the Dutch when we ought to be putting our own domestic affairs in order. He’s just not our kind of politician. He’s cruel, and sneaky, and duplicitous, and aggressive.”
Oscar smiled. “At least he doesn’t sleep on the job, like the old guy did.”
“Better King Log than King Stork, pal.”
“Yosh, I know you’re not a leftist, but you have to agree that the Left Tradition Bloc is a lot better than those total lunatics in the Left Progressives.”
“That doesn’t help! Bambakias would have trusted you implicitly—the President won’t even give you a real post. He’s never sent us anything but empty promises. He’s left you exposed, he’s hanging you out to dry. So, in the meantime, we’re relying on these Moderators. And there’s just no future in a gangster protection racket.”
“Sure there is.”
“No there isn’t. The proles are worse even than the Left Progressives. They have funny slang, and funny clothes, and laptops, and biotech, so they’re colorful, but they’re still a mafia. This good old boy, Captain Burningboy … he’s sucking up to you, but he’s not what you think he is. You think he’s a charming old coot who’s a diamond in the rough, the kind of guy you could fit inside your krewe. He’s not. He’s an ultraradical cultist, and he definitely has his own agenda.”
Oscar nodded. “I know that.”
“And then there’s Kevin. You haven’t been paying enough attention to Kevin. You have put a bandit in charge of the police here. The kid is like a pocket Mussolini now. He’s into the phones, he’s in the computers, he’s in the security videos, the place is saturated with his bugs. Now he’s got a pack of tattletale snoop informants, some weird-sister gang of little old nomad ladies on the net in a trailer park, somewhere in the blazing wreckage of Wyoming.… The kid is off the rails. It just isn’t healthy.”
“But Kevin’s from Boston, like we are,” Oscar said. “Intense surveillance yields low rates of street violence. Kevin’s getting the job done for us, and he never balks when we bend the rules. He was a really good personnel choice.”
“Oscar, you’re obsessed. Forget the nifty-keen social concepts and all the big-picture blather. Get down to brass tacks, get down to reality. Kevin works here because you’re paying his salary. You’re paying the salaries of all your krewe, and your krewe are the people who are really running this place. Nobody else has any salaries—all they do is eat prole food and work in their labs. I’m your accountant, and I’m telling you: you can’t afford this much longer. You can’t pay people enough to create a revolution.”
“There’s no way to pay people enough to do that.”
“You’re not being fair to your krewe. Your krewe are Massachusetts campaign workers,