Distraction - Bruce Sterling [193]
He wondered if Huey would swallow this boldly prepared lie. He’d done his best to make it sound plausible. He’d done it in order to shield Fontenot, his real source. Maybe the deception would work. In any case it would surely distract and irritate Huey and his state-supported neuro quacks.
“You can’t believe that racist poppycock they’re handing out about my Haitians. Those folks aren’t monsters! They’re just very devout people with some strange drug practices. Blowfish zombie poisons, and all that.”
“Governor, you’re making me cry. Am I ten years old? Are you afraid I’m taping this? If you’re not going to talk to me seriously, you might as well hang up.”
“Oh no,” Huey grunted. “You and I go back a little too far for that. I can always talk to you, Soap Boy.”
“Good. I’m glad that our previous understanding still holds. Let’s try to avoid cross-purposes, this time.”
“At least I know that you can talk to the President. That son of a bitch won’t return my calls! Me—the most senior Governor in America! I know that dumb bastard, I met him at Governors’ conferences. Hell, I did him a whole lot of favors. I taught him everything he knows about proles and how you deal with ’em. ‘Moderators’—what the hell is all that about? He’s killing my people! He’s kidnapping my people. You tell the President that he’s crossed the wrong man. I’m not puttin’ up with the strong-arm from the Featherweight. He got eighteen percent of the popular vote! You tell him that! You tell him Huey don’t forget these things.”
“Governor, I’ll be glad to convey your sentiments to the President, but may I make a reasonable suggestion first? Shut up. You are finished. The President has you cornered. This thing you did with the Haitians was totally unconscionable! You’ve shot your own feet off in public.”
“So I should have left them on their drowning island to be tortured to death.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done. Leave them alone. You don’t own people just because you helped them survive. You want to blow people’s minds by giving weird dope to uninformed experimental subjects? Go back to the 1960s and join the CIA! You’re not God, Huey! You’re just a damn Governor! You went way, way too far! And you can’t wiggle out of this one, because your fingerprints are all over it—your brain prints are all over it!”
Huey laughed. “You just watch me and see.”
“They’re gonna demand that you go in for a PET-scan next, Huey. Then, they’re going to find the dual synchronized waves of chemical gradients, and the shifting electrical patterns through the corpus callosum, and all that other boring neural crap that you and I are the only politicians in the world who have learned to pronounce properly! They’re gonna out you as a bolt-in-the-neck monster. People are gonna Frankenstein you! You’re gonna be barbecued by a torch-wielding mob. You’re not just gonna be politically embarrassed by this. You’re gonna get killed.”
“I know all that,” Huey said quietly. “Let ’em do their worst.”
Oscar sighed. “Etienne—can I call you that? I feel that we know and understand one another so much better these days.… Etienne, please don’t make people kill you. That can happen very easily, and it’s just not worth it. Listen to me. I sympathize with you. I take a deep, lasting, personal and professional interest in politicians who happen to be monsters. Believe me, it doesn’t get any better after this part. After this part, it just gets worse and worse.”
“You know that I’m going to out you big-time for this, don’t you? ‘Colombian Clone Freak in Seaside Love Nest with Nobel Scientist.’ ”
“Etienne, I’m not just a Colombian clone freak. I am also a professional campaign adviser. Let me give you some very sincere campaign advice, right now. Give up. Go away. Just get yourself some cash out of the slush fund, and get your lovely wife if she really wants to come along, and go into exile. Go into self-imposed exile. You know? Leave the country. It happens. It’s traditional. It’s a legitimate political maneuver.”
“I’m not gonna run away. Huey don’t do