Distraction - Bruce Sterling [223]
“He always lacked a sense of decency, Mr. President. Everyone knows Huey went too far, even in Louisiana. They’ll wait until he’s dead before they name some bridges after him.”
“What do you think of Washington now, Oscar? It’s a different city now, don’t you agree?”
“I have to admit, Mr. President: it bothers me to see foreign troops stationed in the capital of the United States.”
“I agree with you there. But that solved the problem. People burrowing into the streets, barricading whole neighborhoods … no major government can survive in a capital like that. I can’t order American troops to pursue these people with the rigor it requires to break decentered network gangs. But the Dutch will clean the streets if it takes ten years. They’ll tough it out.”
“It is a different city now, sir. Much tidier.”
“You could live here, couldn’t you? If the salary were right? If the White House krewe looked after you.”
“Yes, sir; I like to think that I could live anywhere that duty called.”
“Well, it isn’t Louisiana, at least.”
“Actually, Mr. President, I’m very fond of Louisiana. I still keep up with developments there. It’s a bellwether state in many, many ways. I had some very fulfilling moments in Louisiana. I’ve come to think of it as my second home.”
“Really.”
“You see, the Dutch got so hard and desperate when the seas came up. I think Louisiana is on to something. I’m starting to think there’s a lot to be said for simply lying down in the ooze.”
The President stared. “Not that you yourself plan to do a lot of oozing.”
“Only on occasion, sir.”
“In an earlier discussion, Oscar, I told you that if you followed orders at the Collaboratory I’d find a post for you in the White House. There have been some interesting developments in your career since then, but none that give me any reason to doubt your ability. This is not an Administration for bigotry—or for scandal—and now that we have some grasp of constitutional coherency again, I’m going to cut the spook-and-cowboy business back to a dull roar. I’m actually governing this country now—even if I sometimes have to employ Dutch troops—and when I leave the Oval Office, I intend to leave a country that is sane, responsive, decent, and well behaved. And I think I have a role for you in that effort. Would you care to hear about it?”
“By all means, sir.”
“As you’re well aware, we still have sixteen goddamn political parties in this country! And I don’t intend to face reelection with a pipsqueak party like the Soc-Pats behind me. We need a massive shake-out and total political reconsolidation. We need to shatter all these calcified partisan lines and establish a workable, practical, sensible, bipolar system. It’s going to be Normalcy versus everything else.”
“I see, sir. Much like the old days. So are you left-wing, or right-wing?”
“I’m down-wing, Oscar. I have my feet on the ground, and I know where I stand. Everyone else can be up-wing. They can all be up in the air, scattering crazy, high-tech, birdbrained ideas, and the ones that fall to ground without shattering, those will belong to me.”
“Mr. President, I congratulate you on that formulation. You have a window of opportunity here where you can try anything that you please, and that formulation sounds doable.”
“You think so? Good. This is your role. You will be a White House congressional liaison to interface with the current party structure. You’ll shake the radicals and crazies out, and agglomerate them into the up-wing.”
“I’m not down-wing, sir?”
“Oscar, there is no down-wing without the up-wing. It doesn’t work unless I mold my own opposition. The up-wing is crucially important to the game plan. The up-wing has to be brilliant. It has to be genuinely glamorous. It has to be visionary, and it has to almost make sense. And it has to never, ever quite work out in real life.”
“I see.”
“I’m particularly concerned about that prole/scientist coalition. Those people have the bit between their teeth. They are