Distraction - Bruce Sterling [93]
“ ‘Upset’?” Bambakias said, lifting his chin as the dresser tucked in his ascot. “I wouldn’t say ‘upset.’ I would say ‘realistic.’ ”
“Well … realism is a matter of opinion.”
“I’ve triggered a state and federal crisis. Four hundred and twelve million dollars’ worth of military hardware has been looted by anarchist bandits and has vanished into the swamps. It’s the worst event of its kind since Fort Sumter in 1861; what’s there to be upset about?”
“But, Al, that was never your intention. You can’t be blamed for those developments.”
“But I was there,” Bambakias insisted. “I was with those people. Yeah … I talked to all of them, I gave them my word of honor.… I have the tapes to prove it! Let’s run through all the evidence just one more time. We should see this together. Where’s my sysadmin? Where’s Edgar?”
“Edgar’s in Washington,” the dresser told him quietly.
The Senator’s hollow face tightened drastically. “Do I have to do everything myself?”
“I followed the siege situation,” Oscar said. “I’m very up to speed on developments.”
“But I was there!” Bambakias insisted. “I could have helped. I could have built barricades. I could have brought in generators.… But when that gas hit them, they lost their minds. That’s when it all really hit me. This wasn’t a game at all. It was no game. We weren’t players. We’d all gone mad.”
There was an evil silence.
“He spent a lot of time on the net with those Air Force people,” the dresser told them meekly. “He really was almost there with them. Practically.” Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ll find his hat,” she said, and left with her head hung low.
A lunch trolley arrived, set for two. The chowder was served.
Oscar moved his featherweight responsive chair and flicked a linen napkin ostentatiously. “This is not a defeat, Al. It’s just a skirmish. There’s still plenty of space on the old go board. A Senate term lasts six years.”
“A lot of good that does them. They’re in camps now! Can you believe that our government is that cynical? They’ve left our soldiers in the hands of the man who gassed them!” Bambakias waved a hand at the flickering screen behind him. “I’ve been watching him spin this. Huey. As if he’d rescued them. The son of a bitch is their public savior!”
“Well, it was a very ugly incident, but at least there were no fatalities. We can put that behind us now. Tomorrow’s another day.” Oscar lifted his gleaming soup spoon and creamed off a layer of chowder. He sipped it pretentiously. It was, as always, superb.
“Hold on,” he told Greta, who had made no move to eat. “This isn’t right.” He sat up. “What’s with your chef, Alcott? Canned chowder?”
Bambakias scowled. “What?”
“This is not your special chowder.”
“Of course it is. Has to be.”
“Try it,” Oscar insisted.
Greta nodded permission, unneeded since the Senator had lunged from his bed and grabbed at her spoon. He sampled the bowl.
“Kind of a coppery undertaste,” Oscar alleged, squinting.
Bambakias had two more spoonfuls. “Nonsense,” he growled. “It’s delicious.”
The two of them ate rapidly, in rabid silence. “I’ll find another chair,” Greta murmured. She rose and left the room.
Bambakias settled into Greta’s vacated chair and crunched half a handful of oyster crackers. His dresser arrived again, and set the Senator’s hat and cape nearby. Bambakias ignored her, bending over his bowl with a painful effort. His hands were badly palsied; he could barely grip his spoon.
“I could sure do with a milk shake right now,” Oscar mused. “You know, like we used to have on the campaign.”
“Good idea,” Bambakias said absently. He lifted his chin, gestured with two fingertips, and spoke into apparently empty air. “Vince, two campaign power milk shakes.”
“Did Sosik show you the latest polls, Al? You’ve done a lot better by this episode than you seem to think.”
“No, that’s where you are both totally wrong. I’ve ruined everything. I provoked a major crisis before I was even sworn into office. And now that