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By Root 1823 0

fund. But the President was not only supposed to be a member of a party-but also the leader of that party. The parties were even more thoroughly decapitated than the three branches of government were. Each of them still had a chairman, neither of whom knew what to do at the moment. For a few days, it had been assumed that Ryan was a member of the same party as Roger Durling, and the truth had only been discovered by the press a few days before, to the collective oh, shit! of the Washington establishment. For the ideological mavens of the federal city, it was rather like asking what 2 + 2 equaled, and finding out that the answer was, Chartreuse. His position paper was predictably chaotic, the product of four or so professional political analysts, and you could tell who had written the different paragraphs, which resolved into a multi-path tug of war. Even his intelligence staff did better than this, Jack told himself, tossing the paper into the out basket and wishing, again, for a cigarette. That was stress talking, too, he knew.

But he still had to go out to the hustings, a word whose meaning he'd never learned, and campaign for people, or at least give speeches. Or something. The position paper's guidance hadn't exactly been clear on that. Having already shot himself in the foot on the issue of abortion-higher up and more to the centerline, Arnie van Damm had remarked acidly the previous day, to reinforce his earlier lesson-now Ryan would have to make his political stance clear on a multitude of issues: affirmative action at one end of the alphabet, and welfare at the other, with taxes, the environment, and God only knew what else in between. Once he'd decided where he stood on such things, Callie Weston would write a series of speeches for him to deliver from Seattle to Miami and God only knew where else in between. Hawaii and Alaska were left out because they were small states in terms of political importance, and poles apart ideologically, anyway. They would only confuse matters, or so the position paper told him.

Why can't I just stay here and work, Arnie? Ryan asked his arriving chief of staff.

Because out there is work, Mr. President. Van Damm took his seat to commence the latest class in Presidency 101. Because, as you put it, 'It's a leadership function'-did I get that right? Arnie asked with a sardonic growl. And leading means getting out with the troops, or, in this case, the citizens. Are we clear on that, Mr. President?

Are you enjoying this? Jack closed his eyes and rubbed them under the glasses. He hated the goddamned glasses, too.

About as much as you are. Which was an altogether fair comment.

Sorry.

Most people who come here genuinely like escaping from this museum and meeting real people. Of course, it makes people like Andrea nervous. They'd probably agree with keeping you here all the time. But it already feels like a prison, doesn't it? Arnie asked.

Only when I'm awake.

So get out. Meet people. Tell them what you think, tell them what you want. Hell, they might even listen. They might even tell you what they think, and maybe you will learn something from it. In any case, you can't be President and not do it.

Jack lifted the position paper he'd just finished. Did you read this thing?

Arnie nodded. Yep.

It's confusing garbage, Ryan said, quite surprised.

It's a political document. Since when is politics consistent or sensible? He paused. The people I've worked with for the last twenty years got this sort of thing with their mother's milk-well, they were probably all bottle babies.

What?

Ask Cathy. It's one of those behavioral theories, that New Age stuff that's supposed to explain everything about everything to everybody everywhere. Politicians are all bottle babies. Mommy never nursed them, and they never bonded properly, felt rejected and all that, and so as compensation they go out and make speeches and tell people in different places the different things they want to hear so that they can get the love and devotion from strangers that their mothers denied them-not to mention the ones