part0009

Adriana stood at the windows overlooking the vista of Earth from orbit. She caught a glimpse of the Amazon emptying like a coffee-colored stain into the slate blue of the Atlantic Ocean. Not a red rock in sight and that was just fine with her.

She had directed the captain of her space yacht, Staff of Isis , to take his time in the transit from Mars to Earth, keeping the gravity at a half-gee or so most of the time. While glad to be back in the culture of Earth, she did not relish the thought of readjusting to full gravity and the continual ache in her bones for the next month until she acclimated.

But comfort wasn’t the reason for her leisurely voyage home. She needed time to think, to reflect on how best to turn her new position as ambassador to her advantage. If the last year with the council had taught her anything, it was the changing nature of power. In this post-Earth age, her traditional source of advantage—money—was less useful. Everyone on the council was fabulously wealthy by traditional measures, so they essentially canceled each other out.

The new currency was assets and she needed to make better use of hers.

Anthony and Tony Taulke had their expanding space fleet and a beachhead on Mars. A growing army of mercenaries was also now a part of the Taulke portfolio—another sign of Anthony Taulke’s future designs on power. The Qinlaos had their manufacturing prowess, which would only expand with the council’s off-planet business. Viktor had his marvelous brain and endless inventions to keep his place at the table and Elise Kisaan had the double benefit of her family’s agricultural strength and her emotional connection to the Neos. Elise’s path was not without risk, of course. The identity of the Kisaan child was a closely guarded secret, and new rumors swept daily through YourVoice with the speed of light. If the child was a hoax, there would be hell to pay.

In the old days, Anthony and the rest of the council needed Adriana for her money, but those times were long past. In this post-wealth world, what were her real assets? What did she possess that no other family could bring to the council?

Information, she decided. Connections. That would be her new currency. She would adapt her vast business network to her new position as information broker. She would be the spider at the center of the web, sharply tuned to any tremors in the individual strands of silken data.

Adriana smiled at the analogy. She liked the image of herself at the center of the universe. She would need all of her considerable skills if she wished to displace Anthony Taulke one day. In her opinion, he was a leader gradually losing touch with his mission in life. Tony saw it too, of that she was sure. Part of her reason for voting against Ming Qinlao at the last council meeting had been to test Tony—and he had more than met her expectations. There was an alliance to be cultivated there.

She put aside any thoughts of a coup for now. It was far too early to consider such actions. First, she needed to build her base of spies.

All during the voyage home, Adriana had connected with her people on Earth—and the result was less than encouraging. The catastrophic weather conditions that had occurred immediately after the Lazarus launch had faded, but the damage was done. Beijing was still a sand dune, the highlands of Scotland still blighted by the deep freeze, and coastal cities all over the globe swept away by the ravages of rising sea levels.

The governments of the United Nations were anything but united. On most days, the general assembly more resembled a barroom brawl than a gathering of diplomats. No wonder the demands of the council were not being met promptly.

In the civilian population, the New Earth Order was seeing a resurgence despite the lack of a new leader. The mark of Cassandra had gone from the brand of a traitor to a badge of honor in just a few months. In South America, a mysterious woman known as the Corazon had gathered hundreds of thousands of followers and marched on the US border. Behind that backdrop, rumors spread of a third way, a military option that transcended both politics and religion.

It was chaos, pure and simple. Anarchy on a global scale.

And the answer to chaos was order, discipline. What the planet needed was a unifying cause to rally behind, something all sides could agree on as a viable path forward. Even more important, it had to appear to be a plan developed by Earth governments for the benefit of Earth’s citizens.

For days in her cabin on the Isis , Adriana pondered the question, probing her network for ideas. One idea came up again and again.

“Ms. Rabh,” the captain’s voice on the intercom interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve got a shuttle hailing us, requesting permission to dock.”

“Permission granted, Captain. I’ll receive the president in my personal dining room.”

United States President Howard Teller III strode into her dining room moments later, hand extended, disarmingly warm smile at the ready. She kept her expression stern as she shook his hand and invited him to sit.

Teller had decided to age gracefully. He had allowed his close-cropped curls to go full gray and deep lines carved his mahogany facial features. His smile was still full and bright, though, and his handshake firm and reassuring.

“Ms. Rabh,” he said with a slight bow, “may I be the first to address you as ambassador?”

“You may, Mr. President,” she replied, liking the sound of the new title in her own ears.

They sat across from each other at a table that would seat eight, an expanse of snowy white linen between them. Her manservant populated their place settings with bowls of creamy red soup.

Teller took a spoonful and his eyebrows arched with surprise.

“Fresh tomatoes,” Adriana said, enjoying his reaction. “Anthony grows them on Mars now by the truckload.” An exaggeration, but first impressions were important.

They worked through a pasta course as the orbit of the Isis crossed into darkness. The room lights adjusted automatically. Teller nodded at the window. “You can see it clearly from this vantage point. The bands, I mean.”

It was true. Whole bands of latitude, each one probably hundreds of miles across, were dimmer than narrow strips between them.

“The weather patterns do it,” Teller said, the lines on his face deepening even more. “Storms drive people out of what were once populated regions into these narrow habitable bands. Whole cities are being abandoned in places, displacing thousands of people at a time. The refugee problem is enormous.”

“The UN? Can they help?” Adriana asked.

“The weather is not a political problem, Ambassador. The wind knows no borders.”

Adriana rested her fork on her plate and indicated for the servant to take it away.

“Have you seen Elise Kisaan?” Teller asked her.

She thought about the pregnant woman with the sunken eyes and the bemused expression that passed for a smile. “I have.”

“Is it true? The Neos claim she carries the second coming of Cassandra.” Teller looked her at her directly. “That could be a problem. For all of us.”

“So the Neos are organizing again?”

Teller’s face twisted. “A third of the world’s population belongs to the New Earth Order. They don’t have to organize to be a force we need to reckon with.” He caught her eye again. “A force that you need to reckon with, Ambassador.”

Adriana felt a slight chill. Her network had been more sanguine about the effect of the Neos on her position than Teller’s dire warnings. More digging was required.

“But you have brought me a proposal, Mr. President?” she said.

Teller nodded. “I have, Madam Ambassador. I believe this current political crisis is also a political opportunity. The world governments are not being responsive to their people and are not unified in solving the problem. In many ways, the United Nations has outlived its usefulness as a governing body.”

Adriana signaled for the wine to be poured. Before responding, she took a sip, savoring the crisp taste of chilled fruit. “So you’re attempting to eliminate my position before I even start, Howard? How ballsy of you.”

“Not exactly. I’m proposing we look at our history. After the devastation of World War Two, the United States launched a massive rebuilding program to reinvigorate Europe called the Marshall Plan. That move cemented America’s place as the leader of the free world for nearly a century. With the devastation caused by climate change, I see a parallel situation.”

“You mean the Lazarus Protocol that you personally unleashed on the world, Mr. President?”

Teller flushed but kept his cool. “I mean the weather changes wrought by Cassandra and her band of fanatics.”

Adriana listened as he described his vision of the Teller Plan, a massive worldwide rebuilding effort targeted at the most devastated regions of the globe. Adriana found herself agreeing with his conclusions. No wonder this man had managed to convince his own countrymen to reelect him after the Lazarus debacle.

“So what do you need from me?” she asked after he had finished.

“From the council,” he said. “Funding, of course, and political support. This will not be a slam dunk in the general assembly or even in the security council.”

Adriana eyed him over the rim of her wineglass. There was a missing piece still. “What’s in it for you?” she asked. “Why now? Why not have the former ambassador present this to the council and seek funding?”

Teller shrugged. “This is only the first step.” He got to his feet and strode to the window. They had been talking long enough to make a complete orbit and the Isis was passing into darkness again. Teller pointed at the globe.

“Boundaries set by governments and ethnicity are dissolving. I’m positioning myself for the next step in the political evolution of Earth—a world government.” He turned to her, his eyes shining. “I know about the expansion plans of the council, the outposts on Titan, the exploratory missions to the Kuiper Belt and Callisto. Earth may be our birthplace, but this planet will soon be only one star in the constellation of the council. A world government will need a world governor.”

“You’re volunteering for the job?” Adriana chuckled.

Teller gave a self-deprecating shrug. “If and when it becomes available.”

Adriana drained her wine. Maybe she’d underestimated Teller. This was an ambition that needed some controls put on it.

“And who did you envision would run this organization you are proposing?” she asked.

Teller looked surprised. “Why me, of course. With my staff.”

Adriana pursed her lips. “I’m not sure you have the background to pull that off. It will look like a political stunt, not a serious effort. After all, your historical precedent was called the Marshall Plan, not the Truman Plan after the president that signed it into existence. No, I think the council will insist on someone with an operational background to lead the effort. It is our money, after all.”

Teller nodded gamely. “I’m sure I can come up with a list of acceptable candidates—”

“What about the general who did that heroic raid on the Neo space station? What’s his name?”

“Graves,” Teller muttered in a voice reminiscent of crushed glass.

His reaction told Adriana all she needed to know.

“That’s the one,” she said. “I want him.”