The applause of nearly a million people shook the New Omaha Civic Arena as they cheered the luminous effigy that straddled the central stage. Four projections of the figure’s bust hovered at the compass points high overhead, and shimmering balloons dropped from the ceiling drizzled through the faces. Brassy music blared as machines spat out multicolored snow that melted as it landed on the roaring crowd. Kogi Anderson cheered with them from the wings, caught in a fervor rising from a deep sense of satisfaction in a risky career move and eight years of hard work finally paying off.
Onstage, Governor Sam Durjaya stood shining in the light of his flickering projection, arms raised in a victorious pose. His mammoth double mimicked him then he clicked a remote control that froze it in position. Anderson admired how the projectors smoothed over the imperfections of the governor’s seventy-three years, darkening the gray waves of his hair and lending him a look of wizened vigor. When the last of the cameras surrounding him switched off, Durjaya rubbed his jaw with spidery fingers. His bright eyes fought signs of fatigue. Anderson recognized their excited light from the governor’s past appearances and from studying decades-old videos of Durjaya’s early stump speeches, when his audiences had numbered in the hundreds at best. Tonight, tens of millions of people watched from home, and hundreds of millions more would catch pieces of the governor’s speech in news streams around the world. This time belonged to Durjaya. Anderson took pride in serving as chief of staff for such a consummate survivor, one of the few old-school politicos to chart a successful course through the Reconstitution, bridging the reviled past and the modern era it had birthed. When so many of his contemporaries had jumped ship into the private sector, retired, or died, Sam Durjaya never gave up hope or lost his touch for gaining the people’s trust.
Anderson met the governor as he withdrew behind the towering, velvet stage curtains. Durjaya wasted no time tugging open the zipper of his cumbersome Reston-McGarvey jumpsuit. Long ago fodder for memes and movie gags, its badges and logos declaring his campaign contributors, official endorsements, and political allegiances made the governor look like an old-fashioned NASCAR driver, except it sparkled like a mirrorball from the metallic threads woven into the patches and neon spangles tagged with anti-counterfeiting RFID chips. Anderson knew Durjaya missed the dark suits, silk ties, and polished shoes that comprised the old-school politicos’ uniform. He sympathized. Forty years the governor’s junior, Anderson had come to appreciate the old style, but these days the Reston-McGarvey Act dictated how public officials dressed and how they lived, and that meant full transparency, 24/7.
A chipset and fiber-optic camera implanted beneath Durjaya’s left ear recorded his entire life, sending data via a secure ether-cloud link to a remote system, where it became evidence-in-waiting should the slightest whiff of impropriety ever arise. Every politician accepted a so-called honesty rig upon declaring their first candidacy for everything from town clerk to senator, and every politician received a weekly online rating of their public speeches, ranked for consistency across their entire career, allowing the public to judge them at a glance. Anderson helped Durjaya navigate the modern political system, keeping him in compliance and his public ranking high.
He grabbed Durjaya’s jumpsuit before it crumpled to the stage and handed it off to a waiting assistant, then he led the governor into the recesses of the sprawling arena. Durjaya’s speech had riled the behind-the-scenes crowd as much as the audience, and a backstage throng of technicians, managers, clerks, and even opposition staffers waited to greet the man. Anderson signaled the security detail to stay alert as the governor waded among the pressing bodies. Durjaya greeted each awestruck grin with a warm nod, shook every extended hand twice, and absorbed their congratulations with humility until Anderson ushered him into his dressing rooms.
As his chief-of-staff closed the door, shutting out the crowd, Durjaya stopped in the center of the small lounge of the suite assigned him for the duration of the convention. Soundproofed walls blocked the din outside, but the floor still quivered with stamping feet.
“Feel that, Andy?” Durjaya loosened his tie and top button. “If I were a less cautious man, I’d say I just clinched the nomination.”
“They love you, governor,” Anderson said. “For-real love, not just hero worship. You spun magic out there tonight.”
The governor walked to a small bar and poured himself a scotch. Ice tinkled as he swished it around the glass. “Well, thank you, Andy. So glad you approve. Couldn’t have done it without you, son.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, governor, the time for caution is long gone.”
Anderson sat at a desk in the corner. His fingers clacked over a keyboard, and a dark, razor-thin monitor screen brightened, painting his boyish face with a cold glow. “The polls give you a twenty-three percent lead over Morlant, seventeen percent over Kendall, and you’re ahead of all the others by thirty percent or more. If the general election were held today, you’d easily beat any member of any other party by at least nine percent—oh, wait—make that twelve percent. Apparently, part of the crowd rushed the stage when the tech crew tried to clear your display for the next speaker. They’re demanding your speech be replayed in full. I wouldn’t be surprised if your opponents concede tonight.”
Durjaya’s knees popped as he settled into the plush armchair beside the comms deck. “Andy, my friend, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, count our chickens and all that, but I will admit this is an extremely positive sensation.” The governor lifted the tumbler to his face and savored the aroma of twenty-one-year-old scotch. “I came close to this almost twenty-five years ago. Then Atlanta happened, and the whole damn house of cards collapsed. Scary, scary time. Thornton’s screw-up put all our necks on the block. When Reston-McGarvey passed, I thought, ‘I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.’ But I didn’t… I didn’t. If that bad bit of business about Robinson and that Illinois sex cult hadn’t disqualified him in the next election, though, my career might’ve ended right there.”
“Michigan forgave you. Now the rest of the country is tripping over itself to support you.”
“Andy,” Durjaya said. “Pour yourself a drink, son. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Anderson moved to the bar and filled a glass with ice and scotch. He grabbed the remote lying there, activated the paper-thin television screen pasted onto the wall, and lowered the sound to a murmur. Pundits and analysts picked over the meat of Governor Durjaya’s speech, but even the shrillest of naysayers found little to criticize. It was as if no other man in history had ever felt the pulse of the nation as clearly and powerfully as Durjaya did. The governor’s natural political charm combined with Anderson’s tech-media savvy made for a great combination. Unbeatable. Anderson could’ve stayed with his old party, Order Established, for twenty years and never reached this far, obtained this much power.
“Maybe it truly was all for the best,” the governor said. “The outrage, backlash, and cynicism. The uncertainty that followed Atlanta. It sure as hell gave folks the juice to root out the corruption. Took a lot of good men and women down, too, though. Ruined a lot of lives. But that’s how we played the big game back then. Things only happened when we fed all the hungry mouths of the powerful and all the kingmakers received their offerings. Nobody could stay clean in that environment. Nobody. Not a perfect system, but it got the job done most of the time. It was good enough for my great-grandparents when they came here from Bhopal, for my grandparents, for my parents after them. Now people expect us to keep our promises to the letter, adhere to our principles dogmatically, and they toss us out on our asses when they don’t like the results. You gotta love it.”
Durjaya paused, sipped his drink, and closed his eyes. The governor rarely spoke about the old days, especially with such candor, but on an emotionally charged night like this one, it seemed he couldn’t contain it.
“To be honest, Andy,” he said, “the whole damn turn of events, Reconstitution, the new laws, the changes in public opinion, it’s all been a relief when you come right down to it. Can’t remember the last time I had to wait on the results of a focus group before stating my position. Or when I last looked the other way on a bad policy to avoid upsetting some loudmouth part of my constituency in an election year. Do you remember the Visitor Voter Act? No, before your time, wasn’t it? Damn harebrained scheme to sell democracy-tourism packages and stuff the ballots with votes from anyone with enough money to pay the going fare. We were hot to give the whole damn country away just to stay in office, hold onto power. Well, good riddance to all that. It feels good to say ‘No’ when I want to and ‘Yes’ when I mean it, and get out there and lead the folks. So, go on, Andy. Hold your finger high and tell me which way the wind blows.”
Anderson resumed surfing the net, trawling the news, assessing reports and reactions from all quarters. “I’d say this is a great moment in history, governor. People will look back at this and say, ‘That was a turning point.’”
“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” Durjaya said. “Justifies all that hoopla and scandal back when I wooed you away from Order Established. Proves my personal philosophy that it’s more important to win over one man fully than a dozen half-heartedly because that one man will go out and convince others by virtue of his conviction. In that regard, Andy, you’ve worked miracles.”
“I’ve only been doing my job.”
An electronic chime rang, and a light beside the door lit.
“I’m sorry, governor. I left instructions that you weren’t to be disturbed for at least half an hour,” Anderson said.
“Don’t sweat it. Just go see who it is.”
Anderson cracked the door open, blocking the governor’s view of the hallway outside. “Yes? What is it?”
A bronze glow filled the opening, and a low voice asked, “I want to see Governor Sam Durjaya.”
“He can’t be disturbed right now. You’ll have to make an appointment—what the hell!?” Anderson backed into the room, stumbling.
A slender, young man followed him, clutching a coal-black weapon of cast resin in one hand. With his other hand, he reached back and shut the door. He wore a plain, three-piece suit and resembled any average staffer scurrying around backstage that night.
“Please sit, Mr. Anderson. Governor, stay where you are.” Without lowering his gun, the man crossed the room in three strides and smashed the comms deck against the floor. “Let’s keep this amongst the three of us for the moment, if you don’t mind.”
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Anderson said.
“If you’ve harmed my security officers, you’ll pay. Count on it,” Durjaya said.
“Your guards are fine. They’re right outside the door, and if you cooperate, I’ll be gone before they ever know I’ve been here. I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m here to deliver a message.” The man stared at Durjaya, his weapon matching his gaze. “Governor, it’s time for you to drop out of this race.”
“Are you insane?” Anderson said.
Durjaya took a deep breath, sipped his drink, and then set the glass down on a table. “Coming from behind a gun, that sounds more like an ultimatum than a message. What’s your name, son?”
“I’m no one you know.”
“That’s not what I asked. I don’t answer to threats. You want to talk to me? Tell me your name.”
Durjaya stood, closed the top button of his shirt, and tightened his tie.
The stranger hesitated, then said, “All right, it’s Sorenson.”
“Mr. Sorenson, then,” Durjaya said. “You asked us to relax. I’d relax a whole lot more if you’d put that gun down. I’m always willing to talk. Anyone who knows me knows that. Violence never solves anything among reasonable men.”
“I’m sorry, but I believe you’ll hear me better with a gun in my hand,” Sorenson said. “That is, unless you’re ready to concede.”
“By dropping my bid for the nomination?”
“Yes. Call in your publicist to make the announcement. You can be on the air inside of fifteen minutes.”
“If I don’t?”
“You’ll soon be a very unhappy man. You, too, Mr. Anderson.” Sorenson spoke without hesitation as if his prediction had already come true.
“I’m a hair’s breadth from winning. Why the hell would I drop out now?”
“A lot of reasons, but the most important to you is that if you continue your bid for the presidency, my associates will release information to the press that we’re certain you’d prefer to see withheld. Information that will ruin not only your political career but quite possibly your ability to conduct yourself in American society,” Sorenson told him.
Durjaya laughed. “Mr. Sorenson, you haven’t got a thing on me. All the skeletons in my closet got dragged into the light twenty-five years ago during Reconstitution, and I haven’t restocked since then. You’re a couple of decades too late to blackmail me.”
“This information isn’t about something you’ve done, governor. It’s about something you’ll do during your first term as president,” Sorenson said.
“You have some kind of crystal ball showing you the future? Anderson’s right. You’re insane,” Durjaya said.
“I hoped you might put the pieces together on your own. You know how I know,” Sorenson said. “Anyway, you’ll get the nomination. You’ll win the White House by a historic, overwhelming majority. You’ll skate through reelection and serve two terms. There will be a grass-roots movement to allow you a third, a fourth, and beyond, but it will fail. You’ll retire a beloved national icon, hailed as the man who launched a golden age of peace and prosperity. Five years later, you’ll die. If those things happen, you’ll also set in motion events that result in the deaths of more than two-thirds of the world’s population fifteen years after you leave office. I can’t tell you the specifics. Even with foreknowledge, there’s no way you can alter the outcome of your presidency other than to never take office.”
“Is this a fucking joke?” Anderson said. “Did Morlant send you here? Are you from Order Established?”
Sorenson shook his head. “I’ve been sent by people who haven’t been born yet. To them, this is history.”
“You realize how this sounds,” Durjaya said.
“Of course,” Sorenson said. “To most people, at least, but not anyone familiar with the research of Ford Martin.”
“Who the hell is Ford Martin?” Anderson said.
“Martin’s laboratory is in Detroit. Governor Durjaya has been working with him for decades. Correct, governor? Ever since Reconstitution, when you assumed the role of liaison between him and the White House. They’re very interested in his discovery. Some are actually terrified of it. You’ve acted as a buffer, allowing him to keep working while you both got rich off it. None of this is secret where I come from.”
“Where is that exactly?” Anderson said.
Sorenson gestured at Durjaya and said, “Why don’t you tell him?”
“What’s he talking about, governor? Who’s Ford Martin?” Anderson said.
Durjaya waved both men quiet, buying a moment to collect his thoughts. A piece of melting ice clinked in his scotch. He took a drink.
“Well, looks like I owe you an apology, Andy. This work with Martin has been beyond top secret, which is why you’ve been kept out of the loop.” Durjaya tapped his camera implant. “It’s all recorded but then redacted by order of the last three presidents. What Mr. Sorenson is getting at is that he’s traveled here from the future.”
“You’re kidding,” Anderson said.
“No, Andy. Martin’s research is all about time travel,” Durjaya said. “It’s not the kind you’re thinking of—no flashing lights and shiny machines. No leapfrogging willy-nilly through history. Martin’s processes work at a neural level.”
“Martin’s a genius,” Sorenson said. “His work becomes vital in the future. It’s our lifeline, our one channel to the most pivotal figure in human history, our only chance to prevent a catastrophe. Governor Durjaya, please, listen to me. Make the right choice. Save nine billion lives.”
“I need another drink.” Anderson passed Sorenson to the bar, where he refilled his tumbler and took a long swallow. “Explain how this all works because I think you can both understand why I might be a tad skeptical.”
“I know it’s hard to accept, Andy,” Durjaya said. “You should’ve seen my reaction the first time Ford spun it all out for me. But I’ve seen it firsthand and experienced it to some degree. Martin’s ideas grew from a theory of his about how experience becomes memory, how our brain learns, how our cells and neural pathways form and change over time. I don’t understand the science, but the basic concept is that time travel is possible at a quantum level by backing the mind up to points in the past, at which the traveler can either be equipped with the knowledge he didn’t originally have at the time or influenced to act differently than he did the first time around. You can relive moments of your life and change them. You can be made to change them. Sounds like the ultimate head-trip, but here’s the catch: changing a person’s experience of past events changes the events themselves and all their consequences. Martin calls it the Principle of Subjectivity. It has to do with how occurrences are only fully realized when experienced. Beyond that, it’s all down to a notebook-length equation mapping the space-time/sensory interface, which unless you have an advanced physics degree makes about as much sense as Latin to a cat.”
“You’re saying Sorenson has really traveled here from the future?” Anderson said.
“Not physically, no,” Durjaya said. “Martin says that’s impossible.”
“You have no idea what we’ve built on Martin’s foundation,” Sorenson said. “Do you think the Wright Brothers envisioned the Space Shuttle, that Babbage foresaw the Internet? Technology progresses. We’ve gone much further than Martin did.”
“Ford told me once,” Durjaya said, “that moving backward in time/experience worked because the neural structures already exist or had existed. It’s not possible to go forward because those pathways don’t yet exist and might never be formed.”
“So, Sorenson is trapped in our time?” Anderson asked.
“Not at all,” Sorenson said.
“It’s only his mind that’s returned,” Durjaya said, “with knowledge from the future and instructions reprogramming him in this era. So, tell me, Mr. Sorenson, what exactly am I going to do to turn the people against me?”
“I won’t say because a chance exists that if you agree to drop out of the race right now, you’ll act differently. But it’s a lurid, violent episode that’ll remain unknown to the public if we don’t expose it,” Sorenson said, “and Ford Martin’s research along with it. We’re prepared to do both, the moment it happens.”
“How can anything like that happen in secret?” Anderson said. “The governor is in full compliance with Reston-McGarvey. His honesty rig is on at all times.”
“They redacted Ford Martin. You think he won’t redact whatever he wants once he’s president? You think politicos like him don’t find every possible way to game the system? The media won’t even question what he says because they believe in the safeguards, just like you. No one wants to contemplate that those protections are corrupted.”
Anderson snorted. “You don’t know Governor Durjaya. He’s a good man, the best of us.”
“You’re naïve,” Sorenson said.
Moving with surprising speed, the governor threw his glass into Sorenson’s face. Anderson took the cue and lunged forward from behind the bar. He grabbed the man’s gun arm, shoving it toward the ground, and thrust his right shoulder into Sorenson’s nose, cracking it. The gun fired twice with an odd, muffled report as Anderson tried to wrestle it free, then Governor Durjaya smashed the computer monitor, corner first, against Sorenson’s head. Sorenson yelped then crumpled to his knees, and Durjaya kicked him in the jaw with all his might, snapping him onto his back. Anderson staggered then fell atop him, dead weight.
Durjaya rolled his chief of staff onto his back and dragged him clear of Sorenson. Blood spilled from two wounds in Andy’s chest, a steady stream of crimson soaking his white shirt. In one hand, he clutched Sorenson’s weapon.
“Hang on, Andy,” the governor said. “Hang on, son.”
“Stop… Sorenson…” Andy sputtered.
Sorenson, stunned and groggy, took advantage of their distraction to crawl toward the far corner of the room. The governor grabbed the gun from Anderson and turned it on its owner.
“Who sent you?” Durjaya said.
Sorenson scrambled on all fours until he struck the wall. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a shining box of chrome and glass, and activated it. The device emitted a faint, bronze shimmer that produced a vertiginous effect. Durjaya staggered under its influence, then he fired, the gun barking once. When the slug hit Sorenson’s chest, the box fell from his hand, and the light faded. Blood spouted from Sorenson’s wound, and he slumped over. Governor Durjaya bent to one knee and inspected the box. He slid it into the pocket of his suit jacket.
“Governor…?” Anderson said.
“All right, Andy, take a deep breath. It’s over,” Durjaya said.
“What…?”
“This is your first encounter with the newest branch of politics,” Durjaya said. “Sonofabitch, but I thought I had a lock on it. That fucker Martin better not be double-dealing me.”
“Sorenson… is from the future?” Anderson gasped, coughed, and clutched at his wounded chest.
“Sort of, but not from a century out. No. He thought he was, maybe, but more likely, someone about six or seven years ahead of us rewired him to think so and set him up with that gun and the knowledge to make that box, which controlled which consciousness ruled his mind, and sent him to us. Our opposition, no doubt, using Martin’s technology to take me off the board early. Dammit, maybe a mole in Martin’s lab got them the tech needed to rig this guy. Sorenson couldn’t have been from the time period he claimed. If that were true, he wouldn’t have been alive in this era. No body, no neural pathways to absorb the new knowledge or altered experience. After this, there’ll be no Sorenson even six or seven years from now, so on one level, he succeeded in changing the future.”
“You… sure?”
“The probability of someone surpassing Martin’s work is infinitesimal. There’s a bit of risk involved in my assumption, but the odds are overwhelmingly in my favor. This attempt was clumsy. The next one won’t be. Sorenson should’ve shot me to take me off the board. Maybe someone wanted him to do that, but influencing past personas is an art, not a science. If he wasn’t a killer, to begin with, it’d be an uphill battle to make him one. Or maybe they didn’t want to make me a martyr.”
“What if… you’re wrong? What if you do… cause all that death?” Anderson said, wondering why the governor seemed so calm, so still.
Durjaya flashed a surprised look at his chief of staff. “Andy, you and I are in the business of setting the world’s course. Every decision we make involves the risk we’re heading down a path that’ll end somewhere we don’t like. Goes with the territory. As long as the people stand behind us, our best efforts ought to be enough. Who cares what happens thirty years after I die? Why would I trade two terms in power as a beloved leader to protect the lives of people who can never vote for me?”
“Call… ambulance. I… need… help…” Anderson said.
“I know, Andy.”
Anderson read the truth in Durjaya’s sad, ambivalent eyes. “Eight years ago…?”
Durjaya nodded. “I hoped you’d never cotton on, but you’ve got a wonderfully sharp mind. Remember what I said about winning over one man completely? You don’t think all my supporters came to me on their own, do you? Or that I got my reputation for winning over my opponents’ supporters by charm alone? My platform from before Reconstitution made any comeback impossible unless I took drastic measures. It’s amazing how easy it is to have all the right positions on all the right issues when you can influence enough people to think the way you want them to. We started with Robinson and the Illinois group. You can’t imagine how quickly people agreed to change their stance when offered a chance to alter their past, or even just their perception of it.”
“No. We made… you…” Anderson said, his voice feeble now.
“No, Andy, I made me,” Durjaya said. “I made me, and I made you, too, and a hell of a lot of those mindless drones out there in the arena. We want the people to stand behind us, but sometimes we have to tell them where to stand.”
“Governor… please… call help…” Anderson’s voice dropped, low and breathy.
“I’ll miss you, Andy. You’re a loyal bastard, and we came a long way together. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. If it’s any consolation, by tomorrow morning, Martin will be planting seeds five years ago to make sure your death is mourned as a national tragedy. It’ll be worth a lot of votes. I wouldn’t want to become one myself, but a martyr is a powerful thing. I’ll ride your assassination for years, and for that—and everything else you’ve done for me—I’m profoundly grateful.”
“Your… honesty rig,” Anderson said.
“Redacted.” Durjaya tapped his left temple. “First order of business when I began my work with Ford: control the minds of the honesty monitors.”
Bitterness flooded Anderson’s darkening mind, but another sense chased them away; a peacefulness swept his hot emotions away and replaced them with the cool contentment of a job well done. The feeling disgusted him.
“Fuck you…” Anderson said, “how deep… did you go… in my head?”
Governor Sam Durjaya met Anderson’s watery eyes and shrugged. He threw the gun into Sorenson’s lap and pulled the shining box from his pocket. “I think Ford will be interested to see this little doohickey,” he said. “Don’t you, Andy?”
He tucked it back in his jacket, opened the door, and hollered for help. Korgi Anderson looked into the faces of three confused and horrified security guards pushing into the room. Governor Durjaya snapped orders, his voice fading into the rush of blood in his head, and then Anderson’s past, present, and future crashed together, entwined in a terrible, black, constricting knot, as he became a campaign casualty.