Chapter One: The Changing of the Scorpions

Noon, Friday, January 20, 2096

What have I done?

The thought raced through Toby Platt’s mind as he stood in the shadows of the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan as the live orchestra played Hail to the Chief. He was sick of the song. He was sick of the cold, misty weather. Above all, he was sick of Corbin Dubois, the president-elect, the man he’d made the next president of Earth.

The music was in honor of President-for-five-more-minutes Jing Xu. The Chinese man stood at a lectern, side by side with Dubois. The two blue-suited mortal enemies smiled and waved at the huge crowd of dignitaries. Then Xu turned to Dubois, and they shook hands, one scorpion to another. Except, Toby thought, some are more scorpion than others.

All politicians are scorpions. Bruce, his former top aide, once said that a politician without a sting was like a ping-pong player without a paddle. And yet it was how—and why—they used that stinger that mattered. Xu had quite a sting, as they’d learned during the campaign. Xu the president wasn’t so bad, but Xu the politician—well, you didn’t get to be leader of the world without a little scorpion blood.

But Dubois just stung anyone who got in his way, often using Toby’s own words. Whether it was hunger in Asia and Africa, Mormon-Israeli strife in Utah, or even piracy in the South China Sea, they were all just political points to the Dubois campaign. Toby had five more years of it to look forward to—five years of the never-ending campaign that all worldwide offices had become. He could feel the deadness in him growing.

Which was why Toby had decided to resign.

The plump Frenchman was Napoleonic short, a comparison they’d used with great success in the election. His bleached white hair twisted upward to a point, his sideburns splayed sideways, and his beard looked like a series of long, white icicles. With hair shooting in all directions like an exploding star, he was an easy caricature for the world’s late night comics. Add the archaic red tie and the perpetually darting eyes, and Dubois had a memorable face that had grown on voters. So did his American cowboy persona, which every Frenchman publicly detested but privately wanted to emulate. The white hair made him look older than his 45 years.

It seemed wrong to Toby that this man would take the oath of office at the foot of the Twin Towers, with their storied histories. There was no sight more majestic, more inspirational than these monuments to human resilience. Twice they had been destroyed, and twice rebuilt, the second time at well over twice the height of the originals. Those two terrorist acts had marked the start and end of the Age of Terror. The second had led to world government, and to the likes of Dubois.

At four thousand feet, they were the tallest skyscrapers in the world and one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. They housed the World Congress; The North Tower the House of Representatives, the South Tower the World Senate. Nearly all the Representatives and Senators were in attendance for the inauguration.

Dubois stepped back from the lectern and stood next to Toby, a little apart from the other dignitaries. Xu began the customary farewell address, which was scheduled for a mercifully short five minutes.

“We’re almost there,” Dubois said, patting Toby on the back as they listened to Xu’s gracious words.

“I’m resigning,” Toby blurted out, his voice low enough so others would not hear.

Dubois turned and stared at him. Then he smiled. “No you’re not.” He went back to watching Xu.

“No, really,” Toby said. “We haven’t agreed on anything in years. I can’t stay.”

“We’ll work it out,” Dubois said without looking at him.

A dozen times Toby had decided to leave, a dozen times he’d decided to stay, to at least finish the campaign. Nobody runs a worldwide campaign and then quits on the verge of winning. They had won, and now he could walk away as a famously successful campaign director.

“We can’t work it out,” Toby said. “You can bring in anyone now, so you don’t need me.”

Dubois turned his piercing eyes back on him, the smile still frozen on his face. “You’re my political guru. You got me here. I need you to handle the politics the next five years, and the next campaign. We’re great together!”

Toby shook his head. “It’s over. I resign, effective the instant you become president.”

The smile was gone, replaced by the famous Dubois glare, something Toby had never faced before, though he’d seen many others wilt under it. “You do this, and you’ll never work in politics again.”

Toby knew that was coming. “I know.”

“Neither will your daughter.”

Toby froze. Lara and Bruce had been his top advisors. When Bruce left to return to the ping-pong circuit, Lara was the only life he really had outside politics. Which somehow seemed contradictory, since Lara’s whole life was also politics. Of course, Toby had a wife and son as well, though he rarely saw them.

“You wouldn’t—”

“Plug the mouth hole, and please don’t say I wouldn’t dare,” Dubois said. “You know I would. Isn’t that why you’re resigning in the first place? And now, why you won’t? So let’s just forget we had this discussion.”

“You can’t—”

“You and Lara are the only advisors I trust,” Dubois said. “We’re going to do great things these next five years. We’ll even go moderate, if that’s what you want. You’ll both be a part of it. Meet me in the Red Room in one hour so we can make plans. That’s all.”

It took more than a penetrating stare to force someone to submit. You had to have a weapon to back it up. Toby glanced over at Lara, who stood with the other dignitaries, a broad smile on her face on this triumphant day. Dubois had the stare and the weapon.

Ice cold anger rose in him, but what else was new? Once upon a time he would have acted on his anger. Now it was just another emotion to control. He’d become good at that.

Toby gave a short nod. Dubois nodded back. They went back to listening to Xu’s speech, which was already over the allotted time. Security floaters flew in slow circles around the towers, guarding the airspace like hawks, ready to dive and attack if the unthinkable were to happen.

Just when Toby thought they were going to have to shoot him to get him off, Xu turned and took his seat off to the side, ceding the lectern to Dubois. The Chief Justice of the United States of Earth approached the lectern. Dubois raised his right hand, his left on a stack of religious scriptures—Christian and Jewish Bibles, the Muslim Quran, the Hindu Vedas, the Buddhist Buddhavacana, the Confucianism Analects, the Sikh Adi Granth, the Book of Mormon, and several others.

Toby wanted to run to the podium and yell “Stop! A terrible mistake has been made!” But he did not.

The Chief Justice spoke the words, and Dubois recited them back. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States of Earth, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States of Earth.”

The changing of the scorpions was complete. Toby adjusted the fading purple scarf he always wore, even in warm weather. It seemed entirely out of place. Long ago he’d pulled it off a dead victim of his past idealism.

“Isn’t it great, Dad? We did it!” Lara’s beaming smile contrasted with his own outlook. How many other families ran worldwide elections as their main father-daughter activity?

Lara’s upbeat outlook, quick mind, and long, shiny black hair had earned her spot as campaign spokesperson, but she’d been much more than that. They both wore “Win with Corbin!” buttons, with a small Coca-Cola logo centered over the words.

Missing from the team was Bruce Sims, table tennis champion and Lara’s almost fiancé, who’d abandoned the campaign months before. Toby wondered if Bruce was watching on his thought computer. Of course he was.

Dubois raised his arms over his head. When the crowd quieted, he lowered his arms and began to speak. Toby closed his eyes and mouthed the words he himself had written as Dubois spoke them. Inspiring words, promises and pledges. Lots of sound and fury, signifying nothing, he thought. Who’s the idiot here?

The speech ended, the crowd cheered, and the orchestra leaped back into Hail to the Chief as Dubois began walking the VIP line, shaking hands. His bald and emaciated vice president followed, the always-frowning Rajan Persson, towering two feet over his boss.

Lara beamed at Toby. He forced a smile back. This was the culmination, the ultimate father-daughter moment, the reason why he’d stayed with Dubois, and would continue to do so. He didn’t want to ruin it for her.

“We did it, Daddy!” she repeated, clenching her fists in the air. During the campaign, as his assistant, she’d made the final transition from daughter to woman in Toby’s eyes, turning thirty in the process. He was only fifty, with rapidly balding reddish-brown hair that only bad genetics or a political campaign can give you. Lara gave his scarf a yank. “Just this once, could you take that smelly thing off?”

We did it, Daddy. The words wouldn’t leave his mind as he fingered the scarf, watching Dubois shake hands and wave to his admirers. What would Vinny have said if he were here, alive, instead of just his scarf? Toby yanked the scarf off and jammed it in a pocket. He didn’t deserve to wear it.

What have I done?

He stared off into space for a moment.

What can I do to fix this?

The answer was nothing. Not for five more years.

Who’s worse, a bad king or the kingmaker?