Chapter Nine: Are You With Me?

Toby and the others in the Red Room watched the scene on TC. He’d always known Duffy was an idiot. There was going to be quite a public outcry when the public saw yet another alien-shooting video, and Dubois would take another political hit. And yet, people were funny things. Many would see the two shootings as evidence that there must be something threatening about the seemingly invincible alien, and with circular reasoning, conclude that the attempted shootings were justified.

He hoped the alien’s meeting with Ajala went well. Maybe the alien would have some political tips for the down-in-the-polls liberal?

Huh? he thought. A short time ago, Toby had been actively planning strategy for Dubois’s reelection, and had wholeheartedly supported him. How had this leaked into his mind?

The Eth. He’d only taken a sip, and the effects had worn off. He looked about the office. What would the worldwide public think if they knew the president of the planet, their “decider,” was a user? What would their conservative base think, the ones who claimed morality as the basis for all social policy?

“The Liberals have obviously gotten to the alien,” Lara said. “Call in your world security advisor, and ask him if an alien of unknown origin and weaponry is a potential danger to society. When he says yes, we tell this Twenty-two she’s being deported?”

“And if she refuses to leave?” Dubois asked.

“That’s exactly what we want!” Lara said. “Imagine that knot in people’s stomach when they go to vote, knowing there’s an alien threat that won’t go away, and knowing only one party is trying to protect them from it.”

The president stood up, beaming. “I like it!”

Toby had had enough. “Look, don’t you see what this means? This is our chance to enter galactic civilization. This is the time to show them what we’re made of, not act like a bunch of politicians!”

Dubois came around his desk and put his hand on Toby’s shoulder. Toby cringed at the touch. “Toby, we are politicians.”

“We’re supposed to be statesmen.” Toby looked from the president to his daughter and back again. He pulled the president’s hand off his shoulder.

“Dad, drink the rest of your Coke,” Lara said.

“Damn it, Lara, I can’t even trust you when I eat and drink anymore!” He fiddled with his scarf for a moment, then pulled it off and examined the stained and worn-out threads. Five years ago he’d pulled the scarf off, believing he didn’t deserve to wear it, and asked himself, What have I done? He’d later put it back on, and yet here he was running the Dubois campaign all over again.

Not again. Not ever.

“I can’t continue this anymore,” he said, putting the scarf back around his neck.

“Dad, don’t do this,” Lara said. “Are you having another mid-life crisis?”

Dubois put his hand on Toby’s shoulder again. “Are you with me, Toby?”

“I don’t like the direction we’ve gone—” Toby began.

“Are you with me?” For a second, Dubois’s eyes blazed, an ability Toby knew he practiced. Dubois removed his hand from Toby’s shoulder, and returned to his desk and faced Toby. “As you said, you are either with us, or against us.”

Toby felt a hurricane had hit him. Those words echoed through history, from every bad leader that ever set foot in the halls of power. It replaced argument with threat, true loyalty with fear; it was a way to deal with challenge without dealing with the challenge.

Fear, the very focal point of the strategy he’d outlined for the president just a short time ago. Fear and extremism, whether it be conservative or liberal, went together. It gave him a bellyache.

He was no conservative, and yet he was responsible for inflicting the current president on the world, who was both a conservative and corrupt. A double whammy. He’d once been a liberal, but that was just a label. He’d long ago stopped thinking of himself as conservative or liberal. Neither fit, and they were the only choices available.

And he realized what he had become. In a world that only allowed blue pegs and red pegs, he was somewhere in between, a purple peg with nowhere to go.

He had become a moderate, in a world dominated by the Conservative Party and the Liberal Party, and nothing else. That’s what gave him a bellyache.

“Some say liberals have no head, and conservatives no heart,” he said. “Moderates must have no stomach because I can’t stomach either one anymore.”

There was silence for a moment. Lara looked the other way.

“Nice line, but you didn’t answer the question,” Dubois said. “One more time: Are you with me, or are you against me?”

Toby ignored the president and turned to his daughter. “Lara, I love you, but if I have to go to hell and back, I’m going to put you out of a job.”

He turned and left. He decided slamming the door on the way out would be inappropriate, and quietly closed the door even as he heard the president yell, “You’re fired!”

He felt light on his feet. The bellyache was gone. But what was he to do now?