Chapter Ten: Bruce and the Chimpanzees

The bellyache had been replaced by hunger pangs. So much had gone on since the alien had arrived that it seemed late at night, and yet it was only dinnertime.

The office Toby shared with Lara was down the hall from the Red Room. Two muscular security men watched as he loaded his personal belongings into a box. He wondered who Dubois would hire to replace him. Lara was the obvious choice, but he remembered the threat Dubois had made. He’d fire Lara and destroy her politically, just as he would do with Toby. At least it would save him the trouble of putting her “out of a job.”

The news spread quickly. Various cabinet members, senators, representatives, and lobbyists stopped by to give their goodbyes, as did his own staff members. Most kept looking about as if nervous someone might see them with the fallen star. Finally, box in hand, followed closely by security, he walked quickly to the entrance and left the site of so much personal glory.

Out front he caught a one-person floater and told the automated machine to take him to the StarMacs on the way to his apartment. They joined the line of floaters flying above the streets crowded with less expensive butanol-powered wheeled cars. Most floaters were nuclear powered, but public ones like this one still used butanol as well.

At StarMacs, another friendly machine served his food. He found an empty table as far away from the noisy serving lines as possible. He relaxed under a climbing plastic ivy while the sound of a gurgling creek played in the background, a tranquil setting to muse about his future over a Big Mac and fried cabbage while sipping a cofftea. Now that he’d resigned from the most powerful political job in the world, what was a political hack like him to do?

He’d miss the excitement. He stared at the plastated meat in his Big Mac. He’d miss the joys of campaigning around the world, such as “First in the World” Australia, where they actually ate real meat. Hard to believe that anyone in this day and age would do that, he thought, and yet he’d found ways to appease the Australians and get their vote, without actually supporting their nasty habit.

He’d miss campaigning at the Great Mall of China and the rest of Asia, at the Blue Whale Aquarium in France-dominated Europe, and in Africa, where the leaders you spoke with in the morning might be in jail or dead that night. In North America, where they tried to placate Utah and ignore Canadian strife, and in the dictatorships and gunfights of Latin America. He’d miss finessing the conservative vote in Islam Nation and buying votes in India. He’d even miss the frozen ghost towns of Antarctica and their single electoral vote.

He’d miss it all.

His TC flashed Breaking News! “TC on,” he said. Earlier he’d ordered the TC to ignore further reports on the alien, which he knew would be getting around-the-clock coverage. He’d catch up on that later. So it must be some other news.

It was another talking head from WNN. “Visual alerts off, audio alerts only,” Toby told his TC. The flashing light in the breaking news headlines irritated him, and there were probably going to be a lot more of them in the near future.

“The Dubois campaign announced that, effective immediately, Campaign Director Toby Platt has resigned for personal reasons. Replacing him is his daughter, Lara Platt, who has worked extensively with her father in various campaigns. Here’s what the new director had to say.”

The screen switched to a shot of Lara talking into a series of cameras and microphones.

“I’ve run campaigns with my dad for many years, including the ’95 Dubois campaign and the recent primaries, and taking charge won’t be a big changeover. Corbin Dubois continues to lead the polls, and with your help, we’ll make sure we have another five years. As to me, I’ve learned from the best, I work for the best, and Dad tells me I’m the best. Two out of three ain’t bad!”

Toby heard laughter in the background. Then a voice asked, “Why did your father step down? There are rumors he and the president no longer agree on policy. Is ‘personal reasons’ code for ‘Toby Platt no longer supports the president’?”

Lara grinned, going right to that trust me, we’re the good guys look she practiced so hard. “Dad’s been winning campaigns for decades. He’s a legend. And he always took me along. I remember twenty years ago, as a kid whose biggest worry was her hair, getting dragged to campaigns all over the world. And you know what he taught me? He taught me that campaigning isn’t convincing people to vote for your guy; it’s getting the right guy with the right policies, and letting people see that. And you know what? That’s what we’ve got with Dubois, the right guy with the right policies.

“While my dad and I don’t agree on everything, we agree on so much that what’s left over fits here in my purse.” She opened her purse and pretended to rummage through it. “Yeah, let’s see, he still thinks I should be in bed by nine, shouldn’t drive, and shouldn’t see other guys.” There was more laughter.

“More seriously, my dad fully supports the president and his policies, and decided it was time to push the baby bird—that’s me—out of the nest so she could fly on her own. He’s retiring, and I hope you will all buy his memoirs when they come out. Thank you all.”

Toby sat in stunned silence as a talking head ran off facts about his past campaigns. I support the president and his policies? How could Lara say this? At some point in the broadcast he’d spilled his cofftea over his food. He continued to eat the soggy fried cabbage.

There was a certain brilliance to what Lara had said. What were the chances that he’d contradict his own daughter in public? Unless he did so, it was official: he supported this president and his policies.

If he didn’t, why had he worked so hard to make this man president? Lara had learned well, and he knew who had taught her. He sighed; he’d lost a daughter while creating a campaign aide, and now she belonged to Dubois, just as he had. It turned out Dubois’s threat to go after Lara had been a bluff, and he’d stayed with Dubois these last five years for nothing. He wasn’t sure if Dubois had promoted Lara because he valued her political skills or if it was part of his revenge against Toby. Probably both.

He had told his daughter that he was going to put her out of a job. In the heat of the moment, when he’d made the threat, he’d forgotten that Dubois had already promised to put her out of a job if he resigned. Technically, as soon as the campaign was over, she’d be “out of a job,” at least temporarily. Realistically, she’d be part of the administration for the next five years, if they won reelection, just as he had been during this administration.

So how could he put his daughter out of a job? How could he atone to the world for making Dubois president?

The talking head from WNN was now talking about protests against the attempted shooting of the alien, with replays from various angles. “TC off,” he said.

Only one other candidate vied for the job of president, Carl Ajala of Nigeria, the Liberal candidate for president, now meeting with the alien ambassador. The man he and his daughter had spent the past year ridiculing in public while privately planning his political destruction. He’d have to arrange a meeting.

Incoming call from Bruce. “Accept call,” Toby said. A screen opened in front of him, with Bruce’s grinning face.

“So you finally came to your senses?” Bruce held a ping-pong paddle in one hand and a ball in the other. Toby could hear the familiar sound of ping-pong in the background, out of sight from the TC camera Bruce was facing.

“Are you calling from a tournament?” Toby asked. He didn’t have a TC camera handy to transmit his image, so Bruce could only hear him.

“Yep, the collegiate nationals at the Baltimore Convention Center.” Bruce began bouncing the ball up and down on his paddle. “I just lost in the final. I’m out in the hallway watching the news. What’s going on?”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Toby said. “How long do you plan on staying in college? You plan on collecting degrees the rest of your life?” Bruce had degrees from the University of Maryland in political science, physics, math, history, physical education, English, and was now working on one in journalism.

“I’ll stay as long as they keep paying me to play on the college team. That’ll probably be another five years or so, another five degrees. So, do you really support this president and his policies, like Lara said?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Then that was her Eth speaking. Or was it? When she said that about you, it must have felt like this.” Bruce smacked the ball as hard as he could right at the TC camera he was looking into. Toby flinched. Bruce caught the rebound with his free hand. “You should have left the campaign when I did, back in the primaries. I’m glad I dropped her, she’s damaged goods.”

“That’s my daughter you’re talking about.” Anger welled up in him before he caught himself. This was Bruce; what did he expect? Bruce was right; Toby should have left the campaign long ago. He’d only stayed because of his daughter. Or was it the lure of power, real or illusory? Suddenly he wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to think about it.

“No, I’m talking about the drug-popping new director of the Dubois campaign,” Bruce retorted. “The Lara I knew disappeared long ago. Someday we’ll get her back. Maybe not.” Bruce went back to bouncing the ball on his paddle, never missing even though he was looking at Toby. The bouncing aggravated Toby’s just-discovered headache.

“That was the Eth you heard,” Toby said. He hoped.

“And who chose to take the Eth?” Bruce asked. “Did someone sneak it into her drink or something?”

For a second, Toby was suspicious. Did he know what Lara had done to his drink? No, not possible. Let’s not get paranoid.

“Hey,” Bruce continued, “what’s the alien going to do when he finds out there’s not much intelligent life down here, just a bunch of chimpanzees? It’s government by, of, and for the chimpanzees!” Bruce liked to point out that a chimpanzee raised in captivity typically had an IQ in the high 60’s, about the same as a human five-year old, and about two-thirds of an average human’s IQ of 100. Bruce had an IQ of 160, which not only put him in the top 00.01%—one in about 10,000—but also meant that, proportionately, a chimpanzee—or a five-year-old—was closer to the average person in IQ than the average person was to Bruce. As Bruce pointed out at least once a week.

Bruce continued bouncing the ball on his paddle, the steady ping-ping-ping pounding into Toby’s now searing headache. Toby had discovered Bruce in the 2095 campaign. Despite his youth, Bruce was the most brilliant political strategist he had ever known, and he’d known them all.

Bruce caught the ball and put down the paddle. Toby sighed with relief. “So,” Bruce said, “what are you going to do now that your daughter’s running Satan’s campaign?”

“Not sure yet. I was thinking of calling Ajala.”

“That’s a bizarrity! You’re kidding, right?” Bruce tossed the ball up and swatted it away with the paddle. “I mean, c’mon! Grow a Brodmann! You’d drop Satan to run a cockroach’s campaign?”

“And how ’bout you?” Toby asked. “Who do you support?”

Bruce laughed. “Who do I support between Dubois and Ajala? Only a chimpanzee would choose between those two. Besides, what’s to choose? You know Ajala has no chance. And since that means you have no place to go to, why don’t you come visit me tomorrow afternoon, clear your mind, and we can plan out the future of Toby Platt, world’s greatest and most confused political guru?”

As usual, Bruce made sense. Since Bruce lived in Washington D.C., Toby could run a couple of local errands before meeting with Bruce in the afternoon. He guzzled the rest of his cofftea.

He dreaded both errands.