Chapter Seventeen: An Unexpected Visitor

Friday, July 30, 2100

Back in Washington D.C., Toby and Bruce began the tedious process of setting up a worldwide political campaign. Bruce volunteered to pay for the first month’s costs, including a headquarters, a campaign floater, and staff salaries.

“First priority is to raise money before I’m selling carrots on street corners,” Bruce said.

There had been a time when presidential and legislative elections were held at the same time, but the two were now separated. The presidency was considered too important for voters to be distracted by other races. One-fourth of the World Congress would be up for election in each of the next four years, and then the cycle would repeat with another presidential election in 2105. Regional elections for governors and other offices were also spaced out, but none were held during a presidential election.

If the Moderate Party still existed next year, they’d have to find candidates to fill hundreds of Senate and House seats, and dozens of governor positions.

They found a five-thousand square foot street-level space for their headquarters in D.C. on Canal Road, a heavily populated area overlooking the Potomac River. Liberal Headquarters was just a few blocks east, with Georgetown University just beyond that. They found it in the morning, Bruce put down a deposit, and by afternoon they were moving into Moderate Headquarters, which Bruce dubbed The Ranch. It was all wide open space, no individual offices, just the way Toby liked it. Political campaigns were all about communication, and the last thing needed were walls between workers, even between the candidate and the lowliest volunteer. He soaked it all in, knowing he wouldn’t be here that often. Soon he’d be traveling the world, campaigning non-stop.

The two Russian aides, Ivan and Vladimir, were as efficient as Feodora had promised. Ivan had worked in past Russian elections, and so became the office manager, with Vladimir as his assistant. They set about furnishing the place with tables, desks, chairs, and other basic office supplies.

Toby knew they needed to bring in the professionals if they wanted to run a worldwide campaign that would even be noticed enough to be laughed at. Fortunately, he had a decade’s worth of contacts. The most famous ones were taken, but they couldn’t afford them anyway—and they weren’t always the best. Toby knew who the really good ones were, and some were available.

After conferring with Bruce, Toby was about to start contacting the various job applicants when he was smacked in the side of the head by a ping-pong ball.

“Are you forgetting who’s the campaign director around here?” Bruce asked. “You’ve got to let me do my job.”

“Old habits are hard to break,” Toby said. Having nothing better to do, and with permission from Bruce, he instead set about doing the necessary TC work to make the Moderate Party official, and to declare his candidacy for president of Earth, with Feodora as candidate for vice president.

Incoming Message from Lara Platt.

Toby stiffened at the visual and voice alert from his TC. What did she want?

It was a text-only message. Good, he thought, the last thing he wanted to do was talk to the director of their main opponent. Even if it was his daughter.

“Open message,” he said.

Dad, heard what you are doing. Are you trying to embarrass both of us or is this a midlife crisis? You can still come back and co-run campaign. Tell Bruce to get lost.

The bright red letters floated in space, dancing about as the background moved when Toby turned his head and fiddled with his scarf.

He decided not to reply.

After five minutes he stopped shaking and went back to work. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Soon the office would be buzzing with activity and dozens of workers, but for now it was just the four of them working late into the night. Toby could already taste the thrill of a new campaign, a glorious battle where, if things went well, he’d make up for the horrible mistake he’d made five years before, and show his daughter who was embarrassing whom. He knew there wasn’t any real chance of winning against the sleek Dubois machine or even the rickety Ajala one, but he could always dream. That was the only way to keep fighting in the down-days of a campaign, where little ever went as planned, and the unexpected was expected.

After thirty-four years working on political campaigns, nothing could surprise him.

Until Twenty-two walked through the front door.

Toby looked up at the startled grunts from Ivan and Vladimir. The alien stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by streetlights. Then the door closed and Twenty-two silently shuffled in.

Toby had earlier seen the awkward-looking way the alien walked, where both legs on one side moved forward, and then the two on the other side. He’d looked it up on his TC and found that on Earth, only camels, giraffes, and cats walked that way.

Twenty-two still wore the yellow vest, and now had a matching yellow cloth over her mouth. Her eyestalks looked about independent of each other for a moment, then fixed on Toby as she approached him.

“Are you Toby Platt, who is running for president of Earth?”

“Yes, I am. And may I welcome you to our headquarters.”

Twenty-two’s eyestalks glanced at each other for a second, then focused back on Toby. “Are you asking a question? You may welcome me to your headquarters.”

Bruce stepped forward. “Welcome to the headquarters for the Moderate Party and the next president of Earth. I’m Bruce Sims, director and founder. Our campaign headquarters is your campaign headquarters.”

Founder? Toby thought. Shouldn’t that be co-founder? Okay, he’d let Bruce have that glory.

Twenty-two looked about, each eyestalk taking in one side of the room. Ivan and Vladimir were frozen against the wall, seemingly braced for action as an eyestalk locked on them for a moment.

“I have learned about Earth’s liberal politics from Ajala,” Twenty-two said. “I would like to learn more about the process. Ajala said he knew the human who knew more about it than anyone else in the world. He sent me to talk to you, Toby Platt.”

Ajala sent her to see him? After Ajala nearly threw him out of his office, that was a surprise. “I would be honored. How did you get here?”

“Ajala had me brought here on a floater. He made sure nobody saw me. Only you two, the driver of the floater, and Ajala know I am here. He did not want the press to know.”

“Hopefully you shot the driver,” Bruce said. There was a moment of stunned silence.

“No, I did not shoot the driver,” Twenty-two said, her eyestalks stiff as they both stared at Bruce. “Should I have?” One of the eyestalks curved and peaked back at Toby.

“He’s joking,” Toby said. “You’ll have to get used to that. Bruce, you might want to tone it down before you instigate an intergalactic incident. Why don’t we talk over there, where there are chairs?” He pointed to the front corner.

Toby and Bruce sat down but Twenty-two stood nearby. Toby suddenly realized that the idea of chairs and sitting must be as foreign to the alien as it would be to a turtle.

“What would you like to know?” Bruce said.

“I would like to know about political parties and your two-party system,” the alien said. “I do not understand the concept. If there are ten issues, there are 1024 possible permutations. You would need 1024 political parties to handle all the possibilities. Every time a new issue arises the number of political parties would need to double. How does your system handle this with two parties?”

“First off,” Bruce said, “put aside any thought that the system is logical. As long as you have that idea, nothing will make sense. Also put aside any thought that the system is designed for enlightened, out-for-the-common-good beings. It’s for selfish human bastards.”

Twenty-two’s eyestalks were absolutely rigid, staring at Bruce as if in utter disbelief, like a cartoon character whose eyes shoot out of his head when he sees something he can’t believe. If it was disbelief—hard to tell with an alien creature—Toby wasn’t sure if it was because of what Bruce was saying or because he was saying it.

“We’re not all selfish human bastards,” Toby said. It was a long, ongoing argument between the two.

“Enough to make it effectively true,” Bruce said. He pulled a ping-pong ball from his pocket and began fiddling with it. “Now that we’ve established that our system is irrational and made for self-centered beings that need to be protected from themselves, we can move on to the specifics.”

“Why do you change from ‘selfish’ to ‘self-centered’?” Twenty-two asked.

“Huh?” Bruce halted his ball-fiddling.

“You called humans selfish,” the alien said. “Then you called them self-centered. I believe you meant the same thing, yet you used different words. Why?”

“That’s how humans talk,” Toby said. “We find it more interesting to use different words.” He noticed that Twenty-two’s English skills had improved dramatically.

Twenty-two now focused an eyestalk on Toby, with the other still on Bruce. Toby found this disconcerting. “Even if you mean the same thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“It’s the way we talk, chat, gossip, chatter, gab, yak, and natter,” said Bruce.

Twenty-two continued staring for a moment, one eyestalk on each, then focused both eyestalks back on Bruce. “Tell me more about the two-party system.”

Bruce went back to fiddling with the ball. “It’s not really a two-party system, it just works out that way. Humans, in their infinite wisdom—that’s sarcasm, in case you don’t recognize it—find it more effective in a democratic system to team up together to get things done. For example, those who favor universal free food team up with those who favor abortion rights, thereby increasing their voting power.”

“Why don’t the ones who favor universal free food team up with those who are against abortion rights?”

“Because they don’t.”

“That makes no sense.”

“And here I thought aliens would be logical!” Bruce said, laughing.

“I am logical.”

“Then why are you applying logic when I already told you the system makes no sense?” Bruce said, still laughing. “That is not logical!”

The alien stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s called laughter,” Toby said. “Get used to it—Bruce laughs at a lot of things others don’t find funny. You’ll also find his opinion of our political system and humanity in general to be somewhat negative, and by somewhat negative, I mean extremely negative.”

“Does ‘somewhat negative’ mean the same as ‘extremely negative’? Or is that just another illogical use of the language?”

“One more illogical use of the language for our friendly neighborhood alien!” Bruce said. “But Toby is way too charitable when he said I’m extremely negative toward our political system and humanity.”

“What Bruce means is ‘yes,’” Toby said. “In the context, which was sarcastic, they meant the same, even though ‘somewhat’ and ‘extremely’ normally have different meanings.”

“Are you starting to understand the part about not using logic in trying to understand us?” Bruce asked.

“I’m beginning to understand the sarcasm,” the alien said. “We have the same thing. But I still do not understand your political system. Why would humans who believe in something team up with others who have a completely separate belief? How do they choose which side of the second issue to team up with? Would not some go with one side, others with another?”

“Nope,” Bruce said. “There is mutual self-interest, where one changes his opinion on some issues, or at least pretends to, so he can get others to change, or pretend to change, their opinions on other issues.”

“That’s wrong!” Twenty-two began rocking side to side. “Why would you have a system that encourages unethical actions? It makes no logical sense!”

“Ah, genuine logical outrage,” Bruce said. “It’s like a salty sea breeze. Reminds me of Ajala debating Dubois at a UN council meeting. But no, there is no logical sense to it.”

“Bruce is just trying to confuse you,” Toby said. “It makes sense if you figure certain types of people tend to believe the same type of things. For example, those who are for universal food tend to also be for abortion rights—both are liberal positions.”

“Why?” Twenty-two asked.

“If Toby can answer that,” Bruce said, “then I’ll retire from politics and ping-pong a happy man.”

Toby hesitated, then sighed. “Bruce is right, and I spoke too soon. The two issues aren’t really related.”

Twenty-two took a few steps back. Her eyestalks gave each other a quick glance. Then, with a very human sigh, she stepped back. “Do humans just change their opinions to match what the party tells them to believe?”

“Yes, though few admit it,” Bruce said.

“No, though they are accused of it,” Toby said.

“You’re just saying that to defend humankind’s honor,” Bruce said. “Ironic you’d lie to defend our honor.”

“True,” Toby admitted.

Twenty-two stared for a moment. “This whole party concept is faulty. Right and wrong in each issue should be all that counts, not what your party believes. Should not each individual decide things rationally, rather than by what their party says?”

“Of course they should,” Bruce said. “But that’s logical.”

Twenty-two began rocking side to side again. Toby considered jumping in, but realized he didn’t have anything to add that Bruce wouldn’t jump all over.

“Think of it this way,” Bruce continued. “Suppose you want a ‘yes’ vote on Issue A. You don’t care about Issue B. Someone else wants a ‘yes’ vote on Issue B, but doesn’t care about Issue A. You have a better chance of getting Issue A passed by agreeing to vote ‘yes’ on Issue B, thereby getting the other person to vote ‘yes’ on Issue A, thereby getting two votes for Issue A.”

“That is dishonest!”

“Ain’t politics great?”

Twenty-two stared at Bruce for a moment. “In your system, two dishonest people who team up together will have more political power than two honest people who do what they believe is right.”

“Very good,” Bruce said. “You have now graduated from first grade in the wonderful world of Earth politics. But you have a long way to go before you’ll spread your wings, my poor caterpillar.”

Twenty-two stared at him. “What does a human do if he believes in ‘A,’ but is against ‘B’? And he believes both are important?”

“Usually he changes his opinion on one,” Bruce said, “and convinces himself that he did so without any influence from the people and political party that he belongs to, even as his opinions change to match them. And we’re really good at convincing ourselves. Of anything.”

The stunned silence of a grod was just as deafening as the human kind.

“Do these humans who change their opinions to match their party listen to logic if it contradicts their opinion?”

“Rarely, once these opinions are formed,” Bruce said. “Humans have an enormous capacity for strong opinions with little basis in fact. They latch onto any arcane fact or rumor that in any tenuous way justifies their opinions as ammunition that their opinions are valid. And so the ignorance spreads, like a cancer, except in this case there’s no cure. And you want to know why there’s no cure?”

“Let me guess,” Toby said. “Because the masses are chimpanzees?”

“Exactly!” Bruce exclaimed.

“Not everyone is as jaded as Bruce,” Toby said.

“The non-jaded ones on the two sides of any issue usually cancel each other out,” Bruce said. “So it’s us jaded people who make all the decisions, not idealists like you.”

“Not always,” Toby said. “Only a cynic like you would say that.”

“Only an idealist like you would believe otherwise,” Bruce retorted.

“We also have political parties in our system,” Twenty-two said, cutting off another of their ongoing disputes, “but they are always one-issue and only last as long as the issue is under consideration. A grod may be in many of these parties, each devoted to a different issue. When there is an election, each grod judges on their own which candidates best represents their vision. Since there is usually an office for every major issue, we simply vote for the one we agree with on that issue.”

“Sounds like an idealistic system that couldn’t possibly work for us,” Bruce said. “Now it’s my turn to ask some questions. You called yourself fifty-five billion-and-something, and Twenty-two for short. How does your naming system work?”

Twenty-two was silent for a moment. “Long ago, grods were illogical like humans, though in different ways. Then came One. He took control, and forced civilization on us. We owe everything to him.”

“I get it,” Bruce said. “He became ‘One,’ and every grod born since has been numbered sequentially, right? And you’re number what?”

“You are correct. I am 55,257,461,522. We are informal about our names and usually go by the last two digits.”

Makes more sense than our naming system, Toby thought. This seemed a good time to grill the alien about her culture. “I’ve been wondering about that thing you wear over your mouth.”

Both Twenty-two’s eyes shot over toward Toby, and the alien rocked back and forth for a moment. “It is my velvo. I had a red one and a blue one; Ajala had this yellow one made for me to match my vest.”

“Why do you wear it?” Bruce asked.

Twenty-two’s eyestalks looked to the floor. “Civilized grods do not show their…mouths in public. It would be embarrassing.”

“Sooooo,” began Bruce, “to you, this is disgusting?” He stuck his tongue out.

Now the alien’s eyestalks stared pointedly at Bruce as she rocked back and forth violently. “Yes. To me that is disgusting. You have no inhibitions about this. Very…interesting. May we discuss something different?” She looked back toward Toby. “Ajala said you ran the election campaign of President Dubois. He is a conservative. So you are a conservative also, correct?”

Toby fell back in his chair as Bruce began to laugh. How was he to explain this one?

“No,” Bruce said after he’d recovered, “Toby is a liberal trying to be a moderate.”

“Am I understanding this properly? This does not make sense,” Twenty-two said. “If he is a liberal, why did he run a campaign for a conservative?”

“I think he’s been asking himself the same question for five years,” Bruce said. “Did I tell you our politics makes no sense? In this case, while Toby’s a liberal, or moderate depending on whether his heart or head are talking, Dubois is a conservative who claimed to be a moderate. So they worked together even though they didn’t agree on anything.”

Toby’s hands clenched into fists, but he said nothing.

“This is how your politics works?”

“No,” Bruce said. “This is how our politics doesn’t work as it bumbles along without causing too many catastrophes. You have to give our system credit that if we vote someone in who causes a catastrophe, we usually vote him out. Eventually.”

“You actually give the system credit for anything?” Toby asked.

“It’s great at replacing leaders who do stupid things with leaders who will do other stupid things.” He began tossing the ping-pong ball from hand to hand.

“It only takes one catastrophe to end a race,” Twenty-two said as she followed the ball with her eyestalks. “One of the advantages of joining the Galactic Union is the nuclear web. No race can survive long without it.”

“End a race? The nuclear web?” Toby asked, all other thoughts forgotten.

“When a race advances to a level where an individual can cause massive destruction, it is only a matter of time before it happens. The nuclear web is a way to track all nuclear or similar reactions on a planet. Unauthorized usage is caught very early. You will not need this until you are more advanced and develop nuclear weapons.”

“We already have,” Bruce said. “We’re good at such things. We’ve even blown up a few countries.”

“That is not possible,” the alien said. “How could a race have nuclear bombs before going into space? You do not have to understand nuclear physics to go into space. That is simple rocketry. Your race is only now colonizing your own solar system; you are only barely into space.”

“Sorry,” Bruce said, “we’re precocious.”

After another stunned silence, Twenty-two continued. “Normally a race moves into space long before developing nuclear weapons. It is then admitted into the Galactic Union, which sets up the nuclear web. This gives the race time to mature so it understands the foolishness of weaponizing space in a way that can destroy its own world. If you already have nuclear weapons, then I am surprised you still exist. Few races have progressed into space with nuclear weapons. They always destroy themselves.”

Now it was the humans’ turn for stunned silence.

“Tell me about Earth’s military capabilities,” Twenty-two asked.

“Sorry, that’s not something we can really go into,” Toby said.

“Smart,” the alien said. “I asked Ajala the same question. He told me all he knew. He believes that grods are far too advanced, and so hiding Earth’s military level would be pointless. He is too trusting. Your President Dubois keeps trying to arrest or shoot me. He is too aggressive. Is this another difference between liberals and conservatives?”

“Sometimes,” Toby said. “Conservatives tend to be too aggressive, liberals too trusting and willing to talk.”

“While us moderates are in between, just right,” Bruce said. “The problem with both sides is they’re loyal to their party’s issues instead of what’s right. Moderates try to do what’s right for the situation, which is usually somewhere in between. Or we just find the dead center between the two extremes and hope like crazy it’s right.”

“If Toby is a liberal,” Twenty-two asked, “why is he now running for president as a moderate?”

“Do you find that confusing?” Bruce asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “Now you understand.”

It was confusing for Toby as well. If he was still a liberal as Bruce claimed, why was he running as a moderate? Or was Bruce wrong, and he was a moderate, as he so desperately wished to be? Just what was he? He wasn’t sure anymore. As Ajala had said, they were all just meaningless labels, and yet, as a political person, he was forced to choose. Conservative, moderate, liberal, just what was he? Not conservative, he’d learned that the hard way. There was the whole liberal spectrum to choose from: social liberals, economic liberals, pragmatic liberals, neo-liberals, even conservative liberals. There were just as many or more types of conservatives, and yet where was the spectrum for moderates? Or were they just defined as those between liberals and conservatives?

But hadn’t Twenty-two just shown how faulty this thinking was? Was he changing his thinking to match a party’s thinking? Was he trying to be a leader by following?

“Do you have reading material about your politics you can recommend?” Twenty-two asked.

“Lots of it,” Bruce said. “You can’t learn anything that way. Anything you read will make sense, and will have little to do with reality.”

“That’s not quite true,” Toby said.

“Is not the purpose of written materials to put down reality in words?” Twenty-two asked.

“In all cases but entertainment and politics,” Bruce said. “Which are really the same. Are you starting to understand?”

“I am starting to see that there is little rational about your political system.”

“See?” Bruce said. “You learned that without reading anything. But I can still send you stuff to read. Do you have a thought computer?”

“No I do not. What is that?”

“It’s a computer system that’s on a chip in our brains, that communicates directly to our brains.”

“You put devices in your brain?”

“I take it you do not,” Toby said. “Another social difference, like the covered mouths?”

“Yes,” Twenty-two said. “It is distasteful to us. Only one with brain damage should need a mechanical device in their brain.”

“Skip the reading stuff,” Bruce said. “Travel with us, and we’ll teach you.”

“I will travel with you, with Ajala, and with Dubois, if he allows it.”

Bruce turned to Toby. “Can you imagine all the publicity we’re going to get? The world’s only alien, traveling with us!”

“No,” Twenty-two said. “I do not wish to interfere. When I travel with any of the campaigns, it has to be mostly in secret.”

“Why?”

“I am just an ambassador learning about your politics. I do not wish to interfere or affect it myself.”

“That’s fine,” Toby said, drowning out Bruce’s groan.

“I have another question,” Twenty-two said. “How were you, Ajala, and Dubois educated?”

“What do you mean?” Toby asked.

“To become leaders,” the alien said. “How many years did you study? What schools? How do you prepare your candidates for office?”

“I think you’re about to start shaking again,” Bruce said.

“Why?”

“Because we don’t do any of that. Our leaders prepare for office by running for office.”

Twenty-two stared at him with both eyestalks. “Perhaps you didn’t understand my question. How are your leaders educated before they run for office?”

“It’s not required. Any training would just confuse most of them, and any serious thinking about the issues would handicap them as politicians.”

“You do not train your leaders?”

Once again Toby found himself unable to defend the human system of government.

Bruce was laughing and shaking his head. “I can’t believe all the time I’ve spent on campaigns without an inquisitive alien on board. We may lose badly, but it’s going to be a hell of a ride.”

It was going to be educational for the alien, Toby thought, but even more educational for us. He was already embarrassed, and they’d barely scratched the surface about Earth politics. Our system is what we’ve made of it, and we’re stuck with it. For now.