Chapter Twenty-One: To Eat Or Not To Eat

Toby stared down at the meat in front of him. There was no mistaking it for plastated food. There was a time when most plastated vegetables were made to look like real meat, but over a couple generations that became less important. Food that looked like genuine meat had become gross to much of the world. Toby only recognized it as kangaroo meat from his previous trips to Australia, where he’d seen, but never tasted, it.

Gasps echoed around the room. Many of the guests were Australian, and used to meat, but even they knew that this was not what was on the menu.

The smell quickly overwhelmed Toby, a mix of tantalizing barbecue and sickening dead animal flesh. A mixture from hell, Toby thought, feeling nauseous. People ate this stuff?

So what now?

Toby looked up from his plate. Dubois, Ajala, and the others at the table stared down at their plates. Segretti had a huge grin on his face.

“Eat up, my guests,” Segretti said. “Our country is watching.” He took a deep breath of the fumes from the chopped animal carcasses, and then smiled at the press people, who moved in closer with their cameras as he cut off a bite, stuck it in his mouth, and began to chew with a slow, exaggerated motion.

Ajala was the first to react. He stood and glared at Segretti as he said, “I want to thank you for making it absolutely clear the difference between the immoral—” He pointed a fork at Segretti. “—and the moral.” He jabbed the fork into the hunk of meat and held it up. “I will not eat this. What they did to this animal is wrong. What you have done here is wrong. And whoever eats these dead animals is wrong. When I am president, I will return here with an amendment to the world constitution to make sure this never happens again.” He flung the meat onto the floor and sat down.

A woman from a back table began yelling, “Eat wheat, not meat!” She was led out of the room by security.

Now Dubois stood up. “When in New York, do as the New Yorkers do; when in Australia, do as the Australians do.”

“He just lost Italy,” Bruce whispered to Toby.

“Or at least Rome,” Toby whispered back.

Dubois cut off a piece of the barbeque kangaroo and put it in his mouth. He took a few chews and swallowed. He grinned for the camera, but it was a frozen smile, the type you do when you are gagging but don’t want anyone to know.

Dubois began to choke. His face turned red as he fought to keep the meat down. Toby almost admired his old boss for the way he gamely kept it down. Dubois finally swallowed whatever had come up his throat. There was polite applause.

From around the hall came a chant: “More! More! More! More!” Dubois tried not to look back. He sat down, but made no attempt to take another bite.

Segretti stood and seemed about to say something.

“My turn,” Toby said, standing up. Segretti nodded and sat down. He’d already accomplished his task of drawing Ajala’s views on meat-eating out in public, where Australians could see.

“I was told that we would be served plastated wheat ribs,” Toby began. “Barbecued, in fact.” That drew some laughs. “Now I could give an impassioned speech on morals like my friend Carl. Or I could just dig in, and learn about the wonders of barbecued kangaroo, like my gallantly choking friend Corbin.” There was more laughter.

“I’m going to do neither. I’m not going to tell forty-four million Australians that they are wrong, that they are immoral, that they are murderers. They have to judge that for themselves. Like most of the rest of the world, I do not eat meat, and like Carl, I am not going to eat this. Yet, for most of our history, people have eaten meat. Were they wrong? I don’t know. What I do know is this. I think it is wrong. But I’m not going to force the issue on you. If I am president, and the issue goes to the World Court, I will lobby against it. And I will also return here, like Carl, only I won’t have a constitutional amendment to ram down your throat. I will have only my powers of persuasion. The final choice will be yours.” He sat down.

“Nice, Dad,” Lara whispered to him. “You and Ajala just gave us Australia.”

Bruce leaned forward and retorted back, “What makes you think he was talking to Australia?”

“Have they moved Canberra out of Australia?” Lara said. “You think anyone outside of Australia’s watching a campaign dinner?” The two continued to go at it. Toby felt like the net at one of Bruce’s ping-pong matches.

Segretti rose to his feet. “Gentlemen, I am stunned. You are guests in our land, and yet you insult us and call us immoral. Only one of you has shown us respect, and so only one of you deserves the vote of the Australian people, and that is Corbin Dubois.” He sat down.

Ajala rose to his feet. “Since we are talking morals, there are other issues of equal importance.” He stared down at Dubois, who rose to his feet. “Mr. President, as you choked on that dead animal, a thousand people around the world starved to death. And yet you have continually blocked passage of Universal Food. Perhaps you can explain this to us?”

“Governor Ajala,” Dubois said, “I will gladly support Universal Food when you find the funding for it. When you find the incentive for people to work hard when they get everything for free. What you are trying very hard not to say is that you will raise the taxes on our working people to pay for cake for our non-workers. We already give out free health care. Free TCs and TC connection. Free public floaters in the cities. Twenty-hour work weeks. The system can only withstand so much. You, Mr. Governor, are a socialist. What you are pushing for would lead to the downfall of our economic system.” He sat down.

“Economic system?” Ajala said. “What economic system is it that starves its own people? Is this economics, or just an economical way to remove liberals from the voting ranks? I suspect there are not that many starving conservatives. Put aside your politics for a change, and side with the people in need!”

“Don’t you think you should get in on this?” Bruce whispered. Nodding, Toby rose to his feet.

“Ah, Mr. Platt,” Ajala said, “the man who ran the Dubois campaign, and who also opposes Universal Food. Have you ever felt the pangs of hunger, Mr. Platt?”

Toby almost said “yes,” but caught himself. Anything he said would be checked out, and he had never really been among the starving. He’d missed meals, but if he were to claim to have felt the “pangs of hunger” for missing a meal, he’d be mocked for it. Except, of course, he was at about two percent in the polls, and so too small a target for most, except perhaps a few late night comedians.

“No, I’ve never felt the pangs of hunger,” Toby said. “Not in the way you mean it, where I didn’t know if there was a next meal coming.” He faced the cameras.

“A generation ago, after decades of infighting, universal health care was finally passed, and our status as a civilized world went up a notch. And yet, what is now the most common health problem in the world? In a world where food is cheap, hunger is now the prevalent health problem.” He turned toward Ajala.

“No, Mr. Governor, I haven’t supported Universal Food, not the version you are pushing. The president is right that if you give everything away for free, there’s no incentive to work, and the cost is high.” He turned to Dubois. “And the governor is right that we who have never felt these pangs of hunger should not be the ones to withhold it from those who do. Food should be a right, but not a lifetime excuse to drop out of the workforce.” He faced the cameras.

“Isn’t there room for moderation from our government? Let’s compromise. Universal Food for those under age twenty-five and those over seventy. For those in between, a one-time six-month waiver, where they’d work for the government ten hours a week, and undergo job training another ten hours. Carl, Corbin, I hope you will join me in this compromise. Or you can spend the rest of eternity arguing about it and never accomplish anything.” He sat down.

Dubois stood up. “Fine words, Mr. Platt. A serious candidate for president needs to choose sides, not go squishy and compromise on principles. Now I seem to recall back in our days together that we had another fundamental difference, and that was about Oceania’s ‘First in the World’ status. As everyone knows, I have always strongly supported this. Australians and the rest of Oceania have done this for fifty years, and I hope will do so another fifty years and beyond. The rest of the world relies on their expertise from doing this election after election, and they have never let us down. Their smaller population allows them to get to know the candidates better than can be done in other regions. Perhaps you’d like to share your views, Mr. Platt?”

Toby knew he’d already lost Australia by not completely and unabashedly supporting meat-eating rights. Of course, Australia had never really been his to blow, considering his standing in the polls. He had little to lose—though he had to keep in mind that New Guinea and New Zealand did not allow meat. But what were his chances there anyway?

“Yes, Mr. President, I fondly remember our disagreements on the issue.” Toby also remembered Dubois’s reasoning on the subject, which had a lot more to do with votes than relying on Australia’s expertise. Toby looked into what looked like the largest press camera. “I am against giving any one region preferential treatment over another. It is unfair, unjust, and wrong. If I am elected president, I will ask the world congress to institute a lottery to establish an initial order, and the order of the regional elections from there on will rotate. I believe the people of Oceania will see the justice in this.” He sat down.

Ajala, who hadn’t sat down, looked to the cameras. “I just want the Australian, New Guinea, and New Zealand people to know that I support their ‘First in the World’ status one hundred percent. It has served us well, and I will never turn my back on you for this great service.” He sat down again.

Toby was a bit surprised at Ajala. He hadn’t known Ajala’s stand on that issue, but he’d been sure the ultra-moral Nigerian would take the ultra-moral high road, and support rotating elections. Perhaps it was a first crack in Ajala’s moral façade?

Toby rose. “You get ’em!” Bruce whispered.

“C’mon, Dad,” Lara whispered. “Don’t you think you should let the real candidates debate?”

“Can you two children both shut up?” Toby whispered back, hoping the cameras wouldn’t record it. Though if they did, that was fine. “Let the grownups talk now.” He faced the cameras.

“Why don’t we get to the issue that’s on all our minds?” he asked. “The issue of Ambassador Twenty-two. I’d like to hear what my esteemed colleagues have to say on that.”

Toby sat down. As if on cue, Dubois and Ajala jumped to their feet.

Bruce snickered. “It’s like Mexican Jumping Beans debating each other,” he whispered.

Dubois spoke first. “From the start, I’ve recognized the danger of this…invasion. And an invasion it is, even if by only one. She travels where and when she wants, and there’s no telling what she is doing. She could be scouting for a large-scale invasion.” He turned to Ajala. “Perhaps the aliens will give us free food when we’re all living in cages.”

“From the start,” Ajala retorted, “you antagonized the alien, greeting her with firing guns. Do you really fear this single creature? Who has done us no harm, made no threats, and only wants to study us? You want to shoot her; I want to learn from her.”

“How can you learn from her when you don’t even know where she is?” Dubois said. “I have access to the greatest military surveillance equipment the world has ever known, and we haven’t the faintest idea where this alien spy is. Do you?”

“Well, no,” Ajala admitted, and suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“I do,” Toby said, rising to his feet. He wondered just how many times he’d have to stand and sit before the night was over. His knees were aching and the kangaroo meat smell sickened him. Now that all three were standing, perhaps they could all just stay that way rather than hopping up and down like kangaroos. Well, the living kind, that was.

“And where would that be?” Dubois asked.

“Twenty-two asked me not to say,” Toby said. “I believe you are aware that she has spent much of her time with my campaign and with Ajala’s. She’d spend time with you except you’d try to shoot her.” There was snickering from the other tables.

“Yes, I would,” Dubois said. “Though I’d rather she surrender. She’s clearly hostile toward our world, and a potential danger. Do you want humans to go the way of the dinosaurs, the Fin Whale, and the American Indian?”

“No,” Toby said, hoping that Dubois had just blown the very-much-alive Native American vote—Dubois would likely be hearing from the Navajos in the morning. “I think we should talk with the ambassador, exchange information, and learn from each other. If we are friendly with her, she’ll cooperate, and we won’t have to worry about what she’s doing or where she is.”

“Besides,” Ajala said, “what’s the point of threatening Twenty-two? With their technology, if they want to conquer us, they are going to conquer. I’d rather be their friend.”

“I’d rather we stay free,” Dubois said. He looked into the nearest camera. “My friends here are well-meaning but soft. What’s needed is a firm hand, the same hand I’ve lent you these past five years. So I say to the alien: Get off our planet!”

With that, the dinner hall burst into shouting. It seemed to Toby that the pro- and anti-alien yelling was about equal. To make himself a less conspicuous target, he sat down.

“You know what the sound bite is going to be tonight?” Lara said to Toby, without meeting his eyes. “Did you see the way Corbin looked into the camera when he told the alien to get off our planet?”

“Do you agree with him?” Toby asked.

“What?” She looked up at Toby as if startled. Toby recognized political-think, that mode of mental thought where all that’s real is whether or not it helped politically, and all other thinking is left on the cutting room floor. He wondered if she or Dubois had taken any Eth.

“Never mind,” Toby said. “Just remember what I said.”

“What?” she repeated.

“About your job,” he said, feeling a stab to his heart as he said it. It seemed an eternity since he’d told her he was going to put her out of a job, even if he had to “go to hell and back.” He got up again, ignoring the pain in his knees, and walked away from the table before she could respond. Bruce followed.

“Great job!” someone said. It was a girl, perhaps seventeen, with green polyhedral hair in a twisted gun barrel design. He recognized her—the Antarctica girl from Liberal Headquarters in Washington D.C. What was she doing in Australia? She wore a Vote Against the Status Quo! Vote for Ajala/Katsuko button, with the two lines forming a circle around a Hancola logo. Toby smiled at the slogan; he remembered Lara laughing when he said you sometimes have to take into account a candidate’s name when choosing one, or you get stuck with silly slogans like this one.

“You probably don’t remember me—I’m Melissa. I think it’s great what you are doing,” she said. “I disagree with you on most of the issues, but at least you are trying to get things done by compromising. Good luck!” She turned and was gone as rapidly as she’d appeared.

Toby and Bruce hung around the outskirts of the room for a while, talking to the local politicians and guests who’d been seated at other tables. Finally they made their escape and returned to the hotel.

He wondered what Twenty-two, watching from back at the hotel, would think about all this.