Chapter Twenty-Nine: Mexican Liberation Day and the Fly

The rest of the luncheon was a daze as Bruce and Melissa argued and Toby avoided looking at Vasquez as he thought about the man’s words. Where had he heard that before?

Then he remembered. It was almost word for word what he’d told Lara when he’d quit the Dubois campaign. Only, coming from Vasquez, it seemed a bit more menacing.

Was it a coincidence, or had someone from that meeting spoken to Vasquez? The only ones possible were Lara, Dubois, Farley, or Persson. Not Persson, he realized; he’d stormed out earlier. He couldn’t imagine Dubois or Farley telling something like this to Vasquez. He had a hard time imagining Lara talking to Vasquez either. Could it just be a coincidental choice of words? Plus he knew about Dubois changing sides in the Mormon-Israeli conflict.

Eventually the luncheon ended. Toby publicly thanked Vasquez for his support as the Mexico City Mayor smiled back coldly. Soon they were back in the Rocinante and off to the rally.

Twenty-two said she had watched and learned a lot from the luncheon video. “Raising money seems to be important to your political process. Is not your system based on the idea that all voters have equal say?”

“That’s correct,” Bruce said, “but in politics don’t believe everything you see or hear.”

“To win an election,” Toby said, “you have to keep your eye on the destination. To reach that destination requires money.”

“Would not the ones with more money have more say than those with less money?”

“Of course,” Bruce said. “It’s called ‘political speech.’” He emphasized each syllable of the two words.

“How is donating money a form of political speech?” Twenty-two asked. “Do they write a message on the currency donated?”

Bruce laughed, and Toby also had to smile at Twenty-two’s innocent interpretation. How does one call donating money a type of speech? It made no sense at all.

“According to those who claim money donations are political speech,” Toby said, “the money allows them to tell people what they believe.”

“Coincidentally,” Bruce said, “the ones with lots of money send money—I mean political speech—to the ones who claim that money is political speech.”

“But the money is not speech itself,” Twenty-two said. “It is simply a means to getting more people to hear one’s speech than another’s speech. This implies their speech is more important than one who has less money. Does more money make a person’s speech more important than another’s?”

“No,” Toby said, hoping for once to successfully defend the honor of the human political system, “but we value the idea that anyone should be allowed to speak out and give their political views.”

“Are all voters considered equal in your system?” Twenty-two asked.

“Of course,” Toby said.

“Except some are more equal than others?” Twenty-two asked.

Bruce was in near hysterics. “Twenty-two, you have mastered the intricacies of our politics.”

Toby wondered if the alien had been reading George Orwell. The honor of the human political system would have to wait another day.

“A major intricacy of your politics,” Twenty-two said, “is that those with money and those who you call ‘special interest groups’ have more say than others, and you humans see nothing wrong with it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with legally taking money from special interest groups,” Bruce said. “It’s almost impossible to win an election without doing so. What’s wrong is the very fact that special interest money is legal. The masses can’t see the distinction, and think it’s hypocritical for someone to call for an end to special interest money while taking it himself to get elected. That’s why they are chimpanzees.”

“We can call it biped politics,” Twenty-two said, gently rocking side to side. “A moment ago Toby said that to win an election, you have to keep your eye on the destination. Isn’t the journey to that destination, the political process where candidates show they are worthy of the destination, more important than the destination itself?”

“In theory, yes,” Toby said. “In practice, the ones who win are the ones who do whatever maximizes their chances of reaching the destination, which is winning the election.” He was sounding like Bruce, he realized.

Twenty-two twisted her head side to side, an awkward motion on her thick, essentially neckless frame.

“What are you doing?” Toby asked.

“Something I learned from watching humans, though it is not easy for a grod. I am shaking my head back and forth to show my disagreement and disappointment. We grods also have candidates for leadership who think more of the destination rather than the journey that shows they are worthy of the destination. Unless they hide it well, they are not elected.”

“That’s true for us as well,” Toby said. “And what are you doing?”

Bruce was contorting his body side to side. “Something I learned from watching Twenty-two. I’m voicing my surprise by shaking side to side. Of course we vote out those who are too obvious about getting elected rather than showing they should be elected. But our stomach for this type of thing is way off the charts.”

* * *

Mexican Liberation Day commemorated the tenth anniversary of the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Mexico on August 30, 2090, twelve years after the Eth Invasion. Before the invasion, Eth had spread to the world, allowing its users the freedom to act in their own best interests, with ethics no longer a consideration. At the height of the Eth craze, scholars thought it could mark the end of civilization. According to numerous scholarly papers at the time, a politician or corporate leader willing to use Eth had a huge advantage over one that did not, and so by the theory of political and corporate evolution, Eth users tended to dominate all branches of government and large companies, which would make its illegalization a rather unlikely event.

What the scholars did not take into account was the ultimate selfishness of an Eth user in a position of power, who realized it was to their benefit to outlaw Eth for others—while keeping their own stash. The World Congress declared it illegal in 2076.

Mexico dominated the Eth trade, and like Canada with Full VR, refused to close down Eth production and exportation. In 2078, the U.S., which had occupied Canada seven years earlier, invaded Mexico. They overran all the main cities, destroyed all Mexican military bases, and declared victory in four weeks. Then began the Eth Eradication Program, where they divided Mexico into a grid, and searched it, block by block, in the greatest police action in the history of mankind. The U.S. vowed to complete the task in one year.

Twelve years, 153,000 U.S. and 376,000 Mexican deaths, and roughly thirty trillion dollars later, with the Eth trade cut in half, the U.S. declared victory and pulled out.

* * *

Over three hundred thousand came to the Mexico Liberation Day rally, held in Toltec Square outside Mexico City on Monday afternoon, August 30, the day before the North American election. Behind heavy security, Dubois, Ajala, and Toby stood near the lectern in front. Dubois and Ajala were surrounded by staff. Toby had only Bruce, with Turk and Crowbar nearby.

Dubois stood behind Toby and put his hand on his shoulder. “You let me down. We were supposed to do this together.”

Toby turned around. Dubois stared at him with the cold smile Toby knew so well. It was the first time he’d been on the receiving end. “Come over here for a sec,” Dubois said. The two walked a few feet away from the others.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” Toby said quietly. “We just don’t agree on anything.”

“That’s why we need to compromise,” Dubois said, “like we did five years ago. The point is to win, get in office, and then we can do what we need to do. You can’t do that until we’re in office.”

“That’s what you said five years ago,” Toby said. “You governed for your base. You’ve been running for reelection since your first day in office.”

Dubois shook his head. “These next five years will be the best yet. Why are you wasting time on a third-party challenge you can’t win? You’ve made your point, you did great in Australia, but your run’s over. Have you seen the polls in the U.S. and Mexico?”

“Have you seen the Canadian polls?”

“How many electoral votes does Canada have, six? There’s 62 from the U.S., and 20 from Mexico. Canadians just don’t breed like the rest of us. Drop it, and come work with me and your daughter.”

Lara. Why wasn’t she here?

“We were together a long time, Toby, and I can read your mind,” Dubois said. “She’s back at the hotel, doing the final touches on our plans for the Russian Federation, with a dozen advisors. You should be there, and bring Bruce, if he’ll come. Lara’s good, but she makes mistakes. We could use your experience.”

“Plug it,” Toby said, and walked back to Bruce. He should be working with Lara. They were a team. But no more.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Dubois said sharply. “You’ll be running city council elections after this.”

All three candidates gave speeches. Dubois went first, and emphasized how some politicians were soft on crime, would start the slippery slope toward making Full VR legal despite all the problems in the past, and would raise taxes. Surprisingly, he also brought on much booing by bringing up the Eth trade and how it might “come back” if the world didn’t stay tough on it. He was probably talking to the U.S. audience. Toby thought his bringing it up was doubly ironic, both because Dubois used Eth, and because the Eth trade had never gone away, despite official claims by Dubois, and so could not “come back.”

Dubois finished with a selective summary of all the things he’d promised to do five years before, and how each had been fulfilled successfully. Bruce made faces at each of the major claims.

“He’s dubyaing,” Bruce said. “He may have believed some of this stuff five years ago, but there’s no way he can still believe it.”

Dubois received loud applause along with scattered boos when he was done. Toby remembered that Mexico was one of the few places where Ajala led in the polls—barely—due to Dubois’s past support of the American invasion. It had been 22 years ago, and Dubois had just started his political career, but the Mexican media wasn’t about to let anyone forget. Yet, as Toby had pointed out more than once, losing Mexico’s 20 electoral votes is fine if you get USA’s 62.

Ajala went next, and after his standard stump speech, he went after the U.S. for its invasion. The crowd was thunderous in its applause. Then he introduced his Ten Universal Rights. After each item, he shouted to the crowd, “Don’t you deserve this?” The crowd was loud in its approval.

Toby went last. He, Bruce, and the speechwriters had spent many hours honing his speech. As he walked to the podium, chants of “Blueshirt go home!” came from the crowd, the nickname for Americans in Mexico, from the uniform color of American troops. One woman yelled, “You’re taking votes from Ajala!”

With all the yelling, the person that most caught his attention stood silently near the front of the crowd, staring at Toby. He wore an old-style blue American uniform like the type used in the invasion of Mexico, a surprising wardrobe choice in such a crowd. The man was missing his right arm. Toby met the man’s stare for a few seconds, nodded, and went to the podium.

He’d have to win over the crowd. He started with his standard stump speech. He emphasized the importance of PUFF, which was of great value to a country like Mexico, so divided between the rich and poor. Then he criticized the U.S. for staying in Mexico for so long, while avoiding the question of whether they should have invaded at all over the Eth problem. The crowd loved this part, but Toby knew he suffered from the same malady all moderate candidates face. Mexicans would tend to support the candidate who was most against the U.S. invasion, which was Ajala; the U.S. would tend to support the candidate who was most for the U.S. invasion, which would be Dubois. Perhaps there was a place around the Rio Grande where Toby could find votes.

When he was done, he was surprised by how loud the applause was. “Did you hear that?” he asked Bruce afterwards. “They applauded me as loudly as Ajala!”

“Of course they did,” Bruce said. “Applause costs money.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Toby asked. “You didn’t waste money on Mexico, did you?”

“It’s not about Mexico, it’s about your public image.” Bruce waved his arm toward the crowd. “All this will be on tonight’s newscasts, and that’s what we want people to see.”

Toby was skeptical, but if Bruce thought it was worth spending precious campaign money to pay crowd members to cheer for him, that was his call. He wondered how many Bruce had hired, and how many had been hired by Dubois and Ajala.

A fly buzzed next to his face, and he waved his hand at it. The fly flew about in a loop, returning to Toby, who again waved his hand at it, slightly irritated.

Bruce waved his hand in front of Toby’s face with blinding speed. “Got ’em!” Bruce then threw the fly against the paved ground. “That shouldn’t kill it, just daze it so it’ll stop bugging us.”

Toby stared at the fly, which now stood quietly on the ground. A fly. A simple fly. It brought back a memory. Could it be?

“TC, get me Phil Farley,” he whispered. Soon he had Dubois’s Chief of Staff, who was presumably back in New York, keeping things running while Dubois was away. Toby was a bit surprised he took his call.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” Farley said. “Dubois’s pretty angry at you.”

“I know, I just spoke with him. Look, Phil, remember a month ago, the last time I was at the Red Room?”

“Sure, Toby, that’s the day you got angry and quit.”

“I think there’s a spy bug there,” Toby said. He explained about the irritating fly that had been buzzing about that day. What if it had been a spy device used by Vasquez? It would explain his near quoting of his words to Lara, and explain how he knew about Dubois’s upcoming support of the Mormons and betrayal of the Israelis. It would be just like the bravado gangster mayor to have the fly buzz about in the Red Room rather than sit quietly in the shadows. Vasquez had the finances and connections for just such a toy.

Phil listened, but seemed skeptical. “The Red Room is the most secure place in the world,” he said. “It’d be impossible for a fly, real or fake, to get inside.”

“The fact that one did means it’s either a real fly that’s really sneaky, or a fake one that’s been designed to get past your security. I suggest you do a high-powered sweep.”

Farley said he’d take care of it, and disconnected.

And now he had a more distasteful task to take care of. “Bruce, we need to talk.”

“I know, I know,” Bruce said. “I wish I could play back the recording when I talked to Vasquez, but we were all on no-record.” Toby was afraid of that; it was the same feature that kept him and other Dubois aides from ever being able to play back conversations with the President. Toby’s TC was also on permanent no-record, so his private TC conversations could not be shared.

“What exactly did you tell him?” Toby didn’t think Bruce would lie to him, though he could be tricky with what he actually said.

“All I told him was that anyone who raised as much money as he promised would be thought of when jobs are being handed out. I never even mentioned the cabinet.”

“So you thought he might be interested in a sub-cabinet job?” Toby asked. “Perhaps Assistant Secretary to the Undersecretary of the Department of Human Services? Or maybe janitorial services? Or perhaps he could join our technical support, answering questions from stupid campaign aides who mislead wealthy gangsters into thinking they can be my Treasury Secretary?”

“It would be an interesting…experience, Vasquez in charge of the treasury.”

“And we’d probably experience it from jail,” Toby said. “Just be careful from now on. We’ve reached our quota on gangsters who are out to get me. Which reminds me—how’d you talk me into doing a fundraiser with Vasquez anyway?”

“Probably because we need the money,” Bruce said. “If we had enough to hire more security, perhaps fewer hundred-year-old women will kidnap you.”

* * *

Reese sarcastically clapped as Platt finished his speech. Once again he’d listened to all three speeches. The same old stuff. Platt was definitely siphoning votes from Ajala. His security was still weak. Once again Reese had caught Platt’s eye. Once again Platt had nodded at him. As if that would excuse him for his actions. As if that would save him if Reese chose him.

He’d seen Melissa in the crowd. He wanted to talk to her again, touch her hand again. But that would be dangerous. A killer needed to be in the shadows, unseen. Until he struck.

He’d begun his plans. Three of them. One for Dubois. One for Ajala. One for Platt. Three plans for each. Because he was a professional. He’d already made queries. Soon he’d go to Russia for supplies. Then he’d choose. Which fly to swat? It would be the most important choice of his life. It would be the most important choice for the fly as well.