Chapter Fifty-Three: The Scarf or the Eth

Toby regretted showing the tape to Bruce. “You have to make it public,” Bruce hotly insisted. “It’s not a matter of gay rights, it’s a matter of truth! Let the people decide.”

“What type of president would I be if I get elected from something like this?” Toby paced back and forth on the Rocinante, twirling his scarf like a baton. Feodora was at a campaign event in Afghanistan, and Twenty-two had gone with her. Toby had put up a privacy screen so the others up front couldn’t hear his discussion with Bruce.

“If you were running the campaign, you know you’d release it,” Bruce said. “Dubois would run it. Sometimes the ends do justify the means!”

“Once upon a time I would have run it,” Toby said, “but not now. We’re supposed to be better than they are.”

“You know it’s not like that.” Toby had never seen Bruce so worked up. “You knew when you agreed to run that you’d have to compromise on things you didn’t want to compromise on—isn’t that what this whole campaign is about?”

“Compromise on opposing points of view, of course!” Toby shouted, his voice beginning to crack. “If the majority of the Islam world is against gay rights, then I’ll talk to them about a compromise, but this isn’t a compromise—I can’t do this!”

“Of course you can!” Bruce shouted back. “The very fact you showed it to me screams out that, deep down, you want it shown. You knew you couldn’t do it, so you showed it to me, hoping I’d talk you into it. At least be honest with yourself!”

Toby stopped pacing. Was Bruce right? No one forced him to show the video to Bruce. He could have deleted it. Instead, he’d shown it to his campaign director. What did that say about his own motives?

“You may be right,” Toby said, his voice down to a mere whisper. Bruce slapped a jar of Feodora’s throat remedy in front of him. Toby ignored it. “Deep down, I probably do want this shown, so I can win the election and be president. I’m sure you can arrange to leak it to the media so no one can connect it with us. It’s all so tempting…but it’s wrong.”

“Of course it’s wrong,” Bruce said. “If honest politicians run honest campaigns, then only dishonest politicians would win. You know that. This is crunch time. You release that video, you’ll sweep the Islam election, and you are the next president. The good that will come from that will overwhelm doing what’s necessary to put you in that position.”

They were silent for a moment as Toby paced some more. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it.” His voice was a mere croak, his throat on fire.

“I thought you’d say that,” Bruce said. He held up a small bottle. “You know what the right thing to do is, but can’t bring yourself to do it. Take one of these.” He put the bottle into Toby’s hand.

Eth.

Toby realized he was still twirling his scarf. He stopped and looked at the scarf in one hand. Then at the bottle in the other.

One tablet, and he’d be president of Earth. It was that simple. No one would know.

That’s not true; he would know, and Bruce would know.

He was Adam at the Garden of Eden, and the snake—or Bruce—was offering him the apple. How had that worked for him?

He stared at the bottle again, then back at the scarf. He handed the bottle back to Bruce. With only a whisper left, he said, “I’m not releasing it.” He wrapped the scarf firmly around his neck.

Bruce sighed, his anger seemingly gone. “Okay. But do something about your voice. I need to work on your next speech. I’ll let the others in.” He stepped through the privacy screen toward the front of the Rocinante.

Toby was surprised Bruce backed down so suddenly. He gulped down some of Feodora’s throat remedy. Soon he’d have another crowd to talk to. He’d lost track of where they were, but Bruce would tell him when they got there.

He was so close to being president. How would he feel later if they lost? Would he spend the rest of his life regretting it? Was it worth throwing all that away to avoid one small transgression?

“Dammit!” Why was he so dizzy? He slammed his fist on the table. Bruce had been right. All his honest babble was just that—babble.

“Have you changed your mind?” Bruce was back.

The wooziness left Toby, and suddenly his mind was clear. Realization hit him on multiple fronts. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sending you the tape. Make sure to release it so nobody can track it to us.”

“Done.”

Toby ordered his TC to send the video to Bruce. “Oh, and Bruce? You think I don’t recognize Eth when I take it? You put it in the throat remedy. You’re not as smart as you think you are.” Already Toby was thinking about certain changes in their platform.

“I’m smart enough. And here’s the speech for your next appearance, in Kandahar, Afghanistan.”