Chapter Fifty-Six: Esperanza and Hope

Toby had never really understood the term “ghost town” until Melissa took him and Bruce on a tour of Esperanza Monday afternoon. Years of Antarctica winds had reduced the rows and rows of houses circling the town to crumbling ruins. As they moved downtown in the freezing temperatures, it was no better. The remains of the city looked like a smaller version of the nuking of Seattle. The Gray Guard had restored an old Hilton Hotel for the large contingents from the Dubois and Platt campaigns.

“I’ve seen videos when Esperanza was alive,” Melissa said. “My grandparents told stories about it. And then the sponsoring companies left, and so the people left.”

“Why did your family and the Wangs stay?” Toby asked.

“Someone has to run the science station and keep the penguins company.”

It was early summer in Antarctica, with seventeen-hour days. By December, Melissa told him, the days would be twenty hours long, with twenty-four hour sunshine at the actual South Pole. In July, the height of the Antarctic winter, the nights would be twenty hours in Esperanza, with complete darkness at the Pole.

They got out of the commandeered Gray Guard floater and walked about. Houses creaked under the whistling wind, but otherwise it was spookily silent.

* * *

That night, the Smiths and Wangs hosted the election-eve Monday night dinner at Esperanza’s town hall. This would be the only real chance to campaign personally with the Antarctica electorate.

Toby had some experience with dinner debates from the famed “Dinner Debate Down Under.” That debate had been primarily for the four electoral votes of Australia. This time they were even farther “down under,” and it was for president of the world.

He hoped they wouldn’t be bobbing up and down again.

Toby, Feodora, and Bruce sat together at the front table. Sitting appropriately to their left were Melissa and her parents; to their right were Joseph and his parents; and opposite them sat Dubois, Persson, and Farley. The press was banned, other than unmanned cameras that broadcast everything live to the world.

Toby had seen the report on Joseph Wang. Chinese-American like his parents, who were originally from San Francisco; tall for his age; home-schooled like Melissa; a good student; a reader of mysteries and, surprisingly, the classics; an excellent skier. Unfortunately, he’d also led a sheltered life, dominated by his parents and their views.

It was a quiet, civil dinner, with no barbecued kangaroo surprises. Melissa and Bruce didn’t get into a single argument. Melissa seemed subdued, no doubt knowing that anything she said would have little influence on the Wangs; doubtless they’d argued the issues many times already. Worldwide viewers were likely bored and disappointed.

“The lull before the storm,” Bruce TCed Toby.

And then the storm broke. “Toby,” Dubois said pleasantly, “didn’t you argue against nuclear waste disposal in Antarctica at a news conference in the late 80s, when you were running some governor’s race in South America, even though that’s Antarctica’s main source of revenue?”

“Yes, in the 2088 Argentina governor’s race, the dangers of radioactive wastes were an issue, since Argentina is the founding country of Esperanza, the entry point of those wastes. Are you for radioactive wastes in Antarctica?” And the debate was on, with over half the world’s population watching.

For two hours, they refought many of the issues of the past eleven weeks: Galactic Union membership, meat-eating, free food, Full VR, Kim and the USR, English First!, China’s borders, French banking, pirates, gun violence, gay rights, and others. Dubois argued strongly for his views, while Toby focused on the need to compromise. The vice presidential candidates and campaign directors were mostly quiet. Sometimes Melissa would ask questions, but Joseph silently observed everything. There was no telling what was going on in his head.

The parents asked pointed, partisan questions. However, they were amateurs, and Toby and Dubois had no problem addressing their questions with an answer that turned into a more difficult and pointed question for the other candidate. Sometimes Melissa joined the debate, but even she had nothing that could possibly convince the Wangs to change their vote.

Not once did either candidate raise his voice. Bruce had said that was the most important thing of all, and no doubt Dubois understood that. An angry man rarely looks presidential.

And yet, Toby knew it was all pointless. He looked at the faces of the Wangs, and knew he couldn’t convert them. He knew Dubois couldn’t convert the Smiths. It would go to the USE Congress, they would select Dubois, and Toby would go down as another losing third-party challenge, one that doomed the Ajala campaign and brought on five more years of Dubois.

In answer to the question of why he wanted to be president, Dubois gave a professional answer that touched on every major issue.

Toby gave nearly the same response he’d given since India, that forcing your views on others is as bad as them forcing their views on you, and that compromise and moderation were the key. He asked if there were any questions.

Joseph glanced at each of his parents, then stood up. What little background whispering came to an end. Everyone wanted to hear what the king-maker had to say.

“I know that everyone thinks I’m a joke,” he began. He spoke in a monotone, eyes down. One hand trembled slightly. He’s scared out of his mind, Toby thought.

“I’ve seen the news reports. I’m named after a cartoon character—thanks, Dad.” His father looked slightly embarrassed as he shrugged and mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

“I can’t help my name and my age. But I do know one thing.” For the first time he looked at the cameras. “I’m the guy who’s going to decide the next president.” There was a mass exhalation as people laughed at the unexpected joke.

“So I guess that means everyone’s going to listen to me. And I’ve listened closely to what the candidates said tonight. It really helped me make up my mind.” He pointed at Dubois. “I agree with everything he said tonight.” He looked toward Toby. “I’m sorry, Mr. Platt, but I had no idea what you were talking about half the time. I think you mean well, but you speak a different language. And look who you surround yourself with. A Russian general known to have committed atrocities in wartime—my parents told me about her. And your campaign director—isn’t he the one who thinks most people are too stupid to vote, are like chimpanzees? I’ve seen reports.”

“Actually,” Bruce said, “you are right. In the heat of an election race, I do say things like that about voters, because most voters know about as much about the issues as you and I know about brain surgery. If I said you didn’t know anything about brain surgery, would you object?”

“So you really think most voters are too dumb to vote?” Joseph asked.

“I would argue that if you don’t know the issues, then it is your civic duty not to vote.”

What the hell is he saying? Voting isn’t just a right, Toby thought. It’s a responsibility! At least he hadn’t said this earlier in public, forcing him to spend the rest of the campaign clarifying that he didn’t agree. But at this point, he’s not really hurting anything. At best, it’s a 3-3 tie and we lose. At worst, it’s a 3-3 tie and we lose. It makes no difference anymore.

“Meaning I don’t know the issues?” Joseph asked. He shook his head. Then he came over to Toby and extended his hand. “I think you mean well, but I can’t vote for you.” Toby took his hand and gave a firm shake.

Joseph looked back toward Dubois. “Mr. President, congratulations.”

* * *

“That pretty much ends it, doesn’t it?” Toby watched the Dubois campaign floater leave to take Joseph 1700 miles and four time zones over to the international dateline and Dakshin to vote. It was Tuesday morning. At eight PM Tuesday in Esperanza it would be midnight in Dakshin—the start of Wednesday and Joseph’s sixteenth birthday. Melissa went along as a representative of the Platt Campaign to make sure it was all done properly.

“We could always shoot it down,” Bruce said.

“Did you notice how many Gray Guard floaters went with them?” It had been a good run, the closest a third party candidate had ever come to winning the presidency.

“It probably wouldn’t be good politically to shoot them all down,” Bruce said. He was silent for a moment. “You know, a lot’s happened during this election.”

“Yeah, I’d say! I became a quadriplegic, we battled gangsters, assassins, and pirates, we were imprisoned and almost executed, we went through a war and a coup, and I got stuck listening to you and an alien debate issues for eleven weeks. That’s the abbreviated version.”

“I don’t mean that,” Bruce said. “I mean what’s happened to me.” Suddenly he was tossing a ping-pong ball from one hand to the other. “Look at the stuff I did this campaign. I did strategy based on winning, first, with what’s right sometimes a distant second, even tricking you into taking Eth to get you to go along. You don’t want to know some of the stuff I did in India and other places! I made promises to a gangster I knew we couldn’t keep, and a few other deals you also don’t want to know about. I treated Gene like dirt. And the advice I gave Tyler—how could I have done that? I wanted to win so much, and look what it did to me!”

“Nothing that I didn’t do as well back when I was with Dubois,” Toby said, deciding not to ask about the things he didn’t want to know about. “Let’s just agree that we’ll never do it again. There’s more to an election than winning.”

“I hope so,” Bruce said. Then his eyes brightened. “Though winning will be nice.”

“Huh? Is that some sort of joke?” Toby shook his head as he stared at his feet. “You heard what Joseph said. He already congratulated Dubois.”

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention,” Bruce said. “As Feodora might say, we still have a joker to play.”

Toby looked up. “What do you mean? You think we still have a hope?”

“Definitely. Did you know that Esperanza is Spanish for ‘hope’?”

“No, I did not. So you’re basing our hopes on the fluke of the town’s name? That’s our joker?”

“Maybe.”

* * *

As midnight approached, Toby, Lara, Bruce, and Feodora gathered in the Rocinante. Toby, Lara, and Bruce planned to fly back to Maryland that night, while Feodora would go back to Russia in the Dulcinea.

There was a knock on the door, and there was Twenty-two. “Ajala thought I should be here for historic vote.” Toby had to remind himself that while flying from Nigeria to Antarctica may take hours for a floater, for Zero it was just minutes.

“It’s midnight,” Bruce said soon afterwards. He held a ping-pong ball in each hand. As usual, he’d arranged for the results to be sent directly to him so they wouldn’t have to wait for the public announcement that would come a few minutes later. “Results are in.”

Suddenly Bruce turned pale. There was a cracking sound as he broke both ping-pong balls. Then he turned to Toby. His lip trembled as he took several breaths. He said something, but it didn’t quite come out.

“What—” Toby began, but Bruce interrupted him.

“We won!”

* * *

Twenty-two shook from side to side. Bruce screamed and systematically pulled ping-pong balls out of a box and threw them at everyone. Feodora doused everyone with Russian New Vodka. Stupid cowered in a corner.

Toby simply sat and took the showers of ping-pong balls and vodka. It simply wasn’t possible. They had won.

How had they won?

He finally asked Bruce. “We had a secret weapon, a joker,” Bruce said. “Did you forget Melissa went in the floater with Joseph? Do you think anyone can withstand Melissa for 1700 miles?”

“So we won 4-2?”

“Nope. 3-2. Joseph must not have voted.”

“You mean—you convinced him not to vote?”

“I only suggested it. I think Melissa did the rest.”

“You set that up, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“But it’s a civic duty to vote! I—I don’t want to win this way.”

Bruce gave him a professorial stare, literally looking down his nose at Toby. “You’d rather lose because a 16-year-old named after a cartoon character mindlessly voted for the guy his ignorant parents told him to vote for?”

“I’d rather everyone vote, period.” Toby began pacing about the floater’s purple interior. Never in his life had he gone from such heights of joy to the depths of despair in seconds. Is that how he’d won the election? “It’s his civic duty to vote.”

“Even if he doesn’t know the issues? Even if he’s only voting based on slogans, bumper stickers, and attack ads, and because it’s how his family always votes? Without thinking about issues and policy or understanding what’s at stake? I’d say it’s his civic duty not to vote.”

“He should learn the issues, of course. But if we tell people it’s okay not to vote if they don’t know the issues, then we’re just inviting them to not know the issues so they can avoid voting. Dammit!”

“There’s an argument there,” Bruce conceded. “But I think top priority is to take the time to learn the issues. If you can’t bring yourself to do that, then for God’s sake, don’t vote.”

“You’re challenging the very foundation of democracy.”

“Ignorant voters challenge the foundation of democracy. You want to concede?”

“Toby, we won election,” Feodora said. “Now you can use presidency to tell everyone to vote, and everybody wins. Now is not time to worry about this. You have five years to do that. When you do, let me know so I can be in Russia.”

Toby couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’ll let it go. But I am going to use this presidency to convince people to vote as a civic duty.”

“And to convince them to learn the issues before voting,” said Bruce. “We’ll make sure they get our side first.”

“That, too.”

A few minutes later Toby’s TC alerted him to an incoming call from Joseph Wang.

“Hello?” Toby said. He was glad TCs did not transmit smell with all the vodka Feodora had poured on him.

“Mr. Platt?” Joseph’s face was red, as if he’d been in a violent argument. “I want to explain what happened.”

“I saw the result. You didn’t vote?”

“I couldn’t. It was what Bruce said, about it being your civic duty not to vote if you don’t know the issues. A lot of the stuff you said, I’d never really heard that side of things. I wasn’t sure what to believe. And then…someone convinced me I didn’t know the issues.”

“Melissa, I presume?”

Joseph nodded. “Have you ever been trapped with her for a few hours? Jeez, she doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, not for a minute!”

“Actually, I’ve had that same experience. You survived?”

“Barely. She’s always been like this—now I remember why I avoided her when we were kids!”

“You should have voted. It’s a civic duty. A person can’t use ignorance as an excuse not to vote. It’s just incentive to stay ignorant.”

“But Bruce said—”

“Bruce and I just had it out over this. Next time you vote.”

“Okay, I will. But you know something? I might have voted for you anyway. The smartest thing Melissa said was that situations change, and someone like Dubois can’t change because he’s cornered by his political beliefs. You can compromise, and that’s why I can trust you as president. Besides, I promised my parents I wouldn’t vote for you. But I never said I’d vote for Dubois.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t take it well?”

“Sure didn’t.” His eyes brightened. “But you know what? I’ll have my diploma next year, just in time for next year’s congressional elections. Did you know Melissa was all over the world this past year as a campaign volunteer? She’s promised to hook me up somewhere, though I don’t know if that’s going to work out, since we don’t really agree on a lot of stuff. But I’d sure like to get out of Antarctica.”

“There’s a simple solution,” Toby said. “The Moderate Party will be running candidates all over the world next year, and I’d be proud to have you join us as an observer. You don’t even have to vote for us.” But we’re going to try to convince you to, he thought.

Perhaps the Moderate Party would get a new recruit.