No doubt? Sebastian thought. Not even a little pinch? As a burnt-out idealist, belief without scrutiny struck him as juvenile.
“Who are these Mayday extremists? Why did they target Governor Harrah? How did they gain access to the campaign event? These questions must be answered. And they will be. Right now, America’s best and brightest are working tirelessly to find those responsible. Justice will be served. I’m as certain of that as I am of the sound of freedom’s ring in the American dawn.”
Now that, Sebastian thought, is terrible speechwriting.
“Terrorism can feel very far away and vague, something that happens somewhere else, to other people, until it’s right in front of us. For nearly two decades now, more and more Americans have been forced to reckon with this brutal truth. It’s not the way life should be. It’s not the life we dream of for our children. But still—it’s the way life is, here, now.
“Does it have to be? I’m here to say that it does not.”
Better, Sebastian thought. Truth and reckoning and kids always land.
“It’s not American Service the political party or American Service the campaign that threatens these wicked fanatics so much, though. It’s something much more important. It’s American Service the idea. They hate it. It’s the promise, it’s the dream of American Service they loathe. It’s democracy itself they attack.
“They fear American Service because we will transform this country for the better. We will have a safer America. A more free America. A new America.”
Here it comes, Sebastian thought. The big enchilada.
“Governor Harrah believed in this dream. He should be the one standing before you, ready to see it through. He’s been taken from us too soon. By cowards who seek to defy and destroy rather than build and sustain. In his stead, I believe it’s my sacred duty to serve for him. It’s what he would’ve done had our roles been reversed.
“This is why today I’m announcing my candidacy for president of the United States.
“The center can hold. The center will hold. Because it must. While the political left whines, while the political right raves, American Service stands in the breach of the radical middle. We stand in the breach ready to lead, ready to sift through the dirty work of governance.
“My name is General Jackie Collins. And I can’t wait to get to work for your vote.”
* * *
Sebastian vomited in the shower. He’d been thinking about the general’s speech and trying to figure out why it bothered him, so he blamed the purge on that. He wished he’d paid more attention to history assignments in college and read more closely; he’d received a first-rate education and not retained enough from it. If I had, he thought, before trailing off. His mind was unable to cohere. Something something, he finished. Rome and Athens and the colonialism.
Mandatory national service? What would people like him do? Write dispatches about forest fires from Montana? It sure is hot here, citizens. Hot and burning. Be glad you served out your time singing at retirement homes!
As he toweled off, he heard someone knocking. “Come in!” he shouted. He figured it was Pete, returned from whatever sex den he’d spent the night in, but instead he found Dorsett on his couch, watching a replay of General Collins’s speech.
“She’s got a real chance,” Dorsett said, pointing at the television. “Early, I know. But people seem tired of the same ol’ same ol’.”
Sebastian didn’t say anything to that.
“A lady general centrist who talks openly about drawdowns and bringing home warfighters. This is quite a country, Rios.”
Sebastian just grunted. He’d already given the general and American Service too much thought this morning.
They watched the rest of the replay together, then a segment about the growing colony protests happening across the nation. There were clips from Berkeley, Chicago, Seattle, even Texas. Unlike General Collins’s call for gradual change abroad, the protestors demanded an immediate closure of all rehabilitation colonies. Sebastian admired their spirit. Takes stones to do that, he thought. They have to know it’s futile. Dorsett turned off the television.
“Enough politics. Rots the brain.”
“What’s new?” Sebastian hadn’t seen much of his handler recently. The war memorial bombings, he figured, though Dorsett hadn’t said. Terrorism took precedence over much, to include superpowered bureaucrats living upstairs.
“Nothing for me.” Dorsett leaned back into the couch. “You, though? You famous now. What you pulled with those militants. Even my boss thought it was cool.”
Sebastian liked that, and smiled through his hangover. “It was kind of a blur, honestly.”
“Hey, man.” Dorsett’s voice turned, the Carolina gust falling from his words. This was his serious-business tone, Sebastian knew. He usually heard it when he forgot to not go invisible. “I need to talk to you about Justice. Know you been spending some time together.”
“You mean Pete.”
“Same guy.”
Sebastian didn’t like the way Dorsett was looking at him from the tops of his eyes, like he was staring down a weapon sight.
“Okay,” he said.
“What’s he like. What he wants from you. That sort of thing.”
“We’re just…” Sebastian wasn’t sure what to say. “Drinking buddies. He’s crashed here a few times. What’s he like? I don’t know. Tall.”
Dorsett leaned forward on the couch and crossed his arms, the same position Sebastian was in. This made Sebastian self-conscious, so he leaned back into the couch, copying the relaxed position Dorsett had just abandoned.
“The Chaplain. That mean anything to you?”
“ ’Course,” Sebastian said. “Jonah Gray. Leader of the Maydays you all are hot and frothy over. Same assholes who took over the ballroom.”
“Has Swenson ever said anything weird about them? To you? Around you?”
“No. Definitely not. Other than being pissed about them putting guns on him.”
“He ever say anything weird in general?”
“Huh? You’re freaking me out.” Sebastian rubbed underneath his sunglasses. Weird in general? Like saying the cythrax vaccine was a dud? Or suggesting he’d hidden away some of the shah’s missing gold? What about that cryptic phone call at the port? Dorsett had been good to him, always. Probably should answer his question, Sebastian thought. But he didn’t. Pete had enough to deal with. He didn’t need overzealous Bureau agents bugging him, too.
“Nothing like that. We wander around and he talks war stories. He’s killed more people than cancer, sure. But here? Here he’s just bored and confused. Can’t figure out the rhythm of anything.”
Dorsett nodded and cracked his knuckles. Sebastian wanted his apartment back to himself again. “We’re getting a bunch of crazy-ass tips. Be careful with him, that’s all I’m saying. He has a reputation for using people.”
Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of that. He thought again about the vaccine conversation and his drunken pledge to himself to figure out what happened in Tripoli. He’d thought of one way to pursue some truth. He told Dorsett he wanted to see a government doctor for a checkup.