Childless: A Novel (8 page)

Troy settled
into the chair located immediately behind Kevin Tolbert’s seat at the conference table. He felt at home, as if he had never left his role as intelligence officer and adviser to his friend. It was from this very location that he had fed Kevin talking points and supporting statistics on the day the congressman first introduced the concept of
bright spots
into the congressional vocabulary.

He leaned toward Julia, sitting nervously in the adjoining seat. “All’s well,” he said with a slight squeeze of her hand.

“So he doesn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Kevin explained the situation. Anderson knows you no longer work with RAP Syndicate. You’re attending as my wife rather than as journalist Julia Davidson.”

“Julia Davidson Simmons,” she corrected with a smile.

“Who were you talking to in the hall?” Troy asked.

Julia pointed toward an elegant fortysomething woman seated at the other end of the long conference table. “Trisha Sayers recognized me and made a fuss,” she explained. “Wanted to catch up.”

“Does she know you’ve gone over to the dark side?”

Julia laughed. “We only had a few seconds. The topic of marriage didn’t come up.”

Troy looked toward the clock on the wall: a few minutes before ten. If he knew anything about the host of this meeting, the discussion would start right on time. Brent Anderson, Senator Joshua Franklin’s right-hand man, was a stickler for both punctuality and productivity. Troy had come to admire Anderson’s efficiency back when he led the austerity coalition toward consensus. They debated and decided on a package of proposals in a matter of weeks, a monumental task that should have taken months. But they had been racing against time. Franklin knew that revised budget projections from the census would create panic in the markets. He wanted to strike quickly to position himself as a proactive leader in the midst of crisis. And while his timing did little to ease the economic collapse, it did propel him even higher in national polls.

Troy sensed that a similar urgency would likely characterize this discussion. Why else would Franklin have insisted that Anderson chair the meeting?

Kevin leaned back in his chair toward Troy, who leaped forward in response to a summoning motion.

“What’s up?” Troy asked in a hushed voice.

“Look here.” Kevin pointed to a page on the screen embedded in the conference table. “You were right.”

Troy read quickly, trying to beat the countdown to meeting launch.

“Prime placement on the agenda,” Kevin said with enthusiasm. “Who’d have thought?”

Troy cleared his throat in mock offense. “A certain former chief of staff would have thought,” he jabbed. “I owe you a head-rub for questioning my instinct.”

Kevin patted his head protectively as Troy retreated back to his chair.

“I nailed it,” he whispered to Julia. “They’re taking the bright spot approach much more seriously this round.”

“They would have taken it seriously last year if I hadn’t written the
Breeders
story,” Julia said with regret.

“If you hadn’t been assigned to that story you wouldn’t be Mrs. Troy Simmons,” Troy reminded her. “Besides, the timing is better now.”

“How’s that?”

“Everyone’s nervous about how the NEXT appeal will land. They can’t bank on growth in transitions to fund a recovery. A loss for NEXT could turn Kevin into Churchill.”

“Winston Churchill? The chubby Brit?”

“The chubby Brit who everyone considered a nagging crackpot until his warnings became their reality.”

“Got it. Kevin is the nagging crackpot warning them about trends they don’t want to face.”

“They’ll have no choice but to face them when the transition industry takes a hit.”

“
If
it takes a hit,” Julia corrected.

“My gut tells me it already has. That’s got to be the reason Franklin formed this coalition.”

The sound of opening doors drew their eyes to the far end of the conference room, where Brent Anderson entered with an entourage of aides. He took the chair at the head of the table as the others settled into seven of the nine empty chairs that lined the walls.

The assembly complete, Troy looked at each face gathered, to identify potential allies and opponents. He recognized nearly every attendee. Several had served with Kevin on the austerity coalition in 2042. Others had participated in a long series of floor debates defending specific cuts that had been pieced together for a larger proposal. No one had liked the details he or she was defending. But they had no real choice. It was considered political suicide to oppose the only viable plan for preventing an economic free fall. In the end even liberals joined the fiscal conservatives, holding their noses while voting for what became commonly labeled the Franklin Austerity Plan. With his eye on the White House, Franklin now hoped to make another strategic move.

“Franklin’s Comeback Plan,” Troy whispered.

Julia eyed him inquisitively.

“That’s what they’ll call it,” he continued. “They’ll call whatever comes out of this dialogue Franklin’s Comeback Plan. Ten to one says he’ll use it as his calling card for the 2044 campaign. No politician wants to be known for cuts. He wants to offer a positive plan to rebuild the economy.”

Troy hushed himself as Brent Anderson launched the meeting.

“I’d like to begin by thanking everyone for accepting Senator Franklin’s invitation to participate on the comeback coalition,” Anderson began. “As you no doubt read in the advance briefing I sent last Thursday, we’ve been asked to craft a viable strategy our party can rally around to restore this nation’s economy back toward some semblance of health.”

Troy typed and sent a note to Kevin’s screen.

Kevin nodded slightly in inconspicuous agreement.

“The few of you who served on the austerity coalition last year,” Troy heard Anderson continue, “will be familiar with the process I intend to use for this assignment that, I hope, will help us move quickly through what could otherwise become a daunting agenda. We must discuss very important and complicated matters in short order. Not an easy task. But it can be done if you will allow me to enforce a few simple rules of order.”

Troy remembered the process well. Each agenda item would begin with a fifteen-minute fast-fire presentation followed by another fifteen for questions to clarify or enhance rather than debate. Anderson would have already leveraged his tough-minded tenacity to cull through the clutter of a million possible options to find the most promising ideas. He was the master of keeping committees focused on productive ends rather than wasting time on grandstanding or speculation about what might or even should be done. Under Anderson’s direction this coalition would discuss only those items that met three simple criteria.

1. Was easy to explain in a sound bite. 
   
2. Had solid data showing it would work. 
   
3. Served Franklin’s political agenda. 
   

Kevin’s backstage efforts to sell the idea of resurrecting the Bright Spots proposal must have convinced Anderson it satisfied all three.

“As the first item on the agenda suggests, we’ll explore comeback options in anticipation of the decision scheduled to come out of the Tenth Circuit a few weeks from now. Senator Franklin has asked that we craft a proposal that can play well regardless of where things land on the NEXT appeal.”

“Early indications?” asked Trisha Sayers, seated to Anderson’s immediate right.

“Could go either way. Judge Coates leans for and Judge Howatch against. That makes Santiago the deciding vote. He has no track record of similar cases so we have no idea where he’ll come down.”

“Who appointed him?” came a question from the other side of the table.

“Obama.”

“Must be an old bugger,” someone said.

“Over thirty years on the bench,” Anderson replied.

“Not good,” added Sayers. “The older demographic leans against the Youth Initiative.”

“By a two percent margin,” Anderson responded. “A practically even split. Like I said, we have no idea where he’ll land. That’s why we need a plan that assumes either possibility. Remember, even if NEXT wins the appeal the case could go higher.”

“The Supreme Court?” someone said. “They’ll never accept the case.”

Troy moved his head to get a better look at who had made the comment. Congresswoman Nicole Florea of Nevada.

“Why do you say that?” Kevin asked.

“It’s a wrongful death case alleging inadequate approval measures.” Her tone betrayed irritation at Kevin’s question as well as his presence in the room. “Hardly worthy of our highest court’s attention.”

“I disagree.” The comment came from a disheveled-looking gentleman leaning forward in his chair. “The NEXT case has major implications for the entire industry and the president’s signature initiative. Every new hurdle people are required to jump creates a corresponding drop in transition volunteers. Hundreds of billions of dollars are at stake. I think the court will want a say on whether—”

“Rather than waste time in speculation,” Anderson interrupted, “I’d like to ask each of you to read the executive briefing on the NEXT case after the meeting. It should arrive in your in-boxes momentarily. Now, I’d like us to move on to the second item on the agenda. Nicole.”

DID SHE BRING THE WITCH’S BROOM
?
Troy typed to Kevin, prompting a gently scolding slap from Julia.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “Let him concentrate.”

Troy leaned toward Julia to explain but decided he could defend his tactics after the meeting. Part of his role had always been to help Kevin keep things light. While his friend had an impressive mind, it was Congressman Tolbert’s beguiling charm that usually won the day. An occasional quip deflected rising tensions and might help his performance during the Bright Spots portion of the agenda.

Nicole Florea had already thanked the committee for the opportunity to speak when Troy received a printed copy of her briefing delivered by a young man the congresswoman must have hired for front office décor. Printed pages meant it contained highly confidential information. The same young man would likely collect and shred the handouts after the presentation.

Florea burned five of her fifteen minutes reliving her glory days as leader of the Western States Conservative Coalition. She took credit for garnering the support necessary to help President Lowman pass the Youth Initiative over what she labeled the “sentimental qualms” of the religious wing of the party. Then she burned another five minutes trying to make the case that any serious attempt to drive an economic comeback required expanding the initiative to recruit a wider circle of volunteers.

Brent Anderson glanced at the clock. “Forgive me for interrupting, Nicole,” he said impatiently. “But we have only allocated fifteen minutes. Did you want to explain the details of your proposal before we open up for questions?”

She appeared indignant at the idea that Anderson’s rules of order might apply to her, apparently considering her autobiographical self-tribute and policy remix mere preliminaries before the meat of her presentation.

“Well, I did plan to walk us through details of the plan found on page three where I—”

“If I may,” Anderson interjected, clearly eager to spare everyone another ten minutes of listening to the obvious. “I suggest you move us right to the bottom of page ten. I’m pretty sure most of us are familiar with the economic trend lines justifying your plan. It might be a better use of time to dive right into details of the proposal.”

The redirect flustered the congresswoman more accustomed to giving speeches than to receiving direction. “Yes. Of course,” she said, flipping pages of her own copy of the document.

Troy half listened to Nicole Florea’s clumsy explanation while his eyes scanned ahead to her supposed solution. Kevin would be doing the same. Nothing new. She made yet another call to expand the president’s Youth Initiative; to create greater incentives for potential transition volunteers. He had seen the language before. “Greater incentives” meant increased pressure. Make it easier to say yes so it would be harder to say no. America needed more of the elderly and disabled to get with the program. They were, after all, debits. They cost more than they produced. They spent personal wealth on themselves rather than releasing it to the younger, healthier generation. That’s why so many had come to label them “selfish parasites” draining rather than fueling the economy by requiring time and attention from otherwise productive workers and entrepreneurs; those who contributed. Those who paid taxes.

Troy looked up from the page to cringe at the congresswoman’s efforts to sell financial projections she clearly didn’t understand. “So as you can see, a mere five percent volunteer rate among unproductive segments of the economy during the next three years will dramatically reduce the deficit while stimulating private sector growth.”

Troy did the math. Depending upon where you drew the line between “productive” and “unproductive,” 5 percent could mean between four and eight million new transitions on top of the roughly five million since the Youth Initiative began.

Kevin’s daughter clearly fit within the “unproductive” classification. Little Leah would never live an independent life. She might always require care, placing her at the top of Nicole Florea’s list of fitting volunteers for a simple procedure at one of the many conveniently located NEXT transition clinics.

Troy noticed a rising crimson hue on Kevin’s neck.

So much for helping my friend keep things light
, he thought.