David's Sling (40 page)

"So my friend developed the theory of the Rationality Token. In this theory, a roomful of bureaucrats shares a single rationality token. Whoever holds the token can act intelligently, but no one else can. And the bureaucrats pass the token around, secretly, in between questions."

Hilan thought about this for a moment, then pointed at the Rationality Token disc in Nathan's hand. "If you go around handing out too many rationality tokens, you could find yourself violating this natural law. "

Nathan clapped his hands. "Exactly! After sitting through these kinds of meetings for several years, my friend noticed that, scattered amongst the bureaucrats who shared tokens, there were special people. These special people were
always
rational, on all questions. My friend expanded his theory to include the notion that some people carried their own rationality tokens with them wherever they went, and as such were not bound by the laws that governed the others."

Nathan took the token in his hands, and slid the ribbon around Hilan's head so that the token dangled on his chest. "We established the decision duel to train people to such heights of rationality that they could always carry their own tokens. At the graduation ceremony we give the graduates their very own Rationality Tokens. As you can see, the token is not only useful for rationality; it is also good for a single trip on the Boston subway in case of emergency. "

Hilan laughed. "But I'm not a certified decision duelist."

"No. But someone clearly displayed full rationality in a decision duel that took place the day before the Night of Steel Sleet. Someone devised an insightful third alternative—an alternative of preemptive mutual arms reduction. I would like you to hold his token for him until we find him, whoever he was."

Hilan nodded. "I see." His hand closed over the token, clenching it. "Thank you. I'm glad you think I did the right thing." Tension flowed across his features. He turned his back to Nathan, staring out the window across the south lawn of the Ellipse. Sunshine poured in, outlining Hilan as a lonely figure.

Hilan shook his head as if to toss off an evil spirit. "I remember walking past Blair House, where Ronald Reagan was staying, the day before his first inauguration. It was cold and damp, a typical Washington winter day." He turned to face Nathan, though he still looked back into the past. "The street was lined with bleachers. Scattered through the bleachers were desolate, sad people, all staring at Blair House. Those people didn't know Ronald Reagan, but they knew he would be different from Jimmy Carter. They had no rational reason for believing that Reagan's arrival would improve their individual lives, but they still stared at the house. They seemed to think that if they could just catch a glimpse of the new president, the vision could change them. Those sad, desolate people stared at the windows of Blair House with
hope."
He laughed. "And you know what? I wanted to join them.''

He sighed. "They're out there now, watching for a glimpse of me. They love me without question. The gamble I played with their lives paid off, and now they believe I can do no wrong. I hope it lasts, at least long enough for me to keep my word with Klimov. I've accelerated the schedule for dismantling our missile silos. I hope that in the long run, what I've done helps the people who watch presidents from the bleachers with their sad but hopeful eyes."

Nathan nodded. "At least they know that
you
have changed their lives."

"Have I? You know, the Russians and Americans might have worked out a peaceful world without the Night of Steel Sleet. As it is, the world may be safe for democracy, but it certainly isn't safe from hate. When I initiated that Night, I
increased
the hate. The Russians hate us more now than ever before. We'll probably never know whether I made the right decision. "

Nathan shrugged. "Your solution might not have been optimal," he conceded. "But at least it was
effective.
Too many of the people who have shaped the world have never even achieved that much." Nathan snorted. "I'm already annoyed when I think about the historians a hundred years from now. Some damn fool will look back on our story—the story of the birth of the Information Age—and prattle about the sweeping inevitability of our victory. Idiots!"

Hilan laughed. He moved out of the sunlight. "Certainly no Zetetic would develop or believe such an unsane view of history." His smile held just a hint of mocking amusement. "And surely the Zetetic Institute will destroy all the bureaucracies and rule the world."

"No!" Nathan was surprised by his own vehemence. He softened his tone. "At least, I hope not. I designed the Institute as a temporary structure, a scaffold, on our way to new and better Information Age organizations. Most of the good in Zetetic philosophy should be absorbed by the school system, and maybe the corporations. Zeteticism as such would then disappear, because it would be the norm. It would cease to be distinguishable from the background of normal society. If the Institute continued on indefinitely, then we would merely have created another institution. We would have failed."

Hilan waved his hand expansively. "Do you believe that only teachers can learn from you? Then what about
my
institution, Nathan? What about my bureaucracy, the United States government?"

Nathan looked into the distance. "I believe you are obsolete, Mr. President."

"Really! And who will replace me?"

Nathan shook his head. "No one will replace you, Hilan. It's the office you occupy, as head of a nation-state, that will be replaced."

"What will replace it?"

Nathan's forehead creased in concentration. "I don't know. I can't see it yet." Tears glittered in his eyes. "Perhaps Jan would have known. She often saw the future more clearly than I, though she never tried to look too for." He shrugged. "When the time comes, I'm sure someone will know. It may not be our problem. Not all the ramifications of the Information Age will settle out in our lifetimes. "

"Thank heavens! We already have too much to do."

The telephone rang. The sound swept Nathan's mind with electric terror. Was this the call from the polite men from the hospital? Was it over? Was it too late?

He had never told Nell he loved her. He had been a coward, insufficiently self-assured to think of himself as a proper consort for a Madam President. Had she felt the same? Why had he waited?

Hilan's steps sounded soft as he walked across the room to pick up the obscenely ringing instrument. Hilan's tense impassivity turned to a serious frown as he listened, then changed to mischievous humor. "Thank you. Well be right over." He hung up and headed for the door. "I think you'll want to come with me," he said over his shoulder to Nathan.

"Who was it?" Nathan's pulse pounded as he asked.

"Well, it seems my obsolescence has already caught up with me. I'm about to be evicted from the White House." He opened the door to let Nathan go through first. "It seems that Nell has just regained consciousness. They think she'll be fine."

Nathan froze. Then his eyes widened, and joyful warmth suffused his whole body. "A miracle," he said simply. It was funny, Nathan noted, that even he himself could sometimes take the goodness of the world for granted. Even he needed an occasional miracle.

He had never lost his sense of wonder, despite the loss of Jan and the jeopardy of Nell. But with Nell's return from danger, every detail of his universe shined brighter. He appreciated the air he breathed, the scent of Washington springtime, the metallic polish of the limousine that stopped for them, the texture of the leather seat, the quiet rumble of the engine, the pressure of acceleration, the glow of the green light, the blue sky, the soft clouds, the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the bright white of the walls, the cold metal of the bed rails, the warm smile on Nell's face.

He lingered there, in the wonder of Nell's smile, for a very long time.