The Highest Frontier (39 page)

Hamilton shook his head. “Jenny, Jenny,” he mused. “How can any of us ever know what lies ahead? Isn’t it hard enough to govern in the present? How many succeed at that? And if you manage well this year, and the next, and the years add up—isn’t that what we call wise rule?”

“‘For he that can see ahead with his thought is by nature ruler and master.’”

At this bit of Aristotle, Hamilton’s face lit up and he clapped his hands. “Jenny, you are the student to die for. You’ve hit the nail on the head. If only you were up there yourself on the ticket—which of course someday you will be. Still—” A sly note crept in. “Don’t you feel just a bit bad, to leave your own aunt out there without help? Couldn’t you give her equal time—just five minutes of convention time on behalf of your aunt?”

“That’s the most absurd thing I ever—” She stopped. Her head tilted. “The Centrist convention?”

“Why not?”

“Could I say—that is, text—whatever I want?”

He shrugged. “How could we stop you?”

Her head was spinning. It was utterly crazy. And yet … Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

He shrugged again. “You tell me.”

Jenny was silent, her thoughts racing. “What happened to the Creep?”

“You promise? Five minutes?”

“I will text five minutes for Aunt Meg at the Centrist convention.”

He nodded. “The vice president has a problem. He won’t be seen in public again.”

“But— If something happened to the president—”

“Arrangements have been made.”

Jenny thought this over. The silence lengthened. “How do I know it’s true?”

“I’ve given my word. I value my reputation.”

*   *   *

At the dining hall, Jenny sat with the team but barely heard about the new plays, her mind still working out the notion of this Centrist speech. Could she use it to advantage; make a statement about the Firmament?

“Next Sunday, we host the Beijing Tigers. Last year was at China’s spacehab, the Great Wall.”

“
Hombre,
their teamwork rocks.”

“After that, two away games. Upload your suitcase.”

Charlie touched her arm. “Jenny?”

She startled. “Yes, I heard.” Ken was still sidelined, and that weekend half the team would be out for Yom Kippur. That Saturday was also the Frontera Circuit; and that night, the Ferrari celebration, Monte Carlo Night at the Mound. A big night for EMS—and then Sunday against Beijing.
Qué desastre.

At her side, Charlie nodded at a student across the table.
“What happened to him?”

The sophomore’s scalp was nearly bald, his face mottled white, his eyes half closed.
“Ebola, last year.”
The virus printed out easily, in the common toyrooms of the frogs’ dorms where they slept six to a room. Strains with no vaccine, hackers scrambled their gene sequence and sent them out. With prompt treatment one survived. If not caught early, the virus liquefied the internal organs. You could end up with brain damage, wasted muscles, and hair loss. Rehab was long and costly.

“Jenny, I’ve been thinking,” Charlie said. “I’d like to train for the squad.”

“
¡Excelente!
Check in with Doc Uddin. The training course is intense.” She well recalled her course in high school.

“I know, but it’s good for premed.”

“You can come out on my calls any time.”

What would they all think if they knew what she did about the Creep? If it were true. But what exactly had become of him?

After dinner Anouk sidled over. “Remember,
chérie,
you will accompany me to the Monte Carlo Night.”

Jenny shook her head. “Sorry, I’ll be tied up with the squad.”

Mary approached as well, trying to be social. She was always tagging after Jenny or Anouk, in lab or out.

“But Jenny, you promised. Remember, I went with you to the Bulls’ pig roast.”

She remembered all too well. “I want
nada más
with motor clubs. You can bring Berthe.”

“Berthe is staying home.”

Surprised, Jenny looked up. “Why?”

“DIRGs are not
chulo
.”

“Rafael didn’t mind. Why not go with him?”

Anouk tossed her head. Her scarf was particularly cute, golden tree frogs climbing a branch. “This time, I wish to make a different impression. I wish to arrive on my own, with you.”

“As your DIRG?”

She drew herself up with dignity. “As my sister.”

Jenny sighed. “Okay, I can go for a few minutes.” She could use the chance to play her taxes at the Mound. “But you know, Rafael may think I’m your date.”

Anouk’s eyes flew open. She considered this overlooked possibility. “
Enfin,
so be it. A little jealousy is good for a man; it builds character.”

Mary had been listening, her eyes fixed on one, then the other. Her eyes rarely blinked, but Jenny had gotten used to that. “We will come too. We are sisters.”

Anouk let out a French expression.
“No way she will come. She’s not invited.”

“Why not? They always want more
chicas.
”

Anouk thought this over.
“Very well, but she will NOT wear that same old tie-dyed dress. She’ll wear what I print out for her.”

Jenny asked Mary, “Will you let Anouk print you a dress?”

“Thank you very much,” said Dean Kwon’s voice.

Jenny eyed Anouk’s dress, which matched her scarf, a flowing sheath with one golden frog climbing to the shoulder. “Could you print one for me too?”

Anouk beamed and caught her hand. “With pleasure.”

Jenny took Mary’s hand as well. “Just call us the sisters
Arabidopsis
.”

*   *   *

Wednesday morning after Hamilton’s class, Jenny and Tom walked the road out toward the town. “I don’t know, Tom.” Jenny wore her EMS pin and scanscope, while Tom wore his Homefair toolbelt and hard hat. They both wore power bands on their calves, to donate for charity. They could appeal to the town as contributing citizens. “I just can’t talk to all these strangers.” She had always worked the back room, tying balloons and writing thank-yous.

“You talk all the time with patients,” he reminded her.

“That’s different. That’s not conversation; it’s a medical test. I ask their name; their response shows long-term memory. I ask who’s the president; their response shows short-term memory.” She half smiled. “The older folks sometimes tell me
I
am.” Those who recalled Rosa’s term.

“Well, let me do the talking. Your EMS pin will gain respect. Remember, they’re used to women who don’t talk. Just text and keep your head down.”

Indignant, Jenny pulled away. “I will
not
pretend I’m a pauline.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, I—”

“You think I’m a pauline like Leora,” she insisted. “You and everyone else.”

“Not at all. It’s just that—” He swallowed and tried to explain. “Some paulines are actually more like you. More than you might think.”

*   *   *

For practice, they stopped first at Sherri-Lyn’s place. The amyloid cottage was owned by an established family, who generously let the new colonist and her children stay in their sitting room until their Homefair house was done.

“You’re in luck,” Sherri-Lyn told them, “I’m just heading out for my shift at Lazza’s. Hey, Jenny, we’ve missed you.”

“Thanks. How’s the build?”

Sherri-Lyn wiped her hands on her overalls. “Down to the punch list. Right, Tom?”

“You bet. Say, we’re here supporting Father Clare for mayor. Any questions?”

Jenny said, “I’ve got a flyer I can stream to you.”

“No need. You’ve got my vote for sure.”

“Thanks.” Tom asked, “What about your host family?”

She hesitated a split second. “Sure, you know Sarah; she delivers the meals with Leora.”

Jenny recognized Sarah from her one day at the Homefair build. Sarah came over leading a mini-horse with a child astride. She wore riding boots and jeans, her hair capped.

“Good morning,” said Tom. “That baked ham was a great lunch last Saturday.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re here supporting Father Clare for mayor. Any questions?”

Sarah looked uncertainly at Tom, then Jenny.

“I can stream you a flyer.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Father Clare supports more medical help, and space security. Did you know Homeworld Security cut back their coverage?”

Sarah turned to her child, and patted the horse on the rump.
“The Lord will provide these things, if we honor creation.”

*   *   *

They stopped by two more families before winding up in the town square by the courthouse, amyloid red brick with a square clock tower, shaded by a naked oak tree. The courthouse was where they all had to go to vote. Jenny eyed the edifice curiously. “Why on Earth would everyone have to hike to one place just to vote?” They all had a toybox.

Tom shrugged. “This isn’t Earth.”

Jenny half smiled. “It’s ‘Ohio.’” Ohio was notorious for its political idiosyncrasies, and for the absurd amount of special treatment it got as the ultimate swing state. “But is it fair to the students away on break? Aren’t they disenfranchised? There ought to be a court challenge.”

Tom said, “That’s so English.” “English” was what he called the non-Amish. “Students can vote; they just need to get their return flight a few hours early.”

The tower clock read half past noon, and the pigeons crowded so thick Jenny had to shove them aside with her foot. She walked past the Smythe Power Bank, where colonists lined up to connect their bands and bank their energy. She looked up at Lazza’s. The town diner looked larger than she remembered. At least two floors of amyloid had been erected behind, dwarfing the original storefront. A window popped up:
“Lazza Hotel and Conference Center welcomes America’s candidates.”
The diner was preparing for Frontera’s presidential debate.

Inside the diner, the tables were full, so she and Tom sat on stools at the bar. Jenny eyed the antlered deer head. “Not sure how much good we’re doing.”

“It can’t hurt,” said Tom. “With so few votes, even one could make a difference.”

“That’s true even for the whole country.” The last two presidents had turned on less than a hundred votes. How could that be? It seemed improbable statistically. “But here, Father Clare could reach every voter himself. Why doesn’t he?”

“He wants us students to do everything,” said Tom. “I wonder if that’s why he ran.”

A loud cough at Jenny’s ear. Leora had taken the seat next to her. It was Wednesday, the day the mayor’s widow came.

Jenny exchanged a look with Tom.

“Excuse me.” Tom got up and headed for the restroom.

“Campaigning?”

Leora didn’t miss much, Jenny realized.
“We’re informing voters about Father Clare. Father Clare supports medical help, and hab security. Preventing disasters, like the flood.”

Leora adjusted the diad beneath her bonnet.
“You know both men well.”

That was true, Jenny realized. Had Hamilton bragged about his Ramos Kennedy student?
“One is my professor, the other my pastor.”

“Which is the better man? The better Christian?”

Jenny’s throat constricted. This was not at all what she was prepared to answer
. “We’re campaigning on issues. Father Clare’s plan will make our community safer.”

“Plans are made to be broken. The better man must win.”
Leora turned and looked her in the eye. “
You know them both. Which is the better man?”

Her pulse raced. All is fair in war and politics.
“Hamilton had this.”
She streamed the image of the Z token she’d seen on the professor’s desk.

31

Jenny’s convention appearance for her aunt was scheduled for Thursday noon, before Life lab. She felt less nervous than she expected; it was just five minutes, after all.

At the sight of her, Clive swallowed and flexed his hands. “Isn’t there some mistake?”

“I’m on the schedule.”

“The schedule keeps changing. It’s full of errors.” He added helpfully, “This is the Centrist convention.”

The convention chair came over to shake her hand, holding a bunch of gold balloons, a big grin on his face.

The full impact hit Clive. “Hairstyle twenty-six,” he called out. “And get me the commentators. We’ll need a full instant analysis.” Then she was on. “ToyNews—From our box to yours.”

Jenny took a deep breath.
“I’m here to congratulate my Aunt Meg and Aunt El, on Meg’s selection as candidate for vice president. If you traveled all the stars of the Milky Way, you couldn’t find better aunts anywhere. Meg and El are the ones I can always count on in a pinch. Meg runs the great state of California, which funds research on how ultraphytes move their genes into pile worms.”
The governor probably didn’t realize that, Jenny thought with a smile.
“If only she saw our future as part of the universe, she’d be the greatest. I sure wish she were on our side. If she were, she’d have my vote.”

*   *   *

Jenny had to rush to catch Life lab. Rushing was a mistake, for she took the wrong corridor in the postmodern maze of Reagan Hall, ending up somehow in Physical Science.

A physics professor, Zhi-Li Zhang, an egg-shaped man with scant hair, looked up from his bench. “Can I show you our museum?” He waved her over insistently. “An analog device: a broadband radiowave communicator.” He twisted a screwlike dial; the machine emitted pops and squeals. “An ancient eyeglass laser projector, straight onto your retina—the first ever made, fifty years old. An Amymax amyloid printer, resolution point-five centimeters, no color; eighty years old…” On the wall an old poster of Hari Seldon, the fictional psycho predictor; every campaign had their own “Seldon” now. “The first brainstream device, a game of Pong. Look, Pong!” The physicist stared. A bright white bar moved slowly up and down a black screen.

“Um, thanks, but…” Another crazy professor. “Could you please just show me to Life lab?”