We were not aware he had experienced any sims. He sat and Allen poured him a cup, which he slugged back with some drama. “Yes, all right,” he said, “I let Miriam talk me into sharing a sim with her last night. It was awful.”
I wondered what sort of sim they had shared.
“We were talking about the hearings,” Allen said.
“You mentioned a ‘diversion,’ ” Bithras said. “You think these hearings are a sham?”
“I have my suspicions.”
“Yes?”
“GEWA.”
Bithras scowled at Allen. “We’ve no scheduled meetings with representatives of GEWA.”
“Because we’re not worth the bother?” Allen asked.
I was still lost. “What about — ” I began, but Bithras held up his hand.
“Wang and Mendoza both act as representatives to GEWA for the Senate Standing Committee,” Bithras said. “Majority party and minority.”
Allen nodded.
“Gentlemen, you’ve dusted me,” I said.
Bithras turned to me as if to a child. “It has been asserted by some that the United States is relinquishing its concerns in space to GEWA as a whole. Binding Multiples having contracts and trade relations with the United States will supposedly answer to GEWA authority, directly.”
“What difference would that make to us?” I asked.
“GEWA as a whole is far more aggressive toward space exploration than the United States , and much more involved than any other alliance. But in the Greater East-West Alliance there are many smaller nations and corporations with no space holdings whatsoever. They want holdings. If Mars unites, we would have to establish new relations with GEWA… Their little partners would ask that we sell a share of our pie. And they would offer…” Bithras pinched his nose and squinched his eyes shut, concentrating. “What… what would they offer?”
“Quid pro quo,” Allen said.
“Quid pro quo. We provide them a greater share of our participation in Solar System resources… in return for the alliance not absorbing Mars and its BMs completely.”
“As happened to the Moon,” Allen said.
“That’s terrible,” I said. “You’re anticipating this, just because they haven’t asked lots of hard questions?”
Bithras waved his hand. “Little evidences, certainly,” he said.
Allen seemed energized by the frightful scenarios. “We couldn’t win that kind of war,” Allen said. “If we unite and are pressured to join any alliance, power in the alliance is based on population — ”
“Except for the founding nations, such as the United States ,” Bithras said. “We’d be bottom of the totem pole.” He finished his bichem supplement. Allen offered him a glass of beer and he accepted. “In fifteen or twenty years, maybe less, if Alice is correct, ninety percent of the Earth’s nations, in every alliance, will be deeply interested in the Big Push. To the stars.”
“Shouldn’t we be interested, as well?” Allen said, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him like a supplicant.
“At the price of our planetary heritage, our soul?” Bithras asked.
“The whole human race… It’s a noble goal,” Allen mused.
Bithras took the challenge as if he were fielding a ball. “It would certainly seem noble, to a world desperate for progress, for growth and change. But we’d be eaten alive.”
“What’s the point?” I asked.
Bithras shrugged. “If this speculation is correct, and if our visit has any meaning at all, we will be speaking with representatives from GEWA, in private, before we leave,” he said. “The closed Senate hearing is an excuse — no need to go public with policies not yet in place, but also, no need conducting long-term negotiations ignoring what the situation will be in the future. Mendoza and Wang are merely pickets. The reason we were summoned here may be a convenient fiction. We could be caught with our pants around our ankles. I’ve come here with a proposal… But they might try to force us to make a firm agreement.”
He held out his hand and Allen grasped it firmly. “Good thinking, Allen. If I were them, that’s what I would do.”
Staring at the congratulatory handshake, I felt a burn of jealousy. Would I ever be able to think such convoluted and political thoughts, make such startling leaps into the unlikely, and impress Bithras?
I patted Allen on the shoulder, mumbled good night, and went to my room.
The next morning, as I shared coffee in the suite’s living room with Bithras, talking about the day’s schedule with Alice , our slates chimed simultaneously. Allen entered from his room and we compared messages.
All further Senate hearings had been canceled. Informal sessions with senators and members of congress from various states had all been canceled, as well — except for a single meeting with Mendoza and Wang, scheduled for the end of our third week.
Suddenly, we were little more than tourists.
The GEWA hypothesis had quickened.
I quickly tired of parties and receptions. I wanted to see the planet, to walk around on my own, free of responsibilities. Instead, we spent most of our time meeting the curious and the friendly, making contacts and spreading goodwill. Miriam, true to her reputation, arranged for us to meet and greet some of the most influential people in North America .
She arranged a second lavish party — paid for by Majumdar — and invited artists, sim actors, business magnates and heads of corporations, ministers from the alliances, ambassadors — more famous and familiar faces than I had ever imagined meeting all at once. The LitVids were conspicuously absent; we were to be at ease, light chatter and fine food, and Bithras was to make his case for a variety of deals and proposals.
The party was held in Miriam’s suite, all the walls and furniture rearranged for maximum space. We arrived before most of the others, and Miriam took me aside with a motherly arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be too impressed by these people,” she told me. “They’re human and they’re easily impressed. You’re an exotic, my dear — and you should take advantage of it. There will be some very handsome people here.” She gave me an unctuous smile.
I certainly wasn’t going to harvest partners at a political function. But I returned her smile and said I’d enjoy myself, and I vowed to myself that I would.
The crowd arrived in clumps, flocking to core figures of some reputation or another. Allen, Bithras, and I separated and attended to our own clumps, answering questions — “Why have you come all this way?”; “Why are Martians so resistant to the big arts trends?”; “I’ve heard that over half of all Martian women still give birth — how extraordinary! Is that true in your family?”; “What do you think of Earth? Isn’t it a terrible cultural hothouse?” — and gently disengaging to attend to other clumps.
While I recognized many famous people, Miriam had managed to invite nobody I truly wanted to meet. None of the Terrestrial dramatists I admired were there, perhaps because I favored Lit over Vid. None of the politicians I had studied were there. The majority of the party goers were high spin — Washington still attracted hordes of bright and beautiful people — and my tastes did not track the spin.
Bithras seemed in his element, however, fulfilling his obligations smoothly. For much of the party, executives from corporations with Martian aspirations surrounded him. I noticed four Pakistanis waiting patiently for a turn, two men in traditional gray suits and two women, one wearing a brilliant orange sari, the other a flowing gray three-piece set. When their turn came, Bithras spoke with them in Punjabi and Urdu; he became even more ebullient.
Allen passed by and winked at me. “How fares it?” he asked.
We were out of hearing of others, in a corner where I had retreated to sip fruit juice. “Boring,” I said, very softly. “Where’s Bithras?” He had left the room.