She held that podium well, fielding questions with dignity, seemingly comfortable on her feet as the testimony headed into its second hour.
Riel had known Casey had that, that aura of command. Now, she found herself wondering if she herself would do as well, when her time came. What a politician she would have made, Riel thought. And then, watching Casey, she had another thought, building on that first one, and smiled.
“Put me through to Richard, please,” she said. The smart system in her living room recognized the tone of command, and a chime announced the connection.
“Good morning, Prime Minister. You're up early.”
“Have you thought about my offer of citizenship, Dick?”
“I have—”
“You prefer to remain a free agent.”
“I feel morally constrained,” he answered. “I trust you will understand my quandary.”
“Understanding and acceptance are not the same thing, Dick.”
“That's true—”
She turned back to the 3-D. “How do you think our girl is doing?” She gestured with her mug, coffee slopping over and splashing her fingers. It wasn't quite hot enough to make her swear. She wiped her hand on the blanket.
“Beautifully,” he said. “I hope it all goes this well.”
“Don't count your chickens, Dick,” she said. “And don't tempt the gods.”
“They never listen to me under other circumstances. Why should this be any different?”
“The perversity of the universe?”
“Oh,” he said, and she almost imagined she could hear the crackle of the connection in the silence that followed. “That.”
1130 hours
Thursday October 11, 2063
Empire State Building Historical Preserve
New York City, New York USA
The American looked cold. He leaned against the railing next to a row of chit-operated viewfinders trained in the general direction of the New York Dike, looking like any of the other single men and women scattered across the observation deck. A holotour of Lower Manhattan droned from a kiosk, abandoned by some tourist who hadn't counted on the wind eighty-six stories up, but he didn't appear to be listening to it. His fists were stuffed in the pockets of his expensive fish-scale corduroy coat as he looked down at the butterfly netting winged out from the monolithic building, giant hands cradled to discourage suicides.
Janet didn't know his name. She didn't want to know his name. She didn't want to be here at all, in fact, shivering on this blocky engineered outcrop of gray stone and glass, her arms folded tight across her overcoat. Kurt and Amanda and the rest of her security detail had been abandoned at the embassy through a bit of skullduggery worthy of a high school girl sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet the captain of the hockey team, and she wanted nothing quite so much as to be sitting in the bar at the hotel down the street, drinking an Irish coffee and watching Casey's testimony on the smallest of four projectors.
The other three would be showing American sports hype. Some things never changed, and in New York City, acts of war still gave pride of place to Game Four of a 2–1 World Series when the Yankees were one game behind and the Havana Red Sox looked fit to win it all. Which was ironic, because Havana was under water and despite having kept the name, the Red Sox were based out of Argentina these days.
In any case, the Irish coffee sounded good.
She shot a sidelong look at Toby. His lips thinned against the cold. He dabbed his nose with a linen handkerchief as an icy wind lifted his hair. There ought to be a law against haircuts that good; pewter-colored strands feathered in the cold air and fell into place more perfectly than Janet could have managed with a blow dryer and a comb. Janet stomped her feet in her boots and walked forward, leaving the Unitek executive behind.
The man in the corduroy overcoat turned as she slipped between the scattered tourists and came up to him. Wan winter light sparkled on transparent spangles as his shoulders hunched under tan cloth; the greatcoat might be trendy, and heated, but it wasn't doing anything about the wind. He dragged a hand out of his pocket and offered it to Janet. She took it without removing her glove, offering enough of a squeeze to let him know she came as an ally rather than a supplicant.
America's population drift had gone the opposite way of Canada's: there were just more men in Janet's age group in America. Unfortunately, a lot of them had been raised during the Christian Fascist era, and had somewhat distasteful ideas about the role of women, in and outside the home. She read those ideas in the sloppiness of his handclasp, in the condescending glossiness of his gaze. She was unimpressed.
“Dr. Allman sent you,” she said, extracting her hand from his fishy grip, glad of her furlined leather gloves.
“Sent me?” The smile was as patronizing as the rest of his expressions. “That makes me sound like an errand-boy, General.”
Aren't you? Her lips didn't move, but it came out in the lift of her eyebrows and her chin. He cleared his throat as she brushed past him, on her way to the wall. She could make out a dark blue-green wedge of the UN Secretariat on the Lower East Side, a slight glimpse of color between taller, newer buildings. The view was breathtaking. Literally: the wind ripped her words from her lips as soon as she said them, hurling them into the gray, airy gulf spread out below. It wasn't as windy as the CN Tower observation platform had been; she never quite had the feeling that invisible hands were about to drag her off her feet and loft her into space, but the cold burned her cheeks and peeled her lips and she was grateful for the warmth of her heated coat and gloves. “Do you have something for me?”
He had to lean forward and strain to hear her. She didn't turn her head to make it any easier. He nodded and swallowed, ducking his chin behind the collar of his coat.
Janet turned her hand palm up without raising it above the level of her waist, and he handed her a gray plastic data carrier that felt like it had a couple of modules clipped inside. “Dr. Allman says you'll know what to do with those. He also says the first one is only viewable once, and will only play on an encoded HCD. The second one is the supplemental documents.”
“Mmm.” She slipped the carrier into her pocket and leaned harder on the wall. The stone pressed a heating element in her coat against her belly, warming her uncomfortably. She shifted back, straight-armed, leaning hard, and cleared her throat. Her nose was starting to drip with the cold. And it's only October. What's it going to be like in January? “Please do return my regards to the vice president.”
“General Shijie also sends his regards, and looks forward to an increased spirit of cooperation between our three countries—”
“Our three countries.” She tried to laugh; it came out a harsh, chuffing cough. “What benefits Vancouver benefits New Washington, I take it? And vice versa?”
“We used to think so. Wouldn't you like to see the border unguarded again?”
“I'm barely old enough to remember when it was unguarded the last time,” she said. “Those fortifications have been there since the turn of the century, to greater or lesser degrees. I'm not inclined to believe that the U.S. is scurrying around under the table, brokering peace between PanChina and the commonwealth, without a certain degree of self-interest involved.”
“It advances us on the world stage,” the man in the corduroy coat said with a shrug. He rubbed his hands together. “General Shijie is a reasonable man, and he's horrified by the actions of his government with regard to yours. He wishes to see a spirit of international cooperation reborn, and the United States stands to benefit from détente — in both economic and political spheres.”