Scale, p.23
Scale, page 23
“Yeah.” Loretta was aware of Soames introducing her, but she was too distracted to actually follow the words; she just waited for the speech to end before rising to her feet and taking the stairs up to the stage.
She stood behind the microphone and fixed her gaze on a point at the back of the hall, low enough that most of the audience would think she was making eye contact with someone, even if it wasn’t them.
“I want to thank Mr. Afridi for his passionate defense of the principles underlying the unity of our nation,” she began. “Because the truth is, I share so much of his vision of Stedland that it’s painful to me to find myself opposing him. I fervently hope that there will be a way to continue the grand project he described so eloquently, and not tear ourselves away from everything that has sustained us for more than two centuries.
“But what worries me is that so much damage has already been done to our contract with the nation, and so much more harm has been threatened, that it would be wishful thinking to suppose that all it will take to heal the rift would be to renounce the separatist cause. There are real dangers, and real shifts in power, that flow from the new technology, and I don’t believe we can just ignore these things, close our eyes and hope for the best.
“Because lepton engineering was developed in secret, we are starting from a position where the rest of the country views everything we do with suspicion. I wish it were good enough to say that building a bomb that can wipe out a city is already illegal, so nothing more needs to be done about it, but all of the new Scale Seven technology relies on the peaceful use of fusion generators, working on the same fundamental principles as those hypothetical weapons. I have no expertise in any of this, and even for the experts the machines themselves are all new. But that is precisely why we need to take the time to talk with the national government to devise a system of inspections and audits that would allow everyone in Stedland to exploit fusion safely.
“The ‘yes’ campaign would have you believe that such an agreement is impossible; the ‘no’ campaign claims it’s unnecessary. Well, even if it’s possible that the ‘yes’ campaign is right, we should still try our best, and only concede failure if and when it has been forced upon us. And if the ‘no’ campaign is right, what harm could there be in having greater safeguards, and a smoother path to peaceful development, than if we’d put all our trust in existing laws?”
Loretta saw someone moving at the back of the hall, walking along handing out ... pamphlets? She tried to ignore them and pick up her thread again, but then she realized that it was Jake. And he was handing out newspapers. The Tribune would have just come off the press, and Jake was handing out copies.
Infuriated, she contemplated publicly upbraiding him, but then she decided it would just amplify the distraction. Far better to ignore him and retain the bulk of the audience’s attention.
“The safe deployment of fusion power will not be the only issue that needs to be negotiated. Among the many benefits of lepton engineering, most will depend on maintaining good relations with our neighbors. What use is a high-speed train that goes no further than the district’s borders? What use is a truck that can carry heavier cargo for a hundred meters or so, but then sinks into the road as soon as it leaves our jurisdiction? If anyone imagines that our sheer technological prowess – or our fearsome new weaponry, if we went down that path – will cow the whole nation into a state of subservient cooperation with our needs, I think they will be disillusioned very rapidly. This has to work for everyone, or it will work for no one. And while I applaud the ‘no’ campaign’s optimism, I don’t believe we can settle all these problems by starting from the position that there are no problems. The national government needs assurances from us that we will share this technology fairly, and not abuse the advantages it offers us. In turn, we need assurances from them that we will not be denied the benefits, even if that changes some of the basic facts of resource use among the scales that might have seemed immutable when Stedland was founded.
“These are hard problems, but they are not insurmountable. Stedland has survived for two hundred and sixty-three years, and this might be the greatest threat to the peace and unity of the country that we’ve ever faced. But neither complacency nor triumphalism will get us through this transition safely. We need to face all these difficulties in a spirit of cooperation, resolved to find the best outcome both for ourselves and for the nation as a whole. That is why I am asking you to vote for ‘Option Three.’”
Loretta headed off stage, her eyes lowered, afraid to even try to gauge the audience’s response. As she took her seat again, Genevieve said, “I think that went well.”
“If anyone was listening, and not reading the newspaper.”
“Why would they ... ?”
Loretta told her what she’d seen. Genevieve looked back across the rows of seats. “Someone’s passing along a whole stack,” she observed.
“My friend Jake’s trying to sabotage us,” Loretta declared.
“Really? What’s the big news that’s meant to undermine our arguments?”
“I suppose we’ll find out when the pile reaches us.”
Soames was introducing the Mayor; when she finished, Beech strode onto the stage.
“Thank you for coming!” she told the audience warmly. “And thank you to my opponents, for their heartfelt accounts of the history of Stedland, and the need to affirm our place in the country, or at least renegotiate it in good faith. But I’m afraid it’s my duty to introduce a dose of reality into these proceedings, and demonstrate just how little good faith Wendale has toward us. And I’m not talking about the soldiers they sent to beat and gas our fellow citizens and seize control of this hall. I’m not talking about the sand-filled trenches they’ve dug around our borders, with the intention of burying anyone who tries to ‘smuggle’ food into our shops.
“A few hours ago, a group of D7 civilians seized control of a commercial submarine and took it down to the research facility that Generation Eight are operating on the riverbed. They rammed the facility, causing serious damage that could easily have resulted in the loss of many lives. Eventually, they were subdued and restrained, and one of the participants agreed to reveal exactly who was behind the attack. The answer, you might or might not be surprised to learn, was a naval officer from Wendale. The national government organized this whole criminal endeavor, manipulating and endangering these hapless citizens – including at least one minor – all with the goal of destroying as much of our new technological infrastructure as possible.”
Beech turned toward the screen at the back of the stage, and it came to life. Two figures appeared, a boy and a man, seated in a bare room. The man appeared calm; the boy looked anxious but defiant.
“Perhaps you’re skeptical about my account of these events,” Beech continued. “But here is the witness, and the ringleader. You should listen to this boy’s testimony, after which I will be happy to hear any questions you might wish to put to him.”
She stepped aside to give everyone a clear view of the screen, and stood waiting. The two figures on the screen remained mute, the boy glancing to the side now and then, perhaps toward a guard out of view of the camera.
A man walked onto the stage and spoke with Beech. She approached the microphone, and said, “I’m sorry, we seem to be having some problem—”
There was a loud popping sound, and then the image on the screen disintegrated, replaced by what looked like a snowstorm. Beech said, “I apologize. This technology is new, but we thought we had it working.” She shook her head with frustration, then walked back to where her adviser stood and conferred with him for some time. As they spoke, the snowstorm wavered and shuddered, as if a strong wind had arisen to whip the falling flakes around.
Beech addressed the audience again. “Since we can’t rely on this equipment, we’ve decided to bring the witness here in person. It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen seconds; in the mean time, please feel free to stretch your legs and get some air if you wish.”
Genevieve laughed softly. “What a debacle!”
“Do you think it’s true, though?” Loretta asked her.
“Who knows? I wouldn’t put anything past Wendale.”
Loretta was dismayed. This had to be the story Jake was so eagerly disseminating: a version in print that confirmed and amplified whatever the boy had to say.
She looked back across the audience; there were scores of people holding newspapers, and many of them were clearly agitated by what they’d just read. As she scanned the crowd, trying to judge the full impact of the revelation, a small pile of papers reached the front row and began to be passed along, with most people choosing to take a copy.
One of Afridi’s team handed the last remaining newspaper to Loretta. “Thank you,” she said glumly; even as she accepted it, she contemplated sparing herself some of the sting of Jake’s betrayal by passing it over to Genevieve, who was sure to provide the whole team with a swift précis. But then the image on the front page caught her eye, beneath a headline that read RIVER RABBITS.
Loretta skimmed the article, then read it again more carefully. She handed the paper to Genevieve, who emitted a succession of incredulous exclamations. “What? No. They didn’t. Really?”
An angry murmuring had arisen throughout the hall. Pablo, Stephen and Chandra lost patience and begged for copies from the people sitting behind them. Loretta looked toward the stage, and saw Beech and her adviser in a huddle with their own copy of the Tribune.
Genevieve turned to Loretta. “So your friend was down in the base photographing rabbits, while you thought he was scheming against us?”
Loretta said, “I have no idea what’s going on anymore.”
“Well, I think this more or less writes your rebuttal,” Genevieve suggested. “‘Wendale has done some foolish things, but this scale-jumping rabbit virus makes it clear that whoever’s been in charge until now is in desperate need of more oversight.’”
“Here they are!” Beech announced, back at the microphone. The screen had gone dark, but the witness and accused it had briefly displayed were now being led onto the stage by two armed Spotlight guards. An assistant joined them, setting up another microphone.
“I am bound to protect this young witness by keeping his name confidential,” Beech explained solemnly. “But I’m sure you’ll have no trouble judging the veracity of his testimony once you hear it.”
She addressed the boy. “When were you first contacted by Lieutenant Mollinson here, and told about the plan to hijack the submarine?”
The boy looked her in the eye and said, “I never met this man before in my life. The separatists kidnapped me and my uncle, and they’re holding twenty people at the bottom of the river.” He turned to the audience. “Please help my uncle and his friends. It’s dangerous down there, anything could happen to them. Please, just bring them back home.”
Beech must have been furious, but she responded calmly. “It’s no use lying now,” she said. “We taped your confession. Once we show the people what you said before, they’ll see what you’re doing.”
“Everything I said before was because they were threatening me,” the boy insisted. “I saw them beat people, and I was too much of a coward ... ” He looked down at the stage, fighting to control his emotions.
“Let him go!” someone yelled from the audience.
Beech raised her hands. “He’s not a prisoner. This is very disappointing, but—”
“Let him go! Let him go! Let him go!” The chant started with two or three voices, but within a few terts half the people in the hall had joined in.
Beech seemed inclined to start arguing back, but then she nodded to the guards and one of them led the boy over to the steps. As he walked down into the aisle, Loretta saw Jake and the woman he’d been talking with earlier rush up to meet him. The woman embraced him, and though he resisted at first, after a moment he wrapped his arms around her.
“The boy’s mother must be Jake’s client,” Loretta whispered to Genevieve.
“Okay. But ... whose story is true? Anyone’s?”
“Good question.”
The crowd was cheering the boy’s release, but Beech stayed at the microphone, determined to salvage something from the disaster. “He was too afraid to tell the truth in front of Lieutenant Mollinson, but we have dozens more witnesses to everything that went on down there.”
“Tell us about the rabbits!” someone yelled.
Beech said, “Medical researchers do all kinds of work with animals. What we need to focus on is Wendale’s criminal attack on the facility, where this man illegally recruited civilians—”
“Let him go! Let him go! Let him go!” The chant grew almost as loud as before.
“That’s not happening,” Beech replied firmly. “The boy was duped, and we won’t pursue charges against him, but Lieutenant Mollinson will stand trial under the new government—”
A man rose to his feet and shouted, “You’re not the government!” Half a dozen people did the same in rapid succession.
Beech stepped back from the microphone, and spoke with her adviser. The guards began leading their captive back into the wings. The chant to let him go grew into a roar, and four of the people who’d stood ran toward the stage.
One of the guards fired a shot at the ceiling. Loretta flinched; she’d seen what Scale Seven bullets could do. But the men and women already in motion were undeterred; they leaped onto the stage, and more rose and followed them.
Loretta watched with a mixture of dread and exaltation, half of her cheering on the intervention, the other sick with fear at what might follow. The guards looked confused and panic-stricken; they pointed their rifles at the would-be liberators, then raised them and shot into the air.
But guns belonged to children’s stories. If the guards had had bone arrows, any attacker would have backed away. The mob kept advancing, and the guards were cornered. They lowered their rifles and fired.
Chapter 37
Loretta knelt on the stage, applying pressure to the wound on the woman’s abdomen, staring down at the stain spreading through the bandage that someone had grabbed from a first-aid kit. She was aware of Afridi nearby, in a similar posture, doing what he could for the other victim while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. “You’ll be all right,” she kept repeating soothingly to the terrified woman, though she had no idea if that was true. D7 needed faster ambulances. No one had even raised the prospect of that in any of the speeches or debates.
She heard rapid footsteps echoing across the hall and looked over to see the paramedics, carrying their equipment. The seats were all empty now; everyone who remained was milling anxiously around the prone figures.
The paramedics took over, and Loretta stepped away. She stood in a daze, until Genevieve and Chandra led her to a washroom and helped her clean off the blood.
“What happened?” she asked. “After the shots, I can’t remember anything.”
Chandra said, “The mob grabbed the guns, and the guards ran away. Then some people went into the Council chambers.”
“Is anyone else hurt?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard any more gunshots.”
Pablo called to them from outside. When they emerged, he said, “There’s a procession marching through town, carrying crates of weapons.”
Loretta was confused. “Crates?”
“There must have been a stockpile somewhere in the building.”
“But what do they plan on doing with them?” Chandra asked.
Pablo shrugged. “I’m going to try to catch up with them. I don’t know if anyone can calm things down, but I want to know what’s happening.”
They met up with Stephen and the five of them headed out of the hall together. Loretta shielded her eyes against the sunlight with her forearm; bright light was always irritating to her when she was tired, but the shock of the incident had done something to her body clock that rendered the brightness even more painful. “Everyone was meant to get some sleep before the polls open,” she protested, as if that were an inalienable part of the democratic process.
“Sleep?” Stephen replied, making it sound like some kind of sybaritic indulgence.
“Polls?” Genevieve added, even more incredulously.
Chandra said, “No one’s canceled the vote yet, as far as I know.”
As Loretta surveyed the street ahead of them, there were no wild mobs clashing with Spotlight, the police, or each other; people were just warily going about their usual late-cycle business. But she could hear a chant in the distance. The words were indistinct; it took her a while to discern exactly what was being shouted.
“Into the river! Into the river!”
“Did they grab someone?” she asked, alarmed.
“Not that I heard,” Pablo replied. “I thought Beech and her people got away.”
“What about the alleged navy guy?” Loretta wondered. The crowd that had risen first had meant to free him, but there might have been a counter-reaction.
Pablo said, “I saw someone cut off his handcuffs, but I didn’t see anyone trying to mess with him.”
They turned a corner and the procession came into view. There were thirty or forty men and women, surrounding a core that were carrying crates on their shoulders in pairs, like coffin-bearers. They had no prisoners that Loretta could see; they were just marching slowly under the weight of all that Scale Seven metal, and shouting in unison.
“They’re going to dump the weapons,” she said, not quite believing it.
“Spotlight’s not going to let that happen,” Stephen predicted.
“They might not want it,” Genevieve retorted, “but they’re not going to be able to stop it.”
Stephen said, “They still have plenty of other guns.”
They followed the procession toward the riverbank. Loretta felt her hands shaking; she had to be a witness to whatever took place, but if there was a confrontation it could turn into a massacre. The marchers appeared utterly resolved in their purpose. They had seen what these weapons could do, and whatever their intentions in the poll, their verdict on this matter was unambiguous.
