Beggars in Spain (39 page)

“That was for you,” Stella said angrily. “The Lincoln quote—it’s the wrong war. They’ve been mangling the Revolution, not the Civil War. Jennifer just put the Lincoln in there because you’re a Lincoln scholar!”

Leisha didn’t answer.

“For us to take over the orbital—just take it over, with no warning—would be as bad as Sanctuary’s releasing the virus on Earth with no warning,” Nikos said. He sent his string program to the other three buildings where Supers had gathered. The string was surprising for Nikos, who usually thought in bold strings with strong, clear cross-references. This string was delicately balanced, ethics and history and community solidarity carefully balanced, opposing values so almost equal that the shape was fragile with internal tension. The string was almost more characteristic of Allen than of Nikos. Miri studied it carefully. She approved of its pressured delicacy.

It meant Nikos was not that strongly committed to opposing her.

Christy said, “What if we gave them a warning?”

The idea had come up over an hour ago. But Christy’s string had new elements in it, drawn from military justification: Pre-emptive strikes versus clear-cut alternatives. The burden of blame in courts of war balanced with the options explored for peace. The weight of moral effort on the perceived extent of permissive force: Pearl Harbor. The Israeli homeland. Hiroshima. General William Tecumseh Sherman. The Paraguay Standoff. The Supers’ strings seldom included military history; Miri hadn’t known Christy’s memory had indexed these military stories enough to build strings on them.

“Yeeesss,” Nikos said slowly. “Yeessss…”

Ludie, only eleven, said, “I can’t threaten my
mother
. Not even indirectly!”

I could
, Miri thought, and watched Nikos, and Christy, and Allen, and the unpredictable Terry.

“Yeeessss,” Nikos said. “And if—”

Strings of probability looped and knotted and spun.

“Will, there’s another group of citizens demanding admittance to the Council dome,” Councilor Renleigh said.

Sandaleros turned. “How did they get this far against the stay-inside order?”

“How?” Councilor Barcheski said, with some disgust; tensions
were developing in the Council. “They
walked.
How many enforcers do you think you’ve got out there? And how afraid do you think our own citizens are of the ones you do have?”

Jennifer said calmly, “No one wants our people afraid.”

“They’re not,” Barbara Barcheski said. “They’re demanding to come in and talk to you.”

“No,” Sandaleros said. “When this is over, when we’ve got the independence from Earth—then we’ll talk.”

“When nobody cares what you did to get it,” Ricky Sharifi said. It was the first time he had spoken in three hours.

Caroline Renleigh said, “They’ve got Hank Kimball with them. I’ve worked with him on systems. The security field around the Council dome may not stand.”

Cassie Blumenthal looked up from her terminal. Her yellowish teeth gleamed. “It’ll stand.”

After a while, the protesters went away.

“Jennifer,” John Wong said, “Newsgrid Four is agitating heavily for a single nuclear surgical strike, blowing up Sanctuary and our ‘alleged detonators’ in one clean blow.”

Jennifer said, “They won’t do that. Not the United States.”

Ricky Sharifi said, “You’re relying on the decency of the beggars to win your war for you.”

“I think, Ricky,” Jennifer said composedly, “that if you remembered the events Will and I remember, you would not talk about the decency of the beggars. I think, too, that you should keep your further opinions silent.”

If her voice splintered a little, it was only a very little, and no one heard it but Ricky and Jennifer herself. Or, at least, no one acted as if they’d heard it.

Richard Keller had entered the holoroom so silently the others didn’t realize at first that he was there. He stood behind Stella and Jordan, far back against the wall, his dark eyes above the heavy beard deep and shadowed. Drew noticed him first. Drew had never much liked
Richard, who seemed to him to have given up, retreated, although Drew couldn’t say from what. Richard, after all, had married again, had another child, traveled around the world, learning and working. Leisha, on the other hand, did none of these things. Yet it still seemed to Drew that Leisha, walled up in the desert, had not given up, and Richard had.

That made no sense. Drew wrestled with the abstractions a while longer and then, as usual, abandoned the attempt to think it out in words. Instead, he let cool shapes that were, and were not, Richard and Leisha slide through his mind.

Richard slouched against the wall, listening to strident newsgrid announcers scream for the death of the children he had not seen in forty years.

If the government blew up Sanctuary, Drew thought suddenly, Richard would still have Ada and Sean. And if Sean died in, say, some sort of accident—in Drew’s experience kids frequently died in accidents—then would Richard have another child, either with Ada or with somebody else? Yes, he would. And if that kid died, Richard would replace it with still another child. He would. And then another…

Drew began to see what it was that Richard, unlike Leisha, had given up.

“This is the president of the United States addressing Sanctuary, Incorporated.” Meyerhoff ’s face, larger than life, filled the Sanctuary screen. Typical of Sleepers, Jennifer thought—they enlarged images, thinking that enlarged reality. In the Council dome, everyone not engaged in crucial monitoring gathered quickly around the screen. Najla bit her bottom lip and took a step toward her mother. Paul Aleone folded his hands tightly together.

It was a two-way link. “This is Jennifer Sharifi, chief executive officer of Sanctuary, Incorporated, and president of the Council of Sanctuary Orbital. We are receiving you, Mr. President. Please proceed.”

“Ms. Sharifi, you are in criminal violation of the United States Code. You must know that.”

“We are no longer citizens of the United States, Mr. President.”

“You are also in violation of the United Nations Accordance of 2042 and the Geneva Convention.”

Jennifer was silent, waiting for the president to realize that he had just implied to Sanctuary the status of independant nation. She saw the moment he did, although he was good at keeping the slip to just one moment. She said, “Put a resolution before Congress that Sanctuary is an entity independent of the United States, and there will no longer be a situation for the two of us to consider.”

“The United States is not going to do that, Ms. Sharifi. Nor will we negotiate with terrorists. What we will do is prosecute the Sanctuary Council, every member, to the fullest extent of the law, for treason.”

“It is not treason to seek independence from tyranny. Mr. President, if you have nothing new to say, I see no reason to continue this conversation.”

The president’s voice hardened. “I have this to say, Ms. Sharifi. Tomorrow morning the United States will attack Sanctuary with every means at our disposal if you do not, by midnight tonight, reveal to the secretary of state the location of every alleged weapon of biological warfare planted by Sanctuary in the United States.”

“We will not do that, Mr. President. Nor will your conventional means of detection—with which we are quite familiar—succeed in locating them. They are made of materials, and by methods, not available to the United States. In fact, Mr. President—”

Alarms sounded outside the Council dome. Cassie Blumenthal looked up, incredulous. The Y-field security had been breached. Will Sandaleros lunged to clear the windows. Before he could, the Council dome door opened and Miranda Sharifi entered at the head of a line of Superbright children.

“—we have nothing else to discuss at this time,” Jennifer finished. She had seen the president’s expression sharpen at the clearly audible alarms. She broke the comlink; Cassie Blumenthal quickly blacked out all transmissions to and from Earth.

The Supers kept crowding into the dome, twenty-seven of them.

Will Sandaleros said harshly, “What are you doing here? Go home!”

“No,” Miri said. A few of the adults glanced at each other; none of them was yet accustomed to the lack of stuttering and twitching. It made the children seem not less alien, but more.

“Miranda, go home!” Hermione thundered. Miri didn’t even glance at her mother. Jennifer moved swiftly to take charge of the situation, which must not be allowed to get out of control.
Must
not.

“Miranda, what are you doing here? You must know it’s both inappropriate and dangerous.”

“You’re the one that’s caused the danger,” Miri said. Jennifer was horrified at the look in the child’s eyes. She didn’t let her horror show.

“Miranda, you have two choices. You can either all leave now, immediately, or the guards will remove you by force. This is a war room, not a school room. Whatever you have to say to this Council can wait until this crisis is over.”

“No, it can’t,” Miri said. “It’s about the crisis. You threatened the United States without the consent of the rest of Sanctuary. You convinced the rest of the Council, or bullied them, or bribed them—”

“Remove the children,” Jennifer said to Will. Guards in their unfamiliar uniforms had already crowded into the packed dome. A woman seized Miri’s arms. Nikos said, very loudly, “Don’t do that. We Superbrights have complete control of all Sanctuary systems. Life support, communications, defense, everything. There are hidden programs you can’t begin to understand.”

“Any more than the Sleepers could understand your genemod viruses,” Miri said.

The woman holding Miri’s arms looked confused. Dr. Toliveri said, outraged, “That’s impossible!”

Nikos said, “Not for us.”

Jennifer scanned the children, her mind racing. “Where’s Terry Mwakambe?”

“Not here,” Nikos said. He spoke into his lapel link. “Terry—take control of Cassie Blumenthal’s terminal. Link her to Charles Stauffer’s external defense system.”

At her terminal, Cassie Blumenthal made a quick, choked sound. She spoke commands at her console, then switched to manual and keyed rapidly. Her eyes opened wide. Charles Stauffer sprang forward. He keyed what Jennifer, numb, thought must be override codes. Jennifer kept her voice calm.

“Councilor Stauffer?”

“We’ve lost control. But the missile bays are opening…Now they’re closing.”

Miranda said, “Tell the United States you’ll destroy the packets of viruses on Earth in exchange for immunity for the rest of Sanctuary, except for the Council members. Tell them you’ll destroy the organisms, give the United States the locations, and open Sanctuary to federal inspection. Or if you don’t do those things…then we Supers will.”

Robert Dey drew in a quick breath. “You can’t.”

Allen said, with utter conviction, “Yes. We can. Please believe it.”

“You’re children!” someone said, with such harshness it took Jennifer a minute to identify the voice. Hermione.

“We are what you made us,” Miri said.

Jennifer looked at her granddaughter. This…child, this girl who had never been spat upon because she was Sleepless…never locked in a room by a mother who was putrid with jealousy of a beauty her daughter would never lose, even as the mother’s beauty was inexorably fading…never locked in a cell away from her children…never betrayed by a husband who hated his own sleeplessness…this spoiled and pampered child who had been given everything was attempting to thwart her, Jennifer Sharifi, who had brought Sanctuary into its very being by the force of her own will. This petty child would undo everything Jennifer had worked for, suffered for, planned for a lifetime devoted to her people, to the well-being and independence of the Sleepless…No. No girl gone rotten and selfish at the core was going to ruin the future for her own people, the future Jennifer had fought for. Had created. Had
willed
, by her own spirit moving across what had been a hopeless void. No.

She said to the guards, “Take them all. Carry them to the detention building and put them in a secure room. Remove every bit of technology from every one of them first.” She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Strip search them for hidden technology, and let them have nothing, not even clothing that looks harmless. Nothing.”

“Jennifer—you can’t do that!” Robert Dey said. “They’re our—your—our children!”

“Make your choice,” Miranda said. “Or is that it?”

It had been years since Jennifer had allowed herself to feel hatred. It came surging up, black and viscous, from all those places in her mind she never allowed herself to go…For a moment she was so horrified she couldn’t see. Then her vision cleared and she could do the rest of it. “Find Terry Mwakambe. Immediately. Put him with the others. Be especially careful that he doesn’t have anything with him, not so much as a scrap of harmless-looking clothing.”

“Jennifer!” John Wong cried.

“You know, don’t you,” Miri said directly to Jennifer. “You know what Terry is. Even more than what I am, or Nikos, or Diane…or you
think
you know. You think you understand us the same way the Sleepers always thought they understood you. They never gave you credit for basic humanity, did they? You were different, so you weren’t part of their community. You were evil, scheming, cold—and much, much better than they were. And you did think you were better, all you Sleepless, that’s why you called them beggars. But
we’re
better than you are, and so you killed one of us because you could no longer control him, didn’t you? And now we’re capable of things you never even imagined. Who are the beggars now, Grandmother?”

Jennifer said, in a voice she didn’t recognize—but calm,
calm
—“Strip them now. All technology, even if you don’t recognize it. And…And detain my son, too. With them.”

Ricky Sharifi only smiled.

Miri began taking off her own clothes. After a stunned moment and a quick command from Nikos—a command Jennifer didn’t understand, did they have their own
language?
—the other children began to
undress as well. Allen Sheffield tossed his lapel comlink on the polished metal table; it made a clink loud in the paralyzed silence, and Allen smiled. Not even the youngest of the Supers cried.