The Human Division (40 page)

“Because it’s not just about
you,
Hart,” Alastair said. He pointed at the speaker through which he had been yelling at Klaus. “I’m seventy-two years old, for Christ’s sake. Do you think I want to be spending my time keeping some poor bastard from enjoying his Harvest Day? No, what I want to do is tell the PHP to get along without me and spend more time with those grandkids of mine.”

Hart stared at his father blankly. At no point in the past had his father ever evinced more than the most cursory interest in his grandchildren.
Maybe that’s because they’re not interesting yet,
a part of Hart’s brain said, and he could see the point. His father had become more engaged with his own children the older they got. And he could have his softer side; Hart’s eyes flickered to the medal case on the wall, holding Brous’s Nova Acadia award.

“I can’t do that because I don’t have the right people following me,” Alastair continued. “Brandt’s gloating because the Unionists have their share of power, but the thing is the reason it happened is because the PHP hasn’t cultivated new talent, and now it’s biting us in the ass.”

“Wait,” Hart said. “Dad, are you wanting me to join the PHP? Because I have to tell you, that’s really not going to happen.”

“You’re missing my point,” Alastair said. “The PHP hasn’t developed new talent, but neither have the Greens or the Unionists. I’m still on the job because the whole next generation of political talent on Phoenix are, with very few exceptions, complete incompetents.” He pointed in the direction of the patio, where the rest of the family was. “Brandt thinks I get annoyed with him because he’s in with the Unionists. I get annoyed with him because he’s not rising through its leadership fast enough.”

“Brandt likes politics,” Hart said. “I don’t.”

“Brandt likes everything
around
politics,” Alastair said. “He doesn’t give a crap about the politics itself, yet. That will come. It will come to Catherine, too. She’s busy building a power base in the charity world, rolling over people and getting them to thank her for it by supporting her works. When she finally transfers over into politics, she’s going to make a beeline for prime minister.”

“And what about Wes?” Hart asked.

“Wes is Wes,” Alastair said. “One in every family. I love him, but I think of him as a sarcastic pet.”

“I don’t think I would tell Wes that if I were you,” Hart said.

“He figured it out a long time ago,” Alastair said. “I think he’s at peace with it, especially as it requires nothing from him. As I said. One in every family. We can’t afford two.”

“So you want me to come home,” Hart said. “And what do I do then? Just walk into some political role you’ve picked out for me? Because no one will see the obvious nepotism in that, Dad.”

“Give me some credit for subtlety,” Alastair said. “Do you really think Brandt is where he is with the Unionists all on his own? No. They saw the value in the Schmidt brand name, as it were, and we came to an arrangement about what they’d get in return for fast-tracking him in the organization.”

“I would
definitely
not tell Brandt that if I were you,” Hart said.

“Of course not,” Alastair said. “But I am telling
you
so that you will understand how these things work.”

“It’s still nepotism,” Hart said.

“I prefer to think of it as advancing people who are a known quantity,” Alastair said. “And aren’t you a known quantity, Hart? Don’t you have skills, honed through your diplomatic career, that would have immediate use at a high level? Would you really want to start near the bottom? You’re a little old for that now.”

“You’ve just admitted the Colonial Union diplomatic corps taught me skills,” Hart said.

“I never said you didn’t have them,” Alastair said. “I said they were being wasted. Do you want to use them as they ought to be used? This is the place, Hart. It’s time to let the Colonial Union take care of the Colonial Union. Come back to Phoenix, Hart. I need you. We need you.”

“Lizzie Chao needs me,” Hart said, ruefully.

“Oh, no, stay away from her,” Alastair said. “She’s bad news. She’s been banging my field rep here in Crowley.”

“Dad!” Hart said.

“Don’t tell your mother,” Alastair said. “She thinks Lizzie is a nice girl. And maybe she is nice. Just without very good judgment.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Hart said.

“You’ve had enough bad judgment in your life so far, Hart,” Alastair said. “Time to start making some better choices.”

*   *   *

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Brous Kueltzo said. He was leaning up against the car, reading a message on his PDA. Hart had walked down to the carriage house.

“I needed to get away from the family for a bit,” Hart said.

“Already, huh?” Brous said.

“Yeah,” Hart said.

“And you still have four days to go,” Brous said. “I’ll pray for you.”

“Brous, can I ask you a question?” Hart said.

“Sure,” Brous said.

“Did you ever resent us?” Hart asked. “Ever resent me?”

“You mean, for being obscenely rich and entitled and a member of one of the most important families on the entire planet through absolutely no effort of your own and for having everything you ever wanted served up to you on a platter without any idea how hard it was for the rest of us?” Brous said.

“Uh, yes,” Hart said, taken slightly aback. “Yes. That.”

“There was a period where I did, yeah,” Brous said. “I mean, what do you expect? Resentment is about sixty percent of being a teenager. And all of you—you, Catherine, Wes, Brandt—were pretty clueless about the rarefied air you lived in. Down here in the flats, living above the garage? Yeah, there was some resentment there.”

“Do you resent us now?” Hart said.

“No,” Brous said. “For one thing, bringing that college girlfriend back to the carriage house brought home the point that all things considered, I was doing just fine. I went to the same schools you did, and your family supported and cared for me, my sister and my mom, and not just in some distant noblesse oblige way, but as friends. Hell, Hart. I write
poetry,
you know? I have that because of you guys.”

“Okay,” Hart said.

“I mean, you all still have your moments of class cluelessness, trust me on this, and you all poke at each other in vaguely obnoxious ways,” Brous said. “But I think even if you had no money, Brandt would be a status seeker, Catherine would steamroll everyone, Wes would float along, and you’d do your thing, which is to watch and help. You’d all be you. Everything else is circumstance.”

“It’s good to know you think so,” Hart said.

“I do,” Brous said. “Don’t get me wrong. If you want to divest yourself of your share of the family trust fund and give to me, I’ll take it. I’ll let you sleep above the garage when you need to.”

“Thanks,” Hart said, wryly.

“What brought about this moment of questioning, if you don’t mind me asking?” Brous asked.

“Oh, you know,” Hart said. “Dad pressuring me to leave the diplomatic corps and join the family business, which is apparently running this entire planet.”

“Ah,
that,
” Brous said.

“Yes, that,” Hart said.

“That’s another reason why I don’t resent you guys,” Brous said. “This whole ‘born to rule’ shit’s gotta get tiring. All I have to do is drive your dad and string words together.”

“What if you don’t want to rule?” Hart said.

“Don’t rule,” Brous said. “I’m not sure why you’re asking that, though, Hart. You’ve done a pretty good job of not ruling so far.”

“What do you mean?” Hart asked.

“There’s four of you,” Brous said. “Two of you are primed to go into the family business: Brandt, because he likes the perks, and Catherine, because she’s actually good at it. Two of you want nothing to do with it: Wes, who figured out early that one of you gets to be the screwup, so it might as well be him, and you. The screwup slot was already claimed by Wes, so you did the only logical thing left to third sons of a noble family—you went elsewhere to seek your fortune.”

“Wow, you’ve actually thought about this a lot,” Hart said.

Brous shrugged. “I’m a writer,” he said. “And I’ve had a lot of time to observe you guys.”

“You could have told me all this earlier,” Hart said.

“You didn’t ask,” Brous said.

“Ah,” Hart said.

“Also, I could be wrong,” Brous said. “I’ve learned over time I’m full of just about as much shit as anyone.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” Hart said. “Wrong, I mean. I remain neutral about the ‘full of shit’ part.”

“Fair enough,” Brous said. “It sounds like you’re having a moment of existentialist crisis here, Hart, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Maybe I am,” Hart said. “I’m trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. A nice thing to wonder about when you’re thirty.”

“I don’t think it matters what age you are when you figure it out,” Brous said. “I think the important thing is to figure it out before someone else tells you what you want to be, and they get it wrong.”

*   *   *

“Who’s giving the toast this year?” Isabel asked. They were all seated at the table: Alastair and Isabel, Hart, Catherine, Wes and Brandt and their spouses. The children were sequestered away in the next room, on low tables, and were busy throwing peas and rolls at one another while the nannies vainly tried to keep control.

“I’ll give the toast,” Alastair said.

“You give the toast every year,” Isabel said. “And your toasts are boring, dear. Too long and too full of politics.”

“It’s the family business,” Alastair said. “It’s a family dinner. What else should we talk about?”

“And besides which, you’re still bitter about the election, and I don’t want hear about it tonight,” Isabel said. “So no toast from you.”

“I’ll give the toast,” Brandt said.

“Oh, hell, no,” Alastair said.

“Alastair,” Isabel said, admonishingly.

“You thought
my
toast was going to be long and boring and full of politics,” Alastair said. “The gloater in chief here will positively outstrip your expectations of me.”

“Dad does have a point,” Catherine said.

“Then you say it, dear,” Isabel said to her.

“Indeed,” Brandt said, clearly a little hurt at having his toast proposal rebuffed. “Regale us with tales of the people you’ve met and crushed in the last year.”

“The hell with this,” Wes said, and reached for the mashed potatoes.

“Wes,” Isabel said.

“What?” Wes said, spooning out a heap of potatoes. “By the time you figure out who’s toasting what, everything will be dry and cold. I have too much respect for Madga’s work for that.”

“I’ll make the toast,” Hart said.

“Ho!” Brandt said. “This is a first.”

“Quiet, Brandt,” Isabel said, and turned her attention to her youngest. “Go ahead, dear.”

Hart stood, picked up his glass of wine and looked over the table.

“Every year, whoever makes the toast gets to talk about the events in their life from the last year,” Hart said. “Well, I have to say this has been an eventful year. I got spit on by aliens as part of a diplomatic negotiation. My ship was attacked with a missile and almost blew up around me. I got a human head delivered to me by an alien as part of another, entirely different negotiation. And, as you all recently learned, I helped zap a dog into unconsciousness as part of a third negotiation. All the while living day to day in a ship that’s the oldest one in service, sleeping in a bunk that’s barely wide enough for me, rooming with a guy who is either snoring or passing gas most of the night.

“If you think about it, it’s a ridiculous way to live. It really is. And, as has also been pointed out to me recently, it’s a way that doesn’t seem to hold much of a future for me, assigned as I am to a low-ranking ambassador who has had to fight her way to the sorts of missions that more exalted diplomats would turn down as a waste of their talents and abilities. It does make you wonder why I do it. Why I
have
done it.

“And then I remember why I do it. Because as strange, and exhausting, and enervating, and, yes, even humiliating as it can be, at the end of the day, when everything goes right, it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Ever. I stand there and I can’t believe that I’ve been part of a group who meets with people who are not human but can still reason, and that we’ve reasoned together, and through that reason have agreed to live together, without killing each other or demanding more of the other than what each of us needs from the other.

“And it’s happening at a time in our history that’s never been more critical to humanity. We are out here, all of us, without the sort of protection and growth that Earth has always provided us before. And because of that, every negotiation, every agreement, every action we take—even those of us on the bottom rung of the diplomatic service—makes a difference for the future of humanity. For the future of this planet and every planet like it. For the future of everyone at this table.

“I love all of you. Dad, I love your dedication to Phoenix and your desire to keep it running. Mom, I love that you care for each of us, even when you snipe at us a little. Brandt, I love your ambition and drive. Catherine, I love the fact that one day you will rule us all. Wes, I love that you are the family jester, who keeps us honest. I love you and your wives and husbands and your children. I love Magda and Brous and Lisa, who have lived their lives with us.

“I was told recently by someone that if I wanted to make a difference, that this must be the place. Here, on Phoenix. With love and respect, I disagree. Dad, Brandt and Catherine will take care of Phoenix for us. My job is to take care of the rest of it. That’s what I do. That’s what I’m going to keep doing. That’s where what I do matters.

“So to each of you, my family, a toast. Keep Phoenix safe for me. I’ll work on everything else. When I come back for Harvest Day next year, I’ll let you know how it’s going. That’s a promise. Cheers.”

Hart drank. Everyone drank but Alastair, who waited until he caught his son’s eye. Then he raised his glass a second time and drank.