Robert Reed - First Tuesday

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2024-11-23 0 0 32.03KB 16 页 5.9玖币

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ROBERT REED

FIRST TUESDAY

It seems as if the 1992 elections just ended, and yet this magazine arrives in

your mailbox at the beginning of primary season. So, with politics on our

minds,

we searched for some appropriate stories.

Political science fiction is often about the ramifications of social change.

Rarely does the political sf story (these days) begin with a point of

technological change. In "First Tuesday," Robert Reed uses a change in

technology to examine the future of Presidential-Constituents relations.

AFTER A LOT OF PESTERING, More told Stefan, "Fine, you can pick the view."

Only

it wasn't an easy job, and Stefan enjoyed it even more than he'd hoped.

Standing

on the foam-rock patio, he spoke to the house computer, asking for the Grand

Canyon, then Hawaii's coast, then Denali. He saw each from many vantage

points,

never satisfied and never sure why not. Then he tried Mount Rushmore, which

was

better. Except Yancy saw the six stone heads, and he stuck his head out long

enough to say, "Change it. Now." No debate; no place for compromise. Stefan

settled on the Grand Canyon, on a popular view from the North Rim, telling

himself that 'it was lovely and appropriate, and he hoped their guest would

approve, and how soon would he be here . . . ? In another couple seconds,

Stefan

realized. Jesus, now . . . !

A figure appeared on the little lawn. He was tall, wearing a fancy suit, that

famous face smiling straight at Stefan. And the boy jumped into the house,

shouting with glee:

"The President's here!"

His stepfather muttered something.

Mom whined, "Oh, but I'm not ready."

Stefan was ready. He ran across the patio, leaping where it ended. His habit

was

to roll down the worn grassy slope. But he was wearing good clothes, and this

evening was full of civic responsibilities. Landing with both feet solidly

under

him, he tried very hard to look like the most perfect citizen possible.

The President appeared solid. Not real, but nearly so.

The face was a mixture of Latin and African genes. The dreadlocks were long

enough to kiss his broad shoulders. Halfway through his second term, President

Perez was the only president that Stefan could remember, and even though this

was just a projection, an interactive holo generated by machines . . . it was

still an honor to have him here, and Stefan felt special, and for more reasons

than he could count, he was nervous. In good ways, and in bad ways too.

"Hello?" chirped the eleven-year-old boy. "Mr. President?"

The projection hadn't moved. The house computer was wrestling with its

instructions, fashioning a personality within its finite capacity. There was a

sound, a sudden "Sssss" generated by speakers hidden in the squidskin fence

and

sky. The projection opened its mouth; a friendly, reedy voice managed,

"Sssstefan." Then the President moved, offering both hands while saying,

"Hello,

young man. I'm so very glad to meet you."

Of course he knew Stefan's name. The personality could read the boy's public

files. Yet the simple trick impressed him, and in response he shouted, "I'm

glad

to meet you, Mr. President."

The brown hands had no substance, yet they couldn't have acted more real.

Gripping Stefan's pale little hand, they matched every motion, the warmth

carried by the bright eyes and his words. "This is an historic moment, Stefan.

But then you already know that, I'm sure."

The first nationwide press conference, yes. Democracy and science joined in a

perfect marriage. President Perez was invited here for a symbolic dinner, and

was everywhere else at the same time. It was a wondrous evening . . . magical

. . !

"A lovely yard," said the President. The eyes were blind, but the personality

had access to the security cameras, building appropriate images as the face

moved. With a faraway gaze, he announced, "I do like your choice of view."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Very nice indeed . . . !"

Holo projectors and squidskin fabrics created the illusion of blue skies and

rugged geology. Although nothing was quite as bright as it would appear in the

real outdoors, of course. And the squidskin rocks and the occasional bird had

vagueness, a dreamy imprecision, that was the mark of a less-than-good system.

Sometimes, like now, the antinoise generators failed to hide unwanted sounds.

Somewhere beyond the President, neighbors were applauding and cheering making

seem as if ghosts inhabited the ghostly canyon.

President Perez seemed oblivious to the imperfections. Gesturing at their

garden, he said, "Oh, I see you're doing your part. How close are you to

self-sufficiency?"

Not close at all, really.

"Beautiful eggplants," said the guest, not waiting for a response. "And a fish

pond too!"

Without fish. A problem with the filter, but the boy said nothing, hoping

nothing would be noticed.

The President was turning in a circle, hunting for something else to

compliment.

For some reason, the house wasn't wearing its usual coat of projected paints

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Robert Reed - First Tuesday

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