Inauguration--Part III
As the President used the death grip she had on the edge of her desk to wrench herself to her feet, the cabin intercom squawked.
"Flight deck. Sorry for the jolt--the S-T-O is a little, ah, rough."
You're telling me... Daria thought, glaring out the window at the window at the now dying blaze of the F-22 fighter escort's afterbuners, as it peeled off the right wingtip, silhouetted by city lights.
"Ficken barnstormer...must have taken off from the damn taxiway..." rumbled Eulmeyer, as one of the agents helped her off the floor. "Someone make sure 'Maverick' up there is taking the long route to Thule--I don't want to get caught-"
Daria ignored the advisor's gripes, making her way to the door, where the attaché had braced himself. "Was he screaming?"
The officer blinked, startled, but the surprise seemed tempered with a quick response; "Um, no, ma'am, they said they 'very urgently required an immediate--'"
The President nodded, letting out a breath. "Good--if he wasn't screaming, we have a minute. Now, Major..." she quickly glanced down at the attaché's name badge, fast enough to maintain the meter of her speech, uninterrupted "... McGroarty, how much of my cabinet can you get on the line, and I mean now?"
"We can get ahold of VPOTUS within a minute--
Daria raised a hand. "Not the vice president. The cabinet."
The Major didn't skip a beat. "...SECDEF's on standby already, SECSTAT is enroute to Raven Rock--they're in touch, but it's not a secure channel. And, er..." he half grimaced "...SECHUD was in L.A., so she's been evac'ed to Miramar..."
The President scoffed, sardonically. "I'm afraid Penny will have to sit this one out..." she tossed her head back towards her desk.--Heh, she thought, MY desk it is.--"can you patch me through to the Defense Secretary, here?"
"Yes ma'am--I have to go back to my station for it, though."
She nodded. "Do it."
As McGroarty disappeared down the corridor, the President walked back to her desk--gingerly, as Air Force One gently tilted under her feet, beginning it's slow bank north as it crossed the Atlantic coast. Once seated, she snapped on the power to her desktop monitor--and catching sight of her hand, quickly clenched it into a fist, held it for a moment, then relaxed, flexing her fingers. Deliberately, mechanically. The trembling faded. Good.
There was a soft tone, and a window pulsed on the computer's telephony screen. The President guided her hand over the desk's trackpad, and clicked it open.
"Ma'am," came the Major's voice, from the desk speakers "Secretary Bigg is online--audio only."
Daria mumbled a "that's fine, thanks," as she switched to the new comm line.
At once, she was treated to the voice of a man, barking, but indistinct; "...on't care if you have to row her out, you get Nimitz away from the coast!"
The President smiled, wanly. Even without video, she could already see the sideburned fiftysomething clear as day. "Henry?" she said.
The voice on the line caught, briefly. "Madame President...Reading you five by five."
Daria permitted herself a prolonged blink, allowing an invisible roll of her eyes. "Glad you're still with us...listen, the Chinese are going to be on the hotline momentarily. The Premier himself. I'm going to leave this line open. I want you listening in."
"Ma'am?" replied the voice. She couldn't quite tell if it was more confused, or surprised. She decided on the former.
"Henry, things are moving pretty fast--I want to keep as much of the senior staff-" Or the next man coming. "-as equally up to speed as I can." She paused a beat, and continued. "Now, I'm going to leave this line muted. You'll still be able to send text, but please do not interrupt unless there's something of deadly importance. You understand?"
There was a moment of silence, before a line of text appeared in the comm window on the President's screen. Y, Mme Pres. Break a leg.
Maybe a second later, it was followed by a few characters: B')
Daria closed her eyes, stifling a chuckle. "Thank you, Henry." she said, before toggling his audio feed off. She clicked the button for the aircraft comm center. "Major, I'll talk to the Premier now."
"Yes ma'am. Ah, just a moment...translator will be up--"
The President started at a sudden knock at the office door.
"--Now." finished McGroarty. Daria took the cue. "Come."
In stepped a prim young lady clutching a PDA like an infant--and dressed, to the President's surprise, in civilian attire.
"You're with 'State,' I take it?" she said, waving the woman over to a chair beside the desk. As a quick afterthought, she rose from her seat enough to extend her hand, which the translator eagerly shook. No need to make the poor kid any more nervous...
When the Hell did I start calling people under 30 "kid"? A faint little voice moaned, in the back of her skull.
"Y-yes ma'am" the woman replied, in an enchanting voice. "Office of Language Services."
Daria's eyebrow raised. "I guess they don't trust the AIs, yet?"
"Oh, no! They're usually just fine..." the translator said, looking away as she hooked her PDA into a slot on the desk. "...but that's with Indo-European languages. The other families get kind of...twitchy." She unfurled a long, thin wire from her computer, and hooked it into an earpiece. "...We still have to have a double-checker. Probably won't be for long, though. With the new systems getting rated..." she trailed off, fiddling with a knob on the PDA.
The President nodded. "Sounds like you're a dying breed."
"It rather does..." the translator answered, a little sadness creeping into her voice.
"Well I dare say you're going to have one more moment of glory..." Daria said, silently grateful that she'd stopped herself from saying "Go out with a..."
The woman smiled, a little. "You can count on me, ma'am."
"I will be." The translator's PDA beeped, followed by another tone from the desk computer, and a distinctive icon on the telephony app.
Daria paused before clicking it. "What's your name?" ...kid?
The young woman blinked. "My--oh, it's T...Tonitini. Petra."
The President nodded, and clicked the button.
A light next to the desk terminal's camera began to pulse, as the image of a flag--a yellow sunburst centered over a red field--flashed on the main office TV, held for a second, then faded out to the video feed.
The image of a Chinese man, a youthful sixty, with a severe haircut and a thin red necktie complimenting his novi Mao-jacket, appeared onscreen.
Daria nodded towards the camera. "Premier Xiangdong," she said, in greeting.
A brief delay, and the man replied, sound slightly muffled, digitally. Quickly, a line of text appeared onscreen.
President Morgendorffer. How are you?
The President briefly glanced at her translator, who gave a quick nod. "Well enough. You've chosen an...interesting time to contact us."
I take it you are aware of the tragedy in Turkey?
Daria's eyes narrowed, slightly. She nodded again, slowly. "We are monitoring the situation."
What he said next made the President's blood run cold...
We have been monitoring it as well, though in a different way than your country. Like we have monitored six [6] earthquakes in southwest asia yesterday morning.
Tonitini frowned, puzzled. "'Earthquake' wasn't right...it's like he was quoting, or sarcastic. You know..." The translator held up her fingers to make the "bunny ears" quote-gesture.
"Mister Chairman, what do you know for sure, and how?"
The figure on the screen shrugged. I believe I can say, safely, we are at parity. Let us just say that your intelligence is based on good technology--like your fast space telescopes The text stopped as Xiangdong trailed off, apparently for effect.
The translator's brow furrowed. "'Fast telescopes' is right, but it doesn't really make sense."
Across the room, Eulmeyer had taken on the face of someone who had taken a big bite of a cinnamon roll and come away with a mouthful of dead mouse.
...However, we have usually relied on native human insight.
Tonitini shook her head. "That's wrong...it's more like 'illicit intelligence.'"
'Intelligence' indeed. Daria thought, grimly. 'The Agency' will love this.
President Morgendorffer, in such a time of crisis, as equals of the world stage, we two [2] must muse upon harsh truth. This new most cruel device is more than a weapon...it is a disease. An offstage plague.
"...It's 'in the wings,' but 'disease' is right."
"A 'plague,' Mister Chairman?" The President asked.
To belabor the discussion, how many people alive have the skills to build an atomic bomb? Ten thousand? Yet with no access to fissile ore, they are harmless as farmers.
How many in our two nations know about this new device? Hundreds? A thousand [1000]? And fewer still know how to build one. Yet since we keep it secret, we are as safe as we can be.
But we have much less knowledge of how many in the Caliphate-- the computer's subtitling used the old-fashioned style of the Khalifah's name--know the secret. The leaders and builders of the thing--
"The men who built 'it,' and the men who ordered 'it's' use..." Tonitini corrected.
--must know, but their own secrecy must limit the number. But how long can this last? How long can they be contained? Secrets can be stolen, bought, lost, or forcibly coerced away.
"Torture...'forced out by torture.'"
This new weapon is not an atomic bomb. It is a computer chip--
"Using an analogy. 'Like a computer chip.'"
--the parts are not exotic. The tools not especially complex. The only way to prevent these new weapons from being built is to keep the core knowledge of their construction a secret. The only other way would be to tear down and discard all of modern industrial society.
"...In which case, we might as well give away the bombs ourselves." Daria finished. "And thus the spread of the 'new weapon' becomes an infectious scourge. I follow your reasoning, mister chairman, but I don't yet see a conclusion."
Deep inside the President's mind, however, a tiny, curious little voice began to whisper 'you liar.' But she brushed it away.
If I may, there is perhaps a lesson from history...
When I attended a university, I once read that in 1949, when the Soviet Union tested it's first atomic bomb, your air marshal immediately went to your president with a proposal to attack Stalin, in a massive atomic strike. His reasoning was this would be the last chance to wipe out the enemy while you still had an atomic monopoly.
Slowly, the President had become aware of a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. "Yes. Curtis LeMay. And Truman turned him down. Flat."
Indeed. Stalin and the Soviets lived. China went 'Red' a month later. My professor called Truman's act evidence of weakness in the madness of atomic brinkmanship. A vulnerability to basic humanity.
"I think 'Historical inevitability' was what some called it." The President said, with a frown.
Maybe.
Daria's face, already darkening, reached a nadir. "Perhaps you're wondering what would have happened if Truman had pushed 'The Button.'"
The Premier paused, just a little too long to simply be a translation delay.
It appears the Shahanshah already has.
"Premier Xiangdong..." the President began, voice icy, as she slowly rose from her seat, palms braced against the desktop. "with all due respect...what are you intending?"
The Premier, eased into a slow shrug. Here, we are in distress. Unlike your country, our strategic doctrine is of minimal deterrence, not assured destruction. This is reflected in our weapon design. We do not have hundreds of rockets--
The translator seemed to squint at something only she could see. "His voice...contrition. Conciliatory. Like he's giving bad news...like an...an oncologist would..."
--with a halfscore warheads each, accurate or versatile enough to strike specific building. We have a few score single-warhead rockets, accurate enough to hit a general population center. For a country of modest means, and for weapons that are most effective when never used, this was thought to be sufficient.
Daria quietly swiveled her eyes towards Eulmeyer, who caught the President's glance, cocked her head towards Xiangdong's image onscreen, and tapped her nose, slowly.
In short, if we have the will, we do not have means. If we struck the Caliphate, with all our might, we would exhaust our atomic stockpile, achieve few tactical goals, and irritate a fearful enemy.
"And pointlessly slaughtered several million people."
The slaughter is already upon us. As of now, millions are going to die. Whoever they will be, they are already dead. What would make it pointless is if they were on the side that was victorious in the end, anyway.
"Then again, sir, I ask you...what are you planning?"
The Premier nodded, frowning, and turned towards something offscreen. He said something, indistinct, that the AI overheard enough of to try and translate.
Give...wireless...
...our prey...
On the President's desktop screen, an alert window popped up, flashing.
Daria's fingers automatically stroked the trackpad, half-perceiving the slick feeling of liquid on the plastic. She clicked open the window...
...Just in time to see the familiar twirling "barber pole" animation give way to a blue progress bar, filling from left to right within a few seconds, and vanishing with a message of Download Complete! It even had the standard "Happy Apple" icon.
"'President Morgendorffer'..." Tonitini said, out loud, helpfully bringing Daria's attention away from her own computer, and back to the wall screen.
President Morgendorffer, I have just transmitted a list of our primary targets in the Caliphate, the locations of our forces that would launch against ibid targets, and a collection of possibly targetable assets that we believe you are not aware, but that we, as I have said, do not have the capability to strike. Redundant overkill would be counterproductive.
There was a quiet chime from Daria's computer, and a text window opened.
SECDEF--have data. reviwing now.
"Mister Chairman..." the President said, acutely aware of the sensation of her lips parting. Not that unlike the feeling of peeling apart slices of dried fruit. "...this is a dire time...but what you are proposing..." she found herself taking a moment to search for the right words. They had to be perfect...
But in that brief gap of time, the Premier raised his hand.
President Morgendorffer, nothing is proposed. He trailed off.
For one, terrible moment, amid the alarum and noise in Daria's mind, one last tiny shred of her psyche dared to raise a hope...
Our attack will begin within the hour.
...and fell softly dead.