The hab theory, p.53
The HAB Theory, page 53
“No,” Grant replied, “I think I’d rather you went ahead. I want to know your feelings, your thoughts. Maybe somehow they’ll help. I don’t really know how, but perhaps just by helping me clarify my own thinking.”
She snuggled even more closely against him, reveling in the touch of him, in the fully-clad, foot-to-head, full-length contact with him.
“Now,” she went on, “here’s a comment you can ponder: You talk sometimes of being selfish if you give in to what you want to do. Is that really selfishness? I think not. Your so-called selfishness which involves your coming to me is better described, to my way of thinking, as simply living your life. Only you can determine how you will live your life, John. Other people, myself included, exert an influence, but the final decision you make should be made on the basis of what’s best for you, not them, and once again that includes me. What brings you the most happiness is what counts.”
He made no comment but he reached for his cigarettes and she took the package from him. Selecting a cigarette, she replaced the pack on the table and lit it with his lighter which had been lying there, too. The outer half-inch of the cigarette was black because she held it too far into the flame and he chuckled and took it from her.
“Beautiful. Thanks.”
They both laughed and then she suddenly buried her face on his chest and her words were muffled as she said she loved him. Again they lay quietly as he smoked and stroked her long black hair.
Throughout her talking he had remained essentially expressionless, and though often she could, in the past, detect what he was thinking or feeling by the expression in his eyes, that ability seemed to have totally deserted her and she had no idea how he was accepting all this. She became frightened, more desperate, to somehow put across what was so overwhelming within her. She licked her lips and sat up, and it was only with the greatest of effort that she managed to keep the rising swell of apprehension out of her voice. She closed her eyes a moment and then looked intently at him again, her words coming softly.
“John, if you really love Marie more than you love me, and if you feel a stronger need for her and feel the remaining years of your life will be better with her, then I have never been so completely wrong in my life. I cannot believe you feel that way, especially in light of the fact that in just six months of part-time association with you, I’ve come to mean to you at least as much as she does. That says something, love, and it’s there for you to hear if you’ll just open your ears to your own heart. Please, darling, don’t overlook the potential by thinking so strongly of the possible effect on others. I don’t mean this to be heartless and unfeeling. It’s just my plea to you to live first for yourself. I’m very certain, John, that I can give you just about everything you need, plus a few nonessential but extremely pleasant fringe benefits. Give us a chance. Please, love, give us a chance!”
Abruptly the tears had come, not with accompanying sounds but silently, coursing down her face, and the lump of emotion in her throat made it impossible for her to say more. With the balls of his thumbs he rubbed them away and then held her close, both arms around her, feeling the convulsive soundless sobbing shuddering through her and deeply moved by what she had said. He held her like that for a long while, until the spasms and trembling had abated, and then he raised her face and kissed her.
“It’s hard for me to remember a time when I didn’t love you,” he said, “but I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment, Anne. I wish it were as simple for me to act as you make it seem to be, as simple to do what my heart seems to want more than anything else. But it isn’t and, as much as I want to, I can’t. At least not yet.” He felt her stiffen and he added hastily, “I’m not saying I’m going to decide against you. Or for you. I just don’t know. Not yet, Anne. Not yet.” His voice seemed to be coming from a well and the inward misery it reflected practically broke her heart. “I only know that it’s not possible to go on this way much longer. Not for any of us. You said you don’t know what will eventually trigger me to make the decision I have to make. I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe today I’ll find out.”
They’d talked only a little more after that, but moving away from the issue. He came to his feet and, as she followed him, kissed her fiercely and held her tightly, wordlessly, for a long moment. Then he released her, picked up his luggage and package near the door, and left with the words “I’ll be back” hanging in the air behind him. Anne had no idea how long she had remained rooted in that spot after he left or, when she finally moved again, how long she roamed pointlessly through the apartment that had become so small and so barren at his departure. Finally she had taken her shower and called her mother in Elgin.
Now she realized with a bit of a start that of the multitude of times John had left here, today was the first time she had not gone out on the balcony to get that final glimpse of him far below. She got up from the bed and, still wearing only the sheer pale green panties and not caring if she were seen or by whom, walked out onto the balcony which was bathed in bright sunlight. Heat waves rising from the concrete corridors formed by the streets made distant buildings shimmer and appear unreal. She placed her hands on the iron rail, far apart, and leaned over looking downward, her bare breasts becoming pendulous from the angle of her body. Forty-two floors below people and vehicles moved, but she didn’t see them.
Anne Carpenter was wondering with detached curiosity what the effect would be of a body striking the pavement after falling from this height.
3
“What it boils down to, Mr. President, is that the party is extremely concerned.” Ross Larkin, Democratic National Committee chairman, squinted over the top of his thick glasses at Robert Morton Sanders. “Fortunately, the Republicans find themselves in the sorry situation of having no candidate for nomination who has captured the public’s imagination. If it weren’t for this HAB business, there’d be no doubt in anyone’s mind, of either party, that you’d be a shoo-in.”
“But the party doesn’t like my stand on the HAB Theory, is that it?” Sanders leaned back in his chair and let his gaze move away from Larkin to the others in the room — his advisers, Albert Jabonsky and Oscar McMillan, his aide Alexander Gordon, DNC vice-chairman Ted Worthington, and Democratic senators Gregory Talbott of Ohio, Edward Bond of Massachusetts, and Richard Arthur of California.
Worthington shot a sidelong glance at Larkin, caught a barely discernable nod, and spoke up. “President Sanders, the Democratic party has pretty much been in the driver’s seat ever since the impeachment threat caused President Nixon to resign. We were on the rocks only once, when Jim Warfield got involved in that suicide scandal just before the last presidential election and we had to dump him. You stepped in as a dark horse candidate and took it, and the whole picture has done nothing but improve since then, up to the point where this Boardman assassination attempt took place. Since then, especially in view of your stand on the HAB Theory, things have been going steadily downhill.”
The President nodded at the slight, behind-the-scenes politician from Binghamton, New York. Worthington, while himself not an office-seeker, was a skilled political manipulator and undoubtedly one of the most influential blacks in America. Larkin might be titular head of the DNC, but everyone knew it was Worthington who charted the course.
“The polls haven’t been encouraging, Ted,” Sanders admitted, “but they began moving into a valley long before the Boardman thing came up, predicated primarily on the current economic slump in conjunction with the rise in the cost of living.”
“They were slumping then, it’s true,” spoke up Jabonsky, “but the dip’s become a great deal steeper and more disturbing since the Boardman affair.” There was a mildly accusing tone in his voice. “It’s grown worse after each new development or statement you’ve given in respect to the HAB Theory.”
“You wanted me to keep clear of that from the beginning, didn’t you, Albert?”
“I did.” Cold eyes behind rimless glasses looked at the President unflinchingly. “I thought it was a mistake then. I think so even more now.”
Senator Talbott cleared his throat and spoke in a mild voice. “Mr. President, there are a lot of bad vibrations on the Hill and they’re growing worse. There seems to be a general feeling that your actions in regard to this HAB thing are disturbingly impulsive and overreactive, a fear that you are stepping beyond the purview of your office in what you’ve already said and done and even more for what you may be planning.”
“You’re evidently trying to phrase it nicely,” Sanders commented dryly. “What are they really saying up there? Megolomania?”
“Yes, sir. Some of them.”
“An extremely ominous increase of reactionary sentiment in both houses,” put in Senator Arthur. “Mr. President, the fact of the matter is that everyone — well, almost everyone — on Capitol Hill feels you’re attempting to ride roughshod over Congress. There are even some faint murmurings of impeachment. They feel you’re committing this country beyond its ability to produce, either materially or financially, and that you’re doing this far beyond the prerogatives of your office. They don’t like it.”
Sanders gave a little snort and let his gaze roll over to Bond of Massachusetts. “What’s your comment, Ed?”
Senator Bond shrugged elaborately. “Pretty much what the others here have been saying. Plus the hope that you’ll get off the horse you’re presently riding and participate a hell of a lot more actively in the campaigning. You’ve still got the edge, but it may not continue that way much longer. Although they’re not very happy about the way you’ve done it, the Hill’s pretty much willing to go along with what you’ve already undertaken in respect to the Kenyan oil resources development. God knows we’re all damned well aware of Middle Eastern pressure and anything that can be done to thwart that is apt to get approval.
“We’re well aware of what Mr. Gordon accomplished there,” he motioned approvingly at the President’s aide, who acknowledged it with a faint nod, “and feel it is to your credit that you stepped in as decisively as you did. The opposition was caught flat-footed on that move and they’re howling, but because it obviously was done in the best interest of the people, they won’t get anywhere. But this current proposal to throw enormous amounts of funds, equipment, and manpower, above and beyond the oil matter, to Kenya for development of a gigantic so-called survival complex has put Congress on its ear.”
“That can’t be helped,” Sanders replied curtly. “The Ngaia City complex is going to be built, and with whatever help from the United States that it requires. I’ve asked Mr. Gordon to sit in today because I thought you might want to ask some questions of him along these lines. Feel free, Alex,” he added, turning to his aide, “to discuss whatever they might care to ask.”
“Yes, sir,” Gordon said. “I think Mr. Elliott will have far more definitive remarks when he returns from the Middle East, but I may be able to help in a general way.”
“It’s not our knowledge, here in this room, of what was done and why that’s the problem, Mr. President,” the Ohio senator interjected. “The problem is that Congress as a whole wants the opportunity to study the entire matter at much greater length. They strongly object to being told that such-and-such is the way it’s going to be. About anything. When it involves something as improbable as the HAB matter, they squeal. And, Mr. President, they’re squealing loud and clear right now. I don’t think you fully appreciate the trouble you’re getting into.”
“I’ll second that,” Jabonsky spoke up, an ugly expression on his face. He stood up slowly, his hard gray eyes on the President. “Sir, I’m going to be blunt. The whole HAB business is becoming ridiculous. It is bad enough when you are willing to possibly jeopardize your own career by the rantings of this lunatic who—”
“Lunatic?” Sanders’s voice was cold and he was frowning.
“God damn it, sir, yes. I said lunatic and that’s what I meant. What else do you call an old fool who not only gives you a Doomsday forecast but then suggests, as you told me the other day he did, that we can save ourselves by the simple little expedient of flooding and destroying every port city in the world? All we’d lose, he says, is a few piddly-ass little things like most of the world’s islands, plus all of Florida and Long Island and Cape Cod and Manhattan and other such inconsequentials. Well, I say, sir, that this is all horseshit! Anyone who could believe such crap from someone so obviously insane has to be sick himself. You have a right to destroy yourself if you’re bent on it, but you don’t have one goddamned bit of right to destroy this country in the process. You’ve made me an adviser, but to what purpose, Mr. President, if you won’t listen?”
Sanders was shaking his head, looking at Jabonsky in an unbelieving way. “I think you’re out of line, Al. The HAB Theory must be taken seriously and that’s what I’m doing. And as for Boardman’s suggested solution, of course it’s drastic. Anything that might possibly prevent a global cataclysm would have to be drastic. It’s not workable, I agree, simply because there’s no way we could ever get all nations to go along with it, but I wish to God we could.” His manner did not soften much, despite his words of apology. “No, I’m sorry, Al. I hate to keep turning down your advice, but it’s not in line with my thinking.”
The Chief Executive let his eyes sweep over the others as Jabonsky sat down again, obviously seething. “Gentlemen, the Kenyan survival project plan is going through. If necessary, I’m prepared to call on the powers of my office to invoke the amended Emergency Appropriations Act, along with the National Security Emergency Act, or whatever else becomes necessary. I’d like Congress to be with me on this, but it will have to be on my terms. There isn’t time for Congress to study the matter at length, Senator Bond. There never is in a time of real emergency, which is why the President is endowed with discretionary powers to act without the benefit of congressional debate in a time of emergency. And, gentlemen, we are in just such a time.”
“Mr. President.” Oscar McMillan was speaking up for the first time since the discussion began. “It would be considerably to your benefit if you would simply hold off for a little while. I’m not talking about the months of deliberation it sometimes takes for House and Senate action on a proposal. I’m speaking more in terms of just a matter of days. The HAB Symposium begins tomorrow and it’s scheduled to last for only ten days. I’d strongly advise that you at least hold off any further action or commitment until the symposium announces its findings in respect to the HAB Theory. If they support it, then that will pretty well knock out the flak rising from the Hill. They might — in fact, almost surely will — continue to growl, but you’ll have gained a tremendous amount of support. It’s only,” he added placatingly, “a matter of ten days.”
“Those days, Oscar,” the President said levelly, “could well be crucial.”
“I really don’t know how you can say that, sir,” McMillan protested, his scalp a more distinct pink than usual and a growing edge of exasperation in his tone. “Even assuming that this HAB Theory is deemed valid, there’s no real time schedule for it. We don’t have as much as a glimmering of when the alleged cataclysm is supposed to occur.”
“That’s true enough, and I wish to God we did. I’d feel a lot better, for all of us.” The President looked away, but then frowned and looked back at McMillan. “Oscar, over a week ago I directed that copies of the Grant summary of the theory be delivered to you and Al. Your continued opposition in light of that puzzles me.” He turned his gaze toward Jabonsky. “Did you receive it?”
Jabonsky nodded and McMillan murmured, “Yes, sir.”
Without looking away from Jabonsky the President asked softly, “And have either of you read it yet?”
Jabonsky’s jaw muscles twitched and, still without speaking, he gave a small negative shake of his head. The Chief Executive turned his head and looked at the other adviser.
“Oscar?”
“No, sir,” McMillan said, obviously embarrassed. “I suppose I should have made time to do so, but I didn’t. It’s been a busy week and too many things intervened. I apologize.”
“Then I suggest,” Sanders said pointedly, “that both of you do so immediately upon leaving this meeting. It becomes difficult to properly assess the value of advice from those not in possession of all the information pertinent to a particular matter.”
“Yes, sir,” McMillan murmured again, stung by the President’s comments. Jabonsky said nothing and, still looking at McMillan, Sanders continued.
“If you had read the summary, you could perhaps better understand the position I’m assuming in this entire matter. Oscar, the best evidence we have thus far indicates that we’re years — hundreds of years — overdue. We have got to assume the cataclysm can occur at any time, and under that assumption there is no time to waste. As I say, even a week or ten days could, in the final analysis, be crucial. I don’t intend postponing anything.”
“Forgive me, Mr. President.” Tiny beads of perspiration now had begun showing on McMillan’s sparsely haired scalp. “Despite my unfamiliarity with the Grant summary of the theory, I have to say that I think you’re being unrealistic and unreasonable. Everyone does, even your own vice-president. Why do you think he’s keeping himself aloof from all this business? Mr. President, Jim Barrington’s no fool. He knows what you’re doing to yourself and to the party. He’s smart enough to want no part of it. And he can’t be blamed for feeling that way, sir. A little while ago, Al was pretty blunt in his remarks to you, and I’m going to have to be the same. It’s painfully clear to quite a number of us that you’re staking your career and the status of the Democratic party on such a nebulous premise that it smacks of irrationality.”
There was a sudden silence in the room. Sanders’s eyes narrowed as he continued looking at McMillan, but then the ghost of a smile tilted his lips.
