CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Renewal
“Checked out Townsend with COPE.” Sherwood chiseled the words into the miles separating himself and Guinda Burns. “He was director of the HPHC for over ten years, just retired. Had over a thousand people working for him, but he was very low profile. His assistant director actually did all the administration and interfaces with the Government and the University. They say he kept his nose buried in the science. But I think it is a classic example of an agent working undercover. He was politically active until 2010 and then just dropped out of that arena. That is the big clue. Now he is emerging to lead some political movement.”
Guinda was glad this was not a virtual meeting so she didn’t have to hide her astonishment.
“If he is an anarchist, we will get him. He may be dangerous. Keep me posted.”
“Okay,” she answered.
After hanging up the phone, Guinda stared at the hapless instrument as if some latent defect within it had somehow begotten Sherwood. She wondered as much about Sherwood as she did about Townsend. Sherwood reminder her of Uncle Orin from Boise who checked under the hood of his car each morning to insure that a terrorist hadn’t slipped into the country and planted a bomb. He thought it was foolish and irresponsible that everyone didn’t do the same. But with Sherwood, it was more than just paranoia. She had talked to him only twice, but he was the spookiest person she’d ever met. His stony arrogance had smothered all humanity out of their meetings, and she was accustomed to arrogance in the Party.
What did he mean, “If he is an anarchist, we will get him?” She’d heard others in the Party mention anarchists, but she never questioned it. Now the issue was thrust in front of her and entangled her mind. Who are the anarchists and how does who get them? Townsend didn’t seem like an anarchist to her, or did he? She didn’t understand him. He seemed sincere, but how could you tell anymore? Could it be that Townsend is actually altruistic? But how can you trust altruism? It’s too unstable. Too uncompromising. Too pure.
The phone interrupted, truncating a thought, choking conjecture. She glanced disapprovingly at it for simply doing its job flawlessly.
“Yes, Townsend. I’ve thought about our conversation yesterday. I was very preoccupied with my meeting with the state director when we talked, and maybe I didn’t show my gratitude for your offer. Unfortunately, I can’t find any way that a person of your capabilities could contribute to the cause.”
“I can certainly understand how you could feel that may, Ms. Burns. I’m afraid I must have given a very poor impression of how I might be able to help. If we could meet once more, I’d try to put my feelings into words much better than I did. However, to tell the truth, I’m not totally sure myself how I can help.”
Guinda sat at her desk unsure of what to make of this man, this anarchist, this ambassador of a forgotten century. Sherwood’s warning also tolled in her mind. “Okay, Dr. Townsend. I have a little time around noon. Suppose we get together for lunch someplace.”
“Sure, that would be great,” replied Elliott.
He was waiting in the lobby of the popular Mexican restaurant when Guinda arrived.
“Good morning, Dr. Townsend,” Guinda said as she approached him, extending her hand.
“Good morning, Ms. Burns,” he said, meeting her hand halfway. The smile that embraced both his voice and his face rebuffed the formality of their greeting.
“Look, maybe we could be less formal. My name is Guinda. Could I call you Elliott?”
“No, I’d prefer you didn’t. But Ted would be just fine,” he said with a grin.
They went inside, sat down, and after a few minutes of polite conversation, each ordered the same brand of beer and studied the menu. During lunch, their conversation was polite, cordial, and superficial.
Guinda talked of her BA and MA in political science and her father’s advise to choose a career with stability, but the thought of a stable career nauseated her. She taught high-school history, political science, and electoral technology for a couple of years and found that refreshing. But she was too young to be refreshed; she wanted excitement and glamour.
Her striking figure and face, quick wit, and athletic prowess made her a shoe-in for class officer in high school. She dreamed then of a political career, which fueled her choice to major in political science.
When the CBS Party offered her a job two years ago as a field site manager, she knew that was her ticket to excitement. CBS had apparently been impressed with her part in two NCAA swimming championships and her three Olympic medals. When they interviewed her and discovered her outgoing personality, collegiate face, precisely tanned body, and a blond ponytail synchronized with her two perfect breasts, they knew she was the right image for the party. She had the added advantage of an instinct for when to play bimbo and when to be brain.
She was very matter-of-fact about her breasts and how they advanced her career. Elliott couldn’t help but glance at them approvingly as she discussed their role. It was like acknowledging an attractive belt or hat.
After lunch, she said, “Actually, Ted, your offer to volunteer took me by surprise. I have only two volunteers, both students at the University. They mostly help with event promotion using the campus network. It involves just a couple of hours a week. But I was thinking of something a little more … aggressive for you.”
She waited for some reaction, and getting none, she continued. “It seems that our lowest voter participation is among the retired people. We have our primary coming up soon and our expected participation among seniors is only 68%. That’s the lowest of any age group. I think you could help us get that number up in the local area.”
Elliott squirmed a little in his seat. “Excuse me, Guin. I guess I should explain something to you. When we met yesterday, I didn’t have time to explain what my ambitions really are, and maybe I didn’t even fully understand them myself. But I, too, have been thinking about how I can help. You see, I can’t work for your candidates because I don’t believe in them.”
“I don’t understand,” Guinda replied. “You said you wanted to help.”
“I know. I’m not making this very easy, am I? I want to help, but I want to help the people. I want to help Americans make better choices.”
“Well, of course,” Guinda said. “We’re all working toward that. That’s why we’ve chosen candidates that can go head to head, even against Lizzie Special. I personally think that Dr. Heat can—”
“Wait a minute, Guin. I think I need to go back a little further. I know this happened before you were born, but elections used to be a lot different than they are today.”
“I know. I studied all that in school. How people used to go to a voting machine, but things are a lot easier today with the TV elections and all.”
“Let me see if there’s a better way to explain this. We’re feeding people celebrities. We aren’t giving them choices. Each celebrity is the same. Each one is just a person to whom some media network has given a slick image.”
“Right. And that image is what the people are voting for. I understand that. It doesn’t sound any different than the way it used to be. What I’ve read is that the politicians used to get on TV or the news and just lie to the people about everything, and their campaign would then package them with a slick image and the people would buy it. It’s the same today, except we don’t have the lies. COPE really cracks down on anyone who lies. I can’t see how the old way is better than that.”
“But the candidates today are not even politicians,” Elliott said. “They’re movie stars and rock musicians and basketball players. They don’t debate the issues. They don’t even know what the issues are. Most of today’s candidates are really low-life, hack actors who don’t have any idea what the problems are or how to solve them.”
“You know, Elliott, I don’t have all your years of experience, but I took a lot of poli-sci courses in college, and wha
t I remember is that the politicians of your era were pretty low-life, too. And they were professional liars, and everybody knew it, but everyone kept on voting for them anyway. I read about some guy who was a senator somewhere on the east coast, and he was playing around with his secretary, and he drowned her one night when they were out screwing around and then lied his way out of it. But everybody knew he was lying, and he was one of the most arrogant jerks that ever lived, and barely had two IQ points to rub together. And he stayed in the Senate for another forty years. And he wasn’t unusual. All the politicians lied all the time, and all they ever cared about was their little empires and passing laws favorable to the money interests that supported their campaigns. And they all kept getting reelected, and they were all killing the country. And nobody cared! What we have today is a lot better than that.”
“You don’t understand. What we have today is just … it’s just … well … bullshit! It’s hype and bullshit!”
“Well, Dr. Townsend, it’s a lot better bullshit than you had.”
The conversation ebbed. Guinda paid the bill with her fingerprint. She was the next to speak. “You said you wanted to help, but you can’t support our candidates. And you haven’t voted for forty years, and you probably have never played one of the political game shows. And arguing with me is certainly no help. So what’s the help?”
“Well, I thought I knew, but maybe …. It seemed clear to me a couple days ago. I thought I could do something to help … not the parties but the people. I want to help our country, but I guess I can’t be much help to you.” Elliott looked at his beautiful companion and then glanced away. When he looked back at her, she was studying him. There was no animosity in either look, only wonder.
“I have to be getting back to the office. We’re pretty busy now.” Guinda rose, followed by Elliott, and the two walked to the door.
As they walked past the bar toward the lobby, Elliott said, “You know, Guin, I’m on the outside looking in because I’ve been out of circulation for a long time.”
They faced off again. “That’s what I keep hearing about you. But you’re director of a big lab and have a Nobel Prize and a family. I don’t understand why you’ve been out of circulation.”
“I guess that’s one of those long stories, and I’m sure you don’t have time for it. I just—”
“There’s a table and two chairs,” she said. “I have time if you do.”
“I’m retired, you know, so I’m made of time. But you have a party to run.”
“This is party business. Besides, I’m not worried about getting fired. I have a perfect body.” They both laughed as they headed for a table in the corner. After ordering a pair of beers, she said, “Some creep at COPE looked you up and said you might be dangerous. Is that true?”
“I think I’m safe. I promised my wife, Martha, that I’d stay out of trouble.”
“But you’re meeting a beautiful young woman in a bar. Wouldn’t Martha call that trouble?”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of trouble she had in mind.” He checked his watch. “Besides, she’s probably meeting with her virtual family right now. The wonders of technology.”
“And you don’t approve of that?”
“I guess she had to find some other family because I was always at the Lab.”
“How about Luke and Susie?”
“They’ve been gone for a long time now. Luke’s in Japan and Susie’s in the Bay Area.”
“But you must have been a family once.”
“Yeah, and I thought we were a very happy family, but …”
“What were they like as kids?”
Elliott focused through his glass of beer, his gaze merging with the bubbles as they sought freedom. “They were great kids, and we had so many great times together.” He turned the glass, looking for wisdom, finding none.