The Human Division

  “It’s a compelling point, Jason,” Birnbaum said, using the phrase that in his mind meant You are completely full of shit, but arguing with you would be pointless, so I am going to change the subject on you, “and you bring up a topic which has been on my mind a lot recently, which is the Colonial Union. Have you been following the official narrative on the CU, Jason?”

  “As it relates to world government?” Jason asked.

  “Sure,” Birnbaum said, “and every other topic, too. The official narrative, the one the government is fronting and all the other governments fell in line behind, is that for—what? two hundred years?—the Colonial Union has been holding back the people of Earth. It’s been keeping us from leaving the planet except under its own terms, using us to farm soldiers and colonists, and keeping us down by not sharing its technology and understanding of our place in the universe. And you know what, Jason? Despite everything this particular administration in Washington has been wrong about over the last six years, and there’s been a lot, that’s fair. Those are fair points to make.

  “But they’re also the wrong points to make. They are the myopic points to make. They are—should we say it? dare we say it? let’s go ahead and say it—they are the politically advantageous points for this administration to make. Look at the facts. What’s the U.S. economic growth been for the last three or four years? Come on, people, it’s been in the Dumpster. You know this. I know this. Everyone knows this. And why has it been in the Dumpster? Because of the economic policies of this administration, hundreds of millions of decent Americans, the ones that wake up every morning and go to work and do what they’re supposed to do, do what we ask them to do—people like you and me, Jason—well … we’re hurting, aren’t we? We are. Every day of the year.

  “Now we come to the point where our beloved leader, the resident in the White House, can no longer hide under the canard of a so-called global economic downturn, and has to face the music with the American people about his policies. And then, like a miracle from the skies, here comes John Perry and that Conclave fleet, telling us that the Colonial Union, not the president, not the administration’s policies, not the so-called global recession, is the root of our woes. How convenient for our beloved leader, don’t you think, Jason?”

  By this time, Louisa Smart was tapping on the glass from the control room. Birnbaum looked over. What the hell? Smart mouthed silently. Birnbaum held up his hands placatingly, to say, Don’t worry, I’ve got this.

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with the world government,” Jason said, doubtfully.

  “Well, it’s got everything to do with the world government, doesn’t it, Jason?” Birnbaum said. “For the last several months we’re not talking about anything but the Colonial Union, and what we should do concerning the Colonial Union, and what we should do about the Colonial Union, and whether it can be trusted. Every day we talk about the Colonial Union is a day that we don’t talk about our own needs, our own problems, and the faults of our own government—and the current administration. I say it’s time to change the discussion. I say it’s time to change the official narrative. I say it’s time to get to the truth, rather than the spin.

  “And here’s the truth. I’m going to give it to you now. And it’s not going to be popular because it’s going to run maybe a little counter to what the official narrative is, and we know how protective the administration and its little enablers in the media are about the official narrative, don’t we? But here’s the truth, and just, you know, try it on for size and see how you like the fit.

  “The Colonial Union? It’s the best thing that ever happened to the planet Earth. Hands down, no contest, no silver or bronze. Yes, it kept the Earth in its own protective bubble. But have you seen the reports? In our local neighborhood of space, there are, what? Six hundred intelligent alien species, almost all of whom have attacked humans in some way, including John Perry’s hallowed Conclave, which would have wiped out a whole planetary colony if the Colonial Union hadn’t stopped them? If you think they would wipe out a colony, what makes you think any of them would spare the Earth if they thought we were important?

  “And you say, Well, fine, the Colonial Union kept us safe, but it also kept space from us Earthlings unless we became soldiers or colonists. But think about what that means—it means every person who went into space from Earth filled a role designed to protect humanity out there in the stars, or to build humanity’s place in the stars. You know that I take no backseat to anyone in my praise and honor of those who serve this nation in uniform. Why should I do any less for those who serve in a uniform that protects all of humankind, including those of us here on Earth? Our people—Earthlings, ladies and gentlemen—are the ones the Colonial Union turns to when it comes time to keep us all alive. The official narrative calls it slavery. I call it duty. When I turn seventy-five, do I want to sit here on Earth in a rocking chair, napping my days away until I kick off? Hell, no! Paint me green and put me in space! This administration isn’t protecting me from the Colonial Union by keeping me or anyone else from joining the Colonial Defense Forces. It’s threatening the survival of all of us by starving the one organization designed to keep all of us safe!

  “And I know there are still some of you out there clinging to the official narrative, saying to me, Well, it kept us down technologically and socially, didn’t it? I ask you, did it? Did it really? Or did it make it so that we, out of all humans anywhere, are the ones totally technologically self-sufficient? We don’t have the advantage of seeing how other alien races do things. If we want something, we have to build it ourselves. We have a knowledge base no other species can hope to match because they spend all their time poaching technology from everyone else! And far from controlling us, the Colonial Union left us here on Earth alone to pursue our own political and national destinies. Jason, do you think that if the Colonial Union hadn’t had our backs all this time, that we could have avoided a world government? That people wouldn’t have been screaming for a world government in the face of almost certain alien race subjugation?”

  “Uh—,” Jason began.

  “You know they would have,” Birnbaum continued. “And maybe some people want the same government here that they have in Beijing and New Delhi and Cairo and Paris, but I don’t. Are we so naïve as to believe the world government that we have would be like the one right here in America? Hell, this administration has been busy enough trying to trade in our rights to make us more like everyone else!

  “So I say, throw out the official narrative, people. Get with the truth. The truth is, the Colonial Union hasn’t been keeping us down. It’s been keeping us free. The longer we delude ourselves into thinking otherwise, the closer we are to doom as a species. And maybe I don’t have all the answers—I’m just a guy talking on a show, after all—but I do know that at the end of the day, humanity needs to fight to stay alive in the universe. I want to stand with the fighters. Where do you stand, people? That’s the question I want to talk about when we come back from the commercial break. Jason from Canoga Park, thanks for calling in.”

  “I have one more point—”

  Birnbaum closed the circuit and shut Jason down, then threw to Louisa Smart for the commercials.

  “Okay, seriously, what the hell was that?” Smart said, over the headset. “Since when do you have a bug in your ass about the Colonial Union?”

  “You said you wanted me to spend more time thinking about how to turn the show around,” Birnbaum said.

  “You think championing the group that’s been pissing on Earth for two hundred years is a winning strategy for that?” Smart said. “I question your judgment, more than I usually do.”

  “Trust me, Louisa,” Birnbaum said. “This is going to work.”

  “You don’t actually believe what you just spouted, do you?” Smart said.

  “If it gets the numbers up, I believe every goddamned word of it,” Birnbaum said. “And for the sake of your job, Louisa, so should you.”

 
“I have a job whether you’re here or not,” Smart reminded him. “So I think I’ll keep my own opinion out of the ‘sale’ rack, if it’s all the same to you.” She looked down at her monitor and made a face.

  “What is it?” Birnbaum asked.

  “It looks like you pinked somebody,” Smart said. “I’ve got a caller here from Foggy Bottom. It’s not every day we have someone from the State Department calling in, that’s for sure.”

  “Are we sure it’s from the State Department?” Birnbaum asked.

  “I’m checking the name right now,” Smart said. “Yup. It’s a deputy undersecretary for space affairs. Small fry in the grand scheme of things.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Birnbaum said. “Get him on when we come back. I’m going to light him up.”

  “Her,” Smart said.

  “Whatever,” Birnbaum said, and girded himself for battle.

  * * *

  Having furnished the pictures, Birnbaum fully expected Washington’s clients to furnish a war. What he wasn’t expecting was a blitzkrieg.

  Birnbaum’s show numbers for the day were actually about 1 percent below average; fewer than a million people heard his rant live, streamed to the listening implement of their choice. Within ten minutes of the rant, however, the archived version of the rant started picking up listeners. Relatively slowly at first, the archived version’s numbers began to climb as more political sites linked in. Within two hours, the archived version reached another million people. Within three, it was two million. Within four, four million. The show archive’s hits grew at a roughly geometric rate for several hours afterward. Overnight there were seven million downloads of the Voice in the Wilderness PDA ’gram. By the next day’s show—a show devoted entirely to the subject of the Colonial Union, as were the next several shows—the live audience was 5.2 million. By the end of the week, it was twenty million live streams per show.

  Like a crack in an overburdened dam, Birnbaum’s pro–Colonial Union rant created a rapid collapse in a polite silence from various political quarters, followed by a swamping flood of agreement with Birnbaum’s vituperation for the current administration position of holding the Colonial Union at arm’s length. Birnbaum had occupied a sweet spot in the media discourse—not so influential that he was unable to promote a potentially unpopular (and possibly crazy) theory, but not so obscure that he could be dismissed outright as a kook. Too many Washington insiders, politicians and journalists knew him too well for that.

  The administration, wholly unprepared for the tsunami of opposing views on this particular topic, flubbed its immediate response to Birnbaum and his followers, beginning with the unfortunately clueless deputy undersecretary for space affairs who had called in to Birnbaum’s show, who was so thoroughly dismantled by Birnbaum that three days later she tendered her resignation and headed to her home state of Montana, where she would eventually become a high school history teacher.

  At least she was well out of it. The government’s response was so poorly done that for several days its hapless handling of the event threatened to eclipse the discussion of the Colonial Union itself.

  Threatened but did not eclipse, in part because Birnbaum, who knew a good break when he saw one, simply wouldn’t let it. From his newly elevated vantage point, Birnbaum dispensed opinion, gathered useful tidbits of information from insiders who, two weeks before, wouldn’t have given him the time of day, and set the daily agenda for discussion on the topic of the Colonial Union.

  Others attempted to seize the issue from him, of course. Rival talk show hosts, stunned by his sudden ascendancy, claimed the Colonial Union topic for their own but could not match his head start; even the (formerly) more influential show hosts looked like also-rans on the subject. Eventually, all but the most oblivious of them ceded supremacy on the topic to him and focused on other subjects. Politicians would try to change the subject; Birnbaum would either get them on the show to serve his purposes or harangue them when they wouldn’t set foot into his studio.

  Either way the subject was his, and he milked it for all it was worth, carefully tweaking his message for statesmanlike effect. No, of course the Colonial Union should not be excused for keeping us in the dark, he would say, but we have to understand the context in which that decision was made. No, we should never be subjugated to the Colonial Union or be just another colony in their union, he’d say other times, but there were distinct advantages in an alliance of equal partners. Of course we should consider the Conclave’s positions and see what advantages talking to it holds for us, he’d say still other times, but should we also forget we are human? To whom, at the end of the day, do we truly owe our allegiance, if not our own species?

  Every now and again, Louisa Smart would ask him if he truly believed the things he was saying to his new, widely expanded audience. Birnbaum would refer her to his original answer to the question. Eventually Smart stopped asking.

  The new monthlies came in. Live audience of the show was up 2,500 percent. Archived show up a similar number. Forty million downloads of the PDA ’gram. Birnbaum called his agent and told her to renegotiate his latest contract with SilverDelta. She did, despite the fact it had been negotiated less than two years earlier. Walter Kring might have been a six-foot-ten-inch alpha male right through to his bones, but he was strangely terrified of Monica Blaustein, persistent Jewish grandmother from New York, five feet tall in her flats. He could also read a ratings sheet and knew a gold mine when he saw it.

  Birnbaum’s life became the show and sleeping. His thing on the side, miffed at the inattention, dropped him. His relationship with Judith, his third wife, the smart one, the one who had maneuvered him out of the prenup, became commensurately better in nearly all respects. His son Ben’s soccer team actually won a soccer game. Birnbaum didn’t feel he could really take credit for that last one.

  “This isn’t going to last,” Smart pointed out to him two months into the ride.

  “What is it with you?” Birnbaum asked her. “You’re a downer.”

  “It’s called being a realist, Al,” she said. “I’m delighted that everything’s coming up roses for you at the moment. But you’re a single-issue show right now. And no matter what, the fact is this issue is going to get solved one way or another in the not-all-that-distant future. And then where will you be? You will be last month’s fad. I know you have a shiny new contract and all, but Kring will still cut your ass if you have three bad quarters in a row. And now, for better or worse, you have much, much further to fall.”

  “I like that you think I don’t know that,” Birnbaum said. “Fortunately for the both of us, I am taking steps to deal with that.”

  “Do tell,” Smart said.

  “The Rally,” Birnbaum said, making sure the capital “R” was evident in his voice.

  “Ah, the rally,” Smart said, omitting the capital. “This is the rally on the Mall in support of the Colonial Union, which you have planned for two weeks from now.”

  “Yes, that one,” Birnbaum said.

  “You’ll note that the subject of the rally is the Colonial Union,” Smart said. “Which is to say, that single issue that you’re not branching out from.”

  “It’s not what the Rally is about,” Birnbaum said. “It’s who is going to be there with me. I’ve got both the Senate majority leader and House minority leader up there on the stage with me. I’ve been cultivating my relationships with them for the last six weeks, Louisa. They’ve been feeding me all sorts of information, because we have midterms coming up. They want the House back and I’m going to be the one to get it for them. So after the Rally, we begin the shift away from the Colonial Union and back to matters closer to home. We’ll ride the Colonial Union thing as long as we can, of course. But this way, when that horse rides into the sunset I’m still in a position to influence the political course of the nation.”

  “As long as you don’t mind being a political party’s cabana boy,” Smart said.

  “I prefer ‘unofficial agenda
setter’ myself,” Birnbaum said. “And if I deliver this election, then I think I’ll be able to call myself something else. It’s all upside.”

  “Is this the part where I stand at your side as you roll into Rome in triumph, whispering ‘Remember thou art mortal’ into your ear?” Smart asked.

  “I don’t entirely get the reference,” Birnbaum said. His world history knowledge was marginally worse than his United States history knowledge.

  Smart rolled her eyes. “Of course not,” she said. “Remember it anyway, Al. It might come in handy one day.”

  Birnbaum made a note to remember it but forgot because he was busy with his show, the Rally and everything that would follow after it. It came back to him briefly on the day of the Rally, when, after stirring fifteen-minute speeches from the House minority leader and the Senate majority leader, Birnbaum ascended the podium and stood at the lectern on the stage of the Rally, looking out at a sea of seventy thousand faces (fewer than the one hundred thousand faces they had been hoping for, but more than enough, and anyway they’d round up because it was all estimates in any event). The faces, mostly male, mostly middle-aged, looked up at him with admiration and fervor and the knowledge that they were part of something bigger, something that he, Albert Birnbaum, had started.

  Remember thou art mortal, Birnbaum heard Louisa Smart say in his head. He smiled at it; Louisa wasn’t at the Rally because of a wedding. He’d rib her about it later. Birnbaum brought up his notes on the lectern monitor and opened his mouth to speak and then was deeply confused when he was facedown on the podium, gasping like a fish and feeling sticky from the blood spurting out of what remained of his shoulder. His ears registered a crack, as if distant thunder were finally catching up with lightning, then he heard screams and the sound of seventy thousand panicked people trying to run, and then blacked out.