The Probability Broach

  “Thank you. Therefore, I move that Congress declare a state of emergency to deal with this situation before civilization itself is destroyed.”

  A tidal wave of noise swept over the crowded room. Lucy grabbed her mike, punching for recognition. This too was prearranged. “Mr. Vice President!—Shuddup, you varmints!—Mr. Vice President!” In exasperation, she drew her enormous pistol, triggering three devastating blasts into the timbered ceiling. Sawdust fell, and with it, silence.

  “The Chair recognizes Lucille Kropotkin.”

  “About bloody time, too, Fanshaw, old ape. Okay, I second Jenny’s motion, so’s we can explain to all these yahoos here exactly what’s been going on!” She holstered her pistol and sat down.

  “It has been moved,” Olongo said, “and rather vigorously seconded, that we declare a state of emergency. Discussion? Mr. Madison, of the Fed—er, Hamiltonian Society.” At the far edge of the room, Madison rose. I stiffened, but Lucy reached out quickly, pinning my gun hand to the console.

  “Mr. Vice President, we have just witnessed the introductory maneuvers of an unprecedented criminal conspiracy. I—”

  “Oh, yeah?” someone shouted. “What about Hawaii?” There were echos to this, stomping and whistling.

  Madison waded on. “I myself have been accosted by these lunatics, and have some acquaintance with what they’re trying to sell. In the interests of decency, I demand that their fantasies be dismissed immediately, so that we may all go home.” Boos, hisses, interspersed with a cheer or two. One of his henchman rose and shouted, “Second!”

  “Out of order, Dr. Skinner. There’s a motion already on the floor. Captain Couper, you have a comment?”

  Couper was a beefy Neoimperialist wearing double shoulder holsters. “If Miss Smythe would accept a friendly amendment …”

  “That depends, Captain,” Jenny answered.

  “Would you consider reconvening in committee-of-the-whole, delaying the vote until we fully understand the nature of this emergency of yours?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure I could accept that right now.”

  “Good going, Jenny!” whispered Lucy.

  “Then,” Couper replied evenly, “I offer it as a formal amendment.”

  “Second!” cried Sandy Silvers.

  “There’s a precedent.” Lucy giggled. “Dissolutionists seconding a Neoimperialist motion!”

  “Thank you,” Olongo said. “Any discussion on the amended motion?”

  “Mr. Vice President!” A Franklinite chimpanzee was recognized. “As I understand it, Captain Couper merely wants more discussion before we commit ourselves.” For some reason, Lucy tensed. “You’re not proposing any long-term study, are you, Geoff?”

  “You know I’m not, Fred.”

  “Captain Couper, Mr. Muggs, will you gentlemen kindly address the Chair?”

  “Herr Doktor Vize Prezidendt!”

  Olongo sighed resignedly. “Mr … um … Kleingunther?”

  “If Herr Oberst Couper did not zo intendt,” Madison’s butler said, “I vould ligh zuch a ztudy formally to propoze.” He bowed stiffly and sat down.

  “Second!” Skinner shouted.

  Olongo sagged. “We now have,” he spread his huge hands helplessly, “an amendment to the amendment to the original motion.” He hunched over the lectern, lowering threatening eyebrows. “Any discussion? I didn’t think so.”

  “QUESTION!” a hundred voices cried, Lucy’s foremost. “Ain’t politics fun?” she whispered gleefully.

  “The question’s been called. We will now vote on the—”

  “Point of information?” A plumpish lady stood up, waving her arm.

  “What is it, Mrs. Grundy?”

  “Olongo, dear, I don’t understand. Are we voting on a declaration of emergency, or a discussion of a declaration of emergency?”

  “Neither. We’re voting to … Mr. Kleingunther, please reiterate for Mrs. Grundy, and anyone else who’s confused.”

  “Oh for blither’s sake!” Lucy muttered. Kleingunther started to speak, looked confused himself, read over his notes, and consulted with Madison. Finally, he restated the motion.

  “Now if everybody understands what’s going on, we’ll proceed. All in favor of Mr. Kleingunther’s amendment to Captain Couper’s amendment, please signify by entering ‘are.’” In a mass-flurry of keyboard activity, many of the names on the screen turned from white to green. I began counting, but lost track when—

  “All opposed, type ‘nay.’”

  Lucy’s name and others changed to red. A few remained white—the delegate beside us was snoring softly. He didn’t have my aching bladder to keep him awake.

  But we were outnumbered, sabotaged before we’d even gotten started! Would Madison be allowed to take over two worlds without a fight? Would we ever see Clarissa and Ed again? Would I ever get to the bathroom?

  “MR. SECRETARY, PLEASE assess the proportions!” Suddenly, everything reversed. I’d forgotten that each delegate carried a different voting weight, from those representing only themselves, to the tiny professional minority with millions of proxies. The motion had failed, twenty to one!

  The next order of business was Captain Couper’s amendment by itself. All in favor? Furious typing. All opposed? More of the same. The board looked hopelessly green, but this time I waited for the proportions. Slam! went the gavel. “The amendment passes by a majority of 99.44 percent. This body is recessed and reconstituted as a committee-of-the-whole!”

  I groaned. Had we lost?

  “Great goiters, no!” said Lucy. “We were hoping for something like this, but couldn’t figure a way to swing it ourselves. Those Hamiltonians did it for us, bless their cruddy little hides.”

  I rested my head in my hands. “I give up. What’s going on this time?”

  “You’ll learn,” she laughed. “Look. Anybody wants to speak at this bellywhop’s limited to ten minutes, right?”

  I remembered something like that. “But what’s all this other junk?”

  “Well, now we’re a committee-of-the-whole, just asittin’ around the potbelly stove. No time limit, no question to be called. Trouble was figurin’ how t’get it done. Never woulda passed if we’d suggested it.”

  “I see,” I said. “So you got Captain Couper to—”

  “Like pox we did! Neoimperialists don’t do favors for Gallatinists, and everybody knows it. It was just dumb luck. The Federalists finished the job, annoying everybody with their amendment to the amendment!”

  I shook my head. “More smoke-filled-room chicanery.”

  “Winnie, it’s the same game, wherever it’s played. Only difference is, this Congress can’t force anyone to do anything. Hell, you people can raise taxes, steal land, deny justice and the laws of nature, all before noon recess! Ain’t a soul in this room—’cept maybe the Hamiltonians and Franklinites—doesn’t want to get rid of politics altogether, someday. Got something better back home?”

  “Hmm. You may have a point in there among the land mines.”

  “Well, try doin’ a little thinking sometime. Might get to like it after a while.”

  “They always said it’d make us go blind. Speaking of that, are the whites of my eyes turning yellow? I need to—”

  “Hush, boy! They’re startin’ again!”

  “Marvelous.” I crossed my legs and bit down hard on my cigar.

  Resuming the Chair, Jenny called on Deejay Thorens, via Telecom, to describe the Probability Broach. A second circuit, to Emperor Norton University, allowed Ooloorie to chip in by split-screen. It was the first I’d seen of Deejay’s recordings of my world. They were depressing. The United States now looked dingy and threadbare to me. I’d forgotten already what grime, noxious fumes, and poverty in the soul of a society can do to the people who have to live there.

  “Madame President!”

  “The Chair recognizes Mr. F. K. Bertram.”

  “Madame President, we demand this demonstration cease! Those recordings are private
property, which these two individuals” —he pointed to the inset images of Deejay and Ooloorie—“are using without authorization!”

  The main screen went white. Everybody blinked. “Is this true, Dr. Thorens?” asked Jenny, knowing perfectly well it was.

  “I’m afraid so,” Deejay admitted ruefully.

  Bertram shook his fist at the ’com. “Thorens, you and your, your—specimen, are discharged! Turn those recordings over this very minute!”

  “That, sir,” Ooloorie answered coolly, “is a logical impossibility. They’re already in your custody, being run from a tele-computer in Laporte.”

  “I don’t care! I—we want it stopped, right now! Right of private property!” It was growing harder for me to follow the action. My bladder was demanding full attention.

  “Wait a minute!” It was Olongo, out of order and towering above the rostrum. “What do you mean, private property? I’m one of your stockholders, and I want to see those recordings!”

  “Mr. Vice President, with due respect, we are obligated to make decisions in the best interests of the company as a whole.”

  I glanced over at Lucy, typing frantically into her console. She’d established a datalink with a Chicago stock exchange, summoning up a list of stockholders and cross-referencing it with the roster of delegates. “Oh horsehockey! There’s only four of any significance here, and one of ’em’s Madison. He’s in for five percent! Couldn’t raise a majority if our lives depended on it—which they might!”

  I shifted painfully. “Lucy, may I make a suggestion?”

  She looked at me, mildly surprised. “Say on, MacDuff!”

  “Well, didn’t you say these delegates represent nine-tenths of the country?”

  “Quit fidgeting, boy. You feel all right?”

  “No! What percentage, do you suppose, is watching this clambake?” Now she had me doing it.

  A predatory gleam dawned in her eyes. “It just might work! But it’ll take time. Hold on a second.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

  “Shush now!” She punched more buttons. “Running a cross-check: individuals represented at this palaver, versus stockholders.” The Telecom burped:

  ESTIMATED RUN-TIME:

  FOUR MINUTES, THIRTY-TWO SECONDS

  “You dash down to Jenny and Olongo. Tell ’em what we’re up to.” It felt more like sloshing than dashing. I crossed the great floor self-consciously, but I needn’t have worried: as the wrangling continued down front, I noticed delegates napping, several reading books or their electronic counterparts, and at least two poker games along my route to the rostrum. Someone was working a complicated 3-D crossword in his display, others were walking around, chatting, eating dinner. And I was heading down front, instead of out back where I needed to go.

  I reached Jenny. “Lucy’s onto something.” She punched Lucy’s combo, the screen read PRIVACY and faded out. “She needs about five minutes.” I explained the idea.

  Jenny snapped her fingers. “Didn’t think of that!” She leaned over to whisper briefly in Olongo’s furry ear.

  “Madame President!”

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President?”

  “I move a five-minute recess. I have to go to the john.”

  “SECOND!!” I found myself running wildly for the door.

  Jenny didn’t wait for an assenting vote. Slam! “This committee stands recessed for”—she must have seen my rapidly receding back—“make that … make that ten minutes. Personal privilege of the vice president!”

  And Win Bear, too.

  JENNY GAVELED CONGRESS back to order. “The Chair recognizes Lucy Kropotkin, of the Gallatinist Party!”

  “Madame President, we strenuously protest!”

  “That’s nice, Mr. Bertram, but the Chair still recognizes Mrs. Kropotkin.”

  Lucy stood. “Madame President, as a stockholder in Paratronics, Ltd.”—I looked at the certificate on her desk: one share, purchased from a Dr. Featherstone-Haugh, still warm from the facsimile printer—“I’d like a straw poll of my fellow stockholders, concerning disposition of these records, which, after all, are our private property.” Bertram and Madison were frantic at their keyboards. I smiled and shot them a bird.

  Jenny asked, “Is a majority of stockholders present?”

  “No, Madame President, but there’s a majority represented by delegates here. If the Secretary will display the data I’ve just transferred to him.” A number of delegates’ names turned blue, numbers trailing behind them indicating shares held by their constituents.

  Jenny handed over to Olongo, stepped down, and was recognized. “Mr. Bertram, I’m prepared to move adjournment, just long enough for an impromptu stockholders’ meeting here and now. I believe all that’s required is a majority of stockholders who—”

  “Woman!” Bertram rose, face flushed, trembling with fury. “You can’t pull this quasilegal nonsense on me—us!”

  Jenny smiled sweetly. “Oh yes I can, and afterward, your stockholders will likely want a new chairman of the board, won’t they?”

  “All right, all right!” Bertram collapsed into himself like a worn-out concertina, burying his face in his hands. Madison caught Kleingunther’s eye. The butler nodded, patting a bulge under his left armpit. Bertram was about to discover that politics wasn’t fun anymore.

  The room darkened once again. Crude internal combustion engines, pushing rubber tires along grease-stained asphalt, carried rigid stick figures, naked of human dignity or the means of self-defense. I’d been adjusted out of my own culture. Would I ever be able to return? There was Vaughn Meiss, alive, unaware of being observed through a keyhole in time. Deejay and Ooloorie described the first contact as we watched it being made, then covered Meiss’s decision to construct his own half of an improved Broach.

  “But apparently,” Deejay reported, “his work was being duplicated. These United States have a long, brutal history of internal and international warfare, often employing weapons only a Prussian might consider wholesome.”

  “Meiss had once developed such weaponry,” Ooloorie continued. “It’s difficult conveying to a free people how this involved him with an absolute authority, of which he came to live in mortal terror, even after he’d resigned. His work had been in secret, in a ferment of paranoia, and failure to perceive that not letting one’s real defensive capabilities be known, is a principal cause of war.” In the flickering screen light, I could just see someone joining Madison and his cohorts, someone I thought I knew.

  “There are many secret police forces,” Deejay explained, “responsible for ferreting out enemy secrets, preventing their own from being discovered. One such, covertly keeping watch on Meiss, began duplicating his Broach. At the time Meiss was murdered, they’d gotten far enough to pass small objects into this world … and contact certain people here.” I was sure now who’d joined Madison. I didn’t like the implications of his sudden availability.

  “That secret agency,” Jenny took up the narrative, “established liaison with the only advocate of tyranny left in North America.” She pointed an accusing finger. “John Jay Madison of the Alexander Hamilton Society, formerly known as the Federalist Party!”

  Madison leaped to his feet. “I reject this calumny! These fanatics have distorted their personal antipathies—which might better be satisfied decently in the courts or upon the field of honor—into a ludicrous fairy tale! These Gallatinist monsters have waged their war of lies upon my inoffensive compatriots for two centuries!” He slapped his weapon. “By Almighty God, I swear I’ll end it now!”

  I unsnapped my safety strap. Jenny faced Madison unflinchingly. “Sir, you’ll have ample opportunity to reply in due course. But I am telling the truth, and no threat, on this Earth or any other, can frighten me into doing less. Do you understand me?”

  “Be warned, then, young woman. You are gambling with your life!”

  “Up yours, Manfred, with a prickly pear.!” Lucy shouted. Madison jerked his head in our direction, the
entire room burst into laughter.

  “The Chair,” Olongo said, blowing his nose, “will now examine …” He peered at a slip of paper. “ … Captain Edward William Bear, late of the United States Police Force.”

  A BIT NERVOUS, I got up and walked slowly to the dais, detouring to approach the Hamiltonians. Sure enough, there was Oscar Burgess, sneering at me. I glanced at the SecPol agent. “Stay out of this, slime! Madison, I want my friends back, quick, in good condition—Hold it, Kleingunther, or you won’t leave this room attached to your nuts!” I shoved Burgess back, gave Kleingunther an elbow in the eye, and snatched their leader’s lower lip, digging in with my thumb. “And Madison,” I warned, watching blood seep up around my thumbnail, “I’ve got no more scruples about initiated force than you do. So think about it, while you’ve got a chance!”

  I let go, wiped my hand on Burgess’s shirt, and pointedly turned my back on them (not without a nervous qualm or two), continuing on in a widening circle of shocked silence.

  Someone brought me a chair. I sat on its edge, letting my holster dangle within easy reach. “Captain Bear,” Olongo asked, brown eyes twinkling down at me, “you’re from this other Earth we’ve been discussing, an important police official there?”

  “Well, yes and no,” I answered, thinking about Perry Mason. “I’m from the other Earth, all right, but as for being important, I’m afraid you’ve been misled. It’s lieutenant, not captain. (Why does everybody here seem to be Captain something-or-other?) And I work for the city government—don’t look so shocked!—of Denver, sort of similar to Laporte, only farther south.”

  “Mr. Vice President!” Madison again, his diction a little worse for wear. “I demand the right to cross-examine this psychopath! Or have we Hamiltonians lost every vestige of our—”