The State

The State

by

Calvin Wolf

The State

Calvin Wolf

Published by Calvin Wolf at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Calvin Wolf

Discover other titles by Calvin Wolf:

The College

The University

The City

The River

The Map

The Primaries

Swing States

Campaign Trail

Governing Utopia

Mudslinging

Debate

Secret Ballot

Exit Polls

The River

0

The Mayor cut the red ribbon with his ceremonial gold scissors and watched the industrial pumps roar to life, turning the manmade riverbed into an actual river. He handed the gleaming scissors to an aide and returned to the microphone, the June heat wringing beads of sweat from his immaculate hairline.

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, Midland’s new river becomes a reality, generating millions of dollars in real estate, tourism, and transportation savings! The crowd applauded, though many rolled their eyes. Several editorials in the newspaper had not been kind, calling the artificial river in the middle of the desert a foolish waste of money. Behind the podium, the Mayor was mugging for the cameras with members of the city council and Midland University leadership.

Members of the Mayor’s staff were passing out laminated maps of the Midland River and its associated developments, printed in a tourist-y fashion like maps of the San Antonio Riverwalk.

Still in full politician mode, the Mayor left the oaken stage and began schmoozing with front-row VIPs, all of whom had been selected for their ability to make the city’s chief executive look good. As the cameras rolled, the Mayor answered questions about existing businesses and their plans to take advantage of the new waterway. That whole area between Midland University and Midland Community Theater will become a hot spot for tourists and local college students, he declared, smoothing an eyebrow and looking directly into the lenses.

This should be my ticket to the House right here. Keep on lobbing those softballs, gang.

As hoped, a wealthy oil company owner asked a tailor-made question about the ending point of the artificial river, giving the Mayor another smattering of sound bites about Midland’s new water treatment plant.

And that should do it. Just head for the limousine.

The Mayor shook more hands, took a few more selfies with the politically-minded progeny of well-heeled donors, and gave a brotherly hug to the county commissioner, whom he secretly could not stand. Wearing a cowboy hat again, Shane? If the water treatment plant wasn’t outside the city limits there’d be no reason for your country ass to be here, ruining my upscale image.

He was almost to the limo, trailed by his two aides, when he ran across the short blond man in a tan summer suit. And he’s back. And he’s writing again. You gamble and lose.

You’re looking good, Hank, the Mayor said, feeling the glare of the cameras. He could not walk past Hank Hummel and not press the flesh – the media would be incensed. I’ve enjoyed your writing. That sabbatical has treated you well, I take it? Midland University is eager to have you back in the classroom.

Hummel’s large sunglasses hid the man’s expression, but the Mayor thought he could discern a furrow of the eyebrows. However, neither man could afford to be discourteous. The local writer smiled and nodded. I’ve been feeling back to my usual self, Mr. Mayor. Thank you for asking.

His desire to score some points suddenly becoming greater than his desire to retreat to the air-conditioned limousine, the Mayor began asking about Hummel’s sabbatical, though he already knew full well where the man had been. His aides were nothing if not thorough. They even forward me all of his social media stuff. Christ, the man can write three articles a day. It’s too bad his hand healed so quickly after that fall!

I trust your tour of larger universities will be of use in helping our faculty leaders plan for growth here at home? the Mayor asked congenially, setting his trap.

Indeed it did, Hummel replied, sweat now beading on his tanned brow. Lots of new construction, lots of innovations. Texas Tech University’s new buildings were particularly impressive. His voice was trailing, obviously wary.

And he has stepped in it.

But, correct me if I’m wrong, professor, you’re actually not in favor of new growth of public universities at this time? Is that correct? asked the Mayor, his grin wolfish. The impassive cameras captured everything. Only feet away, Hummel set his jaw, upset with the question.

That’s correct, Mr. Mayor. Despite our continued local economic boom, the national economy is still struggling and higher education is oversaturated. We have a responsibility to manage our growth, which is what many state flagship schools have failed to do.

I see. I agree that there is too much oversaturation of higher education. But, on another topic, aren’t you enrolling in Midland University’s new law school this fall?

Hummel flushed, obviously struggling not to look surprised. He wonders where I got that information. He should know I have little birdies everywhere.

I am, Hummel confirmed, squaring his shoulders for the camera.

Ironic, the Mayor muttered under his breath, smirking. He reached out a manicured hand and Hummel shook it. I’m a man of contradictions, Hummel said with a smile, his eyes dark. Both men smiled for the reporters and the Mayor continued his march toward the waiting car.

I just scored some good points with that one. Call me the Beckham of Texas politics, baby.

1

Across the nation, thousands of gatherings of friends and family met to watch the holographic projection of the Governor of Pennsylvania and the handsome anchor of CNN, streaming live at eight-thirty.

It is a rarity for the Supreme Court of the United States to agree to try a federal suit, the anchor said, every hair perfectly coiffed. And at five o’clock, the Court announced that it would begin hearing the special election lawsuit filed against the United States government in three days, an amazing turnaround.

The aging governor, evidently not in possession of a makeup-and-hair crew as dedicated as that of the anchor, nodded and fiddled with his tortoiseshell glasses.

Mr. Governor, countless citizens from coast to coast, and of all political affiliations, are applauding you for your tenacity in pressing this suit. How does it feel to have the highest court in the land decide to try this case directly, and with such speed?

It feels great, the governor rasped. Over the last few years, so many of my colleagues in other states have grown fearful of the federal government. They are not willing to challenge the White House. I am so happy to report that the judiciary is still on the side of our Founding Fathers’ concept of federalism and separation of powers.

"Indeed, the case Pennsylvania v. United States has received worldwide news coverage, the anchor said, making his face as stoic as possible. Attorneys representing the state of Pennsylvania have gone global in seeking precedents for special elections. Governor, what do you think your state’s chances are in Court against the U.S. government?"

Honestly, I know it will be close no matter what. The nine justices are spread widely along the political spectrum. However, liberal or conservative, I do not see how any judge could view the current situation in the White House as acceptable.

Many viewers are wondering, sir, just what makes today’s situation any different from having Gerald Ford in the Oval Office in the 1970s. For viewers who may be unaware, Gerald R. Ford was a member of Congress who became vice president in 1973 following the resignation of Spiro T. Agnew. The 25th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution outlines presidential succession, and it is allowed for Congress to approve a nominee for new vice president in the event that a sitting vice president leaves office unexpectedly.

The governor nodded and flapped his hands in a circular pattern, indicating that he was well-versed in the issue.

Yes, yes, yes, the governor interjected, but the president remained in office during the Agnew-to-Ford transition. A man who was voted on by the people was in the Oval Office. Now, with two presidential resignations in short succession, the man in the Oval Office is too far removed from the peoples’ votes. It is unacceptable for the current president to have been nominated to be vice president by a man who had only been ‘elected’ vice president himself.

But the Constitution says that the vice president is the same as the president when it comes to elections, correct? the anchor asked, throwing a monkey wrench into the works. The governor frowned.

People vote for presidents, not vice presidents. It is the duty of the nation to ensure that the commander in chief is someone for whom the people have voted. There should have been a special election. Otherwise, a continual cycle of resignations can lead to a president never voted on by any citizens.

The interview ended up being the most watched CNN news broadcast of the year to date.

2

In his Oval Office, the President glared at the hologram, wishing it was real so he could physically vent his anger. So the Supreme Court will hear it. What can I do?

Using the remote control installed in his encrypted phone, the President ended the holographic broadcast and lowered one of his many wall-mounted maps. His selected map revealed terrorist attacks in the continental United States since the last presidential election, during which he was a mere U.S. Representative. I was still wet behind the ears when that first fuckin’ Arab went postal with a stolen AR-15, wanting to guarantee himself seventy virgins. Everyone’s soft, no discipline, no steel, despite everything out there coming to ruin us. Overrun us.

He gently touched another icon and watched a map of the Middle East descend with a hiss, covering the map of the United States. He pressed an arrow at the corner of the screen and the map quietly moved to the side, clicking into place next to the original map. The map had been updated to show current conditions, revealing the movement of his armies. The 477th was now south of Damascus, the 84th was now occupying the bomb-riddled remnants of Mosul, and the 175th was on the offensive against ISIS and its assorted allies near the Iranian border.

At least our false-flag operations against the Russians worked as planned. We may not be on speaking terms, but those Cossacks sure know how to do a number on ISIS on the northern border. Planting that evidence of collaboration between ISIS and Chechen extremists was a nice little Christmas present.

There was a knock at the door just as the President was moving the 477th flag onto Damascus.

Sir, your campaign advisors are here, an aide announced through the door, undoubtedly standing ramrod straight with his military-spec crew cut trimmed to perfection. The President liked his aides to act and look precise.

Thank you, Payton. Send them in.

The President used the remote to send both maps back into the ceiling. Time to go back to a civilian schmuck, he thought as the office door unlocked. Three men walked in, none of them bearing anything close to the discipline of the sharply-suited aide.

Khakis and polos. What am I running, an Olive Garden?

Pleased to meet you, Mr. President, the oldest man said, his button-down shirt lacking a tie. The President did not like that the man’s sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm. Nevertheless, he needed a good campaign manager. He shook the man’s hand.

You three have come highly recommended by some of my former colleagues on the Hill, the President said with a false smile. As you are no doubt aware, there is the remote possibility that I might have to run a campaign soon. While I am sure the lawsuit against my administration will quickly fold in the Supreme Court, I always prefer to be prepared. Have you gentlemen worked on anything yet?

Beaming, the three men began chattering. They announced that they had been thoroughly briefed and were already setting up ground strategies in swing states.

They’re trying to snow me. Time to cut the crap.

Guys, cut the horseshit. You know as well as I that I’m a newbie to national campaigning. Forget swing states. I need something big, nationwide. I’m not one of those assholes who’s been running for president since he was a rookie Senator twelve years ago. I was chosen as a doer, not a talker.

The three campaign strategists stood nervously, shuffling their feet.

Well, sir, we’ve been measuring your popularity in different states and –

"Look, I need you three to come up with good marketing for me. Packaging. I’m the leader America needs and you need to make me look like the leader America wants."

That was enough direction to get the trio nodding, eager to get away from the irritable chief executive. The President dismissed them.

This will not work. I need something stronger.

3

The Ghost awoke and took some time to lounge in his luxurious bed, the expensive sheets courtesy of the United States government. Or at least, the part of it that knows about this. And me. The Ghost estimated that only a small group of men knew of his continued existence.

Feeling the pull of the job, which was admittedly intriguing, the Ghost slid out of the king-sized bed and went for a hot shower in his modern glass-and-chrome bathroom. Though he looked for any loose metal or glass implements, his eyes scanning the room for the hundredth time, everything was impeccably secured. Undoubtedly, hidden cameras were watching to make sure he tampered with nothing.

The Ghost knew that the chemical dispersal nozzles were hidden on the back of the showerhead – he had spotted them on the fifth day. I could try to block it, but not until I know where all the nozzles are. And find a way to override the front door.

Within seconds of pressing the wonderful button, the showerhead was pumping out a desired jet of perfectly-heated water. The water was crystal-clear, obviously filtered, and superior to any the Ghost had experienced from taps elsewhere. The water in Syria had been bad, the water in Midland even worse. London’s water had been okay. Moscow’s had been rusty.

He showered and dried off with a fluffy towel, the towels always delivered when he was instructed to move into his waiting room. They came over the intercom and told him to go there once a day, sometimes twice, and he could hear people in his domicile replacing sheets, towels, and clothing. He had tested the door handle to his bare waiting room, curious, and it had zapped him with a painful electric shock. Even if it had been unlocked and not electrified, the cleanup crew is undoubtedly armed. And it sounds like there are at least four of them.

Now that the Ghost knew his daily routine, the intercom was only used to request he go to his waiting room. Over time, they had been nice enough to put a lounge chair, small table, and stack of magazines in there. National Geographics, mostly.

After toweling off, he tossed the towel into a hamper and put on a sumptuous robe. Looking at the recessed clock set high into the twelve-foot wall, he saw that breakfast would not be delivered for another half hour. He went to the office and sat in front of the computer array. There were three screens, two keyboards, and two mice, with everything wireless and resting on a full-desktop charging pad. The Ghost set his left thumb on the wireless scanner and it automatically logged him in.

He pulled his chair closer to the screens and began to teleport.

4

A Candidate sat in his breakfast nook, reading a hard copy of a newspaper. Some things are just better the old-fashioned way, he thought, ignoring the gleaming tablet resting at the opposite side of the walnut table. The bold headlines were discussing income inequality, which Harvard University was now proclaiming to be at levels not seen since the Gilded Age. President Refuses to Comment on Record Erosion of Real Wages was one of the subtitles. Another mentioned Congressional gridlock preventing any change in the federal minimum wage.

The president’s time is limited. The Supreme Court will rule the right way.

Entering the kitchen from the door adjacent the breakfast nook, a strapping teenage boy came in from the backyard, dripping sweat from a run. Music still pumped through his wireless earbuds, which had been popped into the pockets of his running shorts. Hey Dad, the boy said with a grin. It’s getting too hot to run outside in the morning. I’ll have to start going to the gym.

Did you finish up that homework for your college application prep course last night? the Candidate asked with a wry grin. Didn’t your advisor want you to write a practice essay?

The Candidate’s son walked over to the breakfast table, hardwood floor squeaking underneath the soles of his custom running shoes. His grin turned sheepish. "Come on, Dad, last night was Saturday. I hung out with some friends, you know. Why do I have to write every practice essay?"

With an angry wave of the newspaper, the Candidate pointed to the headlines. "This is why! If you don’t get in to a selective college, you’re just one of the rabble when it comes to getting a good job. You think a bachelor’s degree from any old university means anything anymore? With all the education reform over the last twenty years they practically hand ‘em out like candy."

So you want me to go to one of the Big Three? Just so I don’t end up working for minimum wage? The teenager was annoyed; this was approximately the dozenth iteration of this conversation. Such talks had been occurring since after his freshman year of high school.

The boy retreated into the kitchen and began fixing a breakfast plate from the warming pans on the stove, grabbing some scrambled eggs, bacon, diced potatoes, and cinnamon rolls.

Well, have you at least been keeping up with the news so you’re in the know on current events? the Candidate asked, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin. He waggled the newspaper once more and the boy rolled his eyes.

I read it online.

"What, exactly, do you read online?"

The news sites, you know. CNN. ABC News. Time.

I pay for family subscriptions to the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Washington Post. Don’t just stick to the fluff. And no blogs, son. Blogs are weak.

Not all blogs, Dad. Hank Hummel’s back writing again. I like reading his stuff. He writes about politics, education, government, that sort of stuff.

The Candidate paused. Hank Hummel. I haven’t heard that name for a while.

5

Hank Hummel tossed the empty Red Bull can in the trash, the morning already too warm for more coffee, and looked to see which weight machines were available. It was a rare day when his four desired machines were available at once.

Today must be my lucky day – everyone’s working arms and legs, not core.

Slinging his workout towel over his shoulder, Hummel climbed on the fly machine and set the weight level, then lightened it a bit. He had suffered a bad pull during his sabbatical and was wary of testing it. For weeks he had been worried about a possible hernia, with Whitney finally yelling at him to go see a doctor. Fortunately, the doc had told him he was okay and to go easier on the weights.

Listening to hard rock while feeling the burn in his lats and shoulders, Hummel pulled through ten reps and then hopped up from the vinyl seat, immediately moving to the bench press. He went from machine to machine rapidly, doing ten reps on each, eventually cycling through each machine four times. Finished with weightlifting, glistening with a light sweat for his efforts, Hummel headed to the rows of treadmills.

Pleased that most of the treadmills were unused, Hummel planted himself squarely in the middle of the front row so he could comfortably watch the greatest number of television screens mounted high on the front wall. Hummel punched in his code, automatically setting the machine to his profile, and decided not to put on the 3D glasses. Those things have probably not been sanitized since the last schlub sweated all over them.

From left to right, Hummel saw Fox News, a couple of network sitcoms, a World’s Strongest Man show, CNN, and a couple of local news feeds. The TV on the far right showed a comely blonde reporter on the grounds of Midland University. The placard above the television said 97.5, so Hummel switched his iPod to the radio setting and dialed it to 97.5 FM.

"In the year since Congress passed legislation demanding that all new human capital markets meet standards met by the original market here at Midland University, only a handful of universities have created their own markets. The University of Wyoming, the University of Tennessee, the University of Alaska at Anchorage, Virginia Tech, Texas Tech, Penn State, and West Point are the only human capital markets in the United States to have gotten up and running since the passage of the controversial Hill-Metz Act. Many universities have signed agreements placing their own graduates and alumni on the ticker at the nearest human capital market, though critics claim that the trading fees are unfairly benefiting public universities with human capital markets at the expense of those without. Just this morning, for instance, CNBC reported that the University of Wyoming has made millions of dollars in trading fees hosting investees from universities across the upper Midwest, especially Colorado and Nebraska."

A map of the upper Midwest states appeared onscreen, replacing the reporter. A star appeared over Laramie, Wyoming, indicating the location of the human capital market, and smaller stars appeared over the cities with universities that had contracted with the University of Wyoming: Denver, Colorado Springs, Omaha, Lincoln, Bismarck. Maybe they’ll stop asking me for alumni donations, Hummel thought as he increased the belt speed from 3.8 to 4.0, remembering his days in Laramie.

The map zoomed out to show the entire country, with all human capital markets starred. There was decent geographical diversity, with only Midland University and Texas Tech University being right next to each other. Hummel wondered if the reporter was about to expound on that anomaly. Instead, her voice began discussing the new human capital market at West Point.

"The United States Military Academy at West Point was chosen as the location for the human capital market for all Service Academy graduates, including the Coast Guard Academy and Merchant Marine Academy. West Point’s human capital market is the only one that does not charge a trading fee to its partners. Army Brigadier General Benjamin Green, a veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan and recent graduate of the London School of Economics, was chosen by the superintendents of the three largest Service Academies to run the human capital market, which is situated on the West Point campus in a new building. Many high-ranking veterans are pleased with this newest market, which began operation last week, as a way to improve the financial situation of servicemen and women.

In related news, the fourth round of the nation’s military draft concluded at midnight, bringing a new round of criticism that Congress and the president have been too slow to clarify whether or not draftees will be able to receive the same benefits, including listing on the West Point Human Capital Market, as the military’s usual volunteers. Currently, only military officers are listed on this Market, and applicants from ROTC programs outside of the Service Academies are complaining of excessive lag times in application processing.

Enlisted personnel have sued in federal court to be listed on the Market. Many pundits are claiming that the military has done a poor job in creating their human capital market and that it will take years, and many lawsuits, to work out the kinks."

On screen were images of graduation ceremonies at the Service Academies, U.S. troops driving armored vehicles in the Middle East, and officer cadets running through obstacle courses during stateside training. The final image to appear was an imposing federal courthouse.

Working his way up to 4.3, Hummel looked at a different news-streaming television and adjusted his radio accordingly. This time a debate was unfolding, with a liberal and a conservative commentator squaring off. Both men were young-ish, perhaps less than forty, and were lounging in chairs with mugs of coffee resting on the glass table between them. The liberal was wearing a blue tie and the conservative, predictably, was wearing a red tie. An unseen moderator was explaining the dilemma, and as soon as he finished the camera zoomed in on the liberal.

"Issues of Constitutionality aside, it’s about abuse of power and corruption. This president has manipulated the markets behind the scenes to channel our economy and our finances in the way he wants. By only allowing certain universities to have these new markets, he is creating loci of power which he can then control. It’s very un-democratic. Instead of having to control the aggregate economy of Virginia, West Virginia, the Carolinas, Maryland, and D.C., he just has to control the Virginia Tech Human