The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(10)
“I’m afraid my duties will occupy my attention during the commemoration, Mrs. Roth,” says Father, ending the debate.
“Your duties . . .”
The governor does not raise his voice but speaks quietly, forcing the smallest of noises to settle before he continues.
“What is the old phrase with which they’ve christened you, Darren?”
No one offers up the phrase, knowing he means to say it himself. He holds the silence for emphasis, and I shift in my seat, uneasy. The pleasantries are over.
“Ah, yes. The People’s Champion . . . the people.” His last words ring with displeasure. He throws a side-glance at Gwen, provoking my temper. The governor has always been envious of my father’s ability to win the praise and hearts of the public. The people may vote for Roth, but they will never love him.
Gwen approaches Roth’s left side, almost bowing as she delicately serves bourbon-glazed carrots from a silver dish. With shocking speed, Roth grabs Gwen’s arm and grips it so tightly she drops her spoon.
“I did not tell you I wanted those. Remove them,” he snaps. “Now.” He glowers at her like she’s a piece of trash polluting his air.
“Gwen, that will be all for tonight, thank you,” says Father, trying to take control of the situation. To save her.
“The girl stays,” Roth commands with a booming ferocity.
Gwen is a full-grown woman, not a girl. It’s this sort of power play that tests my father’s composure. But I mimic him and keep a neutral face. Inscrutable.
“All the work I do, Governor, I do for the betterment of Texas,” Father says, his voice uncharacteristically strained. He sets down his fork and faces the governor. “For your name and your legacy.”
“My legacy.” The governor taps his empty wine glass with a disparaging smile. With a discreet nod from Mrs. Roth, Gwen rushes to refill it, her eyes shiny with tears.
“Texas has always been the Lone Star this country has looked to for guidance. A symbol of preservation. And the rest of the world wants in.”
Mrs. Roth’s delicate nostrils flare at the possibility.
A bulging vein appears on the governor’s left temple. It seems to swell and expand with every new word he spits out.
“Have you read the latest DHS report?”
He doesn’t wait for Father’s answer.
“Four million. Four million of these filthy Gluts have already attempted to get through our Big Fence this year—more than half that number attacking our own Texas walls.”
Gluts. Surplus. Those considered the unwanted overflow in our overpopulated world.
“And these parasites are not the only filth trying to get in. My State Guard locates and destroys hundreds of tunnels a day dug by Mexican cartels trying to infest our country with their cocaine, meth, and latest dirty drugs. And from the sky, Moscow, Beijing, and Riyadh repeatedly threaten to target Dallas and Washington with their missiles if the US does not open our borders to trade.”
Nuclear warfare. A polite dinner topic for modern polite society. Father stares at the governor soberly, his untouched plate of food turning cold.
“America can no longer attack our enemies—we can only defend. And what my wall cannot defend, I make damn certain my soldiers and my drones protect, because if the outside world succeeds, they will bring with them disease, starvation, lawlessness, and war. And though these Gluts will never get through, they will keep trying. Desperation is a hard foe to fight against, because the desperate never stop.”
I keep my head down and concentrate on cutting my meat. To my left I note Halton’s gaze lingering over portraits of Ava and my father, our perfect two-member family. I guess he doesn’t have an opinion on these matters. I’m unsure if I do either. Famine breeds war, and humankind will always raid before they starve. But can we blame the desperate? I didn’t do anything special or have a say in the matter—I was just lucky enough to be born in a land still capable of growing food. Most political issues are so black-and-white, but I live in the gray. I am the gray.
“America idolizes you for your overwhelming success in protecting the Texan borders against the dangers that lie outside our walls. But what of your citizens who are here, inside your own Big Fence, starving and sick with no hope for aid?” Father says.
Stunned, I have trouble swallowing my steak. Trouble digesting my Father’s brazenness. I can count on one hand the times he’s let slip criticisms of Roth or his policies to me and Ava. He would never reproach the governor to his face. No one does.
“The lazy, useless degenerates that do nothing but suck up our state’s resources, begging for handouts? Waging riots and violence when they don’t get what they want? Are these your people, Darren?”
Amazingly, Father keeps pushing. “These people are your own citizens, Governor, simply fighting for survival. With no foreseeable solution, the global climate crisis has our country balancing on the edge of a tipping point. As the temperatures continue to rise, so too will the tensions between the elite and the lower classes. We must adapt and adjust our model, or the United States will collapse. And until leaders with your power start to listen, riots like the one that nearly erupted outside Strake are just the beginning.”
Governor Roth cuts a large piece from his bloody steak, taking his time to chew. The tension is like sitting next to a bomb, anticipating the blast.