(Three)
O8 January 2065
The White House
Washington, DC, USA.
1000 hours
The Big House was not the Commandant's home - it was the President's. The reception and ceremony took place in the East Room. It had all the trappings one would imagine of The White House, but the event would be described in the press as a personal gathering: "The President, First Lady, selected members of Congress and involved members of the diplomatic community hosted a small reception for the multinational Vesta and Tellus survivors." Twenty-seven of the group had accepted the invitation, each bringing up to four family members. Kylen had accepted and was accompanied by her father, Allston and Bridee. Eithne had declined to attend.
Senators and Congressmen had jockeyed for position, and foreign ambassadors had responded with RSVPs in almost unseeming haste. The French Ambassador had gone so far as to accept by making a personal phone call. It was too delicious an insult to 'Dear Diane.' The President of the United States had performed a dangerous political highwire act and had succeeded brilliantly.
Public opinion - the polls - had pointed to the fact that the public felt strongly that 'something' should be done for the survivors. The United Nations - specifically the Secretary General of the United Nations - had been remarkably closemouthed about the issue. A single three-sentence press release a week after the return of the hostages was all that the UN had offered. The White House affair was a virtual slap in the face to Diane Hayden, but couched, as it was under the guise of "personal reception" there was little she could do. Any retaliation, public or private, would call into focus both her lack of action and her ties to Aerotech, which she wished to avoid at all cost. She hated being finessed - hated being outmaneuvered. But Diane Hayden was nothing if not practical. While revenge might be a dish best served cold, it was a meal she would have to forego. It was in her own best interests to ignore the whole thing.
A healthy cadre of high-ranking Marine Corps officers had been invited. As far as the spin-doctors had been concerned, this event could serve a variety of purposes, one of which was to pour more oil on the troubled InVitro Rights waters. This InVitro, Colonel McQueen, was now on Earth. He had been the C.O. of the Fifty-eighth Squadron, which had saved the hostages. There was good press in that, and it tied things together quite nicely. Within the Fifty-eighth Squadron there was an MOH winner - unfortunately a posthumous award. It would have made even better press if the guy had lived, but there you have it. Evidently this 'Tank' Colonel had managed to cover himself with glory in the last year, and the Board of Awards had recommended said officer for at least two new decorations plus a fourth Purple Heart and additions to his flight medal.
This personal reception - for approximately one hundred and eighty people all told - would be a perfect venue. The President could recognize the achievements of an individual InVitro and not address the issue directly. Everybody could read what they wanted into this Colonel's award ceremony. The InVitro Rights people would feel vindicated that one of their own had been received with honor by the head of state, and the Anti-InVitro Rights people could feel equally vindicated that, while this one InVitro might be in The White House, he was the exception, proving the rule that the majority of Tanks didn't have what it takes to get the job done. It was rare that such an ambiguous, and therefore satisfying, opportunity presented itself.
A clutch of three spin-doctors stood to the side ready to step in. Ready to move things along in the direction of their choosing. The White House photographers were busy. It had been decided that pictures should be taken in the receiving line before the event. The President was a busy man. Shutters snapped and people were shown to their seats. A dicey moment occurred when the French Ambassador, Claire Montresant, greeted the InVitro Colonel. A lackey was immediately dispatched to show the Ambassador to her place in the front row.
"What happened?" he was quizzed upon his return to the clutch.
"Nothing really. Just a how-do-you-do evidently. Until we were walking away, and then good old Claire made some comment about how he carried himself well for a tank."
"Oh great. Trust Claire."
"Did he hear her?"
"She said it in French."
"He speaks French."
"You're kidding. No way."
"I don't think he heard. The Ambassador did give him a note from Chaput, though."
"From Chaput? Good Lord, I hope he doesn't open it 'til after the ceremony."
"Chaput? Now what is THAT all about?"
"I would love to know."
"Nothing we can do about it now."
"Do you think the InVitro understands the politics of all of this?" the lackey asked his betters.
"No way. Do YOU even understand the politics of all of this?"
"But I think that he knows quicksand when he sees it," chimed in another one of the bosses.
"You think?"
"Oh yes."
"In any case, he has better manners than our 'dear' French Ambassador."
"He does, doesn't he?"
When everyone was seated, the Ambassador from Finland, as a guest of the country, was introduced first, and presented Colonel T.C. McQueen with the Order of the Commander of The White Rose of Finland. "For valor during action against the enemy while serving with a joint task force with members of the Finnish Defense Forces." McQueen spoke a few words of appreciation to the Ambassador - in Finnish - and the spin-doctors beamed at their impossible good fortune. The lackey immediately peeled off to find a translator. The press would want it in English.
The Colonel then received the Purple Heart, Naval Commendation Medal (his second) and additions to his flight medal (both individual and group flights) from the hand of The Commandant of The Marine Corps.
The President of the United States then awarded the Presidential Unit Citation to the Fifty-eighth Squadron, Marine Corps Air Cavalry, for actions against the enemy, culminating on the planet Kazbeck. Colonel T.C. McQueen received the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Silver Star from the hands of the President himself. The citations for these medals - as read publicly - said only: " For unspecified action against enemy forces." Only the dullest knife in the drawer wouldn't realize that this signified actions still considered to be classified, but the Anti IV Rights people could, if put in the position of debate, use this against the Pro IV Rights faction. Politically it neutered the public debate over the medals, and effectively it also removed the Colonel as a rallying point. And finally, as the piece de resistance, the parents of the late First Lieutenant Paul Wang received his Medal of Honor.
The lackey returned with news. "The scary guy with the blue eyes quoted something from some big deal Finnish epic poem."
"What did he say?"
"What does it mean?"
"Don't know yet," the lackey responded.
"Who cares. Epic poem is good enough." The spin-doctors were beside themselves and felt flush with success.
It was truly fitting that Paul Wang's family should receive his medal in this company. A number of the hostages, immediately upon arrival at the Greenbrier, had begun to lobby their congressmen to honor Paul's self-sacrifice. The event itself was more emotional than most had anticipated, and all of the survivors were moved to tears during the reading of the citation. Kylen was unable to bring herself to look at McQueen; afraid that seeing his reaction would rob her of her tenuous self-control. She now felt that she knew Paul, knew him through Nathan's and McQueen's eyes. Kylen was afraid she would lose it completely.
After the ceremony photographs were again taken: McQueen standing with the Ambassador and the President, with just the Ambassador, with just the President. A few congressmen got into the act, but it was over fairly quickly. McQueen moved to the side of the room, unaware that the lackey had been given orders: "Don't take your eyes off of him. And don't let Montresant near him."
Kylen was somewhat distressed to see that the political hot-dogs were surrounding the Wang family. They were all eager to have their pictures taken to demonstrate to their constituency just how involved they were in the War effort. The Wangs looked increasingly bewildered. Kylen was relieved to see, and to join in with, a group of survivors who moved forward and effectively blocked some of the political bootlickers from reaching the Wangs. This was, after all, supposed to be a reception for the survivors and to honor the man who had died to bring them home. The former hostages all instinctively dealt with the Wangs on a quiet and personal level - comforting and accepting them now as part of the group of survivors. The atmosphere of the event changed and became more soothing and intimate. Paul's parents and little brother had a chance to see the gratitude and feel the affection of the group. Their son's bravery was given a human face - in fact, the faces of the twenty-seven humans present that day and the others who did not or could not attend. They could touch the life within these people. Forty people, eighty, one hundred and sixty - generations on and on ... All of these people would be a testament to their son.
McQueen observed the interaction for several minutes. A young Marine wearing the braid and badge of White House service appeared at his side.
"Excuse me, Colonel," she said softly. "The First Lady is ready to host the luncheon. I'm sorry to break this up, but if you will assist, Sir, and escort Mrs. Wang into the State Dining Room. You will be seated to her right. I'll make the announcement and escort Mr. Wang. I believe, Sir, that with you taking the lead, we can accomplish the move without insulting the moment and the memory of Lieutenant Wang."
McQueen paused for a few seconds. It was a shame to break up the moment, but this was the White House. People here had jobs to do. The aide had offered a good solution.
"I would be honored," he said, and moved out with the aide de camp, crossing the width of the East Room to the Wangs. The lackey relaxed. The tank was somebody else's problem now.