Chapter Fifty-Eight
Not everything was roses, of course, and my tour suffered three interruptions, one not unwelcome, in the end, one pure annoyance, if not entirely a waste of time, and the last pretty good all round.
The bewildered theologians had agreed the form of an open-air service in Gateway Park, giving thanks for releases from enslavement and bondage, and thankfully remitting judgement upwards while asking mercy for all, on principle. I'd rather have skipped it, but the Man had been right it would be popular, and I can't say I was bored. To accommodate vampires it was held two hours before dawn and several hundred attended, painfully polite and clearly scared of me, which was less fun than I'd hoped but not unsatisfying. Marsilia, Wulfe, and Hao were there, and — I breathed deeply — Stefan. He hadn't responded to a message, and looked tired but smiled as he offered a hand.
"Mercy. All honour to you. I'm sorry to have been silent, but I have a great deal to do, and did not know what to say except that I remain deeply amazed and rejoice, however there are sorrows enough to contemplate."
"I know, Stefan. But he had to go. Ruat coelum."
"As it has." He shrugged. "But all is better, and will be well enough. Adam, Jesse, you also have my thanks and congratulations, and please tell Ms Thorsden how glad she made me."
Jesse gave him a hug that surprised other vamps no end.
"Of course, Stefan." I turned. "Mr Hao, Marsilia. Wulfe."
Marsilia was very wary, stiffly acknowledging PR advice and thanking me for making sure Borrowed Warchest funds had been available for bereaved donors. Wulfe's anger had subsided into sulky resignation, so I pushed him on meeting at Uncle Mike's sooner than later, and with the rite imminent he accepted.
The Man had talked to St Louis U. priests about death sometimes having no mercy, and those who spoke did well enough, having learned something of the East St Louis vamps, who had just been the nearest, and gliding over more ambiguous European sacrifices — Bonarata's own, fallen into disfavour for whatever reason — to Lenka. Her crimes could not be forgotten but she was rightly thought a victim, and there was interesting precedent in a memorial service with four centuries of life to recall, however much was thankfully obscure. Bran was attending anonymously, and Asil spoke for wolves. He hadn't met Lenka, but had known her Alpha husband slightly and remembered cursing news of her enthrallment, with the horror of her growing reputation as a killer as decades passed. It was honest and cathartic, Asil knowing enough about unending torment to leave many weeping.
Lenka's ghost watched with an expression more sardonic than mad, and when I extended my magic I thought I knew what had happened. Her wolf had been the mad one, but the four-legged didn't leave ghosts so it was gone, allowing the long-subordinated human to … re-expand, maybe, and if she wasn't entirely sane she was more so. When she drifted towards me, becoming denser with curiosity and sudden recognition, I offered her choices I could think of, and when she gave me a startled look and nodded I promised to see to it. She drifted off to contemplate assembled vamps at a religious service, something that might have been wonder on her face. The Man was there, as was Bran, so I had quiet words, earning stares, and two days later what would have been Air Force One if the Man had been aboard flew Lenka's coffin, me, Adam, and a silent Bran with Asil and some older wolves to Slovakia. Lenka's long-dead mate lay by the chapel of a small village in the Beskids, and we watched a nervous priest bury her beside him. There were no survivors of their pack, but European wolves attended from all over, and it felt right, a peaceful and proper end. I was pretty sure her ghost would move on soon, if it hadn't already, I could file under grateful dead, and though I hadn't been sure I'd want to speak, when the priest finished I told everyone so, drawing a scandalised look that faded into confusion as he saw wolves nodding at my account of the eyes I'd seen four times, thrice filled with madness, alive and dead, and once with sanity, more peacefully dead. That this was what her ghost had wanted had been in Bran's urgent request to Slovakian wolves, but the fuller story from an avatar perspective was welcome, and that the dead were grateful for proper burial a familiar legend, so it made sense enough.
An interesting afternoon followed, wolves supplementing the village inn with outdoor roasting-pits. The priest left muttering, and I amused Bran and Adam by offering to demonstrate my dominance, if they'd like. As I was wearing the cloak I could drop real pressure on them all even before I had Skuffles pop up, after which I could relax, relatively speaking, and have useful conversations about things that might work on various Paths of Mercy and Assertion. Then we let the other shoe drop with a resounding thud, Asil's sons having flown up from Spain because the three of them were proposing European co-ordination with him as chairwolf. Asil had no desire to become a European Marrok, but with his dominance boosted by human status as oldest-known werewolf he thought he and his sons, millenarians themselves, could undertake some useful diplomacy. Bran backed him, I was happy to promise that if I won US co-operation and diplomatic pressure would be available if they could convince me it was warranted and would be productive, and we left them to Asil's tender mercies with hopes running high.
We paid the Slovak piper by dining with their President, Prime Minister, and Foreign Minister, new territory in which I confirmed my focus, if elected, would be strongly domestic, but that didn't mean failing to keep treaty obligations, and yes, I'd support Paths of Mercy and Assertion anywhere. There should be a great manitou of the Danube Basin, so why not try saying hello? Wolves could put them in touch with a white witch, and while there were no guarantees, if they took serious steps to reduce pollution the manitou would surely notice. The Foreign Minister had questions about the missionary use of Algonquin Gitche Manitou, 'great spirit', for the Christian God, and if they should use genius loci. Their problem, though I knew which I'd do.
The evening after we got home I forced the meeting with Wulfe and Marsilia at Uncle Mike's, but it was an anticlimax, though the Secret Service didn't think so. Despite reassurances from Skuffles, who'd taken to hanging out there to check on fae gossip (she said), they were nervy, police cordons keeping media well away, but there really wasn't a problem. Irpa met us with Zee and Uncle Mike, and though dominance made no nevermind with fae and vamps, I had every magical accessory, and amid the silence that fell as we entered gave everything free rein, power crackling around me. Then I hauled it in, and gave a sunny smile.
"Greetings, Baba Yaga, Ymir, and to all." I got back a ragged chorus of Mercedes-Elf-friend-and-Troll-friend, and nodded politely. "Darryl Zao and Warren Smith you know, but let me name Brent Lanning and Jill Widepaw. And for the record, the six humans are Secret Service. It's hardly a true equivalent, but you might think of them as like the knights of Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, and as they look only to me I shall not name them. They won't be drinking, either."
"Fair enough, lass." Uncle Mike's informality was welcome. "I owe you a drink, and don't care to leave such a debt unpaid. Irpa reckons you're owed a cask of Valhallan mead, but that's her lookout. A half of Guinness?"
"That I can manage, Uncle Mike." I glanced at Zee. "How interesting the debt should be paid when a half suits me as well as his … frugality."
"Ja." Zee spoke blandly. "But as it is his unhappy hour, he can record the price of a full pint."
I laughed and Uncle Mike gave me an appreciative look. Trust him to charge a premium when I was there.
"Of course I can, and Guinness is dear enough. I'll bring it to you."
Tensions eased with my laugh, but silence continued as I swept to the booth where Marsilia and Wulfe waited, greeting them with as much cordiality as I could muster. Jill sat with me, sense of bulk strong, while Brent, Darryl, Warren, and Skuffles stood at the table's end and the Secret Service ringed us, letting in only Uncle Mike with my Guinness.
"Your health doesn't seem quite appropriate, nor lacheim, but cheers." I sipped, enjoying the bitter taste. "I have seen AED Westfield's and Director Wiseman's reports on compliant seethes and loners but your assessments would be welcome."
They couldn't demur, but Wulfe was still sulking, reminding me whatever his age and power he remained a teenager of sorts. It was clear all the same that he'd been better prepared for my death than Bonarata's dismissal and truly shocked when I managed it, as well as incredulous about the means. Something in their natures meant the notion of effective alliance with Underhill had really not been on their radar, nor power loaned on such a scale without debt, so I'd blindsided them completely, forcing abrupt implementation of underdeveloped contingency plans, which was what the AED and I had decided had to be the case. Things were under control but there had been less opportunity for empire-building than they'd have liked, however they were now, in some vamp measure, the senior North Americans of their kind.
Grief I wasn't sure about, but there was loss as well as pragmatic acceptance of opportunity and new wariness of me. In Marsilia it was close enough to fear that she was playing it as straight as I'd ever seen, and I wondered, not for the first time, how abusive a maker Bonarata had been, and what longer-term effects of knowing me to have dismissed him might be. In Wulfe it was resentful frustration, bafflement at the loss of what he thought extreme achievement, and I let loose some scorn.
"Take care, Wulfe the Sorcerer. Blending fae magic and Undeadness may have been a magical achievement, for some value of achievement, as may drinking ghosts, but both are abomination. I do not disrespect your power, or Marsilia's, but if there is ever hard evidence you yet pursue abomination I will bend all power to seek your dismissal." His eyes glittered, and I took a chance, softening my voice. "Am I right to think you were Turned by She of Livorno?"
He stared, but drew himself up. "I do not shame to acknowledge it."
Vamps rarely said anything about shame, and I nodded carefully.
"Why should you? Whatever your own power, so young, hers was greater. You were up against Morgoth, after all."
His abrupt laugh sounded genuine. "So I was. Why do you ask?"
"Because among the ghosts I released from your child were those of your maker and her parents. Gall, wormwood, and verbena, yes?"
I'd had to think hard about my fleeting impressions of those ghosts among the braided, but they should have been there, and Wulfe nodded, eyes wide.
"Truly?"
"Truly, Wulfe, and they moved on with, strict meaning, ecstatic assent. Be glad what made Morgoth Morgoth, and Sauron Sauron, never did come to you. Do not hanker for what you would not survive. Nor you, Marsilia. The putative inheritance dangled before you is gone. Be glad of it."
I don't think either was convinced, but it gave them plenty to chew on and made them more talkative. They knew that if I won I would not want vamp problems in my backyard, and that gave them a little leverage and a lot of vulnerability to my patience running out. I made clear it was already drained, not least because I could tally what Wulfe had and hadn't been honest about, and had a serious grudge against Marsilia on Stefan's behalf she still didn't get; and Wulfe confirmed his business with Nemane was concluded, the net result being another lingering ill of some kind dealt with while — Adam and I later agreed — some fae magic lost to Undeath on a battlefield somewhere had been returned to Nemane. All in all, I concluded that however they felt neither had any desire to make trouble, so I leant hard on them about vergangenheitsbewaltigung, extracting a promise of conversation with Italian police about Bonarata's holdings.
The rest of the visit to Uncle Mike's was a blast, because everybody wanted selfies with me and Skuffles, and tried to cajole me into hints about the Untenanted Duckpond with offers of drink I steadfastly refused. One or two suggestions in the Book of Wagers were half-way sensible but most were at best WAGs and often silly. So were the losing suggestions for completing the triad, and my hoots of laughter probably did more good than trying to whack them all with the flat of Excalibur, which crossed my mind. Eventually I took pity on the Secret Service, and let them escort us home.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Yes and no, Ms Hauptman." The senior agent mopped his brow, and I grinned. "I'll believe there was no real threat, for your values of real and threat, but none of us have ever been in the presence of more danger."
"Mmm. Yes and no back. I take the point, which is why Baba Yaga was riding herd, but it was numbers, not individuals. Fae public, not big guns. DC will see a lot more power than that in one place."
The DC trip was the truly unwelcome interruption, because Senator Stupid had filed suits, objecting in California to Irpa's status as a citizen and suing Hao and me in federal court for compensation in nine figures for conspiring as preternaturals to assault and humiliate him as a human, for unlawful political ends. The challenge to Irpa, demanding she suspend campaigning until it was heard, was a wanton tactic, and the Man assured me California needed no prodding to talk to the state's Chief Justice, nor she to schedule an emergency hearing. The Senator's lawyers were not as prepared for such speed as Jenny, and a crunchingly precise morning, demonstrating Irpa had been resident in Haight-Ashbury most of a century, whatever her glamour and travels, paid plenty in taxes, all duly recorded, and was therefore specifically covered as a full citizen by the Medicine Wolf Accords, however a dual national, won dismissal of the suit as without merit, with full costs. I was almost sorry Senator Stupid wasn't there to hear the stinging judgement but world media were, and Irpa capped my nickname by telling them she had thought him merely Senator Stupid but attempted gerrymandering made him Senator Snake Oil. I might have wondered aloud if he was still running for the presidency because he knew he'd lose his senate seat, but left it to the media to expand on the slight problem of his logic.
The suit naming me and Hao was not so time-critical until I pointed out on national TV there was a fair chance that if it wasn't heard before November it couldn't be for four years, and a serious charge against a candidate should be sorted promptly for the benefit of the electorate. On this one the Man did have to do some prodding, but as it would be a test of legislation he'd just slammed through Congress at lightning speed, he got on with it and legal wheels creaked into alarming motion. Senator Snake Oil showed his first name was still Stupid when he tried to argue lack of delay was unfair, because un-American preternaturals had known for years what they'd have to do, while he was having to respond on his feet, a patriotic lone voice. Jury selection was imperilled without time to screen properly for pro-preternatural bias. He made the further mistake of taking questions, and was tied into knots by scornful media. The court set an earlier date than asked for, so after Texas off to DC we went.
Hao consented to daywalk, so as not to inconvenience the court, while noting most US vampires could not do so, and the court responded by shuttering windows. The room was packed, preternatural representatives out in force as well as the Beltway, though Skuffles had declined to come, having had enough of the Senator, but there was space around Hao and his lawyers, so I headed over, offering a hand.
"Mr Hao."
"Ms Hauptman. But Thomas, perhaps, as we are co-defendants."
"Mercy, then. Am I right that … beings have not been saying hello? Then let's sort that right away."
Ap Lugh, other fae, wolves, avatars, and Coyote took being formally introduced to a vamp as well as could be expected, the mutual courtesy exquisite but not hollow. I was vouching for Thomas, which carried weight, as did his TV performance, and if it would be a slow path a step had been taken. Everyone was observing avidly, so I made a point of being brisk, and as soon as the judge entered apologised for any delay. I was assured we had occasioned none, jurors were sworn, and Senator Snake Oil's lawyer was on. After fifteen minutes of deeply meaningless preamble Jenny rose.
"Your Honour, might Mr Howard get to a substantive point? Any substantive point?"
"We can hope, Ms Trevelyan. Mr Howard, foot-dragging does not impress the court. Your client has alleged very serious criminal if not treasonous conspiracy, claiming enormous damages in what is clearly, however legal, a political tactic. Cut to the chase, Mr Howard."
Mr Howard objected, the Judge's temper frayed, and eventually we were informed the whole of St Louis had been staged to capture the presidency for preternaturals bent on the nation's destruction. The Senator had been subject to magical mugging that wantonly slurred him, and youth were being brainwashed using social media, which was why I'd recruited Jesse to my nefarious plans. The judge's head snapped up.
"Mr Howard, Miss Hauptman is not named in your submission and a minor. Are you naming her a co-conspirator in this alleged plan?"
I had hands on Adam's and Jesse's arms, both quivering.
"By no means, Your Honour. She is yet another victim of her step-mother's heinous and lawless ambition."
Jenny stood. "Your Honour, Miss Hauptman is present and can speak for herself. I object to her wilfully false characterisation by Mr Howard, and note a strong echo of Bright Future's policy concerning minors, found unlawful in, to date, seven state and eleven federal judgements."
"Indeed." Jesse's hand escaped my control. "Miss Hauptman? You wish to say something?"
"I do, Your Honour. May I engage directly with Mr Howard?"
There was a humming pause, and the Judge waggled a hand.
"It is not usual procedure, Miss Hauptman, but there isn't much of that about today, it seems, and everybody save the appellants desires an expeditious outcome. Were you given notice that Mr Howard would cite you regarding the alleged conspiracy of your stepmother and Mr Hao?"
"I was not, Your Honour."
"Then you have been ambushed, and direct response is fair. Go ahead."
Howard looked like a rabbit in the headlights, as Jesse rose and my hand found Adam's. She surveyed him for a few electric seconds.
"Sir, I am wearily used to people trying to use me as a lever against Dad or Mom. Cantrip tried it, Mrs Bradley tried it, the Director of the Secret Service tried it, my birth mother tried it, and they all went down in flames. Or guano." I was not the only one to stifle a snort. "Now you're trying it. Just how dim are you? And how dare you? You and professional ethics seem to be strangers, so let me tell you, sir, loud and clear, I am not a brainwashed member of your paranoid conspiracy theory. I am a fully consenting member of a widely shared plan to see Mercy elected president, for the safety-critical good of all Americans. And I've never seen anyone commit political suicide as often as your client. It's getting ghoulish. You realise Mom's walking-dead crack was precisely aimed?"
There was more silence, until Jesse threw up her hands.
"Why do I doubt you'll be so silent when you can spin lies without anyone interrupting, Mr Howard? Knowing many hear you who will hear any lie and call you on it, can you tell me if there is anything at all in your client's entire submission you actually know to be true?"
His mouth worked without sound, and Senator Snake Oil stood.
"You are suborned, and have no understanding."
"Try again, Senator. I understand way more about the preternatural than you, and, on your present showing, politics, improbable as that ought to be. You were Dim Future, so everyone knows you swing to bigotry. Now you demonstrate it again, with a side of child abuse."
"How dare you! Be silent, girl. You know nothing."
"Girl? Very weak and very slow was spot on. And I'll stand by everything I've said, and prove it. Will you?"
"Of course!"
"Then please get on with it. You didn't do so well when you asked Mom to prove something. How will you do when the onus is on you?"
The answer was not so well at all, and as witnesses Howard began to call were all JLS or Dim Future, with nothing to say beyond assertions the preternatural was intrinsically evil, not by God to be trusted in any way, and certain to be conspiring about all sorts of things, actual evidence of conspiracy was non-existent. There were repeated untruths about the preternatural in general and me in particular that Jenny had to object to, and as they included things MacLandis asserted it was ugly. Her cross-examinations were simple but effective exposures of the fact that none of these witnesses had any first-hand knowledge of anything relevant to the allegations, nor, despite their beliefs to the contrary, anything I or Thomas had done that constituted any possible illegality except the throw-and-catch and hypnosis. When a strident woman insisted what had happened in Gateway Park had to be illegal, and if it wasn't should be, my eyes met Jenny's and she turned to the Judge.
"Ms Trevelyan?"
"Your Honour, things that should, in an individual's opinion, be illegal, but aren't, do not belong in court. It may seem premature, but we wish to move for dismissal as without merit, and Ms Hauptman asks to address the court, speaking to that motion."
The Judge thought about it, then nodded. Ms Strident was excused, much to her irritation, and I rose.
"Your Honour, thank you, and a short preamble. The appellants did not provide much disclosure, pleading rapidity of arrangements, so I didn't know until today what we were going to get, legally speaking. Politically, however, a fourfold purpose has always been clear — to try to smear me, for electoral advantage; to tie me up in court when I should be campaigning, ditto; to gain free airtime in which to parade anti-preternatural bigotry, more ditto; and to try for financial penalties, partly ditto and partly because the Senator already has a whopping campaign debt and is about to lose his salary." The Senator was bug-eyed, but I ignored him. "It is clear that the Senator is trying to use the court to do what he should be trying to do by campaigning, and can't. Even if there were supposed evidence of anything alleged, this suit would be a political abuse of the legal system, infringing the court's dignity and the rights of voters. And what I've learned this morning is that no evidence is forthcoming. The witnesses with top billing have had nothing to offer but fantastical conspiracy-theorising and wishful thinking. Not one got as far as hearsay, and no witness listed can have any personal knowledge of any conspiring I did, because none of them were involved."
I gave an austere smile while the court held its breath.
"The Senator is extraordinarily vain to think I was conspiring against him, Your Honour. I was, with many preternaturals, the President, Joint Chiefs, and directors of federal agencies conspiring against Bonarata, and the Senator wasn't even on my radar until he took part in what I called the barking bigotry show. Nor did he stand out then, save in crudity of thinking, before Gateway Park, where he tried to crush my hand and obscenely protested his lack of precedence in my arrangements. That and his equally dim conduct during the debate certainly made him a big fat political target, but wholly of opportunity."
There was muffled laughter.
"Nor would it have been possible for me to conspire with Mr Hao when I was conspiring with others to out vampires and force regime change among them, even supposing I'd given two hoots about the Senator. Mr Hao and I have both deposed that before St Louis, we had met three times, all predating Cantrip's kidnapping, when I had no notion of running for anything. I have also submitted campaign documentation, including records of FEC scrutiny, while so far as Jesse's social media goes I submit that Twitter is not a conspiracy either, legally at least."
The laughter was more open, even the Judge cracking a smile.
"I'm not sure of the proper legal term, save without merit, but the allegations are hogwash, laughable in themselves — but not in their intent, at best unethical and at worst unconstitutional. The Senator is invoking laws he'd like to pass if he won, which he won't, to enable him to campaign in court, which he shouldn't, and prevent me campaigning properly, which while the case continues he is." I waggled a hand. "I'm no lawyer, Your Honour, but in plain terms Mr Hao and I agree, as we indicated at the time, that the Senator would have a case against Mr Hao for assault, however he'd be lucky to be awarded more than nominal damages. Mr Hao could have bent an iron bar to prove strength, or done a whirlwind lap to prove speed, but as the Senator had already refused to believe his own eyes there would have been no point in repeating a merely visual demonstration. Mr Hao also had, as he told the President, an entirely serious public-service intent, newly registered vampires really not needing humans who doubted their speed and strength trying it on, and humans not needing the casualties that would result. Any humiliation of the Senator was incidental, and as Mr Hao was registered he was covered by the Medicine Wolf Accords. It's true the Senator did not wilfully address him, but did implicitly make an assertion about vampires. I concede it's arguable, but as the Senator has tied that one possible justification into a web of baseless allegations, wantonly abusing due process, I feel it would not be inappropriate for the court to toss out that particular baby with its soiled bathwater."
The Judge pursed lips, and I shrugged.
"Either way, Your Honour, unless Mr Howard can produce one actual piece of relevant testimony, I ask the court to dismiss the suit as wholly lacking merit, as it lacks truth, plausibility, and everything except political slanders born of desperation that infringe the court's dignity."
He nodded. "Unorthodox, Ms Hauptman, but clearly argued and not uncompelling. Mr Stevens, do you concur in the motion to dismiss?"
"I do, Your Honour, and Mr Hao has deposed that he acted without consulting anyone save the President, primarily for the public-service reasons Ms Hauptman enumerated."
"So I saw, Mr Stevens. Primarily?"
Thomas rose, and the Judge nodded permission.
"The Senator offended, Your Honour, by sheer inanity and aggressive disrespect of Ms Hauptman. It was by my standards a mild response."
"Perhaps so, Mr Hao, but an assault nonetheless. However, I agree with Ms Hauptman about babies and bathwater, so I shall not let it trouble me. Mr Howard, I must concur that you have thus far offered no evidence at all supporting your client's claims. Do you have—"
"But it all does, for God's sake." The Senator was on his feet, face working. "The whole thing was a set-up. It has to be. That black Indian giant, and the vampire stuff. Things don't happen like that on their own."
I held in my reaction, looking at the Judge.
"Control yourself, Senator! You will observe courtesy, and respect the court's authority. Do you wish to reply, Ms Hauptman?"
I turned, speaking gently. "Of course they didn't happen on their own, Senator, and of course it was a set-up, but the being I set up was Bonarata, and the only person who set you up was yourself, three times over. Yes, I lined up greeting Ol' Manitou River and the debate, in response to the insults you and others offered and as bait for Bonarata. The political trap would have worked anyway, unless I'd been killed, and is unimpeachably legal. However it stings, you were an irrelevance and in every way save abusing this court's time still are. Mr Howard needs to put up or shut up. And you need to do likewise, on the campaign trail, where we both should be."
The judge grilled Howard, honourably trying to find out if there was in fact any evidence to be offered, then accepted the motion to dismiss as without merit, awarding costs and adding a blistering rebuke to the Senator for trying to use the courts to achieve what he couldn't in debate. In most ways the whole thing was a distracting nine-ring circus, but it mattered that a vampire had been sued and successfully used a legal rather than physical defence. Far from challenging vamp citizenship the Senator had confirmed it, and I amused court and media by thanking him before saying I couldn't be bothered to counter-sue for slander, having better things to do and the law being unconcerned with trifles.
"What the Senator intended was wholly reprehensible, but he's as lightweight as Thomas Hao found him."
The media had a happy time with that remark and images of the senator at the top of his aerial career as well as glumly leaving court, which enlivened my renewed tour. It was more weird logic, but not many people except the President outrank federal senators, and as I'd now bagged two it followed I really was up to the job.
The last, welcome interruption came in the last leg, with the pack's full-moon hunt, which I happily joined, and the beginning of the WashU conferences, which I attended intermittently. Everyone was there for the opening, but I tried to leave them to it while being available every second or third day for sideways thinking. Lots of people wanted my time, and I talked to scores from the Department of the Mississippi and Corps of Engineers. Ol' Manitou River seemed happier when I was there — and, like Medicine Wolf, rated human computer graphics, swiftly getting the hang of providing data about itself an order of magnitude more accurate than anything humans had. The integrated 3-D map of the river that resulted was a wonder enabling swift strategies about dredging, other forms of silt redistribution, reshaping troublesome stretches of channel, and modelling dam and lock removal. Another highlight was experimental levee-baking, which gave Engineers beatific expressions. Their Chief had been amused by my annexing Earth Fae Island, now officially called that and off-limits to humans, and though lower ranks didn't genuflect they did adopt me, a bunch of colonels making Adam laugh by giving me an army blouson with regimental insignia and an oversize nameplate for my full Amerindian moniker. They also said helpful things to media, and I was happy to extend invitations they wanted to moving I84.
Some bits were straightforward — levees protecting all districts in New Orleans (and elsewhere below the Ohio confluence) would be heightened, where possible deepened, and baked very hard indeed — but some really weren't. Progressively banning nitrate fertilisers had given more than Iowa conniptions, but Ol' Manitou River refused to renegotiate, providing dense and sickening data about their effects, while a quivering Congress, eyes firmly on November, was despite market shrieking already repealing the law about corn biofuel. Big Agribusiness was well-placed in St Louis to throw its weight around, but found it bounced right off Ol' Manitou River as well as me, and when we arranged a side-trip to Iowa to talk to a delegation of farmers on the front line, about whom many claims had been made, they more than anything wanted guarantees they wouldn't be left in the green lurch, and were not unwilling to farm much less intensively. What they farmed was moot, but I can't say I regretted leaving Iowa facing organised demand for legalisation of marijuana, a reduction in taxes on market gardening, and a Hydropower Association wanting turbines to tap the Ohio's current without damming anything.
Wider preternatural integration went well, and though finding things for vamps to do wasn't easy translocators agreed to act as a warning system in emergency, and make available the strength and speed of any who could reach a critical site. Everyone was good with that, because it was clear vamps' real uses were as permanent night-shift, and for translocators SWAT, as one in upstate New York had shown ending a hostage situation. Speaking as an apparent member of the negotiating team, she gleaned an invitation to enter, ostensibly to bring medication, and promptly translocated in and back out a few seconds later, unconscious gunman dangling from one hand. It had been fine PR, and if vamps were marginal at the conferences they were there in the evenings, offering nice pictures of kinds mingling.
Jesse's scheduled intranets ended with the school year, but her performance produced a chorus of requests to continue over the summer. Oddly, PBS had no objection to an enormous hit carrying on for ever, and Jesse was into it. Her live morning audience had grown nationwide, and though some school districts refused, hundreds of thousands of kiddos insistently going to school every Wednesday morning tickled many senses of humour and improbability. Jesse was combining stuff from wherever I'd been that week with running themes and new issues. Joel and Adam on dogs, scenting, wolf or avatar parents, and campus security had done much to soothe post-Parkland breasts that jibbed at SAGE, and Jesse called out schools with preternatural parents and had them organising rosters for the fall, while others got priority on dogs.
Once the conferences started Jesse asked to come whenever I went, quizzing me about anything she didn't get, and two intranets that went out while they were happening were far and away the best analyses I saw. Every delegate I talked to agreed, and it was really useful because everyone was on the same page despite disagreements. In making sure kiddos nationwide knew exactly where we were all at, Jesse asserted the political power of mobilised minors, arranging to meet groups from schools in Missouri and Illinois in a series of manoeuvres I greatly enjoyed.
One strand was Frank, Rachel, and a beaming Andrea launching Others 101, and kiddos got to meet senior preternaturals, including Ol' Manitou River, ap Lugh, Irpa, Coyote, Charles, Anna, and me, primed to make nice despite crowded schedules. Ap Lugh told me with a wry smile he enjoyed being organised by Jesse more than by me, a remark I didn't pass on, and Charles's pleasure in Jesse's willingness to tease him was a warmth in my heart. A second strand was schools in East St Louis that rarely sent anyone to WashU, and the Chancellor was smart enough to arrange a reception. Brits had a thing about colleges having responsibility to host communities and Jesse decided the Duckpond Fund, augmented by whatever donations she could scrounge — and that was a lot — should be for disadvantaged kiddos, which was fine by me and Adam. She pushed the Chancellor into agreeing WashU would match Duckpond Funding, and there was already enough in her kitty for several dozen who had just graduated with no hope of going where they could if brains alone mattered. To cap it, the second intranet was not only full of younger local disadvantaged and enthusiastic WashU profs in many disciplines, but had an interview with the Man, ignoring campaign matters to quiz him cogently about federal policy and kiddos.
Jesse didn't hesitate to use herself raising questions about rights and custody issues, the position of minors who knew preternatural secrets others might like to know, and when it became reasonable to resort to law to demand a parent or guardian do right. Those the Man dealt with substantively, but Jesse's closing words nailed people.
"Thank you, Mr President, for your time. There is one other thing I wanted to say, but it's awkward not to make partisan. Still, here goes. Thank you for pushing Mom to run. I hope and think she'll win but whatever happens her running has done a huge amount of good. Ol' Manitou River would have come out anyway, and these wonderful conferences would be happening, as the Cascadia 'quake will, but it's helped sort the vampire problem, and I think in giving deep change some continuity your endorsement will prove very important. And I think I know … or can imagine, something of what taking that risk meant to you." Jesse's hands gracefully indicated complexity. "I hope it's not boasting to say I know about living with and taking risks, and you've exceeded expectations, Mr President, by a long way. Your forthrightness the first time we met has proven a true indicator, and your willingness to give me time today, to take seriously those without votes, is another. I have no right to speak for any minor but myself, but thank you for your wisdom on all our behalves."
The Man was visibly moved, and left with a smile on his face. Once he was gone they came close to mobbing Jesse, but Skuffles kept things under control and Jesse talked about speaking to power clearly, looking it in the eye. At the end the Chancellor invited her to the celebratory bash WashU arranged for the final night, and ruthless organisation produced closing statements that gave the Department of the Mississippi clear policy guidelines and action plans. There were holes, but a palpable sense of progress, mutual promises kept, and when the Chancellor proposed toasts Jesse found out how much delegates appreciated her. She made the cover of that week's Time, hands gesturing and green hair gleaming as she argued some point, and I had the pleasure of listening to Nan and Ruthie tease her about matching me, and ask how she planned to make the cover of National Geographic.
"I don't," she told them with grave dignity, eyes alight. "But they asked me to write a foreword for the Guide to the North American Late Pleistocene. Does that count?"