Neptune- Part 15

Part 15- Fallout


From Neptune's Green Sunshine
Act 2 Scene 3
(Merle and Nate walk on stage, Merle supporting the injured Nate on her shoulder. She rests him on the ground and stands next to him.)
Merle: "Nate, are you going to be okay?"
Nate: "You should leave me. I need you to live. You'll just waste time staying here."
Merle: "No, you said it yourself, we're going to get off of this planet together. I'll carry you there if I have to. I'll carry you myself, Nate!"
Nate: "I know you would, and I know that you could, but that will do nothing but slow you down. You'll get caught, and I may well die anyways. I want to know that you'll be okay. That's all I want."
Merle: "Please don't talk like this..."
Nate: "Merle, please, I feel cold, I can't go on for longer, and you can't stay here. I love you, and I know you love me, but you have to move on. As much as I long to be with you in my last moments, I want your last moments to be far away from this place, a very long time away... If you stay with me, you'll only... break my heart." (falls limp)
Merle: "Nate?" (louder) "Nate?" (yelling) "Please, don't leave me, Nate!"
(The lights go out)

***

I descend my stairs, wearing my suit and ready for a new day. I have already checked the news online, and apparently Cheryl has followed through on her word. Impressive. I need to figure out what her game is. There must be something she knows that I do not. I glance out my windows towards my neighbours' houses on either side. For a moment, I feel like they are probably already judging me, but upon further review, I doubt that the first thing they do in the morning is check the political scandals online. Regardless, people will hear it.
All of the sensationalist headlines about how I have be unfaithful to my wife, and of course the obligatory question of whether I ought to be trusted to serve faithfully in my office if I can't even be faithful to my wife. I find the questioning absurd. They did not seek my responses, only the feigned hurt from my darling Cheryl. "I don't know how he could have done this to me. I loved him, I really did, and how could he betray me like this? I don't know if I can even look at him anymore." I find these quotations hilarious in a rather humourless kind of way. I want to laugh, but I also want to dispel her deception. The woman has had her share of affairs. I would say it was an open marriage except that implies that we were also open to each other.
I pause at the door to examine myself in the lobby mirror, to make a last minute check to be certain that my suit is unwrinkled and perfectly clean. I need to meet up with Blake and Suller today for our breakfast, though this time Suller has insisted that it be her choice. I am sure they will have plenty to say about this 'political' news being passed around. That is no matter; the bigger matter is the elections that are coming up. This stain on my reputation could not come at a more inopportune time, but Cheryl, or even more importantly whoever is pulling her strings right now, knows that.
Exiting my home, my walk to the restaurant of choice begins. It is not terribly far from my home, being a more upscale kind of place (appropriate, given Suller's tastes). It is also, unfortunately, a health breakfast place. I do not approve of Blake's choice, since it offers nothing but artery clogging filth, but I would take that over the bland cardboard that Suller seems to think is food. Worse, these places have fewer options for a recom who has difficulty digesting plant matter. While I understand that consumption of plant matter is more economical, my body firmly rejects the notion that I can survive on vegetables. While most recoms are mostly human, speaking genetically, there are often these genetic quirks that remain from our species-type creatures. Given Samara's intolerance to even the smallest of veggies, I suppose this is just how the Sol line had been designed.
"Errol, slow down a bit, will you?" I slow my brisk pace and glance over my shoulder to the breathless woman in a skirt suit and heels who is trying to get my attention. I must have been too lost in thought on dietary matters to notice Suller approaching.
        I raise my eyebrows slightly, and continue my walk at a slower pace. "We'll likely leave Cleveland waiting if we don't hurry up."
"Well, excuse me. I don't usually walk everywhere like you do."
She is athletic, and the only reason that she's having difficulty keeping up is that she is wearing heels that are impractical given the structure of her feet. I have to admit that they make her legs look good, though.
She catches my eyes wandering, and she laughs, "That's why you're in trouble, Errol. Keep your eyes to yourself, it's only proper."
"I was looking at your shoes," I respond, perhaps a bit too defensively.
"I thought you had cheated with a woman," teases Suller, only encouraged by my reaction to what she's saying.
"She is an androgyne, if you're following the story," I reply, "And I am only looking at your shoes because I think that they are impractical. Were there any need to run or climb, you'd have to kick them off. And then you'd be down two expensive, uncomfortable shoes."
"I'm not sure I ever climb anyways," she notes, raising her eyebrow at me. "Or run, really. And I kind of doubt you do those things either. Anyways, I'm not here to talk fashion with you, I'm here to talk to you about the news."
"It's nothing but gossip. Nonsense distracters that shouldn't make any kind of difference whatsoever in the elections," I say, knowing that a harsh edge enters into my voice as I speak. I glance back since every few steps, she seems to fall behind.
"So is this some kind of a ploy, then?" asks Suller, glancing down at my own shoes for a moment, as if trying to decide whether there was any impracticalities about them that she could criticize in the future, but she clearly finds none.
I consider the question. It's a question that makes sense to ask, given the ruses I have placed in the past when working counter-intelligence. I am frankly surprised that the populace is not more wary of rumours surrounding me, but the scavengers in the media will look for any way to smear me if it means favouring their candidate of choice, and what is presented seems to remain unquestioned. This time the rumours are true, but that does not mean it would not be worthwhile to keep that knowledge to myself. "Tell me, what do you think?"
"With what you've told us, I'm guessing it's another game. This is a dangerous time to be playing, though, Errol. I worry what some of your competition have in mind for Luna. We have some Martian sympathizers running, and they could present problems not just for our political careers, but for our sovereignty. Mars has been pushing for a united Sol for awhile," the rat recom says, smiling like she is very clever.
And she is very clever. That is exactly the conclusion that I would have made in the same situation. Sometimes, however, cleverness can be manipulated just as well as stupidity. "I would suggest you keep an open mind on any smears presented against me. If for nothing else, but that the name I carry is a symbol contrary to the message of Martian media. I have a target on my back."
She raises her brow slightly, "That's neither a confirmation nor a denial."
"If I was performing a 'ploy' as you say, I'm not sure that a confirmation or denial would be worth offering," I say, glancing down to my watch. How annoying. "We're going to be late."
"By a minute or two, let Blake wait, I can see the restaurant up just a little ways." As I hear her speak without really listening to her words, I make a mental note that I could run and still make it in time.

***

I sit at the table, my breath faster than rest, but not by much. Cleveland Blake sits across from me, and has not looked up since I sat down. He's focused on his coffee, and is presumably gathering his thoughts to give a speech about my reported conduct. I let him and instead focus on the menu. I flip through a couple of pages. "There's nothing to eat at this place."
Cleveland glances at me for a moment and snorts, "I know."
Suller approaches from behind my seat and pulls out the chair to my left, giving me a disapproving look. "Well, I have to say, you run well in this gravity."
"I like being punctual." I flip my menu down, deciding that I will simply eat later.
Cleveland looks up once again after the exchange between Suller and me, placing his menu on top of mine. "Well, Errol, I can't say that I approve of this. These indiscretions. With a prostitute no less. A Martian whore!"
I feel offended as Cleveland refers to Nova in that way. I want to defend her, but I keep my gaze blank and my voice cool, "You do not know the whole situation, and you should not presume to know. I don't want to talk about this now. I do not particularly wish to talk about this ever. Right now, while I know elections are coming up, opinions about my image are irrelevant."
"This isn't about your image. It's about your family; it's not right what you did. It's not fair to your wife or to your children. I thought you were a more principled man," replies Cleveland, still with a tone of disapproval in his voice.
"I did nothing to wrong my children, I would never act without their best interests in mind," I reply, folding my hands together and continuing to give the level gaze, "And discussion of my sense of personal morality is irrelevant too. As I mentioned, you know nothing about the situation, and so how can you presume to pass judgement?"
Cleveland simply shakes his head and looks aside, most likely in disgust. I bring his attention back to me with a few key words, "I'm going to Mars." Both Suller and Blake shift forward in their seats with surprise.
"Why?" asks Suller, "You know you're not the most popular man that side of the solar system. And you should stay here for the campaign season, at least. You may slip in the polls, but maybe not to the point of losing your seat. Going to Mars... that would be political suicide. Not to mention the likelihood of an 'accident' that might make it actual suicide."
"Surely you're joking," chimes in Cleveland, "You haven't been yourself lately, Errol, all of this lately... Maybe you should take a rest? Things aren't as bad as you think they are."
"Things are precisely as bad as I think they are. And I suspect that only by going to Mars will I find my answer. I will delay until after my daughter's tournament, but no longer," I say, giving my final nod of dismissal to the subject.
"Perhaps," begins Suller, a bit warily, "we should discuss what will come up in council today..."