Interface

"Tonight we will discuss these problems from many different directions. But I would like to begin by discussing a concrete issue: the trade imbalance.

"It is January of next year and you have just taken the oath of office. The economy remains uncertain. It seems as though the Japanese lead in the automotive sector has become insurmountable. How do you, as President, tackle that problem? Representative McLane?"

37

Tip McLane had already adopted his characteristic pose, leaning forward toward the camera, head down, staring intently into the lens. As soon as the red light came on, he unloaded: "First of all, Dr. Lawrence, let me say that I would like to thank you, and the people of Decatur, for the opportunity to come here and participate in this forum."

A few hundred yards away, Cy Ogle was crowing. He had thrown his head back and broken into triumphant, falsetto laughter. All around him the Eye of Cy had gone into various shades of blue. It had happened the moment the phrase "first of all" escaped from Tip McLane's lips.

"Lemme just jot that one down," Ogle said, making a note. "Never begin with 'first of all.'"

Ogle was also happy because only three of the screens were blank. They were getting 97 percent compliance. Back in Falls Church, Virginia, three ropers were on the phones, trying to get through to the three delinquent members of the PIPER 100. Over the next few minutes, two more screens came to life.

Almost thirty seconds had gone by, and Tip McLane still hadn't begun to answer the question: "... people who say that presidential campaigns are all style over substance obviously haven't been paying attention to fine, substantial programs like the one that we are participating in tonight."

"Thank you, Tip," Ogle said, "I did my very best."

"Now, as far as the auto industry. There are a lot of so-called conservatives who would disagree with me on this and say that we should just let the Japanese come in and walk all over us. That somehow, this constitutes free trade. Well, it's not free trade. It's an economic Pearl Harbor, is what it is. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and let it happen to American on my watch. And that is why, when I am President-"

"-thank you, Congressman McLane, your time has expired," Dr. Lawrence said, amused but firm.

"-we should deal with this in a tough, but not protectionist way-"

"-thank you, Congressman McLane."

"-and even out this trade balance-"

"-your time has expired and we must now move on to Governor Cozzano."

The verbal duel between Representative McLane and Dr. Lawrence petered out gradually. By that point, the screens were largely bluish and reddish. "Well, that just makes them all look like assholes," Ogle said. "I can't tell if they're reacting to McLane or Lawrence." He turned and caught Aaron's eye. "Can you give me a breakdown by economic bracket?"

Aaron grabbed the mouse attached to his Calyx workstation and chose a couple of items from menus. A graphic flashed up on his screen and he bounced a copy of it to one of Ogle's screens.

"What this tells me is that everyone dislikes Tip McLane just about equally," Ogle said.

"That's about right. Which is interesting, coming from the upper income brackets."

"Yeah," Ogle said. He held one index finger up in the air. "I am about to make a prediction," he said.

"Shoot," Aaron said.

"I predict that we are going to see a whole lot more data to the effect that people think Tip McLane is too rough. Too coarse to dance with the Queen of England."

The Eye of Cy grew brighter and took on a decidedly greenish tinge. "Hot damn," Ogle said. "Now just hold it, baby, don't squander this." As he spoke, he was pressing a couple of buttons on the pad that he used to communicate with Cozzano.

Cozzano looked great on TV. The stroke had aged him somewhat. He had lost some weight without becoming gaunt. It had brought out his features, which were worth bringing out. He had a serious, thoughtful, rock-solid look about him now. He could probably win a lot of votes simply by doing what he was doing now: sitting in front of a camera and not saying anything.

This was new behaviour for him. Cozzano loved to argue. He loved competition in any form. He had always been the first to show up for football practice. Whenever he appeared in one of these debates he always leapt into the fray as soon as his turn came up.

But you didn't become president by seeming eager. Ogle under­stood this perfectly well, and so, as soon as Cozzano's name came up, he began to stroke that keyboard, sending calm, solid, quite images into Cozzano's brain. Cozzano just sat there, quite, solid, contemplative. The longer he sat there, the brighter, and greener, the Eye of Cy became.

"Getting good results here," Zeldo said, looking at the readouts of Cozzano's blood pressure. "He's calming down. He was a little nervous before."

"Perfect," Ogle said. "I just invented a new form of political rhetoric: don't say a damn thing."

It was perfect, Aaron realized, sitting there staring at Cozzano on the TV. He had seen a lot of these debates. The candidates always came off as high-strung, bickering game show contestants. But Cozzano had a solid dignity that was way above all that. He gave the impression of a man who had been deeply absorbed in thinking profound thoughts, not paying any attention to his surroundings, who had suddenly been interrupted by the nervous, carping moderator of the debate. Who was now giving the matter some serious thought before he blurted anything out.

Aaron felt as though he should jump to his feet and salute Cozzano. He felt that way even though he was sitting ten feet away from Ogle and knew damn well this was a manipulated image.

"I have certain values that I am not willing to play games with," Cozzano said. Then he paused for quite a while, thinking. The audience was dead silent. Even the inside of Ogle's trailer was dead silent. The whole universe seemed to be revolving around Cozzano. "One of the things I value is dignity and self-respect. These things are our birthrights. Some squander them. Once you have lost them, you can't get them back. And one way to squander your dignity and self-respect is to whine and carp and beg." Cozzano pronounced these words with almost palpable disgust. "My attitude is that I don't care how unlevel the playing field is. I'm going to play by the rules anyway." At this point Cozzano seemed to become visibly pissed off. He leveled his gaze directly into the camera for the first time, held up his meaty right hand, pointed into the lens. "I will never crawl on my knees to Japan or any other country and cry uncle, the way George Bush did in 1992. I'd rather die." Cozzano sat back in his chair, held his gaze on the lens for a few more seconds, then looked away.

The Eye of Cy had become blindingly bright: America was feeling strong, conflicting emotions.

There was silence and then confusion. He had only used up a small portion of his allotted time. Dr. Lawrence wasn't sure what he should do. The TV feed cut uncertainly back and forth between Governor Cozzano and Dr. Lawrence.

"You still have thirty seconds," Dr. Lawrence said. "Would you like to elaborate?"

"What's to elaborate?" Cozzano said.

A definite pattern was now noticeable when the feed cut between Dr. Lawrence and Cozzano. People had generally made up their minds that Dr. Lawrence was a jerk.

"That was wild," Ogle said. He sounded a bit uncertain. He grabbed the POPULIST-ELITIST joystick and shoved it a little closer to POPULIST. "That took balls. Aaron, don't we have a toilet-scrubbing ex-autoworker?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, choosing a line of the same name from a menu on the computer screen. A graphic came up summarizing the way that this particular member of the PIPER 100 had reacted to Cozzano's speech.