The Boolean Gate (Dead Romantics) by Walter Jon Williams

Author:Walter Jon Williams [Williams, Walter Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: World Domination, Ltd.
Published: 2017-05-05T05:00:00+00:00

ON THE RETURN to Port Washington, Sam shared a carriage with Tesla and the Johnsons.

“Now the imperialists have won the election,” he said, “I’ve stopped reading the news from the Philippines. I can dictate the stories myself, how the triumphant advance of American democracy requires that more Filipino babies be hoisted on our bayonets.”

“At least our currency is safe from the Silverites,” said Katharine Johnson. “The dollar is all the more valuable for being quenched in Filipino blood.”

Sam, who had said much the same sort of thing himself, gave a grim smile. “My only consolation is that we won’t have to listen to Governor Roosevelt any longer,” he said. “He’ll be presiding over the Senate, the most useless job in the world. I give it six months before he simply explodes in frustration, raining little pieces of brimstone through the Capitol. Or maybe he’ll take to thrashing senators with a table leg, as he did with the legislators up in Albany.”

“I like Roosevelt,” said Johnson mildly.

“I like him, too,” said Sam. “The whole world likes him. But that doesn’t mean I want that overgrown boy in charge of anything more important than a streetcar.” He smiled and brandished an unlit cigar. “At least with a streetcar, he can’t run it off the rails.”

Johnson adjusted his round spectacles. “Albany will be quieter,” he said.

“Albany will be in the charge of Boss Platt!” Katharine declared. “At least Roosevelt fought the machine.”

“Roosevelt didn’t fight the machine so much as tried to make it over in his image,” Sam said.

“Did you read Roosevelt’s book on the War of 1812?” Johnson asked. “A first-rate history.”

From this the conversation shifted in a literary direction, about Mary Chalmondeley’s satire Red Pottage and the portrait of Abraham Lincoln in The Crisis, written by Sam’s fellow Missourian Winston Churchill. While Johnson rattled on about Lincoln, Sam chewed his unlit cigar and thought of ocean liners, Tesla’s wireless torpedo, and Pierpont Morgan’s untiring attempt to corner all the world’s power and wealth. His thoughts, such as they were, were interrupted by Tesla’s quiet voice.

“How is Mrs. Clemens?” he asked. “I hope she is well.”

“I’m afraid she is not well,” Sam said. He suppressed a snarl. “But I’m not allowed to see her: I hear only from the doctors.”

“Not allowed to see her?” Katharine said. “How is that possible?”

“We send notes to each other,” Sam said. “When we are permitted.”

Tesla was amazed. “How can they keep you apart?” he said. “Surely you have some say in the matter.”

“They said she must have rest,” Sam said.

“I would get another opinion!” Katharine said.

“I have,” said Sam. “The doctors are unanimous.”

“This seems quite absurd,” said Johnson. “Surely the doctors must realize that she would draw strength from her husband’s presence.”

Sam looked out the countryside: they were passing through woods, the tiny buds only beginning to appear on the dark branches. “The doctors seem to think I’m a menace,” he muttered.

“This is outrageous,” said Katharine.

Outrageous it might be, but Sam had to admit the melancholy fact that the doctors were right.

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