The sky dawned cloudy and gray one morning in early July, the morning after Marty returned from his monthly trip to his home in Los Angeles. He and Sister Joan had headed off into the woods for a long walk right after breakfast, a daypack filled with snacks on Joan’s back, a much smaller pack bobbing along on Marty’s back, magnifying glass and specimen jars inside.
They both wore light raincoats.
At 8:32 that morning, Lyceum’s computer network received its first request for information on Marty Jelwen. Some of the members of Lyceum had a small amount of information in their computer files marked as being open to the public, and of course the computer could go to the Internet to reference any book or article ever published, and just about anything in the public domain. But since this particular request was from a public terminal, and nothing in Marty’s file, not even his name, was marked as public information, the computer pleaded ignorance. It also made a note of the fact that the request had been made.
At about 8:45 a mist was starting to fall. A sweet little lady entered the Main Lobby and approached the Information and Assistance counter claiming to be from the county Health Department and asking, ever so nicely, if she could cross check a list of children residing at Lyceum with her list of children who were behind on their vaccinations, for the purpose of providing them
with certificates good for free shots. The brother who was on duty asked, equally as nicely, for her to wait in the little lounge beside the counter while he looked for that information. He sat down at his terminal and began to skim all the entries in the Lyceum Constitution, and its associated policy and procedures statements, that had anything to do with vaccinations.
During its nearly quarter century of operation, Lyceum had already learned well that it was generally not wise to simply deny information to someone who thought they were entitled to it, no matter how solid a legal footing was the basis for that denial. Lyceum had seen too many times how tenacious a government bureaucrat could be when pursuing information they were used to getting from institutions with lower confidentiality standards.
Methods had been developed to satisfy requests such as the one facing the brother in the Information Center, and yet to preserve the privacy of the members and associates of Lyceum.
A few minutes later the sweet little lady had in her hands a list of children who lived at Lyceum, their status in regard to fourteen different vaccinations (only five of which were of concern to the county Health Department), and the signature of Dr. Kenneth Partlow on the bottom of the sheet, attesting to the accuracy of the information. In the column entitled Patient* was nothing more than a ten-digit identification number. At the bottom of the sheet, the asterisk was explained: name and other personal information could be released with written, notarized parental consent obtained by the requester and verified by Lyceum.
She was smart enough to realize that she wasn’t going to get any further that way. She smiled, thanked the brother sweetly, perhaps too sweetly, and left. The computer recorded the fact that a request had been made about a group of people that included Marty Jelwen. That was two requests in less than twenty minutes.
A few minutes after nine o’clock, a courier service van pulled up to the shipping and receiving dock behind the Production and Maintenance Complex. A man hopped out and held his clipboard over his head to ward off the light rain that was falling.
“I have a package here for Mr. Martin Jelwen. Do I have the right
address?”
“I’ll take a look,” the brown-haired sister in a hooded yellow raincoat said.
She knew very well that Marty was on campus, as she had just discussed cretaceous paleontology with him at breakfast that morning. She also knew Lyceum’s confidentiality ethics like the back of her hand.
She could have just accepted the package, any package, for anyone who was or wasn’t at Lyceum. It would have gone to the mail room to be claimed or not, and if not, then it would have been returned to the sender if possible.
But since the driver wanted confirmation, even just verbal, that the addressee was actually there, certain procedures came into play.
She accessed Marty’s status screen, immediately saw that no permissions had been given to reveal anything about him to anyone, including his presence at Lyceum, and strode back to the courier. “Sorry, I don’t have anyone by that name in my records. You can leave it if it’s just address-specific.”
“It says here, From Daddy. Are you sure he’s not here?”
“So many people come and go, he could be here, but just not on my list,”
she said in a nonchalant tone of voice.
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just have to return it,” he said, getting back into his van and spinning his tires on the wet pavement as he headed for the exit.
That was the third request the computer had received for information on Marty in thirty-five minutes. A pre-programmed threshold had just been passed.
At ten o’clock that morning, a man in a sopping wet trench coat came to pick up his five-year-old daughter at the Children’s Program room where he had left her two hours earlier.
“Carla, were you able to play with your friend Marty again, that really smart little boy?” he said in a fairly loud voice in full hearing of the members on duty.
The girl obviously knew what he was talking about, but looked uncomfortable. “Um... no, Daddy, he wasn’t here. What does he look like? I forgot.”
“You remember! He had strawberry blond hair. Excuse me, Miss?” he
said, calling to one of the members on duty. “My daughter was wondering if a little friend she made here not long ago happened to be around. His name was Marty, and he was really bright for his age.”
Sister Heidi did indeed know who Marty was, and knew he had been at breakfast that morning, as she had been helping with the serving and remembered his squeal of joy when the platters of blueberry muffins had been brought out. But a red light was flashing in her head after hearing the incongruence between the man’s expectations and his daughter’s responses.
“Marty... the name sounds familiar. I’ll check.” She stepped to her computer and accessed Marty’s information. Immediately a red box appeared, informing her that a security alert was in progress, and reminding her that everything about Marty was strictly private information. After recovering from her momentary double-take, she decided the best thing was to tell a trimmed-down version of the truth.
“Yes, a little boy named Marty has been here off and on this year, but I haven’t seen him in the Children’s Program today. Perhaps the next time you see him,” Sister Heidi said, stooping down to the little girl’s level and speaking to her directly, “you and he could exchange addresses.”
“Thank you. Can we go now, Daddy?” she said, looking up at him.
He hadn’t given up. “Is there any way you can help Carla get in touch with her friend? They had such a good time together.”
Sister Heidi glanced at the little girl, and could again see that look of discomfort on her face. It was the look of someone who was confused... and maybe a little disappointed in someone they loved.
“I’m so sorry!” Sister Heidi said almost melodramatically. “We don’t keep the addresses of visitors in our files.” That statement, also, was true enough.
But she felt sympathy for the little girl, and anger at the man who was using her for some hidden purpose.
“Oh. Okay. Let’s go, Carla,” he said, took his daughter by the hand, and pulled her along more quickly than she could comfortably walk.
By 10:30, a security team in heavy raincoats had trudged through the pouring rain and located Marty and Joan deep in the woods along one of Lyceum’s little streams. They were almost completely dry, sitting under a
fallen log, looking at their specimens of bugs and plants and talking about biochemistry.
Another team had managed to get the license plate numbers of some of the vehicles driven by those with an unexplained interest in Marty, just before they had departed in haste. Those vehicles turned out to be rented. Lyceum could learn no more about them without a court order, and since no crime had yet been committed, that was not possible.
A report about the incident was presented to Marty’s parents the next time they were on campus. They were concerned, but didn’t quite know what to make of it all. Eventually, as Lyceum seemed to be well equipped to protect their little prodigy, they ceased to worry about it, and figured that it had been a series of coincidences or persons looking for some other child named Marty.
But Sister Heidi never forgot the look on the little girl’s face. The little girl had obviously never met Marty, but Sister Heidi had a hunch that if they ever did meet, she would have no part in helping anyone to hurt him.
Senator Buchanan was enjoying his time at Lyceum, but was growing more restless with each passing day. A little voice inside him seemed to be trying to tell him that time was short. He discovered exactly how short as he sat watching the evening news in the lobby of Terrabithia Hall on the third of July.
“A last minute procedural motion in the Senate today moved up the final vote on the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty from next week to tomorrow.
Speculation on the fate of the Treaty is running wild now that its primary sponsor, Michael Buchanan of Pennsylvania, is missing and presumed dead in a plane crash in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. The scheduling of the vote on Independence Day is being looked at by some as a possible victory for opponents of the Treaty. The New York Stock Exchange closed today with most indicators holding steady or slightly up from yesterday...”
He quietly stood and slipped out the door, suddenly feeling the need for some cool air on his face. He felt hot and angry and sick. After sitting down on a bench and leaning his head against one of the wooden posts of the covered walkway, he closed his eyes and tried to will his body to relax, his mind to cease its dire thoughts. After several minutes, he began to feel better.
Liberty was off helping Jason with his animals, and the senator was glad.
He harbored untold guilt already for the stress and danger his political life had brought to his daughter. She didn’t need any more of his worries. But he had to try something. He had invested too much of his energy, and his political reputation, in the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty. He had to try, one more time. He stood up, steadied himself on the post for a moment, and then began to walk toward the Residential Lobby. He had never before felt so shaky.
At that hour there were plenty of free telecommunications booths in the Main Lobby. He entered one, opened a Portland phone book, and tapped in the number of the first airline that had flights to the east coast. It was already after ten o’clock at night. He knew it was the habit of the Senate, when in session on a holiday, to convene at about nine a.m., and try to finish their business by noon.
“Hello. I need a seat on a flight to Washington, D.C. that will get me there by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“We have a flight boarding right now, scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes, and I have one free seat.”
“I can’t get to the airport that soon. Anything else, to anywhere on the east coast?”
“We have a flight to New York at 6:15 tomorrow morning, arriving at 11:30
eastern time.”
“Thank you anyway.”
He called other airlines, and found flights that were already over-booked, flights that would get him to Washington too late, and flights that would get him to the east coast by nine a.m., but not to the national capital.
After finishing the last call, he lowered his face into his hands and let his despair take him, sobbing deeply and letting his body start shaking again. He knew there was nothing else he could do, that he could not get to Washington by the time of the vote, and that without him, a number of senators who had been wavering could easily change their minds, especially now that it was being held on the holiday devoted to sovereignty and nationalism. It wouldn’t take many, and the Treaty would not be passed by the Senate, and it would not go to the President’s desk. And as soon as the United States of America
turned its back on the historic document that hundreds of diplomats and world leaders had been nurturing for nearly a decade, then other countries would back away, and soon the world would be right back to pointing nuclear weapons at each other.
Senator Buchanan was still crying softly when Liberty slipped into the booth and put an arm around her father. She had been looking for him for almost half an hour. Without any attempt at composure, he told her, through his sobs, what had happened, and what the result would probably be. He felt completely lost, totally helpless, and unconditionally defeated.
Liberty started crying right along with him. She knew how important the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty was to her father, and she knew he had just invested the vast majority of his time and energy in it for more than a year.
She felt his pain, and seeing him so defeated was almost more than she could bear.
Liberty, of course, was not paying any attention to the fact that she had just recently grown into her ability to project her thoughts telepathically.
Sister Rachael was at her easel, had lowered her brush, and was rapidly becoming aware of the entire situation. As soon as she was sure she understood what had happened, she reached for her pager.
“This is Hans.”
“Brother Hans, I think we need to arrange some emergency transportation. Will you please meet me in the office?”
By the time Rachael and Hans had determined that what they hoped to accomplish was actually possible, ten minutes had passed, and Liberty had talked her father into joining her for a cup of tea in the Dining Hall. Hans remained in the office to work on the arrangements while Rachael strode up to the table where father and daughter sat. She grabbed another chair from an adjacent table and joined them.
“What I am about to propose will require a great leap of faith, Senator, and I must admit that there are still parts of the puzzle that have not been worked out, but if you can be ready to leave in a few minutes, we are going to do our best to get you to Washington by tomorrow morning.”
A surprised smile crept onto the senator’s tired, tear-stained face. “But...
how did you even know?”
Rachael looked at Liberty.
Liberty bit her lip and her eyes opened wide. “I think it’s my fault, Daddy.
I haven’t yet learned to shield my thoughts from Rachael and Sarah.”
“And it’s a good thing, in this case,” Rachael said. “You can accompany your father on the first leg of the journey, if you want to, Liberty. A helicopter will depart Port Two as soon as you get there, and take you to the Bend-Redmond airport, where a private plane will fly you to Boise. We’ll give you further details as soon as we have them arranged.”
All three stood up and the senator shook Sister Rachael’s hand vigorously.
“Again, I am in Lyceum’s debt.”
“We’ll worry about expenses later. Liberty, would you run into the kitchen and throw some snacks into a bag for your father? Do you have any belongings in your room, Senator?”
“Just a few things I’ve picked up since I arrived. I’ll grab them, wash my face, and be at the Heliport in two minutes or less. Will you meet me there, Lib?”
“Nothing could stop me from going with you on that helicopter, Daddy! I wish I could go with you all the way to Washington, just to see the looks on people’s faces when you show up for the vote.”
“Sorry, Liberty. This trip is going to be expensive enough as it is,” Rachael said. “I’ll meet you both at the port in two minutes.”
After returning from the flight to eastern Oregon, Liberty didn’t even try to go to bed. She was too excited, too anxious. She stayed in the office most of the time and hovered around Brother Hans as he made the transportation arrangements for her father. Sarah was also in and out, bringing drinks and snacks for Liberty and Hans before prancing off to see what the night security team was doing.
In Boise, Senator Buchanan caught a midnight commercial flight to Denver, where a non-resident member met him at about two o’clock and drove him to a smaller airport where a twin engine charter plane was being made ready by its pilot. The member brought out an envelope full of cash, the pilot’s wife counted it, and Senator Buchanan used the pay phone to get
further instructions from Brother Hans and exchange encouraging words with Liberty.
On the long flight to Chicago, the senator spent considerable time pondering how it was that Lyceum could achieve such efficient and effective operations without any of the hierarchical structures the rest of the world needed. But he was too tired to come to any conclusions. The engines produced a comforting hum, and he fell asleep several times, but usually woke up when the pilot or his wife began rummaging in their huge ice chest for something to drink that was high in caffeine.
Dawn light was in the sky as they crossed the Mississippi River, and the sun was rising when they landed at O’Hare International.
Again he spoke with his daughter and Brother Hans, and was informed that all flights to Washington, D.C. were booked, so he needed to catch the 6:30 flight to Richmond, Virginia. The final leg of his journey was still being arranged. He opened his mouth and started to ask for assurances that he would be able to get to his destination in time, but stopped himself, remembering that Brother Hans and Lyceum didn’t have to be doing any of this. He took a breath, recalled that Sister Rachael had spoken of a leap of faith, and went to pick up his ticket.
Back at Lyceum, Brother Hans was having a problem. None of the possible routes from Richmond to Washington were going to get the senator to the Capital Building in time. The best scenario had him screeching into the Senate parking lot at about 9:45, and that was in a taxi that had been willing to run all the red lights.
The plane the senator was on was only about half an hour from landing in Richmond when Brother Hans suddenly laughed out loud. Liberty rushed to his side, but his only explanation was to turn to his computer and request the business directory for Virginia. After a few moments of study, he had found what he sought. Liberty was surprised to notice that the business he was calling was not in Richmond, but in Norfolk.
“Good morning. This is Swamp Choppers. We’re running a special this month on coastal flights,” a cheerful female voice said.
Brother Hans had been up all night and had no intention of dancing
around the issue. “Can you get a helicopter to the Richmond Airport in half an hour?”
“Well... er... let me ask the boss...”
A minute of silence ensued. Brother Hans knew he had been put on hold.
Finally a husky voice spoke.
“This is Gary Lynch. I understand you need a helicopter at the Richmond Airport right away.”
“That’s correct. To pick up one passenger and transport him to the Capital Building in Washington.”
“You know, I’ve had requests like that before, and they’ve come from some pretty shady characters, so now I have a policy of not transporting anyone to a government building without knowing who I’m dealing with.”
Brother Hans didn’t like dropping names and titles, but he couldn’t think of an alternative. “This is Dr. Hans Peterson. I am a diplomatic advisor to the United Nations. You will be transporting Senator Michael Buchanan.”
“Of Pennsylvania? The one who was believed to be dead? The one who was pushing that controversial treaty?”
Brother Hans suddenly felt himself start sweating uncontrollably, and he could almost hear his own heart pounding. He realized that he had walked into a trap. If Gary Lynch was in favor of the Treaty, Senator Buchanan would get to Washington in time. Otherwise...
“Yes, that’s correct,” he forced himself to say .
“And the vote on the treaty is happening this morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“By God, I wish we had more like him. I’ve never seen such courage in my life. And I can’t understand people who want to go back to the nuclear fear we had in the last century. I’d be happy to give him a ride!”
“I can have someone meet you at the airport with whatever payment you need,” Brother Hans said.
“Don’t worry about it! Send me a check for five hundred to cover my fuel, and I’ll be happy. Besides, I’ll get lots of free advertising with my chopper sitting there on the landing pad at the Capital Building.”
Senator Buchanan landed in Richmond, Virginia about fifteen minutes
later, called Lyceum, and learned that he had enough time for a quick doughnut. Ten minutes later he was shaking the hand of Gary Lynch and climbing into his bright green six-seat helicopter.
It was a refreshing change approaching the national capital by air from the south. The senator saw landmarks he had never noticed before, and knew that whatever happened on the Senate floor that day, he would be in desperate need of a vacation soon. He toyed with the idea of spending a few days at some nice little inn somewhere in the Virginia countryside.
But that would have to wait until the vote was over. The House had already passed the Treaty, and he knew the President was anxious to sign it.
The Senate, his Senate, was the only unknown. The Potomac River below them slowly narrowed its banks as they approached the national capital.
At 9:03 eastern time, Senator Michael Buchanan stepped out of Swamp Chopper’s bright green helicopter onto the paved surface of the landing pad behind the Capital Building. He thought for a moment of all the effort and expense it had taken to get him there in time. He was dressed in casual clothing, hadn’t even brought a tie, and needed a shower and a shave, not to mention a meal and a good night’s sleep, but all of those things would have to wait. The vote came first. He strode toward the main doors of the capital, doors he had walked through many times. But this time, going through those doors would have an extra special meaning.
The Senate was already in session when he stepped into the chamber and began to walk down the aisle toward his seat near the front. He could tell that everyone was still getting preliminary remarks out of the way, and that no votes had been taken. A murmur of surprise ran quickly through the room when the other senators saw him. He walked to his seat slowly, making eye contact with his party colleagues and smiling as best he could, even sending some of them a thumbs-up signal.
“The clerk will add the honorable senator from Pennsylvania to the roll, as he is obviously no longer missing, and clearly not deceased.”
Laughter and welcoming grins greeted the new arrival on his side of the aisle, while on the other side reactions were mixed, with some faces looking rather disappointed.
“My apologies for being tardy,” he said in a loud, clear voice as he sat down.
“You are forgiven... this time,” the majority leader said. “We’ll take up a collection later so you can properly attire yourself in the future.”
Everyone laughed, and Senator Buchanan smiled.
Because Lyceum was committed to facilitating the work of the United Nations and other international organizations, it had been involved in many aspects of the negotiations that had resulted in the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty, even long before Senator Buchanan had called his daughter looking for a place to hold the conference that the United States had sponsored earlier that year. The attack on Liberty Buchanan at Lyceum, and the rescue of Senator Buchanan in the mountains nearby, had only added a personal note to Lyceum’s already strong relationship to the Treaty.
On Thursday morning, July 4th, at shortly after six a.m. Pacific Time, Senator Buchanan entered the Senate chamber, but only a handful of members, including Brother Hans, Liberty, and Sarah, witnessed the event on the broadcast channel that carried Senate proceedings.
But as the morning progressed, many visitors came to Lyceum on that summer day of clear but slightly cool weather, and many members had to be on duty to help them with everything from childcare to laboratory procedures.
Wherever a member could be near a computer screen, part of that screen was tuned into the proceedings. Regular visitors noticed a slightly slower response time than usual in their needs being met, as members were constantly having to drag their eyes and ears away from their screens to tend to their duties.
By the time the Senate had been in session for two hours, the debate was in full swing, several amendments to weaken the Treaty had been proposed, and rejected, and the words and phrases being uttered were starting to sound less and less civilized. Senator Buchanan had not yet spoken.
As 11:30 passed in the Senate Chamber, nearly everyone had used up their allotted time.
“Does the senator from Utah wish to use her time?”
“Thank you,” she said, stepping to the podium. Then she took her time
organizing her notes, letting the silence lengthen, almost unbearably. “Thank you for your patience, fellow senators. I wanted to make sure I had my thoughts collected, as I don’t want to use my time repeating the points others have already made. What I want to say to you is going to be somewhat difficult for me, and you will understand why in a moment.” She paused to clear her mind and shuffle her papers again. “Most of my constituents have asked me to vote against this treaty. My friends and family have not bothered to ask, they have simply assumed that I would vote against it. My church has obliquely instructed me to do everything in my power to defeat it.
“But as I sat alone last night, reading over the treaty and many other things, I became aware of something. The clock on my desk was moving. And I’m sure it will come as no surprise to any of you that it was moving forward.
I began to think about the future. For the next three hours I let my mind wander into the years and decades that lie ahead of us. Not many of those will I personally see, of course. But they will be there for my children, my grandchildren. What I am about to say may cause this to be my last term in political office, but if that must be, then it must be.”
A number of displeased murmurs began to be heard — on the lady senator’s side of the aisle.
“I was unable to envision a positive future for our world that did not include the governments of the world someday becoming one, allowing us to speak and make decisions with one voice when appropriate. And when it comes to nuclear weapons, our world has been speaking with one voice for a while now, and that voice keeps saying: we dare not use them ever again.
That is why I will be casting my vote in favor of this treaty which will place all nuclear weapons on our planet under the control of the United Nations.”
With a brave and stern look on her face, she collected her notes and stepped down from the podium as a disbelieving roar ran through her side of the room, and an applause rang out on the other side.
It was another minute before the chamber was again calm. “Does the senator from Pennsylvania wish to use his time?”
“Thank you,” Senator Buchanan said, stepping to the podium wearing the same casual clothes he had been in for more than twenty-four hours. “I will keep my remarks brief, because the honorable senator from Utah has spoken
so eloquently.” He paused to think, and realized he could very easily fall asleep if he didn’t keep his mind focused. “Most of you know that I have a sixteen-year-old daughter. A few weeks ago, she learned that she was going to have a very special role to play in the politics of nuclear disarmament. She learned that her life could be snuffed out at any moment just because she was my daughter.” A rumble ran through the chamber. “Two young girls, ages nine and thirteen, saved her life on that occasion, and it cost them scars they will be able to show for the rest of their lives.
“But I am very proud to say that my daughter is taking the bull by the horns. If this treaty is ratified and signed by our President, she will be leaving immediately for several foreign countries that are still unsure, and she will be symbolically offering her life, and the lives of all other young people, so that the leaders and people of those countries will know for whom we ratify this treaty.
“It is not for old men like me. It is for her and her young friends, and their children, and their children’s children. Neither is it for those who would have us destroy all nuclear technology and pretend we don’t know how to make the Bomb, because someone would just re-invent it sooner or latter. It is an equitable compromise, fellow senators, allowing us to keep the Bomb, but to keep it in a locked box, a box we can open again if need arises.”
He paused and looked down at the podium for a moment, wishing he had notes. But only the intricate wood grain of the podium’s surface was available for inspiration. He took a deep breath and forced his sleepy mind to focus one more time.
“I trust you will all vote as your conscience dictates. I leave the fate of this valuable document, and perhaps the fate of the world, in your hands.”
He stepped down from the podium and returned to his seat. Everyone had used their time, and it was 11:55.
At Lyceum, indeed all over the country, and to some extent all over the world, eyes were on the Senate of the United States of America. The vote was taken, slowly and carefully, as the roll was called. For the three minutes the procedure took, all services at both Lyceum campuses came to a halt.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, I count seventy-two affirmative votes, thirty-two negative votes, no abstentions, no absences. Senate Bill
5003, The Nuclear Disarmament Treaty, is sustained by this Senate.”
All over both Lyceum campuses, there was elation tempered by the knowledge that the visitors they were in the process of serving might not share their opinion of the Treaty. The real celebration would take place that evening in the residence halls. At the time of the vote, Liberty was at her Children’s Program shift, supervising a group of six to eight-year-olds.
“Do you think the Treaty is a good idea, Nancy?” one of the oldest asked her.
“For a long time I wasn’t sure,” she replied. “But you know how we keep the sharp scissors on an upper shelf in the supply cabinet?”
“Yeah... so the little kids can’t get to them.”
“Right. I guess it’s sort of the same. We might need our bombs someday to move an asteroid that’s heading toward us, or something like that. But we can’t leave them laying around for people to play with.”
“I see what you mean. Are we going to get to see a planetarium show today?”
Liberty smiled and nodded.