Chapter 186

“I do know that the slickest way to lie is to tell the right amount of truth—then shut up.”
—Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land

THURSDAY MORNING, Beca and I had passes from Mr. Gieseke to give to each of our teachers explaining our absence the next day. Friday morning, Sophie dropped us at the airport with just an overnight bag each. And my guitar. I’d learned to always carry a guitar when I travel. There is a spot in the hanging clothes bin at the front of the aircraft where a nice flight attendant puts the hard case. I’ve flown this flight a few times now and the flight attendant is a fan.

This was the first time we flew into National that we weren’t met by someone. I guess we were just part of the flow now and not celebrities. Beca had things under control and sent a quick text. Five minutes later, an Uber pulled up in front of us and in half an hour we were at the school. We had to wait a while before Dr. Donahue could see us. When she came out of her office, she was brusque and a little more formal than we’d seen on previous occasions. This was her work environment and you couldn’t expect her to be the same all the time. She was director of the school but I wasn’t sure what her own artistic inclination was.

“Leave your bags in my office,” she said. “There’s no sense hauling them all over Washington. I don’t think you’ll be able to use your guitar for a while, either, so it will be safe here.” I’d brought the new Cordoba Reyes guitar instead of my antique Velazquez. There was no sense carrying that one unless I was doing a concert.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d have a chance to play this weekend or not. Regardless, I’ll practice.”

“Good attitude. And you will meet people today who would like to hear you play. It’s just not going to be the right environment. We have a reservation for lunch at Old Ebbitt. It strikes me that all you’ve had on your visits to DC are college food and the occasional reception.”

“You needn’t have gone to any special pains,” Rebeca said. “We do pretty well on college food.”

“Rebeca, I am so glad you could be here on this visit. I understand you have your test in the morning. You’ll do fine, don’t worry. This afternoon, however, I want you to get a look at how politics are done in town,” Dr. D said. “We’re going to meet the boss this afternoon. Or, at least, we think he’s the boss. There is a lot of speculation about who is actually running things.”

Dr. D’s car dropped us at the restaurant and we were ushered directly to a table and given nice menus. I felt conspicuous as the only male in the room without a tie, but the restaurant didn’t require them. Beca and I had at least dressed nicely for teens.

“We’ll go ahead and order,” she said. “Will may be delayed and he’ll just catch up when he gets here.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Will Forsythe has been appointed as acting Director of the Office of Civilian Service,” Dr. D said. “He was very active in the creation of the reform bill and, I assure you, has reviewed every word of the new policy and procedure manual. Ah,” she said turning to the server. “I’ll have the grilled salmon salad.”

“I’ll have the grilled chicken salad,” Beca said when the server turned to her. I contemplated what looked like a really good juicy hamburger and imagined the juice running down my hand and under my shirtsleeve.

“I’ll have the steak salad,” I sighed. “Just a Coke to drink, please.”

“Now, the reason Will is ‘acting director’ instead of director is because of the continuing territorial wars going on. The Director General of the National Service Corps, General Ralph Gerhardt, is resistant to the changes we are making. Not the least of those changes is restructuring the department so that it reports to the OCS. Ultimately, that will require a senate confirmation. But today we are functioning under executive order and the supreme court has declined to hear a challenge.”

“So, all that means that nothing’s really changed? Did the people at least get transferred who had served six months?” I asked. What a crock.

“Yes. And new housing is being constructed. We had the orders for all that drawn up before the announcement. People went to work immediately.”

“How did you manage that?” Beca asked. Dr. D smirked.

“Are you aware that we know about your work with Raymond Long and Design Intelligence?” she asked. I just stared at her in silence. “You came to our notice before you actually took the PNSAT, Jacob. We saw your performances. I have a staff who tracks new and interesting artistic talent. We’ve been trying to rescue artists ever since the National Service began. You’ll find other very aggressive agencies doing similar things, like in the fields of sports, medicine, and science. When we investigated your NSRE results, we were quite surprised to find you’d already been flagged by the science and technology crew. But you refused to continue in that vein, preferring to focus on music—which, by the way, did not show up as a strong aptitude on the NSRE. Suddenly, when PNSAT results came in, you had a very high musical aptitude and only moderate math.”

“I believe placement in the service should include interest and not just aptitude,” I said noncommittally.

“Yes, but how did you change the results of the next test? We had to investigate as we saw some evidence of others also making significant differences. The result was that we found Mr. Long. We hired his company. To make a long story short, we changed the programming in the service AI and let the computer direct the replacement of personnel and improvement of housing and standards in all high-risk occupations of the National Service. That’s also why we suggested that you come to Washington for your final testing. We have better control over the way results are filtered. It took us some energy to get Rachel into our office. Olivia was no problem because her aptitude and talent are so closely aligned. Rachel showed the right aptitude, but there was no specific marker that she should be assigned here ... other than her relationship to you and your pod.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to blow up at her. Just because she and her office had been manipulating us for two years. I wondered how much of the president’s plan had been put in place before she was ever elected. I knew nothing happened as fast as it appeared to. The welling of anger inside me was almost as strong as it had been after I heard the president’s announcement. I should really go out for a run.

“Edna, I’m sorry I’m late,” a man said as he came up to our table. I was expecting another old white Washington bureaucrat. Will Forsythe surprised me so much I was speechless as we were introduced and shook hands. “I’m not what you expected,” he said.

“Um ... I really try not to expect anything here in DC,” I answered, “but, yeah ... you surprised me.”

“That I’m black?”

“No. That you’re young.” This guy couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. I had to wonder what he’d done that got him the position of Director of Civilian Service. Acting Director.

“Let me order quickly,” he said as our waiter came up. “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad and a Sprite.” The waiter left and he turned back to me. “I’m twenty-nine years old and I am a member of the National Service. The service was begun nine years ago this month. Everyone between eighteen and twenty years old was required to report for service. Those of us who were twenty could enlist to show our civic pride and call to duty. Not many did. I went in because I felt I was going nowhere in college. The aptitude tests were not as sophisticated as we have now and I was assigned a supporting role in the bowels of the capitol building. I liked it. I’ve served in all three branches of the government here in Washington, completed my degree, reupped for the additional six, and when my term was running out last fall, decided to become a career service person. I’ve been working on the edges of the reform commission and now I’ve been asked to head up the OCS. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Almost,” Dr. D said. “He drafted most of the new manual and had a lot of input on the proposed bill.”

“So, when we find flaws in the new manual...”

“ ... you’ll know who to blame.” He grinned at me. I couldn’t help but like him.

“I want to know more about you and your interests,” Mr. Forsythe said. “Most of all, I want to know how we can use you both now and when you enter service. That might sound harsh, but I believe we have common interests and I want to make sure your talents are contributing to what we have all committed to.”

“In one way or another, we all get used,” Beca said, bringing his attention to her. “The real question is whether we can find the right persons to ally ourselves to. Are you someone who will have our best interest at heart when you use us? Or even our second-best interest? I doubt it. So, the real question is whether or not we believe enough in your cause to sacrifice ourselves to your use.”

“Wow! You cut right to it, don’t you Miss Brown. Believe me, though, it is a two-way street. We have to trust you enough to believe we won’t be betrayed. Everything you have done so far has supported what we want to accomplish. Are you going to kick against that just because it was what we needed and wanted you to do? Or do we find ourselves in alignment?”

“Rebeca is testing tomorrow, Will. If all preliminary indications prove out, she is a content person. Messaging. I believe with her in our camp, we have a stronger chance in the fall elections,” Dr. D said. So, that was her game. Beca was handling the messaging and content on our site with Joan handling the presentation of it. Almost like we’d done in our freshman Human Geography class. I let my eyes drift closed as I thought about the implications all the way around.

“Are we boring you, Jacob?” Dr. D asked.

“No, ma’am. I needed to block out what was around as I collected my thoughts.”

“Played a little music in your head, didn’t you?” Forsythe chuckled.

“Only got a few measures in. I’ll have to go for a run later so the whole piece can play,” I smiled. “Dr. Donahue and Mr. Forsythe, so far you’ve used us pretty effectively. I think we would have been cooperative if you’d have just told us what was going on instead of blindsiding us, but that’s past. You’ve already started manipulating us into place here in Washington, inviting Cindy and me to the National School of the Arts and then inviting Desi and Brittany. You got Rachel into an administrative position on your staff. You got Livy based close enough that we can see her when we’re here. You have already defined a role for Beca as soon as she joins.”