"Kim Stanley Robinson - Sixty Days and Counting" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

like that. But that wouldn’t be the best use for you, I agree.”
“Good.” Charlie felt as if a bullet had just whizzed by his head. He was quivering as
he said, very firmly, “Let’s just keep things like they are with me.”
“No, that’s not what I mean, either. Listen, can you come down here and at least talk
it over with me? Fit that into your schedule?”
Well, shit. How could he say no? This was his boss, also the president of the United
States, speaking. But if he had to talk to him in person about it…. Hesighed. “Yeah,
yeah, of course. Your wish is my demand.”
“Bring Joe, if you can, I’d enjoy seeing him. We can take him out for a spin on the
Tidal Basin.”
“Yeah yeah.”
What else could he say?



The problem was that yeah yeah was pretty much the only thing you could say,
when replying to the president of the United States making a polite request of you.
Perhaps there had been some presidents who had established a limit there, by asking
for impossible things and then seeing what happened; power could quickly bring out
the latent sadism in the powerful; but if a sane and clever president wanted only ever
to get yeses in response to his questions, he could certainly frame them to make it
that way. That was just the way it was.
Certainly it was hard to say no to a president-elect inviting you and your toddler to
paddle around the Tidal Basin in one of the shiny blue pedal boats docked on the
east side of the pond.
And once on the water, it indeed proved very hard to say no to Phil. Joe was
wedged between them, life-jacketed and strapped down by Secret Service agents in
ways that even Anna would have accepted as safe. He was looking about blissfully;
he had even been fully compliant and agreeable about getting into the life jacket and
being tied down by the seat belting. It had made Charlie a bit seasick to watch. Now
it felt like Phil was doing most of the pumping on the boat’s foot pedals. He was
also steering.
Phil was always in a good mood on the water, rapping away about nothing, looking
down at Joe, then over the water at the Jefferson Memorial, the most graceful but
least emotional of the city’s memorials; beaming at the day, sublimely unaware of the
people on the shore path who had noticed him and were exclaiming into their cell
phones or taking pictures with them. The Secret Service people had taken roost on
the paddleboat dock, and there were an unusual number of men in suits walking the
shore among the tourists and joggers.
“Where I need you in the room,” Phil said out of the blue, “is when we gather a
global-warming task force. I’ll be out of my depth in that crowd, and there’ll be all
kinds of information and plans put forth. That’s where I’ll want your impressions,
both real-time and afterward, to help me cross-check what I think. It won’t do to
have me describe these things to you after the fact. There isn’t time for that, and
besides I might miss the most important thing.”
“Yeah, well—”
“None of that! This task force will be as close to a Department of Science or a
Department for the Environment as I can make. It’s going to set the agenda for a lot
of what we do. It’ll be my strategy group, Charlie, and I’m saying I need you in it.
Now, I’ve looked into the daycare facilities for children at the White House. They’re