Read Tomorrow’s Heritage for Free Online Page B

at Carissa. Jael’s expression was strangely possessive, making Todd squirm, unsure why he felt so uneasy.
    Behind his mother and sister-in-law, rival candidates Fairchild and Dabrowski did everything but wave flags and make faces to attract attention. Pat’s competitors wanted to piggyback on Carissa’s photogenic beauty. They knew ComLink would feature her for color shots and must have taken the chairs behind her with exactly that purpose in mind. Even though Fairchild’s Third Millennium Movement and Dabrowski’s World Expansionists were Spacers, Todd was disgusted by their behavior. If only the Spacers had someone as popular as Pat . . .!
    Someone who could defeat his anti-Spacer brother in the campaign.
    Family treason. No wonder Jael had given him a tongue-lashing a week ago when he dared suggest that maybe Pat’s campaign platform wasn’t in the best interests of Earth, the Saunders, or humanity in general.
    Beth Isaacs sensed a windup in the intro. “Ready in case of trouble. Let’s go.” On-duty techs notched their chairs forward, guaranteeing clear-voice countermands if they had to talk to the systems. A sensible precaution, but one that had never been needed. ComLink was overloaded with redundancies and safeguards.
    A storm of applause greeted the committee as the newsman recited the last member’s name. The loudest cheers were for Pat, but he graciously included his co-members in the acknowledgment. The others formed a semi-circle behind him on the stage, smiling triumphantly. When the clapping abated, Pat began quietly. “Listeners, Citizens of Earth . . .”
    Sound choked off throughout the theater at that key phrase, Patrick Saunder’s trademark speech opener. The hush seemed startling after the tumult.
    “Listeners,” Patrick repeated, “we know you have been waiting a long time for the results of our arbitration. We appreciate your patience. Protectors of Earth is very happy to tell you we have succeeded. After intense negotiations, the Nippon-Malaysia Alliance and the Maui-Andean Populist Democracies have agreed to a total and unconditional armistice, effective immediately.”
    One of the military pilots, a Malaysian, whooped in joy. Techs and other pilots joined his celebration. Then they turned quiet, eager to hear more good news.
    “. . . terrible conflict has hurt us all,” Pat was saying, “not merely those in the war zones. The neo-smallpox mutation, the loss of the Galapagos Geothermal Seabed Installation, the crop failures caused by blockades along the iceberg tow routes, extinction of marine and land animal life, pollution from toxic fallout and nuclear strikes—these affect every man, woman, and child on Earth. Those in the Trans-Pacific have suffered most of all.”
    Pat paused for dramatic effect while ComLink’s campaign programmers inserted corroborating images, framing the main screen. Blood, plague, ravaged cities, and lifeless croplands and ocean beds. The viewers had seen it all before, but somehow the ugliness gained fresh impact if they watched while Pat described it. His words flowed, each syllable and hesitation planned. SE’s patented translator carried him into cosmopolitan towers and primitive villages. Instant interpretation. They were hearing him, not a machine voice. In their own languages, Pat came across warm and sincere, all his personality intact. ComLink’s competitors hadn’t yet fully mastered Ward Saunder’s technique. It would be years before they could duplicate that global voice power.
    “The killing is over, Listeners. The Trans-Pacific region is at peace. After twelve years, no missiles are being launched, no viral pestilence released from the labs, no wholesale executions. P.O.E. truce teams are stationed now throughout Nippon-Malaysia and the Maui-Andean Democracies to enforce the armistice. The truce is being honored faithfully. Hostilities are over, at last.”
    That mesmerizing voice shook with emotion. Pat’s eyes looked teary, and he