Innocent Until Scanned Guilty

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Washington: a somber winter day in March of 2076. An icy wind whistled around the Capitol and the corner offices of the senior senator from New Mexico, Samuel Garraty Ferron. Sam had turned sixty-eight the month before and was asking himself with increasing frequency how many more Washington winters he could stand away from Marianna and the kids. The answer seemed to be coming with more and more finality: this one, and one after. But in the election of ’78, he had all but made up his mind, the good people of the great state of New Mexico would just have to find some other sucker to peddle their goods for them.

In the meantime, though, there was one item in particular of unfinished business to attend to. Sam wrenched his attention back to the tall, angular woman who was the minority leader of the House of Representatives. “The genie is out of the bottle,” he repeated, “well and truly, and it can never be stuffed in again. That’s why it’s up to us to deal with it.”

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