Countdown
Part Eleven
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: Okay, here we are again. First, the usual jazz. Sing along if you know the words...

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work, especially if I remind them that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Yeah, they'll buy that...

Rate this one PG-13 for subject material.

(10:43 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

One hour and seventeen minutes before the end of the world, Dick Clark's New Year's broadcast was in full swing on the television set. "Isn't this guy dead yet?" Randi asked, irritably, "He's been doing these shows since the first Millennium show, in 1,000 AD, for cryin' out loud."

"Not a Dick Clark fan, huh?" Yosh replied.

She shook her head. "Just annoyed at the idea that any human being can stay consistently that cheerful for that long, year after year, decade after decade. Doesn't he ever just feel like telling someone to piss off?"

"Probably not while he's on camera," the nurse said, mildly.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm just not in a real 'Millennium' mood, I guess. I mean, two thousand years of alleged civilization; you say it that way and you'd think we'd all be zipping around in flying cars like the Jetsons. Instead, we're still getting the same beatings and stabbings and stomach cramps as they probably got back in the year Zero."

"There wasn't a year Ze-"

"Don't start that, okay? You know what I mean. So back then, they had carts of oxen running into each other instead of Hondas and Chevys. Nothing's really changed. Maybe now we've got heart monitors and HMOs and stuff, but under it all, it's still the same old hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate."

" 'The fundamental things apply...' " Yosh began singing. " 'As time goes by...' "

Randi looked at him narrowly. "Yosh," she said, "you're a really nice guy and all, but I swear to God, you start singing, I'm gonna hit you with my stapler."

(10:56 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Lucy followed Luka until they were away from everyone else. "Dr. Kovac, can I see you for a second?"

"Only if you promise to call me Luka," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Umm..." She wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm a little concerned about Dr. Weaver. Everyone says she's been behaving kind of, well, out of it..."

"I see..."

"Dr. Doyle just told me she was really shaken up in the lounge a little while ago. And Randi and Haleh both said she's been moody. More so than usual, I mean. And then, Conni said she was almost in hysterics in the ladies' room. I don't know if she's turning manic/depressive, or what, but I think someone needs to talk to her."

"And, ah, you think it should be me?" he said, with an amused air.

"She's really tough to talk to on a personal level. I think someone ought to press her a little, and none of us could get away with it, we've known her too long. Maybe if Carol were here, or Jeannie, or Dr. Greene, but not us."

"So what makes you think I'll have more luck?"

"Well, since you're new, she might cut you a little more slack. Or even if she doesn't talk about it, at least she'll come down less hard on you because you're new..."

"Ah. Well, that certainly makes it an attractive prospect."

"I'm sorry, I know I'm putting you in an awkward position by asking..."

"Well, I've been in them before," he said, gently. "So you're asking me to...what's the phrase, 'take one for the team', eh?"

"Um, well, yeah, basically. You can say no, I'll understand..."

"Tell you what," Luka said, "I'll think on it awhile, all right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

(11:02 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry made on more check on her vegetative MVA patient, the mystery man. As she expected, no change. Part of her yearned to extubate him, disconnect him from the machines, and let him die in peace. But she knew she had to wait until his family was found. That was something she never looked forward to, informing someone that their father or brother or son would never wake up again.

"Who are you, pal?" she whispered.

"Lee Silverberg."

Kerry jumped, turning. Maggie Doyle stood behind her. The resident's face was graver than Kerry had ever seen. "Maggie? You know this man?"

Maggie nodded. "I haven't seen him for a few years now. His family and mine lived next door to each other. We went to school together, all through grade school and high school. We played together as kids, and we used to joke about our getting married one day."

Kerry said nothing.

"You know the worst part? I never realized that he wasn't joking." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I always knew I wasn't interested in men, and Lee never seemed to look at other women. For a while, I thought that he was gay, too, and maybe that's why we got along so well. But it turned out he was saving himself for me, all that time." Her eyes were watering again.

"Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry..."

"He proposed to me right after we graduated high school. I tried to tell him why I couldn't marry him, but he never really accepted it. He always thought it was his fault I didn't love him that way, like he hadn't lived up to my expectations..." Maggie seemed to choke a little, and stopped talking. "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's all right. I understand."

"Yeah..." She appeared to get herself under control, though the sobs threatened to break out again at any moment.

Kerry was awkwardly silent, caught between personal sympathy and professional detachment. "Do you have his family's number?" she asked, as Maggie calmed.

Maggie nodded. "I'll call them. Do you want me to tell them?"

"No, I think it should come from someone impartial. But it would help if you were here with them at the time."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Okay," Maggie said at last. Then, "Hell of a way to end the year, isn't it?"

Kerry looked at her, searching for any trace of the scarred revolutionary who had committed genocide so casually in her last vision. She found none, seeing only a young woman who wept for the loss of a friend. "There are worse ways," she whispered.

(11:11 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

I am spending way too much time alone in this lounge tonight, Kerry thought, as she finished updating Lee Silverberg's - formerly 'John Doe's' - paperwork. I should be out there, checking up on everyone, keeping morale high and doing all that leader stuff. Not hiding out in here.

Part of it, she realized, was her basic discomfort with the staff, the underlying awareness that whatever right she'd once had to consider herself 'part of the gang' had been forfeited when she took on the title 'Chief of Emergency Services'. Before that, even, when she failed to support Mark in voting down Robert Romano as Chief of Staff. But it was a necessary trade, she told herself.

She had indulged in the occasional fantasy, of course, in which she replayed Anspaugh's meeting, and did things differently. Threw caution to the winds and said exactly what was on her mind. "Okay, let's recap," she said in this fantasy, "I know we came in late, but I've already heard one, two, three different people..." - she pointed them out while counting them off - "who've as much as admitted they have no real professional stake in who holds the Chief of Staff position. And yet, they're going to vote for Dr. Romano anyway. At this rate, he'll be elected by a landslide, based entirely on the argument: 'Hey, why not?' Excuse me, Don, I don't mean to sound negative, but this is bullshit!"

She imagined Romano's face as he reacted to her words.

"I'm not trying to belittle anyone's opinions," she'd have continued, "but with all due respect to everyone present, Dr. Greene and I can give you a much more compelling reason why he shouldn't be in charge of a company picnic, let alone the entire hospital. Since he's been ER Chief, he's done nothing but dump his own workload onto the two of us, claiming the credit and the reward for a well-run department, without actually doing any work or taking any responsibility. On those rare occasions when he does make a decision, it's invariably been ill considered and disastrous. Don, you yourself derided that stupid phone code system of his, so you know what I'm talking about.

"As a surgeon, Robert Romano's talent is undeniable. As a leader or an administrator, however, he is a travesty of the worst kind. On a personal level, I have never seen him or heard of him treating anyone with anything but contempt and disdain, saving only those occasions where it would interfere with his naked self-interest. Don, I understand your desire to step down, but for God's sakes, appoint someone else, ANYone else. Otherwise, this hospital will go down like the 'Titanic', and for reasons just as stupid and senseless."

Yeah. That's what she'd like to have said.

Of course, it was easy to make such mental speeches in retrospect, but she knew that, in the long run, it would have done more harm than good. Don Anspaugh hadn't given her opinion or Mark's much weight since learning they had covered up for Doug Ross the first time. And ever since the death of his son, whatever judgment he might have displayed had been drained out of him over time. As witness his appointing Amanda Lee, the charming psychotic with the multiple-choice past for ER Chief, then granting the position to Romano on a whim.

No, playing hardball in that situation would only have backfired, and she'd have been in a severely weakened position when Romano took office anyway. Now, at least she was in position to look out for the ER, maybe even protect it from the hospital's lame-duck administration. She'd done the right thing. The necessary thing. The only thing.

But it would have been soooo satisfying, at least momentarily, to stand up and tell them all what she REALLY thought.

She wondered if she'd ever have that chance.

And then...

...she did...

(TIME OUT...)

The headline of the Washington Post read: "BIG BROTHER" LAW - WILL PRES. WEST SIGN?? The New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the San Francisco Chronicle, and most other big city newspapers ran something similar. It was the issue on everyone's lips.

Kerry checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. Skirt and jacket, perfect. Makeup, perfect. Jewelry, perfect. Woman inside, wishing she could be anywhere else. I know I'm under there somewhere, she told herself.

"It's almost time," Mlungisi said, quietly.

"Oh, God..."

"Breathe deeply," he told her, hands on her shoulders, "You can do this."

"I know," she replied, "but this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The consequences could be disastrous."

"But you still intend to go through with it?"

"I have to. It has to be done."

Her tall adviser nodded. "I've ensured that Ellis and the children will be safe," he said. "They've been transported to an undisclosed location, and they're guarded by people I trust implicitly."

Kerry looked at him. "Thank you. Maybe you should have gone with them, for your own sake."

"You need me more than they do, at this moment."

She smiled, gratefully, then looked at herself in the mirror again. "There's hardly any of me left, is there?"

Before he could answer, the agent at the end of the hall signaled to her.

"That's it, I'm on," she said, feeling the chills run down her spine.

"Whatever happens, you know you have my support," Mlungisi assured her.

She nodded once, then took firmer grip of the crutch and stepped to the doorway. In the chamber ahead, the announcer, a barrel-chested man with a face like a bullfrog, strode to his mark, immaculate in his crisp suit.

"MISTER SPEAKER..." he bellowed, formally, "THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!"

Kerry entered and began her march to the podium. The applause that greeted her was flat and mechanical, dying out shortly before she reached the microphone. No one had reached to shake her hand.

Standing before the assembled Houses, she was well aware of the television cameras, prepared to broadcast her next words across the face of the globe. She wanted to flee, but forced her feet to become rooted in place. If her voice broke, they'd never take her seriously.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, my fellow Americans..." Okay, so far so good. But the hard part was coming up. "I'd like to thank you all for assembling on short notice; I realize that these proceedings are highly irregular. However, the circumstances are well known to the nation, and have been the source of public and private debate for the last several weeks. I beg your indulgence and your attention as we act to resolve these mattersexpediently."

The teleprompter began scrawling the text of her speech. Mlungisi had written much of it for her, and arranged for its display.

Now, to business. "As is well known, the Bertrand-Hollister Bill, as drafted, would institute the implanting of microchips, officially designated as 'personal identification chips', into every American citizen, beginning shortly after birth. The proponents of this Bill are quick to explain that the industries for manufacturing, distributing, implanting, and monitoring these chips would greatly increase our national economies, solving much of our unemployment crisis, and bolstering our place as the dominant global power. None of these claims are in dispute.

"What is less widely publicized is the argument against the use of the chips. Although the chips would, no doubt, be enormously useful in matters of identification and personal record keeping, the common perception of the chips as the eyes and ears of a 'Big Brother' government are frighteningly accurate. They would, in fact, enable the government to locate and monitor any citizen at any moment of the dayor night. Rarely, if ever, has such a systematic violation of the most basic of human liberties, personal freedom, been planned. The Bill has already been approved by Congress, requiring only my own signature to be instated as a law."

Kerry took a breath. From this point on, there was no going back.

"Until now," she went on, "I have been sufficiently complacent to act as a figurehead for this government. Perhaps I have deluded myself into believing I could accomplish more by bowing to the pressures of this office than by rocking the boat. But there are times at which one must choose between complacency and conscience. This is such a time. As an American citizen, a public servant, and a human being, I cannot approve such a disturbing and contemptible measure."

There was a low rumbling in the audience, as the meaning of her words became clear.

"Let me restate that in brief, for the sake of clarity," Kerry stated, "As President of the United States, I hearby veto the Bertrand-Hollister Bill. I will not sign it or have any part in its establishment. I will, in fact, oppose it with every means at my disposal.

"As an addendum, I wish to state that..."

The rumbling had developed nearly into a roar, and the Speaker of the House had to pound his gavel several times before order was restored. Kerry waited for the noise to settle before she went on.

"As an addendum," she began again, "I wish to state that my role as your President has not been all that this office was intended to be. It is no secret that the role of President, over the last hundred years, has become little more than a puppet figure for special interest groups and the hidden powers of our nation, which shall remain nameless. My election, in particular, has been denounced as a token gesture to political correctness, rather than a serious leadership. There is, perhaps, more truth to this belief than this government is prepared to admit.

"But the office of President was originally intended as one who would uphold the founding beliefs of this country and the rights and welfare of its citizens. Though this office has been corrupted and its meaning lost over time, its necessity has never been more clear to me. Regardless of how I came to this office, or whether I am intrinsically qualified, the fact remains I am here, in this position. As long as I bear the responsibility, I intend to live up to it.

"I am aware that this may be little more than a symbolic gesture, possibly with serious repercussions to myself. In accordance with the ninety-third Amendment, by defiance of Congress, I may be subject to impeachment, or possibly even criminal prosecution. Further, serious threats have been made against my family and myself, should I choose to veto this bill, as I have done. But the stakes are too high, and the issues too important, to make the safe choice rather than the right choice."

Kerry paused, waiting until the teleprompter's scroll halted. Then she spoke again, using her own words for the first time. "On a personal note," she said, "I would like to invite all those parties who object to my decision to do their worst. Impeach me if you will, prosecute me if you choose. My decision will stand firm." She lowered her tone. "As for those who would use darker methods, the same holds true. My family has already been taken to safety, and as for myself...anyone who wishes to take my life is welcome to do so if they are able. Other United States Presidents, far greater than I, have held their lives secondary to their morals and have been martyred for their beliefs. I am not their equal, but I shall do no less, regardless."

There it was. She'd just thrown down the gauntlet to the entire world. From now on, the possibility of an assassin's bullet hovered within every moment. The Secret Service wasn't going to be very happy with her for this.

There was utter silence.

"In conclusion," Kerry stated, resuming the written text of her speech, "I wish to urge the American public, every man, woman, and child, to follow their conscience, rather than the path of least resistance. To think of their communities more often than themselves. To support human rights at every chance, and refuse to support injustices. As your President - if only for the moment - I have an obligation to live by these standards, an obligation that has been ignored for far too long.

"As I have stated earlier, I am not a leader, but a figurehead. However, today I choose to be a figurehead not for the ruling elite, but for you, the people. The future is not in my hands, but in yours. I ask of you, all of you, to help me - to help each other - make it a future to take pride in.

"My fellow Americans, I want to thank you for your attention. Good day."

Kerry stepped down from the podium and walked toward the door, allowing destiny - both hers and the country's - to take its course.

The applause began before she was halfway down the aisle. By the time she made it out the door, the cheers and applause were deafening.



The lounge looked perfectly normal again.

"Wow," Kerry said, quietly. One eyebrow raised slightly.

The door opened and Jerry Markovic poked his head in, uneasily. "Oh, there you are, Dr. Weaver," he said. "I, uh, I wanted to ask you if it was all right if, uh..."

Kerry remained where she was, unresponding.

"It being, y'know, New Year's Eve and all," Jerry forged on, fidgeting some, "and I, uh...I brought in some bottles of sparkling cider, and I...I wondered if you'd object to my pouring a glass for everyone at midnight. You know, like champagne. The cider's completely non-alcoholic, of course, and, uh..."

Kerry's silence was unnerving.

"Dr. Weaver...? Are you listening?"

She looked at him for the first time. "I think it's a very nice thought, Jerry," she said with a bright smile that made him think of 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers', "Go right ahead." She walked out of the lounge, passing him tranquilly.

Jerry shook his head in amazement. Something really weird was going on with Kerry Weaver tonight.

As Kerry made her rounds of the halls, she seemed to carry herself a little straighter. That had to be the corniest speech I've ever made in any reality, she thought, but damned if I didn't take some pride in it.

She glanced at the clock. Come what may, she saw, the big moment was on the horizon. Whether midnight brought the world to an end, or was nothing more than another grain of sand in the cosmic hourglass, the waiting was almost finished.

In just a short while, it would all be over.

One way or another.

(11:29 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)