The Rise and Falling Out of Saint Leslie of Security Read Online Free PDF Page B

whistled. “I'm impressed."
    Leslie frowned. Russell would have to wait. Which made her breathe easier, even as she grew nervous about facing the President. She watched the women as the Presidential procession retreated into the House. They were quiet—most of them were on their knees, many sobbing. Assimilating favors. She could not recall ever having used the word ‘assimilate’ before. Her new programming. Leslie started toward the porch steps and women moved to get out of her way. An Agent from the White House approached her, his young face smooth and expressionless, then walked ahead of her. She climbed the steps and let him lead her inside. She felt an involuntary relief at being quit of the people behind her—the demonstrators, still chanting, and the blessed women with their blessed fruit.
    An Atheist and an unborn fetus....
    She thought about Gun's information, about the man she'd killed, about his brother. Roger Calvin. She didn't want to feel this way, the edges of obsession, needing to see this dead man's kin. She didn't want to think about Atheists at all. Or for that matter, Tom, or unborn children. Then what should she think about? Her sainthood?
    Try that. Think about ‘Saint Leslie of Security'.
    They took the elevator to the seventh floor, and then the Agent led her to a meeting room with an antique oval table in its center. Sunlight from the window across the room reflected in patches across the table's polished surface. Without a word, the Agent left her alone. The walls were covered with paintings. To Leslie's right were the stations of Christ; to her left, the stations of Washington. There was the great Father Washington, cutting down the Tree, praying over his people in Valley Forge and giving a poor foot soldier the jacket of his Holy Business Suit. He stood proudly as he crossed the Delaware, gazing sternly at something beyond her. She moved closer to Him, thick carpeting silent under her shoes. Then the door which had just closed behind the Agent slid open again.
    "Hello, Leslie. Saint Leslie, that is."
    She faced Him and He smiled. His voice was gentle, yet strong, like His smooth skin over perfect muscle and bone. “Please sit down."
    "Yes, Mr. President,” she murmured. She pulled a chair from under the table. She fought to keep from shaking, and to continue breathing.
    "I was sorry to make you wait, but I wanted to get most of this make-up off. Ugh.” He mimed rubbing at His face, then sat at the table with her ... right by her.
    She had been a Guard for nearly three years now, through almost all but the first year of Washington's term, and in that time she had never been this close to Him, never been spoken to directly by Him. Part of her groped for the feeling of inner movement, arms reaching, or even the false nausea, which would mean her head mem was guiding her.
    He spoke again. “When I heard you were here I couldn't resist the opportunity to personally share my gratitude with you. Of course, someone is going to have to come up with a good explanation for your presence, but we'll worry on that later, won't we?” He smiled again. “You know these assassination attempts are usually foiled long before I'm in any personal danger, so it's true, it's rare someone truly, personally, saves my life. Of course it isn't as rare as I would have it.... “He took her hand and kissed it. When He raised His face up, His eyes held a playful light. In spite of herself, Leslie smiled. She realized Washington was flirting with her, and recognized the inner motion of the head mem, almost at the same time.
    Still holding her hand, the President said, “So how do you feel about your dawning sainthood, hmmm? You can be honest with me."
    "Well,” she licked her lips. “It's flattering, but overwhelming. I haven't really thought about it as much as you might imagine."
    Washington chuckled. “You'll have plenty of time to think about it after tonight. It is a great thing. A great opportunity. And as