Double Star

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  «Take it easy, Chief. I'll keep Corpsman out of your hair from now on. Here we won't be in each other's laps the way we were in the ship.»

  «No, Rog, my mind is made up. Oh, I won't run out on you. I'll stay here until Mr. B. is able to see people, in case some utter emergency turns up» — I was recalling uneasily that the Emperor had told me to hang on and had assumed that I would — «but it is actually better to keep me out of sight. At the moment we have gotten away with it completely, haven't we? Oh,they know — somebody knows — that Bonforte was not the man who went through the adoption ceremony — but they don't dare raise that issue, nor could they prove it if they did. The same people may suspect that a double was used today, but they don't know, they can't be sure — because it is always possible that Bonforte recovered quickly enough to carry if off today. Right?»

  Clifton got an odd, half-sheepish look on his face. «I'm afraid they are fairly sure you were a double, Chief.»

  «Eh?»

  «We shaded the truth a little to keep from being nervous. Doc Capek was certain from the time he first examined him that only a miracle could get him in shape to make the audience today. The people who dosed him would know that too.»

  I frowned. «Then you were kidding me earlier when you told me how well he was doing? How is he, Rog? Tell me the truth.»

  «I was telling you the truth that time, Chief. That's why I suggested that you see him — whereas before I was only too glad to string along with your reluctance to see him.» He added, «Perhaps you had better see him, talk with him.»

  «Mmmm — no.» The reasons for not seeing him still applied; if I did have to make another appearance I did not want my subconscious playing me tricks. The role called for a well man. «But, Rog, everything I said applies still more emphatically on the basis of what you have just told me. If they are even reasonably sure that a double was used today, then we don't dare risk another appearance. They were caught by surprise today — or perhaps it was impossible to unmask me, under the circumstances. But it will not be later. They can rig some deadfall, some test that I can't pass — then blooey! There goes the old ball game.» I thought about it. «I had better be “sick” as long as necessary. Bill was right; it had better be “pneumonia.”»

  Such is the power of suggestion that I woke up the next morning with a stopped-up nose and a sore throat. Dr. Capek took time to dose me and I felt almost human by suppertime; nevertheless, he issued bulletins about «Mr. Bonforte's virus infection.» The sealed and air-conditioned cities of the Moon being what they are, nobody was anxious to be exposed to an airvectored ailment; no determined effort was made to get past my chaperones. For four days I loafed and read from Bonforte's library, both his own collected papers and his many books ... I discovered that both politics and economics could make engrossing reading; those subjects had never been real to me before. The Emperor sent me flowers from the royal greenhouse — or were they for me?

  Never mind. I loafed and soaked in the luxury of being Lorenzo, or even plain Lawrence Smith. I found that I dropped back into character automatically if someone came in, but I can't help that. It was not necessary; I saw no one but Penny and Capek, except for one visit from Dak.

  But even lotus-eating can pall. By the fourth day I was as tired of that room as I had ever been of a producer's waiting room and I was lonely. No one bothered with me; Capek's visits had been brisk and professional, and Penny's visits had been short and few. She had stopped calling me «Mr. Bonforte.»

  When Dak showed up I was delighted to see him. «Dak! What's new?»

  «Not much. I've been trying to get the Tommie overhauled with one hand while helping Rog with political chores with the other. Getting this campaign lined up is going to give him ulcers, three gets you eight.» He sat down. «Politics!»

  «Hmm ... Dak, how did you ever get into it? Offhand, I would figure voyageurs to be as unpolitical as actors. And you in particular.»

  «They are and they aren't. Most ways they don't give a damn whether school keeps or not, as long as they can keep on herding junk through the sky. But to do that you've got to have cargo, and cargo means trade, and profitable trade means wide-open trade, with any ship free to go anywhere, no customs nonsense and no restricted areas. Freedom! And there you are; you're in politics. As for myself, I came here first for a spot of lobbying for the “continuous voyage” rule, so that goods on the triangular trade would not pay two duties. It was Mr. B.'s bill, of course. One thing led to another and here I am, skipper of his yacht the past six years and representing my guild brothers since the last general election.» He sighed. «I hardly know how it happened myself.»

  «I suppose you are anxious to get out of it. Are you going to stand for re-election?»

  He stared at me. «Huh? Brother, until you've been in politics you haven't been alive.»

  «But you said — »

  «I know what I said. It's rough and sometimes it's dirty and it's always hard work and tedious details. But it's the only sport for grownups. All other games are for kids. All of `em.» He stood up. «Gotta run.»

  «Oh, stick around.»

  «Can't. With the Grand Assembly convening tomorrow I've got to give Rog a hand. I shouldn't have stopped in at all.»

  «It is? I didn't know.» I was aware that the G.A., the outgoing G.A. that is, had to meet one more time, to accept the caretaker cabinet. But I had not thought about it. It was a routine matter, as perfunctory as presenting the list to the Emperor. «Is he going to be able to make it?»

  «No. But don't you worry about it. Rog will apologize to the house for your — I mean his absence and will ask for a proxy rule under no-objection procedure. Then he will read the speech of the Supreme Minister Designate — Bill is working on it right now. Then in his own person he will move that the government be confirmed. Second. No debate. Pass. Adjourn sine die — and everybody rushes for home and starts promising the voters two women in every bed and a hundred Imperials every Monday morning. Routine.» He added, «Oh, yes! Some member of the Humanity Party will move a resolution of sympathy and a basket of flowers, which will pass in a fine hypocritical glow. They'd rather send flowers to Bonforte's funeral.» He scowled.

  «It is actually as simple as that? What would happen if the proxy rule were refused? I thought the Grand Assembly didn't recognize proxies.»

  «They don't, for all ordinary procedure. You either pair, or you show up and vote. But this is just the idler wheels going around in parliamentary machinery. If they don't let him appear by proxy tomorrow, then they've got to wait around until he is well before they can adjourn sine die and get on with the serious business of hypnotizing the voters. As it is, a mock quorum has been meeting daily and adjourning ever since Quiroga resigned. This Assembly is as dead as Caesar's ghost, but it has to be buried constitutionally.»

  «Yes — but suppose some idiot did object?»

  «No one will. Oh, it could force a constitutional crisis. But it won't happen.»

  Neither one of us said anything for a while. Dak made no move to leave. «Dak, would it make things easier if I showed up and gave that speech?»

  «Huh? Shucks, I thought that was settled. You decided that it wasn't safe to risk another appearance short of an utter save-the-baby emergency. On the whole, I agree with you. There's the old saw about the pitcher and the well.»

  «Yes. But this is just a walk-through, isn't it? Lines as fixed as a play? Would there be any chance of anyone pulling any surprises on me that I couldn't handle?»

  «Well, no. Ordinarily you would be expected to talk to the press afterwards, but your recent illness is an excuse. We could slide you through the security tunnel and avoid them entirely.» He smiled grimly. «Of course, there is always the chance that some crackpot in the visitors' gallery has managed to sneak in a gun ... Mr. B. always referred to it as the “shooting gallery” after they winged him from it.»

  My leg gave a sudden twinge. «Are you trying to scare me off?»

  «No.»
<
br />   «You pick a funny way to encourage me. Dak, be level with me. Do you want me to do this job tomorrow? Or don't you?»

  «Of course I do! Why the devil do you think I stopped in on a busy day? Just to chat?»

  The Speaker pro tempore banged his gavel, the chaplain gave an invocation that carefully avoided any differences between one religion and another — and everyone kept silent. The seats themselves were only half filled but the gallery was packed with tourists.

  We heard the ceremonial knocking amplified over the speaker system; the Sergeant at Arms rushed the mace to the door. Three times the Emperor demanded to be admitted, three times he was refused. Then he prayed the privilege; it was granted by acclamation. We stood while Willem entered and took his seat back of the Speaker's desk. He was in uniform as Admiral General and was unattended, as was required, save by escort of the Speaker and the Sergeant at Arms.

  Then I tucked my wand under my arm and stood up at my place at the front bench and, addressing the Speaker as if the sovereign were not present, I delivered my speech. It was not the one Corpsman had written; that one went down the oubliette as soon as I had read it. Bill had made it a straight campaign speech, and it was the wrong time and place.

  Mine was short, non-partisan, and cribbed right straight out of Bonforte's collected writings, a paraphrase of the one the time before when he formed a caretaker government. I stood foursquare for good roads and good weather and wished that everybody would love everybody else, just the way all us good democrats loved our sovereign and he loved us. It was a blankverse lyric poem of about five hundred words and if I varied from Bonforte's earlier speech then I simply went up on my lines.

  They had to quiet the gallery.

  Rog got up and moved that the names I had mentioned in passing be confirmed — second and no objection — and the clerk cast a white ballot. As I marched forward, attended by one member of my own party and one member of the opposition, I could see members glancing at their watches and wondering if they could still catch the noon shuttle.

  Then I was swearing allegiance to my sovereign, under and subject to the constitutional limitations, swearing to defend and continue the rights and privileges of the Grand Assembly, and to protect the freedoms of the citizens of the Empire wherever they might be — and incidentally to carry out the duties of His Majesty's Supreme Minister. The chaplain mixed up the words once, but I straightened him out.

  I thought I was breezing through it as easy as a curtain speech — when I found that I was crying so hard that I could hardly see. When I was done, Willem said quietly to me, «A good performance, Joseph.» I don't know whether he thought he was talking to me or to his old friend — and I did not care. I did not wipe away the tears; I just let them drip as I turned back to the Assembly. I waited for Willem to leave, then adjourned them.

  Diana, Ltd., ran four extra shuttles that afternoon. New Batavia was deserted — that is to say there were only the court and a million or so butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and civil servants left in town — and a skeleton cabinet.

  Having gotten over my «cold» and appeared publicly in the Grand Assembly Hall, it no longer made sense to hide out. As the supposed Supreme Minister I could not, without causing comment, never be seen; as the nominal head of a political party entering a campaign for a general election I had to see people — some people, at least. So I did what I had to do and got a daily report on Bonforte's progress toward complete recovery. His progress was good, if slow; Capek reported that it was possible, if absolutely necessary, to let him appear any time now — but he advised against it; he had lost almost twenty pounds and his co-ordination was poor.

  Rog did everything possible to protect both of us. Mr. Bonforte knew now that they were using a double for him and, after a first fit of indignation, had relaxed to necessity and approved it. Rog ran the campaign, consulting him only on matters of high policy, and then passing on his answers to me to hand out publicly when necessary.

  But the protection given me was almost as great; I was as hard to see as a topflight agent. My office ran on into the mountain beyond the opposition leader's apartments (we did not move over into the Supreme Minister's more palatial quarters; while it would have been legal, it just «was not done» during a caretaker regime) — they could be reached from the rear directly from the lower living room, but to get at me from the public entrance a man had to pass about five check points — except for the favored few who were conducted directly by Rog through a bypass tunnel to Penny's office and from there into mine.

  The setup meant that I could study the Farleyfile on anyone before he got to see me. I could even keep it in front of me while he was with me, for the desk had a recessed viewer the visitor could not see, yet I could wipe it out instantly if he turned out to be a floor pacer. The viewer had other uses; Rog could give a visitor the special treatment, rushing him right in to see me, leave him alone with me — and stop in Penny's office and write me a note, which would then be projected on the viewer — such quick tips as, «Kiss him to death and promise nothing,» or, «All he really wants is for his wife to be presented at court. Promise him that and get rid of him,» or even, «Easy on this one. It's a “swing” district and he is smarter than he looks. Turn him over to me and I'll dicker.»

  I don't know who ran the government. The senior career men, probably. There would be a stack of papers on my desk each morning, I would sign Bonforte's sloppy signature to them, and Penny would take them away. I never had time to read them. The very size of the Imperial machinery dismayed me. Once when we had to attend a meeting outside the offices, Penny had led me on what she called a short cut through the Archives — miles on miles of endless files, each one chockablock with microfilm and all of them with moving belts scooting past them so that a clerk would not take all day to fetch one file.

  But Penny told me that she had taken me through only one wing of it. The file of the files, she said, occupied a cavern the size of the Grand Assembly Hall. It made me glad that government was not a career with me, but merely a passing hobby, so to speak.

  Seeing people was an unavoidable chore, largely useless since Rog, or Bonforte through Rog, made the decisions. My real job was to make campaign speeches. A discreet rumor had been spread that my doctor had been afraid that my heart had been strained by the «virus infection» and had advised me to stay in the low gravity of the Moon throughout the campaign. I did not dare risk taking the impersonation on a tour of Earth, much less make a trip to Venus; the Farleyfile system would break down if I attempted to mix with crowds, not to mention the unknown hazards of the Actionist goon squads — what I would babble with a minim dose of neodexocaine in the forebrain none of us liked to think about, me least of all.

  Quiroga was hitting all continents on Earth, making his stereo appearances as personal appearances on platforms in front of crowds. But it did not worry Rog Clifton. He shrugged and said, «Let him. There was no new votes to be picked up by personal appearances at political rallies. All it does is wear out the speaker. Those rallies are attended only by the faithful.»

  I hoped that he knew what he was talking about. The campaign was short, only six weeks from Quiroga's resignation to the day he had set for the election before resigning, and I was speaking almost every day, either on a grand network with time shared precisely with the Humanity Party, or speeches canned and sent by shuttle for later release to particular audiences. We had a set routine; a draft would come to me, perhaps from Bill although I never saw him, and then I would rework it. Rog would take the revised draft away; usually it would come back approved — and once in a while there would be corrections made in Bonforte's handwriting, now so sloppy as to be almost illegible.

  I never ad-libbed at all on those parts he corrected, though I often did on the rest — when you get rolling there is often a better, more alive way to say a thing. I began to notice the nature of his corrections; they were almost always eliminations of qualifiers — make it blunter, let `em like it or lum
p it!

  After a while there were fewer corrections. I was getting with it.

  I still never saw him. I felt that I could not «wear his head» if I looked at him on his sickbed. But I was not the only one of his intimate family who was not seeing him; Capek had chucked Penny out — for her own good. I did not know it at the time. I did know that Penny had become irritable, absent-minded, and moody after we reached New Batavia. She got circles under her eyes like a raccoon — all of which I could not miss, but I attributed it to the pressure of the campaign combined with worry about Bonforte's health. I was only partly right. Capek spotted it and took action, put her under light hypnosis and asked her questions — then he flatly forbade her to see Bonforte again until I was done and finished and shipped away.

  The poor girl was going almost out of her mind from visiting the sickroom of the man she hopelessly loved — then going straight in to work closely with a man who looked and talked and sounded just like him, but in good health. She was probably beginning to hate me.

  Good old Doc Capek got at the root of her trouble, gave her helpful and soothing post-hypnotic suggestions, and kept her out of the sick room after that. Naturally I was not told about it at the time; it wasn't any of my business. But Penny perked up and again was her lovable, incredibly efficient self.

  It made a lot of difference to me. Let's admit it; at least twice I would have walked out on the whole incredible rat race if it had not been for Penny.

  There was one sort of meeting I had to attend, that of the campaign executive committee. Since the Expansionist Party was a minority party, being merely the largest fraction of a coalition of several parties held together by the leadership and personality of John Joseph Bonforte, I had to stand in for him and peddle soothing syrup to those prima donnas. I was briefed for it with painstaking care, and Rog sat beside me and could hint the proper direction if I faltered. But it could not be delegated.