Thus Hope’s courtship of Megan, the woman of his dreams. She did not acquiesce immediately, but with further acquaintance his power and qualities slowly eroded her resistance, and four months after their first meeting, she did marry him. At first it was a marriage in name only, but in time that too changed. It was not accurate to say she came into his orbit; rather they orbited each other. Hope had won his second love, and it was a fully worthy relationship with no stain on it. Except, perhaps, for one aspect, which was not the fault of either. It was Spirit’s fault.
They delved into political issues, under Megan’s competent tutelage, trying to learn everything. This was their homework for the coming political effort.
Meanwhile, their limited activity had not gone unnoticed. The political columnist for a local newspaper was a man who signed himself simply “Thorley.” Between elections he was evidently short of material, so minor things warranted comment.
“Guess who’s coming to town,” Thorley wrote conversationally, showing by this signal that this was not a subject to be taken too seriously. “Remember the darling of the bleeding-heart set in Golden, Megan? It seems she married the gallant of the Jupiter Navy, Captain Hubris, a man some years her junior. Rumor has it that one of them has political pretensions.”
“That’s insulting,” Hope said angrily. “What right does he have to—”
“We are, or were, public figures,” Megan said. “Our names are in the common domain, his to play with at will. He tosses them about as a canine tosses a rag doll, entertaining himself. You will have to get used to this sort of thing if you wish to survive in politics. Words become as heated and effective as lasers. Perhaps you can better appreciate, now, why I was not eager to return to the arena myself.”
Indeed, Spirit was coming to appreciate that. “He’s our demon.”
“Just keep in mind that though Thorley is at the opposite end of the political spectrum, a thorough conservative, he is a competent journalist and an honest man.”
“You would find good in the devil himself,” Hope charged her, smiling.
“That might be a slight exaggeration. But Thorley is no devil. His beliefs may be wrong-headed by my definitions, but he is no demagogue. He will not compromise his principles, and that is to be respected.”
Much of the evil of the political system seemed to center on money. Politicians needed a lot of money to campaign effectively, and it soon corrupted them. There needed to be reform of campaign financing. They oriented on this, and Hope began speaking of it in citizen meetings.
Columnist Thorley had another comment in print: “Captain Hubris, he who tightened the Belt, has been delving into the arcane lore of Campaign Finance (his caps, not mine). Could he be interested in something of the sort himself? Stranger things have been known to occur in the murky by-paths of the liberal establishment.”
They let that pass, with an effort. They continued their research and participation in citizen initiatives. Three years passed. In that time Hope’s marriage to Megan became real, so it was not a dull time for him. But Spirit was restless, though she did not express it. She missed having a man in her private life. She even missed the Navy tail. She had thought she could take or leave sex, but after Gerald she appreciated it more.
They hired an executive secretary. Megan selected her, somewhat in the manner the Beautiful Dreamer had selected ideal officers: she located the best who were otherwise barred. Thus Shelia—and that was the spelling—joined their small group. She was a lovely girl, seventeen years old, highly qualified, and confined for life to a wheelchair. But she was a very quick study and a dedicated worker. Soon she had a clearer notion of the campaign strategy than Hope did. Of course she loved Hope, and served him in the best way she could: with absolute loyalty.
Hope ran for state secretary. He told the truth, eschewed special interest money, and refused to dig for any dirt. Consequently he looked like a likely loser, and the polls confirmed it.
Thorley summarized the situation succinctly: “Hope Hubris constituency: Belt 20. Hispanic 20. Total 35.” Allowing for overlap. Of a likely voting population of millions.
Hope’s ire focused on Thorley. “I’m about ready to do something about that guy,” he muttered. “I’d like to debate him before an audience.”
“Great idea!” Shelia agreed enthusiastically. She was then barely eighteen, and subject to enthusiasm.
It had been a joke. But Spirit considered it. “You know, I wonder—?”
Megan nodded. “That would be truly novel. We really have nothing to lose at this point.”
So the joke became real. Hope made the ludicrous gesture of challenging the columnist Thorley to a public debate, since he couldn’t get the incumbent to share the stage with him. They expected either to be ignored or to become the target of a scathingly clever column.
But Thorley accepted.
Bemused, they worked it out. “He must find this campaign as dull as I do,” Hope said. “This will at least put us both on the map of oddities.”
“True,” Megan agreed. “But do not take it lightly. Now we shall find out what you are made of. Debates are treacherous.”
“Like single combat,” Spirit said. Hope had always been good at that.
They prepared as carefully as if it were a major public event. They had acquired a certain cynicism about politics and the electorate as they experienced the insularity of supposedly public spirited organizations, but Megan had been completely unsurprised. She had been through it before. “Even the most bleeding of hearts becomes a trifle cynical,” she observed. Now she believed that this debate would be a formidable test, and Spirit had learned to heed Megan’s judgments on such things. She drilled Hope on every conceivable aspect of the subject. He was letter perfect. But was it enough?
Thorley showed up on schedule. He was a handsome man of about Hope’s own age, a fair Saxon, slightly heavyset, with a magnificently modulated voice. He shook Hope’s hand in a cordial manner, then greeted Megan similarly. “It is an honor to meet so respected a figure,” he told her, his evident sincerity setting her back. “You are indeed beautiful.” He turned to Spirit. “And so are you, Miss Hubris. Had I a sister like you, I should have run for office myself.” Spirit was so surprised by the muted compliment she had no answer. He turned to Shelia. “And I would have needed a secretary like you to keep me organized.” Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his face and kissed it. She, too, was momentarily stunned.
Thorley settled into the comfortable chair assigned to him as if he had been there all his life. In the space of hardly more than a minute he had fairly set back all three women supporting his debate opponent. His manner and presence disarmed them; he was completely charming.
Hope chatted with Thorley in the few minutes before the formal program, and it was clear that Hope also liked him. They had expected a sneering, supercilious snob, despite Megan’s assessment; they had been disabused. In person he was not at all like that.
“I feared I would be late,” he remarked with a momentary slant of one eyebrow to signal that this was a minor personal crisis. “Thomas was not quite ready to come in.”
“Thomas?” Spirit asked. “I thought you were childless.”
Thorley grinned infectiously. “Naturally your camp has done its homework on the opposition, but perhaps imperfectly. Thomas is our resident of the feline persuasion.”
Spirit had to smile in return, touching her forehead with her four-fingered hand as if jogging loose a short circuit. “Oh, a male cat. We did not have pets in the Navy.”
“The Navy remains unforgivably backward in certain social respects,” he said. “Cats are admirably independent, but in this instance, with my wife visiting Hidalgo to cover for a discomfited relative, the burden of supervision falls on me. Regulations”—here he made a fleeting grimace to show his disapproval of regulations as a class of human endeavor-”require the confinement of nonhuman associates when the persons concerned are absent from the immediate vicinity.�
�� His nuances of facial and vocal expression made even so small a matter as a stray tomcat seem like a significant experience. The man had phenomenal personal magnetism, and Spirit had to fight to maintain her objectivity. She realized that Hope might be in for more of a debate than they had anticipated, for Thorley could surely move an audience.
“Well, in a couple of hours you’ll be back to let him out again,” Hope said.
“I surely had better be,” he agreed. “Thomas is inclined to express his ire against the furniture when neglected, as any reasonable person would.” That fierce individualism manifested in almost every sentence he uttered, yet now it became appealing.
Then the hour of the debate was on them. There was no holo-news coverage, but there were a couple of cub reporters and a still-picture photographer, and of course each side had its own machine recorder. The audience was reasonable for the occasion, hardly filling the hall, about two hundred dutiful citizens.
There was no moderator, no formal rules; it was discussion format. Spirit knew that could be awkward, but Megan had assured them that it could also be the most natural and effective. They had agreed to alternate in asking each other questions, with verbal interplay increasing after the initial answers. They flipped a coin, and Thorley won the right to pose the first question.
Megan and Spirit moved to either side of the small stage, while Shelia merged her chair with the front row of the audience and took notes, which were bound to be the most relevant.
“I understand that you, Captain Hubris, in accordance with many of the liberal folly, are opposed to capital punishment,” Thorley said, his attitude and his language hardening dramatically as he got down to business.
“I am,” Hope agreed.
“Yet you are, or were, a prominent military man,” Thorley continued. “You could have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of living people—”
“Thousands,” Hope agreed.
“How do you reconcile this with your present stand opposing the execution of criminals?”
It seemed like a trap, but Megan had anticipated it and prepared Hope for it. “The two situations are not comparable,” he said carefully. “As a military man, I was under orders; when killing was required, I performed my duty. I never enjoyed that aspect of it, but the Navy did not express interest in my personal opinions.” He smiled, Thorley smiled with him, and there was a ripple of humor through the audience. This was merely a warm-up interchange, and they all knew that it was the audience reaction that counted. “There is also a distinction between the violence of combat and the measured, deliberate destruction of human life that legal execution is. If a man fires his weapon at me and I fire back and kill him, that is one thing; but if that man is strapped to a chair, helpless, that is another. To my mind, the first case is defense; the second is murder.”
“Well and fairly spoken,” Thorley said smoothly. “But can we be sure there is a true distinction between the cases?” Thorley then proceeded to make Hope’s position seem paradoxical, and it was apparent that he was scoring better with the audience than Hope was. Spirit realized that the man was not only privately charming, he was quite intelligent and thoroughly prepared. He was at least a match for Hope, and Hope was no slouch at playing scenes or moving audiences.
It was now Hope’s turn to pose a question. He asked about the conservative’s opposition to big government: did he prefer anarchy? Thorley fielded it with grace and felicity of expression, employing incidental metaphors that carried his meaning without being unkindly blunt. Spirit saw the audience nodding agreement, and when he likened too much government to a bloated stomach, they laughed. What an image! There were things to be learned from this man, and Spirit would make sure that Hope did learn them.
With the next question, Thorley got serious. “It has been said that a free press is the best guarantee of honest government. Where do you stand on that?”
This was a difficult one. Hope had practiced censorship of the news during the campaign in the Belt, to keep the pirates from anticipating the Navy moves. Thorley would surely make much of that.
There was a commotion in the audience. A burly Saxon man was striding forward, brandishing a portable industrial laser unit. “You spics are stealing our jobs! We don’t need none of you in office!” He brought his laser to bear on Hope and fired.
But both Hope and Spirit were already flying out of their chairs. Megan, no creature of physical violence, was standing stock-still, gazing at the worker with horror.
The first bolt seared into the floor where Hope’s chair had been. Hope and Spirit were closing in on the man from the sides. But it would take them seconds to reach him; they had not come armed.
The Saxon worker’s face fastened on Megan. “And we don’t need no spic-lovers, neither!” he cried, and swung the laser to bear on her. Still she stood frozen.
Thorley launched himself from his chair just as the man pulled the trigger. The deadly beam sizzled and was muffled by Thorley’s body. Steam spread out, and in a moment there was the horrible odor of fried flesh.
Then Hope reached the worker. Knowing that her brother would make short work of him, Spirit veered aside and went to Megan instead, leading her away from the violence.
In another moment Hope kneeled beside Thorley. The man was curled up in agony, trying to grip his left leg. The laser beam had seared into his thigh, not a lethal wound but certainly a hellishly painful one. It could cost him his leg if a key nerve had been burned out.
There were other urgent things to do at this moment, as the hall erupted into pandemonium. Thorley needed immediate medical attention, the police needed to take charge of the murderous worker, and Hope had to get Megan away from this place before she went into shock. But for the moment Hope remained with the wounded man. “Thorley,” he said. “Why did you intercede?”
“I don’t believe in assassination,” Thorley gasped. “Not even of liberals.”
“How can I repay you?”
“Just—keep the press—free,” Thorley whispered, and passed out.
“Always!” Hope swore to the man’s unconscious body. It was a vow he would keep.
CHAPTER 10
SECRET
Spirit was bringing heavy bandages from the hall’s emergency supply, knowing that prompt attention to the wound was essential. All officers in the Navy had paramedic training; she knew what to do.
“Spirit,” Hope said. “Take care of this man.”
She nodded, knowing that he meant more than bandages. She worked efficiently, cutting away his burned trouser leg, applying the bandages to the seared flesh. No cauterization was required; laser wounds were already cauterized. It was necessary only to protect the surrounding flesh.
When the medics came for him with the stretcher, Spirit picked up Thorley’s holo recorder and went with them. “His cat!” Hope called after her, and she nodded again. Thorley would be in competent hands.
No one questioned her presence; she was taken as a family member or employee or friend. She was that last, as of the moment Thorley had sacrificed himself to save Megan.
They took the ambulance to the hospital, where there was a flurry of competent activity. Thorley came partly conscious, in pain, and Spirit took his hand. “It is all right,” she murmured to his ear. “You are severely injured, but it is not lethal, and the doctors are tending it now.”
He nodded. “Thomas–”
“I will take care of him, if I may take your key.”
“Wallet–” Then he passed out again.
She felt in his jacket and found his wallet. It would contain his key card. But first she had to see to his registration. She went to the check-in window and used the information in the wallet to get him properly checked in and verified for insurance.
“It will be eighteen hours,” the clerk woman said, not needing any other medical input; she was going by the insurance limit. “Pick him up then at the outlet bay.”
That was it. Thorley would be booted from the hospit
al then, and someone had better be there to convey him elsewhere. She checked his wallet to see whom to contact, but found no one. Apparently there was only his wife, who was on another planet at the moment, and Spirit did not have her address.
Why would Thorley have expressed concern about his cat, unless he were living alone at present? Spirit had promised to take care of the animal; she would do so. With luck she would find information on some neighbor or relative or friend who could be trusted to see to the man’s welfare during his recovery. Certainly she could not leave this responsibility until she was sure it was safe to do so.
She took a taxi to the address listed on his identity card. It was an unpretentious suite in a mid-level residential complex, not poor but far from rich. She had had the careless notion that all conservatives were rich, but obviously that was no more true than the notion that all liberals were poor. She used the identity card to key open the door.
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