If there was one experience that Evesham Giyt definitely did not want to have as mayor, it was being fired. If his term of office had come to its scheduled end, he could have walked away happily. He might even be willing to peacefully resign; in fact, that thought had crossed his mind more than once. But to be kicked out? No, that was something else entirely. It was unacceptable. It didn’t take Giyt long to find out why they hadn’t seen the recall petition on the net. Someone had, not very expertly, cut the Giyts and the de Mirs out of the basic loop, so that all that came to their personal screens was a censored version of what went to the whole community. Once Giyt had an idea of what to look for, he located it in less than half an hour and created a detour around the block.
Then he studied the petition with growing distaste. It wasn’t very specific. There wasn’t anything that actually said that Rina had once been a prostitute or that accused Giyt himself of any serious misdeeds. But in and among all the whereases—presumably Olse Hagbarth’s work, or Lieutenant Cristl’s—there were a lot of words and phrases like malfeasance and prejudicial conduct, and what they all added up to was that the people who signed the petition were asking for a special election to be held to kick Evesham Giyt out of his job as mayor.
Rina came in, and peered over his shoulder. “Lunch is ready,” she announced, counting the names. “Seventy-six signatures,” she said thoughtfully. “They need twenty-four more to make it count.”
He turned to gaze at her. “How do you know that?”
“I looked it up, of course. It’s what the regulations say: a recall petition must be signed by at least ten percent of the voting citizens, and that’s a hundred. You know what I think, Shammy? I think they’re having trouble getting the hundred. There are a lot of people who like you.”
But there were a lot who didn’t, too. While he was eating his lunch Giyt studied the signatures on the hard copy, trying to fit a face to each name. More than half the members of the fire company had signed. So had, he estimated, a majority of the various people who had asked him for favors at one time or another and been turned down. So had the former mayor and her husband, and all those were easy enough, if not pleasant, to understand. But there were at least a dozen signatures that Giyt hardly recognized. Certainly he could not remember ever having done anything to offend them.
When he said as much to Rina, sitting pensively across from him and nibbling a stalk of celery while he ate, she shrugged. “Hagbarth’s had plenty of time to hand out favors. I guess they owe him, don’t you think? That’s how politics works.”
“I suppose.” Then he looked at her more closely. “You’re not eating,” he accused. She shrugged again, and he remembered some of the things he’d learned about pregnancy. “Hey! What is it, is it this morning-sickness business?”
“It turns out it isn’t just in the morning,” she admitted ruefully. “Now, Shammy, don’t get all worried about it. It’s just something that pregnant women do. I’m going to go to the clinic this afternoon for a checkup anyway, and they’ll give me something for it.”
“I’m going with you,” he announced. “I—wait a minute.” There was an action message coming in on his screen, and when he looked at it what it said was that the Delt delegation would be arriving in ninety Tupelovian minutes. “Damn,” he said. “Well, I’m going to go with you anyway.”
“Oh, hon. That’s sweet of you, but what’s the point? I can handle it by myself; you stay home and work until it’s time to meet the Delts.”
But Giyt didn’t stay home, he went right along with her, as much to be ready to glare down any citizen who chose to give his wife any dirty looks as because he thought she needed company.
There wasn’t any of that. Business was slack at the little hospital building, and the couple of people sitting in the waiting room seemed more concerned with their own problems than with whatever was happening with the Giyts. The doctor on duty took Rina into the examination room without comment, except to firmly veto Giyt’s notion of coming with them, leaving Giyt with nothing to do but wait.
The proper place for that was the waiting room, but Giyt was too restless for that. He roamed around the little building, pausing in front of the window that looked on the cribs for newborns. There was only one baby there, with a medic who looked faintly familiar bending over her. Giyt wondered what it would be like to see his own child in that place, perhaps exchanging with other new fathers the ritual cigars that nobody was ever going to smoke . . . if anybody was going to be friendly enough with Giyt for that sort of sociability. If, for that matter, they were still going to be on Tupelo when the baby got around to being born.
The medic had finished what he was doing with his charge, saw Giyt outside, and came out to speak to him. “Remember me?” he asked. “I was the one who helped you with the kid that was choking? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m on your side. So’s Cheryl here,” he added, nodding to the woman who had come out of the pharmacy across the hall.
“So are most of us,” she said, shaking Giyt’s hand. “I don’t go much for politicians, but I can stand you a lot better than that damn Vardersehn woman. She was always coming around and telling us what to do. At least you don’t interfere.”
So Giyt was in a much better mood when Rina came out of the examining room. “She gave me a patch,” she said, showing it. “She says that’ll control the nausea—and listen, hon, you don’t have to come home with me. Go welcome the damn Delts. You’re a sweet man, but you worry too much,”
But actually, he told himself on the way over to the portal he couldn’t help worrying about her. Maybe worrying wasn’t exactly the right word. He was sensible enough to know that morning sickness wasn’t a life-threatening kind of thing. What was on his mind was that he wanted to protect her. Evesham Giyt, who had never concerned himself with covering any ass but his own, had now assumed total responsibility for the well-being of the woman he had married. It wasn’t a rational thing; it was the old story of the caveman guarding his mate.
And when he got to the square and saw Hagbarth preparing to take his place at the switches, he gave the man a belligerent look, but succeeded in not going over to him and punching him in the nose. Hagbarth looked startled and turned hastily away. Which gave Giyt some minor satisfaction.
All the other mayors were there, with a large company of Delts waiting to greet their dignitaries. Giyt nodded to Mrs. Brownbenttalon, returned the gesture when the Petty-Prime Responsible One waved a paw at him, even got a greeting from the new Kalkaboo High Champion. One of the Delts broke ranks to come over to him; Giyt recognized him as the pilot from their trip to Energy Island. “Hey, you Earth Person Giyt,” he said affably, both eyes on Giyt. “Greetings. Regrettings, too, because hear stinky Hagbarth person trying screw you. Pity. All us Delts think you not quite so bad. Comparing to other Earth persons, I mean. Sorry we can’t vote, this matter none of our business, you know.”
“Well, thanks,” Giyt said, somewhat touched.
“Anyway,” the Delt went on, one eye wandering toward the portal, where the golden glow was just beginning to develop, “what I wanted asking you, what do you think? How long you guess it take them for bouncing you out? Reason want to know, can then get bets down in the pool.”