"You don't actually -"
"Oh, I do," she said matter-of-factly. "I knew he wouldn't settle for half-life; this is a whole, entire life he's leading now, out in space, there, beyond the last planet of our system. And there isn't going to be any way we can interfere with him; whatever it is he's doing -" She began to walk on, once more; Johnny followed. "Whatever it is, it's going to be at least as much as he did when he was alive here on Terra. You can be sure of that. Are you afraid?"
"Hell," Johnny protested, "I'm not even convinced, let alone afraid." And yet – perhaps she was right. She seemed so certain about it. He could not help being a little impressed, a little convinced.
"You should be afraid," Kathy said. "He may be very strong, out there. He may be able to do a lot. Affect a lot… affect us, what we do and say and believe. Even without the radio telescope – he may be reaching us, even now. Subliminally."
"I don't believe it," Johnny said. But he did, in spite of himself. She was right; it was just what Louis Sarapis would do.
Kathy said, "We'll know more when the Convention begins, because that's what he cares about. He failed to get Gam elected last time, and that was one of the few times in his life that he was beaten."
"Gam!" Johnny echoed, amazed. "That has-been? Is he even still in existence? Why, he completely disappeared, four years ago -"
"My grandfather won't give up with him," Kathy said meditatively. "And he is alive; he's a turkey farmer or some such thing, on Io. Perhaps it's ducks. Anyhow, he's there. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Kathy said, "For my grandfather to contact him again. As he did before, four years ago, at the Convention then."
"No one would vote for Gam again!" Repelled, he gazed at her.
Smiling, Kathy said nothing. But she squeezed his arm, hugging him. As if, he thought, she were afraid again, as she had been in the night, when he had talked to her. Perhaps even more so.
III
The handsome, dapper, middle-aged man wearing vest and narrow, old-fashioned necktie, rose to his feet as Claude St. Cyr entered the outer office of St. Cyr and Faine, on his way to court. "Mr. St. Cyr -"
Glancing at him, St. Cyr murmured, "I'm in a rush; you'll have to make an appointment with my secretary." And then he recognized the man. He was talking to Alfonse Gam.
"I have a telegram," Gam said. "From Louis Sarapis." He reached into his coat pocket.
"Sorry," St. Cyr said stiffly. "I'm associated with Mr. Phil Harvey now; my business relationship with Mr. Sarapis was terminated several weeks ago." But he paused, curious. He had met Gam before; at the time of the national campaign, four years ago, he had seen a good deal of the man – in fact, he had represented Gam in several libel suits, one with Gam as the plaintiff, the other as defendant. He did not like the man.
Gam said, "This wire arrived the day before yesterday."
"But Sarapis has been -" Claude St. Cyr broke off. "Let me see it." He held out his hand, and Gam passed him the wire.
It was a statement from Louis Sarapis to Gam, assuring Gam of Louis's utter and absolute support in the forthcoming struggle at the Convention. And Gam was correct; the wire was dated only three days before. It did not make sense.
"I can't explain it, Mr. St. Cyr," Gam said dryly. "But it sounds like Louis. He wants me to run again. As you can see. It never occurred to me; as far as I'm concerned I'm out of politics and in the guinea-fowl business. I thought you might know something about this, who sent it and why." He added, "Assuming that old Louis didn't."
St. Cyr said, "How could Louis have sent it?"
"I mean, written it before his death and had someone send it just the other day. Yourself, perhaps." Gam shrugged. "Evidently it wasn't you. Perhaps Mr. Barefoot, then." He reached out for his wire.
"Do you actually intend to run again?" St. Cyr asked.
"If Louis wants me to."
"And lose again? Drag the party to defeat again, just because of one stubborn, vindictive old man -" St. Cyr broke off. "Go back to raising guinea fowl. Forget politics. You're a loser, Gam. Everyone in the party knows it. Everyone in America, in fact."
"How can I contact Mr. Barefoot?"
St. Cyr said, "I have no idea." He started on.
"I'll need legal help," Gam said.
"For what? Who's suing you now? You don't need legal help, Mr. Gam; you need medical help, a psychiatrist to explain why you want to run again. Listen -" He leaned toward Gam. "If Louis alive couldn't get you into office, Louis dead certainly can't." He went on, then, leaving Gam standing there.
"Wait," Gam said.
Reluctantly, Claude St. Cyr turned around.
"This time I'm going to win," Gam said. He sounded as if he meant it; his voice, instead of its usual reedy flutter, was firm.
Uneasy, St. Cyr said, "Well, good luck. To both you and Louis."
"Then he is alive." Gam's eyes flickered.
"I didn't say that; I was being ironic."
Gam said thoughtfully, "But he is alive; I'm sure of it. I'd like to find him. I went to some of the mortuaries, but none of them had him, or if they did they wouldn't admit it. I'll keep looking; I want to confer with him." He added, "That's why I came here from Io."
At that point, St. Cyr managed to break away and depart. What a nonentity, he said to himself. A cypher, nothing but a puppet of Louis's. He shuddered. God protect us from such a fate: that man as our President.
Imagine us all becoming like Gam!
It was not a pleasant thought; it did not inspire him for the day ahead. And he had a good deal of work on his shoulders.
This was the day that he, as attorney for Phil Harvey, would make Mrs. Kathy Sharp – the former Kathy Egmont – an offer for Wilhelmina Securities. An exchange of stock would be involved; voting stock, redistributed in such a fashion that Harvey gained control of Wilhelmina. The worth of the corporation being almost impossible to calculate, Harvey was offering not money but real estate in exchange; he had enormous tracts of land on Ganymede, deeded to him by the Soviet Government a decade ago in exchange for technical assistance he had rendered it and its colonies.
The chance of Kathy accepting was nil.
And yet, the offer had to be made. The next step – he shrank from even thinking about it – involved a fracas to the death in the area of direct economic competition, between Harvey's drayage firm and hers. And hers, he knew, was now in a state of decay; there had been union trouble since the old man's death. The thing that Louis hated the most had started to take place: union organizers had begun to move in on Archimedean.
He himself sympathized with the unions; it was about time they came onto the scene. Only the old man's dirty tactics and his boundless energy, not to speak of his ruthless, eternal imagination, had kept them out. Kathy had none of these. And Johnny Barefoot -
What can you ask of a noncol? St. Cyr asked himself caustically. Brilliant strategy-purse out of the sow's ear of mediocrity?
And Barefoot had his hands full building up Kathy's image before the public; he had barely begun to succeed in that when the union squabbles broke out. An ex-narcotics addict and religious nut, a woman who had a criminal record… Johnny had his work cut out for him.