“You will, at the rate we’re going. You won’t have any choice in the matter.” Dar swallowed. “What’d I tell you?”
“What do you remember?”
“That I had a message from General Shacklar to the I.D.E. top brass—about a plan for a coup…”
Whitey nodded. “Perfect recall.”
Dar groaned and crumpled, covering his eyes.
Whitey leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard, laddie—we all make mistakes the first time out. At least, if you had to spill the beans, you did it to a friend.”
“ ‘Friend’?” Dar glared up. “How can I be sure, now?”
“Because I’ve spent a lot of money, and put myself in quite a bit of danger, just to help you—and when I heard your story, I was glad I had. Not that I think we can succeed, mind you—but I can’t let democracy go down without a fight.”
Somehow, Dar believed him. He frowned up at Whitey, against his headache. “You must’ve had a hunch I was doing something you believed in, then—to put yourself and Lona at risk.”
“Well, yes.” Whitey settled back, picking up a glass. “I did have a notion the gamble was worth it. Lona’s another matter, though. I didn’t make her come. She could’ve stayed behind, with plenty of money, and she knew it.”
Dar’s brows pulled together. “She doesn’t strike me as the self-sacrificing sort.”
“She isn’t. That line she feeds out, about wanting to wallow in luxury with plenty of leisure time to slaughter, is true down to the word—but she knows there are more important things. Such as having one person nearby who really cares about her—me—and freedom, without which she wouldn’t have a chance at luxury.”
Dar looked around. “Where is she?”
Whitey jerked his head toward the closed door. “Proofing the script.”
“It’s done?” Dar’s gaze steadied on Whitey’s face. “Any good?”
Whitey shrugged irritably. “Does it matter? It’ll get you where you need to go; that’s the important thing.”
Suddenly, something seemed wrong. Dar lifted his head. “What happened …? Oh. The voices stopped.”
“Voices? The 3DT, you mean?”
“Is that where they were coming from?” Dar turned to the wall screen, and saw the word “EMERGENCY!” floating in a blue sea. A voice said, “Indulgence, citizens. We have to interrupt to bring you news of a conspiracy against the whole of the Interstellar Dominion Electorates.” The word dissolved into the head and shoulders of an earnest-looking, handsome older man. “Sehn Loffer here, with news directed from I.D.E. Internal Security. We are threatened, fellow citizens—threatened by an insidious evil, creeping up on us everywhere, to choke the life out of our democracy and suck the blood of its freedom.”
Whitey muttered, “Lousy prose!”
Dar stared at him, appalled. “But he’s the top newsface! They’re hearing him all over the Solar System—and FTL liners will take this recording-cube to all the colonies within the month!”
“Yeah. ‘Nothing succeeds like excess.’ ”
“The villain may be your neighbor, your friend, your co-worker,” Loffer went on. “No one can know where the evil ones lurk—because, citizens, they are telepaths!”
Whitey stared Dar goggled.
“Insidious telepaths, their tendrils of thought snaking out to enfold your brains! All through the I.D.E. they are. How do we know? Because, for a month now. Security has been chasing a notorious telepath all the way from the marches, the outermost colonies, here to Luna itself! Time and again, they have almost caught him, only to have him whisked away into hiding, by local assistance!”
The “local assistance” swore under his breath.
“Who would aid a rogue telepath?” Loffer declaimed. “Who but another telepath? Wherever this monster goes, he finds help—so there must be telepaths spread throughout the I.D.E., helping him, working secretly, to undermine the foundations of our freedom and destroy our government—to take power themselves!”
“Uh—don’t I detect a few flaws in his logic?” Dar asked.
“Logic? What’s that?” Whitey snorted. “It feels right, doesn’t it? So it’s got to be true—doesn’t it?”
“But take heart, citizens!” Suddenly, Loffer fairly oozed calm strength. “Our noble Solar Patrol is pursuing this monster, and will not rest until they destroy him!”
“What does ‘right to fair trial’ mean?” Whitey wondered.
Smiling confidently, Loffer dissolved into a sea of plain blue, filling the screen. A voice said, “We now return you to ‘Starship Captain’s Wife.’ ”
Whitey pressed the button in the arm of his recliner, and the picture faded into an assortment of fruits in a basket; the wall-screen became only a three-dimensional still picture again.
“Uh—I thought reporting was supposed to be objective, just telling you the facts they’re sure of,” Dar said tentatively.
Whitey gave him a peculiar look. “No, you haven’t been to Terra before, have you?”
“But … why?” Dar exploded. “Announcements like that are going to panic the public! Why get everybody into a state of terror about it?”
“I have a notion,” Whitey muttered, “but I hope I’m wrong.”
“It’s got to be because they want to make absolutely sure they catch me. But why? Am I that much of a threat to them? And how’d they get the idea I’m a telepath?”
“Maybe they didn’t. ‘Telepath’ is a nice scare word, conjuring up somebody poking into your most private affairs, somebody having a huge, unnatural advantage that makes everybody else feel inferior—and, therefore, all the more willing to go out and help hunt him down. Useful, if they want to make sure they catch you. And as to your being a threat, well—the answer is, you don’t have to be much of a threat. Conspirators tend to not want to take chances, no matter how small. The LORDS party in the I.D.E. Assembly want to restrict individual rights, and they’ve never been so strong. Their opposition has fractured into a dozen splinter groups. If there’s an opposition leader, it’s Tarn Urkavne, the chairman of the CPR—the Coalition for the Protection of Rights. At least he’s officially the Opposition speaker. But his ‘Coalition’ is pretty weak—its members spend their time arguing over policy, instead of trying to do something.”
“But the LORDS aren’t trying to overthrow the whole I.D.E. government, are they?”
Whitey shrugged. “If they are, they’re not saying—of course. That’s high treason, boy. No, you may be sure whoever’s behind the coup are keeping their lips well sealed, and want to make sure everybody else does, too.”
The bedroom door opened.
“Well, enough of politics.” Whitey craned around in his seat, looking back over his shoulder. “Hi, honey.”
Lona swayed out into the sitting room, and the sight of her made Dar decide to stay among the living. He decided Whitey’s hangover cure was working. But she had a kind of glassy look in her eyes, a sort of fevered brilliance. Was she ill?
“I told you, you shouldn’t have stayed up waiting for me to finish,” Whitey said, frowning. “You get to bed, honey; you can still catch about three hours sleep before we have to leave.”
“How can I, with this running through my head?” Lona shoved a sheaf of papers at him.
Whitey squared the sheets on his lap, smiling up at her, almost shyly. “Liked it, huh?”
Lona nodded, with a tight smile; she looked as though she were about to explode.
Whitey grinned and turned to Dar, holding out the sheaf. “First hard copy. See what you think.”
Dar took the script and began to scan it. His eyes locked in after the third line, tracking the print at speech-speed, words thundering in his head. “Whitey, this is …”