There was a knock on the door, and Dzheenis, the only one mobile and unencumbered, went to answer it. He held a low-voiced colloquy with whoever had come, then pushed the panel wide, turned, and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America.”
“Don’t get up, and if anybody starts that damn music I’ll sing,” Hansen threatened as he came in. “George, it’s a small room and ought to be pretty safe. Why don’t you and Brenda stay, and the rest wait outside?”
“We can do that, Mr. President,” the Secret Service agent said.
“Good, thank you. I told you not to get up,” Hansen said to Steward, who had risen despite admonitions.
“I can move and my de’pa’olze can’t, not easily anyway. Won’t you sit down, Mr. President?”
“Thank you.”
The little boy focused on the new visitor, got to his feet, and took two steps before falling on his face. Alper snatched him up, muffled the screams, smiled “sorry” at the President, and took him to the bedroom.
“My son,” Peters said. “Named for my daddy. Alper wanted to make it John Junior, but I didn’t think that was a good idea.”
“Seems like a fine boy,” Hansen said. “Were those his first steps?”
“I reckon so.” Peters was grinning.
“Mr. President, you’re reputed to sip a Tom Collins now and again,” Steward commented, and offered a glass. “Here’s something you might like from a star too far away to see.”
Hansen took the glass and sipped. “Now that’s first class,” he said, echoing Prethuvenigis. “What’s it called?”
“Thivid,” Peters told him. “The n’saith make it from berries, and a tea that’s real good from the leaves of the same plant. Dzheenis, I’d take it kindly if you’d see to it Gene, here, gets a quarter-square of bottles of thivid to remember us by.”
“At your command, de’pa’olze.”
The Secret Service agents’ faces had gone stiff. Hansen looked up at them, then at a grinning Steward. He smiled slightly, sipped his drink, and said, “I take it you’ve decided to go with the Head of State option.”
Peters frowned. “I can’t see as I’ve got much choice.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Hansen agreed.
“No,” Dzheenis put in. “My de’pa’olze has been the catalyst for changes that are still propagating across the Web like waves from a dropped stone. Mr. President, I’m sure you get tired of hearing about stars you can’t see, but even we don’t know how far the influence reaches. One small thing: Trader 1049 came when asked, and the ferassi have been cooperating with free Grallt, bür, and humans. Nothing like that has ever happened before, and John Peters set in motion the train of events that led to it.”
“Interesting times,” the President observed. “Not the best time for humans to get mixed up in it.”
“But you are,” Dzheenis said. “If ever there were Makers of radios and associated technology they have failed or been lost, and as for computers—well, Mr. President, the human species will be rich soon if you do it right, and that will mean you’ll be mixed up with it, as you say, as thoroughly as anybody.”
“The United States hasn’t seen much good out of it,” Hansen objected.
“That ain’t our fault,” Peters observed.
“No, it isn’t,” Dzheenis confirmed. “Warnocki’s shipyard is in Brazil because he couldn’t get permits; he already has customers. Captain Collins’s anti-pirate fleet operates under Grallt law and funding because the United States wouldn’t license it; we just heard of their first kill. We never released the funds SPADET 1 earned, because we found out right away that they’d just get taken away from the sailors. Many of them are back with us, now, with modest wealth and great demand for their services, because you couldn’t wait for them to spend the money, you had to grab it at gunpoint.”
“I’ve heard all that,” Hansen growled. “I believe it. Hell, I’ve said it often enough, that’s how I got elected in the first place. But dammit, there has to be some organization, otherwise it all falls apart.”
Peters snorted. “Somebody’s got to drive. It don’t mean the driver gets the side meat an’ ever’body else gets hoof and horns.”
Hansen stared into space. “That’s not a principle very many people in this town will be anxious to apply.”
“No, and that’s why I gotta do this.” Peters looked Hansen in the eye. “I done took the Pledge of Allegiance more times than I can count, with and without God in it. I’m still proud to have been an American, but now I gotta withdraw that pledge.”
“I as well,” Steward put in. “I have a new allegiance.”
“Voluntarily, before witnesses. That’s all it takes,” Hansen observed. “A toast to the new order.” They all sipped, and Hansen went on, “Leaves me with a tough job, though.”
Peters indicated the big Grallt with a wave. “Lemme tell you the secret to bein’ a good boss,” he said in a light tone. “Find somebody twice as smart as you are, hypnotize him, and tell him ‘handle it.’ Then sit back and act modest when the compliments start pourin’ in.”
The others chuckled, even the Secret Service agents suppressing smiles. “I’ll keep that advice in mind, John,” Hansen said. There was a pause during which Steward brought more drinks. “Well, that’s the main thing I came for,” he observed, “but there’s a couple of minor matters.”
“How’s that?” Peters asked.
“First the good news. Donald Peters is in EPA custody in Pittsburgh, and as far as I know healthy. I’ve sent Secret Service agents to look into it. We should have more news by Friday.”
Peters nodded. “Granpap’s been preyin’ on my mind. Thankee kindly for the information, an’ I’ll be waitin’ for more.”
“Soon, I hope.” Hansen sipped his drink. “Now the bad news: I’d intended to return your spacesuit, but that won’t be possible. It’s been rather thoroughly destroyed, along with a good chunk of a hill at Oak Ridge.”
Peters nodded. “I reckon they figured out how to break open the power nodule,” he observed. “I’ll get another. Any survivors?”
“Not of the lab, no. There are dependents, of course.”
“Get us the names an’ we’ll send condolences, at least,” Peters suggested. “That about it?”
Hansen smiled. “I reckon so, as I think you’d say.”
Peters smiled back. “I reckon I would. Stay for dinner?”
“To my vast regret, no. I’ve got a Cabinet meeting in—” he glanced at his watch “—two hours, and I’ll probably eat a sandwich over working papers, with people whining at me.”
“Consider it a standin’ invitation.” Peters held out a hand. “Good luck, Gene.”
They shook. “Good luck to you, John,” Hansen said. “I think we’ll both need a lot of it. George, it’s time to go. Do you need to sweep the hall first?”
“No, the others are out there,” the agent said practically.
“Let’s go.”
Peters, Dzheenis, and Steward watched them leave. “He seems a good man,” Khurs observed from the couch.
“Yes, I think so,” Peters agreed. “Will dinner be soon?”
“Soon enough,” Dzheenis said cheerfully. “And there is a great deal on your plate.”
“Ooh!” Khurs cried out. “Something just happened.”
“Let’s go in the bedroom and find out what,” Steward suggested. “Grallt pregnancies are still a little new to me.” Denis came in from the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand; he raised his eyebrows and followed Khurs and the doctor out of sight.
Peters looked at Ander, still curled up asleep with Eve in her lap, and at Lisi, who was swaddling the now-sleeping baby. Dzheenis hovered, regarding his mate and offspring. “Yes, there’s a great deal on my plate,” the depa’olze of Peters pa’ol thought to himself. “But I’ll make the best meal I can of it.”