Georges gave his gentle half-smile that he uses to cover his thoughts the way I use my passport-picture face. "How can I know? All I know about your employer is that you are reluctant to talk about him and that he can afford to use one such as yourself as a messenger. But, Friday, I may appreciate even more sharply than you do how much capital investment must have gone into your design, your nurture, and your training... and therefore what a price your employer must have paid for your indentures-"

"I'm not indentured. I'm a Free Person."

"Then it cost him even more. Which leads to conjectures. Never mind, dear; I'll stop guessing. Am I serious? A man can wonder mightily what lies beyond the range. I'll supply you with my curriculum vitae; if it contains anything of interest to your employer, no doubt he'll let me know. Now about money: You need not worry about 'bleeding' Janet; money doesn't mean anything to her. But I am most willing to supply you with whatever cash you need using my own credit-and I have already established that my credit cards are honored here despite any political troubles. I used Credit Québec to pay for our midnight breakfast, I punched into this inn with American Express, then used Maple Leaf to pay for our brunch. So I have three valid cards and all match my ID." He grinned at me. "So bleed me, dear girl."

"But I don't want to bleed you any more than I want to bleed Janet. Look, we can try my card at San Jose; if that does not work, I'll happily borrow from you... and I can punch you the money as soon as I report in." (Or would Georges be willing to pull a swindle with Lieutenant Dickey's credit card for me?-damnably difficult for a woman to get cash with a man's card. Paying for something by sticking a card into a slot is one thing; using a card to draw cash money is a kettle of fish of another color.)

"Why do you speak of repayment? When I am forever in your debt?"

I chose to be obtuse. "Do you truly feel that you owe me something? Just for last night?"

"Yes. You were adequate."

I gasped. "Oh!"

He answered, unsmiling: "Would you rather I had said inadequate?"

I refrained from gasping. "Georges. Take off your clothes. I am going to take you back to bed, then kill you, slowly. At the end I am going to squeeze you and break your back in three places. 'Adequate.' 'Inadequate.'

He grinned and started unzipping.

I said, "Oh, stop that and kiss me! Then we are going to San Jose. 'Inadequate.' Which was I?"

It takes almost as long to go from Bellingham to San Jose as it does to go from Winnipeg to Vancouver but this trip we had seats. We emerged above ground at fourteen-fifteen. I looked around with interest, never having visited the Confederacy capital before.

The thing I first noticed was the amazing number of APVs bouncing like fleas all over the place and most of them taxicabs. I know of no other modern city that permits its air space to be infested to this extent. The streets were loaded with hansom cabs, too, and there were slidewalks bordering every street; nevertheless these power-drive pests were everywhere, like bicycles in Canton.

The second thing I noticed was the feel of San Jose. It was not a city. I now understood that classic description: "A thousand villages in search of a city."

San Jose does not seem to have any justification save politics. But California gets more out of politics than any other country I know of-utter unashamed and uninhibited democracy. You run into democracy in many places-New Zealand uses it in an attenuated form. But only in California will you find the clear-quill, raw-gum, two-hundred-proof, undiluted democracy. The voting age starts when a citizen is tall enough to pull the lever without being steadied by her nurse, and registrars are reluctant to disenfranchise a citizen short of a sworn cremation certificate.

I did not fully appreciate that last until I saw, in an election news story, that the corpsicles at Prehoda Pines Patience Park constituted three precincts all voting through preregistered proxies. ("Death, be not proud!")

I will not try to pass judgment as I was a grown woman before I encountered democracy even in its milder, nonmalignant form. Democracy is probably all right used in sparing amounts. The British Canadians use a dilute form and they seem to do all right. But only in California is everyone drunk on it all the time. There does not seem to be a day when there is not an election somewhere in California, and, for any one precinct, there is (so I was told) an election of some sort about once a month.

I suppose they can afford it. They have a mellow climate from British Canada to the Mexican Kingdom and much of the richest farm land on Earth. Their second favorite sport (sex) costs almost nothing in its raw form; like marijuana it is freely available everywhere. This leaves time and energy for the true California sport: gathering and yabbering about politics.

They elect everybody, from precinct parasite to the Chief Confederate ("The Chief"). But they unelect them almost as fast. For example the Chief is supposed to serve one six-year term. But, of the last nine chiefs, only two served a full six years; the others were recalled except that one who was lynched. In many cases an official has not yet been sworn in when the first recall petition is being circulated.

But Californians do not limit themselves to electing, recalling, indicting, and (sometimes) lynching their swarms of officials; they also legislate directly. Every election has on the ballot more proposed laws than candidates. The provincial and national representatives show some restraint-I have been assured that the typical California legislator will withdraw a bill if you can prove to her that pi can't equal three no matter how many vote to make it so. But grassroots legislation ("the initiative") has no such limitation.

For example three years ago a grassroots economist noticed that college graduates earned, on the average, about 30 percent more than their fellow citizens who lacked bachelor's degrees. Such an undemocratic condition is anathema to the California Dream, so, with great speed, an initiative was qualified for the next election, the measure passed, and all California high-school graduates and/or California citizens attaining eighteen years were henceforth awarded bachelor's degrees. A grandfather clause backdated this benefit eight years.

This measure worked beautifully; the holder of a bachelor's degree no longer had any undemocratic advantage. At the next election the grandfather clause was expanded to cover the last twenty years and there is a strong movement to extend this boon to all citizens.

Vox populi, vox Dei. I can't see anything wrong with it. This benevolent measure costs nothing and makes everyone (but a few soreheads) happier.

About fifteen o'clock Georges and I were sliding along the south side of the National Plaza in front of the Chief's Palace, headed for the main offices of MasterCard. Georges was telling me that he saw nothing wrong with my having asked to stop at a Burger King for a snack in lieu of luncheon-that, in his opinion, the giant burger, properly prepared from top sirloin substitute and the chocolate malt made with a minimum of chalk, constitutes California's only contribution to international haute cuisine.

I was agreeing with him while burping gently. A group of women and men, a dozen to twenty, were moving down the grand steps in front of the Palace and Georges had started to swing off to avoid them when I noticed the eagle-feather headdress on a little man in the middle of the group, spotted the much-photographed face under it, and checked Georges with one hand.

And caught something out of the corner of my eye: a figure coming out from behind a pillar at the top of the steps.

It triggered me. I pushed the Chief down flat to the steps, knocking a couple of his staff aside to do it, then bounded up to that pillar.