«No. But don't you worry about it. Rog will apologize to the house for your — I mean his absence and will ask for a proxy rule under no-objection procedure. Then he will read the speech of the Supreme Minister Designate — Bill is working on it right now. Then in his own person he will move that the government be confirmed. Second. No debate. Pass. Adjourn sine die — and everybody rushes for home and starts promising the voters two women in every bed and a hundred Imperials every Monday morning. Routine.» He added, «Oh, yes! Some member of the Humanity Party will move a resolution of sympathy and a basket of flowers, which will pass in a fine hypocritical glow. They'd rather send flowers to Bonforte's funeral.» He scowled.
«It is actually as simple as that? What would happen if the proxy rule were refused? I thought the Grand Assembly didn't recognize proxies.»
«They don't, for all ordinary procedure. You either pair, or you show up and vote. But this is just the idler wheels going around in parliamentary machinery. If they don't let him appear by proxy tomorrow, then they've got to wait around until he is well before they can adjourn sine die and get on with the serious business of hypnotizing the voters. As it is, a mock quorum has been meeting daily and adjourning ever since Quiroga resigned. This Assembly is as dead as Caesar's ghost, but it has to be buried constitutionally.»
«Yes — but suppose some idiot did object?»
«No one will. Oh, it could force a constitutional crisis. But it won't happen.»
Neither one of us said anything for a while. Dak made no move to leave. «Dak, would it make things easier if I showed up and gave that speech?»
«Huh? Shucks, I thought that was settled. You decided that it wasn't safe to risk another appearance short of an utter save-the-baby emergency. On the whole, I agree with you. There's the old saw about the pitcher and the well.»
«Yes. But this is just a walk-through, isn't it? Lines as fixed as a play? Would there be any chance of anyone pulling any surprises on me that I couldn't handle?»
«Well, no. Ordinarily you would be expected to talk to the press afterwards, but your recent illness is an excuse. We could slide you through the security tunnel and avoid them entirely.» He smiled grimly. «Of course, there is always the chance that some crackpot in the visitors' gallery has managed to sneak in a gun ... Mr. B. always referred to it as the “shooting gallery” after they winged him from it.»
My leg gave a sudden twinge. «Are you trying to scare me off?»
«No.»
«You pick a funny way to encourage me. Dak, be level with me. Do you want me to do this job tomorrow? Or don't you?»
«Of course I do! Why the devil do you think I stopped in on a busy day? Just to chat?»
The Speaker pro tempore banged his gavel, the chaplain gave an invocation that carefully avoided any differences between one religion and another — and everyone kept silent. The seats themselves were only half filled but the gallery was packed with tourists.
We heard the ceremonial knocking amplified over the speaker system; the Sergeant at Arms rushed the mace to the door. Three times the Emperor demanded to be admitted, three times he was refused. Then he prayed the privilege; it was granted by acclamation. We stood while Willem entered and took his seat back of the Speaker's desk. He was in uniform as Admiral General and was unattended, as was required, save by escort of the Speaker and the Sergeant at Arms.
Then I tucked my wand under my arm and stood up at my place at the front bench and, addressing the Speaker as if the sovereign were not present, I delivered my speech. It was not the one Corpsman had written; that one went down the oubliette as soon as I had read it. Bill had made it a straight campaign speech, and it was the wrong time and place.
Mine was short, non-partisan, and cribbed right straight out of Bonforte's collected writings, a paraphrase of the one the time before when he formed a caretaker government. I stood foursquare for good roads and good weather and wished that everybody would love everybody else, just the way all us good democrats loved our sovereign and he loved us. It was a blankverse lyric poem of about five hundred words and if I varied from Bonforte's earlier speech then I simply went up on my lines.
They had to quiet the gallery.
Rog got up and moved that the names I had mentioned in passing be confirmed — second and no objection — and the clerk cast a white ballot. As I marched forward, attended by one member of my own party and one member of the opposition, I could see members glancing at their watches and wondering if they could still catch the noon shuttle.
Then I was swearing allegiance to my sovereign, under and subject to the constitutional limitations, swearing to defend and continue the rights and privileges of the Grand Assembly, and to protect the freedoms of the citizens of the Empire wherever they might be — and incidentally to carry out the duties of His Majesty's Supreme Minister. The chaplain mixed up the words once, but I straightened him out.
I thought I was breezing through it as easy as a curtain speech — when I found that I was crying so hard that I could hardly see. When I was done, Willem said quietly to me, «A good performance, Joseph.» I don't know whether he thought he was talking to me or to his old friend — and I did not care. I did not wipe away the tears; I just let them drip as I turned back to the Assembly. I waited for Willem to leave, then adjourned them.
Diana, Ltd., ran four extra shuttles that afternoon. New Batavia was deserted — that is to say there were only the court and a million or so butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and civil servants left in town — and a skeleton cabinet.
Having gotten over my «cold» and appeared publicly in the Grand Assembly Hall, it no longer made sense to hide out. As the supposed Supreme Minister I could not, without causing comment, never be seen; as the nominal head of a political party entering a campaign for a general election I had to see people — some people, at least. So I did what I had to do and got a daily report on Bonforte's progress toward complete recovery. His progress was good, if slow; Capek reported that it was possible, if absolutely necessary, to let him appear any time now — but he advised against it; he had lost almost twenty pounds and his co-ordination was poor.
Rog did everything possible to protect both of us. Mr. Bonforte knew now that they were using a double for him and, after a first fit of indignation, had relaxed to necessity and approved it. Rog ran the campaign, consulting him only on matters of high policy, and then passing on his answers to me to hand out publicly when necessary.
But the protection given me was almost as great; I was as hard to see as a topflight agent. My office ran on into the mountain beyond the opposition leader's apartments (we did not move over into the Supreme Minister's more palatial quarters; while it would have been legal, it just «was not done» during a caretaker regime) — they could be reached from the rear directly from the lower living room, but to get at me from the public entrance a man had to pass about five check points — except for the favored few who were conducted directly by Rog through a bypass tunnel to Penny's office and from there into mine.
The setup meant that I could study the Farleyfile on anyone before he got to see me. I could even keep it in front of me while he was with me, for the desk had a recessed viewer the visitor could not see, yet I could wipe it out instantly if he turned out to be a floor pacer. The viewer had other uses; Rog could give a visitor the special treatment, rushing him right in to see me, leave him alone with me — and stop in Penny's office and write me a note, which would then be projected on the viewer — such quick tips as, «Kiss him to death and promise nothing,» or, «All he really wants is for his wife to be presented at court. Promise him that and get rid of him,» or even, «Easy on this one. It's a “swing” district and he is smarter than he looks. Turn him over to me and I'll dicker.»