"We'll fix that," growled Underwood. He glanced at Mike questioningly.

Mike smiled and turned a lazy eye on Rebecca. She straightened a little in her chair and said softly:

"To sum up, the economic situation looks very promising. With electrical power guaranteed and the town's production facilities in full operation, our only problem is the shortage of hard currency and the primitive state of banking and credit in Europe at this time. As to that-"

She sat up very straight. "My family has been discussing the matter-my very extended family-and has come to a decision. My uncle Uriel will stay in Badenburg, since he is well situated there. But several of my relatives will be arriving here soon, including three of my distant cousins. Their names are Samuel, Moses and Francisco. Samuel's father is a prominent banker in Italy. Moses' father is a financial adviser to Emperor Ferdinand in Vienna. And Francisco's grandfather is Don Joseph Nasi, who was formerly-"

Mike laughed. "The Ottoman Empire's effective foreign minister! And the nephew of Doсa Gracia Mendes, who transferred her business-Europe's largest banking and gem-trade concern-from Portugal to Turkey after the expulsion of the marranos. Did quite well, I understand."

Everyone except Rebecca was goggling at Mike. He shrugged. "I listen to my National Security Adviser, folks. That's why I spend so much time with her."

Rebecca clasped her hands demurely. "He is a good student, too." She smiled. "Very attentive."

A little chuckle went up. Rebecca's smile became wintry. "When the Spanish expelled the Jews, most of them went to Istanbul. The Ottomans welcomed them, you see, especially since many of the Jews who came were experts in science and technology. Gun manufacturing, among other things. Sultan Bayazid is reported to have said: 'You call Ferdinand a wise king, he who impoverishes his country and enriches our own?' "

"There's a lesson here," murmured Piazza.

Rebecca turned her eyes toward him. "There is, you understand, a condition."

Piazza snorted. "I should hope so! Citizenship, rights, liberties, the works."

"More," said Rebecca firmly. "We Jews must be allowed to break out of the economic ghetto in which Europe has forced us. Moneylenders can get rich, but they live on the sufferance of princes."

"Not a problem," growled Underwood. "Matter of fact, if any of your relatives has got some capital to put up-for which they'll get stock and a working partnership if they want it, me and Ollie Reardon and Greg Ferrara have been thinking about-"

Bill Porter looked alarmed. "Quentin, we need the coal-"

"Relax!" snapped Underwood. "I wouldn't be doing much of it myself. I've got relatives too, you know. My son-in-law's-"

Ferrara chimed in. "I wouldn't be doing much either, except giving some technical advice. But we really do need to start building a chemical plant. Sulfuric acid is about as basic for modern industry as steel"-for a moment, his face looked aggrieved-"even though most people don't realize it, and-"

Mike rapped the table with his knuckles, in first-class schoolmaster form. Melissa grinned. "Later!" he said. "Enough!"

The hubbub settled. "Christ, let you eager beavers get started on all your pet business schemes and we'll never get anywhere!" His smile took the sting out of the words. In truth, Mike favored most of those schemes. But he was also a firm believer in the old saw: First things first.

"The first thing-in fact, the key thing," he said forcefully, "is to resolve the political issue. I think it's time to call the constitutional convention-and then have another election. This 'temporary emergency committee' has gone as far as it can."

Silence fell on the room. Nat Davis puffed out his cheeks. "Are we ready for that?" he asked uncertainly. "I haven't really given it much thought, to be honest."

Melissa snorted. But the sarcastic remark about to issue from her lips was cut short by James Nichols.

"We're ready, Nat." James glanced at Melissa, Ed and Willie Ray. "Actually, the subcommittee finished drafting our proposal last week. Everything got put on hold because of the crisis in Jena. But-yeah, we're ready."

Hudson nodded. Piazza reached into his briefcase and began hauling out stapled sheets of paper. He gave Mike a questioning glance.

"Pass 'em around, Ed. It's time."

The ruckus started long before anyone got through the material. Mike was not surprised-talk about mixed blessings!-to see that Underwood led the charge.

"I don't like this crap!" snapped Quentin. "Not one damned bit! Why'd you waste your time on this silly shit about at-large elections? Why the hell aren't we-"

As always, Melissa charged into the fray as eagerly as Underwood, and just as bluntly. "Screw you, too! At-large elections are way better than geographic representation-in the lower house, at least."

Mike intervened before the usual Melissa-Quentin fracas could reach thermonuclear proportions. "Cut it out! Both of you!"

Sullen silence fell over the two disputants. Mike suppressed a sigh. Each in their own way, Quentin and Melissa were invaluable, but there were times…

He decided to start with Melissa, since even though he basically agreed with her it would help to keep the issue focused. Concrete, not abstract.

"Whether or not at-large as opposed to residential representation is better or worse in the general scheme of things is neither here nor there. This isn't a constitution for thirteen colonies scattered across half a continent. It's a constitution for one geographically small colony, about as concentrated and packed with people as Holland. Or Calcutta. And we're not in the same situation as the Founding Fathers were in 1789. We're still back in 1776. Our revolution's just starting."

So much for generalities. Now he shifted his attention to the real problem, which was Underwood. "Quentin, you're letting sentiment get in the way of practicality. I had pretty much the same reaction, when I first heard about this idea. But the more I thought about it, the better it sounded. We're in a completely fluid situation here. People move constantly from one place to the next. You know that as well as I do. How can you register somebody to vote in a refugee center? When-hopefully-they'll be living somewhere else in a few weeks. The big advantage to at-large elections-"

No good. Nat Davis and Greg Ferrara were barging in now, hollering on the side of what Mike called "sentiment." Mike's attempt to remain Washingtonian lasted about three minutes. Thereafter he was bellowing with the rest of them.

All except Rebecca, of course. She adopted what might be called a Shakespearean stance. Or Oxfordian. Such, at least, seemed the best interpretation of her occasional muttered remarks:

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… last syllable of recorded time… sound and fury, signifying nothing…

"Are you all finished?" she demanded, perhaps half an hour later. The surliness in her tone-which, from Rebecca, was unheard of-brought everyone up short.

"Children!" she snapped. "Squabbling over your toys!"

She glared around the room. "What difference does it make? You have your Bill of Rights-no quarrel there. You have your citizenship requirements-no quarrel there either. You have your elections and all the other trappings of democracy-any arguments over that petty matter?"

Silence. "So what is it then?" In a little singsong: "'I think we should register people at-large. I think we should register them by residence.'" She took a deep breath. Then: