Chapter 13 — IMPEACHMENT

But politics, even more than life, is a phenomenon of ups and downs. The day I set foot in Ybor after the Saturn excursion, I could perhaps have run for president and won. Six months later it was all I could do to avoid being lynched.

I should provide some background on my abrupt shift of status.

If there was one thing I intended to accomplish it was the elimination of the drug trade. Illicit, mind-modifying, addictive substances were pouring into the planet from the rest of the System and into the north from the south, and the state of Sunshine was perhaps the primary access point. The drugs were illegal, but that seemed only to make the trade more lucrative for the criminal element. In my time in the Navy I had acted to cut off the major middlemen of this trade, the Samoans pirate band, but like a hydra, the drug trade had sprouted new heads and seemed undiminished. Now I had opportunity to strike more directly, for the key to it was the market; cut off the market, and the supply will dwindle. A marketless product is doomed.

The prior efforts of the Sunshine enforcement agency had been sievelike, and it seemed to me that there had to be corruption. I intended to weed it out. I contacted Roulette Phist of the Belt—that is to say, Rue, my lovely onetime wife—and she used her connections to locate a crew of about fifty drug experts who were loaned to us. These were not the kind that pontificants on the physiology and psychology of addiction use as examples; these were men and women and children who could, in some cases, literally smell the drugs and who knew the sinister bypaths of distribution. I did not inquire how these folk had come by their expertise; I interviewed them only to verify that they intended to serve our interest faithfully. Some few I rejected, but in general Rue's selection was excellent; we quickly formed the most savvy drug-control team extant.

We put them to work first merely to identify the routes, not to close them. That was one reason why I seemed to have accomplished little in my first year in office; we were still in the developmental stage. I did not want another hydra experience; I wanted to kill the entire monster at one blow, when I finally did strike. The agents were instructed to accept any bribes offered and to report them privately, spending the money for themselves in ways that no ordinary enforcement agents would, so as to allay any suspicion. They enjoyed that part of it. For six months they infiltrated the delivery network of Sunshine, satisfying the professionals that business remained as usual; the new governor would not be any more effective at cutting the pipeline than any other had been.

Then we struck. We went after the personnel, not the drugs, and we got them. The line had been cut, and ninety percent of the drug flow ceased. Overnight.

Meanwhile, we had instituted another program: DeTox. This was intended to wean the clients away from the criminal sources. We had been confiscating illicit drug shipments all along, as we intercepted them; that was standard, but everyone knew that only twenty percent of the total flow was tapped that way, and the drug moguls simply increased the flow to compensate. In fact, news of the drug busts kept the consumers scared and therefore willing to pay higher prices. Thus the busts were actually good for business. The drug movers made more money than they lost, as a result of the busts; this was a fact that the law-enforcement agencies had taken centuries to catch on to. At any rate, we did not destroy the drugs we intercepted; we set up secret laboratories to test and refine them, and built up stores of high-quality stuff. We let it be known that this was available on the gray market; addicts could buy from us cheaper than from the criminal network.

We kept a legal crew operating full-time to cover our legal traces, knowing that others would not understand. Thorley, of course, got wind of it and blew the whistle; there was an immediate fuss that died out after a few days, the net effect of which was to alert any addicts who had not yet gotten the news that this competitive source of supply was available. Thorley hammered away at us periodically, when other news was scarce, asking pointed questions we did not answer—and steadily our business increased. My political enemies, from Tocsin on down, were silent, hoping that all I needed was enough rope to hang myself. In that, perhaps, they were correct.

Then we cut the line, and abruptly there was very little available on the criminal circuit. Prices skyrocketed. Suddenly the addicts came to us in swarms. All a person had to do was identify himself, take his dose at our station, and pay for it. If he had no money we would trade for information. We were rapidly acquiring a comprehensive file of reasonably reliable tips to supplement what our other team was bringing in; we cross-referenced it constantly and cut off those who gave us false leads.

Naturally the hydra's heads sprouted again, but this time we were watching. Our moles traced the new lines as they developed. It was harder for the dealers, because now they had serious competition for clients and could not jack up their prices. Not only were Sunshine prices lower, but quality was higher and reliability much better. The greater part of the market was now ours. In due course we struck again at the illegals and wiped them out—again.

I had become a successful drug mogul, but my heart was pure. I knew it was necessary first to extirpate the criminal connection; then we could deal effectively with the problem of individual drug abuse. The cries of outrage sponsored by Thorley's exposés diminished; increasingly the authorities elsewhere on the planet were watching us. It seemed that we now had the most effective drug-control program on Jupiter. True, there were serious legal and ethical questions about our operation. But we obtained our merchandise free, by seizing it from the competition, and our operational costs were covered by the fees we charged our clients. Our books were on public record; our program cost the taxpayer nothing. Crime was dropping, partly because we now knew who the criminals were, and partly because they no longer had as much incentive to commit crime. About half of all crime in the state had been related to the drug trade; that was no longer so. Some dealers turned themselves in, plea-bargaining for their drugs; we imprisoned them for their crimes but provided them with their doses in prison. One might have thought that such people would consider that to be no bargain, but it seemed that they considered themselves better off than they had been outside. On the street illicit dealers were now killing each other for increased shares of the diminishing market; we offered safety.

We also did try to detoxify and rehabilitate them, with their consent (which was not forced), by shifting them to related drugs that were less addictive and/or damaging. It was not possible to cure a true addict, but he could be weaned to a milder, cheaper, and safer drug. Price, health, and legitimacy—these were powerful inducements.

All this took time, but in three years we had reduced crime in Sunshine to its lowest rate in the past century, and several other states were instituting similar programs. The legal complications were ameliorating; law does tend to become pragmatic about success. It was evident that we were winning the battle against drugs and crime. Obviously the criminal element had to do something about this or it would be finished. Therein lay our mistake: we underestimated the will and ability of the hydra to strike back.

Spirit and I should have known, for we had been combat officers in the Navy. But we had been seventeen years in civilian life, which was longer than our military tenure, and perhaps we had gotten soft. We were fighting pirates as savagely as we had in the Navy, but it didn't seem the same. One gets jaded, and reflexes relax. Maybe this was a lesson we needed, savage as it turned out to be.

Their strike was as swift and thorough as one of our drug-line cuts but had an element of subtlety that was a masterstroke. They did not go after the police or the program personnel; they went after me.

It started, for me, when one of our tame addicts blew the whistle—he claimed—on the biggest secret of my administration: a massive payoff by the drug moguls. "I was a courier for the money," he said. "I took it from the laundry in Ami and brought it to Hassee every week."

He was interviewed, live, anonymously, by a reporter for Post Times, a major newsfax that did not favor us. "How much money?"

"A lot. Governors don't come cheap. Twenty-five super-gees a week."

"Twenty-five whats?"

"Super-grands."

"Oh. So this has nothing to do with gravity, other than being an extremely grave charge." The interviewer chuckled, but the whistle blower stared at him as if he were an idiot. "And a super-grand is—"

The courier adjusted visibly to the ignorance of the uninitiated. "A grand is a thousand dollars. A super-grand is a grand of grands."

"A thousand thousands? One million dollars?"

"You got it."

"A week?"

"Twenty-five a week," the courier explained patiently.

"Twenty-five million dollars a week?" The reporter seemed dazed.

"That's what I said."

"How could you even carry such an amount?"

"Well, it's in gees, mostly. Thousand dollar bills. That's how it comes out of the laundry. Packs of a hundred—two hundred and fifty packs, split between two cases. It's a load, but mostly I just ride the train with it."

"The laundry?"

"The fence-bank who launders the money, so it can't be traced easy. Got to have a good laundry or the tax boys'd be on it."

"I see. And where does this... this twenty-five million dollars a week... where does it come from, ultimately?"

"The big boys down south. The drug wholesalers."

"The big criminal suppliers?"

"Right. They put it in the pipeline to the laundry, and I pick it up in Ami."

"In two suitcases," the interviewer said, getting it straight. "And you take it where?"

"To Hassee."

"The state capital. By regular commuter train?"

"Yeah. So I can keep the bags with me. I don't want to check 'em into no cargo hold."

"I see your point. And to whom do you deliver them?"

"A guy called Sancho."

"Sancho!" I exclaimed as I watched. "That can't be!"

"Who is Sancho?" the interviewer asked.

"Some spic who works for the governor's sister. That's all I know. Always wears gloves, has a scarred face. I think he's an illegal. Small guy, talks in a whisper."

"Sancho works for Spirit Hubris?"

"Yeah. Or maybe for the governor direct. I don't know. He's the one who takes the money, anyway. I don't give it to nobody but him."

"Does he give you a receipt?"

The courier burst out laughing.

"No receipt for illicit business," the interviewer said, nettled. "How do your employers know you really deliver it?"

"I'm alive, ain't I?"

"Oh. I presume that if it doesn't arrive complete, there'd be a complaint?"

"There'd be a laser beam in one ear and out the other. I'd never dare cheat; those boys play for keeps."

"Then why are you talking to me now?"

"I'm out of a job."

"They fired you? But if you didn't cheat—"

"My face was getting familiar. A courier's shelf life is only a few weeks, then he's got to be replaced. Before the narcs catch on."

"Then you knew it was a temporary job."

"Yeah. But I was supposed to get a good settlement. All that money to the governor, and they couldn't spare a measly one s-gee for me."

"You expected a—a bonus for good performance? Of one super-grand? So you're blowing the whistle?"

"Yeah. It's risky, but it's a matter of principle."

"I see. What does this Sancho do with the money?"

"Takes it into a warehouse. After that, I don't know. I'd guess the gov's saving it, you know, for retirement."

"Twenty-five million dollars? Some retirement!"

"Yeah. I'd settle for that."

"And this is just one week's payment? How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since the big drug-bust program started. I've only been on it the past six weeks, but they've been coming to that warehouse maybe five, six months, and I don't know where else before that."

"But at twenty-five million dollars a week, for five months, that would be a good half a billion dollars!"

"Yeah. It's one sweet racket."

I shook my head. There was nothing to this, of course. I was not on the take. But why should someone broadcast such a claim, knowing it would almost immediately be refuted? One thing was certain: Sancho had taken no money from anyone, for anything. I didn't even need to ask Spirit about that; I knew.

But there was a considerable stir about the exposé. The State Senate demanded information, and the courier provided it. He solemnly led a newscrew to the warehouse where he said he had turned over the money.

By this time Spirit was with me. We sat back and watched the vid-cast. Our personnel had instructions to cooperate completely with the investigation; we had nothing to hide, and indeed were curious as to the outcome of this charade.

It was indeed one of our warehouses, used for storing campaign literature. Much of that literature would be useful again when I ran for reelection, so we had saved it, to keep our campaign budget as low as possible. Nothing incriminating there.

They opened the door, entered, and checked around inside. A search warrant was required for this, but I had waived it; I wanted them to search it.

There, hidden under piled campaign posters, was an enormous pile of money. Packs of thousand-dollar bills, hundreds of them, thousands of them!

The police took over the building, confiscating the money as evidence. In a few days the count was official: approximately half a billion dollars in used bills, there in my warehouse, just as the courier had said.

Too late we realized the truth; it was a frame. They had planted the money there, then planted the "courier," and suddenly I was in trouble. It was my warehouse, and the money was there.

Meanwhile, other reporters were seeking the other end of the chain, interviewing the drug moguls of the nations to the south. Surprisingly those hidden figures confirmed the payoffs: they claimed that I had put such a squeeze on their operations that they had had to come to terms to stay in business. True, very little of their commodity was sold in Sunshine now, so as to maintain appearances, but the state remained the major pipeline for delivery to other regions of North Jupiter. These deliveries were permitted to continue, as long as the graft was paid. "He's got a choke hold on us," one mogul admitted. "We've got to pay."

"But you can't market your product in Sunshine?"

"We make up the difference in the other states."

Thus, it seemed, Sunshine was simply passing its problem on to the other states. The crackdown was mostly for show.

That was enough for the State Legislature, A bill of impeachment was introduced and debated, and somehow it sailed through with phenomenal velocity. Objections were brushed aside or voted down by bloc—and therein was another pattern. A narrow majority was held by the members of a coalition formed of the more conservative members of my own party and those of President Tocsin's party. It was evident that Tocsin, perceiving an opportunity, had issued a private directive, and they were obeying with partisan discipline. This was his chance to, as he had put it during my trip to Saturn, see me hung by the balls. It hardly mattered what the facts were; the opposition was determined to see to my undoing. I, it seemed, had been fool enough to provide them an opening.

Megan seemed almost resigned. "I had just begun to believe that that man would not succeed in getting you as he got me," she said sadly. She meant Tocsin, of course. "It can be very hard for an honest person to anticipate the deviousness of one like him."

The Senate voted, and just like that, I was impeached, found guilty, and removed from office.

All this hurt, of course, but my attention was distracted by more immediate concerns. A grand jury had been formed to investigate me, with an eye to arranging for criminal prosecution. I could, all too soon, find myself in prison. But what really upset me was the demolition of my reputation. Why was no one ready to believe the truth? I had been a hero; now I was a criminal in the eyes of the public. I had been shaken and disgusted by the adverse reaction to the pardon earlier; now I was shaken and disgusted and angry. I was determined to do something about it.

I used my own connections to ferret out the agents of the plot against me. Specifically, I called QYV. That nefarious organization had caused me trouble in space, but was now more or less on my side.

I didn't even have to explain. My call was answered by Reba. She was older than she had been, her hair graying, but, of course, that could be camouflage. I got the impression that she had been rising through her echelons just as Khukov had been doing through his and I had through mine—until recently.

"It's about time you called," she said severely. "You made the perhaps fatal error of losing your paranoia and allowing the conspirators to catch you."

"I'll try to be more paranoid henceforth," I said humbly.

"It's a frame, of course," she continued. "Tocsin made a deal with the drug moguls to eliminate a mutual enemy. But you can still prevail if you get the truth before the public."

"The public will assume I'm just trying to cover up my guilt," I said dispiritedly.

She smiled. "You merely need to use the appropriate avenue."

"Avenue?"

She sighed. "I'm really not supposed to give you advice, you know."

"But your career is hitched to mine, isn't it?" I asked her, knowing it was true. She was good at concealing her reactions but not good enough. "You gained some of your own objective when I cracked down on the drug trade in Sunshine, and you will gain more if I get into a position to extend that crackdown. You don't want to throw me away."

She grimaced. "Just remember who helped you when, Hubris."

"I have never had a problem with my memory."

"Send Sancho to Thorley." She clicked off.

I pondered that, and indeed the avenue became apparent. I talked to Spirit, and she nodded. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"We have not been devious enough," I said. "I realize this is a sacrifice for you, however."

"Not as great a sacrifice as your career," she said. "It may be time to retire Sancho, anyway; he has become a liability."

In due course Thorley's response appeared. He had, it seemed, interviewed Sancho, that mysterious figure. The key portion went like this: "What is your identity?"

"I am Sancho." The figure was exactly as described by the courier: small, scarred face, gloves, and the speech in a hoarse whisper. Obviously a fugitive Hispanic.

"The one who accepted the money for Governor Hubris?"

"No! I never accepted any money from anyone."

"But the money was found in the warehouse that you—"

"No, señor. I was not there. I was elsewhere."

"Elsewhere? Where?"

"I cannot say."

"Will you appear before a grand jury or legislative committee and tell your story under oath?"

"No, señor."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no existence here."

"No legal papers? No citizenship?"

"Sancho—he does not exist."

"Oh, a pseudonym! And if the person you really are is discovered—"

"Much trouble, señor! I must be secret."

Thorley turned to speak to the audience directly. "I agreed to interview Sancho anonymously; that is, to honor his privacy of identity. I shall not violate that pledge. I shall just say that I have satisfied myself that this is indeed Sancho, and that he has convinced me that he was elsewhere at the time he was reported to be accepting the payments for Governor Hubris. I believe that this portion of the charge against Governor Hubris is false."

The report was a news sensation. Thorley was obviously no fan of mine, and his reputation for integrity was impeccable. A wedge had been driven into the case against me, and that case was beginning to split. There was a flurry of investigation into the matter, none of which succeeded in locating Sancho, who seemed to have vaporized after the interview. No evidence was produced that Sancho had been in the vicinity of the critical warehouse in the past six months but also none that he hadn't been there. The drug moguls had chosen well, in implicating Sancho, because of his inability to exonerate himself.

Still, the interview helped. Analyses were done of the recorded image and voice of Sancho, his scarred face and gloved hands, and it was established that this was indeed he. Sancho had always operated in deep privacy, but he was not a ghost. There were scattered pictures of him, and there were people who had met him in passing. Stress analysis of his voice indicated that he was not lying. Thus the challenges to Thorley's presentation came to nothing, and it rapidly assumed the status of fact.

This, however, did not establish my innocence. I could have used some other intermediary who resembled Sancho, though no such personage was in evidence. The drug moguls insisted that Sancho had accepted the money and could not be exonerated unless he was physically interrogated. The opposition had a vested interest in maintaining the case against me. The money had been delivered to that warehouse, after all. So Sancho seemed halfway innocent, but I still seemed guilty. It was a perplexing situation.

We sent Sancho to Thorley again. Two weeks after the interview, Thorley followed up with a written column on the subject. I quote it here entire, because in retrospect I perceive it as the pivotal point in my career.

LET JUSTICE BE DONE

Thorley

I dislike, on principle, to involve myself personally in the events I analyze professionally. Nevertheless, on occasion this becomes necessary, and this is one such.

My relationship with Hope Hubris extends back fourteen years. I covered his first political candidacy, in the course of which I intercepted an attack directed against him and his family. I have been asked, since that event, why I bothered. I can only answer that it is possible for honest men to differ, and I do differ philosophically with Hubris, but I do not espouse assassination as a mode of politics. I do not doubt that Hubris would have done the same for me. One reacts to a given circumstance as one must, and situations are not always of our choosing.

During that encounter Hubris promised me that never would he interfere with the freedom of the press. One might consider this to be irrelevant to the issue, but it is as important to me as my life. I do not suggest that Hubris would have been inclined to suppress the media, merely that he was thereafter committed to uphold the free dissemination of news at all times. He has been scrupulous in this regard and has denied the press no information that pertained to its legitimate interests. The press, I might add, has not treated him kindly in return. Were Hubris not a man of honor, the press might have found itself in less comfortable circumstance in the state of Sunshine; certainly other governors have had little difficulty circumventing the Sunshine Law that keeps public affairs open to the public that both press and government supposedly serve. When, as governor, Hubris traveled to Saturn, I asked to accompany him, as a representative of the press; he acquiesced with perfect courtesy throughout, though this can hardly have been his preference. He has also seen to it that I have had direct access to information concerning his activities. I have considered such news carefully and published what I have deemed relevant, without regard to his preferences or opinions. It is standard policy for politicians to blacklist the purveyors of critical views, but never has Hubris practiced this; the flow of information has continued unabated. Hope Hubris, however wrongheaded his political and social views may be, is a man of his word. For this, if nothing else, he is to be respected.

Now he stands accused of the single charge I cannot credit. I simply do not believe that Hubris ever deceived the electorate about his positions or actions, or accepted a political bribe. If he had done so he would have released it as news. It is therefore my thesis that the charge on which he was impeached is false and that he was wrongfully removed from office as governor of the state of Sunshine. It would have been proper to remove him in protest to his open political policies; but it is an abomination to do so on the basis of a lie.

I have more specific evidence of falsification of the evidence against Governor Hubris. It was stated that approximately half a billion dollars was paid to him by the agency of an employee of his sister Spirit Hubris, a mystery man named Sancho. Sancho claims that he did not act in this capacity. However, Sancho is not considered to be a reliable witness, because of his lack of identity. He refused to testify under oath and therefore was deemed suspect.

Now I happen to believe in the right of the individual to be free of government coercion. Therefore I protected Sancho's true identity, as it is also the duty of the fourth estate to honor the anonymity of private sources. But now, perceiving that no less an action will enable justice to be served, I have prevailed upon Sancho to make the requisite testimony and to reveal his identity to the public. In fact, I shall do it for him, and allow others to follow up this revelation as they may elect.

Sancho is in fact a disguise used for convenience by Spirit Hubris herself. It is not necessarily appropriate, even in these enlightened times, for an attractive woman of any age to travel widely alone, particularly when she is closely related to a prominent politician whose life has been threatened more than once. Therefore Spirit Hubris has assumed masculine guise, donning gloves with a stuffed left finger to conceal her deformity and removing the makeup she normally employs to mask the abrasions on her face. In this guise, as "Sancho," she has had no difficulty and has required no cumbersome protection; her complete anonymity has been her safeguard. Naturally she preferred not to have this revealed, because a cover blown is a cover useless. This clarifies why Sancho was mysterious and had no formal identity. He was not an illicit immigrant, merely a fictive connivance.

In this guise Spirit has on occasion provided me directly with pertinent information about her brother's activities. It was she who informed me of the governor's planned venture to Saturn, an expedition that for obvious reasons could not be publicly advertised in advance. When such conflicts between principle and expediency arise, Hope Hubris has compromised by informing me in this direct and private manner, trusting my discretion not to nullify a particular thrust by premature exposure. At times the line between legitimate news and counterproductive exposure becomes extremely fine. In this instance I took advantage of the knowledge to force my attendance on the Saturn sally, in this manner amplifying my eventual report.

It happens that my records indicate that on two of the occasions in which Sancho is supposed to have accepted money at the warehouse, he—that is, she—was present at my office, delivering information to me. I can therefore vouch from direct personal experience that the charge against Sancho—and therefore against Governor Hubris—was on these occasions unfounded. I have also verified that on several other occasions Spirit, herself, was attending public or business functions in other cities, so could not have been at the Hassee warehouse when the courier claims.

Now, simple logic suggests that if part of a statement is demonstrably false, all of it becomes suspect. Certainly the courier's rationale is questionable; it is nonsensical to suppose that he could "go public" about the covert activities of the drug moguls without being promptly and nastily dispatched, unless he was, in fact, acting on their orders. I submit for public consideration the supposition that the entire charge against Governor Hubris is false, and I invite challenge by independent parties. But for the moment let us assume that my case has been validated and that an innocent man has been impeached. Let us now consider motives.

Governor Hubris is dedicated to the extirpation of the trade in illicit drugs in the state of Sunshine. His method may be questionable, but his thrust is not. This is consistent with his actions as a former military man, wherein he destroyed the power of the pirates of the Belt, a power that had seemed immune from compromise before. His motive is readily understood; his family and associates were ravaged by pirates. Pirates raped his older sister and cut off the finger of the younger sister. Captain Hubris became this century's worst scourge of piracy in space; now he is going after the planetary aspect.

The major roots of piracy on Jupiter are the drug trade, the gambling trade, and the sex trade. Now, one might quibble at the particular target and mechanism—certainly I do—but may not seriously challenge Governor Hubris's motive or the fact that, whatever its philosophical merits, his program was the most effective one seen in decades. A true military man, he did what he felt he had to do to get the job done. He reduced the flow of drugs through Sunshine to a tiny fraction of its prior level and saw a concurrent decline in crime. One may object to the method, but who could object to the result?

Who but the criminals! The nether grapevine has it that Governor Hubris has been Enemy Number One on the planetary drug empire's list for two years. Could they bribe him to desist? Hardly! On this issue especially, Hubris is not to be bribed. Certainly he has delivered nothing for the money. There has been no evidence, contrary to the courier's claim, that any drugs have been passing through Sunshine to reach other states; instead, the major pipeline has shifted to Lonestar—where they are about to implement a drug-control program similar to that of Sunshine. Why, then, would the drug moguls pay out such an enormous sum of money to the man who continued to stifle their operations?

I suggest that, unable to take Hubris out physically—the governor's female security force is remarkably loyal and efficient—the pirates at last devised a scheme to do it politically. The money was not to bribe him but to frame him. This was effective; he was promptly ushered out of office. It is evident that the drug business quickly reverted to normal, increasing in Sunshine to its former level. Recidivism is rampant among treated addicts, and crime in the streets is rebounding at a rate that has swamped the minions of the law. In a few brief weeks the halcyon days of Hubris's term have been eclipsed. Certainly this was a victory for the drug moguls, who thrive on political corruption, and for crime in general. At the present rate of activity, their parcel of half a billion dollars, surreptitiously planted in the governor's warehouse, should be redeemed within months. It was, it seems, a very sound investment. In addition I understand that much of that warehouse money has mysteriously disappeared from storage and that the proprietors are extremely reluctant to permit a recount by qualified parties. Perhaps the money was not an investment but a loan.

We come now to the question of the motive of those members of the State Senate that impeached Governor Hubris and removed him from office. It was evident throughout that these folk had very little interest in the facts of the case; they simply moved to get the job done. Why should they have committed such an atrocity? To that I have no answer, but as a sincere conservative I am appalled that the principles for which I stand should have been invoked for the likes of this. It was not conservatism that framed the governor, it was blind fanaticism. As a citizen of this great planet of Jupiter, I will not rest easy until the true answer to this question of motive is forthcoming. I would be doubly chagrined to think that we are governed not by law, of whatever persuasion, but by the kingpins of the criminal realm.

We have witnessed a rare perversion of due process. Now let justice be done.

If there had been furor following Thorley's interview with Sancho, there was absolute chaos this time. The details are a matter of public record; I'll only say that before it was over, approximately fifty percent of the state senators of Sunshine had resigned in disgrace, the White Dome itself had a political black eye because of its covert involvement, I was retroactively exonerated, my drug program was reinstated, a grand jury set out in pursuit of the mysteriously missing warehouse money, and I was launched into my candidacy for the office of the president of the United States of Jupiter. I now had a direct and personal score to settle with Tocsin, who had somehow evaded censure for his malign influence here, and I was about to bring him into combat, politically.

In the early days Thorley had interposed his body to protect one I loved from assassination by laser. This time he had interposed his literary talent—and lo! his pen was mightier than the sword. He had at one stroke laid waste the entire array against me. Historically it was to be known as "The Sunshine Massacre," but that hardly told the story. With a foe like Thorley I hardly needed friends.