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as a rider to some harmless bill. He’ll get it to a vote before anybody knows enough about it to start a floor fight. He’s always operated that way. And Woodrow Guest will ram a carbon copy of it through the Senate in exactly the same way.”
    Suffield’s upper lip was pinched between his teeth. The Senator said, “It’ll add thirty billion dollars’ worth of redundant hardware to the capacity we’ve already got for overkill. It’ll multiply the chance of an accidental nuclear explosion by a thousand times. I don’t think we need that kind of protection, Les.”
    Suffield scowled at the floor. “And you’re willing to stake your political future on it.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen you’re still a fool. All right, look, do it off the record. Leak it to the press, let them send up a trial balloon, see what the public thinks. Find some lame-duck Congressman on Breckenyear’s committee and get him to make the indignant speeches and feel out the reaction. There’s a hundred ways to do it without showing your own face. You’ve got to stay out of it—you just can’t afford to be the one who pulls the plug. Not on the record.”
    â€œI can’t do it that way,” the Senator said, and smiled because he was anticipating Suffield’s inevitable reaction.
    â€œSure,” Suffield said obliviously. “Now tell me how you’re too honest and red-blooded and forthright to work behind the scenes. You that was born in a smoke-filled room with a silver campaign promise in your mouth.”
    â€œNo comment, but it’s beside the point. Suppose we leak the information. Suppose the public takes off with it. Now, I’m a member of the Senate Military Affairs Committee. I’m supposed to know about things. When the disclosure hits the press, it’s going to be assumed I know all about the Phaeton program. At that point I’ve got no choice but to speak out, because if I keep my mouth shut my silence has to imply acquiescence with the Pentagon party line. No. I’d have to speak out anyway—and I may as well do it right in front. At least that way if it catches on I can run with the ball and not get left back with the pack.”
    â€œYou’re a gold-plated idiot. If you feel the urge to make a stand, wait till November and make your stand on the next new Pentagon toy. Let this one go through.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œYou’ve got to.”
    â€œLes,” the Senator said slowly, “I am the only one who tells me what I’ve got to do.”
    The Senator’s eyes swiveled toward Jaime Spode. “What about it, Top? Where do you stand?”
    â€œLet’s see.” Spode ticked off fingers. “I hate funerals, I hate Pentagon mental retards, I just work here, none of the above.”
    â€œIt’s no time to be flip,” said Les Suffield.
    â€œThe hell,” Spode replied. “The air was getting blue.” He uncrossed his legs and smiled vaguely in Suffield’s direction.
    The Senator said, “All right, Top. Now answer the question.”
    â€œI’d rather keep my politics to myself.”
    â€œCrap,” the Senator said amiably.
    â€œLook, you don’t want my grass roots opinion. If you’re asking for moral support you want me to agree with you, andif you want to see if I can pick holes in your arguments then you want me to fight. Either way, it stinks.”
    â€œWhen I want a directed verdict I’ll ask for one,” the Senator snapped. “All I want from you is a straight answer. Quit jumping to confusions about my motives.”
    Spode sighed in his chest. “All right, put it this way. Private opinion. I always thought it was a psychotic kind of game to play where you pass out nuclear toys to all the players and then tell them not to use them. I never met a kid yet who’d obey that kind of rules for long. And we are