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with Nancy, isn’t it? I’M WHITE AND SHE’S BLACK!” Hudson felt relief at getting the long-suppressed statement out, but was fearful of the consequences.
    “Look at my council of ministers, Hudson! An American Indian, an oriental, six whites, a Mexican, a black. Does that sound like the council of a bigot?”
    “You didn’t select them, sir. They were chosen by council votes when vacancies arose.”
    “I could have vetoed any one of them, including you.” Ogg sat back down, glared at a wall.
    “True enough, Mr. President. But even so, this represents your public self. I’m speaking of your real self.”
    A shocked President Ogg felt Hudson’s words slash into an area of consciousness he had not considered. Can this be so? Ogg thought. His gaze snapped toward Hudson as he asked, “Who put those words into your mouth?”
    “They are my own, sir. I have discussed the matter with Nancy, but the words are my own.”
    “She agrees?”
    “I believe she does.”
    “You surprise me, Hudson.” Ogg lit a tintette nervously, blew a wisp of lavender smoke across the desktop.
    Hudson saw near admiration in the President’s dark brown eyes, that and confusion. Deciding not to press his advantage, Hudson said, “I have to call Nancy right away, sir. An official call.”
    “Concerning what?”
    “Saint Elba is on the route of the comet intercept crew. It is the first recharging station . . . and the place where the two mass drivers will be constructed.”
    “Mass drivers?” Ogg tapped his tintette on an ashtray.
    “Remember we discussed that during the meeting, sir? They will connect fire probes to the comet’s nucleus, and guide it. . . . ”
    “Yes, of course. Do what you must, Hudson. Do what you must.”
    Hudson rose. “Unless you have something further, sir, I should leave now.”
    Ogg nodded, stared at his tintette despondently. I should control everything, he thought. I AM PRESIDENT! But even the tiniest matters elude me . . . . My own sister opposes me?
    As Hudson left the oval office, he realized he had seen a heretofore unexposed side of the President . . . unrevealed even to one able to read the thoughts of others. Maybe Ogg was not so bad after all. Still, forces had already been set in motion, and within days Hudson was confident that a new government would take power.

    Mayor Nancy Ogg held a red towel in one hand as she turned sideways to admire herself in a poolside mirror. Her skin was sleek, wet and light brown, the swimsuited figure trim arid regal. Three red clasps secured the wet, black hair in a Mohanna Dancer’s tail. A triangular Bu-Med crest graced the waist of her suit, and superimposed over that was the tiny silver cross denoting her mayoral rank.
    In an adjoining area of her suite on the L 1 therapy orbiter of Saint Elba, the pool constituted a private place for her, and was, as she often liked to mention sarcastically, “one of the perks of power.” Overhead, a reflected midday sun flooded the room with light, and as she looked up she saw one edge of the orbiter’s night shield.
    Five more hours, she thought dejectedly, and that shield will block the sun again, My Rosenbloom, but I hate this place!
    She dropped the towel and stepped quickly onto the diving board. Springing twice at the tip of the board, she leaped into the air, bent gracefully and touched her toes before cutting neatly through the water. The pool was pleasantly warm.
    When Mayor Nancy Ogg came to the surface, Security Sergeant Rountree stood at the pool edge, looking down at her. Trim, tall and muscular, he cut a dashing figure in his gleaming black and gold Security Brigade uniform. She was attracted to him, but had done nothing to fulfill her desires. A person of her status could not mingle with inferiors. A telephone cord at Rountree’s side had a cordless tele-cube which danced in the air above the phone cradle.
    “Telephone call, Honorable Mayor,” the sergeant said, delivering the crisp rotating wrist