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the command post for Earth, and in a few months that post would belong to Patrick Saunder.
    All the power-wielders and would-be rulers who hoped to bask in Pat’s reflected glory were there. So were the military, the P.O.E. enforcement officers. Todd stared at the uniformed group, wishing he could read their minds. Were these men and women going to go along with whatever the committee had worked out at the secret conferences? That was crucial, if there was ever to be peace. Dawes, Ubaldi, Chen Chang . . . the old generals, covered with medals, warriors who had survived the worst the Death Years could throw at them. The only public comments anyone heard from them were totally predictable. “Defense posture.” “A strong protective force is the best peace treaty.” They weren’t likely to be conciliatory. It was the young officers who would carry out the terms—if they were willing to cooperate. Todd looked along the row, assessing. His eyes were drawn to one particular black face. General Ames, Dawes’s second in command. Todd sought his memories but didn’t recall ever reading or hearing any statement from the man, not for the public. Yet the analysts pictured Ames as a potential power behind the throne, thanks to his rapport with the troops. He had come up from the same sort of hell on Earth many of the soldiers had. What was he thinking? Right now, Ames was watching Pat narrowly, his stare never wavering. The intensity of the young general’s gaze unsettled Todd, but he couldn’t read the emotions behind that stare. Ames wore a ghetto mask, hiding his true feelings.
    His fellow committeemen crowded around Pat, hoping his glamour would rub off on their own election campaigns. Despite seeming modesty, Pat was aware of his assets. His dark good looks and dominating height and voice he had inherited from his father. The political talent was his own. He had used the combination to climb very high, very fast, but was wise enough not to flaunt those gifts. The Earth First Party candidate ran his hand through his hair in a seemingly absentminded gesture which was pure calculation. Todd smiled, remembering how often he and Mariette had watched Pat rehearse that trick when they were kids, calling Pat a vid ham. Pat had laughed as loudly as they. And be kept on practicing. He found he could call attention to his unusual wavy black hair with its red glints. He found out, too, how to use his sharp, strong features, tall body, and theatrical flair. Most of all, he discovered his voice, honing and polishing it to perfection.
    But he wasn’t a kid any more. The tricks were second nature now. The adolescent who had once postured for his siblings could now command billions with his stage presence. Crises and wounds in humanity’s collective psyche had created a demand for answers, and Patrick Saunder promised he would find them. Attractive, likable, and rich, he gave the audience what they wanted and became someone they trusted to show them the way out of the mess.
    Techs panned the V.I.P. guests in the theater audience. Carissa gazed adoringly at Pat, on stage as much as he was. Not even Todd’s staff was immune to Carissa’s sweet, blond prettiness. He heard several sighs from the duty stations. Dian cocked her curly head, studying Carissa’s picture. “Is she okay? She looks terribly thin and bleached out.”
    “I didn’t notice anything wrong the last time I saw her, a week ago. She’s always seemed kind of delicate. I’m sure Pat wouldn’t let her continue this campaign tour if she were ill.” Guilt nagged at Todd. Carissa did look exceptionally pale and shaky. Had he been so callous he hadn’t noticed those changes last week?
    Jael sat almost out of camera frame, next to Carissa. She didn’t edge in or try to hog the lens. Jael preferred the shadows. She was eyeing Carissa sidelong. The lenses caught the distinctive white streaks in Jael’s auburn hair, drawing the eye. Todd watched his mother while Jael looked