get you a cup of coffee, and a cigar, then." The white-haired
Literate executive resumed his seat, passing a hand back and forth
slowly across the face of the commo, the diamond on his finger
twinkling, and gave brief instructions. "And just relax, for a minute.
You have a tough job, this time, Frank."

They were both silent as a novice Literate bustled in with coffee and
individually-sealed cigars.

"At least, you're not one of these plain-living-and-right-thinking
fanatics, like Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves," Cardon said. "On top
of everything else, that I could not take."

Lancedale's thin face broke into a smile, little wrinkles putting his
mouth in parentheses. Cardon sampled the coffee, and then used a
Sixteenth Century Italian stiletto from Lancedale's desk to perforate
the end of his cigar.

"Much as I hate it, I'll have to get out of here as soon as I can," he
said. "I don't know how long O'Reilly can keep me covered, down at the
tavern--"

Lancedale nodded. "Well, how are things going, then?"

"First of all, the brewery," Cardon began.

Lancedale consigned the brewery to perdition. "That's just your cover;
any money it makes is purely irrelevant. How about the election?"

"Pelton's in," Cardon said. "As nearly in as any candidate ever was
before the polls opened. Three months ago, the Independents were as
solid as Gibraltar used to be. Today, they look like Gibraltar after
that H-bomb hit it. The only difference is, they don't know what hit
them, yet."

"Hamilton's campaign manager does," Lancedale said. "Did you hear his
telecast, this morning?"

Cardon shook his head. Lancedale handed over a little half-inch,
thirty-minute, record disk.

"All you need is the first three or four minutes," he said. "The rest
of it is repetition."

Cardon put the disk in his pocket recorder and set it for play-back,
putting the plug in his ear. After a while, he shut it off and took
out the ear plug.

"That's bad! What are we going to do about it?"

Lancedale shrugged. "What are you going to do?" he countered. "You're
Pelton's campaign manager--Heaven pity him."

Cardon thought for a moment. "We'll play it for laughs," he decided. "Some
of our semantics experts could make the joke of the year out of it by the
time the polls open tomorrow. The Fraternities bribing their worst enemy to
attack them, so that he can ruin their business; who's been listening to a
tape of 'Alice in Wonderland' at Independent-Con