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  Jacobi’s misshaped face settled into a scowl. “He’s satisfied. I ain’t.”

  “Look, if you think—”

  “You think you can keep my real father under your thumb? The hell you can. I’ll kill you first. And then that Jap girlfriend of yours.”

  Jacobi reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy-looking metal object. Brass knuckles! Jake realized. Jesus Christ, he’s putting brass knuckles on his hand!

  “Now, wait,” Jake said, backing away from the man.

  “I got these from the son of a bitch who pretended to be my old man. He used them on me now and then. Rearranged my face. They really hurt.”

  Jake looked past Jacobi to the locked door. Jacobi was barring his way.

  “You’re gonna get beat to death,” Jacobi said, almost smiling. “You brought some fairy kook here inta the bathroom with ya, and he robbed ya and beat ya to death.”

  Jake backed away until he felt the sink against the back of his legs. He couldn’t retreat any farther. “You can’t do this. I’ve got security people guarding me.”

  “Yeah? Where are they?”

  And Jacobi launched an overhand punch at Jake’s head. Jake tried to block it, but the punch landed on his cheek with an explosion of pain. He crumpled, but Jacobi grabbed his lapels and hauled him up.

  “Not yet,” he growled.

  Another punch, to Jake’s abdomen. The air gushed out of him and his eyes glazed over. He’s going to kill me! Jake told himself. He’s going to kill me!

  “Your fairy boyfriend’s gonna bash your head against the sink, kiddo,” Jacobi said, puffing slightly as he reached for Jake’s head. “Until your brains are mashed. Until you’re dead.”

  Death Duel

  Jake slumped to the tiled floor, but before Jacobi could hit him again, he wrapped his arms around Jacobi’s knees. The man tottered and fell on his back with a loud thwack.

  Burning with pain, Jake crawled up Jacobi’s body, grabbed at the man’s ears, and started to pound his head against the floor. Jacobi rammed both his fists into Jake’s ribs, then rolled over until he was on top of Jake.

  Grinning fiercely, he said, “Not bad, kid. But not good enough.”

  Jake reached for Jacobi’s throat, Jacobi’s eyes—fingers searching for anything that would get this monster off him. Jacobi grabbed at Jake’s left hand and bent the fingers back until bones snapped. Jake yowled with pain.

  Jacobi struggled to his knees, then his feet, while Jake tried to scuttle away from him. He heard a pounding, thumping noise and wondered what it was. Probably your heart working overtime, he thought.

  “You got no place to go, kid. No place but hell.”

  Still on the floor, Jake tried to kick the trash can into Jacobi’s legs, but the man brushed it aside, laughing.

  He stepped toward Jake, who struggled groggily to his knees and leaned an elbow on the sink, trying to get up.

  Jacobi advanced toward him, adjusting the brass knuckles on his right hand.

  Desperately, Jake lunged at the man, wrapped his arms around his middle, and drove with his legs with what was left of his strength. Jacobi tottered backward until his back reached the wall.

  With his left hand Jacobi grabbed Jake by the hair and pulled his head back. Then Jacobi raised his right fist. Jake saw those brass knuckles, already sheened with his blood. He twisted sideways and pulled Jacobi down onto the floor again, then planted his knee in the man’s groin. Jacobi squealed with pain, and Jake staggered to his feet.

  A weapon, he thought as Jacobi started to get up. I need a weapon.

  The door splintered open, and two men rushed in and grabbed Jacobi. Both of them were big, solid bruisers. Like a wild man Jacobi shrugged them off, then swung his brass-knuckled fist at one of them. Jake heard the crunch of broken bone, but the second man smashed a vicious backhand chop at the base of Jacobi’s neck. He dropped to the floor, gasping.

  Jake stood there, shaking with pain and fear, as the two young private investigators looked from him to Jacobi’s prostrate body and back to him again.

  “Hard to track you once you went down into the Metro,” the nearer of the two PIs said.

  His partner, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his cheek, kicked Jacobi in the ribs. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled.

  “But we found you,” the first investigator said. “That’s the important thing.”

  Jake looked down at Jacobi’s semiconscious form. “Better late than never,” he said, with some fervor. Then he sank to his knees and passed out.

  Hospital

  Jake awoke to see Tami sitting on a padded chair, her chin on her chest, half asleep. He realized he was in bed, in a hospital room, neat and clean, pastel walls and smelling faintly of antiseptic. One window. It was bright morning outside.

  He blinked his eyes, trying to focus better. Everything looked slightly fuzzy, and his head felt as if it was swaddled in bandages. Reaching up with his right hand, he realized that he was bandaged. And two fingers of his left hand were immobilized by a double splint and more bandages.

  Tami’s eyes popped open. “You’re awake!”

  She jumped up from the chair and went to the bed; bending over Jake, she kissed him firmly on the lips.

  “Ouch!”

  Tami looked horrified. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jake. I forgot that—”

  He tried to smile and found that his whole face seemed frozen. He reached out his good hand and wrapped his arm around Tami’s slim form.

  “Easy now,” he said. She kissed him again, lightly.

  “The detectives found you,” Tami said.

  “Good thing they did. Jacobi was going to kill me.”

  The door opened and a chubby Hispanic-looking nurse came smiling in. “Good morning! And how do we feel this lovely morning?”

  Jake winced inwardly at her good cheer. “Kind of numb,” he answered.

  “That’s the anesthetic they pumped into you. It’ll wear off in a couple hours.”

  While the nurse took his wrist, Tami pulled her cell phone from her purse. Before Jake could ask she said, “Senator Tomlinson said to call him as soon as you woke up.”

  Remembering, Jake asked, “The recorder in my pocket. Did you find it?”

  Nodding, she said, “And listened to it. Mostly scuffling and grunts.”

  “There ought be enough on it to send Jacobi to jail.”

  “Plenty,” Tami said.

  Considering that he was in bed the whole time, the morning was quite busy. The nurse took Jake’s blood pressure, then a doctor came in and listened to his heart. A police sergeant showed up, looking rather bored, and got Jake to sign a formal complaint. Then the head of the detective agency showed up, looking concerned and fatherly, with more forms for Jake to sign.

  “You had my people worried when you went down into the Metro,” the man said. “Hard to track you down there.”

  “But they found me,” Jake said, feeling grateful.

  “That’s what they’re paid to do.”

  “Jacobi?”

  “He’s in custody. My people turned him over to the transit police, who handed him to the Metro PD. He’s gone totally silent. Lawyered up. They want a psychiatrist to examine him.”

  Jake nodded, thinking, Jacobi won’t say anything that would hurt his father. He won’t mention Santino’s name at all.

  Tami hovered over him all morning and shared a hospital lunch with Jake. He started to feel a dull thrumming ache that seemed to pervade his entire head and body. Another nurse came in and gave him two pills that looked suspiciously like aspirin.

  Shortly after an orderly removed Jake’s lunch tray, Senator Tomlinson strode into the room, smiling brightly. Kevin O’Donnell, right behind him, looked gloomy, as usual.

  “You’re okay?” Tomlinson asked.

  Jake tried to nod, but it hurt. “I’m okay,” he said.

  O’Donnell offered, “The doc says you must have a really hard head. No broken bones.”

  Jake
held up his splinted left hand.

  “I meant your head,” O’Donnell said.

  There was only the one chair in the room, so the senator, O’Donnell, and Tami all stood clustered around Jake’s bed.

  “What about Santino?” Jake asked.

  Tomlinson’s smile faded, but not by much. “The Little Saint is much embarrassed by the whole episode.”

  “Embarrassed? He sent Jacobi after me.”

  “No,” O’Donnell countered. “He said Jacobi acted entirely on his own.”

  “And pigs can fly,” Jake muttered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Tomlinson. “Jacobi’s going to be in jail for a long time, and Santino’s not going to have anything to do with him.”

  “And the story about Jacobi being his son?”

  “That stays among us. No further.”

  Tami said, “You’ll have that over him.”

  With an almost rueful nod, Tomlinson said, “Yes, true. In a strange sort of way, it’s made us allies. Santino’s become very friendly to us, and he’s promised that the energy bill will go to the Senate floor before the month is out.”

  Jake heard himself say, “The original plan, with the methanol development.”

  “Don’t push your luck,” O’Donnell groused. “Your methanol guy gets a study program. That’s enough.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jake said, surprised at his own insistence. “We ought to get the original plan, in its entirety.”

  “Santino won’t go for that.”

  “Why not? He doesn’t have to worry about Perlmutter anymore. He’s the Majority Leader now.”

  With a sardonic grin, Senator Tomlinson said, “Jake’s right, Kevin.” Turning to Jake, he said, “How about a pilot plant, instead of the full-ahead development program? That would make your methanol guy happy, wouldn’t it?”

  Jake started to nod, but a twinge of pain stopped him. “Pilot plant,” he agreed. “That’s a good start.”

  O’Donnell frowned but gave in. “Okay, we’ll write that into the plan and get it out onto the floor of the Senate.”

  “How soon?” Jake asked.

  “Before Thanksgiving,” Tomlinson said. O’Donnell nodded, warily.

  “Good,” said Jake.

  His smile returning to its full wattage, Tomlinson said, “Think of it as an early Christmas present, Jake.”

  I paid for it, Jake said to himself. I’ve earned it.

  “You did a good job, Jake,” O’Donnell finally admitted, only slightly grudgingly. “We’re going to get the energy plan passed by the Senate. Franklin’s already being besieged by the news media.”

  “And lobbyists,” Tomlinson added.

  Jake said, “Tami was a big help. A very big help.”

  “So why don’t you marry the lady?” Tomlinson suggested. “We can have the ceremony in the National Cathedral, if you like.”

  Jake felt like grinning, even though his face was still somewhat numb. Tami was beaming, though, he saw.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he said to her.

  “Yes, we do.”

  Thanksgiving

  It was the day before the Senate recessed for the Thanksgiving weekend.

  Jake and Tami sat in the Senate’s half-empty visitor’s gallery, watching the vote on the energy bill lumber through the yeas and nays. Jake’s head was no longer bandaged, although he still had the splint on his left hand.

  The clerk called out, “Senator Gutierrez, New Mexico?”

  “Yea.”

  “That’s twenty-two,” Tami whispered, excitedly.

  “Nine against,” Jake whispered back.

  New York voted nay; North Carolina, yea.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Senator Ellison, North Dakota?”

  “Yea.”

  “Senator Danner, Ohio?”

  Jake held his breath. Danner had gone out to Montana to see the MHD rig but had promised nothing.

  “Yea.”

  Jake grabbed Tami and hugged her. “We’re going to make it!”

  The security guard standing at the door, two rows behind them, hissed a shushing sound.

  The final vote was fifty-six in favor, thirty-eight opposed, and six abstentions.

  * * *

  It wasn’t a victory dinner, officially, but the Tomlinson home was jammed with senators, aides, news reporters, and—of course—Lady Cecilia.

  “We still have a long way to go,” Senator Tomlinson was saying to Cecilia. “The House has to vote on the bill, and then it goes to the president.”

  Cecilia’s frog face was all smiles. “She’s indicated that she’ll sign it.”

  Tomlinson nodded. “That would remove it from being a campaign issue next year.”

  Standing a few feet away from them, Jake also nodded. We’ve passed the biggest hurdle. We’re on our way.

  Senator Santino was not present. Jake wondered how the Little Saint would deal with Jacobi. He can’t afford to get close to him, Jake thought. Jacobi’s on his own.

  Jake had been subpoenaed to testify at Jacobi’s trial. Assault and battery with a deadly weapon. Could be worse for Jacobi, Jake thought. They could have charged him with attempted murder. He’s claiming temporary insanity; got a gaggle of psychiatrists examining him. Almost, Jake felt sorry for the man.

  Almost.

  Tami came up beside him, a champagne flute in her hand.

  “You’re not celebrating?” she asked, seeing that Jake was empty-handed.

  “I’ll celebrate at our wedding,” he said, with a grin.

  She put on a disapproving frown. “Christmas Eve. I still think you’re pretty cheap, you know.”

  Jake countered, “No, I’m thrifty. One present for both Christmas and our anniversary. You ought to be proud that you’re marrying such a frugal guy.”

  With a sad little sigh, Tami said, “I’m marrying a politician.”

  “Who’s a politician?” Senator Tomlinson broke into their bantering. “Jake? No, Jake’s a purist. He’s the one who kept us on the mark, always pushing for the energy plan, no matter what came up against us.”

  Us, Jake thought. Success has a thousand fathers.

  Tomlinson senior came up beside his son. “Congratulations, Jake, on your impending nuptials.”

  The senator said, “Not on getting our energy plan passed by the Senate?”

  “Oh, that too,” the older man said. “But getting your plan passed isn’t the end of the game, you know.”

  Senator Tomlinson agreed. “Yes, we have to get it through the House and get the president to sign it into law.”

  Tomlinson’s father shook his head sternly. “Oh, the president’s going to sign it, she’s smart enough to get on the bandwagon. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What, then?”

  Focusing on Jake, the elder Tomlinson pointed out, “Once your plan becomes law, then you have to make it work.”

  “That’s right,” Senator Tomlinson agreed. “We’ve got the White House to think about.”

  “That’s eight years from now,” his father said.

  With a cocky grin, Tomlinson said, “Maybe four.”

  His father tried to frown.

  Jake stared at the senator. He’s thinking about the White House. He’s not satisfied with the Senate.

  And what am I thinking about? he asked himself. Making the energy plan work. Keeping all the special interests from whittling it to pieces. Maybe helping Isaiah Knowles to get a space solar power program started at NASA.

  Then he turned to Tami and realized that whatever happened, she was his future.

  He reached for her free hand as he said, “We’re only just beginning, aren’t we?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BEN BOVA is a six-time winner of the Hugo Award, a former editor of Analog, a former editorial director of Omni, and a past president of both the National Space Society and the Science Fiction Writers of America. Bova is the author of more than 130 works of science fact and fiction. He lives
in Florida.

  Visit his website at www.benbova.net, or sign up for email updates here.

  TOR BOOKS BY BEN BOVA

  Able One

  The Aftermath

  As on a Darkling Plain

  The Astral Mirror

  Battle Station

  The Best of the Nebulas (editor)

  Challenges

  Colony

  Cyberbooks

  Escape Plus

  The Green Trap

  Gremlins Go Home (with Gordon R. Dickson)

  Jupiter

  The Kinsman Saga

  Leviathans of Jupiter

  Mars Life

  Mercury

  The Multiple Man

  New Frontiers

  Orion

  Orion Among the Stars

  Orion and King Arthur

  Orion and the Conqueror

  Orion in the Dying Time

  Out of Sun

  Peacekeepers

  Power Play

  Powersat

  The Precipice

  Privateers

  Prometheans

  The Rock Rats

  Saturn

  The Silent War

  Star Peace: Assured Survival

  The Starcrossed

  Tale of the Grand Tour

  Test of Fire

  Titan

  To Fear the Light (with A. J. Austin)

  To Save the Sun (with A. J. Austin)

  The Trikon Deception (with Bill Pogue)

  Triumph

  Vengeance of Orion

  Venus

  Voyagers

  Voyagers II: The Alien Within

  Voyagers III: Star Brothers

  The Return: Book IV of Voyagers

  The Winds of Altair

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice