Skip led the way to the aerodocks, where he selected a small, blue craft with a white sail.

“How do these things work?” Dirk asked, as Skip piloted them out of the docks.

“They’re a mix of old and new ideas, actually. An antigrav module in the hull of an old-style sailboat maintains a constant altitude and an even keel. This small motor,” he said, indicating a module in the stern, “gives us a little propulsion until we find a good air current. Then, we turn off the motor, and see what we can do with wind and sail.”

“Is it very difficult?”

“Not really. I got my Tintagel sailing license a couple years ago, so I’m allowed to take a boat out solo. Anyway, you do get better with practice, but the basics aren’t too tough to learn. After we get clear of the local traffic, we’ll let you have a try at the helm.”

An hour later, Dirk was having the time of his life. At first, the sail pitched wildly back and forth. But Skip steadied Dirk’s hand, and patiently instructed him. Dirk soon learned to give the tiller a lighter touch. Then he was piloting the little boat himself, which was the most incredible experience he had ever imagined. Skip was amazed at how easily Dirk took to it, and suggested that he take up water sailing. It would be much more difficult to master, but Dirk seemed to be a natural.

Still later, Skip had the helm again. The wind had picked up, and a more experienced pilot was needed. What Dirk could not do, Skip accomplished effortlessly, almost without thinking about it. He steered the craft aimlessly, letting the wind and the vessel take the lead. Finally he said, “Have you thought about it, Dirk?”

“About what?”

“About my proposal this morning.”

Again, Dirk hesitated. “I don’t know, Skip. I really need to think about it before making a decision either way.”

Skip sighed. “All right,” he said. “I guess that leaves me without options.” As he spoke, he detached the small motor from the stern, and tossed it over the edge.

“What are you doing, Skip?”

“Look down, Dirk.”

Dirk did, and saw nothing but sky and clouds. He gripped the railing, his knuckles white.

“Remember Erstwhile, Dirk? How afraid you were, looking down from the top of a rainbow? This is a little more severe, isn’t it?”

Dirk’s fear on Erstwhile was multiplied many times. The endless depths beckoned him, called to him. He could feel himself falling, falling. The rail felt woefully inadequate, when only moments before, it had been just fine.

Dirk was jarred from his terrible fascination by Skip’s voice. “If you’re not going to cooperate, I can’t afford to have you around,” he said. “Fleming and Gates are bad enough, but now that you’re getting tight with them, I might not be able to cut myself a deal at all. And that’s just not going to happen.”

“Where’s the ground?” Dirk finally managed to ask, desperation in his voice.

“There isn’t any. Oh, there’s an extremely dense core, and you might even get a chance to see it...before the gravity crushes you.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes. You see, this breeze eventually flows into a much larger current—one that’ll shake this little tub apart. If that doesn’t kill you, you’ll be thrown clear of the wind, you’ll fall, and the gravity will squash you.”

As he spoke, Skip separated the lifeboat from the side of the little vessel. “You might try tacking against the wind,” he continued. “But I didn’t teach you that, did I? Still, you’re a natural at the tiller. You might just figure it out on your own. If I see you back at the hotel, I’ll know you did.”

Dirk watched Skip work, unable to move. He knew that the smallest movement on his part would send him into the abyss. Skip stopped what he was doing, favoring Dirk with a final glance. “You really should have dealt with me,” he said. He stepped into the lifeboat, cast off, and was gone.

Dirk crouched into a fetal position, hugging the rail even tighter. He wanted desperately to go to the helm, and at least try to save himself. But that immense, blue gulf beneath him threatened to swallow him forever if he dared even to stand. He shut his eyes tight, and wished himself back on Erstwhile, where everything was safe and pleasant, and people liked him so much. It didn’t seem fair that he should have to die just yet. Was it just him, or was the wind beginning to pick up?

Dirk felt rough hands upon him, and he was made to stand and walk to the center of the small deck, away from the sides of the boat.

“Mr Bordeaux! Mr Bordeaux, are you all right?”

The words brought Dirk out of his funk. He opened his eyes, and saw a rough, no-nonsense face examining him closely. “Yeah, he’ll be okay,” the face said. “He probably just has acrophobia. Let’s get him aboard. We’ll tow this wreck back for evidence.”

Two other unpleasant men grunted in the affirmative—one from the stern, the other from the small cabin forward. Both men had cameras, and seemed intent on photographing Skip’s handiwork.

The man in the cabin came aft. “Radio’s demolished,” he announced. “Voyager must have seen to that while Mr Bordeaux had the helm.”

“We’ll piece it together later,” the leader said. “Right now, our main priority is Mr Bordeaux.” He returned his attention to Dirk, and pointed aft. “If you’ll accompany us, sir.”

Several yards off the stern stood a sleek, white craft with no identifying markings. It stood still against the wind, holding Dirk’s boat in place with tow ropes.

Dirk eyed his saviors fearfully. “Are—are you kidnappers?” he blurted.

The three men gave Dirk hard looks for a moment, then began to laugh humorlessly. “Hardly, Mr Bordeaux,” the leader replied. “We are with the IFSBG Secret Service. Johnson is my name, and my associates are Mr Green,” he indicated the man from the cabin, “and Mr Rosenthal. Our assignment is to observe and, when necessary, protect a Candidate for Chairman who has won a major victory. Thus making himself a potential target for assassins, kidnappers, crackpots, and other Candidates. If you’ll come with us, we’ll be pleased to return you to your hotel, sir.”

The man indicated a skiff waiting at the stern railing. Dirk still hesitated, and each of the men pulled a black, rectangular device from his jacket. Now Dirk knew that they were indeed kidnappers. “There’s no need for weapons,” he said, as they moved toward him. He hoped he sounded brave. “I’ll go peacefully.”

The men opened the devices, presenting very official-looking badges for Dirk’s inspection.

“Mr Bordeaux,” Johnson said, “I assure you, we are not kidnappers. We desire only to take you back to your hotel, where your sponsors already await you. We took the liberty of notifying them the moment Mr Voyager left you.”

Dirk had never felt so embarrassed. He stepped forward uneasily, trying not to think about the endless depths beneath him. “Gentlemen,” he said, “please forgive me for behaving so stupidly.”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” replied Mr Rosenthal. “We’ve forgotten it already.”

Mr Green jumped over to the skiff, and they helped Dirk across. He nearly fainted when he had to step between the two craft, with nothing underneath him, but Johnson and Rosenthal had state of the art flight equipment, and they kept a tight hold on Dirk. Mr Green handed Dirk in. Mercifully, they were able to dock with the mother ship.

When they arrived at the aerodock, the Betelgeuseans were waiting, as Mr Johnson had promised. As usual, Mara’s face was unreadable. Kori, on the other hand, was livid. The Secret Service agents didn’t appear to notice, but by now Dirk knew her well enough to see that she was furious. He couldn’t understand why, though. He was relieved simply to be alive.

“Mr Johnson,” Mara said, “we cannot adequately express our gratitude. We shall always be in your debt.”

“Not at all, ma’am. Mr Bordeaux is very important to us all. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

“What should I do about Skip Voyager?” Dirk asked.

The faces of the three agents became grim. “Don’t trouble yourself over him, sir,” Mr Green replied quietly. “The election is your concern—being the best Candidate you can. Minor inconveniences such as Mr Voyager are our affair.”

On that note, the Betelgeuseans led Dirk back to their suite. Kori had nothing to say at the moment. Dirk knew that this would only make it worse when she finally released her anger. There was a kind of rhythm to her temper, and Dirk had learned to hate it when she kept it bottled up. That only caused it to build up a good head of steam. They arrived at their rooms all too soon for Dirk’s liking; Mara went immediately to her bedroom, leaving Dirk alone with Kori.

“You idiot!” she exploded, turning on him. “How could you take a risk like that? Do you have any idea what you mean to us? How much we’ve already invested in you? Well, DO YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” Dirk answered quietly. At this point, there was nothing he could say that would turn her anger.

“That’s nice, but ‘sorry’ isn’t going to make everything all right. If you can’t take care of yourself, then it looks like I’ll have to do it for you. From now on, you don’t go anywhere without me. You don’t associate with anyone Mara and I don’t approve in advance. And you never—ever—go where the Secret Service cannot easily stay close to you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Dirk said. He knew there would be no point in arguing with her. Not that Kori gave him a chance. She stormed out of the room as soon as she finished speaking, leaving him to reply to empty air.

Some time later, Mara joined Dirk in the sitting room. He had been sitting so still that she didn’t realize he was there. When she noticed him, she almost withdrew, then stepped softly into the room.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was not aware that the room was occupied. Do you wish me to go?”

“No, that’s all right.”

“What disturbs you?” Mara asked, sitting on a couch across from him.

“Kori. Why was she so angry with me? It’s not like I tried to get myself killed, you know.”

“She was frightened. No one likes to be frightened.”

In her usual fashion, Mara chose not to say anything further. She rose to turn on the lights. Twilight was coming, and Dirk had not opened the curtains. A bell rang, and Mara activated the door as well.

One of the liveried Campaign Messengers stepped in. “Honored Candidates are requested to come to the Grand Ballroom,” he announced.

“Very well. Mr Bordeaux will be along shortly.”

The messenger was more than a little surprised that a nonhuman female should address him so casually. “Madame, the Candidates are requested to come immediately,” he replied somewhat stiffly.

Mara favored him with a predatory look that made him cringe. Her claws snicked out of their sheaths audibly. “Mr Bordeaux,” she said, “accompany the gentleman.”

Dirk followed the man, who was visibly relieved to depart. He pointed Dirk to the correct room, said he had others to notify, and left. Dirk was starting to notice that a lot of people connected with the election, including many of the Candidates, preferred to have as little to do with him as possible. And though he did not pretend to be a great sophisticate, he knew that his Betelgeusean sponsors were the main reason. He entered the ballroom, and was not surprised when no one rushed to greet him.

Far from feeling bitter about being ostracized, Dirk was glad of it. Most of the other Candidates were shallow, cynical, and opportunistic, almost to the point of being machiavellian. Luckily, Dirk reflected, they possessed neither the daring, nor the imagination, of Skip Voyager. It didn’t occur to him that just a few weeks before, he would have been thrilled to be among them.

Ray Fleming walked in a few minutes later, saw Dirk, and joined him. Oliver arrived soon after, and did the same. Dirk noticed that the other Candidates kept their distance from his two companions as well, but he recognized that it was not due to bigotry. Oliver Gates and Ray Fleming intimidated the crowd. They all seemed to be aware that these two were a cut above them, and that they did not choose to have their time wasted by lesser competitors.

“Heard you had a little excitement today,” Ray cheerfully said.

“A little. Did you guys know he’d try something like that?”

“Well, we’ve never pretended to like him,” Oliver admitted. “But we never thought he’d go this far, and certainly not this soon.”

“That’s right,” Ray confirmed. “We sure didn’t suspect the guy of abject stupidity.”

“You might have warned me.”

“What could we say?” Ray asked, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “Voyager was being a blood brother to you; you’d never have believed us. Besides, we thought he was just trying to make an advantageous partnership. That’s no crime where we’re going.”

“The most we could do,” Oliver added, “was hope that if he did try something, he wouldn’t outwit the Secret Service. It seems he didn’t.”

“You’ve known they’ve been following me all along?”

“Sure. Didn’t you notice? You got your shadows right after the Orion vote. Oliver and I had escorts from the start, but that’s because we’re the odds-on favorites to win at our homes. Even Skip would have a couple, except that no one takes people from Mondo too seriously. And this event sure ain’t gonna help their image.”

“But if Secret Service agents are watching everyone, why did Skip try to get rid of me like that?”

Oliver scratched his throat, thinking. “The best guess I can make is that he just got desperate. Desperate people don’t always think too clearly. I know it sounds stupid, but the evening news chronicles this sort of thing all the time.”

At that point, Sgt King arrived. All conversation around the room stopped. The sergeant’s face wore a very businesslike expression; the sarcastic humor, the impatience, the explosive anger, were all gone. In his right hand, he carried a rolled-up sheaf of papers.

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming on such short notice,” King began. His voice was not especially loud this evening, but it carried. “I’m afraid this is not a social call. A most unpleasant matter has come to my attention, and it must be resolved immediately. Will Mr Skip Voyager please come forward.”

Skip gave Dirk a murderous look, and he and a group of his followers stepped into the wide circle that had formed around Sgt King. King eyed them a moment. “I would like to mention that I did not ask anyone to accompany Mr Voyager,” he remarked. The lesser Candidates hesitated, then melted back into the crowd. Skip was alone.

“Mr Voyager, some very serious accusations have been levelled at you today. Among them, the charge that you premeditatedly lured a fellow Candidate into mortal danger this morning. That you deliberately left him in said danger. That you maliciously sabotaged his radio, so that he could not summon help. That you did the same to his ship’s single engine, so that he could not maneuver against the winds of the planet Tintagel.” Sgt King paused, tapping the sheaf of papers against his palm. His eyes held Skip immobile. “Mr Voyager, would you care to respond to any of these charges?”

Skip faced Sgt King defiantly, refusing to give an inch. “These are all outrageous lies,” he said. “Let’s not be shy about this; we all know who’s making these accusations.” He turned, pointing at Dirk. “Dirk Bordeaux has dreamed up all of these charges. Elated by his Orion victory, he is determined to remove all other strong Candidates from the race, thus assuring himself of victory.

“But we must not lay the blame for this scheme at Dirk’s feet,” he continued. “We all know how naive and ingenuous he is. It was his diabolical Betelgeusean sponsors who put the idea into his head! His Candidacy is nothing more than a power play on their part. They seek to subvert our great society, and impose their disgusting feminist views upon the decent people of the IFSBG!”

Dirk could not believe what he was hearing. He knew there was no way he could disprove anything Skip was saying. Virtually everyone in the room was predisposed to believe Skip, and would gladly think the worst of Dirk and his sponsors. Skip glared triumphantly at Dirk for a moment, then turned back to Sgt King.

“Sir, I agree that this matter must be resolved here and now. Otherwise, no Candidate will be safe from Betelgeusean machinations. I say that Dirk Bordeaux has falsely accused a fellow Candidate, and must therefore be disqualified!”

“Three gentlemen of the Secret Service have sworn out affidavits to the contrary,” Sgt King replied. “And they have further indicated to me that they are willing to testify before a Board of Inquiry that you are a would-be murderer and a liar.”

As Sgt King spoke, the color drained from Skip’s tanned, handsome face. His eyes darted nervously, looking for an avenue of escape. The sergeant bore down mercilessly.

“Mr Voyager, this is your official notice that you have been disqualified from Candidacy for Chairman of the Intergalactic Federation of Straight, Butch Guys. The appropriate documents have been forwarded to the Election Committee, and your primary sponsors have been notified. These are your copies,” he concluded, holding out the sheaf of papers. When Skip hesitated to take them, Sgt King spoke again.

“You may elect to refuse your copies at this time, forcing us to embarrass you further with the Board of Inquiry. However, it is my duty to advise you against such an unwise course of action. Federal prison could follow.”

Slowly, struggling to hold back tears, Skip took the documents. He walked stiffly from the room, trying to retain some dignity. Sgt King surveyed the remaining Candidates, still cold and unemotional.

“Let this be a lesson to us all,” he suggested. “Someone who lacks character, or thinks himself above the law, is unfit for the Chairmanship. Such a person will never be my Commander in Chief. Good evening, gentlemen.” Without further ceremony, Sgt King left the room.

“Wow. That’s one tough old bird,” observed one of the younger Candidates from the Cornucopia. “He reminds me of my grandmother. One time, she French kissed a rattler, just to show there wasn’t one of us as bad as her.”

“What happened after that?” Oliver asked, intrigued.

“The snake died.”

“That’s too bad,” Oliver said amid the merriment that followed. “I was kind of thinking we could introduce them.”

“What, introduce Sgt King to my grandmother?”

“No—to the snake.”

More laughter erupted, but Dirk didn’t feel like joining. He slipped out quietly, feeling a little guilty for Skip’s plight. He knew there was no reason for it, but he could not help feeling somewhat responsible for what had happened. As if he should have taken some of the blame for Skip.

Dirk wasn’t sure where he was heading, until he arrived at the restaurant where the day’s events had begun. It was quite late, and only a few patrons remained, talking quietly over coffees and desserts. Most of the lights were extinguished, the rest subdued.

Dirk walked to the edge of the terrace, though he feared to do so. He knew there were dozens of safeguards to keep him from falling, but the sense of danger was still there. Like so many people before him, he sat on the low railing, and looked out upon infinity. The blackness of space was littered with stars. They were above him, beneath him, to the left and right. They were so thick and numerous that Dirk couldn’t have made out constellations if he’d known what to look for on Tintagel. It was as though he hung suspended in space, with nothing between him and the cosmos. Above him was a gigantic green moon. Beneath his feet were two more the size of beach balls—one gold, the other red.

Dirk drank deeply of the magnificent panorama, feeling more alive than he ever had before. Then, he turned and fled from that horrible, beautiful sky.