“Yes, Mister Administrator.”
“You are chief executive of the Howard Families?”
“I am the current speaker trustee of our Families’ Foundation. But I am responsible to my cousins rather than in authority over them.”
Ford brushed it aside. “I assume that your position carries with it leadership. I can’t negotiate with a hundred thousand people.”
Barstow did not blink. He saw the power play in the sudden admission that the administration knew the true numbers of the Families and discounted it. He had already adjusted himself to the shock of learning that the Families’ secret headquarters was no longer secret and the still more upsetting fact that the Administrator knew how to tap into their private communication system; it simply proved that one or more Members had been caught and forced to talk.
So it was now almost certain that the authorities already knew every important fact about the Families.
Therefore it was useless to try to bluff-just the same, don’t volunteer any information; they might not have all the facts this soon.
Barstow answered without noticeable pause. “What is it you wish to discuss with me, sir?”
“The policy of the Administration toward your kin group. The welfare of yourself and your relatives.”
Barstow shrugged. “What can we discuss? The Covenant has been tossed aside and you have been given power to do as you like with us-to squeeze a secret out of us that we don’t have. What can we do but pray for mercy?”
“Please!” The Administrator gestured his annoyance. “Why fence with me? We have a problem, you and I. Let’s discuss it openly and try to reach a solution. Yes?”
Barstow answered slowly, “I would like to . . . and I believe that you would like to, also. But the problem is based on a false assumption, that we, the Howard Families, know how to lengthen human life. We don’t.”
“Suppose I tell you that I know there is no such secret?”
“Mmm . . . I would like to believe you. But how can you reconcile that with the persecution of my people? You’ve been harrying us like rats.”
Ford made a wry face. “There is an old, old story about a theologian who was asked to reconcile the doctrine of Divine mercy with the doctrine of infant damnation. ‘The Almighty,’ he explained, ‘finds it necessary to do things in His official and public capacity which in His private and personal capacity He deplores.'”
Barstow smiled in spite of himself. “I see the analogy. Is it actually pertinent?”
“I think it is.”
“So. You didn’t call me simply to make a headsman’s apology?”
“No. I hope not. You keep in touch with politics? I’m sure you must; your position would require it.” Barstow nodded; Ford explained at length:
Ford’s administration had been the longest since the signing of the Covenant; he had lasted through four Councils. Nevertheless his control was now so shaky that he could not risk forcing a vote of confidence-certainly not over the Howard Families. On that issue his nominal majority was already a minority. If he refused the present decision of the Council, forced it to a vote of confidence, Ford would be out of office and the present minority leader would take over as administrator. “You follow me? I can either stay in office and try to cope with this problem while restricted by a Council directive with which I do not agree . . . or I can drop out and let my successor handle it.”
“Surely you’re not asking my advice?”
“No, no! Not on that. I’ve made my decision. The Action-in-Council would have been carried out in any case, either by me or by Mr. Vanning-so I decided to do it. The question is: will I have your help, or will I not?”
Barstow hesitated, while rapidly reviewing Ford’s political career in his mind. The earlier part of Ford’s long administration had been almost a golden age of statesmanship. A wise and practical man, Ford had shaped into workable rules the principles of human freedom set forth by Novak in the language of the Covenant. It had been a period of good will, of prosperous expansion, of civilizing processes which seemed to be permanent, irreversible.