David Weber - The Road to Hell

He waved a cordial goodbye at the projective and turned to Alazon during a brief pause in the receiving line.

‹What was that?› He sent with a pulse of pure bafflement. ‹Why is this woman pretending to support me?›

Lady Durthia fluttered an affected wave at the two of them as she flitted off into the crowd turned campaign stop party. Her beaming face looked as if meeting Darcel had been the best thing in the known multiverses.

‹Oh, I think Durthia will probably vote for you, so she isn’t pretending about the support. She’s just pretending to like it.› Alazon answered the wave and subtly nudged his attention back towards the next woman.

Darcel welcomed the next person in line, relieved when she proved to be a soft-spoken Animal Speaker serving as Whitterhoo’s veterinarian for all the pets in town. She was also planning to vote for him. A light handshake and a few words exchanged seemed to leave that woman just as happy as Durthia had appeared to be. The line moved on.

Darcel waited for Alazon to continue the mental explanation. Something in the feel of the pause told him she was organizing complex thoughts before sharing them.

‹She expected a nephew to have a place in the new parliament. They’ve been a political family for several generations.›

With so many years as Emperor Zindel’s Privy Voice and effective political chief of staff, Alazon held an intuitive grasp of political interactions. Darcel still had to think things through and ask questions to make sure he understood.

‹Is her nephew running?› he Asked.

‹Not at all.›

Startled by her response, Darcel failed to avoid a bear hug from an overly friendly man accompanying the next league member.

The newest intern, the one with the forgettable face, deftly drew the man off before he could follow up with anything more enthusiastic and kept the crowd moving. The political team Alazon had built for him was a masterpiece in action. Darcel credited her practical experience in politics and deep personal network for assembling such a skilled support staff for his campaign.

Kelahm somehow deposited the man farther off in the crowd in front of Lady Durthia, who welcomed the newcomer and his wife with mutual hugs.

‹The nephew’s family, meaning his Aunt Durthia, just wishes he were running.› Alazon continued after a moment’s pause ensured Darcel was able to keep his focus on the crowd and his political duties. ‹Unfortunately for what they might’ve wanted, the nephew found your Voice report compelling. A lot of the younger Talents did. Their generation’s been drawn to service more than I’ve ever seen…and many of their parents wish they’d follow in the family businesses instead. Or at least select safer, less dangerous ways to serve.›

‹The nephew enlisted to fight Arcana?›

‹Yes.› Alazon confirmed, sending a mixture of deep pride in the many youths rushing to join the Empire of Sharona’s armies and equal dismay at the potential loss of so many young lives.

Tears blurred Darcel’s vision for a moment before he forced them away. ‹Gods bless him.›

* * *

Alazon Yanamar left Darcel to handle the rest of the long line of well-wishers. The team had finally gotten him off the train platform and into the assembly room proper that had been rented for this campaign stop. They’d also made sure it had a good strong roof to hold off the rain if another squall came through.

He was good at these moment-by-moment meetings with Talents young and old who wanted to lay eyes on their candidate. He’d also work the line faster if she wasn’t mentally whispering in his ear, and that meant a shorter wait for those at the end of the line who might simply leave if forced to stand too long.

She scanned the room to reacquaint herself with the mood of the rest of the crowd and caught the nonverbals passing lightning-quick between the Voice she’d drafted for campaign coordination, Istin Leddle, and the double handful of Darcel’s political staff scattered across the room.

Two of the staff took station farther up the receiving line to gush about their excitement for the campaign and subtly remind the constituents not to crush Darcel’s hands. They might also encourage those at the end of the line to stay for the long wait to see the candidate himself.

The team was good. And Alazon watched her husband-to-be with a deep sense of pride. He was good too. Other campaign managers taught their candidates complex tactics for pretending empathy with potential voters. Darcel didn’t need any of that. He liked people, and it showed.

The next pair in line had brought a baby, and Alazon suppressed a laugh as one of her interns produced a baby blanket. Darcel deftly laid it over his arms and bounced the cooing infant without ever touching the child directly. He’d insisted on something being found to keep the babies safe when the first of the mild campaign illnesses caught up with him and even the smallest infants kept being pushed into his arms anyway.

Istin had suggested blazoning the campaign logo across the thing like a banner, but Alazon had nixed that in favor of a discrete applique in one corner. The parents loved them. She made a note to order more.

She’d also have to see about getting more regional campaign offices and finding out which of the interns were interested in long term employment on the Kinlafia staff. It wasn’t too soon to plan for Candidate Darcel becoming Minister Kinlafia.

Perhaps a trip outside New Farnal would be good. For this first election, Alazon’s goal for Darcel was to secure a position in the new House of Talents by a large enough margin to carry a sense of mandate. The polls showed he was popular everywhere. If a few fellow delegates owed their elections to his support…Alazon began mentally calculating the costs of leaving his base electorate for a day trip or two compared to the impact of merely giving a few supportive Voicecast interviews.

* * *

Kelahm chan Helikos, member of the Ternathian Empire’s most elite personal protective service, served tea and delicate biscuits to the ladies of the Whitterhoo League of Women Talents waiting in the drizzle outside the packed meeting hall. He’d certainly worked in worse conditions. The crowd was cheerful and no one paid him much attention.

He hadn’t even had to provide his cover story yet: Kelahm Helikos, adult middle son of a prosperous animal healer, taking a few months off from the family business to volunteer on the Darcel Kinlafia campaign.

Talents that could detect lying, rare though they were in the general population, were too commonly hired to serve as political correspondents for Kelahm to risk any overt falsehoods in his cover story. So everything he said about himself was true. He simply left out many other true things no one would think to ask about.

For example, he wouldn’t mention the chan honorific earned from his military service before his recruitment into the Ternathian Imperial Guard. Nor would he mention that his father had also served in the Imperial Guard before retiring to an out of the way game preserve and setting up shop as an animal healer just to keep himself busy. And if the reason Kelahm had volunteered to join the Kinlafia Campaign had to do with his superiors’ orders, as indeed it had, he had no intention of mentioning that fact either.

The other interns clearly didn’t care for standing in the warm rain, so he’d arranged his security screen by suggesting they shuttle full carafes of tea and warm covered trays out to him for distribution among the crowd. The bedraggled pair he’d replaced had happily agreed.

Three hours into the shift, Kelahm had to partake of the tea himself when one of the interns started joking that he had some kind of Talent granting imperviousness to weather. He didn’t. But displaying too much self-discipline led to the wrong sorts of questions.