Finish Line
                     By Steven Gordon

	Chapter 1

	"People are animals."
	The speaker, a distinguished man in his late 30's with 
neatly trimmed straight black hair, rocked back and forth on 
his front porch as he stared out into the black night that 
engulfed the northern Virginia suburb.  He cast a lazy glance 
to the side.
	"People are animals," he reiterated, rocking back and 
forth.
	"I heard you the first time," growled his companion, a 
somewhat shorter but thinner man.  "I'm not deaf, you know."
	"People are animals, and do you know why?" the first man 
asked.
	"Because... they're primitive.  I don't know," said the 
second man, picking up his drink.
	"Incorrect," said the first man.   And he sat up with a 
gleam in his eyes and he said, "People are animals because 
they compete to survive."
	His name was Michael Powers, Congressman Michael K. 
Powers III, and he was a predator.  A scion of a wealthy 
family that made a killing in the tool & dye industry in the 
1930's, he entered Columbia at 17, graduated Harvard Law at 
24, and immediately joined the ranks of Kassenbaum & McKinney, 
arguably the top lawyer/lobby firm inside the beltway.  After 
a few years of hobnobbing with powerful party bosses and even 
more powerful congressmen on the Hill, Powers returned to New 
York to make a run for a seat on Manhattan's Upper East Side.  
He chose to run as a Democrat not simply because Democrats 
always won there; it was more than that, he found their 
philosophy admirable.  Democrats werer for the poor people, 
for the little man.  They fought valiantly to shake a few 
dollars from stingy rich people's pockets.  This effort also 
made sense politically; Democrats spent government money to 
create constituencies which supported them at election time.  
To Powers it seemed only natural to funnel government money to 
specific interest groups who would return the favor.  He knew 
that you had to give something to get something.  It was those 
puritanical Republicans he despised, those who called it 
"taxpayer money" and refused to let the government have any 
meaningful role in people's lives.
	The government was going to spend money regardless of 
what anyone said; so why not spend it in ways that best suited 
Powers?
	And so he ran for Congress.  Powers was bright, 
charismatic, telegenic, with all the right staffers and 
soundbites.  $5 million dollars later, he was elected in an 
upset, 52% to 48%, over a local assemblyman with bedrock ties 
to the community.  He had been unstoppable ever since.
	Michael Powers turned to his companion, his close 
companion, for Powers didn't share his personal philosophy 
with just anyone.  Arthur "Ace" Toles was one of the 
privileged few.  His chief of staff from the very beginning, 
Toles was the closest thing he had to a confidant.
	"So?" said Toles, yawning slightly.
	"Men are constantly in competition.  Their natural 
inclination is to get the best for themselves--the most 
important jobs, the most money, the best women...  Life is a 
constant struggle for these goals, for supply is limited even 
if demand is not."
	"Really?"
	"You scoff, oh cynical one, but it is oh so true.  Life 
is a constant struggle for these goodies, and yet while man is 
animal, he also must conform to the civilizing aspects of 
society, and not stray too far from its bounds, or run the 
risk of being shunned.  But it is a struggle nonetheless, no 
different than two tigers wrestling over the body of a fallen 
doe."
	"I didn't know tigers ate deer," Toles commented.  But 
for a moment he became more serious.  "So what's the point?"  
He had heard it all before, of course, many many times.  But 
he could see that Powers was attempting to make a link, to 
something more contemporary.
	Powers, however, would not be rushed to his conclusion.  
"In the society of man this struggle is expressed through the 
struggle for power, for power can bring all these things.  
Power is good. Power is the ability to control your own 
destiny, and the destiny of others.  Power means never having 
to take abuse, but being able to dispense it liberally, all 
without fear of reprisal.  Power is my name; power is who I 
am; power is what I was meant for.  And in our society the 
most power comes from the ability to command vast resources, 
millions of individuals."
	"You are, of course, talking about our political 
system."
	Powers grinned.  "So you have been paying attention.  
Good."  He wet his lips.  "I've been in the House for nearly 
ten years.  What have I accomplished?"
	"You've built a power base.  You've made connections.  
You've-"
	Powers cut him off with a wave of a hand.  "Building, 
building... towards what?  So that in ten more years I can 
become a committee chairman?  Thank you, but no thank you.  
Congressmen are atoms.  They are each one equal among many.  
No one has the ability to command, to control, not even the 
Speaker, not really."
	Toles sat up.  "So what are you getting at?"
	"The time has come.  To seek a position of true 
responsibility, of true power.  To better serve the people."  
The last he said without a trace of irony.
	Toles sat up.  "The Governor's race?  Governor of New 
York?"
	"That is my current state of residence," said Powers 
dryly.  "Think of it!  To be chief executive of one of the 
most populous states in the union.  There with my veto power I 
will have the lobbyists and the assemblymen and yes, even the 
congressmen, all turning to me, all craving my attention.  I 
will be one above others, the ruler of my own sizable 
fiefdom."
	Toles took this all in for a while.  "Are you sure 
you're ready?"
	"I've always been ready," Power replied.	
	Toles took it all in.  He paused for a moment.  "The 
light rail project... you're pushing that with this in mind."
	"Precisely."  Powers had been the guiding force behind a 
proposal to set up a light rail system between New York City, 
Albany, and Syracuse.  The regions were already linked by 
rail, but Powers was selling it as a series of bullet trains 
that would radically reduce transit times.  The only reason he 
called it a "light rail" system was to give it a more 
ecologically friendly name that environmentalists would take 
to.  He wished he could have fit the buzzwords "recycling" and 
"solar cooker" into the name of the project too, but there 
were limits to deception, even in Washington.  
	The rail project was not necessary.  To be more precise, 
it was not necessary for the people of New York.  But it was 
very necessary for Michael Powers.  The project would bring a 
lot of development money to New York that he, Michael K. 
Powers III, would get credit for.  But just as important was 
the fact that it would satisfy the needs of a certain 
construction union which was a very important contributor to 
Powers' campaign.
	"Just think about it. I'm about to get credit for 
bringing one of the largest federally funded development 
projects to the state of New York in this decade.  What better 
way to start a gubernatorial campaign?"
	"You planned this... you planned this from the start," 
said Toles, slowly realizing the implications.
	"Ace, of course!  Did you really think I planned to sit 
in the House of Representatives for the rest of my life, one 
of an anonymous 435?"
	"A gubernatorial race," Toles whispered, with a faraway 
look in his eyes.  "But... the vote's tomorrow.  You and I 
both know it's not going to pass the subcommittee."
	The first hurdle for Transportation Modernization Act, 
as it was officially called, was to pass the Public Works and 
Transportation subcommittee that dealt with roads and 
transportation.  The committee had fifteen members, nine 
Democrats and six Republicans.  The six Republicans were 
solidly against the act on the grounds that it was a frivolous 
piece of pork.  What was their problem?  Government had to 
spend money on something; why was Powers' project less worthy 
than anyone else's?  Powers, who was the third ranking 
Democrat on the subcommittee, had persuaded the subcommittee 
chair to bring it up for a vote, but it was clear that while 
the chairman would vote for the bill, he wasn't going to stick 
his neck out for the proposal.  So Powers worked at the time 
honored tradition of buying Democratic votes.  
	It wasn't very difficult.  Everyone had a price.  
Congressman Bowers wanted a 
Johnny Appleseed museum in his district.  Representative 
Hatcliff wanted to subsidze the building of a new office tower 
in downtown Cleveland.  But it was Congressman Shroeden that 
Powers most admired.  She wanted to build a "visitor's center" 
in her district for her constituents, essentially a $12 
million dollar tribute to her.  It didn't take long for Powers 
to assemble nearly all the chits he needed, and it only cost 
him about $500 million in taxpayer money.  A bargain.  But 
Powers could not budge two of the Democrats on the Committee--
Stanley Bayren of Utah and Otis Fern of Ohio.  It wasn't that 
they were any more ethical than the rest; normally, they would 
allow themselves to be bought, for the right price.  But this 
was a special situation.
	Bayren was the real problem.  He was number four in 
seniority on the committee, just behind Powers, and he had 
been a constant rival, ever since he and Powers had arrived on 
Capital Hill, almost ten years ago.  They had both been posted 
to the subcommittee at the same time, and since they were of 
equal seniority, a coin flip determined who was to be senior.  
Powers won, and they never seemed to get along after that.  
For Powers it was nothing personal, but perhaps Bayren didn't 
appreciate the grander scheme of Powers' neo-Darwinistic 
conception of survival of the fittest.
	Bayren opposed Powers at every turn and this bill was no 
exception.  What was worse was that he had little persuading 
to do to enlist his close ally, Otis Fern, in his cause 
against the Powers bill.
	The arithmetic was simple.  Six Republicans and two 
Democrats versus seven Democrats made for an eight to six 
majority against.  Even the most imaginative mathematicians 
from the Congressional Budget Office couldn't find a way to 
dispute that.
	Powers had been on the phone all day trying to reverse 
that.  Not by attempting to talk to Bayren or even Fern; no, 
there was little chance of getting beyond the hate.  But 
perhaps one of the Republicans could be bought.  Usually one 
or two of the older guard, the "get along-give along" types 
could.
	Not this time, apparently.  Either they meant what they 
said, or perhaps they had already been bought off--by Bayren.  
A sinister thought.
	"Do you know something I don't?" said Toles.
	Powers just smiled.
	"Did you manage to turn one of the Republicans?"
	Powers shook his head.
	"What, you're going to try to end-run the subcommittee 
and bring it up in the full committee?"
	Powers shook his head.  "I already investigated that 
prospect, remember?"
	"Then what?"
	Powers shrugged his shoulders.  "There's one more night 
before the vote.  Perhaps someone will have a change of 
heart."
	"That's not like you, to be so... passive when important 
things are at stake."
	"There's a first time for everything," said Powers 
calmly.  "Have some more cognac?"
	Suddenly a little boy came bouncing onto the porch.  
"Daddy!" he said, leaping into Power's arms.
	"Ha ha, there's my boy," said Powers.  He held the young 
man in his arms.  "Bobby, what are you doing out of bed?  
Isn't it past time for bed?"
	"Michael," said a voice.  The screen door opened again, 
and Erin Powers stepped out.  She was a young, attractive 
woman in her mid 30's, just a few years younger than her 
husband.  She was active in her own causes, notably 
environmental issues, and while her politics rarely seemed to 
jibe with Powers', they rarely were seen arguing over 
political philosophy.
	"Hi, what's happening?" said Powers quietly.  He looked 
calm, too calm, considering the importance of the vote that 
was just a morning away.
	"Off to bed, escapee," said Erin, scooting Bobby inside.  
"Do you have a few minutes, hon?"
	Powers groaned, immediately knowing what it was about.  
"Is it about this Greedleaf thing?  Can't we talk about it 
later?"
	"Greenleaf Fund.  You never get the name right," She 
sighed. "All right, I know you have this big vote tomorrow.  
We'll talk about it afterwards.  But no more putting it off, 
ok?"
	Powers gave her his solemn promise.
	When Erin had gone back inside, Powers gave a big grin.  
"See?  You even have Erin worried about tomorrow's vote."
	"Shouldn't we be?"
	Powers rocked back and forth in his chair.  The night 
crickets chirped in accompaniment. "We'll see... we'll 
see...."

	The House of Representatives was intended by the 
founding fathers to be the place where the common people would 
have their representation in government.  Unlike the lofty 
Senate, whose members were originally selected by state 
legislators, not voters, for six year terms, Representatives 
were selected for short two year terms by the people, for the 
people.  There were 435 of them in all, not counting nonvoting 
representatives from Guam, Samoa, the District of Columbia, 
and the like, and each represented a little fiefdom, a small 
discrete gerrymandered piece of Americana, representing 
perhaps six or seven hundred thousand citizens.
	But in reality there was little that was common about 
the House.  Consider the setting:  Washington D.C., on the 
Mall in a bright day in May.  Go up the Potomac river, and 
hang a sharp right at the Lincoln Memorial.  See the giant 
statue of President Lincoln, sitting somberly, as if in 
judgment, looking to the east.  Travel east, past the shallow 
reflecting pool, and stop for a moment at the Washington 
Monument, the giant gleaming white obelisk surrounded by a 
circle of large flapping American flags.  To the left, beyond 
a meadow, obscured by trees, sits the White House, alone by 
itself.  But straight ahead, further to the east, sits in 
plain view the large, sprawling white domed building that is 
Capitol Hill.  It is like a little city, with its own police 
force, barber shops, restaurants, stores, and even a subway in 
miniature.  From it flows the power and authority to spend 
hundreds of billions of dollars.  From it comes the formal 
power to wage war and peace.  From it comes the power to 
intrude into the personal lives of every citizen, from the 
death penalty to abortion to the power to take property--or to 
give it.

	On Tuesday morning one of many committee rooms start to 
fill up.  It was not a meeting that was likely to attract the 
attention of the CSPAN cameras, but chairs in the audience 
were quickly filled nonetheless.  Filled with lobbyists.  The 
sign on the door read  "Subcommittee on Surface 
Transportation".
	Congressmen and their staffers started to shuffle in.  
Normally committee meetings were only about half attended.  
Legislative deliberations were in motion on the House floor, 
but that was not where missing Congressmen were to be found.  
No, they were usually in other committee meetings, or at home 
on campaign swings, or staying in touch with their 
constituents--one way or another.
	But the Subcommittee on Surface Transportation was bound 
to be fully attended by its members today.  Each side had 
marshalled its troops one way or another for or against 
Powers' bill, and was not about to lose simply because someone 
didn't show up.  As it stood the opposition to Powers' bill 
had only a one vote margin to insure its victory--and Powers' 
defeat.
	Powers walked into the committee hearing room, looking 
very unperturbed.  He wore his best $700 Brooks Brothers suit 
and his classy striped Columbia tie.  His golden cuff links 
reflected light in the committee room chamber.
	Powers moved for his seat.  He sat right next to Bayren, 
which didn't make for very warm committee hearings, but Bayren 
had yet to appear.  Powers sat down, and pretended to read his 
New York Times.  He chuckled a bit as he glanced at an op-ed 
by Michele Franswa, possibly his least favorite editorialist.


	SUPPORT THE PROFESSIONS TAX

Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa

		New York is facing a shortage of funds.  There's a 
shortage of city revenue, while people suffer on the streets, 
rummaging through trash cans to survive.  Single men, driven 
to chemical dependency by the cruel rules of society, are 
unable to find jobs that meet their need for self-esteem.  
Young people are at risk of committing crimes because after 
school activities have been cut.  The arts programs have been 
decimated, and puppet shows are down 50% over what they were 
just last year.
		And yet we have rich fatcats who work in the tall 
towers of New York while ignoring the seeds of dispair around 
them.  There has been a proposal floating around recently to 
enact a professions tax, that is, a small but just surtax of 
5% on the incomes of everyone who works in New York who has a 
graduate degree.  This would require doctors, lawyers, and 
MBA's to give back to society a small portion of what society 
has given to them.  It would require them to play by the 
rules, and to help those who haven't been as lucky as they 
were.  It might wake up some of them to the fact that they 
obtained their positions of wealth and prestige through a 
throw of the dice, and that they should feel some guilt and be 
glad part with some of their obscenely large incomes.
		Instead of being thankful for a new program which 
would aid the less fortunate, the fat cats have been 
protesting en masse.  They say the money they earn is theirs 
and what business does the government have to take it away.  I 
have to chuckle when I hear such outmoded sentiments.  In 
modern society, everyone in the community is interconnected, 
and to deny those interconnections is to deny reality.  As a 
member of society, each of those who just happen to be doing 
better has a responsibilty to help those who have fallen 
through the cracks.  Government is the ideal instrument for 
leveling out such inequalities, and the rich should be 
thankful that such a moderate and peaceful method 
redistribution is in place.  Would they prefer an angry mob 
robbing them of their possessions and home?  I think not.
		This is a very moderate proposal.  It would only 
affect the upper elite of this state, and only five additional 
percent of income on top of the pittance they already pay in 
taxes.  If they don't want to do it for society, they should 
at least be willing to do it for the children.


	Powers, chuckling, looked up from his paper.  Bayren 
still had not made an appearance, but Otis Fern, his number 
one ally, however, was there, one seat down from Bayren's, and 
he leaned to the left to speak to Powers.  "Howdy Mike."
	Powers nodded.  "Good morning, Otis.  How are you?"
	Fern ignored the question.  "I hear we're going to have 
a vote today."
	Powers nodded.  "You're very well informed."
	"Would you care to place bets on this one?" Fern leered.  
He knew that his side had the votes to block Powers' bill.
	Powers shook his head.  
	"Why?  What's wrong?  Are we about to see the great 
Michael D. Powers III," and he spat out the number, like an 
insult, "cut down in front of his peers?"
	Powers shook his head.
	"Then is it just simple fear?  Fear that you've finally 
gonna be stopped, and stopped hard?"
	Powers shook his head.  "This is just a game, a game of 
competition.  We will measure and match the power of my side 
against yours.  The fittest will survive, the loser will be 
vanquished.  Such is the way with all games of life."
	"And is that what you're afraid of?  That this will show 
you're not so fit?"  Otis lowered his voice as he saw the room 
filling up, but made low chuckling sounds.  "Heh heh heh.  
I'll enjoy watching you squirm, Mikey."
	"All right Otis," said Powers, with a steely look.  
Otis, startled, pulled his head back.
	"All right," said Powers again.  "If you want to bet, 
let's bet.  But let's have some real stakes."
	Fern looked surprised, but he took out his wallet.  
"So?"
	"No," said Powers, shaking his head.  "Your chit."
	Fern immediately understood.  "So if you win..."
	"You owe me one.  I can call it in, any time, any vote."
	Fern grinned maliciously.  "And if I win...."
	"The same."
	"You got a deal!"
	Ace Toles, who had been sitting discretely in the 
background where the staffers were located, took this occasion 
to lean forward.  "Congressman, are you sure-"
	Powers made a discrete throat cutting gesture, then 
turned away.
	The gavel banged.  "This meeting will come to order."  
This was from the Chairman, Max Tankel, Congressman from 
Michigan.  He called the roll.  All the Republicans were 
there, as were all the Democrats--with one exception.   
Stanley Bayren.  Congressman from Utah.  
	The chairman ran over some routine matters, and then he 
said, "The first order of business is a vote on the 
Transportation Modernization Act.  Would anyone like to speak 
on the issue?"
	A dozen set of hands went up.  Evidently, people did.
	
	In a modest home in suburban Maryland, Stanley Bayren, 
Congressman from Utah, was cursing.  He had overslept and was 
going to be late for his meeting.  Dashing into the driveway 
he fumbled for the car keys.  Then he suddenly remembered he 
had left them in the house.

	"Mr. Chairman, this bill is pork, pure pork," said Mike 
Laren.  He was the ranking Republican member, the most senior 
Republican on the subcommittee, and the sharpness of his 
accusatory tone surprised even Powers.  What was his problem?  
The government had so much money, it had trouble spending it 
all.  Who cared about deficits?  If they really had a problem 
with deficits, let them raise taxes.

	Fumbling for his keys, Bayren opened the car door, got 
in, slammed it closed behind him, and turned the key in the 
ignition.
	The engine sputtered for a moment, then died.

	"This rail system will double the rail capacity in this 
part of New York, at a time when the existing rail capacity is 
often at less than 75% utilization."  This was one of the 
other Republicans.  His accusation was true, but what was the 
point?  If they trimmed every piece of legislation with waste 
in it then nothing would ever get passed!

	Bayren raced down the freeway.  It would be so ironic if 
Powers won this contest of wills, simply because he, Bayren, 
had overslept.

	"Mr. Chairman, I'd like to speak."  This came from Otis 
Fern, who, despite the absence of Bayren was still thoroughly 
confident, and enjoying this committee session thoroughly.  
The Republicans had just finished, each sticking their knives 
into the legislation, and Fern wanted to administer the final 
coup de grace with a long spear.  "Mr. Chairman, I was against 
this project from the start, because of its environmental 
impact.  But there's an even more important ground for 
stopping this project:  I'm afraid we just cannot afford such 
wasteful spending, when our deficit has gotten so much out of 
control."
	Powers appreciated Fern's sudden concern for the 
deficit.  He smiled as he remembered reading somewhere that 
the National Taxpayers Union had rated Otis Fern as one of the 
top ten biggest spenders in the House of Representatives.  
Suddenly, he was a fiscal hawk.
	But now it was the turn of Powers' and his allies.  One 
by one they got up to speak in support of his bill.
	
	Bayren raced down the beltway.  He accelerated a bit too 
much, frowned, and then put on the brake.  Nothing happened!
	He put more pressure on the brake, and he slowed down 
some.  Bayren gave a sigh of relief.  He'd have to get those 
brakes checked out.

	Powers let his allies speak first.  They all effusively 
praised the bill, largely sticking to the talking points that 
Toles had provided.  Not that it really mattered; everyone's 
mind was already made up.  Or already bought.  When Powers' 
supporters were finished, Powers asked to be recognized.  The 
chairman nodded and Powers spoke, glancing occasionally at the 
prepared text that Toles had put together.
	"Colleagues.  The mass transportation system in our 
country is in crisis.  We have been warned by numerous blue 
ribboned panels that our infrastructure is crumbling.  Now is 
the time to act.  This light rail system will reinvigorate not 
only New York's economy, but the entire region's.  And with 
the success of this project we will undoubtedly have the means 
and the political will to fund others.  Now, some of you have 
raised the environmental issue.  As for those concerns, I 
would have you know that this is an eco-friendly light rail 
system, with plans for a contiguous bike path-"

	Bayren glanced at his watch, and a look of alarm crossed 
his face.  He knew the committee vote could be held at any 
moment.  For all he knew, it might have occurred already.  He 
stepped on the gas, but was forced to brake when another car 
swerved ahead of him.
	Only the brake didn't work.
	He pressed frantically on it, but he wouldn't slow down.  
He swerved to the left, then to the right again, avoiding 
another car.  Then the car directly ahead of him slowed down 
to get off of the next exit ramp.  Bayren was boxed in to the 
left, so he swerved right, onto the embankment, pressing the 
brake all the way.  But the car didn't slow down.  The car 
skidded along the rough shoulder, glancing against a railing, 
and then plowed with full force into an underpass, smashing 
uncontrollably into a support wall, and immediately burst into 
flames.

	"-and this is the right thing to do.  We can do it, we 
should do it, we will do it," said Powers.  "Mr. Chairman, I 
think we're ready for the vote."
	The Chairman nodded.
	"Wait."  This was from Otis Fern.  "Mr. Chairman, 
Congressman Bayren isn't here yet."
	The Chairman harrumped, his plump face looking 
displeased.  "Mr. Fern, we're nearly an hour into the meeting.  
I cannot be made responsible for the appearance of the 
Gentleperson from Utah."
	"Five minutes, Mr. Chairman. A five minute recess, 
please?"
	Congressman Tankel, the Chairman, looked only more 
annoyed.  But he nodded, saying, "Five minutes!  Then we vote, 
regardless of who is here," he added, with a look at Fern, 
"and who is not."  Scowling, he banged the gavel.  He was the 
subcommittee chairman; he hated all delays that were not of 
his own making.  They had a lot of spending bills to take up 
today; at this rate, they'd be lucky to appropriate a piddling 
$10 billion before the day was over.  "Five minutes!  Five!"  
He held up five stubby fingers for those Congressman who had 
not understood him the first two times.
	There was a murmur in the audience as Fern rapidly 
scooted out.  Toles whispered to Powers.  "What do you think 
is happening?"
	Powers shrugged his shoulders.
	Five minutes later Fern had not returned.  "The vote 
will now be called," said Chairman Tankel.  He called the 
vote.  "Mr. Abrams!  Mr. Bacon!  Mr. Eyes-"  One by one their 
names were called off, and each responded with an aye, or a 
nay.  
	It was still close.  All six Republicans voted against 
the bill, and all seven Democrats present voted for it.  Had 
Fern been present it would have been a tie, in which case the 
chairman could have broken the tie in Powers' favor, according 
to committee rules. 
	Congressman Tankel banged his gavel.  "The bill is 
hereby recommended for consideration by the full committee, on 
a vote of seven for, six against."  At that moment Fern 
returned, ashen faced.
	"What?" said the Chairman, immediately sensing something 
was wrong.
	"It's Congressman Bayren... there's been a terrible 
accident."
	A stunned silence filled the committee room as Fern 
related the sketchy details.
	Powers' expression was impassive.

	"Bayren dead!" said Toles, once they had returned to 
Powers' Capitol Hill office.  "Who ever would have figured 
it?"
	"Who indeed," said Powers calmly.
	Toles gave Powers a quizzical look, got a warning 
glance, and knew to drop it.  "Anyway, we've won!  We've won!"
	Staffers, hearing the commotion, raced out of their side 
offices.  "We did?  We really did?"
	Two legislative staffers, Philip Niles, and John 
Marsten, gave war whoops.  The whole office was filled with 
energy. 


	The next day Powers and Toles walked in a leafy green 
forest.  Each carried a high powered sporting rifle.  This was 
Powers' way of rewarding himself.  He didn't often permit 
himself the pleasure of hunting in the great outdoors--there 
simply wasn't the time.
	But now he relaxed as he put his slim rifle to his 
shoulder. "Events are proceeding, and very much on schedule," 
said Powers calmly.  "Now for the next step.  I want you to 
talk to Pringle about setting up a "draft Powers" committee.  
You know, something that's not obviously connected to me."
	"Understood," said Toles.
	Powers looked through the sniperscope at a far tree.  
"More immediately, we need a campaign manager."
	"Hey, who managed your last two campaigns?"
	Powers put down the rifle, gently squeezing Toles' 
shoulder.  "Ace, this is going to be an operation on a much 
larger scale.  I need you to be in charge of organization and 
task management.  When I'm elected, you know, I'm going to 
need a capable chief of staff in the governor's office."
	Toles' eyes glowed.  "Chief of staff to the governor!"
	"Um hum," said Powers, looking through the sniperscope 
again, this time at a closer tree.  His grip tightened, his 
finger closed on the trigger... and then he stopped, lowering 
his weapon.
	"What?" said Toles.
	Powers took his head.  "Too small.  Not worth the shot."  
He started walking again.
	"That was some game we bagged yesterday," said Toles.
	"Yes, it was a significant step forward.  We've won a 
key battle, but the war still has to be won.  Our next battle 
will be fought on more favorable ground, in full committee, 
but we must be adequately prepared nonetheless."
	He looked through the sniperscope again, slowing moving 
the barrel as a flock of birds moved overhead.
	"We must wait, biding our time, choosing... the... 
right... moment...." He squeezed the trigger, jerked as the 
rifle pushed into his shoulder, and watched as a squawking 
bird tumbled to the ground just feet away.  It fluttered for a 
moment and then became motionless, its bright red blood 
seeping into the clear green grass.
	"Very good," said Powers approvingly.  "But just the 
beginning.  Only the beginning."



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