The Sirens of Space by Jeffrey Caminsky Page A

be
mistaken.”
    “ No mistake, Boss,” said the manager.
He led Ricardo to the window overlooking the park, where the poor
man almost fainted from disbelief.
    “ No,” Ricardo said haltingly, as if
altering reality were as simple as denying his senses. He could
feel his stomach rising as he spoke. “He wouldn’t just come. He
never comes for breakfast—he likes Frederick’s deserts—he likes
the—specialties—we prepare when he comes to dine. And he’s
never—come without giving us time—to prepare something special.
Something truly memorable. Something— ”
    “ Well, whether he would or not, he’s
here.”
    “ But his box is occupied! And he’s
coming up the steps!” exclaimed Ricardo. The office quickly erupted
in an undirected flurry of activity.
    “ Quickly now—hurry! Tell Frederick to
drop whatever he’s doing. And tell Pierre to move the couple from
Booth Twenty-six.”
    “ But— ”
    “ Never mind. Tell them anything—tell
them their meal will be on the house. But we need their booth and
we need it right away.”
    “ But— ”
    “ Hurry!”
     
    “Sally, you light a
hundred hearts and spark a thousand smiles just by blinking your
eyes.” The rich baritone voice made the young woman blush, as the
speaker’s blue eyes twinkled coldly. The woman cast her eyes down
toward the plush, velvet carpeting. Her reply was almost drowned by
the background murmur of the patrons. Even at eight o’clock in the
morning, Ricardo’s was filled
to capacity.
    “ Oh, Senator,” she giggled, her face
flushing until her skin almost matched her blouse. She blushed
easily; it was one of the reasons the Senate’s most powerful
committee chairman always flirted with her—that and the fact that
she was the prettiest of Ricardo’s waitresses.
    Like his father and brothers, E. Emerson
Hollenbach was a big man. In most gatherings he towered a full head
above the rest of the crowd. He wore his massive bulk like a mantle
of command, with the easy assurance of one with no self-doubts.
Over the years he’d learned to take full advantage of the
psychological edge his physical size gave him. In politics as in
life strength prevailed over weakness, and Hollenbach learned early
in his career that there were ways of intimidation subtler than
brute force. Force was too messy, too easy to trace to be much use
in modern politics; even worse, it often gave its victims an
incentive to fight back. If Old Earth history taught anything, he
often reflected, it was that resentments caused by overt force took
forever to fade, and were rarely worth the trouble. And Hollenbach,
like most Earthers, was an expert in the field of resentment. It
wasn’t so much the overt snobbery that offended him. It was the
condescension toward the “unfortunates” that stiffened his back,
and gave him such pleasure in displaying every ounce of power at
his command. His delight in psychological dominance gave him an
edge in the primitive power struggles that Covington’s stately
corridors concealed from public view. Ironically, he found among
the chief pleasures of being one of the Senate’s most powerful
politicians was the chance to watch sycophants like Ricardo squirm
whenever he did something unexpected.
    “ Senator Hollenbach,” gushed Ricardo,
emerging from behind the wooden door to his office and wearing his
warmest smile. “How good of you to join us this morning. My, but
you look hungry! Might I suggest an appetizer of Eggs Ricardo in
white wine sauce while we prepare something more memorable? Or one
of Roberto’s omelets, perhaps? Or maybe you would
like....”
    Hollenbach smirked as Ricardo fawned
over him. In all the years he’d patronized the restaurant, what
amused him most was Ricardo’s desperate longing to be noticed. The
man hungered for respect, and Hollenbach half-suspected that his
host would kill for the chance to be part of something important.
Now, the senator himself would be using Ricardo’s to accomplish the