“I heard it from other sources,” Hart said.

“Officially, the Green-Union government is extending an olive branch to the PHP by asking me to stay on as minister for trade and transport,” Alastair said. “Unofficially, the point was made to the coalition that they have no one near competent to run the ministry, and that if they are going to screw up any one ministry, the one they don’t want to screw up is the one that makes sure food arrives where it’s supposed to and that people are able to get to work.”

“It’s a legitimate point,” Hart said.

“Personally, the sooner this Green-Union coalition collapses, the happier I’ll be, and I gave some thought to turning it down, just to watch the ensuing train wreck,” Alastair said. “But then I realized that there would probably be actual train wrecks, and that’s the sort of thing that will get everyone’s head on a spike, not just the heads of those in the coalition.”

Hart smiled. “That famous Alastair Schmidt compassion,” he said.

“Don’t you start,” Alastair said. “I get enough of that from Brandt. It’s not that I don’t care. I do. But I’m also still pissed about the election results.” He motioned at the chair in front of the desk, offering Hart the seat; Hart took it. Alastair sat in his own seat, regarding his son.

“How is life in the Colonial Union diplomatic corps?” Alastair asked. “I imagine it must be exciting, what with the collapse of relations between the Earth and the Colonial Union.”

“We live in interesting times, yes,” Hart said.

“And your Ambassador Abumwe seems to be in the thick of things lately,” Alastair said. “Dashing between assignments all across known space.”

“They have been keeping her busy,” Hart said.

“And you’ve been busy as well?” Alastair asked.

“Mostly,” Hart said. “I’m doing a lot of work with Lieutenant Harry Wilson, who is a CDF technician who handles various tasks for us.”

“I know,” Alastair said. “I have a friend who works for the Department of State. Keeps me up-to-date on the diplomatic reports from the Clarke.”

“Is that so,” Hart said.

“Not a whole lot of future in electrocuting dogs, Hart,” Alastair said.

“ Therewe go,” Hart said.

“Am I wrong?” Alastair asked.

“Do you actually read the reports you get, Dad?” Hart said. “If you read the report about the dog, then you know what happened was that we ended up saving the peace negotiations and helped secure an alliance for the Colonial Union with a race that had been leaning toward aligning with the Conclave.”

“Sure, after you carelessly allowed the dog to be eaten by a carnivorous plant, revealing the death site of a king whose disappearance started the race’s civil war, the discovery of which threatened a peace process that by all indications wasn’t threatened before,” Alastair said. “You don’t get credit for putting out fires you set yourself, Hart.”

“The official report reads differently than your interpretation, Dad,” Hart said.

“Of course it does,” Alastair said. “If I were your bosses, I would write it that way, too. But I’m not your boss, and I can read between the lines better than most.”

“Are you going somewhere with this, Dad?” Hart said.

“I think it’s time you came back to Phoenix,” Alastair said. “You gave the Colonial Union your best shot, and they’ve misused your talent. They stuck you with a diplomatic team that’s been catching lost-cause missions for years, and assigned you to a CDF grunt who uses you for menial tasks. You’re too accommodating to complain, and maybe you’re even having fun, but you’re not going anywhere, Hart. And maybe that’s fine early in your career, but you’re not early in your career anymore. You’ve dead-ended. It’s over.”

“Not that I agree with you,” Hart said, “but why do you care, Dad? You’ve always told us that we have to make our own path, and you told us that we would have to sink or swim on our own. You’re a veritable raft of tough-love metaphors on the subject. If you think I’m sinking, you should be willing to let me sink.”

“Because it’s not just about you,Hart,” Alastair said. He pointed at the speaker through which he had been yelling at Klaus. “I’m seventy-two years old, for Christ’s sake. Do you think I want to be spending my time keeping some poor bastard from enjoying his Harvest Day? No, what I want to do is tell the PHP to get along without me and spend more time with those grandkids of mine.”

Hart stared at his father blankly. At no point in the past had his father ever evinced more than the most cursory interest in his grandchildren. Maybe that’s because they’re not interesting yet,a part of Hart’s brain said, and he could see the point. His father had become more engaged with his own children the older they got. And he could have his softer side; Hart’s eyes flickered to the medal case on the wall, holding Brous’s Nova Acadia award.

“I can’t do that because I don’t have the right people following me,” Alastair continued. “Brandt’s gloating because the Unionists have their share of power, but the thing is the reason it happened is because the PHP hasn’t cultivated new talent, and now it’s biting us in the ass.”

“Wait,” Hart said. “Dad, are you wanting me to join the PHP? Because I have to tell you, that’s really not going to happen.”

“You’re missing my point,” Alastair said. “The PHP hasn’t developed new talent, but neither have the Greens or the Unionists. I’m still on the job because the whole next generation of political talent on Phoenix are, with very few exceptions, complete incompetents.” He pointed in the direction of the patio, where the rest of the family was. “Brandt thinks I get annoyed with him because he’s in with the Unionists. I get annoyed with him because he’s not rising through its leadership fast enough.”

“Brandt likes politics,” Hart said. “I don’t.”

“Brandt likes everything aroundpolitics,” Alastair said. “He doesn’t give a crap about the politics itself, yet. That will come. It will come to Catherine, too. She’s busy building a power base in the charity world, rolling over people and getting them to thank her for it by supporting her works. When she finally transfers over into politics, she’s going to make a beeline for prime minister.”

“And what about Wes?” Hart asked.

“Wes is Wes,” Alastair said. “One in every family. I love him, but I think of him as a sarcastic pet.”

“I don’t think I would tell Wes that if I were you,” Hart said.

“He figured it out a long time ago,” Alastair said. “I think he’s at peace with it, especially as it requires nothing from him. As I said. One in every family. We can’t afford two.”

“So you want me to come home,” Hart said. “And what do I do then? Just walk into some political role you’ve picked out for me? Because no one will see the obvious nepotism in that, Dad.”

“Give me some credit for subtlety,” Alastair said. “Do you really think Brandt is where he is with the Unionists all on his own? No. They saw the value in the Schmidt brand name, as it were, and we came to an arrangement about what they’d get in return for fast-tracking him in the organization.”

“I would definitelynot tell Brandt that if I were you,” Hart said.

“Of course not,” Alastair said. “But I am telling youso that you will understand how these things work.”

“It’s still nepotism,” Hart said.

“I prefer to think of it as advancing people who are a known quantity,” Alastair said. “And aren’t you a known quantity, Hart? Don’t you have skills, honed through your diplomatic career, that would have immediate use at a high level? Would you really want to start near the bottom? You’re a little old for that now.”

“You’ve just admitted the Colonial Union diplomatic corps taught me skills,” Hart said.

“I never said you didn’t have them,” Alastair said. “I said they were being wasted. Do you want to use them as they ought to be used? This is the place, Hart. It’s time to let the Colonial Union take care of the Colonial Union. Come back to Phoenix, Hart. I need you. We need you.”