Descending Road - GENE HACKSHAW by Dana W. Paxson

GENE HACKSHAW

2380 CE

He loved being big with his big resonant voice. Appearances made dealing with the Senate committees a lot easier. Gene stuffed the last of his presentation machines into his sidebag, and knocked back the dregs of his coffee. It was cold, but all he wanted was that last boost from the caffeine before his next legislative cross-examination. He set the mug down on his water-scarred desk, and headed for the outer office.

“Chanie, I’m on my way up to the Commerce hearing,” he called to his aide. “Will you have that survey data ready for loading by the time I get there?”

Chanie Okamo stood as tall as Gene — two meters — but she had a narrow-jointed Tutsi structure that made him look as wide as a truck. She strode over to him as he crossed to the hall door. “Here,” she said. She tucked a datacard in his jacket pocket. “It’s all in there. Just don’t forget to put the right end in your display unit.”

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked her.

“I thought you only wanted the data, not the sender.” She gave him a small grin. “Was I supposed to join you?”

“Didn’t I ask you?”

“No, you just--“

“Oh, sorry.” Again. He couldn’t expect her to read his mind, after all. But he was sure he’d said something to her. That was the trouble, when he had to work so hard to keep his thoughts of her from taking over; he kept thinking he was speaking to her when he was only thinking the words. Maybe he was losing his grip.

She gave him a wider smile. Maybe she was catching on, figuring out that he had a wee crush on her. Too soon for that.

“I’m sorry, Chanie. Things have been all over my brain the last few weeks.” Things, like his wife’s death two years ago, the House investigation of him as a Sinese sympathizer two months ago, and now this damned series of Senate committee meetings on the space budget.

He massaged his temples with one massive brown hand. They were about to cut his allocations again, just like the previous year. How in the world could he keep the Stellar Planetary Survey alive any longer? He’d never have gone to the Sinese in the first place if the Senate had just played fair, instead of taking his money and giving ten times that much to John Franklin’s atmospheric research program.

“Are you all right?” Chanie‘s hand rested on his shoulder.

He lowered his hand, looked at her. “Yeah. I think I’d like you to come along, just for reinforcements. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” They started for the door together, and he realized that she was already prepared to go with him.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	GENE HACKSHAW 2380 CE He loved being big with his big resonant voice. Appearances made dealing with the Senate committees a lot easier. Gene stuffed the last of his presentation machines into his sidebag, and knocked back the dregs of his coffee. It was cold, but all he wanted was that last boost from the caffeine before his next legislative cross-examination. He set the mug down on his water-scarred desk, and headed for the outer office. “Chanie, I’m on my way up to the Commerce hearing,” he called to his aide. “Will you have that survey data ready for loading by the time I get there?” Chanie Okamo stood as tall as Gene — two meters — but she had a narrow-jointed Tutsi structure that made him look as wide as a truck. She strode over to him as he crossed to the hall door. “Here,” she said. She tucked a datacard in his jacket pocket. “It’s all in there. Just don’t forget to put the right end in your display unit.” “Aren’t you coming?” he asked her. “I thought you only wanted the data, not the sender.” She gave him a small grin. “Was I supposed to join you?” “Didn’t I ask you?” “No, you just--“ “Oh, sorry.” Again. He couldn’t expect her to read his mind, after all. But he was sure he’d said something to her. That was the trouble, when he had to work so hard to keep his thoughts of her from taking over; he kept thinking he was speaking to her when he was only thinking the words. Maybe he was losing his grip. She gave him a wider smile. Maybe she was catching on, figuring out that he had a wee crush on her. Too soon for that. “I’m sorry, Chanie. Things have been all over my brain the last few weeks.” Things, like his wife’s death two years ago, the House investigation of him as a Sinese sympathizer two months ago, and now this damned series of Senate committee meetings on the space budget. He massaged his temples with one massive brown hand. They were about to cut his allocations again, just like the previous year. How in the world could he keep the Stellar Planetary Survey alive any longer? He’d never have gone to the Sinese in the first place if the Senate had just played fair, instead of taking his money and giving ten times that much to John Franklin’s atmospheric research program. “Are you all right?” Chanie‘s hand rested on his shoulder. He lowered his hand, looked at her. “Yeah. I think I’d like you to come along, just for reinforcements. Is that okay?” “Sure.” They started for the door together, and he realized that she was already prepared to go with him.