John laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about it. People probably did get it on Earth, but it was misdiagnosed. As Harry said, whatever bug’s next in line is the one he’ll actually die of.”

“Let’s talk about something morbid.” Dan looked at me. “Are you going to throw your hat in the ring?”

“Hat?” Evy said.

“It’s an Americanism; run for office. No. I thought about it for a fraction of a second. No, thanks.”

“You’d be good.”

“Someday. Most people would think I’m too young.”

“Tania Seven’s about your age.”

“The hell she is.”

Evy primped her short kinky hair. “You white people age so fast.”

“I’ll age you!” I turned back to Dan. “Besides, I don’t want to give up the Cabinet position.” That was a precondition for running, though the logic of it has always eluded me. If I won Coordinator-elect, it would be two years before I was Coordinator. Plenty of time to train someone to pass out the volleyballs.

(It made even less sense on the Engineering side, since every Cabinet member is in essence a lobbyist for one academic specialty’s research needs. When the Coordinator-elect takes office, that specialty automatically has two people arguing for their slice of the more-or-less fixed pie of resources and personnel available for research. A couple of years ago I submitted a proposal that the process be reversed: have the Coordinator-elect continue to sit as a Cabinet member, so as to keep all the influences more or less even. The Engineering track didn’t see much merit in the proposal. I think that’s because they like to gamble—every two years they get a chance to double their influence.)

We argued a little bit more about my running, Evy as usual on my side; Dan thinking that I was old enough and John claiming that age wouldn’t be important. I told Dan that he only wanted me to do it because he’d had to go through a term as Coordinator in New New, and misery loved company.

When I got back to the office there was a note on my message queue from Purcell; he wanted to see John and Dan and me after dinner. I could think of a few thousand things I’d rather do with my evening. But as it turned out, the experience was at least informative, if not pleasant. We even managed to bury the hatchet, in a way, and not in each other. He was never a particularly graceful man, but most people agree that he handled his exit well.