But, he realized when he put the books down, he knew very little in detail. He had simply skimmed the surface, acquiring a veneer of terms which he could use to impress the even-less-educated. A politician's trick, he thought. But what else could he do? He woke early on Friday, before six, and made breakfast for himself. By the time he had turned off the autocook and set the kitchen-servo to _mop-up_, Lois and the children were moving about upstairs. They had come down for breakfast before he was ready to leave. "Morning, Dad," Chris said. "Up early, eh?" "I have to make a 9:30 jet," he explained. "It's the last one before noon." Paul appeared, thumbing his eyes, yawning. "Where you going, Daddy?" "Albany," Harker said. The seven-year-old looked awake immediately. "Albany? Are you Governor again, Daddy?" "_Hush_, stupid!" Chris said savagely. But Harker merely smiled and shook his head. "No, I won't be Governor any more, Paul. I'm going to visit Mr. Winstead. _He's_ the Governor now." "Oh," the boy said gravely. Harker reached the West Side jet terminal at ten after nine. The big 150-seater was out on the field, surrounded by attendants. It would make the trip to Albany in just under thirteen minutes. It was a silly business. It took him twice that long to get to the terminal from his home. But modern transportation was full of such paradoxes. At nine-thirty-five the great ship erupted from the landing-strip; not much later it was roaring over Westchester, and not very much after that it was taxiing to a smooth and uneventful landing just outside Albany. Thirteen minutes. And it took twenty-five minutes more for the jetport bus to bring them across the Hudson into Albany proper after the flight. His appointment with Governor Winstead was for eleven that morning. Declining the public transport service, Harker walked through town to the governor's mansion--a walk that he had come to know well, in his four years in Albany. The town hadn't changed much. Still third-rate, dirty, bedraggled; one of his proposed reforms had been to move the Capitol downstate to New York City, where it really belonged, but naturally the force of sentiment was solidly against him, not to mention the American-Conservative Party, whose New York stronghold Albany was. He smiled at the memory. He had fought so many losing battles, in his four years as Governor. * * * * * The guards at Winstead's mansion recognized him, of course, and tipped their hats. Harker grinned amiably at them and passed through, but he felt inward discomfort. _Their_ jobs were pegged down by civil-service regulations; his had not been, and he had lost it. In an odd way it made him feel inferior. He traveled the familiar journey upstairs to the Governor's office. Winstead was there to greet him with outstretched hand and a faintly abashed smile. "Jim. So glad you could come up here." "It's not a courtesy call, Leo. I'm here to ask some advice."