“Frankly, if you do politics, you should not be thinking about your dignity.”

—Aung San Suu Kyi

“So how did you like Mikel?”

“Ugh. Don’t start with this again, Pryvani,” Loona said. It had been a week since Pryvani had floated the idea of her running, and while Loona had to admit, she was toying with the idea…she was incredibly turned off by the people she’d talked to so far.

“So Mikel wasn’t helpful?” Pryvani asked. She’d dropped by Loona’s house unannounced, and when she heard the humans were asleep, she had insisted on sticking around until they woke up.

Of course, Pryvani was supposed to have left for Avalon two days ago, so Loona wasn’t buying the cover story. Not that Pryvani expected her to.

“Well, he didn’t hit on me like Stoel Trekaa. No, he was more interested in selling his brother’s advertising firm than explaining how I can beat Zapat. And don’t tell me, ‘But of course you can beat Zapat, dear!’ again. I know you’ve lined up donors. All the money in the world doesn’t help if I don’t have a strategy, and strategy doesn’t work if I have a piece of tuppshaka working for me.”

“That’s true,” Pryvani said with a smile.

Loona groaned. “You’ve got another one lined up? That’s the third hack this week!”

“He’s not a hack,” Pryvani said. “He’s smarter than that. I had him take a look at the numbers, and he said he’d talk to you.”

“Hmpf. What restaurant do I have to go to this time?”

“Oh, he said he’d call — ah,” said Pryvani, pulling out a data pad, “there he is now. Ammer, good to see you!”

“Pryvani, dear, a pleasure as always. Is now a good time?”

“Yes! I was just telling Loona the good news.”

“Well…’good’ might be a stretch. Put her on.”

Pryvani handed the pad over to Loona, who propped it up on her desk; she would hear this guy out, and then she was done. She couldn’t take another smooth-talking political pro who was working more for his fee than her election.

“You must be Loona Armac. Senator Tarsuss keeps telling me she thinks you have a future in politics.”

“Does she.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve watched some of your talking head spots, and you’re quick on your feet. You did a nice job in the Freeman hearing — and that showed some political savvy that not everyone has. And the behind-the-scenes stuff you did with Darren was nice, until you let Prenn knife you in the back. You’ve done a nice job of leveraging your brand, too – you may not be getting rich, but you’re decently well-known, so that’s something.”

He looked down at some notes. “You’re pretty, you can talk in plain Archavian, which people like. And the big strikes against you aren’t that bad. The whole book controversy is a non-starter. Beat to death ten years ago, and given how Nonah’s books are selling, the public agrees. Same with you being pro-human rights — bit of a fringe position, but it’s not gonna hurt you in a district that’s 20 percent under-30 voters, especially when they’re relatively affluent as a group. I expect you’d get hit by some folks who’d try to smear you as a human-lover, but I have a feeling you can handle them. Most likely rebound against them in a socially tolerant district like Tef-West.”

Loona had stopped editing Nonah’s latest manuscript, and turned to the pad. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ammer Smit.”

“That’s an odd name,” Loona said.

“You’re far from the first person to tell me that. So yeah, you’ve got some talent, and your big negatives aren’t all that big given your constituency, but the thing I don’t quite trust about you, Loona Armac, is that you’re too damned idealistic.”

“What?” Loona asked.

“You’re too idealistic. Look, there’s nothing wrong with being one of them starry-eyed idealists who thinks anything is possible with enough sanctimony and moral certitude, that if you just explain things to people in the proper way that they’ll understand, but that isn’t politics. You have to be willing to compromise. To make hard choices.”

“I did. To save Darren Avery’s life.”

“Like I said, you left your back wide open that time. Not encouraging. And you’ve gotten more strident since. No, you have to be willing to not just take half a loaf, but half a crumb if that’s what works – and you have to be willing to check the crumb for poison. I don’t know if you’re willing to do that.”

Loona folded her arms. “And why should I be?”

Ammer laughed. “You don’t have to be! You can be an activist, or stay a writer. Sit back, take potshots at the government. Complain at gatherings and forums. Gather signatures for petition drives. Nothing wrong with any of that — really, I mean that, I love activists. But that’s not what a politician does.”

Loona leaned back, and said, “So I’m not supposed to have ideals?”

“Never said that. Never would,” Ammer said. “Every politician worth her salt has ideals. Some of them have the ideal that they’d like to make the Empire a better place. Some have the ideal that they’d like to make a lot of money for them and their family. But having ideals is good. It tells you why you’re doing this. If you don’t have ideals, you shouldn’t run. You just need to know that the perfect world you imagine is not attainable by mere mortals; There’s no magical, wonderful land where gok’ma trees line the street and all is perfect.”

Loona thought on this, quietly. She wasn’t sure whether she was liking this more or less than having a potential campaign manager hand her a rate card.

“So here’s a hypothetical, Loona Armac, and this will tell me everything I need to know about you. You’ve won. You’ve made it in to the House, and you’ve got a bill that’s going to give humans limited rights.”

“Why that bill?”

“Why not? Anyhow, you’ve written up this bill to allow Titans to set up trusts that can be accessed by humans, allowing them some measure of financial independence. It’s actually moving through the House, because it’s not a big change, and besides, if Titans set up the trusts, Titans are still in charge.”

“Anyhow, the majority tells you that they’ll agree to allow the bill through — if it contains language that prevents the bureaucracy from changing the status of humans from Class Two to Class One without consulting the legislature. What do you do?”

Loona leaned back. “Well…I’d need to know what language we’re talking about. Does it require simple majority? Two-thirds? Is there a sunset clause? That sort of thing.”

“All right, you do that, and now Titans for the Ethical Treatment of Humans is screaming that you’re a traitor, willing to sell out humans to pass a lousy bill that does nothing for them.”

Loona shifted. “I try not to pay attention to TETH.”

“So does everyone. But you go home and see your friend Nonah, and she tells you she’s been hearing you’re awful, that you hate humans, because you’re willing to consider locking in their Class Two status. And then Gae Neutha calls you up and gives you what-for. How do you react?”

Loona frowned. “Well…I’ve clearly been working with other Representatives, yes?”

“Yes,” Smit said, impassive.

“I talk to them. We meet, we go over the language. We try to weaken the language without killing the bill.”

“Why? Why not kill the bill?”

“Because,” Loona said, “if I wrote that bill, I assume there’s a very good reason for it. And while there may come a point where I can’t give up everything, or where what I’d have to give up is too great…getting some of it through, or getting it through with an annoying change that doesn’t really change the current state of the law — well, better one step forward than none, right?”

Ammer smiled. “We’ve run a couple test polls. Zapat switching to the majority is gonna fry him. If he’d done it earlier, he could finesse it, but the election’s too soon. He can’t deliver anything from his chair’s position, and that? That’s deadly. Add in the mild recession, and you don’t have to do much other than not screw up. Tougher to get through the primary, but if you jump in before word gets out, make a big splash, you’d be in a prohibitive position when he switches.

“Run a series of ads touting yourself as a fresh face — not hard, you’re young for a candidate — and painting Zapat as out of touch, willing to trade principle for power. And get him into a debate. He’s terrible in debates. You’ll clean his clock. Oh, and when you get into the House, I’d align with the Aspire Caucus — they’re liberal, but not too liberal, and they’d leave you room to maneuver.”

Loona looked at the pad. “When can you start?”

That brought a long belly laugh from Smit, who ended by wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh…oh man…she didn’t tell you, did she? Pryvani, that’s just not nice!”

“It’s good advice, I didn’t want to color her perception of it, even a bit, Ammer.”

Loona smiled. “You’re human.”

“Bingo. Born and raised in Atlantis. Did spend a year — human year, not one of your ridiculous, decade-long years — on Archavia, meeting with some folks. It’s a long and boring story, and at some point, I’ll probably bore you with it, because I think you’ve got the right plan of attack, Ms. Armac. I think Pryvani’s right. I think you could do quite well for yourself. If so, I look forward to talking with you.”

“There’s no reason you can’t be my campaign manager,” Loona said. “I know the compensation gets tricky, but I can work it out with Pryvani –”

“It’s not a question of compensation,” Ammer said, sighing. “It’s — well, hell, part of my problem is that deep down, I’m an idealist myself. You might be able to get by with a human campaign manager in this race because, like I said, Zapat is toast as long as you don’t cock it up. But why bother? Get some schmuck to run the show and you’ll be fine.”

“I really don’t want a schmuck,” Loona said. “I want someone who understands me — and who will warn me when I’m getting close to cocking it up. The guys Pryvani’s offered…they’re mercenaries. I don’t want a mercenary.”

Ammer sighed. “Loona,” he said, “you can’t offer me what I want, not without wrecking your chances.”

“I’d put you on staff.”

“Chief of Staff,” Ammer said. “Or nothing.”

“Majordomo,” Loona said.

Ammer looked at her for a moment. “Why majordomo?”

“Majordomo does the scheduling for a Rep. He coordinates the staff. Chief of Staff is the big picture guy, and the go-chat-with-the-press guy. Majordomo almost always is behind-the-scenes. Majordomos are also almost always payoffs to constituents, and my biggest constituency is urban liberals who want to be able to tell their provincial friends that their Imperial Representative has a human on staff! Finally, majordomos can be a bit out there. Pierz has the Ler who self-identifies as an Avartle – and don’t get me wrong, every time I’ve heard Mighty-One-Who-Is-Of-the-People, he seems quite nice. Logran has a Tusolan majordomo, and ze isn’t even a citizen. Why, I believe Sen. Tarsuss has a woman who is completely covered in tattoos as her majordomo — does Tazas still work for you, Pryvani?”

“Of course she does. I would never fire her — she’s a lovely woman, and not just because of the tattoos.”

“So it’s a bit of an eccentric choice, but one I can sell as appealing to my eccentric district, and besides, nobody’s gonna see you; if they do, it will just be some sort of short blurb in Politicus, and only junkies read that anyhow.”

Ammer continued to watch her. “Okay, why not chief of staff?”

Loona smiled. “In a perfect world, Mr. Smit, I’d insist you take that position. You’re good enough for it. Heck, you should be running for this seat, not me. But…well, a human majordomo might be possible. A bit of a risk, but I can finesse it. A human chief of staff…I wish we were there. But we aren’t.”

Ammer clapped his hands together. “Well. I was not expecting this.”

“What?”

“You to be so…I mean, that’s exactly right, Loona. Exactly. If you’d offered me Chief, I would never have taken it. It’s too much. But majordomo….and I could have more influence on the future of humanity as a majordomo for a backbencher than as a councilor in Atlantis, which was the race I was spoiling for next year. Then again…it isn’t fun being officially a pet, Loona, even if you have decent Titans around to make it easier on you. Ask Nonah.”

“I have,” Loona said, “and Dhan and Niall and…well, I’ve had many friends try to explain it. And I’ve tried to understand. But I can’t…not completely. I’m sorry.”

“You’d be a liar if you’d said you could,” he rubbed a hand across his beard. “Of course, I have some failsafes that not all humans have. Hmm. Can I have a few days to think it over?”

Loona leaned in, and studied his face, and smiled. “No. Now or never, Mr. Smit.”

Ammer’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Ms. Armac, that is what I was hoping you’d say. I accept. But…we’re gonna have to do this smart. I can’t be from Avalon. Pryvani, can you help me get registered as an Archavian human pet again?”

“Why again? We still have the paperwork from last time.”

“Brilliant,” Ammer said. “All right, four more conditions. First, I want Pryvani to be listed as my owner.”

“That won’t work,” Pryvani said, before Loona could answer. “It would be like hanging a red flag on your appointment.”

“Yeah, was afraid you’d say that. So who, then?”

Pryvani smiled. “I think if you were purchased by Loona from a friend of mine, it would go down better. Lezah Maris won’t mind.”

Ammer frowned. “Can I trust her?”

Loona fought back the urge to tell him he could; she knew this question was as much for him as for Pryvani.

“I do,” said Pryvani. “Darren did. Niall did, you may recall.”

Ammer smiled at that. “Only reason I agreed to take the call,” he said. “You know, Minister Xanthopolous speaks very, very highly of you, Loona. I wanted to see if you could possibly live up to the hype.”

“And?”

“We’ll see,” Ammer said, grinning. “Okay, I can’t have money, so I want my paycheck given over to the Aenur Foundation, with money for room and board taken out — and room and board is easy, I’ll sleep in my office, it should have space.”

“That one I can agree to,” Loona said. “And it might even get Gae to stop pestering me to increase my donation. But we won’t donate it all. You deserve some of it, and I’ll find a way to get you access to it; there are ways, if you’re creative. All right, third?”

“I’m giving you a signed, undated resignation letter. When the day comes — and it will come — that having a human as majordomo becomes a liability, you must pull it out, stamp a date, and accept it. Immediately.”

“But if –”

“I’m trusting your judgment here,” Ammer said. “Have to. I’m a realist. I’m gonna become a liability if you get up to near-cabinet level, but if you get that far, you won’t need me anymore. And staff always takes the bullet for the elected official — that’s first rule of staff. Frankly, I’d get everyone to give you one of those. Saves time.”

“All right,” Loona said. “Finally?”

“Finally, I want you to be quite aware that this is not for life. I am happy to come for a term or two. But someday, I intend to go back to Avalon, get married, have kids. I’m not a pet, and while I’ll put up with the indignity to help humans…I’m not going to do it forever.”

“I would never ask you to,” Loona said. “You have the same out I do; I will accept your resignation whenever you choose to tender it.”

“Thank you. All right, I’m putting my life in your hands, Ms. Armac. And yours too, Pryvani. Make this worth my while. Wow me.”

Ammer smiled widely, and said, “Aw, who the hell am I kidding? You’ve wowed me, Loona. Just keep wowing me. Don’t make me regret this. Pryvani, I’ll talk to you when you get back to Avalon. Goodbye.”

As the call winked off, Loona blinked. She couldn’t quite believe what she’d just agreed to. She couldn’t quite believe that she was, in fact, going to stand for the House of Representatives.

Most of all, she couldn’t believe that she’d ever doubted that she would. For Ammer Smit was good at his job, and a majordomo’s first job is to ensure that the boss has what she needs.

What Loona needed at that moment was the confidence that she could do this, confidence that she was ready. Some years later, she would wonder if Pryvani and Ammer had planned this out to the letter. Some years after that, she would be certain.

* * *

Two weeks later, Loona was sitting in a newly-rented storefront, which still had shelves where clothing had been displayed. Ammer Smit was standing on one of them, talking animatedly with the senior Titan on Loona’s staff, a young woman named Malya, who had wowed him with her experience working on the recent Tannhauser referendum on increasing school taxes.

“…so I’m relying on you, Ms. Stazkal, to keep me up on the subtle nuances. Politics is similar everywhere, but as the Earth politician Tip O’Neil once said, ‘All politics is local.’ This needs to resonate with the people here.”

“Right,” Malya said, taking notes on her pad. “Well, I think you’ve hit on the main thing – Zapat won’t be able to deliver. But I’m guessing his comeback will be that he’s been in Aspire, and what good has it done the district?”

“Sharp,” Ammer said. “We need to be ready for that. We’re gonna have more staff coming in soon, I want to have one of the interns document Zapat’s record on funding over the years. What I’ve seen hasn’t been particularly impressive.”

“Yeah, he’s vulnerable. He’s supported the majority a few times,” Stazkal said. “I’ll get on that.”

“No, you get on trying to reach out to Pid Artia’s local leaders from five years ago.”

“I can do both.”

“Well, research his voting record on your off time.”

“Yes, Mr. Smit.”

“Boss, we need to work on your speech.”

“I know, Ammer,” Loona said, turning back to her announcement speech. “I feel like there’s something missing.”

“I know there is. You’ve got a great line of attack on Zapat,” Ammer said, scrolling through his own. “Really, you hammer away like Rixie Tam. But I don’t see any reason to vote for you.”

Loona paused. “But…like you said, I identified nine places Zapat’s failed this district.”

“Great. So he’s awful. Why should I vote for you?”

Loona looked down and him. “Oh,” she said.

“Going negative’s easy and important, and you can get people to turn out and vote against the bad person any day. But to really get them to the polls, you need them to want to vote for something.”

Loonah sighed. “So I have to sell myself. I hate that.”

“Get over it. You want to represent 31 million people, including 22 million voters. You’ve got to convince at least 11.1 million that you, Loona Armac, are the representative they deserve. No – the representative they need. Why are you running? Because Pryvani talked you into it? If that’s the only reason, drop out before you get in. It’ll be easier.”

“No,” Loona said. “I think I can do a good job.”

“That’s not enough.”

Loona looked back at Ammer. “I mean, look, I succeeded in saving Darren’s life, got Niall on the faculty at Tannhauser….”

“Too human-centric.”

“Says the human.”

Ammer sighed. “Boss, if I thought you could win just by telling everyone how great humans are, I’d encourage you. If anything, I think that’s a liability. Why you, Loona? What do you want to do if you get to Tuaut?”

“I…I want to make things better.”

“Getting closer. But not quite. Armac, why do you want to run?”

Loona threw up her hands in frustration. “Because the system doesn’t work for the people. It never really has. Look at the way our government’s structured. An appointed, do-nothing Senate that’s only point is to gum up the works. A legislature that’s dominated by conservatives, who still are foot-dragging on issues relating to the rights of non-Titans. Representatives that switch caucuses like they’re seats in a school cafeteria – not because their positions have changed, which would be understandable, but because they think they can get a better appointment.

“I don’t claim to be perfect. But I care about this Empire, and I will work as hard as I can to make it a better place. I know it might not be easy. It wasn’t easy to convince a college that a pet should be a professor – but I did. It wasn’t easy to find a way to save the life of an innocent man, whose only crime was being a human that killed in self-defense – but I did. I have stood up for people who the Empire won’t even recognize as people. And I will stand up for anyone – Titan, Avartle, Dunnermac, Ler, and yes, Human – who needs someone to fight for them. That’s why I’m running.”

Ammer smiled. “Okay. That’s good enough. You’re a professional writer, I’m sure you can take that and work with it.”

Eight Titan days later, Loona did.

“This isn’t about me,” she said to the reporters and volunteers in the room. “If I wanted glory, I would have kept on claiming Nonah’s marvelous books as my own.” She’d been nervous about that line, but it worked – it drew a nice, genuine laugh. “I’m running because I want to serve those of you who need someone to fight for them. The Avartle who is passed over for a promotion because of the way Titans measure lives. The Dunnermac who isn’t given access to safe, clean water. The Ler student, disciplined in class for being too loud. The Titan who is asked to get by on the same rent-and-board credit, while the rent in this district keeps getting more expensive.

“These people need someone to fight for them. Not someone who claims to be from the Aspire caucus, yet votes like he’s from Green and Black. I can’t promise perfection, and I can’t promise the universe, but I promise you, if you elect me to this office I will fight for the people of this district every single day. Thank you, and may fate smile on the Empire.”

The volunteers cheered, and Loona nodded. She looked to her right, where her parents were standing, holding between them Dhan, Nonah, and the kids. Then she looked to her left, where Ammer perched on Malya’s shoulder. She nodded.

“I’ll open the floor for a few questions. Jolel,” she said. She had no doubt the reporters would be hard on her, but at least she knew most of them by name, and knew a great many of them by favorite drink.

“Jolel Horesido, News Station 7 Tannhauser. Ms. Armac, you’ve made a name for yourself as a writer and activist fighting for human rights. Is the push for equal rights for humans going to be the centerpiece of your campaign?”

Loona nodded. “Thank you, Jolel.” Her eyes flicked to Ammer; she couldn’t say this after looking at Nonah. “I believe firmly that humans should be granted the rights they deserve as Class One Sentient Beings. If elected, I hope someday to be able to vote to give them those rights. But you know and I know that we’re not at that point yet.

“So while I support human rights, is that the centerpiece of my campaign? No. But what motivates me to help humans – a belief in fairness and equality for all – that is. We haven’t yet reached a point where we have a fair society. I want to help get us there.”

It hurt, that statement. Because Loona very much wanted to take this opportunity to shout from the rooftops that her friends were people, damn it, and she’d push for equality from the moment she got to Tuaut. But Ammer was right – this wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“Troxel Aiea, Political Wonkery. Ms. Armac, with Rep. Zapat already representing Aspire, do you intend to caucus as a potential member of Forward, or New Empire?”

“I intend to campaign for office as a liberal. Rep. Zapat can call himself a member of Aspire, but his voting record is clear – he’s been more than happy to support the majority during his time there. Now, there are times we all should agree on things. But voting to cut funding to colleges, like he did in 2101? That’s not what a liberal does.”

There were a few more questions and answers, before Loona thanked everyone and retired to the space behind the faux wall in the front of headquarters, where the desks were crammed, along with some spare shelves.

“Nice job, Boss! Note-perfect on the human thing,” Ammer said, as Malya and he reached the back.

“The ‘human thing?’” Nonah asked, indignantly. “Is that what they call basic rights on Avalon?”

“Now, Nonah,” Ammer called; he had to admit, this wasn’t an easy conversation to have perched on one staffer’s shoulder, while looking down to the woman and her daughter in the hands of his candidate’s dad.

“Don’t ‘Now, Nonah’ me,” she huffed. “I don’t expect Loona to base her whole campaign around us, but she could push a bit harder than ‘I support it, but I won’t do anything.’”

“That’s not what she said, mom.”

“Lessy, you don’t understand,” Nonah said.

“What, like all us humans don’t understand things? Aunt Loona said she thinks we’re equal, but she needs more Titans to agree with her. Which is what Niall said to dad when I was playing with Sorcha. ‘Loona running is nice, but it can’t be just her,’” Lessy said, delivering the last in a rather impressive Irish brogue.

“Your daughter is how old?”

“Four Titan years, but her father and I were life-extended, so….”

“Yeah, so, like, one and a half,” Ammer said; he skipped the next round of math that would have made her the equivalent of an eight-year-old on Earth. He laughed. “Funny thing is, I didn’t get life-extended ‘til adulthood. She’s actually a bit older than me. Anyhow, kid, when you grow up…if you want to run for office on Avalon, you give me a call.”

“Can Sorcha come, too?”

“Sure. You two friends?”

“Best friends,” Lessy said.

“Dangerously so,” Nonah added; she was beaming with pride, though. “All right, maybe I’m just sensitive.”

“No, you’re not,” Loona said, reaching out her hand, and taking her friend from her father. “It stinks. But…if I make humans the reason I’m running, I lose. And that doesn’t help you.”

Nonah sighed. “All right, apology accepted in perpetuity. It was a nice speech,” she said.

“Coming from you?” Loona said, “That’s as good as it gets.”