James Carlos Cates bends down and flips through the mid-20th century steel and iron signs leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“Fresh brewed coffee”’

“Yes, we’re OPEN!”

“SHELL”

“Route 66”

Some of the signs are decaying so badly that the floor underneath them is dusted with rust.

He shakes his head.  “These should have been thrown out with the rest of the decorator’s leftovers.”

But Cates’ wife, Larisa, can’t stand to throw anything out.  It’s an old compulsion, left over from growing up on her family’s farm.  They used everything on the farm, even their animals’ manure.  It is difficult to convince her that anything has outlived its usefulness.

Cates is about to give up on the signs when he flips to one with a quote on it:

“We are all going to die.  There is no hope of escape. All we can do is fight until our last breaths, and die with honor.”

Cates does not remember seeing this quote the last time that Larisa asked him about hanging the signs in his home office.  He reads it again, then pulls the sign out of the stack and holds it up to get a better look.

The name to which the quote is attributed is almost completely rusted through. It could be Sam Steen, Silas Green, or some westernization of a far eastern name.  If there was ever a date or location underneath the quote, they had long since oxidized and disappeared.

Cates carries the sign with him as he walks through a soundproof glass door.

Cates’ home office is a large, open space designed to let him move his body while he works.  Built into one wall is an interactive display through which he conducts his work with the outside world.  The rest of the room is furnished with anchors for his TRX system, a chin up and dip stand, an inversion bench, a stretch trainer, and several shelves of kettle bells.

When he and Larisa designed the house a year ago, he’d followed the advice of his counselor, who believes that Cates’ periodic struggles with bouts of mania and depression can be brought into balance by increasing the amount of physical energy he exerts every day.  When he does not have face-to-face meetings scheduled in his San Antonio office, he works from home, incorporating physical activity as he works.

Cates begins a long, slow, controlled series of push-ups followed by kettle bell deadlifts.  After repeating the series consistently for over a minute, he stands and shakes out his arms and legs.

“Find Olee Olye,” he says aloud as he moves to the dip stand.

Before he completes the first dip, the display responds to his command. “Olee Olye located.  Connected.  User preference: Temporarily unavailable.”

Cates steps off the dip stand. “Display user preferences.”

Cates crosses the room and reviews the information displayed.  He gently rolls his head from side to side while he thinks. “Join queue and hold.”

Cates is grunting through the last of his first round of dips when Olye finally appears on the screen.

Cates greets him fondly, and restarts the cycle of kettle bell deadlifts and push-ups.

“How can I serve you, James?” Olye asks.

“Lee, I want to discuss item 19 in the project box for my House race, and I want to initiate some new actions within that box.”

“Hold please.”

Cates can hear that Olye is typing rapidly. He knows that Olye is pulling up the relevant files and inviting the applicable members of his team to monitor the conversation.

“We’re ready,” Olye announces.

“The composition is too long, Lee,” Cates says evenly as he sets down his kettle bell and turns toward the screen.  Olye is a cherished ally, and Cates is careful not to show frustration.

“You were invited to submit an op-Ed, James. The op-Ed provided is within the word count parameters provided by the editorial staff.  Additionally, in my opinion, it accomplishes the goals you enumerated during our last conversation, including the subtle attack on Representative Howe.”

“I understand the project parameters,” Cates responds too quickly.  He takes a deep breath and then pushes it all the way out.

“In my opinion,” Cates begins again. “It’s too long, even at 600 words.  I don’t want one word more than the minimum required, please.”

Olye asks him to hold again, and Cates waits patiently.  After several seconds, during which Olye continues typing rapidly, he turns his attention to Cates again.

“We understand, and we can satisfy your request,” he says.

Cates returns to the dip station. He is beginning to sweat, and he feels good.

“Lee, I also want you to set up a search for me.  I am looking for people within the House district I am trying to win.  I want you to find the people who are the most communicative about politics and policy within this area. Then, I want to find within that group pairings of people who are on the opposing sides of policy and political debates more often than 90% of the time.  After you’ve identified that subset, I want you to identify and locate their professional networks – the people who aren’t their family and friends.  Once you have their professional networks, I want you to again search for pairings of people. But this time, I want to identify occasions when people from opposing networks found themselves in a agreement on any political or policy issues.”

Cates pauses as he thinks through the instructions he provided.  “Does that make sense?”

Olye reads something on his display, then nods his head. “You want us to find some safe issues to work with?”

Cates steps off the dip station and claps his hands enthusiastically, like a coach cheering his prized player. “You always understand, my friend.”

The normally reserved Olye lets slips a small smile.  “Thank you,” he says as he types instructions to his team.

“This search will be added to the appropriate project box and you will be alerted as soon as it is complete.  Is there anything else….”

Cates interrupts him.  “Hold on, Lee; Ellie Endsley is trying to connect with me.”

Cates barks a curt command, and Endsley’s face replaces Olye’s on the display.  Cates walks closer; his sweating body fills the screen.

“Ellie! How can I help you?”

Endsley smiles wryly, as if she is going to comment on his condition, but she does not.

“Hello, James. I have only a minute to share with you, and I want to give you a quick heads up.”

“Shoot.”

“The Speaker has offered to help fund a project that I’m going to run through Independents Can.  I’ve stalled on his offer as long as I can, but I don’t see any way to decline the money without alienating him completely.   That wouldn’t help me or you.”

Endsley stops talking and sits placidly, showing no signs of anything on her face other than tranquility and control.

Cates grabs a towel and wipes the sweat from his forehead, which gives him a moment to think.

“Of course,” he responds after he balls up the towel and throws it into a basket in the far corner of the room. If he is showing signs that he is uncertain, the long-distance basket helps him regain his composure.  “If there is something I can do to help, please let me know.’

Endsley nods knowingly.  “Nothing has changed, James.  You’re just going to have to be patient and trust me.”

“I can do that,” Cates says with a smile.

“Good. I’ll talk with you soon, my friend.”

When Endsley disconnects, Olye returns to the screen.  The smile disappears from Cates’ face.

“Move forward on the projects we just talked about, Lee, but I’ve got one more project that needs to be added to the list. This project needs to be your priority until it is up and running.”

“We’re ready,” Olye responds.

“I want you to follow everything that Ellie Endsley is doing.  Everything.  I need to know if I can trust her.”

“We cannot answer that question, James, but we can build a tool that will allow you to monitor her.”

Cates nods thoughtfully. “Perfect.  Let me know when it’s up and running.”

Olye disconnects, and Cates walks across the room. He places his hand on the inversion bench.

“One step at a time,” he reminds himself.