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When the woman came closer, Avon took a step forward , placing himself between her and the President of the Terran Republic and Allied Worlds – an automatic reaction - suddenly stopping when it became obvious that the only thing she wanted was to touch him – like they all did. What did she expect from the contact wasn't clear but Avon had heard something about a man pretending that the simple touch of the President's hand had cured some – probably imaginary, in Avon's mind – disease. He wasn't sure he could deal with that. Protecting him from assassination and conspiracies was hard enough, but these worshippers would be the death of Avon.
Amused brown eyes met his, and he stepped back as the woman in the ragged dress and worn shoes, a child clutching at her coat, kissed the President on both cheeks. "Get used to it," the smile said. Well, I can't, Avon glared back.
"You're a good man, Sir," the woman was saying, "A blessing for all of us…"
The worst part was yet to come - she started to cry as the President hugged her before lifting the child in his arms, saying, "You have to take good care of your mother, boy."
God, I hate official visits, Avon thought, sighing as he followed the President across the crowd, making sure the Hero of the Revolution would reach the stage alive for a last enthusiastic speech.
Later, as they were about to leave, sitting together in the President's office aboard the New Liberator – how much Avon loathed this stupid name and all the nostalgia about the glorious past – the President smiled at him guilelessly.
"Maybe I should adopt, after all," he said, "I'm too old to have children of my own but…"
That was it. Avon looked around, making sure no one would hear him and leaned forward.
"Shut up, Vila."
And Vila Restal, recently re-elected President of the Terran Republic for the fourth time, a God for his rabble, laughed.