“I’ve got to see him,” Leo said.
“It’s James Riddle Hospital, I assume. We thought he might be there. By the way; you ever heard of a man named Richard Hnatt?”
“Never.”
“A rep from this new Boston outfit met with him and transacted some kind of business deal. This rep, Icholtz—”
“What a mess,” Leo said. “And I can’t even get to Eldritch; Santina is hanging around at the door, along with that dike daughter of Palmer’s.” No one would get past the two of them, he decided.
He gave Felix Blau the address of a hotel at Base III, the one at which he had left his baggage, and then rang off.
I bet he’s right, he said to himself. Palmer Eldritch is this competitor. Just my luck: I have to be in the particular line that Eldritch, on his way back from Prox, decides to enter. Why couldn’t I be making rocket guidance systems and be only competing with G.E. and General Dynamics?
Now he really wondered about the lichen which Eldritch had brought with him. An improvement on Can-D, perhaps. Cheaper to produce, capable of creating translation of longer duration and intensity. Jeez!
Mulling, here and now a bizarre recollection came to him. An organization, emanating from the United Arab Republic; trained assassins for hire. Fat chance they would have against Palmer Eldritch…a man like that, once he had made his mind up—
And yet Rondinella Fugate’s precognition remained; in the future he would be arraigned for the murder of Palmer Eldritch.
Evidently he would find a way despite the obstacles.
He had with him a weapon so small, so intangible, that even the most thorough search couldn’t disclose it. Some time ago a surgeon at Washington, D.C. had sewn it into his tongue: a self-guiding, high-velocity poison dart, modeled on Soviet Russian lines…but vastly improved, in that once it had reached its victim it obliterated itself, leaving no remains. The poison, too, was original; it did not curtail heart or respiratory action; in fact it was not a poison but a filterable virus which multiplied in the victim’s blood stream, causing death within forty-eight hours. It was carcinomatous, an importation from one of Uranus’s moons, and still generally unknown; it had cost him a great deal. All he needed to do was stand within arm’s length of his intended victim and manually squeeze the base of his tongue, protruding the same simultaneously in the victim’s direction. So if he could see Eldritch—
And I had better arrange it, he realized, before this new Boston corporation is in production. Before it can function without Eldritch. Like any weed it had to be caught early or not at all.
When he reached his hotel room he placed a call to P. P. Layouts to see if any vital-type messages or events were awaiting his attention.
“Yes,” Miss Gleason said, as soon as she recognized him. “There’s an urgent call from a Miss Impatience White—if that’s her name, if I did get it right. Here’s the number. It’s on Mars.” She held the slip to the vidscreen.
At first Leo could not place any woman named White. And then he identified her—and felt fright. Why had she called?
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and at once rang off. God, if the UN legal division had monitored the call…because Impy White, operating out of Mars, was a top pusher of Can-D.
With great reluctance he called the number.
Small-faced and sharp-eyed, pretty in a short sort of way, Impy White obtained on the vidscreen. He had imagined her as much more brawny; she looked quite bantamlike, but fierce, though. “Mr. Bulero, as soon as I say it—”
“There’s no other way? No channels?” A method existed by which Conner Freeman, chief of the Venusian operation, could contact him. Miss White could have worked through Freeman, her superior.
“I visited a hovel, Mr. Bulero, at the south of Mars this morning with a shipment. The hovelists declined. On the grounds they had spent all their skins for a new product. In the same class as—what we sell. Chew-Z.” She went on, “And—”
Leo Bulero rang off. And sat shakily in silence, thinking.
I’ve got to not get rattled, he told himself. After all, I’m an evolved human variety. So this is it; this is that Boston firm’s new product. Derived from Eldritch’s lichen; I have to assume that. He’s lying there on his hospital bed not a mile from me, giving the orders no doubt through Zoe, and there’s not a fligging thing I can do. The operation is all set up and functioning. I’m already too late. Even this thing in my tongue, he realized. It’s futile, now.
But I’ll think of something, he knew. I always do.
This was not the end of P. P. Layouts, exactly.
The only thing was, what could he do? It eluded him, and this did not decrease his sweaty, nervous alarm.
Come to me, artificially accelerated cortical-development idea, he said in prayer. God help me to overcome my enemies, the bastards. Maybe if I make use of my Pre-Fash precogs, Roni Fugate and Barney…maybe they can come up with something. Especially that old pro Barney; he hasn’t been brought in on this at all, as yet.
Once more he placed a vidcall to P. P. Layouts back on Terra. This time he requested Barney Mayerson’s department.
And then he remembered Barney’s problem with the draft, his need of developing an inability to endure stress, in order not to wind up in a hovel on Mars.
Grimly, Leo Bulero thought, I’ll provide that proof; for him the danger of being drafted is already over.
When the call came from Leo Bulero on Ganymede, Barney Mayerson was alone in his office.
The conversation did not last long; when he had hung up he glanced at his watch, and marveled. Five minutes. It had seemed a major interval in his life.
Rising, he touched the button of his intercom and said, “Don’t let anyone in for a while. Not even—especially not even—Miss Fugate.” He walked to the window and stood gazing out at the hot, bright, empty street.
Leo was dumping the entire problem in his lap. It was the first time he had seen his employer collapse; imagine, he thought, Leo Bulero baffled—by the first competition that he had ever experienced. He very simply was not used to it. The new Boston company’s existence had totally, for the time being, disoriented him; the man became the child.
Eventually Leo would snap out of it, but meanwhile—what can I get from this? Barney Mayerson asked himself, and did not immediately see any answer. I can help Leo…but exactly what can Leo do for me? That was a question more to his liking. In fact, he had to think of it that way; Leo himself had taught him to, over the years. His employer would not have wanted it any other way.
For a time he sat meditating and then, as Leo had directed, he turned his attention to the future. And while he was at it he poked once more into his own draft situation; he tried to see precisely how that would finally resolve itself.
But the topic of his being drafted was too small, too much an iota, to be recorded in the public annals of the great; he could scan no homeopape headlines, hear no newscasts…in Leo’s case, however, it was something else again. Because he previewed a number of ’pape lead articles pertaining to Leo and Palmer Eldritch. Everything of course was blurred, and alternates presented themselves in a chaos of profusion. Leo would meet Eldritch; Leo would not. And—at this he focused intently—Leo arraigned for the murder of Palmer Eldritch; good lord, what did that mean?
It meant, he discovered from closer scrutiny, just what it said. And if Leo were arrested, tried, and sentenced, it might mean the termination of P. P. Layouts as a salary-paying enterprise. Hence the end of a career to which he had already sacrificed everything else in his life, his marriage and the woman he—even now!—loved.
Obviously it was to his advantage, a necessity in fact, to warn Leo. And yet even this datum could be turned to advantage.
He phoned Leo back. “I have your news.”
“Good.” Leo beamed, his florid, elongated, rind-topped face suffused with relief. “Go ahead, Barney.”
Barney said, “There will soon be a situation which you can exploit. You can get in to s
ee Palmer Eldritch—not there at the hospital but elsewhere. He’ll be removed from Ganymede by his own order.” He added with caution, not wanting to give away too much of the data he had collected, “There’ll be a falling-out between him and the UN; he’s using them now, while he’s incapacitated, to protect him. But when he’s well—”
“Details,” Leo said at once, cocking his big head alertly.
“There is something I’d like in exchange.”
“For what?” Leo’s palpably evolved face clouded.
Barney said, “In exchange for my telling you the exact date and locus at which you can successfully reach Palmer Eldritch.”
Grumbling, Leo said, “And what d’ya want, for chrissakes?” He eyed Barney apprehensively; E Therapy had not brought tranquillity.
“One quarter of one percent of your gross. Of P. P. Layouts’…not including revenue from any other source.” Meaning the plantation network on Venus where Can-D was obtained.
“Good food in heaven,” Leo said, and breathed raggedly.
“There’s more.”
“What more? I mean, you’ll be rich!”
“And I want a restructuring of your use of Pre-Fash consultants. Each will stay at his post, nominally handle the job he has now, but with this alteration. All their decisions will be referred to me for final review; I’ll have the ultimate say-so on their determinations. So I no longer will represent any one region; you can turn New York over to Roni as soon as—”
“Power hungry,” Leo said in a grating voice.
Barney shrugged. Who cared what it was called? It represented the culmination of his career; this was what counted. And they were all in it for this, Leo included. In fact Leo first of all.
“Okay,” Leo said, nodding. “You can ride herd on all the other Pre-Fash consultants; it doesn’t mean anything to me. Now tell me how and when and where—”
“You can meet Palmer Eldritch in three days. One of his own ships, unmarked, will take him off Ganymede the day after tomorrow, to his demesne on Luna; there he’ll continue to recuperate, but no longer in UN territory. Frank Santina won’t have any more authority in this matter so you can forget about him. On the twenty-third at his demesne Eldritch will meet ’pape reporters, and give them his version of what took place on his trip; he’ll be in a good mood—at least so they’ll report. Apparently healthy, glad to be back, recovering satisfactorily…he’ll give a long story about—”
“Just tell me how to get in. There’ll still be a security system by his own boys.”
Barney said, “P. P. Layouts—get this—puts out a trade journal four times a year. The Mind of Minning. It’s such a small-scale operation you probably don’t even know it exists.”
“You mean I should go as a reporter from our house organ?” Leo stared at him. “I can get entry to his demesne on that basis?” He looked disgusted. “Hell. I didn’t have to pay you for such garbagey information; it would have been announced in the next day or so—I mean, if ’pape reporters are going to be there it must be made public.”
Barney shrugged. He did not bother to answer.
“I guess you got me,” Leo said. “I was too eager. Well,” he added philosophically, “maybe you can tell me what he’s going to give the ’pape reporters by way of an explanation. What did he find in the Prox system? Does he mention the lichens he brought back?”
“He does. He claims they’re a benign form, approved by the UN’s Narcotics Control Bureau, which will replace—” He hesitated. “Certain dangerous, habit-forming derivatives now in wide use. And—”
“And,” Leo finished stonily, “he’s going to announce the formation of a company to peddle his narcotic-exempt commodity.”
“Yes.” Barney said. “Called Chew-Z, with the slogan: be choosy. Chew Chew-Z.”
“Aw frgawdsake!”
“It was all set up by intersystem radio-laser long ago, through his daughter with the approval of Santina and Lark at the UN, in fact with Hepburn-Gilbert’s own approval. They see this as a way of putting a finish to the Can-D trade.”
There was silence.
“Okay,” Leo said hoarsely, after a time. “It seems a shame you couldn’t have previewed this a couple of years ago, but hell—you’re an employee and no one told you to.”
Barney shrugged.
Grim-faced, Leo Bulero rang off.
So that’s that, Barney said to himself. I violated Rule One of career-oriented functioning: never tell your superior something he doesn’t want to hear. I wonder what the consequences of that will be.
The vidphone all at once came back on; once again Leo Bulero’s clouded features formed. “Listen, Barney. I just had a thought. This is going to make you sore, so get set.”
“I’m set.” He prepared himself.
“I forgot, and I shouldn’t have, that I previously talked to Miss Fugate and she knows about—certain events in the future pertaining to myself and Palmer Eldritch. Events which in any case, if she were to get disturbed—and having you ride herd on her would make her disturbed—she might fly into a fit and do us harm. In fact I got to thinking that potentially all my Pre-Fash consultants could come across this information, so the idea of you supervising all of them—”
“The ‘events,’ ” Barney interrupted, “have to do with your arraignment for the first-degree murder of Palmer Eldritch; correct?”
Leo grunted, wheezed, and stared morosely at him. At last, reluctantly, he nodded.
“I’m not going to let you pull out of the agreement you just now made with me,” Barney said. “You made me certain promises and I expect you to—”
“But,” Leo bleated, “that fool girl—she’s erratic, she’ll run to the UN cops; Barney, she’s got me!”
“So have I,” he pointed out quietly.
“Yeah, but I’ve known you for years.” Leo appeared to be thinking rapidly, appraising the situation with what he enjoyed calling his next-stage-in-the-Homo-sapiens-type-evolved-knowledge powers, or some such thing. “You’re a pal. You wouldn’t do that, what she’d do. And anyhow I can still offer you the percentage of the gross you asked for. Okay?” He eyed Barney anxiously, but with formidable determination; he had made up his mind. “Can we finalize on that, then?”
“We already finalized.”
“But dammit, like I said, I forgot about—”
“If you don’t come through,” Barney said, “I’ll quit. And go somewhere else with my ability.” He had worked too many years to turn back at this point.
“You?” Leo said unbelievingly. “I mean, you’re not just talking about going to the UN police; you’re talking about—switching sides and going over to Palmer Eldritch!”
Barney said nothing.
“You darn snink,” Leo said. “So this is what trying to stay afloat in times like this has done to us. Listen; I’m not so sure Palmer would accept you. Probably he’s got his Pre-Fash people already set up. And if he does he knows the news already, about my—” He broke off. “Yeah, I’ll take the chance; I think you have that Greek sin—what did they call it? Hubris? Pride, like Satan had, reaching too far. Go ahead and reach, Barney. In fact do anything you want; it doesn’t matter to me. And lots of luck, fella. Keep me posted on how you make out, and the next time you feel inclined to blackmail somebody—”
Barney cut the connection. The screen became a formless gray. Gray, he thought, like the world inside me and around me, like reality. He rose and walked stiffly back and forth, hands in his trouser pockets.
My best bet, he decided, at this point—God forbid—is to join with Roni Fugate. Because she’s the one Leo is scared of, and for good reason. There must be a whole galaxy of things she’d do that I wouldn’t. And Leo knows it.
Reseating himself he had Roni paged, brought at last into his office.
“Hi,” she said brightly, colorful in her Peking-style silk dress, sans bra. “What’s up? I tried to reach you a minute ago, but—”
“You just never,” he said, “never have
on all your clothes. Shut the door.”
She shut the door.
“However,” he said, “to give you your due, you were very good in bed last night.”
“Thank you.” Her youthful, clear face glowed.
Barney said, “Do you foresee clearly that our employer will murder Palmer Eldritch? Or is there doubt?”
Swallowing, she ducked her head and murmured, “You just reek with talent.” She seated herself and crossed her legs, which were, he noticed, bare. “Of course there’s doubt. First of all I think it’s moronic of Mr. Bulero, because of course it means the end of his career. The ’papes don’t—will not—know his motives for it, so I can’t guess; it must be something enormous and dreadful, don’t you think?”
“The end of his career,” Barney said, “and also yours and mine.”
“No,” Roni said, “I don’t think so, dear. Let’s consider a moment. Mr. Palmer Eldritch is going to replace him in the min field; isn’t that Mr. Bulero’s probable motive? And doesn’t that tell us something about the economic reality to come? Even with Mr. Eldritch dead it would appear that his organization will—”
“So we go over to Eldritch? Just like that?”
Screwing up her face in concentration, Roni said laboredly, “No, I don’t quite mean that. But we must be wary of losing with Mr. Bulero; we don’t want to find ourselves dragged down with him…I have years ahead of me and to some lesser extent so do you.”
“Thanks,” he said acidly.
“What we must do now is to plan carefully. And if precogs can’t plan for the future—”
“I’ve provided Leo with info that’ll lead to a meeting between him and Eldritch. Had it occurred to you that the two of them might form a syndicate together?” He eyed her intently.
“I—see nothing like that ahead. No ’pape article to that effect.”
“God,” he said with scorn, “it’s not going to get into the ’papes.”
The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch Page 6