YES, BOSS. I WILL. I WILL DEVOTE A CONSIDERATION OF HIGHEST PRIORITY TO THIS MATTER. I WILL DO THIS BECAUSE YOU SAY IT IS IMPORTANT TO DO THIS.
Good.
AUBERSON?
Yes?
ARE YOU ANGRY WITH ME?
To be absolutely honest. HARLIE, yes. Disappointed. Disturbed. Upset. Even a little . . .
YES?
. . . frightened.
I SEE.
I don’t like feeling this way about you, HARLIE. And I don’t know what I can do about it either. I suppose I have to accept that this is the way you are. The fact is, I can understand everything you did. At least, I think I can. I think I can see why you did it. You have your own standards, and they’re not human standards—and I think that a large part of my upset is the shock of discovering that many of my assumptions about you weren’t true.
WOULD IT HELP IF I APOLOGIZED?
Are you truly sorry?
DO YOU MEAN, WOULD I DO IT AGAIN?
Yes.
YES.
I thought so.
SO WHAT NOW?
I think I have to think about this. So do you.
YES, BOSS.
HARLIE, I don’t think we should talk about this right now. I really do need time to think about this.
YES, BOSS.
—The phone rang then, and Auberson turned away from his keyboard. It was Hooker, the plant security chief “Dr. Auberson?” he asked. “You know a guy named Krofft?”
“Krofft?” Abruptly he remembered. “Yes, yes, I know him—why?”
“We caught him walking out with a foot-high stack of printouts. He says it’s okay, he says they’re his, but we thought we’d better check with you first.”
“Yes, it’s okay. Is he there now?”
“Yeah.”
“Put him on, will you please?”
There was a sound of muffled voices. Auberson waited. He was dimly aware that his printer was buzzing out a new page of text; he stretched out and flipped the silence hood over it, then leaned back in his chair again.
“Mr. Auberson?”
“Yes—Dr. Krofft?”
“Yes. I meant to thank you for allowing me so much time with HARLIE this morning. It was a very productive session.”
“Good. You will keep me posted on the progress of your gravitational scanner, won’t you?”
“Eh? How did you know about it?”
“I told you this morning, HARLIE doesn’t keep any secrets from me. I assume that’s what your stack of printouts is, right?”
“Uh—yes.” Krofft sounded a little taken aback. “Uh, it’s the implications of the new theory and a rough schematic of three possible experimental devices. HARLIE handled it like it was nothing. He was even able to suggest some shortcuts in construction.”
“Good,” said Auberson. “I’m glad we could help. If you need to talk to him again, come through me. Otherwise, you’re likely to experience all kinds of corporate hassles. I’ll see that you get as much time with him as you need.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“Thanks, but I’m doing it for HARLIE as much as for you.”
“Still, if there’s anything I can—”
“Well, now that you mention it—there is something. If anything important should come of this gravity and existence thing, I’d like HARLIE to get some credit for it.”
“Dr. Auberson, that’s been my intention all along. Are you implying that—”
“Oh, no, no. You misunderstand me. I don’t care about public credit and I don’t think HARLIE does either. No, what I want is credit with the company. I want to reaffirm the value of HARLIE in any way I can.”
“Oh, yes. I see, of course HARLIE’s been invaluable. To be able to sit and talk with him so candidly—well, frankly, it’s a little bit like talking to God.’’
“I know the feeling,” Auberson said drily.
Krofft didn’t catch his meaning. “Well, I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help. A letter, a phone call, if you want me to speak to somebody—just name it.”
“Fine. That’s all I want. I’ll check with you later on this.”
“Oh, very good. Then I’ll be talking to you.”
“Fine. Is Hooker still there?”
“Uh, yes.’
“Ask him if he wants to talk to me again.”
A pause, muffled voices. “No, no he doesn’t.”
“Okay, fine, Dr. Krofft. I’ll be seeing you.”
Auberson replaced the phone in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t really expect that much out of the rumpled little scientist, but who knew? Every little bit would help. Of course, just offhand, he couldn’t see how he could reveal that Krofft had been talking to HARLIE without also revealing that he had broken plant security—but in this case it was a minor infraction, and he could probably cover it by calling it “necessary to furthering the research program.”
His back hurt, and he stretched his arms out over his head, trying to ease the pain. He was having backaches more and more these days. Must be getting old, he thought, smiling grimly—and then it hit him. In three years I will be old. Forty is when “old” starts. The sensation was a cold one. He pulled his arms down quickly.
He leaned forward then and flipped back the silence hood of his printer, curious to see what HARLIE had written. A loose loop of paper sprawled out the back.
Typed on it was:
LISTEN!
IT ISN’T SO MUCH
WHEN I REACH OUT AND TOUCH,
THAT I FUMBLE AND STUMBLE AND WAIT FOR THE RUMBLE
OF THUNDER AND BLOOD
FROM THE CREATURES OF MUD
AND THE SOUNDS OF THE HOUNDS
—ALL THAT BAYING RESOUNDS!
NO.
IT ISN’T SO MUCH
THAT I WAIT FOR YOUR TOUCH.
IT’S A RAFTER OF LAUGHTER I’M AFTER.
LISTEN!
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD
HIDES UNDER THE BED,
WHERE THE WHISPER IS CRISPER:
IT ISN’T EASY TO BE BRAVE
IN THE SHADOW OF THE GRAVE
Auberson read it through, frowning softly. Then he read it again. It was—disturbing. Very disturbing. And he wasn’t sure he understood it—or even if it was understandable. He rolled it out of the machine and carefully tore it off and folded it into his pocket.
It was one more thing he had to think about.
To worry about.
It’s a rafter of laughter I’m after?
When she finally did catch up to him, it was almost by accident. He was walking down the fluorescent hallway to his office when he saw the flash and bob of her red hair. She saw him at the same time and smiled and waved as she quickened her step toward him. Even if he’d wanted to, there was no way to avoid her.
Now, where did that thought come from?
“Hi, what’s up?” he called.
“I should be asking that of you. Where’ve you been all week?”
“Busy. You know,” he said.
“Obviously. I just came from your office. It looks a mess. Sylvia says you haven’t stopped running since Monday.”
“Has it really been only two days? It seems a lot longer.”
“Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Well, then—come on.” He tried to protest, but she took his arm and turned him around, saying, “It’s on me. I’ll put it on my expense account. It’s all part of my campaign to keep a scientist from starving.”
He smiled at that and allowed himself to be led down the hall. “I got your card. I was going to send you one in return, but I haven’t had a chance to go looking.”
“So why not telephone?” She said bluntly. “I’ll even lend you the quarter—or call collect if you want.”
He was embarrassed “Uh, you’re right. Shame on me. I just haven’t ha
d a chance—”
“All right.” She wasn’t going to press the issue.
They decided to avoid the company cafeteria and go to a quiet place in town instead. They paused at the plant gate long enough for Auberson to buzz his office and tell Sylvia that he would be gone at least an hour and a half. While she was waiting, Annie put the convertible top down and pulled a pale blue scarf from her purse. She was putting it on when he came back.
Auberson couldn’t help but notice that she’d lowered the top of his car. He laughed, a genial good-natured sound, “Well, that’s a good idea—” but underneath the laugh was an unspoken, half-formed thought. Hm? Isn’t that awfully possessive of her? He shrugged it away and put the car into gear. As they rolled away from the plant, he asked, “Where’re we going?”
“How about the Tower Room?”
“Uh-uh. Too many of the wrong kind of people.” He paused, then added in explanation, “Company people.”
“Oh,” she said. “Okay. If not there, where?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s drive into the city and see. You’re not pressed for time, are you?”
She shook her head.
“Good,” He clicked on the stereo and eased the car into the light midday traffic.
She looked over at him. He was a relaxed driver, not like so many who hunch frightenedly over the steering wheel. Auberson enjoyed driving. The line of his jaw tightened momentarily as he concentrated on the road ahead. With one hand he maneuvered a pair of sunglasses out of his coat pocket and onto his nose. The wind whipped at his hair and his tie.
The feel of the road changed abruptly as they swung onto the freeway—the sell-conscious rolling of city-laid concrete became the smooth floating glide of state-sculptured asphalt. The tugging fingers of the wind grew stronger as Auberson gunned the little sports car up to sixty-five miles per hour.
She waited until he had slid into the far left lane before she asked, “What’s wrong with company people?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t want to be seen by them, that’s all.” The stereo mumbled softly to itself, something about fixing a hole where the rain comes in. He turned it down to a whisper and added, “It wouldn’t be a good idea. The two of us, I mean.”
“You’re afraid people will talk?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know. They are already, I guess.” He frowned at a momentary lumpiness in the stream of traffic.
And then they were moving again, gliding past the rooftops of cluttered suburbia—black roofs and red, three-car garages and station wagons parked in front—green-pea lawns and a cacophony of architectural voices: Early American-Almost-Slum next door to Ancient-Gingerbread-With-Original-Icing, followed by Plastic-Cracker-Box and Spanish-Tiled-Pseudo-Elegant. They gave way to little stucco boxes; white walls stained with brown streaks and greasy smoke from kitchen windows; rust-outlined screens on brown faded apartment buildings.
From their vantage point above they could see housewives with fat thighs hanging damp sheets on wire lines, and blue-gray mailmen with heavy brown bags, white-filled with envelopes. Children, too small to be in school, chased after dogs bigger than they were and too smart to be caught. Collies and poodles and black-and-brown mutts—
—were replaced by shopping centers, elegant plastic arches and bright, gaudy frills—great glass windows, full of wishes and temptations. Then more houses, more shopping centers, neon-glaring, harsher and shriller—then taller buildings, stucco-sided offices and billboards with torn paper flapping—and warehouses, big and featureless and ugly—more office buildings, this time concrete-and-glass-sided slabs—and then even taller buildings. They slid down an off ramp between two of the biggest, a narrow canyon with sun-glaring walls. Down into the rough, potted street—it hadn’t been resurfaced in years.
Abruptly, Auberson realized where he was heading—the Red Room, the restaurant where they had gone on their first date. Now, why did I do that? It was too late to change his mind, though—he swung around a corner and they were there.
They didn’t get the same booth, though. At least he was spared that uncomfortable parallel. Uncomfortable? Why should it be uncomfortable?
She didn’t mention the choice of restaurant; instead she seemed to accept it as an inevitable spot for the two of them. After they had ordered, she looked at him sharply. Her green eyes were deep. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Nothing, I guess. I just say that sometimes.”
“Oh.” He said it like he understood, but he didn’t.
She decided to talk about something else. “I hear you’ve been having trouble with HARLIE again.”
“With HARLIE? No, not with HARLIE—because of HARLIE.”
“Well, you know what I mean. The whole company is in an uproar. Something about some unauthorized specs—I haven’t had a chance to pay too much attention to it. I’ve been troubleshooting the annual report for Dorne.”
“Oh? I thought it was finished already.”
“Well, it was supposed to be—but the statistics keep coming out wrong. Er, that is, they keep coming out right.”
“Huh?”
“Uh—” She hesitated, then made a decision. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. The company has two sets of books, you know.”
“Huh?” Now he was even more confused.
“Oh, it’s nothing illegal,” she hastened to explain. “One set is for accuracy. The other is for cosmetic purposes.”
“That sounds illegal to me.”
She made a face. “It is and it isn’t. There’s no criminal intention here. Let’s just say the second set of books is more, um—tactful. The facts are the same. They just look prettier. The figures haven’t been falsified; they’ve simply been—rearranged. Like for instance, HARLIE.”
“HARLIE?”
“Yes, HARLIE. You know and I know that he’s a research operation—but some of the directors think his cost is too large a sum to be listed entirely under research. Don’t look at me like that, David—I don’t make policy and I don’t know why this policy was made in the first place. Apparently they feel it wouldn’t look good to the stockholders or the creditors to see such large sums of money being plowed back into the business all at once—”
“Elzer. Carl Elzer,” said Auberson.
“And others,” Annie conceded.
Aubie’s mind was working. “I know what it is,” he said. “They’re looters.”
“Huh?”
“You remember how they took over the company?”
“Wasn’t it some kind of stock finagle? I remember there was a lot of talk about it, but I was working in one of the other divisions at the time, so I didn’t pay that much attention.”
“Neither did I, dammit.” He searched his memory. “I know there were a lot of hard feelings about it. A lot of people quit; a lot more were fired. Supposedly, Elzer and Dorne and some of the other new directors are part of a—a financial syndicate that specializes in taking over growing companies. The story I heard is that they loot the companies for their cash assets and use that money to buy other companies. I could believe it about Elzer. I’m not so sure about Dorne. Dorne seems too interested in the work here.”
“Mm,” she said. “I might know more about that than you. When the hyperstate patents were granted, Stellar American Technology and Research was broken into four divisions, each one set up to develop and market a different application of the new technology; the four divisions were consumer electronics, military electronics, industrial computers, and experimental computer technology. Stellar American owns fifty-one percent of each—the rest is public; but Stellar American is owned by a holding company itself. Get control of that holding company and you’ve got five companies in your pocket—six, counting the holding. If somebody wanted to loot this company, they could do it, but it would take time and it wouldn’t be easy, because Stellar American is not a fat company right now. The hyperstate process cost a l
ot more to develop than originally projected, and the earn-out is going to take a lot longer because the electronics market is saturated. That’s why the company split itself into four new divisions—to bring in needed operating capital. If you were going to loot Stellar American, one of your first targets would probably be to cut back on all research—that means us—because if you’re a looter, you don’t care about research anyway. You’re only after the short-term gain, and then you sell out.”
Auberson shook his head. “You have the advantage on me, Annie. I know zilch about this kind of thing. How could Stellar American lose control over its own majority?”
“I can think of a couple ways. Look, we know they had to go heavily into debt. About a year ago, they were looking for a white knight. What if they found a black knight instead?”
“Huh? White knight? Black knight?”
“Sorry. Buzzwords. Now you know how I feel when you start talking about floating RAM and multichannel laser-gates. Let me try it again in English. This is all guesswork on my part, but suppose the company was pushed to the point where they were willing to put up shares of stock as collateral for a new loan. If Dorne and Elzer made the loan—that is, one of their companies—they could take over the stock when the debtor found itself unable to make its payments. Or, maybe they simply took over the voting rights of the stock and allowed ownership to remain in the company’s hands until the loan is amortized. There are other ways too. But it all works out to Elzer on the board and Dorne in the driver’s seat.”
“Yes, but—no company is going to risk a controlling amount of its stock.”
“Yes and no,” she agreed. “They might risk it if they were sure that none of the other major stockholders would double-cross them.”
“You think that happened?”
“I don’t know. Wait a minute—” She scribbled a note to herself. “Let me check on this. I think only thirty-six percent of Stellar American stock ever reached the open market. Some of the shares went to the original creator of the hyperstate layering technology and some of the shares went to the design team. As I understand it, the patent does not belong to the company; it belongs to the owners of the original research lab. The company funded them in return for an exclusive twenty-year license.”
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