"He's not, if having a conscience makes one unstable. And he's not the only client. Western said he'd introduce him to a man who had come back from the dead."
"How many are there walking among us?"
"I don't know. Robert told him he'd think about it, but he wouldn't say a word to anybody. He worried about it; he wants to live forever, which is practically what Western offers, but he couldn't stand the idea of stealing another man's body. So, after days of wrestling with himself, he came to me. He said that he hated himself because he was breaking his promise to Western. But he just had to tell me. The greater evil cancelled the lesser."
"And what did you tell him?"
"To put off a final answer until I thought of what to do. I promised him to have an answer in a few days." Carfax thought that Mifflon had adopted Mrs. Webster as his mother, but he saw no reason to comment.
"If this is true," he said slowly, "then Western is as rotten as Patricia says he is. And we have our first real break. The only question is, what do we do about it?"
"I don't know," she said. "What does this do to your theory that the sembs are alien entities?"
"It shatters it to hell. Unless . .. unless those sembs are not humans but are taking over humans. After all, they can behave like humans, so why couldn't they fool Mifflon? How would he know whether or not he was talking to a human who'd come back or a semb that'd come over?"
He remembered, with a shudder, how the semb that was supposed to be his uncle had seemed to expand, to leave the machine, to swoop at him. Had it been trying to invade and conquer him?
He sat up straighter and said, "That's it!"
"What?" Mrs. Webster said.
"That's why uncle Rufton lied! He had to, otherwise Western wouldn't let him come back! He had to agree to go along with his own murderer! That is, if it really was my uncle."
"In either case, what can you do?"
"I don't know, but I'll think of something. I think the first thing to do is to get Mifflon to require that Western let him talk to this repossessor or whatever you want to call him. He can report back to us, and we can go from there. Do you think he could carry it off?"
"I'll ask him," she said, and she reached for the viewphone button.
13.
Mrs. Webster turned the phone off.
"He's either not there or he's told his secretary to say he's not in. He told me he was going straight home, and I can't imagine why he wouldn't speak to me."
"If he has an uneasy conscience, he may be sorry he told you about Western's offer," Carfax said. "I hope he wasn't foolish enough to confess to Western that he'd broken his promise."
"Oh, no, he wouldn't do that!" Mrs. Webster said.
"Besides, he's hardly had time!"
"One phone call would do it."
He stood up. "I have an uneasy feeling about this. I think I'll go to Minion's house. What's the address?"
The estate was in North Pacific Palisades, half a mile from the ocean. Once it had been embedded in a score or so of great houses surrounded by acres of broad lawns, woods, and sculptured gardens. Now it was the lone survivor. The others had been sold to apartment-building developers who had erected a dozen high-rises and were building a dozen more. Dust thrown up by bulldozers was thick in the air, coating with gray the grass, trees, and high stone walls surrounding the Mifflon grounds. The mansion itself, on the highest part of the grounds, had been white but was now khaki.
Carfax spoke into the box outside the iron grille gate. The voice that came from it was thick with Bantu pronunciation. It was also heavy with skepticism.
"I have no record of an appointment with a Mr, Carfax, sir."
"He's forgotten again," Carfax said.
There was a pause as the servant considered the well-known absent-mindedness of his employer. At least, according to Mrs. Webster it was well-known.
"Let me speak to Mr. Mifflon," Carfax said. "He'll remember then."
"Sorry, sir, he's not here."
"He told me he would be," Carfax said. "Let me speak to the secretary, then."
"She isn't here either, sir."
"Where can I call them?"
"Sorry, sir, that is confidential."
"He's going to lose a lot of money if I can't talk to him!" Carfax shouted.
"Sorry, sir. I'm forbidden to give out such information."
"Four million dollars will go down the drain!"
There was a long pause, then the servant said, with awe congealing his voice, "Four million dollars, sir?" "Probably more!"
"But I'd lose my position, sir."
"Some rules are made to be broken," Carfax said. "If the situation demands."
"Sorry, sir."
"If I don't get to speak to him, and very soon, you won't have a job because Mifflon will have no money!"
"Yes, sir. But there is a servant shortage, as you know, sir."
"Oh, you wouldn't have any trouble getting a job," Carfax said. "If you could stay here, that is. But you were hired by Mr. Mifflon in Kenya, and you'd have to go back there and hope your agency could find you some other wealthy American or European."
Carfax hated himself for this despicable browbeating, but he had a Job to do.
"That may be, sir, but while I work for Mr. Mifflon, I owe him loyalty. Goodby, sir."
Carfax was frustrated, but at the same time he felt admiration for the servant. It was good to find a man who could not be scared or corrupted.
He hesitated about calling Mrs. Webster. If Mifflon was in the house, then he would be doing much legwork for nothing. Short of prowling the house itself, there was no way to find out if Mifflon was home. At one time, he would have done that, but he was older and less agile and more afraid of the consequences if he were caught.
Sighing, he picked up the earphone.
A minute later, he recradled it. Mrs. Webster had a long dossier on Mifflon, as she probably did on all her important clients. She had told him that Mifflon had his own airplane, which he flew out of the private airport at Santa Susana. The next step was to phone the airport.
Yes, Mr. Mifflon and his secretary had taken off only six minutes ago. Then: destination was Bonanza Circus, Nevada.
"That was easy," Carfax said to himself.
His next station was the Beveriy Hills Public Library.
He drove four blocks, parked in the MT Santa Monica Boulevard lot, and only had to wait three minutes before boarding the express. Six minutes later, he got off the platform of the Beveriy Drive stop, and walked to the library. There he spoke his request into the reference computer and was issued a card. This indicated that all the viewers were occupied, and twenty-three people were ahead of him. Since he did not want to wait, he used the huge U.S. atlas and its auxiliary, both chained to lecterns. Both had some pages missing, torn out by vandals or atlasophiles, but the map of Nevada and the auxinfo pages were still there.
Bonanza Circus had been built four years ago in northern Nevada. Its permanent population was 50,000 and growing, since gambling paid all taxes. It was building a college which would become a university in four more years. Though the Mafia had constructed the city and operated the casinos through dummy corporations, the gambling machines were supervised by the state and federal governments. The local officials had to get a bill of moral health from both governments before they could be elected. The machines were set so that the casinos kept only forty percent of the money poured into them, but they were doing very well at this rate.
Carfax found this interesting, but it wasn't what he was looking for. He noted the construction companies in the city and went to a phone booth. On the fourth long-distance call, he found it. The Greater Acme Builders and Developers, Inc., had just finished a complex of large buildings in the mountains twelve kilometers to the east of Bonanza Circus. This was owned by the Megistus Research Corporation. Carfax's informant did not even know what the corporation researched, though he thought it was in the electronic and chemical line.
Carfax pho
ned Fortune and Thomdyke and asked them to track down all they could on Megistus. After taking the MT back to his car, he drove to the Burbank motel, where Patricia and a message from Fortune and Thorndyke waited for him. The conversation with the agency took three minutes.
"You look happy," Patricia said.
"I shouldn't, considering what I'm being charged," he said. "The agency had to use the Washington, D.C. computer. But they did in fifteen minutes what I couldn't have done in fifteen days. They found out that Western owns the company that owns the company that owns the company that owns Megistus. They also found out that Megistus has made no efforts to get contracts."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, Mifflon never gambles, so why should he go to Bonanza Circus? I would surmise that it's to meet Western in the Megistus complex. Or to use the new MEDIUM that Western may have built there."
"But there's been nothing in the news ..."
"Western would want to keep it a secret for several reasons. One, he doesn't want another Houvelle blowing up his machine, not to mention him. Two, he may be using MEDIUM for some purpose which requires absolute secrecy. If Mifflon's story is true. Western may be carrying out his repossessions in his Nevada hideout."
"But why, right after Mifflon told Mrs. Webster about Western, would he go to Western?"
"Mifflon may have suddenly decided that his chance for immortality overrode his conscience. He wants to make the deal before he changes his mind again . . .
Or he may not have gone voluntarily."
"Why do you say that?"
"Two men accompanied him. Roletti and Curts, if they gave their right names."
Patricia sat down and said, "I feel scared."
"It's only conjecture."
"Why would they take along his secretary if he went unwillingly? Wouldn't that unnecessarily complicate matters?"
"Not if the secretary is being paid by Western. Anyway, Mifflon never goes any place without her; she's a woman about fifty-five, a motherly type, according to Mrs. Webster. It would look strange if she wasn't with him."
"It just doesn't seem probable that Mifflon would turn right around and confess to Western that he'd told Mrs. Webster. He might be a little out of his mind, but he's not that unbalanced. So how would Western find out so quickly?"
"He must know that Mifflon has been seeing Mrs. Webster. So he's got her place bugged. Maybe. I have some more calls to make to Bonanza Circus."
Forty-five motels and hotels later, Carfax had his list complete.
"He didn't check in anywhere, unless it was with a fake name and fake credit card. And that doesn't seem likely."
"What about Mrs. Bronski and those two men?"
"Nothing. You start packing while I make another call."
Patricia was startled. "Packing?"
"Yes. If Mrs. Webster's is bugged, then Western knows that we know about Mifflon. And he'll know where we are. Listen, do you have a friend who'd put us up for a few days? It's too easy for Western to locate us if he wants to."
Patricia was startled again.
"Then why did we sneak up here?"
"I didn't want to make it too easy. Look, do you have a friend?"
She shook her head. "The two people I could trust no longer live here. They emigrated to Canada."
"Can't blame them," he said. "Very well. I'll have Fortune and Thorndyke send someone to register in his name, and we'll move in. A big place is what we need, one where the manager isn't likely to see us coming and going. And we'll turn the screen off when we use the phone. I should have done that in the first place, but I didn't really think ..."
"Go on," she said. "You didn't really think what?"
He grinned and said, "That Western was the villain you painted him to be. And I'm still not one hundred percent sure."
"You bastard, you thought I was a paranoiac!"
"I considered it, but I don't make up my mind until I have a lot of evidence. Get going. We might need every second we can get!" Stung into urgency by his tone more than his words, she swiftly began packing. The tight lips, though, were more from anger at him than anxiety over Western.
Carfax decided that he could call the agency later from his car. In fact, it might be better to make all the calls later.
He phoned in to the desk and ordered his bill made ready. The clerk said it'd be done before they got to the desk. All he had to do was to add the phone bill to the computer card. Carfax knew this, but evidently the clerk liked to talk.
Five minutes later, with suitcases full of hastily folded clothing, they left the Grand Vivorium. Four minutes after that, they changed taxis, and they drove to another motel. They waited at the entrance until the taxi pulled away, after which they carried their luggage three blocks to a car rental lot. The transaction took ten minutes, and they drove away in a car with a phone. Carfax talked to a Saunders at Fortune and Thomdyke, made the necessary arrangements, and then had the operator switch him to Bonanza Circus.
He confirmed that Mifflon and party had landed there and that they had not then proceeded elsewhere in their plane. His informant did not know where they had gone after checking out.
A call to Western's temporary headquarters at the Beverly-Wilshire, where he had rented two floors, told him nothing except that Western had a new secretary with a very husky and sexy voice. Mr. Western was not available and would not be for several days. No, she couldn't say where he was without authorization from her employer. But she would give a message to him.
"I'll call back, thank you," Carfax said.
"I'm sure I'll hear from Mr. Western within a few hours," Ms. Rapport said. "Could I have your number in case he wants to speak to you directly."
"No, thanks," Carfax said.
14.
The next five days were spent mostly in the motel room. They consisted almost entirely of waiting and tediousness, reading, watching TV, exercising, and going to three movies. Gordon Carfax was much better at this game than Patricia. She was not, she said, content to sit like a frog on a lily pad and wait for flies.
Gordon tried to keep her occupied by talking to her about her past life, her childhood experiences--happy and traumatic--her lovers, her jobs, her ambitions and frustrations, the things which annoyed and exasperated her, the things which made her rejoice; in short, the items which made her a unique human being.
Patricia liked to talk about herself, but she also had to have physical activity. After a few hours of spilling emotional contents, she would pace back and forth and then say that she either had to go for a walk or to bed with Gordon. He was obliging; he would do whichever she preferred. But near the end of the five days, he was more inclined to walk. His fifteen years of seniority told on him. He was beginning to wonder if they should get married. At present, he could satisfy her, but in twenty years she would be fifty and with a lust probably undiminished. He would be sixty-five and bound to be slowing down.
Patricia had said nothing about marriage, and she might not even be thinking of it. Of course, when she was leading a normal life, when she was not so anxiety-ridden, she would be looking at their situation from the long-range view.
He could have asked her if she wanted to make their arrangement permanent, but he saw no reason to do so. He did not want to make any commitments until this was over.
Meanwhile, though their personal events moved slowly, public events moved swiftly.
A Dr. Orenstein of Yeshiva University, a member of the federal committee which had investigated MEDIUM, appeared on the Jack Phillips talk show. During the conversation, he stated that it was possible that the embu was not an expanding universe. If this were indeed so, the energy of eons accumulating in it might destroy it. The so-called "dead," the sembs, would be destroyed along with the rest of that other- world. This was regrettable perhaps, but not dangerous to our world. That is, unless a channel between the embu and our universe happened to be open when the embu "exploded." Who knew what enormous energies, perhaps earth-destroying, might rave
n through the breach between our worlds?
Jack Phillips turned pale and looked as if he was sorry he had brought up the subject. He did manage to rally and ask how that was possible. Wouldn't the first touch of energy destroy MEDIUM and so close the breach?
Dr. Orenstein: "It might. But some of us have wondered if the heavy use of MEDIUM hasn't created a weak spot in the wall between our worlds. It could be compared to a trickle in a dike. If that trickle is not stopped up at once, the whole dike will, in a short time, become a wide gap. And the sea pours in."
Cries from the audience: "You're crazy!"
"What are you trying to do, scare the shit out of us?"
"My God, we're doomed!"
Jack Phillips, after signaling for silence: "I don't think you should be making public speculations like that. Doctor. It might cause a panic. After all, what evidence do you have for that? It is just a theory, isn't it? A wild theory? A hypothesis, I should say, since you have absolutely no data, I repeat, no data at all."
Dr. Orenstein: "That's true. But the mere possibility should make us stop to reflect. Should we continue using MEDIUM when we don't know what its longterm effects will be? Now, I'm a scientist, and what I'm saying will be regarded as heresy by many scientists. Science must explore wherever it can. Many of my colleagues would insist on this principle. But many others would agree with me. The very chance, however slight, that we might be tampering with forces which could wipe this earth clean of life in a few seconds should make us evaluate the continued use of MEDIUM.
"Anyway, I'm only being a little premature in saying this. My speculations and my recommendations are in the official report. And you'll be reading it soon. That is, if the president ever takes the lid off it."
Jack PhiIIips: "Then you definitely recommend that MEDIUM be shut down?"
Dr. Orenstein: "At once! We must study it carefully, analyze its possible effects!"
Regina Calomela, a guest: "But Doctor Orenstein, how can you possibly know what its effects will be unless you use it?"
Dr. Orenstein: "That's a good question. However, I was thinking of an evaluation of the data already derived from medium's operation, a mathematical analysis."
Farmer, Philip José - Traitor to the Living Page 10