The Complete LaNague

by F. Paul Wilson

  “What do you want to know? I could talk all day.”

  “I’m sure you could. But I want to know where, in light of what’s going on in the current market, SW can be hurt. If it can be hurt at all.”

  Grange’s eyebrows lifted. “Hurt Star Ways, eh? Not so hard these days as it might have been when you arrived on the scene.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeh. SW’s mortgaged to the hilt and overextended in all quarters. It needs some new blood on those boards, and when the financial reports come out” – he chuckled – “there’ll be a lot of screaming from the stockholders.

  “I wasn’t aware of this.”

  “It’s not public knowledge yet, but that’s what our informants tell us. And I’ve seen it coming for years. But don’t worry. Star Ways will pull through just fine – minus some dead wood at the top.”

  Jo mulled this over. It was encouraging. “Give me some specific weak points.”

  “I can think of three right off the top of my head: General Trades, Stardrive, and Teblinko. General Trades has always generated a lot of income on luxury items, but has lately run into hordes of competitors and lost part of its share of the market.

  “Stardrive is a different story. That’s their tube drive subsidiary – SW’s oldest subsidiary, as a matter of fact. When they picked that up, they were able to outfit ships for both interstellar and peristellar travel – that’s when they really started to grow. Stardrive Inc. has always had competitors, but lately a little company by the name of Fairleigh Tubes has been giving it a real run for its money.” He grinned. “Does that name sound familiar?”

  Jo nodded and returned his smile. “Certainly does.” Fairleigh Tubes was an IBA account.

  “Then we come to Teblinko Corporation, the pharmaceutical firm Star Ways acquired a few years back – that’s been a real problem lately. They had to pour a lot of money into it to get it moving, and it’s only now just starting to pay off. Once Teblinko starts consolidating its gains, it’ll be less crucial to SW’s over-all profit picture; but right now it’s touch and go.

  “If you’re still looking for more cases, I can–”

  Jo held up her hand. “That’ll do for now, I think.” She paused. “Teblinko’s biggest competitor is Opsal Pharmaceuticals, right?”

  Grange nodded. “We did some work for them in the past.”

  “How come they’re not with us now?”

  “Don’t need us. They’re doing fine, so we put them in the inactive file.” He grinned again. “But with the way Teblinko is moving up, I expect to be hearing from them soon.”

  Jo nodded absently, making mental notes.

  “What’s this all about, if I might ask?”

  Jo considered bringing Grange in on it, then vetoed the idea. If she told him what deBloise was planning, he’d think she was paranoid; and if she explained what she wanted to do to Star Ways, he’d be fully convinced that she had crossed the line into overt schizophrenia. No, better keep it to herself.

  “Just working out a theoretical problem,” she told him. “And you’ve been a big help. Can I call on you again if I need some more information?”

  “Of course,” Grange replied, taking the hint and rising. He was too canny to be fooled by Jo’s lame explanation – you weren’t told to drop everything and get up to the head office because of a theoretical problem – but he was sure he’d be filled in on all the details if and when he came to be involved.

  He turned at the door. “It occurs to me that you might not have a certain factor in your theoretical problem, a factor that has the potential to put Fairleigh way ahead of Stardrive: the Rako deal. If that ever comes through–”

  Jo’s eyes widened. “Rako! Of course! You know, I’d forgotten all about that. Thanks, Bill.”

  When he was gone, Jo ordered the complete files on Fairleigh Tubes and Opsal Pharmaceuticals. She also asked the same questions she had asked Bill Grange. The information came up. It agreed with Grange that General Trades and Teblinko were the weak links in SW’s chain of subsidiaries. But Stardrive, the subsidiary Grange had emphasized, was conspicuous by its absence.

  Jo wasn’t surprised. Bill Grange approached the market with an intuitive sense that could not be programmed into any machine, no matter how sophisticated.

  The records department informed her that the Fairleigh and Opsal files were now keyed to her viewer and she could activate them anytime during the next two hours. This was part of the IBA security routine. Client files were available only to authorized personnel on specific request and only for a strictly limited time period. Most contained sensitive and confidential information that would be invaluable to a competitor.

  Current information on Opsal was scanty. It was a reputable firm with a long-standing history of high quality pharmaceutical production. Teblinko was coming up in the field and pushing Opsal, but the older company was maintaining its lead by virtue of its superior distribution system.

  Not much help there.

  She moved on to Fairleigh. The peristellar drive tube market was a stable one. The proton-proton drive had remained the best real-space propulsion method for centuries and the Leason crystal had remained the only practical lining for the drive tubes for an equal amount of time. Emmett Leason, an extra-terrestrial geologist, first identified the crystal on one of the three tiny moons of Tandem. When he could not determine the melting point of the crystal by conventional means, he knew he had something.

  Someone eventually devised a means of coating the inner surface of a proton-proton drive tube with the crystals and found that the new lining prevented the tube from vaporizing as had all the previous prototypes. An experimental means of transportation suddenly became the norm.

  Leason crystals became a hot item among prospectors but it was soon discovered that natural deposits were rare. While these were being mined down to bare rock, the laboratory boys were hard at work developing a synthetic substitute. They were successful, but the man-made crystals were hellishly expensive.

  And that was how the drive tube market stood. The patents on the synthetic process were long defunct and anyone who wanted to make Leason crystals was welcome to do so. But that didn’t make the process any cheaper. As the human race expanded and colonized more new worlds, the demand for p-p tubes grew steadily, and more and more companies entered the market. Still, no one was able to reduce significantly the cost factor in synthesizing the crystals, so they remained the major contributor to the tubes’ high price tag. It was thus the dream of every company to stumble upon a mother lode planet of natural crystals.

  Fairleigh had found such a planet: Rako. But there was a hitch. As a matter of fact, there were a number of hitches.

  One of them was the Tarkan Empire.

  Jo frowned. The Tarks were popping up more and more lately. There would no doubt be a clash someday – a big one. But not in the near future. The Tarkan Empire was ruthless and active and probably took the loose, formless structure of the Federation as a sign of weakness. One day it would overstep its boundaries to test the Federation’s mettle. The empire’s economy was rigidly controlled and centralized and such economies needed periodic armed conflicts to rejuvenate themselves. Free markets tended toward the other extreme: wars meant killing, and killing meant a reduction in the overall total of available customers.

  She activated her intercom. “Get hold of Mr. Balaam at Fairleigh for me.”

  The smiling, distinguished face of Harold Balaam soon filled her vid screen. He had held the president’s seat of the drive tube company, which kept its main office on Ragna, for the past decade. He and Jo enjoyed an excellent working relationship.

  After the usual amenities, Jo asked, “How’s the Rako situation going, Hal?”

  The smile faded. “Don’t ask. It’s costing us a fortune and we’re getting nowhere. I’m afraid I’m going to be forced to pull the team if we don’t start getting some results soon.”

  “Anything in particular holding you up?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. The Rakoans themselves.” He gave her a brief summary of the situation.

  “Sounds like you need a public relations man out there.”

  Balaam grunted. “Know of a PR company that has any experience with degenerate aliens?”

  “Not exactly,” Jo laughed, “but if I can have an authorization from you, I may be able to send somebody out there who can help.”

  Balaam considered this for a few seconds, then nodded. “I think we can commission a trouble shooter through you. You haven’t steered us wrong yet… and if you come through on this, you can name your fee.”

  “The usual contingency percentage will be fine. Just beam the authorization over as soon as possible and I’ll get right to work on it.”

  When the screen was blank, Jo leaned back in her chair. She needed someone to send to Rako immediately, someone with good judgment, a quick mind, and the ability to improvise. That was Larry. But he was on Jebinose and so she’d have to settle for whoever was next in line. Perhaps “settle” wasn’t fair. Larry had the utmost confidence in Andy and that should be sufficient endorsement for anyone.

  She hoped he was available. She was going to send him out to the far edge of the human sector of the galaxy.

  deBloise

  WHEN THE WINDOWS in his a corner office were set at maximum transparency, the view was impressive. Copia, the capital city of Jebinose, was a showcase for the planet. The average outworld could claim one large city and it was usually located near its major – and sometimes only – spaceport. Into this city was poured all the technical skills and available funds the inhabitants could muster. Some cynics denounced the efforts as hypocritical window dressing, but to most inhabitants of the planet it was very important to put on a pretty face for visitors, important to leave an impression of prosperity and well-being.

  Copia was designed to leave such an impression. The rest of Jebinose might be economically and culturally backward, but Copia had a medical center, a psi-school, a university, a museum of Vanek artifacts, and a huge sports arena.

  DeBloise’s office overlooked the northern quarter of Copia; its outer corner pointed toward the graceful spire that marked the university campus. Delicate violet and yellow-striped tendrils of Nolevetol deng grass intertwined across the floor, forming a thick, soft, living rug. Exotic plants climbed three corners of the room; a huge desk, its entire top surface made of solid Maratek firewood, filled the fourth.

  DeBloise sat behind that desk. Holographs of his wife and two children were prominently arrayed before him, but his eyes were on the latest in the morning’s long procession of visitors and supplicants.

  Henro Winterman, a leader of one of the sector’s larger merchant combines, didn’t fit deBloise’s image of a merchant. Merchants should be porcine and endomorphic; this one was lean and lupine. And vaguely arrogant. But his pompous air carried a wheedling undertone. Winterman’s group and others like it had formed a strong pro-deBloise base in the sector’s business community. They had helped significantly in elevating him to initial prominence in interstellar politics, but he had gone on from there without their help. And at this point Winterman was not too sure of his footing with the man who was now so closely identified with the Restructurist movement.

  “It seems that my associates are growing just a little bit impatient, sir,” he said with the perfect blend of impudence and deference. “We’ve actively backed you for a good number of years now and we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. The sector continues to wallow in an economic slump and, very frankly, sir, none of us is getting any younger.”

  “So?” deBloise said with raised eyebrows and a completely neutral tone.

  Certain economic considerations had been implied when they had offered their support for his initial campaign to go to the Federation as a Restructurist. Somewhat less than two standard decades had passed since then and apparently some of the merchants thought the bill was past due. It irritated deBloise to the point of fury that Winterman should have the audacity to approach him in this manner, but he checked himself and limited his reply to the noncommittal monosyllable. The time had not yet come when he could loose his rage on Winterman, but that time was coming… it was coming. Until it arrived, he could not allow anything to erode his power base.

  “Well,” Winterman said slowly when it became obvious that deBloise was waiting to hear more, “my associates and I are quite concerned about the indigenous economic integrity of our sector.”

  DeBloise had to smile at that: Indigenous economic integrity.

  What an ingenious phrase! It meant nothing, really, but was infinitely malleable. DeBloise had used a number of similar phrases and catchwords on his way up; they were indispensable to the political process when it was necessary to create an issue.

  Interpreting the smile as encouragement, Winterman hurried on. “We know the Restructurist movement is sympathetic to our goal of eliminating outside commercial interests from the sector, and we know it’s just a matter of time before the movement achieves dominance in the Fed Assembly and gives us the backing we need, but there is a bit of an economic lag in the sector and we were wondering how long–”

  “Not too much longer, Henro,” deBloise said with hearty confidence and one of his best public smiles.

  But beneath the smile he was snarling. He saw the merchant as a filthy, greedy, moneygrubbing parasite and knew exactly what he and the other members of the merchant combine meant by the “indigenous economic integrity of the sector”: they wanted a monopoly on all trade in and out of the sector. None of the members was skilled or talented enough to achieve that goal either as an individual or as part of a collective. So – they were looking for a little Federation muscle to help them. But the LaNague Charter prohibited any and all interference in the economy by the Federation. Thus their support of deBloise and Restructurism. Strange bedfellows, indeed.

  Speaking continuously as he moved, he rose and expertly guided Winterman out of the office. With his hand on the man’s shoulder, he assured him of his deep sympathy and concern for his predicament and of his firm intention to do all he could for him just as soon as the Movement made some headway toward changing the charter. He also made a point of reminding him that if that day was ever to come, it would require the continued support of such model citizens as Henro Winterman and his fellow merchants.

  DeBloise glanced questioningly at his receptionist as the waiting room door slipped closed behind Winterman.

  “You’re ahead of schedule, sir,” she said, knowing what was on his mind. “That reporter isn’t due until ten-point-five.”

  He nodded and returned to his inner office. A mirthless smile warped his lips as he waited for the chair to adjust to his posture in a semi-reclining position. It never ceased to amaze him how much a part greed played in politics. That, at least, was something he was well insulated against, thank the Core. The deBloise name had been synonymous with wealth on Jebinose for generations; his personal fortune was more than he could hope to spend in two lifetimes.

  No, Elson deBloise had more important concerns than money, but that didn’t mean he would renege on his promise to use whatever power he achieved after the Haas plan came to fruition to aid Winterman’s crowd. He’d be delighted to help them gain a stranglehold on trade in the sector, absolutely delighted.

  And soon, as Restructurist control of the Federation increased as it inevitably must after they achieved their beachhead – the Jebinose trade cartel and others like it would find themselves under direct supervision of the newly restructured Federation. The real power over the human sector of Occupied

  Space would then be where it belonged – with the new Fed president, Elson deBloise.

  Money as an incentive? Never! Then what was his incentive? DeBloise’s mind had developed numerous diversionary tactics to deal with that question. Most of them were quite ingenious. But every once in a while his defenses collapsed and the inescapable truth leaked through: rich and influential men entered politics for one rea
son… power. Lower class nobodies became politicos with the power motive in mind, too, but it was often diluted by a drive for prestige and the financial advantages that so often attend the acquisition of public office. Being moneyed and respected at the start, however, left only power as a goal.

  The quest for dominion over other men’s lives was not necessarily an evil thing if, after achieving that dominion, it was used toward certain beneficial ends.

  DeBloise had repeated this to himself so many times that by now he actually believed it, and the thought that a good many people might not share his vision for the human race did not bother him in the least. He would override their opinions and in the end they would see that it was all for their own good.

  As his mind reflexively skittered away from any in-depth analysis of the moral implications of his life’s work, his eyes came to rest on the holographs of his wife and children on the desktop.

  His daughter was on the left: a pretty brunette with some wild tendencies. These were presently being curbed – he wanted no bad publicity involving his family.

  Rhona, his wife, was in the middle. She too was a brunette, although she weighed more now than she did in the holo. Their offspring has been limited to two – one of each sex – at deBloise’s insistence; it made for a perfectly balanced family portrait. Rhona had been the eldest daughter of another rich Jebinose family, and two fortunes, as well as two people, had been united at their wedding. They were husband and wife now in name only, however. They slept in separate quarters at night and led separate lives by day; only on public record and in the public eye were they married. Both seemed content with the situation as it was.

  He had never loved Rhona. At one time he thought he might someday grow to love her, but as his rise in politics began to accelerate, the discrepancies between the public deBloise and the private Elson widened. And he found that he preferred the role of the public deBloise, a role he could not play with any conviction in Rhona’s presence. She’d known him since adolescence, knew all his fears, fantasies, and idiosyncrasies. In her eyes, he would never be the wonderful man who was the public deBloise, and so he avoided her.