Man of Two Worlds

  At least he’s the best for my purposes, Mugly thought.

  “I have been trying to think as you would think,” Jongleur said. “And it is a fact that you still want Earth erased. Did you give other orders to Prosik?”

  “He was told to act as the situation dictated,” Mugly said. “You must admit, if Earth were erased, that would satisfy Habiba’s command. Earthers would never again threaten us.”

  “You left the question of Earth’s erasure up to a . . . to a mere Eminence?”

  “He was a good Storyteller in his day, Jongleur.”

  “I’ve heard rumors he’s a bazeel brain!”

  “An occasional indulgence, no more. That could be said about many of us.” Mugly looked benignly at Jongleur.

  Jongleur spoke quickly: “You have tied my hands! We cannot send ships after this Patricia willy nilly! Every ship we send is a potential betrayal of our secrets. I am forced to use new operatives and your man, Prosik!”

  “I told you he was the best. What do you have in mind?”

  “The erasure ship is in the hands of the bothersome Zone Patrol. You must send a Spiral signal to Prosik, telling him this and ordering him to assume Zone Patrol disguise. That’s his only hope of finding the ship and recovering it.”

  “Very well. I’ll see to it immediately.”

  “And tell him he must not erase Earth!”

  “Don’t you think that should be left up to our Dreen on the scene?”

  “I do not! This is an extremely complex matter. Your ship did not just crash, Mugly. It collided in the Spirals with a ship built by an Earther named Hanson!”

  Mugly was well and truly shocked. “In the Spirals?”

  “You see, Mugly? A fine mess you’ve got us into.”

  “Erasure of Earth becomes more and more our best option!”

  “I forbid it in Habiba’s name! No! Prosik must search out this Earther, Lutt Hanson, Jr., and I want him to look for clues to what has happened to my son.”

  “You’d endanger us to satisfy your personal fears?”

  “Of course not! I am following a plan suggested by Habiba.”

  Mugly sighed. “What is Habiba’s plan?”

  “We will abduct Hanson—if he’s still alive—along with anyone in whom he has confided his knowledge of Spiral technology.”

  “And how will you know who has shared this knowledge?”

  “There will be plans, drawings and descriptions. We will find out who has seen them.”

  “Earthers call them ‘blueprints’ and they—”

  “I know what Earthers call them! You don’t have to explain everything about Earth to me, Mugly!”

  “But you never can be sure you’ve identified everyone who has seen the blueprints. And as for people this Hanson has spoken to in the course of his—”

  “It must be done! Anything is preferable to erasure!”

  “Anything?”

  “Mugly . . . please. You are the most violent Dreen I have ever encountered. It’s frightening. For Habiba’s sake, rein in your violent nature.”

  “I must do what is best for all of us, Jongleur. But I will convey your admonitions to Prosik. He is really quite a peaceable type.”

  Except when he’s high on just the right amount of bazeel.

  “It gladdens me to hear that, Mugly. Get on with it, then. I must lay plans for the abduction.”

  ***

  Autopsies of these subjects reveal odd bodily variations. The eyes are attached to the skulls above and below by post and socket. The eyes swivel one hundred and eighty degrees! In one position, they appear normal, but when they are turned inward they present a blank gray surface. Movement is controlled by pivot muscles of great elasticity. Our studies fail to explain this. We do not rule out surgical or other medical intervention to create these changes. The study board suggests these oddities may confer mysterious powers on the subjects.

  —Zone Patrol report TS/Dreen

  With a contingent of Hanson guards following out of earshot, Lutt and Morey walked downramp to the You Gee One Terminal. Just before the last Security checkpoint, Lutt looked back.

  The garish rickshaw still stood in the parking area, the robocoolies sprawled around it as though in the last stages of fatigue.

  “Look at that,” Lutt said. “They’re doing it again.”

  “One of Father’s more amusing japes,” Morey said.

  “Mother knows robots can’t feel fatigue,” Lutt said. “I think Father programmed them that way just to annoy her.”

  “She’ll use the waiting time to run up the long-distance vidcom bill,” Morey laughed. “And it’ll all be on the You Gee One relay. He’ll see the bill; you can count on it.”

  “Kind of a silent war,” Lutt said.

  They rounded a corner beyond the checkpoint and entered a long low tunnel lined in white tile and lighted by a single overhead glow strip. The parking area was hidden from view.

  “Not like our war, eh, Brother?” Morey asked.

  “We’ll discuss that later. Meanwhile, if I were you, I’d mind my tongue,”

  The tunnel opened to a wide concrete platform where the sound of machinery was louder. Ahead of them lay the old tracks on which You Gee One’s tube-trains ran.

  Above the loud machinery sounds they heard the hum and squeals of an approaching subway car. Cool yellow standby illumination washed the tracks in low, shadowy light.

  Lutt, still wearing the green and black tunic Ryll had reconstituted through idmaging, shivered in the cool air. He wondered if Ryll could idmage warmer clothing.

  Are you beginning to believe in me, Lutt?

  Just testing.

  I’d give us a fur parka but Morey would notice.

  They were near the passenger loading platform now and Morey studied Lutt with a new caution as they walked.

  “You wearing elevator shoes?” Morey asked. “You look taller,”

  Lutt waited until they stopped before answering. “Haven’t you heard about Pluto resin injections?”

  “Hey! Pluto resin isn’t approved by the WDA yet. How’d you get it?”

  “Maybe I’m just wearing elevator shoes, Morey.”

  “If you can get Pluto resin, I know where we could peddle it at a big markup.”

  “How much could you get for my shoes?”

  “About as much as I could get for that story about an alien in your head.”

  Lutt! Do Earthers sell their stories, too?

  Not the way he’s suggesting.

  “Had you going, didn’t I, Morey?” Lutt asked.

  “You reverting to your college games, Lutt? Your pranks cost Father a bundle bailing you out of trouble every few weeks.”

  “Not what it’d cost him to bail you out of the trouble you’ll be in if the law catches up with you.” “Let’s declare a truce, Lutt. I’ll support your bid for money to finance your ship or whatever it is if you’ll be a good brother and keep Father off my back.”

  “I’ll think about it. Let’s see how well you do today. You see, Morey, I also know how Father learned about some of my college pranks. You and your big mouth.”

  Morey raised both hands, palms outward. “I’ll be good. I promise. And I never told Father you graduated by hiring people to take your tests and write your papers.”

  “Because we both know that’s how you got through the Harvard Business Institute, Morey. Right?”

  “So we got drunk once and confessed our indiscretions to each other. Isn’t that what brothers are for?”

  “I’m not sure what brothers are for, Morey. Maybe I’ll find out someday.”

  “What is this ship you’re fiddling with, anyway?”

  “If L.H. will put up just a little more money, the Hansons will have a spaceship that can cross the universe in less time than it takes to tell about it. We could be in Citelli’s star system by morning.”

  Morey pulled at his lower lip.

  Does he believe you? Ryll asked.

  He’s wondering ab
out it. You can bet he sees the big bucks in it if I’m right.

  What makes you think Dreens will let you into the Spirals?

  We’ll learn the traffic signals, how to tell if there’s another ship approaching. You’ll teach me everything I need to know, won’t you Ryll?

  I don’t know everything.

  But you’ll teach me what you do know.

  You really believe in me now!

  For these stakes, I’ll gamble. Now back off. There’s a train coming.

  Through their shared vision, Ryll paid attention to these interesting surroundings. The loading platform stood above a carbarn wheel of tracks. At the center of the wheel, the Hanson family crest had been worked in green and gold. Six tunnels fanned out from the wheel. The tunnel to their immediate left glowed with the white light of an approaching maglev train. The light grew brighter and the train emerged, an articulated car—a humming mechanical worm that glided to a stop over the Hanson crest.

  From Lutt’s memories, Ryll knew the car would return via another tunnel into a subterranean maze. The whole thing was, to Ryll, a parody of Dreenor homes, the Elders living deep within the ampleness of the planet.

  With a loud sound of grating metal, part of the car’s roof opened and a tubular ramp extruded with an armed security guard standing in the opening.

  The ramp lifted and extended to the platform where the guard hesitated, his attention centered on Lutt.

  “He’s noticed that you’re bigger,” Morey said.

  Lutt held up his right hand to display the palm to a scanner beside the guard.

  Morey addressed the guard, one of Father’s hand-picked “specials” in green and gold uniform. “He’s doing something to make himself taller.”

  The guard’s voice was a suspicious growl. “I see that.” He glanced at the scanner, then back to Lutt. “Okay, it’s you.”

  Lutt found himself amused by this. He stepped past the guard and, followed by Morey, descended to the brightly lighted interior of the car where they strapped themselves into the first available seats. Except for the guard, who took up position beside the accordion stacks of the tube as it folded back into the car, they were the only occupants.

  As soon as the outer door sealed, the car turned on the track wheel and began moving—slowly at first and then swiftly accelerating until the headlight’s reflected glow showed a dark blur of tunnel walls. Presently, the car slowed and came to a stop at another carbarn wheel where it was turned and aimed into a different tunnel. Once more, they accelerated. Three more times they were aimed in new directions and finally saw the green walls of the core tunnel.

  “Only four changes,” Lutt said. “It’s usually more.”

  “Father’s overriding the computer,” Morey said. “He’s impatient to see us.”

  Abruptly, the car lurched to a stop in the green-walled tunnel, pressing them against their safety harnesses. They saw a freight train cross ahead of them. The articulated sections of the freight cars creaked and groaned, indicating a heavy load.

  “Wonder what he’s bringing in now?” Morey asked.

  “Hell tell us if he thinks we should know.”

  Lutt slouched in the seat, harness tight across chest and abdomen. Morey leaned forward, trying to get a better view.

  “I’m looking forward to the day I’ll know everything about the business,” Morey said.

  When the old man dies, you mean, Lutt thought. What a foolish man you are, Brother.

  Even without much formal business education, Lutt knew he could step into command of Hanson Industries. That was what Father wanted. L.H. had made it plain despite ranting against Lutt’s other activities.

  Idiot Lutt with his pipedreams of ultra-fast space travel! Would that be the argument today? Signs that Father was losing patience with Number-One Son were on the increase.

  Morey cleared his throat. “I waited dinner for you last night.”

  “What a shame.”

  “You were in a Zone Patrol prison at the time. Does that make you an ex-convict . . . among your other achievements?”

  “Be careful, Morey. I wasn’t convicted of anything. You’re the one with valid credentials as a criminal.”

  “Just what do you mean by that?” Morey blustered.

  “Let’s talk about your stamp collection,” Lutt said.

  “What stamp collection?” Morey demanded.

  “That stamp in the heel of your left shoe, for instance,” Lutt said.

  Morey’s face darkened with a rush of blood.

  Lutt bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “I can prove you’ve been skimming from the companies you manage. You’re stealing from your own family and buying rare stamps. They are so portable, aren’t they, Morey?”

  “You . . . you wouldn’t. . .”

  “Tell Father? Not unless you make it necessary.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s better, Morey. You can be realistic. That 1995 Anatolian in your heel—what would it bring at auction?”

  “You think I’d let you take everything away from me?”

  “But I don’t want everything. I just want to rein you in a bit, the way Father does with Mother. She can’t resist rare objets d’art. You have this compulsion to buy the most expensive stamps.”

  “If you don’t want it all. . . how much?”

  “Maybe half. We’ll see. I’ll need a million right away. That Anatolian should do it, according to my sources.”

  “What’ll you do with it?”

  “Father won’t give me all the money I need to rebuild and improve my Vortraveler.”

  “Vortraveler! You expect me to pay for that damn thing?”

  “Whatever Father does not give me, you will provide. I’ll need forty thousand a week after the start-up costs. Now, Brother!”

  Lutt held up a cautioning hand as a pale and angry Morey started to reply.

  “Just think of me as a dependent. You can peel off a bit more for your new dependent.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Morey. You’ll have a very long and uncomfortable session with Father and his auditors if I lay the evidence in front of him.”

  “How do I know you have this evidence?”

  “You’re grasping at straws, Morey. If I know about that Anatolian . . .”

  “But where’s your proof ?”

  “I’ll see that you get copies.”

  A deep sigh shook Morey. “You always win, damn you!”

  “This time, we both win. I’ll just make more profits for a branch of Hanson Industries and it’ll be independent of Father.”

  “Nothing’s independent of him!”

  “He’ll accept it after we start making big money. Just think of yourself as my silent partner.”

  “And I have to do whatever you say?”

  “If you don’t, you can stick that Anatolian to your forehead and mail yourself to Pluto. You’ll have no reason to stick around here. You see, Morey? Stick, stick, stick! I’m sticking it to you, fella. Finally!”

  Morey brought a monogrammed white handkerchief from a pocket and mopped his brow. “I always knew you were a nasty person, Lutt. How did you find out about. . .” He left the question hanging.

  “Why should I tell you? If our positions were reversed, would you tell me?”

  Morey’s silence was a sufficient answer.

  Ryll intruded on Lutt’s thoughts. How can you be this mean to a sibling?

  You say you have my memories. You already know what he’s like and should have a good idea about Father’s character. They are not nice people.

  Neither are you, Lutt.

  I’m a survivor. I do what I have to do. You’re in Rome now, Dreen alien or whatever you are.

  When in Rome, do what the Romans do? Yes, I know the allusion. I also know your “chicken or the egg” argument. Which comes first?

  You’re learning how to be a human from Earth.

  I have many fully assimilated stories of your
dreadful planet.

  But the reality is not what you expected?

  You make a mistake if you treat me as a child, Lutt. I know many things.

  I’ll get you to tell me some of your stories sometime.

  Only if I wish it. My ruminations are my own.

  So you say.

  Morey chose this moment to whisper in Lutt’s ear. “There may be a limit to how much you can bleed from me. Father might like to know how you discovered my secret.”

  “You think I’ve tapped Father’s Listening Post? Don’t be stupid, Morey. If that were it, he’d already know about you.”

  Morey sank back, glowering.

  The exchange set Lutt thinking. Father’s Listening Post.

  It was old L.H.’s ultimate family secret, passed on only to male descendants—a package complete with damaging private information to prove its authenticity. Electrodots on Hanson products spied on the purchasers—computer-sorted surveillance stored at “the Listening Post.” Both Morey and Lutt suspected Father of conducting a gigantic blackmail operation but all they knew for sure was that L.H. could influence important people dramatically. The sons also were assured that no spy dots were found on products used by the Hanson family. Hanson Security paid extremely close attention to this.

  The last freight car passed. Their train lurched into motion, gathering speed along a section of track that curved hard left. The brothers were pressed together into a corner of the seat. They pushed themselves apart and presently their car stopped in an enormous cavern.

  Lutt unbuckled and stood. He looked up through the car’s transparent roof at the brightly lighted cavern. Father’s mobile office tower loomed over them in its outsized tunnel—the underground hideaway that once had concealed rows of MX missiles. Like an echo out of the past century, the tower rode its own tracks, able to move even farther into the subterranean maze that concealed Hanson Industries. Lutt thought this the most remarkable achievement of his father’s mind—a marvel of robotics and engineering. Like its creator, the Hanson Industries building traveled secret places on a course no other could follow.

  Morey, looking troubled, seemed to share similar thoughts as he joined Lutt beside the tube exit. There were dark and secret places in the senior Hanson’s mind.