Man of Two Worlds

  “This is my office now!” Morey raged. “Mother told me what Father wants. She knows what’s in his will!”

  “This office belongs to whoever can take it and hold it!” Lutt shouted. “Come on in if you think you can do that!”

  “But Father left something for me in the Listening Post!”

  “So come and get it!”

  “Mother and I aren’t going to provide any more money for your silly projects!” Morey said.

  “The Listening Post will pay for what I need,” Lutt said.

  But he felt a sinking sensation. Morey wouldn’t make such a boast if he felt unable to carry it out.

  “And you’re not going to marry that whore from Venus!” Morey said. “That’s not what Mother wants.”

  “And Mother still gets everything she wants?”

  “That’s what Father’s will says!”

  “I still have enough on you to send you to prison!’’ Lutt shouted.

  “Mother says she’ll cut you off without a penny if you fight us!”

  “Then maybe we’d better compromise,” Lutt said.

  “Never! You’re out, Lutt! Mother and I are running things now!”

  “I think you better leave before I get angry,” Lutt said. “You plotted to kill me on Venus. If I ever needed an excuse to get rid of you, that’s good enough!”

  “Lutt, I’m coming in there if I have to get Hanson Guards to make it safe for me.”

  “You might survive three steps. Our guards would not make it two steps and they know it! But you’re welcome to try.”

  Lutt touched a control on his father’s cane and the office door in front of Morey began to close, pushing Morey out. Before it closed, Lutt shouted: “You’re the one who’s out, Morey!”

  As the door clicked shut, Morey squeaked: “I’ll get you for this, Lutt! See if I don’t!”

  Lutt, still carrying his father’s cane, skirted the steps and went to the window looking down on the MX complex and its bustling activities—trains coming and going, cargoes being loaded and unloaded, people . . . busy people. From the window, he went to the computer console and the readouts indicating The Company’s activities across the solar system. Here was L.H.’s control center. Do I dare try to use it?

  Would I survive touching Father’s computers? They’re sure to be booby-trapped. Could there be a clue in the Listening Post? But that’d be booby-trapped, too.

  As he considered this, Lutt noted a flashing orange light below a small screen at the lower right of the big board. The screen showed a familiar face in a familiar uniform.

  Major Captain of the Zone Patrol!

  Without thinking, Lutt punched the key for audio, then drew in a sharp breath at his daring. But nothing exploded.

  Major Captain’s voice was now audible, however, and she obviously saw him through a lens here in Father’s office

  “There you are, Hanson! Where are you?”

  “That’s none of your business. Why are you calling me?”

  “I was calling your father!”

  “My father’s dead and I’m running things now!”

  “Shit! Did they kill him, too?”

  “They? What’re you talking about?”

  “Where are you, Hanson?”

  “Never mind that. What’s going on? Why were you calling my father?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

  “There’s been a commando attack on your family compound. We think it was the Foreign Legion. They killed at least twenty of your guards and hit your house. How did your father die?”

  “Why don’t you ask his doctor? Whatta you mean commandos hit my house?”

  “They broke in and spirited someone away.”

  Nishi!

  “Who did they take?” he demanded.

  “We don’t know but we’ve sent in a full platoon to investigate.”

  “If it’s really the Legion, you better send a battalion.”

  “Very funny, Hanson! Have you done something to bring the Legion down on you? Who would they take from your house?”

  “They may have kidnaped my fiancée.”

  “That woman you brought from Venus?”

  When Lutt did not respond, she asked: “And while we’re on that, how’d you come back to Earth? You’re not on any transport manifest.”

  “We walked,” he said. “What’re conditions at the family compound?”

  “There’s a hole in your fence and your house needs some new doors. You might think of hiring better guards, too. Now, answer my question about how you returned. Don’t make me drag you in here for another interrogation.”

  “Osceola brought me back through her looking glass,” Lutt said.

  “I’ll have the truth out of you, Hanson! Sooner or later. Don’t make me do it the hard way.”

  “But you enjoy doing it the hard way,” he said, and he broke the connection.

  What do I do now? If they’ve taken Nishi . . . Serves her right for putting me off! But if they’ve taken her . . .

  He experienced a lost and empty sensation.

  Damn her! Ryll? What do I do now?

  You’re asking my advice?

  I’d ask the devil himself if I thought it would help!

  I compute it must be the Legion and they have taken Nishi.

  But why?

  You already know. You’re just not facing it. The Legion takes care of its own.

  That hogwash!

  But also, thanks to Nishi, the Legion may have a deep desire for your crude Spiral device.

  You think she really sold them on it?

  It is possible they believe an absolutely secure secret communications system would give them an advantage over the Chinese.

  That was her pitch, all right. So what do I do?

  If Morey’s threats are to be believed, you are not in a position to do anything.

  I’ll offer to bargain with them. Sam can be pulled off the work on my new Vortraveler and we’ll make more of those . . .

  First, hadn’t you better hear your father’s will?

  But Nishi’s . . .

  The Legion will not harm her. Besides, she won’t satisfy your animal lusts unless you marry her.

  Damn her! Yeah, you’re right about the will. I have to find out what the old man did. First things first.

  ***

  The Company has shut off all funds for the Vortraveler and we’ve used up our draw on money paid for subscriptions to your Spiral News Service. Ade Stuart says your special fund is empty. Our suppliers won’t deliver unless we pay cash. What now?

  —Sam R. Kand, note to Lutt Hanson, Jr.

  Habiba swayed back and forth on the saddle in her cupola, back and forth, back and forth. Shield-filtered morning sunlight cast gray shadows across her immense body as she moved.

  I should never have convened a Thoughtcon.

  With the second erasure ship common knowledge, she saw many signs of storytelling sickness. Dreen skin was smoothing. They lie to each other! Earth’s erasure would create an epidemic.

  But what else could I do? How could I calm the Elite?

  Below her, the Elite sat in trance but their debate went on mentally. Their distress filtered up to Habiba and required all of her powers to deflect. But it was grossly familiar.

  If we permit one weapon, we should make more.

  No! That is not the Dreen way!

  The Earther threat must be removed.

  Our shield will protect us.

  For how long?

  It had been inevitable that Mugly’s insight would spread throughout Dreenor.

  Habiba felt the most profound dismay of her life that she had created this condition—as much by inaction as by action.

  How could I have overlooked the fact that an erasure ship is a weapon?

  Certainly, Jongleur had seen this. He had shown no surprise whatsoever when apprised of Mugly’s observation.

  “Of course it’s a weapon! What else c
ould it be?”

  For the first time since those almost mindless days when she had cultivated the childseed and prepared Dreenor for its happy population, Habiba began to question her own origins and the inner purposes of her life.

  Why had she thought Dreenor and Dreens infinite?

  When she consulted her innermost feelings, she still thought of infinity as the domain of Dreens. A calm acceptance of this permeated her. But what of Dreenor? What was the special significance of ampleness? And why did bazeel remain a fearful mystery? These were the core of her dismay.

  The Elite stirred restlessly below her, all of them on the edge of emergence from Thoughtcon trance. And they would awaken with no answers to their distress.

  What am I to do? How can I help them?

  Platitudes and calls for devotion to their Supreme Tax Collector no longer produced the desired results. Even Jongleur responded almost with a sneer when she appealed to his love and reliability.

  “Love doesn’t work the way it once did. I must think about it every time now.”

  Habiba felt she had been precipitated onto a slideway with no escape. Down, down, down she sped and all of Dreenor with her. The inevitability of this shocked her. She could think of no alternative to any of her decisions or actions. She had done what was right and acceptable.

  Was it what the Earthers called “kismet”? Fate?

  From the moment Wemply idmaged the first elements of Earth, all of the present circumstances were predictable—by hindsight. What had blinded foresight?

  The only answer that came to her was unacceptable.

  Dreens, too, obey hidden laws.

  It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the Elite in trance. She relaxed her grip on them slightly and they began to awaken—Jongleur first, Mugly . . . then a wave of watchful alertness spread throughout the spiral ranks.

  Habiba held her thoughts to herself. What could she say to them? They awaited a grand pronouncement. It was what they had come to expect from ordinary Thoughtcons and this time, under these pressures, the expectation was amplified to explosive dimensions.

  “Our love of Dreenor has blinded us to our destiny,” she said. “We will not make other weapons. Of what use would they be except to subvert our basic nature?”

  “Then we will send the erasure ship?” Mugly asked.

  She heard the indrawn breath as they awaited her response.

  “If it becomes necessary,” she said.

  “Is it not necessary right now?” That came from far down in the ranks, a place that seldom originated spontaneous argument.

  “Only I can determine if it is necessary,” Habiba said. And that, she knew, was an elemental truth.

  “Why do we delay?” Mugly asked.

  “If we precipitate violence, the consequences will be cataclysmic to us,” she said. Again, she felt elemental truth emerge from her mouth.

  “Failure to act could be just as cataclysmic,” Mugly objected.

  “You have heard my decision!” she snapped. “I will accept no more objections. You may leave—all of you.”

  They obeyed, but she sensed the reluctance and knew the Thoughtcon had been a mistake. It had only increased their distress.

  ***

  From her secret hideaway on the Med, guarded by fanatical troopers of the French Foreign Legion, Nishi D’Amato spoke of her hard life on Venus and the fairy-tale beginnings of her relationship with Lutt Hanson, Jr.

  —Lorna Subiyama’s exclusive interview with N. D’Amato

  “Good riddance!” Phoenicia said. “Someday, you’ll be thankful she ran out on you.”

  Why does she think Nishi ran away? Ryll asked.

  Lutt ignored the mental interruption. Still reeling from the just-completed early-morning reading of the will, he stood in the hall outside the attorney’s office and glared at his mother. Always at her best in the morning, she showed no signs of fading today. She and Morey had it all. The will made his father’s “all” an empty promise! And she dared suggest Nishi had run out!

  “She did not run out on me! She was kidnaped!”

  “They think you’ll pay ransom? Where would you get the money?”

  Morey emerged from the office, folding a sheet of paper.

  “They’ll get the court order right away,” Morey told Phoenicia.

  “We will stand for no obstructions from you, Lutt,” Phoenicia said. “How dare you forbid Morey access to his own father’s office, especially now!”

  Lutt smiled at Morey. “I didn’t forbid it.”

  “You slammed the door on me!” Morey said.

  “But I invited you inside.”

  Morey pointed a finger at Lutt and looked at Phoenicia. “He told me he rigged the office to kill me if I entered!”

  “Now, Morey,” Lutt said, relishing this small victory after the major defeat of L.H.’s will. “Our own father set those traps. You know? I think he’s still testing us the way he did when we were boys. If you survive, you win.”

  “You got through to the . . . to the you know,” Morey accused.

  “What’s this ‘you know’?” Phoenicia demanded.

  “Father made us swear a solemn oath we’d never reveal it,” Lutt said. “I’m glad to see Morey still respects that oath.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Morey,” Phoenicia said.

  Lutt studied his mother with new appreciation. Now that she held the reins, there was no softness in her. Father had often bragged about her strength. But this was another Phoenicia, a whip-cracker.

  She smiled her new hard smile at Lutt. “We must work together now that your father is gone. Surely you appreciate that.”

  “Morey told me there’d be no compromises,” Lutt said. “I’m out and you two are in.”

  “That was a bit harsh, Morey,” she said.

  “But you told me . . . and the will says I’m chairman of the Hanson Industries board.”

  “A very bad choice,” Lutt said. “Especially when you’re under the thumb of organized criminals.”

  “That’s a lie!” Morey raged.

  Earthers lie with such facility, Ryll commented.

  Stay out of this! I’ll fight my own fight!

  “No criminal organization can stand up to the Hanson Guards,” Phoenicia said. “I don’t care what Morey’s done. That’s the past. His father’s will says he takes over and that’s the responsibility you always refused.”

  She looked from Lutt to Morey and back, noting Lutt was now as tall as Morey.

  “Are you wearing elevator shoes?” she asked.

  Lutt lifted a plain black oxford for her to see. But his mind was on the unsigned message beside his father’s body. No other person knew about it yet. He doubted its value. An attorney would have to be found, one Phoenicia and Morey did not own.

  Morey favored Lutt with a malicious grin. “If you try to make out I’m a criminal, we’ll have you declared insane. There’s your wild babbling about an alien in your body, you know.”

  “You heard the will,” Phoenicia said. “You have the deed to your house, your Spiral News Service and your newspaper, that’s it.”

  “And we control the purse strings!” Morey gloated.

  But I control the Listening Post, Lutt thought.

  “Don’t try to break the will,” Phoenicia said. “I warn you not to say your father was incompetent. We are prepared to deal with that.”

  “I told you I’d get you!” Morey said.

  Phoenicia waved a hand at him. “That’s enough, Morey. You may be chairman of the board, but your father left me in actual control.”

  Morey subsided into glum silence.

  “I am prepared to be generous with you, Lutt,” Phoenicia said. “And there is the question of what you’re going to do with your life now that you have no effective part in The Company.”

  “Oh? You have things all planned out for me, do you?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me!” she snapped. “Listen to what I have to say. You may find
my ideas pleasing .. . unless you try to thwart me.”

  “He’s going to fight us,” Morey said. “I’ve always been able to read that expression on his face.”

  “I warned you once to be still!” Phoenicia said. She turned a bleak smile toward Lutt. “When you were a child you said you’d like to be president of the solar system. There is no such thing but there is the United States Presidency.”

  “What the devil are you suggesting?” Lutt demanded.

  “You have one newspaper and this news service thing. With more papers plus cable and satellite television, the ownership concealed in our various companies, you could be President.”

  “No one’s going to allow a monopoly of the media!” Morey objected.

  “We’ll spread the ownership,” Phoenicia said. “Now, I’ve told you twice to stay out of this. You just walk down the hall there and wait for me at the elevators.”

  “But Mother!”

  “Now.” She waited until he was out of earshot, then: “Morey needs a firm hand guiding him.”

  “He plotted to have me murdered,” Lutt said. “If you give him too “firm a hand, are you sure he’s not above taking the step from fratricide to matricide?”

  “I suspected you might try to poison my mind against Morey. I will not allow that. But I will underwrite all that’s required to make you President. You’ll have a blank check.”

  Lutt considered this with new interest. Blank check? How could she know what he did with all of the money?

  “You have big plans,” Lutt said. “And, of course, if I win, you think you’ll control the Presidency.”

  “Not just the Presidency,” Phoenicia said. “My advisers are thinking bigger than that. . . much bigger.”

  “What advisers?”

  “Your campaign will be managed by Gilperton Woon.”

  “Crissakes, Mother! Morey plotted with him to have me murdered!”

  “Stop trying to poison my mind against your brother.”

  She’s worse than your father, Ryll offered.

  Lutt remained silent and Phoenicia said, “Woon has an excellent plan. You will be the underdog and we will play up your sympathy for the needy. He especially admired your editorial proposing better housing for the poor.”