Man of Two Worlds

  “Someone’s gotta tell yew nesters yore fences are a’-comin’ down,” Deni-Ra said.

  ***

  Eighty-second amendment to the U.S. Constitution: abolishes the Vice-Presidency, creates an elective chairman of the Senate and installs the runner-up candidate as Chief Executive should incumbent die of natural causes. The amendment’s so-called “assassination barrier” provides for an election should an incumbent die by violence, thus removing a motive for the loser to kill the winner. It was argued that the Vice-President was a ceremonial figure and the office attracted few candidates of high caliber.

  —A History of the United States and Its Colonies, Sidmon Sons Publishers, New York and Jupiter

  “Osey, what’s your interest in all of this?” Raj Dood demanded. “You’re worse than I am when it comes to Hansons.”

  He and Osceola lay stretched out on string hammocks in the mangrove shade of Osceola’s swampside porch at Gum City, Florida, wasting away a hot afternoon.

  The house behind them was mostly weathered boards with gaping cracks between them and the post-and-pole porch looked as though it would blow away in a strong wind.

  There had been an alert earlier when a tropical depression out in the Atlantic turned into a storm but the disturbance was drifting northward toward the Carolina coast.

  “Oh, you know how it is, Dood,” she said. “Sometimes I toy with the idea of moving in on their holdings and leaving them squeezed dry like a dead lizard too long in the sun.”

  “Damn it, Osey, you’d be just as bad as them. Why the hell you think I quit old L.H. like that?”

  “You’re right, Dood. But daydreams are kinda fun.”

  “That’s true, all right. Wonder what’s happening to that storm? I was hoping it’d hit us and blow this shack away. You got anything valuable in there?”

  “My Spirit Glass collection but we can replace that easy enough. You’re acting kind of restless. What’s fermenting in that head of yours?”

  “I was thinking I might like to bring in one of those Dreen pets, those little yellow Soothers that talk straight into your mind.”

  She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the hammock. “You’re cooking up something, you old bastard.”

  He grinned up at the porch ceiling where a spider was spinning its web between two pole rafters. “Well, there’s Nishi off there all alone with—”

  “She’s not alone!” Osceola said.

  “But who can she trust? Not that Mrs. Ebey. That one would do in her own mother for profit.”

  “She’s not spying for the Hansons, though.”

  “Because they haven’t offered to hire her.”

  “Not likely they will, her off there in the Med with Nishi and those legionnaires,” Osceola said.

  “Nishi’s doing all right,” Raj Dood said, “That’s why I backed out of negotiations with the Legion. Besides, I kinda like the Chinese. They’re not as pushy as the damn French.”

  Osceola squinted. “But she’s like a royal prisoner.”

  “That’s her strength, Osey. The Legion wants Lutt’s communicator and she’s their key.”

  “If only she weren’t halfway in love,” Osceola said.

  “Have you thought what might happen if the Zone Patrol learns the Legion’s real purpose?”

  Osceola pursed her lips. “You never know about Hansons. They might bring the ZP to the bargaining table.”

  “Phoenicia wouldn’t hesitate a minute if she saw a chance for profit. She always was a skittish thing. And she’s not above doing her own dirty work.”

  “Look here, Dood. You taking a hand in this?”

  “Not really. Thought I might toss a monkey wrench into the works now and then, but you know how it is. Weather’s too hot for doing much else but think.”

  “You think too much.”

  “Mebbe so. But I been thinking about Dreens, too. This thing could get out of hand, Osey. Dreens are idiot-savants. Don’t know what they’re doing half the time. Only idmage in three dimensions. And that one squatting in Lutt’s body is just a kid.”

  “Pretty smart kid, you ask me.”

  “Seems to be learning, but what’re you going to get with Lutt and his tribe as teachers?”

  “I see what you mean. We better keep an eye on this and see if we can balance things should the need occur.”

  “You’re a mother hen, Osey.”

  “And you’re my main rooster, you old bastard. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if the wrong person had made your discovery.”

  “L.H. would’ve been dictator of the universe, at least. He went pretty far on his power trip with the little he was able to pick up from my notes. Look at what he did with it: that damn Listening Post!”

  “Strikes me as odd the Dreens haven’t had that problem,” Osceola said.

  “It’s not their nature.”

  “I wish we could sneak onto their home ground and study them,” she said.

  “They’d know they were being spied on and that’d be like pouring gas on an anthill. We can’t risk it.”

  “I’d still like to meet that Habiba,” Osceola said. “Every Dreen we’ve seen seems to think she’s God.”

  “Tax collectors always think they’re God. Now leave me be for a bit. I want to conjure up one of those furry yellow things.”

  ***

  Politics has never been a science. It is an art form. Only those who are not gifted with imagination can think of politics as a science, and their “laws” always break down when the need for creativity arises. In fact, this is the friction point between all science and all creativity.

  —The Art of Politics, By Sil Amil, Seminole Publications

  Senator Gilperton Woon arrived an hour late for his conference with Lutt, entering Lutt’s office at the Enquirer ten minutes before noon with a brisk but harried air.

  Having been warned by his staff researchers, Lutt sat at his desk eating a lunch of canard a l’orange and fresh haricots. One of Woon’s standard ploys, the researchers said, was to arrive this way and prolong the conversation to keep his host hungry, Woon having eaten a full meal just before the meeting.

  The senator, a gray-maned, rotund figure with hard little pig eyes and fat cheeks, burped gently at sight of Lutt’s lunch, then: “I did not know this was to be a luncheon meeting.” His voice was deep and mellifluous.

  Lutt waved to a chair on the other side of the desk and waited until Woon was seated. “It’s not a luncheon meeting. I hope you enjoyed your meal at Roselini’s. Their pheasant is particularly good.”

  “Are you having me spied on, son?” Woon asked.

  “A famous man such as yourself is always recognized, sir, wherever he goes,” Lutt said. He pushed the remains of his lunch aside and waited for a copyboy to remove it. When the door closed and only the two of them remained in the office, Lutt said, “Let’s stop playing games. We’ve an election to win.”

  Woon folded his hands over his ample stomach. “And what would you say is our most immediate problem there, son?”

  “Number one, you stop calling me ‘son.’ I’m Lutt Hanson, candidate for President. Number two, how to deal with Phoenicia. She could be a real problem if we don’t put a lid on her.”

  “Well, well. . . Mr. Hanson. Your mother told me you were a very sharp character. Glad to see she was right.”

  “Know what she’s doing right now?” Lutt asked.

  “She said she had important business to attend to and could not be at this conference.”

  “She and my brother are setting up new corporate headquarters for the family’s holdings.”

  “Oh? She told me they’ll make a shrine out of L.H.’s old offices. That right?”

  “That will look good in print,” Lutt said.

  “Anything I should know about this? Anything that might backfire?”

  “I’ll tell you on a need-to-know basis,” Lutt said. “Now, there’s one thing I need to know. How far did you get in your plan to have me murd
ered on Venus?”

  Woon’s little eyes blinked hard. He paled slightly. “Mr. Hanson, I have to know how you learned about that.”

  “My father told me.” Lutt smiled gently and embellished his statement with a lie. “He also told me other things he learned about you.”

  “Shit in a gumboot!” Woon said. “Get one Hanson off my back and another one climbs right up there to take his place!”

  So Woon is one of those Father manipulated through the Listening Post, Lutt thought. Full details of the plot against me must be up there in the sanctum someplace.

  “I just want you to know who’s running things here,” Lutt said. “My mother was never privy to Father’s private sources.”

  “That’s what he always told me but he never said a word about you.”

  “It’s part of my inheritance,” Lutt said. “Did you see the Hanson Guards all over this building when you came in?”

  “How could I miss ’em? They wanted to do a body search on me until I called your mother. She apologized but said the guards were here at her orders. What’s going on?”

  “A minor disagreement in the family about who controls what.”

  “Didn’t look very minor to me. Must be fifty guards I had to pass through, and all of ’em armed to the teeth.”

  “We’ll chalk it up to terrorist threats if the need arises,” Lutt said. “You can think of it as a show of strength by my mother. She’s demonstrating to me who gives orders to the Hanson Guards.”

  “And she controls the purse strings?”

  “I have other sources.”

  “And expensive tastes. What’s this project out at your shop?”

  “An invention that will make us plenty.”

  “How soon?”

  Lutt’s desktop communicator buzzed to interrupt his reply. A switchboard attendant said, “Sorry, Mr. Hanson, but it’s your mother on line three.”

  Lutt opened the line. “Yes, Mother?”

  Phoenicia’s finishing-school lilt came through the speaker with only slight clipping. “There was nothing in your father’s will about your shop, Lutt. I’ve put it under special guard to keep it safe.”

  Lutt scowled. “And to keep me out?”

  “Now, Son. You and your man, Kand, can go back as soon as you’ve been briefed on the new security measures.”

  “So you kicked Sam out, too. I see.”

  “The discoveries at your shop were made on Company time with Company funds, Lutt, all while you were an employee of Hanson Industries.”

  Lutt suppressed a surge of anger. His mother was a wily bitch! Never mind what Father’s will said, she was going to block him at every turn until she had her way!

  “I understand, Mother,” he said. “But Father’s will says the Enquirer and Spiral News Service are mine. Are you contesting that?”

  “Oh, no! But this odd spaceship is something else, is it not?”

  “It works on the same principle as the communicators,” Lutt said.

  “What’s this about a spaceship?” Woon asked.

  “Who’s that with you?” Phoenicia asked.

  Lutt clicked the telekey and saw his mother’s face on the desk screen. She, at the same time, saw the occupants of Lutt’s office.

  “Oh, it’s you, Senator,” Phoenicia said. “Yes, your meeting with Lutt over his campaign.”

  “Good afternoon, Madame,” Woon said. “So sorry you could not join us.”

  That unctuous tone, Ryll offered. Is he wooing your mother?

  He could be. We’d better watch that.

  “I hope you can make my son behave,” Phoenicia said.

  “And, Madame, I hope we are not about to have a dramatic battle in court over your son’s inheritance. That would be a rather foolish form of political suicide.”

  Phoenicia put a hand over her mouth.

  Lutt looked at the senator. Did this mean the wily old politician had chosen to back him? A mixture of fear and political savvy could have dictated such a decision. Time to test it.

  “I’m afraid I’d withdraw my candidacy if that happened,” Lutt said.

  “A wise decision,” Woon said.

  “I will not be blocked in my administration of Hanson Industries!” Phoenicia said.

  “Minor matters can always be dealt with by compromise,” the senator said. “May I offer my services as arbiter?”

  “There’s no reason for us to oppose each other,” she said.

  Lutt heard conciliation in her tone.

  I do not understand your mother’s motives, Ryll intruded.

  She’s ambivalent. Motherly pride wants me President. But she also sees me as a pawn in her economic schemes.

  You Earthers are truly weird.

  “I’m sure I can work out a satisfactory agreement for all concerned,” Woon said.

  “That’s fine with me,” Lutt said. “Mother?”

  “What is it you really want, son?” she asked.

  “I’ve always gone my own way. Father understood. It’s time you understood. I need some free rein.”

  “I’ve already given you considerable free rein—a blank check for your political ambitions, my assurance you—”

  “Your political ambitions, Mother.”

  “Our political ambitions?” she offered.

  “If we keep our heads, all of us will profit greatly,” Woon said.

  “Exactly!” Phoenicia said.

  “You and the senator should discuss this,” Lutt said. “But your meetings had better be secret.”

  “Very well,” Phoenicia sighed.

  Lutt had heard that sigh before, a tiny victory sign.

  She gave him a lilting “Goodbye!” that only confirmed his suspicion and she broke the connection.

  When the screen went blank, Lutt turned a hard stare on Woon. Time to run his bluff. “Senator,” Lutt said, holding a poker face, “at the first sign you’re selling me down the river, I’ll ruin you. I have all the ammo I need.”

  “Mr. Hanson, I’m your man just as I was your father’s man. You’re very much his son and I can live with that.”

  “Stay away from Morey. He’s thin metal in the family’s armor, not to be trusted. I know everything he does and there’s nothing he can do to prevent that.”

  “No more than I can, I presume. That’s some spy system you have, Mr. Hanson.”

  “The very best. Now, whatever you concede to Mother has to be empty. We run this campaign, you and I. Understood?”

  “Understood. What bargaining chips do I have?”

  “She wants me to be President. She also should fear what I might reveal about Hanson Industries operations. If she makes me go hunting for income, I know where to sell what I know.”

  Woon pursed his lips and blew out silently, then, “She wants you to marry this Spokane socialite, Eola VanDyke. How do you feel about that?”

  Lutt leaned back. Marry Eola? He thought of Nishi off there half the globe away. Not one word from her. Another bitch! His father had been right. Never trust women!

  “If that’s the bargaining chip we need to bring her around, use it,” he said.

  “What about L.H.’s old offices in the MX complex?”

  “They belong to me. No compromise. She’d remodel the place into something Father would never have entered.”

  “She seemed pretty upset about something you’re doing there,!’ Woon said. “I couldn’t make out just what it was.”

  “I’m keeping her and my brother out of there.”

  Woon’s lips vibrated with a slight humming sound. “And what if she cuts off the purse strings?”

  “We have other resources, depend on it. The contributions and contributors might surprise you.”

  Woon heaved his bulk out of the chair. “I thought so.” He looked down at Lutt. “You know, Mr. Hanson, you’re a lot bigger than I remembered. You still growing?”

  “My accident. I’m sure you read about it. I was immersed in a chemical that reset my growth hormones. Nothing to wor
ry about. I’m in great physical shape.”

  “I saw your last report from the House of Delights,” Woon said, and he smiled.

  “I’m not the only one with information sources, eh?” Lutt asked. “I’d better make sure that one is plugged.”

  “That’s why I told you, Mr. Hanson. And rest easy. Your growth is a good thing. In all the history of United States Presidential elections, the tallest man invariably wins.”

  ***

  There is reason to believe your mother may have changed your father’s medication without his knowing. I don’t know whether you would want to use this, but a case could be made that she hastened his end.

  —Investigator’s report, eyes-only, for L.H., Jr.

  Nishi, wearing a blue terrycloth robe, paced back and forth in the moon-shadowed darkness of the villa’s living room, not knowing what had brought her to this wakeful vigil. She wore no watch, but she knew it must be past midnight. When she passed a window, she could see a brilliant path of silvery moonglow on the sea and shadows of potted palms along the balustrade—long black witch-shapes on the terrazzo of the porch.

  Lorna Subiyama’s snores were a distant rumble and Nishi could both hear and feel the surf rolling against the rocks below the villa. The floor trembled with an ancient heartbeat.

  What do we do now that Lorna’s articles have run their course?

  What do you want to do?

  The question lay poised in her awareness and she wondered at its source. Her mind was playing tricks on her tonight, she thought.

  What do I want to do?

  That is question.

  She put a knuckle into her mouth and chewed it.

  Something stirred in the corner of the room.

  One of the housekeeper’s cats, Nishi thought.

  Not cat. Wire thing hurt.

  Nishi gasped and stopped pacing to stare at the corner where she had heard the sound. Abruptly, she strode to the doorway and flicked a light switch. Pale glowing from wall sconces lighted the room and she saw a furry yellow shape in the corner tangled in the cord from a floorlamp. She could see no head, tail or paws but shape and color suggested a cat curled into a protective ball.