Chapter 10

Crosscurrents of fear ran through Walton. He said, “What are you talking about?”

Fred folded his arms complacently. “I don’t think it comes as news to you that I broke into your office this morning while you were out. It was very simple: when I installed the lock, I built in a canceling circuit that would let me walk in whenever I pleased. And this morning I pleased. I was hoping to find something I could use as immediate leverage against you, but I hadn’t expected anything as explosive as the portfolio in the left-hand cabinet.

“Where is it?”

Fred grinned sharply. “The contents of that portfolio are now in very safe keeping, Roy. Don’t bluster and don’t threaten, because it won’t work. I took precautions.”

“And--”

“And you know as well as I what would happen if that immortality serum got distributed to the good old man in the street,” Fred said. “For one thing, there’d be a glorious panic. That would solve your population problem for, a while, with millions killed in the rush. But after that--where would you equalize, with every man and woman on Earth living forever, and producing immortal children?”

“We don’t know the long-range effects yet--”

“Don’t temporize. You damned well know it’d be the biggest upheaval the world has ever seen.” Fred paused. “My employers,” he said, “are in possession of the Lamarre formulas now.”

“And with great glee are busy making themselves immortals.”

“No. They don’t trust the stuff, and won’t use it until it’s been tried on two or three billion guinea pigs. Human ones.”

“They’re not planning to release the serum, are they?” Walton gasped.

“Not immediately,” Fred said. “In exchange for certain concessions on your part, they’re prepared to return Lamarre’s portfolio to you without making use of it.”

“Concessions? Such as what?”

“That you refrain from declaring their private lands open territory for equalization. That you resign your post as interim director. That you go before the General Assembly and recommend me as your successor.”

“You?“

“Who else is best fitted to serve the interests I represent?”

Walton leaned back, his face showing a mirth he scarcely felt. “Very neat, Fred. But full of holes. First thing, what assurance have I that your wealthy friends won’t keep a copy of the Lamarre formula and use it as a bludgeon in the future against anyone they don’t agree with?”

“None,” Fred admitted.

“Naturally. What’s more, suppose I refuse to give in and your employers release the serum to all and sundry. Who gets hurt? Not me; I live in a one-room box myself. But they’ll be filling the world with billions and billions of people. Their beloved estates will be overrun by the hungry multitudes, whether they like it or not. And no fence will keep out a million hungry people.”

“This is a risk they recognize,” Fred said.

Walton smiled triumphantly. “You mean they’re bluffing! They know they don’t dare release that serum, and they think they can get me out of the way and you, their puppet, into office by making menacing noises. All right. I’ll call their bluff.”

“You mean you refuse?”

“Yes,” Walton said. “I have no intention of resigning my interim directorship, and when the Assembly convenes I’m going to ask for the job on a permanent basis. They’ll give it to me.”

“And my evidence against you? The Prior baby?”

“Hearsay. Propaganda. I’ll laugh it right out of sight.”

“Try laughing off the serum, Roy. It won’t be so easy as all that.”

“I’ll manage,” Walton said tightly. He crossed the room and jabbed down on the communicator stud. The screen lit; the wizened face of the tiny servitor appeared.

“Sir?”

“Fulks, would you show this gentleman out of my chamber, please? He has no further wish to remain with me.”

“Right away, Mr. Walton.”

“Before you throw me out,” Fred said, “let me tell you one more thing.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re acting stupidly--though that’s nothing new for you, Roy. I’ll give you a week’s grace to make up your mind. Then the serum goes into production.”

“My mind is made up,” Walton said stiffly. The door telescoped and Fulks stood outside. He smiled obsequiously at Walton, bowed to Fred, and said to him, “Would you come with me, please?”

It was like one of those dreams, Walton thought, in which you were a butler bringing dishes to the table, and the tray becomes obstinately stuck to your fingertips and refuses to be separated; or in which the Cavendishes are dining in state and you come to the table nude; or in which you float downward perpetually with never a sign of bottom.

There never seemed to be any way out. Force opposed force and he seemed doomed always to be caught in the middle.

Angrily he snapped the kaleidoscope back on and let its everchanging swirl of color distract him. But in the depth of the deepest violet he kept seeing his brother’s mocking face.

He summoned Fulks.

The gnome looked up at him expectantly. “Get me a jetcopter,” Walton ordered. “I’ll be waiting on the west stage for it.”

“Very good, sir.”

Fulks never had any problems, Walton reflected sourly. The little man had found his niche in life; he spent his days in the plush comfort of the Bronze Room, seeing to the wants of the members. Never any choices to make, never any of the agonizing decisions that complicated life.

Decisions. Walton realized that one particular decision had been made for him, that of seeking the directorship permanently. He had not been planning to do that. Now he had no choice but to remain in office as long as he could.

He stepped out onto the landing stage and into the waiting jetcopter. “Cullen Building,” he told the robopilot abstractedly.

He did not feel very cheerful.

The annunciator panel in Walton’s office was bright as a Christmas tree; the signal bulbs were all alight, each representing someone anxious to speak to him. He flipped over the circuit-breaker, indicating he was back in his office, and received the first call.

It was from Lee Percy. Percy’s thick features were wrinkled into a smile. “Just heard that speech you made outside the building this morning, Roy. It’s getting a big blare on the newsscreens. Beautiful! Simply beautiful! Couldn’t have been better if we’d concocted it ourselves.”

“Glad you like it,” Walton said. “It really was off the cuff.”

“Even better, then. You’re positively a genius. Say, I wanted to tell you that we’ve got the FitzMaugham memorial all whipped up and ready to go. Full channel blast tonight over all media at 2000 sharp ... a solid hour block. Nifty. Neat.”

“Is my speech in the program?”

“Sure is, Roy. A slick one, too. Makes two speeches of yours blasted in a single day.”

“Send me a transcript of my speech before it goes on the air,” Walton said. “I want to read and approve that thing if it’s supposed to be coming out of my mouth.”

“It’s a natural, Roy. You don’t have to worry.”

“I want to read it beforehand!“ Walton snapped.

“Okay, okay. Don’t chew my ears off. I’ll ship it to you posthaste, man. Ease up. Pop a pill. You aren’t loose, Roy.”

“I can’t afford to be,” Walton said.