“What does categorical mean?”
“Kategorisch in German. It means absolute, and imperatif means something you have to do, not sometimes or maybe, but absolutely, all the time.’.’
She thought about it, head down as they walked along the pavement. “Mother says giving everything away can’t work.”
“And she may be right. It has never worked before, but after all, nothing ever works until it works.”
“That’s silly!” Her head came up; she broke into laughter and put her arm through his. “Oh, Daddy, you’re so funny.”
He had answered as he had in order to tease her, because he enjoyed these games with his daughter; but later he began to think of something Palladino - had written: “If young people at the beginnings of their careers had to choose between being indentured to an uncaring master or doing something for the good of mankind, how many would choose the master?”
One morning Stevens’ computer told him, “A friend of Benno’s called. He will call again at two.”
“Benno” was the name of a contact in Rome when Stevens was a professional assassin. Since then he had changed his name and identity several times, but he had always known they could find him if they wanted him.
He canceled his appointments for the afternoon and sat by the holo. At two-fifteen the computer said, “Call from a friend of Benno’s.”
“Put him on.”
The tube lighted up with the face of a computer simulation, a red-haired woman who smiled and said, “A friend of Benno’s would like to give you a message, Signor Kauffman.”
“What is the message?”
“He would very much like to talk to you about matters of common interest. If you will kindly go to the Trattoria Pozzi in the Piazza San Matteo at three o’clock tomorrow, the meeting can take place there. Is it understood?” “Understood,” said Stevens.
25
“What are you going to do?” Julie asked.
It was five minutes later; they were sitting in her sun room surrounded by glossy green plants; Julie, with a gray cardigan draped about her shoulders, was leaning forward, cupping her elbows in her hands.
“I don’t know. If I refuse, they will retaliate. If I consent, that might be almost as bad, because then they will know how I can be manipulated in the future. The only thing I am sure of is that we can’t run and hide.”
“Why not?”
“Not now. They will be watching, and they would take that as a provocation. Perhaps later.”
Julie stood up and began to walk back and forth. “This is insane. You can't risk anything happening to Kim.”
“Or to you, either, but the question is, which risk is greater.”
“How can you be so damned calm about it?”
“It’s because I am a soulless robot.”
She came to him and put her arms around him; Stevens’ heartbeat seemed very loud to him. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll decide tomorrow.”
Just before three o’clock he entered the Trattoria. There was an empty table at the back; he sat down and ordered tea. Over a newspaper which he had brought with him, he watched the entrance. At a quarter after, a small balding man in a green blouse entered and came toward his table.
“I am Benno’s friend,” he said, and gestured toward the vacant chair. “May I?”
“Please.”
The waiter came; the small man ordered whisky-soda. He said, “I represent a group of investors who are a little concerned about this man Palladino. They are not alarmed, you understand, it is just a matter of prudence. They would like you to withdraw from his organization and have nothing more to do with it. They ask you this favor.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Be reasonable. If we had your daughter and we ordered you to kill someone—perhaps an old associate —what would you do?”
Stevens was silent. The waiter brought the whisky and went away.
“You know the answer, you don’t have to tell me. Well, don’t you suppose we have other professionals who would do the same thing? And, after all, who knows if they would really die for it, under those circumstances?”
“That might depend on whether the symbionts consider them more valuable members of society than Palladino. Another consideration is that if the symbionts did kill these professionals, they would quite likely kill those who transmitted their orders.”
The small man shrugged, looking at the table.
Stevens said, “I am prepared to make you a counterproposal.”
The small man’s lips set primly. “You are not in a position to do anything but what you are told to do.”
“Hear me out, anyway. You must be aware that the policy being pursued by your employers is stupid. The day of death threats is over.”
The small man listened without expression, looking down at the table. He had not touched his whisky.
“Sooner or later,” said Stevens, “they will have to make good on these threats, and each time they do so, they will lose an agent. You and I will be among those who are gone.”
He waited. After a while the small man murmured, “That is not up to me.”
“No,” Stevens said, “but you can give a message to your control, and he can pass it up the line if he chooses.”
“Yes?”
“Say that I will comply with their request unconditionally. It will take a little time to arrange the details, perhaps two or three months. During this period, if they decide to withdraw the request, they can let me know through you.”
The small man looked up and raised his eyebrows. “And why should they do that?”
“In recognition of a valuable suggestion, which I will now make. Force is no longer a useful instrument in politics. There is another one that is almost equally powerful.”
The small man curled his lip. “Yes? And what is that?”
“Public ridicule.”
They talked for a little longer; then Stevens went home to his wife and child.
“What good will that do?” Julie asked.
“None, perhaps. In any event, I am complying with their order and we are safe for the present. There are two things I’m hoping for. The first is that they will not approach me again because they see me as possibly recalcitrant, and because there are others who are more pliable. The second is that they will actually adopt my very sensible suggestion to give up the use of force. Then they may get out of the habit of thinking in those terms, and that would be very good for us.”
“But you took such a risk!”
“In the long run, the most dangerous thing is not to risk anything.”
As he had expected, Stevens did not hear again from Benno’s friend. He proceeded with his plan to divest himself of his holdings in the Palladino corporations, and was finally able to sell his shares at a satisfactory profit. He flew to Genoa to see Palladino, and told him what he was doing but not why.
“My dear friend, ‘personal reasons’?” Palladino said. “I hope there is no illness—?”
“No, nothing like that, but I need time for myself— time to understand myself. Good-bye, Maestro.” They embraced in the Italian manner, and Stevens went home with a feeling of intense relief. The time had been nearly ripe to get out of this venture, anyhow. The fact that his former masters seemed to be taking it seriously did not impress him: they could be wrong as often as other people, or perhaps a little oftener.
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