He went in.
It was a big room. To the left was a row of cabinets, to the right a lacquered screen. Apart from that there was only a big executive desk and three chairs. Behind the desk a wall-length picture window showed a view of the old capital, as it had looked two centuries before. Michael glanced about him briefly, then went to the middle of the room, staring at Steiner.
Steiner was at his desk. Or rather, he was strapped to the desk. He lay there on his back, buck naked, a naked girl astride him. His wrists and ankles were fastened by leather thongs to the legs of the desk and a gag was tied tightly over his mouth.
“Are you in any trouble, Manager Steiner?” The old man swallowed uncomfortably, then lifted his chin, indicating to the girl that she should remove the gag. She obliged, then slipped from on top of him, standing behind the desk, her hands attempting to maintain some degree of modesty.
“Well?” said Michael after a prolonged silence. “Is this a regular event, or have I just caught you at a particularly bad time?” “I—I can explain, Shih Lever!”
“Sure.” Michael took a breath, then looked to Johnson. “Dan, bring me four guards. I want this man out of here right now.” “Shih Lever!”
Michael turned back, giving the man the sourest of smiles. “Relax, Shih Steiner. Just relax, neh? Now, you, girl ... do I employ you?” Timidly she nodded.
“Where are your clothes?”
She indicated across the room. Michael looked. There, beside the lacquered screen, was a filing tray and a stack of papers. Next to them—folded very neatly—were two piles of clothes.
“Get dressed, then report to Personnel. You’ll get six months’ pay, okay?”
She nodded, then hurried to do as she’d been told.
Michael turned, hearing Johnson returning with the guards. “Okay,” he said, standing back to let them pass. “I want you to pick up that desk and move it out of here, all right?” The men, who had been staring at the sight wide eyed, turned and answered him as one. “Yes, Shih Lever!”
“Michael...” Steiner pleaded, “in your father’s name ...” Michael turned, glaring at him. “Firstly, Mister Steiner, do not invoke my father’s memory! Secondly, what you do on your own time and in the privacy of your own apartment is up to you, but I do not expect a senior manager of mine to be doing this on Company time or on Company property!” Steiner closed his eyes, as if he’d die of shame. “Dear gods . . .” “Come on,” Michael said, waving the guards across. “I want him out of here, and I want it done right now!”
Johnson was staring at him now. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly.
“Just watch. . . .” Michael answered, then turned to the guards. “Come on! Move it now! Out into the reception room, then follow me. As from this moment Shih Steiner is no longer an employee of the ImmVac Corporation and as such is a trespasser on this property. As guards you are empowered to eject him from the facility.”
There was an exchange of glances; then, with a roar of delighted laughter, they lifted man and desk and began to carry them across the floor. Through the reception room they went, incurring the startled glances of Steiner’s secretary, and on into the main corridor that led to the front gates. “No. . . .” Michael said, indicating that they should turn and come back. “Through the main facility. I think the staff should have the opportunity to say good-bye to their ex-Manager, neh?” “Have a care, Michael,” Johnson said quietly, but Michael pushed his arm away.
“Whatever you say, Shih Lever,” the most senior of the guards answered him. “Once around the factory floor and back here?” Michael nodded, then stood back, letting them pass.
“It’s too much,” Johnson said, speaking to his ear. “Turf him out, sure.
But this. . .”
Michael turned, staring at his assistant, his face hard, unforgiving. “You’re a good man, Dan, and a fine assistant, but don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, okay?”
Johnson lowered his eyes, chastened.
“Good. I want you to stay here and go through the records. Everything. Invoices, sales, production figures, the lot. I want a team in here this afternoon, and I want a full report on my desk by first thing Monday morning.”
“But what about Washington? Won’t you need me there?”
Michael took a long, shuddering breath. “Everything’s prepared, neh?”
Johnson nodded. “It’s all in the file.”
“Good. Then I should be all right, shouldn’t I? After all, I’ve only got to sign the refunding document.”
“I. . .”Johnson hesitated, then nodded.
1 “And Dan . . . unstrap him once he’s back here and let him get his clothes. But get him out of here. And no company sedan, okay? The bastard can walk home.”
kennedy sat back in his armchair, looking across the room at the three men seated there, watching as the Steward refilled their glasses. It was an hour and a half until the vote, and elsewhere in the great House. Representatives were already gathering, excited by the prospect of a setback for the Seven. Here, however, it was quiet, peaceful, the dark wooden panels and lattice windows invoking a sense of timelessness. Deceptively so, Kennedy thought, knowing that, if he were to be sure of things, he would need to convince these three—and the votes their faction commanded—to join his side.
“Well, Representative,” Underwood said, lifting his glass in a toast, “this is all very pleasant, but I’m sure you’ve not asked us here for social reasons.”
Kennedy smiled. His own glass sat untouched on the table beside him. “No,” he said, looking to Underwood’s companions, Hart and Munroe, taking care to include them in the discussions. “Nor would I insult you gentlemen by pretending otherwise. The hour presses and I am forced to deal more openly than I’m accustomed to.”
Hart smiled. “The House makes traders of us all, neh?” Kennedy returned the smile, yet inwardly he wondered what Hart meant by that. Was it an honest insight, or was it a barb? “That’s true,” he said, “yet trade is better than warfare, surely? If all parties can be satisfied—“ “Impossible,” Munroe said, bluntly, unexpectedly. Kennedy stared at him. “What do you mean?” “He means,” Underwood said, his smile enigmatic, “that we’ve not come here to trade.”
He paused, staring down into his wine, then spoke again. “You want to buy our votes, neh? To have us in your pocket, like the tai you’ve been snapping up these past twenty-four hours.” His eyes slowly looked up, meeting Kennedy’s again. “You brought us here to sound us—to find out what it is we want and offer it in return. A vague promise for a certain vote.” “Not vague.”
“No?” Underwood looked at him, surprise and disbelief balanced in that look. Then, with a shrug, he downed his drink. “Whatever . . . you’re wasting your time. You can’t buy us and there’s nothing we want that you can deliver.”
“Nothing?”
Underwood’s smile was pitying. “We are Dispersionists, Representative, not New Republicans. We don’t want the kind of small compromises you seem happy with, don’t you understand that? Change, that’s what we want. Change. And you can’t give us that. You simply can’t deliver.” No? he thought, indignant. Yet against his natural indignation was set the truth. Underwood was right. He had bartered away whatever strengths he’d brought here to Weimar. And Change—real Change— that was now beyond him. There’d been so many tiny factions to satisfy, so many greedy egos to pamper. And nothing pure. . . .
He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Then again, maybe you’re kidding yourself too. Spaceships and distant stars . . . it’s not a very practical platform, is it? Come the next elections, do you think you’ll sustain your support?”