Now, he said to himself as he switched on the power field. Let's see where it gets us. He entered the big gleaming circular hoop which was the entrance of the 'scuttler, found himself - as usual -
within a gray, formless tube which stretched in both directions. Framed in the opening behind him lay his work bench, And in front of him ?
New York City. An unstable view of an industriously-active street corner which bordered Dr
Sands' office. And a wedge, beyond it, of the vast building itself, the high rise skyscraper of plastic - rexeroid compounds from Jupiter -with its infinitude of floors, endless windows .,.. and, past that, monojets rising and descending from the ramps, along which the footers scurried in swarms so dense as to seem self-destructive. The largest city in the world, four-fifths of which lay subsurface; what he saw was only a meager fraction, a trace of its visible projections. No one in his lifetime, even a jerry, could view it all; the city was simply too extensive.
See ? Erickson grumbled to himself. Your 'scuttler's working okay; this isn't Portland, Oregon -
it's exactly what it's supposed to be.
Crouching down, Erickson ran an expert hand over tide surface of the tube. Seeking - what ? He didn't know. But something which would justify the doctor's insistence on retaining this particular 'scuttler.
He took his time. He was not in a hurry. And he intended to find what he was searching for.
3
The planet-wetting speech which Jim Briskin delivered that night - taped earlier during the day and then beamed from the R-L satellite - was too painful for Salisbury Heim to endure.
Therefore, he took an hour off and sought relief as many men did: he boarded a jet'ab and shortly was on his way to the Golden Door Moments of Bliss satellite. Let Jim blab away about Bruno
Mini's crackpot engineering program, he said to himself as he rested in the rear seat of the rising
'ab, grateful for this interval of relaxation. Let him cut his own throat. But at least I don't have to be dragged down to defeat along with him; I'm tempted, sometime before election day, to cut myself loose and go over to the SRCD party.
Beyond doubt, Bill Schwarz would take him on. By an intricate route Heim had already sounded the opposition out. Schwarz had, through this careful, indirect linkage, expressed pleasure at the idea of Heim joining forces with him. However, Heim was not really ready to make his move; he had not pursued the topic further.
At least, not until today. This new, painful bombshell. And at a time when the party had troubles enough already.
The fact of the matter was - and he knew this from the latest polls - that Jim Briskin was trailing
Schwarz. Despite the fact that he had all the Col vote, and that included non-Negro dark races such as Puerto Ricans on the East Coast and the Mexicans on the West. It was not a shoo-in by any means. And why was Briskin trailing ? Because all the Whites would be going to the polls, whereas only about sixty per cent of the Cols would show up on election day. Incredibly, they were apathetic toward Jim. Perhaps they believed - and he had heard this said - that Jim had sold out to the White power structure. That he was not authentically a leader of the Col people as such. And in a sense this was true.
Because Jim Briskin represented Whites and Cols alike.
'We're there, sir,' the 'ab driver, a Col, informed him. The 'ab slowed, came to rest on the breastshaped vehicle port of the satellite, a dozen yards from the pink nipple which served as a location-signal device. 'You're Jim Briskin's campaign manager ?' the driver said, turning to face him.; 'Yeah, I recognize you. Listen, Mr. Heim; he's not a sell-out, is he ? I heard a lot of folk argue that, but he wouldn't do it; I know that.'
'Jim Briskin,' Heim said as he dug for his wallet 'has sold out nobody. And never will. You can tell your buddies that because it's the truth.' He paid his fare, feeling grumpy. Grumpy as hell.
'But is it true that ?'
'He's working with Whites, yes. He's working with me and I'm White. So what ? Are the Whites supposed to disappear when Briskin is elected ? Is that what you want ? Because if it is, you're not going to get it.'
'I see what you mean, I guess,' the driver said, nodding slowly. 'You infer he's for all the people, right ? He's got the interest of the White minority at heart just like tie has the Col majority. He's going to protect everybody, even including you Whites.'
'That's right,' Salisbury Heim said, as he opened the 'ab’s door. 'As you put it, "even including you Whites".' He stepped out on the pavement. Yes, even us, he said to himself. Because we merit it.
'Hello there, Mr. Heim.' A woman's melodious voice. Heim turned -
'Thisbe,' he said, pleased. 'How are you ?'
I'm glad to see that you haven't stayed below just because your candidate disapproves of us,'
Thisbe Olt said. Archly, she raised her green-painted, shining eyebrows. Her narrow, harlequinlike face glinted with countless dots of pure light embedded within her skin; it gave her eerie, nimbus-like countenance the appearance of constantly-renewed beauty. And she had renewed herself, over a number of decades. Willowy, almost frail, she fiddled with a tassel of stoneimpregnated fabric draped about her bare arms; she had put on gay clothes in order to come out and greet him and he was gratified. He liked her very much - had for some time now.
Guardedly, Sal Heim said, 'What makes you think Jim Briskin has any bones to pick with the
Golden Door, Thisbe ? Has he ever actually said anything to that effect ?' As far as he knew,
Jim's opinions on that topic had not been made public; at least he had tried to keep them under wraps.
'We know these things, Sal,' Thisbe said, 'I think you'd better go inside and talk with George
Walt about it; they're down on level C, in their office. They have a few things to say to you, Sal.
I know because they've been discussing it.'
Annoyed, Sal said, 'I didn't come here - ' But what was the use ? If the owners of the Golden
Door satellite wanted to see him, it was undoubtedly advisable for him to come around. 'Okay,'
he said, and followed Thisbe in the direction of the elevator.
It always distressed him - despite his efforts to the contrary - to find himself engaged in conversation with George Walt. They were a mutation of a special sort; he had never seen anything quite like them. Nonetheless, although handicapped, George Walt had risen to great economic power in this society. The Golden Door Moments of Bliss satellite, it was rumored, was only one of their holdings; they were spread extensively over the financial map of the modern world. They were a form of mutated twinning, joined at the base of the skull so that a single cephalic structure served both separate bodies. Evidently the personality George inhabited one hemisphere of the brain, made use of one eye: the right, as he recalled. And the personality
Walt existed on the other side, distinct with its own idiosyncrasies, views and drives - and its own eye from which to view the outside universe.
A uniformed attendant, a sort of cop, stopped Sid, as the elevator doors opened on level C.
'Mr. George Walt wanted to see me,' Sal said. 'Or so Miss Olt tells me, at least.'
'This way, Mr. Heim,' the uniformed attendant said, touching his cap respectfully and leading Sal down the carpeted, silent hall.
He was let into a large chamber - and there, on a couch, sat George Walt. Both bodies at once rose to their feet, supporting between them the common head. The head, containing the unmingled entities of tide brothers, nodded in greeting and the mouth smiled. One eye - the left -
regarded him steadily, while the other wandered vaguely off, as if preoccupied.