But when the English revolution began, Herman began to scan Doon's activities in the internal affairs of the empire. Doon had pointlessly changed things, taxing the populace, emphasizing the difference between the rich and poor, the powerful and the weak. He had also oppressed local nationalities, compelling them to learn Italian, and the computer had brought the inevitable result-- resentment, rebellion, and at last revolution.
What was Doon doing? Surely he could see the result of his actions. Surely he could tell that he was doing everything-- or at least something-- wrong. Surely he would realize he was out of his class in this game, and sell Italy while he still could. Surely--
"Grey," Herman said over the phone, "this Doon. Is he stupid?"
"If he is, it's the best-kept secret on Capitol."
"His game is too stupid to believed. Totally stupid. He's doing everything wrong. Anything that could be done right, he's done the opposite. Does that sound like him to you?"
"Doon's built up a financial empire from nothing to the largest I've ever heard of on Capitol, and done it in only eleven years since his majority," Grey answered. "That doesn't sound like him."
"Which means that either he's not playing the game himself--"
"No, he's playing, that's the law and the computer says he's following it--"
"Or he's deliberately playing to lose."
Grey's shrug was almost audible. "Why would anybody do that?"
"I want to meet him."
"He'll never come."
"On some neutral ground, someplace that neither of us controls."
"Herman, you don't know this man. If you don't control the ground, he does-- or will, by the time meeting takes place. There is no neutral ground."
"I want to meet him, Grey. I want to find out what the hell he's doing with my empire."
And Herman went back to watching as the revolution in England was put down brutally. Brutally, but not thoroughly. The computer showed armed bands still roaming in Wales and the Scottish highlands, and urban guerrillas still alive in London, Manchester, and Liverpool. Doon could see that information, too. But he chose to ignore it. And chose to ignore the revolutionary movement gaining force in Germany, the brigands harassing the farmers in Mesopotamia, the Chinese encroachments in Siberia.
Asinine.
And the fabric of a well-wrought empire began to come apart.
The telephone sent its gentle buzz into the flexible speaker in his pillow, and Herman awoke. Not even opening his eyes, he said into the pillow, "I'm asleep, drop dead."
"This is Grey."
"You're fired, Grey."
"Doon says he'll meet with you."
"Call my secretary for an appointment."
"But he says he'll only meet with you if you can come to the C24b tube station within thirty minutes."
"That isn't even in my sector," Herman complained.
"So he isn't trying to make it easy for you."
Herman groaned and got out of bed, dressed in a suit that looked far from natty as he sagged out of the flat and into the corridors. The tubes were running a half-schedule at that time of morning, and Herman stumbled into one and followed the route that let him to station C24b. It was even less crowded than Herman's own area, and there on the platform waited an unprepossessing young man, only a little taller than Herman himself. He was alone.
"Doon?" Herman asked.
"Grandfather," the young man answered. Herman looked at him blankly. Grandfather?
"Not possible."
"Abner Doon, colt, out of filly Sylvaii, daughter of Herman Nuber and Birniss Humbol. An admirable pedigree, don't you think?"
Herman was appalled. After all these solitary years, to discover that his young tormentor was a relative-- "Dammit, boy, I have no family. What is this, vengeance for a divorce a hundred years ago? I paid your grandmother well. If you're telling the truth."
But Doon only smiled. "Actually, Grandfather, I don't give a damn about your liaison and lack of it with my grandmother. I don't like her anyway, and we haven't spoken in years. She says I'm too much like you. And so now when she comes out of somec, she doesn't even look me up. I visit her just to be annoying."
"A trait you seem to specialize in."
"You find a long-lost grandchild, and already you're trying to cause division in the family. What an ugly way of dealing with family crises."
And Doon turned on his heel. Since they hadn't yet discussed the game, Herman had no choice but to follow. "Listen, boy," Herman said as he trotted doggedly behind the younger man's brisk walk, "I don't know what your purpose is with my game, but you certainly don't need any money. And you're certainly not going to win any bets, not the way you're playing."
Doon smiled over his shoulder and went on walking down the corridors. "It rather depends, doesn't it, on whit I'm betting on."
"You mean you're betting that you'll lose? The way you're playing, you'd never get any takers."
"No, Grandfather. As a matter of fact, I'm holding bets made months ago. Bets that Italy would be destroyed and utterly gone from Europe 1914d within two months of your waking."
"Uttedy destroyed!" Herman laughed. "Not a chance of that, boy. I built too well, even for a games moron like you."
Doon touched a door and it slid open.
"Come in, Grandfather."
"Not a chance, Doon. What kind of fool do you take me for?"
"A rather small one, actually," Doon said, and Herman followed the younger man's gaze to the two men standing behind him.
"Whore did they come from?" Herman asked stupidly.
"They're my friends. They're coming to this party with us. I like to keep myself surrounded by friends."
Herman followed Doon inside.
The setting was austere, functional, almost middle-class in its plainness. But the walls were lined with real wood-- Herman recognized it at a glance-- and the computer that overwhelmed the small front room was the most expensive, most self-contained model available.
"Grandfather," Doon said, "contrary to what you think, I brought you here tonight because, for all that you've been a remarkably bad parent and grandparent, I feel some residual desire for you not to hate me."
"You lose," Herman replied. The two thugs grinned moronically at him.
"You haven't had much connection with the real world lately," Doon commented.
"More than I wanted."
"Instead you've devoted your life and your fortune building up an empire on a shadow world that exists only in the computer."
"My Lord, boy, you sound like a clergyman."
"Mother wanted me to be a minister," Doon said. "She was always pathetically hunting for her father-- you, if you recall-- but this time a father who'd not desert her. Sadly, sadly, Grandfather, she finally found that surrogate parent in God."
"At least I thought I'd bequeath a child of mine some good sense," Herman said in disgust.
"You've bequeathed more than you know."
The world of Europe 1914d appeared on the holo. Italy was pinkly dominant.
"It's beautiful," Doon said, and Herman was surprised by the honest admiration in his voice.
"Nice of you to notice," Herman replied.
"No one but you could have built it."
"I know."
"How long do you think it would take to destroy it?"
Herman laughed. "Don't you know your history, boy? Rome was falling from the end of the republic on, and it took fifteen hundred years for the last remnant to fall. England's power was fading from the' eventeenth century on, but nobody noticed because it kept gathering real estate. It stayed independent for another four hundred years. Empires don't fall easily, boy."