He left abruptly. Thorby felt hurt -- he didn't want to be uncooperative... but if they had waited for years, why couldn't they wait a little longer and give him a chance?
He recovered the papers, then phoned Leda. She answered, with vision switched off. "Thor dear, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?"
He explained that he wanted to go to the family's business offices. "I thought maybe you could direct me."
"You say Daddy said to?"
"He's going to assign me an office."
"I won't just direct you; I'll take you. But give a girl a chance to get a face on and swallow orange juice."
He discovered that Rudbek was connected with their offices in Rudbek City by high-speed sliding tunnel. They arrived in a private foyer guarded by an elderly receptionist She looked up. "Hello, Miss Leda! How nice to see you!"
"You, too, Aggie. Will you tell Daddy we're here?"
"Of course." She looked at Thorby.
"Oh," said Leda. "I forgot. This is Rudbek of Rudbek."
Aggie jumped to her feet "Oh, dear me! I didn't know -- I'm sorry, sir!"
Things happened quickly. In minutes Thorby found himself with an office of quiet magnificence, with a quietly magnificent secretary who addressed him by his double-barreled title but expected him to call her "Dolores." There seemed to he unlimited genies ready to spring out of walls at a touch of her finger.
Leda stuck with him until he was installed, then said, "I'll run along, since you insist on being a dull old businessman." She looked at Dolores. "Or will it be dull? Perhaps I should stay." But she left.
Thorby was intoxicated with being immensely wealthy and powerful. Top executives called him "Rudbek," junior executives called him "Rudbek of Rudbek," and those still more junior crowded their words with "sirs" -- he could judge status by how he was addressed.
While he was not yet active in business -- he saw Weemsby rarely and Judge Bruder almost never -- anything he wanted appeared quickly. A word to Dolores and a respectful young man popped in to explain legal matters; another word and an operator appeared to show moving stereocolor of business interests anywhere, even on other planets. He spent days looking at such pictures, yet still did not see them all.
His office became so swamped with books, spools, charts, brochures, presentations, file jackets, and figures, that Dolores had the office next door refitted as a library. There were figures on figures, describing in fiscal analog enterprises too vast to comprehend otherwise. There were so many figures, so intricately related, that his head ached. He began to have misgivings about the vocation of tycoon. It wasn't all just being treated with respect, going through doors first and always getting what you asked for. What was the point if you were so snowed under that you could not enjoy it? Being a Guardsman was easier.
Still, it was nice to be important. Most of his life he had been nobody, and at best he had been very junior.
If only Pop could see him now! -- surrounded by lavish furnishings, a barber to trim his hair while he worked (Pop used to cut it under a bowl), a secretary to anticipate his wishes, and dozens of people eager to help. But Pop's face in this dream was wearing Pop's reproving expression; Thorby wondered what he had done wrong, and dug harder into the mess of figures.
Eventually a pattern began to emerge. The business was Rudbek & Associates, Ltd. So far as Thorby could tell this firm did nothing. It was chartered as a private Investment trust and just owned things. Most of what Thorby would own, when his parents' wills were proved, was stock in this company. Nor would he own it all; he felt almost poverty-stricken when he discovered that mother and father together held only eighteen percent of many thousand shares.
Then he found out about "voting" and "non-voting; the shares coming to him were eighteen-fortieths of the voting shares; the remainder was split between relatives and non-relatives.
Rudbek & Assocs. owned stock in other companies -- and here it got complicated. Galactic Enterprises, Galactic Acceptance Corporation, Galactic Transport, Interstellar Metals, Three Planets Fiscal (which operated on twenty-seven planets), Havermeyer Laboratories (which ran barge lines and bakeries as well as research stations) -- the list looked endless. These corporations, trusts, cartels, and banking houses seemed as tangled as spaghetti. Thorby learned that he owned (through his parents) an interest in a company called "Honace Bros., Pty." through a chain of six companies -- 18% of 31% of 43% of 19% of 44% of 27%, a share so microscopic that he lost track. But his parents owned directly seven per cent of Honace Brothers -- with the result that his indirect interest of one-twentieth of one per cent controlled it utterly but paid little return, whereas seven per cent owned directly did not control -- but paid one hundred and forty times as much.
It began to dawn on him that control and ownership were only slightly related; he had always thought of "ownership" and "control" as being the same thing; you owned a thing, a begging bowl, or a uniform jacket -- of course you controlled it!
The converging, diverging, and crossing of corporations and companies confused and disgusted him. It was as complex as a firecontrol computer without a computer's cool logic. He tried to draw a chart and could not make it work. The ownership of each entity was tangled in common stocks, preferred stocks, bonds, senior and junior issues, securities with odd names and unknown functions; sometimes one company owned a piece of another directly and another piece through a third, or two companies might each own a little of the other, or sometimes a company owned part of itself in a tail-swallowing fashion. It didn't make sense.
This wasn't "business" -- what the People did was business... buy, sell, make a profit But this was a silly game with wild rules.
Something else fretted him. He had not known that Rudbek built spaceships. Galactic Enterprises controlled Galactic Transport, which built ships in one of its many divisions. When he realized it he felt a glow of pride, then discovered gnawing uneasiness -- something Colonel Brisby had said... something Pop had proved: that the "largest" or it might have been "one of the largest" builders of starships was mixed up in the slave trade.
He told himself he was being silly -- this beautiful office was about as far from the dirty business of slave traffic as anything could be. But as he was dropping to sleep one night he came wide awake with the black, ironic thought that one of those slave ships in whose stinking holds he had ridden might have been, at that very time, the property of the scabby, frightened slave he was then.
It was a nightmare notion; he pushed it away. But it took the fun out of what he was doing.
One afternoon he sat studying a long memorandum from the legal department -- a summary, so it said, of Rudbek & Assocs.' interests -- and found that he had dragged to a halt. It seemed as if the writer had gone out of his way to confuse things. It would have been as intelligible in ancient Chinese -- more so; Sargonese included many Mandarin words.
He sent Dolores out and sat with his head in his hands. Why, oh, why hadn't he been left in the Guard? He had been happy there; he had understood the world he was in.
Then he straightened up and did something he had been putting off; he returned a vuecall from his grandparents. He had been expected to visit them long since, but he had felt compelled to try to learn his job first.
Indeed he was welcome! "Hurry, son -- we'll be waiting." It was a wonderful hop across prairie and the mighty Mississippi (small from that height) and over city-pocked farmland to the sleepy college town of Valley View, where sidewalks were stationary and time itself seemed slowed. His grandparents' home, imposing for Valley View, was homey after the awesome halls of Rudbek.