"No!"
Leda was on her feet. "I'm here myself. This is my first meeting and I'm going to vote!"
Her stepfather said hastily, "That's all right, Leda -- mustn't interrupt." He turned to the Secretary. "It doesn't affect the result."
"But it does! I cast one thousand eight hundred and eighty votes for Thor, Rudbek of Rudbek!"
Weemsby stared. "Leda Weemsby!"
She retorted crisply, "My legal name is Leda Rudbek."
Bruder was shouting, "Illegal! The vote has been recorded. It's too --"
"Oh, nonsense!" shouted Leda. "I'm here and I'm voting. Anyhow, I cancelled that proxy -- I registered it in the post office in this very building and saw it delivered and signed for at the 'principal offices of this corporation' -- that's the right phrase, isn't it, Judge? -- ten minutes before the meeting was called to order. If you don't believe me, send down for it. But what of it? -- I'm here. Touch me." Then she turned and smiled at Thorby.
Thorby tried to smile back, and whispered savagely to Garsch, "Why did you keep this a secret?"
"And let 'Honest John' find out that he had to beg, borrow, or buy some more votes? He might have won. She kept him happy, just as I told her to. That's quite a girl, Thorby. Better option her."
Five minutes later Thorby, shaking and white, got up and took the gavel that Weemsby had dropped. He faced the crowd. "We will now elect the rest of the board," he announced, his voice barely under control. The slate that Garsch and Thorby had worked out was passed by acclamation -- with one addition: Leda.
Again she stood up. "Oh, no! You can't do this to me."
"Out of order. You've assumed responsibility, now accept it."
She opened her mouth, closed it, sat down.
When the Secretary declared the result, Thorby turned to Weemsby. "You are General Manager also, are you not?"
"Yes."
"You're fired. Your one share reverts. Don't try to go back to your former office; just get your hat and go."
Bruder jumped up. Thorby turned to him. "You, too. Sergeant-at-Arms, escort them out of the building."
Chapter 23
Thorby looked glumly at a high stack of papers, each item flagged "URGENT." He picked up one, started to read -- put it down and said, "Dolores, switch control of my screen to me. Then go home."
"I can stay, sir."
"I said, 'Go home.' How are you going to catch a husband with circles under your eyes?"
"Yes, sir." She changed connections. "Good night, sir."
"Good night."
Good girl, there. Loyal, he thought. Well, he hoped. He hadn't dared use a new broom all the way; the administration had to have continuity. He signaled a number.
A voice without a face said, "Scramble Seven."
" 'Prometheus Bound,' " Thorby answered, "and nine makes sixteen."
"Scramble set up."
"Sealed," Thorby agreed.
The face of Wing Marshal "Smith" appeared. "Hi, Thor."
"Jake, I've got to postpone this month's conference again. I hate to -- but you should see my desk."
"Nobody expects you to devote all your time to corps matters."
"Doggone it, that's exactly what I planned to do -- clean this place up fast, put good people in charge, grab my hat and enlist for the corps! But it's not that simple."
"Thor, no conscientious officer lets himself be relieved until his board is all green. We both knew that you had lots of lights blinking red."
"Well... all right, I can't make the conference. Got a few minutes?"
"Shoot," agreed "Smith."
"I think I've got a boy to hunt porcupines. Remember?"
" 'Nobody eats a porcupine.' "
"Right! Though I had to see a picture of one to understand what you meant. To put it in trader terms, the way to kill a business is to make it unprofitable. Slave raiding is a business, the way to kill it is to put it in the red. Porcupine spines on the victims will do it"
"If we had the spines," the "X" Corps director agreed dryly. "You have an idea for a weapon?"
"Me? What do you think I am? A genius? But I think I've found one. Name is Joel de la Croix. He's supposed to be about the hottest thing MIT ever turned out. I've gossiped with him about what I used to do as a firecontrolman in Sisu. He came up with some brilliant ideas without being prodded. Then he said, 'Thor, it's ridiculous for a ship to be put out of action by a silly little paralysis beam when it has enough power in its guts to make a small star.' "
"A very small star. But I agree."
"Okay. I've got him stashed in our Havermeyer Labs in Toronto. As soon as your boys okay him, I want to hand him a truckload of money and give him a free hand. I'll feed him all I know about raider tactics and so forth -- trance tapes, maybe, as I won't have time to work with him much. I'm being run ragged here."
"He'll need a team. This isn't a home-workshop project."
"I know. I'll funnel names to you as fast as I have them. Project Porcupine will have all the men and money it can use. But, Jake, how many of these gadgets can I sell to the Guard?"
"Eh?"
"I'm supposed to be running a business. If I run it into the ground, the courts will boost me out I'm going to let Project Porcupine spend megabucks like water -- but I've got to justify it to directors and stockholders. If we come up with something, I can sell several hundred units to Free Traders, I can sell some to ourselves -- but I need to show a potential large market to justify the expenditure. How many can the Guard use?"
"Thor, you're worrying unnecessarily. Even if you don't come up with a superweapon -- and your chances aren't good -- all research pays off. Your stockholders won't lose."
"I am not worrying unnecessarily! I've got this job by a handful of votes; a special stockholders meeting could kick me out tomorrow. Sure research pays off, but not necessarily quickly. You can count on it that every credit I spend is reported to people who would love to see me bumped -- so I've got to have reasonable justification."
"How about a research contract?"
"With a vice colonel staring down my boy's neck and telling him what to do? We want to give him a free hand."
"Mmm... yes. Suppose I get you a letter-of-intent? Well make the figure as high as possible. I'll have to see the Marshal-in-Chief. He's on Luna at the moment and I can't squeeze time to go to Luna this week. You'll have to wait a few days."
"I'm not going to wait; I'm going to assume that you can do it. Jake, I'm going to get things rolling and get out of this crazy job -- if you won't have me in the corps I can always be an ordnanceman."
"Come on down this evening. I'll enlist you -- then I'll order you to detached duty, right where you are."
Thorby's chin dropped. "Jake! You wouldn't do that to me!"
"I would if you were silly enough to place yourself under my orders, Rudbek."
"But --" Thorby shut up. There was no use arguing; there was too much work to be done.
"Smith" added, "Anything else?"
"I guess not."
"I'll have a first check on de la Croix by tomorrow. See you."
Thorby switched off, feeling glummer than ever. It was not the Wing Marshal's half-whimsical threat, nor even his troubled conscience over spending large amounts of other people's money on a project that stood little chance of success; it was simply that he was swamped by a job more complex than he had believed possible.
He picked up the top item again, put it down, pressed the key that sealed him through to Rudbek estate. Leda was summoned to the screen. "I'll be late again. I'm sorry."
"I'll delay dinner. They're enjoying themselves and I had the kitchen make the canapes substantial"