Morton Ellers hugged his taken daugher to him. They saw his bottom jerk as he began to seed his daughter, keening his hot delight.
"Fuuuucking you, ohhhhhh," he sang.
"No wonder he stole our stuff, the horny old crud," said Cord.
But Nancy didn't answer. Big Sam stood there, facing the sofa, smiling politely. She saw he was turned on.
"Big Sam!" she called.
"Yes, Nancy?"
"Take pictures. pictures of the people on the sofa."
Big Sam nodded and turned his eyes into a camera and took pictures, as Morton Ellers, helpless, groaned and spumed incest seed into his daughter.
CHAPTER NINE
A man and a woman sat alone at a sparkling breakfast table atop the penthouse of the luxurious Century Forward Motel in Chicago, staring at a glass of water that was faintly tinged with gold.
"It's a weapon," said Gwen Rand.
"It can alter minds," said Monty Rand.
"Used one way it could turn this nation into a body of hard-muscled athletes," she said.
"Used another, it could become the most dangerous drug on the face of the earth," said Monty.
The Product Psychologists had come to Chicago to deliberate on the new, mind-blowing product known as Golden Water. Kellogg-General Grocers was prepared to put a half a billion dollars behind the new product if the Rands gave it their approval. If they approved, two hundred thousand new jobs would be created overnight and countless regional distributorships in America and elsewhere would employ still more thousands and create minor fortunes. The Kellogg-General executives would jet in from Battle Creek tomorrow.
Those executives had to come to the Rands. They were too powerful to bother with going to company headquarters in some minor city. Their clients must meet them in New York, Chicago, L.A. or San Francisco, and occasionally in New Orleans if it were Mardi Gras time.
Their entourage had arrived the night before to sweep the penthouse for listening devices, since they delt in company secrets worth millions, to install their chefs in the motel kitchen, to prepare the clothing and vehicles they would need for this visit, and to set up media safeguards so their precious time might be saved. The media were wild to find out what the Rands worked on, because it shaped the future of America. They had already had the customary two-way TV greeting and visit with the governor of Illinois down in Springfield and would surrender their luncheon hour to the mayor of Chicago, not without reluctance. Long experience had taught them that politics made dull luncheon conversation.
Golden Water was designed as a soft drink for children in grade schools. It lessened their desire to eat sugary sweets, it gave them vitamins and minerals and the reason for its value was it stimulated young minds towards serious learning. No one was quite sure how this worked but it did. To make better students of the children was a fabulous and useful contribution towards a better America.
Wrong.
The Rands had investigated this product with their usual care and depth and found out much, much more about it than K-G had ever suspected. Its molecules combined readily with an incredible number of substances. It could easily be turned into an addictive drug that permanently warped minds. It could be hyped with substances that starved the muscles just enough to turn the users into twenty-four hour athletes, narrow, fanatical and totally involved with their body muscles. Still another additive made it affect the judgement centers of the mind so the user easily fell under the sway of any strong-minded demagogue, political or religious leader.
Worst of all, it made an admirable carrier of chemical warfare viruses that could wipe out whole segments of a population.
"Of course there are a hundred harmless additives that could make it fun," Gwen pointed out.
"It has a haunting, pleasant flavor that makes it easy to sell," said Monty.
"I think it's only good as a prescription drug for children who are low achievers," said Gwen.
Monty sighed. "K-G is really high on it."
"We've only got one country and one span of life," said Gwen. "Why wish another burden on our poor fellow Americans. I say push Golden Water forward into the 21st century and let someone else decide whether it should go."
Monty sighed, poured himself a drink from the glass and took it down. He was a white-haired man, thin and erect, of forty-five with a commanding eye and a soft, burring voice.
"Well, we have one more day to think about it."
He put it aside. There were a half-dozen other Chicago projects demanding their attention, and it was going to be a full day, with more to come tomorrow.
"Gwen, isn't there something on the agenda that'll give us a little fun and relaxation?"
Gwen was a dark-haired woman of forty, with a supple figure, beautiful hair, and a brash exterior that belied a soft, caring nature.
She leafed through a thick stack of papers.
"Here's a fourth level local corporation that claims to make sex robots and something called Smart Suits. It's optional. It could be a fun evening project to relax with."
"Ugh, that again. Every five years a robot company gets a wild idea."
"You forget we're national officers of an American Moralist Society."
"Not at all, dear husband. A negative Rand report and sex robots are dead, along with Smart Suits, whatever they are."
"I don't fancy a cute sex robot, or a cuter Chicago hooker in a Smart Suit climbing in my lap to seduce me."
"Don't be rediculous, Monty. I wouldn't touch a sex machine or a sex person demonstrating such a vulgarity. Sex robots are just not to be taken seriously. We'll kill the idea, of course. But it could make for a colorful evening, and we'd have something new and encouraging to report at the next Board meeting of the American Moralist Society."
"All right, we'll do it. But I may fall asleep." Monty always thought that adults playing with robots were like children playing with dolls and wondered if his wife had ever grown up in that one respect.
Later that morning at a meeting in the A-C building, an elated threesome, Nelson Harper, Cord Bannister and Nancy Lyons met, happy to celebrate the defeat of V-P Ellers and his group. Since that wild night two days ago, the Ellers' group and the opposition on the Board had practically melted away. It had been easy, of course, to pressure Morton to withdraw his forces, when they had those damning pictures of the old man having incest with his daughter. He practically begged Nelson to let him change his mind.
After they'd chewed that around, Nelson got serious again.
"There are still the Rands. They are in town and they have sent word they'll look at our robots and Smart Suits tonight. If they go negative, we'll never make it out of the lab."
"They aren't God!" cried Nancy.
"They are in the product field," said Cord gloomily.
"I've checked," said Nelson. "They are big wheels in the American Moralist Society. Ellers really hung a heavy one around our necks with this test."
"We have got one chance," said Nelson. "We don't send the robots or the Smart Suits at all."
"What!"
"What!" cried Nancy.
Nelson pointed at Cord. "You go as Big Sam. They've never seen you anyway. And YOU, Nancy, go wrapped in ordinary plastic, no suit. You both can go through all the functions… you know them all well enough."
Cord looked astonished. "ME, imitate her cornball robot, Big Sam?"
"How about ME!" she cried. "Pretending to wear one of those miserable hot suits! Never!"
"It's our only chance, kids. You'll be so lifelike, it'll give 'em pause for thought. We don't need a positive report. Just so they don't go negative. Reasonable doubt… they're fair. I think we can win that."