“Why, yes. And if only a short distance is involved we utilize them.”
He said, “Does your father have this sort of layout in all of his, uh, establishments?”
“So far as I know. Possibly not in some of the smaller ones he maintains.”
Don said, “Look, how many, uh, establishments does your father have, that is, that he lives in?”
She looked mystified. “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea. He maintains some sort of living quarters in every really major city and also the major settlements on the satellites and Mars. Sometimes, in places he visits seldom or only briefly, it will consist of no more than an apartment sufficient for himself and his immediate staff, and possibly a few guests. You know, twenty-five rooms or so.”
“Really roughs it, eh?”
The compartment had stopped and the door opened into a living room. It was done in American Colonial antiques, and done very well, looking comfortable and certainly a damn sight more acceptable than either the dining room or the Gold Room in which they had spent the evening.
As they entered, she looked up from the side of her eyes and said, “Father has a good many interests, you must realize. It is quite impractical for him to go to hotels—that sort of thing. He must have one of his staffs, his business equipment, that sort of thing, immediately available. He must also be assured of security against the efforts of his business competitors. You know, bugging.”
“I suppose so,” Don said, taking in the room. He had seen a good deal of luxury recently but it occurred to him that when and if he made a permanent or semi-permanent establishment of his own in the near future, he might well have it done like this.
“Like it?” she said. “If it doesn’t appeal to you, there are other suites.”
“I like it very much.”
“Thank you. I designed it, selected the furniture, the paintings and so forth. Do you like Grant Wood?”
He hadn’t the slightest idea of who Grant Wood was. He said, “You’re an interior decorator?”
She said “An amateur. I have to find something to fill my time.”
He looked about. “Isn’t there an autobar? We could have a nightcap.”
Alicia shook her head. “No there isn’t. I don’t like autobars. I don’t much like automated things in general.”
She went over to what he had taken to be a bookcase and pressed something. The false front slid to one side. Behind was a large selection of bottles, glasses, bar equipment and even a small refrigeration compartment.
She said, over her shoulder, “What would you like?”
He said, “Holy smokes, where does your father get all this fancy guzzle of his?”
She sighed and said, “When it comes to food and drink, father doesn’t exactly stint himself. He has agents who continually comb the world seeking out the best potables still remaining. He’ll pay anything.”
“You mean he’s got collections like this in all of his, uh, establishments?”
“Yes, but this is nothing. This is just for temporary visitors, guests. Down below, he has extensive cellars. There is more guzzle in this building alone than he, and all his guests, could drink in a lifetime. Father hoards the things that mean the most to him, exotic foods, drink… and money.”
Don said, “Surprise me.”
She took down a long bottle. “This is a stone-age Metaxa.” It was sealed. She took up a small bar knife, cut away the lead shielding of the cork, then took up a corkscrew. Alicia Demming had opened bottles before.
Don had never seen a real cork before he had met Demming. They were a thing of the past.
“What’s Metaxa?” he said.
“Greek brandy. When it’s very old, it’s as good a brandy as there is. Quite different from French cognac, though.”
She half filled two snifter glasses for them. It was a rugged charge.
They took the drinks back to a couch and seated themselves comfortably, about two feet from each other.
Don sipped at the brandy. He had sampled some of the best guzzle in the world in the past couple of weeks. It hadn’t made him blase1.
He said easily, “You don’t particularly like your father, do you?”
She said, “I don’t believe I know anybody that does.” And then, after a sip at her Greek brandy, “What in the world are you doing, working with him and that vicious Max Rostoff?”
So. She wasn’t in on the secret. And he had to assume that her mother wasn’t either. Without doubt, the two tycoons were keeping every one in the dark, so far as the real nature of Don’s decoration was concerned. Which was obviously good sense. He felt that it behooved him to be careful now.
He said, “I suppose that my run-in with the Kraden cruiser made me see the light clearer than I ever had before. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only chance the human race has is to unite as never before in the face of a common foe.”
“Cheers,” she said, as she lifted her glass, and he didn’t know if there was an element of sarcasm there or not. “But what’s all this got to do with my father and Max Rostoff?”
He said carefully, “Probably our single biggest need is for an abundant supply of uranium for our space fleet. Your father and Rostoff are two of the wealthiest men in the solar system. It will need that kind of wealth to amalgamate all efforts to exploit the pitchblende and other sources of uranium in the satellites.”
She yawned. “What does father get out of it? I’ve never seen him go into anything that didn’t net one hundred percent a year.”
Don said, still carefully, “Your father will, of course, realize dividends. But that’s the socioeconomic system we live under. Someone is going to make a good deal of money. Why shouldn’t it be him? He’s a competent businessman with a huge staff to help him.”
She said softly, “What do you get out of it, Don?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How do you mean?”
“I own no stock. I receive no salary. My efforts are voluntary.” That was telling her.
“I see,” she said. “Why?”
This had to be good and, besides, he suspected that he was going to have to tell the story over and over again in the coming months and years. He had better get it down pat.
He said, “So far as I am concerned, Alicia, I died out there. There was no reason for me to expect to continue living. There wasn’t a chance in the world that I’d survive. But I did. I feel that I am living on borrowed time. And I expect to devote the rest of my life, borrowed as it is, to defeating the Kradens.” Once, again, that was laying it on the line sincerely.
Without expression, she finished her drink and said, “You mentioned a busy day tomorrow, shouldn’t you be getting to bed?”
He put his own glass down. “I suppose so. Where is the bedroom?”
She said, “Over here,” and led the way to a door. Even as she walked, she reached up to undo the shoulder strap of her golden gown.
Don blinked but said, “If you don’t like your father, why do you live here?”
“I don’t. I spend almost all of my time abroad. I came back to attend my mother’s fifty-fifth birthday. That’s when I met you, before. Then, after your defeat of the Kraden, father dropped the information that you would be returning to see him. So I stayed on.”
“Why?” he said.
“Because I wanted to go to bed with you,” she told him, letting her dress drop to her waist, even as she entered the bedroom.
That set back even Don Mathers.
And for more reasons than one. Among other things, he suspected that an operator such as Lawrence Demming would have even visitors’ rooms in his home bugged.
He said, virtuously, though his mouth was dry at the revealing of the upper portion of her fabulous body, “Look, I’m a guest in your father’s home. What would he think of my seducing his daughter?”