Alicia came to his bed nightly and their relationship had become less frenetic, more easygoing. They continued to enjoy each other sexually, but had agreed that they would keep their affair quiet, not even allowing the bodyguards to know of its existence. If word got out that Colonel Mathers had a full time mistress, every newsman, every commentator, every columnist, every photographer, every news gossip in the system would be after her. Everything she had ever done would be dug into, and in her time, Alicia told her lover wryly, she had done quite a few things, usually hushed up by her father’s influence, but nothing could be hushed up pertaining to Don Mathers.
She surprised him one night, after they had finished making love, by saying, “My father has something on you, hasn’t he, Don?”
He looked at her warily. “How do you mean?” He didn’t like this. In the whole system, only Demming, Rostoff and Dirck Bosch knew. And even that was too damn many. It meant that for the rest of their lives he was under their thumbs. Even if the two older men died, he would still be at Bosch’s mercy.
She said slowly, “I’m not stupid, Don. I’ve suspected it almost from the first. There’s a something electric between you. There’s a relationship between you and father and Max Rostoff that is particularly obvious when you’re not in the vicinity of any outsiders.”
“You’re dreaming, darling. Our relationship is purely business.”
“Yes, and with the preferred stock of the corporation, supposedly your corporation, the only stock that is going to count, in their hands.”
“How did you know that?”
“I told you I wasn’t stupid. The only one they’ve cut in at all, so far, is the Grand Presbyter. And only him because they want the weight of his Universal Reformed Church behind them.”
Don sighed and said, “I don’t need money, darling. And it looks good for me to be heading the corporation on a non-profit basis.”
“What do you mean, you don’t need money? Everybody needs money,” she said in rejection.
He said, weariness there in his voice, “I suspect that if I called the largest bank on Earth and asked for a million pseudo-dollars, they’d give it to me on my signature.”
“Ridiculous.”
He said, “Watch this.” He flicked on the phone screen that sat at the edge of the bed and dialed for his night secretary. When the other’s face faded in, Don said, “Peters, what’s the best automobile in the world?”
“Rolls-Royce Hover, Colonel.”
“Very well, get me the head of their sales department. I don’t give a damn what time it is, get him.”
While he waited, Alicia said, “What’s going on? We’ve got enough cars around here to carry a regiment.”
He ignored her and surprisingly shortly, in view of the hour, another face replaced his secretary’s. The newcomer was wide-eyed.
Don said, “I’m Colonel Donal Mathers and I’m considering buying one of your cars.”
The other’s jaw slipped. He stuttered, in a British accent, “Just… just a moment, ahh, Colonel. I’ll put you in touch…” His voice dripped away and then his face faded, to be replaced in moments by another wide-eyed stranger.
This new one said, “I’m Gerald Hastings, sir. Head of Rolls-Royce Hover public relations. We’ll immediately send you over a complete selection of all of our models.”
Don said, “I don’t think I could afford—”
The other was distressed. “Oh, sir, there would be no charge.”
Don said, “I’ll think it over. Thanks.” He flicked off the other’s distressed face before he could go into a sales pitch. Don knew what the other was thinking. The interplanetary hero was probably considering the vehicles of some of the competitors, Mercedes Hover, or whoever. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Rolls-Royce Hovers would be on the way to Center City before the night was out.
He turned to Alicia and said, “See what I mean? What would I do with money if I had it?”
She said, “Holy Almighty Ultimate, I didn’t know it went that far.”
“Well, it does. I can’t spend a pseudo-cent. Hell, I can’t give it away.”
For the time, at least, they talked no more of the hold over Don that she sensed her father and Rostoff held.
She had never again mentioned the possibility of marriage. Don didn’t know if it was because she had second thoughts, or if she was waiting for him to take the initiative. Actually, he still didn’t know how he felt about it. She was a dish, but was she the kind of dish you’d want to spend the rest of your life with, even after the initial notoriety of his getting his medal had died away a bit and he was more able to appear in public places without being mobbed? That she was a spoiled, selfish young woman was obvious. But, on the other hand, one day she would inherit the Demming fortune and by that time the Demming fortune would be a damned sight larger than it was today. And although he didn’t really need money now, perhaps the time would come. Money was power and he was beginning to like the feeling of power.
It was the day following this discourse with Alicia that the fourth man to join the holders of preferred stock came on the scene.
Don had been sitting at his desk, going over the speech he was to make the following day. This was only the second time he had been on Tri-Di lens and the first time, at the ceremony in Geneva, it wasn’t a personal thing. He hadn’t really given a speech or anything. He was unhappy about it, in spite of all the coaching the two actors had given him, and in spite of all the careful honing the speech writers had done to bring out the proper sincerity, the proper simplicity, the proper terminology. For instance, it wouldn’t have done to use a single word or expression that couldn’t be understood by everyone in the system older than ten.
The identity screen on the door buzzed and he flicked the button that activated it. Rostoff’s face was there.
He said, oozing unctuousness, “May we come in, Colonel Mathers?”
Mildly surprised at the courtesy, Don flicked another button which opened the door.
Rostoff strode in, followed by a stranger, followed by Demming. All were fawning.
The stranger was a bluff, slightly red-faced type, who simply radiated good will and honesty. He was conservatively dressed, clear and deep of voice when he spoke. And in five seconds flat Don had branded him politician. The other could have gotten a job portraying a prominent politician any day in the week on Tri-Di.
Don began to stand but the newcomer said, still radiating cheerful admiration, “No, no, Colonel. Don’t bother.” He reached across the desk to shake hands. His grip was firm and friendly.
Demming wheezed, “Colonel Mathers, this is Senator Frank Makowski, of Callisto. Undoubtedly you have heard his inspired speeches over and over again; possibly when you were in deep space in your One Man Scout. He is Callisto’s representative to the Solar System League’s Parliament in Geneva.”
“Yes, of course,” Don said, smiling as best he could. He had never heard of the man in his life. “Please be seated, gentlemen. It’s an honor to meet you personally, Senator.”
The senator, even while finding his chair said, “Colonel Mathers, the honor is mine.”
“Could I offer you gentlemen a drink?” Don said. He had already had two or three today, even though he was trying to concentrate on the speech.
Rostoff said, “No, no, Colonel. It’s only four o’clock and Lawrence and I are acquainted with your restrained drinking habits.”
“Well,” Don said, in deprecation, “I’m not exactly a teetotaler.” The bastard. Don could have used another drink along in here.
“But almost,” Demming said in his flat voice. “Colonel, we know how busy you are, but we have a business matter with the Senator, here, and in view of the fact that you are president and chairman of the board, he was desirous to clear it with you.”