Absently he fingered his waistcoat. “There is a word we use, Mr. Finnegan—nemawashi. It is a business term, but the word is derived from gardening. It is what one does when planting a tree. To cut the roots, to wrest the plant from the earth too quickly, is to kill it. The roots wither, the tree will die. A wise gardener will pluck and prune carefully over several weeks, so that the tree can adjust to its new life.”
Larry Muso’s eyes gazed directly into Jack’s. “These are dangerous but very interesting times for investors, Mr. Finnegan. That is why The Golden Family is launching a sky station from the Mongolian desert. That is why we have very exceptional gardeners.”
With a flourish he smoothed the front of his coat, bowed again, and walked out the door. Jack could only watch, chastened and amazed, as the slender figure strode vigorously back up the rain-streaked drive, until it was lost to sight.
He turned and sank into a chair, picked up first The King in Yellow and then The Golden Family’s prospectus. The novel he gazed at longingly and set aside. The prospectus earned more resigned attention. He weighed it carefully in his palm, wondering what, exactly, the cover was made of—the material felt smooth and taut, but also supple, like the skin of an underripe fruit. Tentatively he pressed it with a finger, and was rewarded with a slight dimpling in the material.
“Another product of The Golden Family, GFI International,” breathed the portfolio. “Manufactured entirely in the Nippo-Altai Commonwealth.”
“What’s it made of ? ” demanded Jack, half-fearful that he would get a reply; but the portfolio was silent. He turned to the first page, activating the icon.
“John Finnegan! We welcome you,” spoke a brisk voice. “Within these pages you will see the future that The Golden Family has to offer you and The Gaudy Book—” A chiming, followed by a throaty boom, as of a gong being struck. “The Golden Family is a privately owned corporation formed by the merger of major international corporations from the United States, the European Union, Mongolia, and Japan. In 1987… .”
The voice was silenced as he turned the next page. Rows of numbers, interspersed with small but luminous photographs: trees, mountains, a welder smiling behind a mask as golden sparks fell about her head. He pressed another icon.
“… assets in excess of forty-seven billion dollars annually, chiefly from holdings in…”
The next page brought a molten sunset over Mongolia’s Flaming Cliffs, the sound of tinkling herd-bells and chanting.
“In 1995, GFI completed the acquisition of a 75 percent working interest in the Saraagalt Basin, Mongolia. GFI now owns 100 percent of two contract areas in the Saraagalt Basin in the Gobi Desert, totaling 7.32 million acres. Historically, Mongolia has not had access to its mineral and natural gas deposits. Consulting geologist and engineering firms hired by GFI determined that vast untapped stores of minerals and fossil fuels beneath the Gobi could in future…”
Jack shook his head in a sort of desultory amazement. The sky is falling and they’re still buying up mineral rights. He turned to the center of the prospectus, where a double-page spread showed a sky pulsing with color: purple, green, indigo, gamboge yellow, crimson. Stars showed very faintly through violet flames. In the foreground a shining silver dirigible towed some sort of platform, a huge golden grid with batlike wings. Behind it trailed glittering constellations like so many diamonds tossed upon a jeweler’s velvet table. The same earnest voice intoned.
“In late 1999 The Golden Family will set in place the first SunTerminus™ skystage. Designed and produced by an international team of the world’s foremost research scientists and aerospace engineers, Sun Terminus™ is the most innovative system ever designed to offset the dangerous effects of ozone depletion in the earth’s atmosphere. Unlike conventional satellites, which have been crippled by recent atmospheric disturbances, the worldwide network of SunTerminus™ stages will be set aloft by GFI’s Lighter-Than-Air (LTA) fleet of Fouga™ Dirigibles, each one capable of towing a five-ton payload. Once in place, SunTerminus™ will be the newest, most reliable telecommunications network on earth, providing broadcast and communications services. Because of their lower placement in the earth’s atmosphere, the stages will be unaffected by terrestrial catastrophes, and GFI’s unique and highly specialized security system will prevent any risk of terrorist attack.
“At the same time as the telecommunications system is introduced, The Golden Family will launch its remarkable Fouga™/SunTerminus™ configuration known as the Solar Universal Nucleo-Radial Array (SUNRA™). By first polarizing particulates and toxins in the earth’s atmosphere, SUNRA™ can then ‘attract’ unwanted compounds much as a magnet attracts iron filings, and so take the first step toward repairing the ozone layer…”
“Yeah, yeah, save the ozone. Very nice,” muttered Jack. “But what about me?” He turned the prospectus’s last few pages, and finally found there what he was looking for.
“The Golden Family International, henceforth known as GFI, lets it be known that of this date, April 19,1999, it has made to John Chanvers Finnegan II, editor in chief and owner of the periodical known as The Gaudy Book, an offer in the amount of $3,000,000 for purchase of said periodical. GFI would then become sole proprietors of…”
He closed the prospectus. Around him the room was silent, save for the tapping of rain at the windows.
Three million dollars. It was more money than his family had possessed in over twenty years. Illness and bad investments had shorn Jack’s father’s share of the Finnegan fortune. The bulk of his grandfather’s money had, of course, gone to Keeley; but it had long since been squandered on Lazyland’s upkeep, as well as gifts to various Finnegan children and great-grandchildren.
Three million dollars…
But what was that worth, nowadays? He could hear Leonard’s mocking voice—“Three million bucks’ll buy you a latte in Uzbekistan!”
But GFI was certainly solvent, at least right now. One of the world’s biggest corporations, after Disney and Matsushita; he could be fairly certain that the check wouldn’t bounce. He would use the money on the house; put in a stairlift for Grandmother and Mrs. Iverson, repair the damage left by ice dams and flooding. He could afford some of the medications he had stopped taking, if he could find a source for them. He could stop pretending to save his family’s dying literary legacy, and retire—his brothers had been telling him to do that ever since he became ill. He could travel.
He could buy time.
“Jesus,” he said aloud. He tapped the prospectus gently against his chin, and smiled. “Well—”
Quickly he turned and crossed to his battered desk, fished around until he found the telephone beneath a heap of unpaid bills. He grinned triumphantly when he heard a dial tone, then punched in Jule Gardino’s number.
“—I guess I need a lawyer.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Death by Water
He went home to die. It took him two days from Boston, and by the time he got there he was so sick and exhausted he might as well be dead already. Innocent that he was, Trip didn’t know that IZE was more addictive than crack or heroin: that it had been deliberately manufactured so that the brain’s receptors for the drug, once activated, would continue to crave it, even after a single dosage. He felt nauseated and almost frantic with anxiety; his head ached, and in the corners of his eyes he saw faint flickerings that mirrored the sky overhead.