It was a year later that Willard, now the most famous man in the entertainment world, met Gregory Laborian. It had come about almost accidentally and largely because of the activities of a mutual friend. Willard was not grateful.
He greeted Laborian with what politeness he could manage and cast a cold eye on the time-strip on the wall.
He said, “I don’t want to seem unpleasant or inhospitable, Mr.-uh-but I’m really a very busy man, and don’t have much time.”
“I’m sure of it, but that’s why I want to see you. Surely, you want to do another compu-drama.”
“Surely I intend to, but,” and Willard smiled dryly, “ King Lear is a hard act to follow and I don’t intend to turn out something that will seem like trash in comparison.”
“But what if you never find anything that can match King Lear?”
“I’m sure I never will, but I’ll find something. “ “I have something. “
“Oh?”
“I have a story, a novel, that could be made into a compudrama.”
“Oh, well. I can’t really deal with items that come in over the transom.”
“I’m not offering you something from a slush pile. The novel has been published and it has been rather highly thought of.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be insulting. But I didn’t recognize your name when you introduced yourself.”
“Laborian. Gregory Laborian.”
“But I still don’t recognize it. I’ve never read anything by you. I’ve never heard of you.”
Laborian sighed. “I wish you were the only one, but you’re not. Still, I could give you a copy of my novel to read.”
Willard shook his head. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Laborian, but I don’t want to mislead you. I have no time to read it. And even if I had the time-I just want you to understand-I don’t have the inclination.”
“I could make it worth your while, Mr. Willard. “ “In what way?”
“I could pay you. I wouldn’t consider it a bribe, merely an offer of money that you would well deserve if you worked with my novel.”
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Laborian, how much money it takes to make a first-class compu-drama. I take it you’re not a multimillionaire.”
“No, I’m not, but I can pay you a hundred thousand globodollars.”
“If that’s a bribe, at least it’s a totally ineffective one. For a hundred thousand globo-dollars, I couldn’t do a single scene.”
Laborian sighed again. His large brown eyes looked soulful. “I understand, Mr. Willard, but if you’ll just give me a few more minutes-” (for Willard’s eyes were wandering to the time-strip again.)
“Well, five more minutes. That’s all I can manage really. “
“It’s all I need. I’m not offering the money for making the compu-drama. You know, and I know, Mr. Willard, that you can go to any of a dozen people in the country and say you are doing a compu-drama and you’ll get all the money you need. After King Lear, no one will refuse you anything, or even ask you what you plan to do. I’m offering you one hundred thousand globo-dollars for your own use.”
“Then it is a bribe, and that won’t work with me. Good-bye, Mr. Laborian.”
“Wait. I’m not offering you an electronic switch. I don’t suggest that I place my financial card into a slot and that you do so, too, and that a hundred thousand globo-dollars be transferred from my account to yours. I’m talking gold, Mr. Willard.”
Willard had risen from his chair, ready to open the door and usher Laborian out, but now he hesitated. “What do you mean, gold?”
“I mean that I can lay my hands on a hundred thousand globo-dollars of gold, about fifteen pounds’ worth, I think. I may not be a multimillionaire, but I’m quite well off and I wouldn’t be stealing it.
It would be my own money and I am entitled to draw it in gold. There is nothing illegal about it. What I am offering you is a hundred thousand globo-dollars in five-hundred globo-dollar pieces-two hundred of them. Gold, Mr. Willard.”
Gold! Willard was hesitating. Money, when it was a matter of electronic exchange, meant nothing. There was no feeling of either wealth or of poverty above a certain level. The world was a matter of plastic cards (each keyed to a nucleic acid pattern) and of slots, and all the world transferred, transferred, transferred.
Gold was different. It had a feel. Each piece had a weight. Piled together it had a gleaming beauty.
It was wealth one could appreciate and experience. Willard had never even seen a gold coin, let alone felt or hefted one. Two hundred of them!
He didn’t need the money. He was not so sure he didn’t need the gold.
He said, with a kind of shamefaced weakness. “What kind of a novel is it that you are talking about?”
“Science fiction.“
Willard made a face. “I’ve never read science fiction. “
“Then it’s time you expanded your horizons, Mr. Willard. Read mine. If you imagine a gold coin between every two pages of the book, you will have your two hundred.”
And Willard, rather despising his own weakness, said, “What’s the name of your book?”
“Three in One. “
“And you have a copy?” “I brought one with me.“
And Willard held out his hand and took it.
That Willard was a busy man was by no means a lie. It took him better than a week to find the time to read the book, even with two hundred pieces of gold glittering, and luring him on.
Then he sat a while and pondered. Then he phoned Laborian. The next morning, Laborian was in Williard’s office again.
Willard said, bluntly, “Mr. Laborian, I have read your book.”
Laborian nodded and could not hide the anxiety in his eyes. “I hope you like it, Mr. Willard.” Willard lifted his hand and rocked it right and left. “So-so. I told you I have not read science fiction, and I don’t know how good or bad it is of its kind-” “Does it matter, if you liked it?”
“I’m not sure if I liked it. I’m not used to this sort of thing. We are dealing in this novel with three sexes.”
“Yes.”
“Which you call a Rational, an Emotional, and a Parental. “
“Yes.”
“But you don’t describe them?”
Laborian looked embarrassed. “I didn’t describe them, Mr. Willard, because I couldn’t. They’re alien creatures, really alien. I didn’t want to pretend they were alien by simply giving them blue skins or a pair of antennae or a third eye. I wanted them indescribable, so I didn’t describe them, you see.”
“What you’re saying is that your imagination failed.”
“N-no. I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like not having that kind of imagination. I don’t describe anyone. If I were to write a story about you and me, I probably wouldn’t bother describing either one of us.”
Willard stared at Laborian without trying to disguise his contempt. He thought of himself. Middle- sized, soft about the middle, needed to reduce a bit, the beginnings of a double chin, and a mole on his right wrist. Light brown hair, dark blue eyes, bulbous nose. What was so hard to describe? Anyone could do it. If you had an imaginary character, think of someone real-and describe.
There was Laborian, dark in complexion, crisp curly black hair, looked as though he needed a shave, probably looked that way all the time, prominent Adam’s apple, small scar on the right cheek, dark brown eyes rather large, and his only good feature.
Willard said, “I don’t understand you. What kind of writer are you if you have trouble describing things? What do you write?”
Laborian said, gently, somewhat as though this was not the first time he had had to defend himself along those lines, “You’ve read T hree in One. I’ve written other novels and they’re all in the same style. Mostly conversation. I don’t see things when I write; I hear, and for most part, what my characters talk about are ideas-competing ideas. I’m strong on that and my readers like it.”
“Yes, but where does that leave me? I can’t devise a compudrama based on conversation alone. I have to create sight and sound and subliminal messages, and you leave me nothing to work on.” “Are you thinking of doing Three in One, then?”