They bowed slightly, and left. He looked out the glass window that was the wall in back of his desk.
A complex of identical buildings stretched out before him. Broad, tree-lined streets, some small parkland, and lots of identical-looking shapes walking about on various business.
The sky was an off-blue, not the deepness of his native world, but it was attractive. There were some fleecy clouds in the sky, and, off in the distance, he saw signs of cultivated land. It looked like a rich, peaceful, and productive place, he thought. Of course, weather and topography would cause changes in the life-styles planet-wide, but he wagered those differences were minimal.
The aides returned with sheaves of folders bulging with papers. He acknowledged them curtly, and ordered them out.
There were no mirrors, but the lighting reflected him in the glass windows.
He looked just like them, only about fifty millimeters taller and proportionately slightly larger.
He felt his male genitals. They had the same feel as the ones he had had as Cousin Bat, he thought.
He reached a little lower, and found the small vaginal cavity.
He spread some papers around to make it look as if he had been studying them. He would, in time, of course, but not now.
He saw a small intercom on the desk and buzzed it, taking a seat in the big chair. At the far end of the room a clerk almost beat the track records entering, coming up to the desk and standing at full attention.
“I have found indications,” he told the clerk seriously, “that several members of the Presidium may be ill. I want a team of rural doctors—based, as far as possible, away from here—to be brought to my office as soon as possible. I want that done exactly and at once. How long before they can get here?”
“If you want them from as far away from government centers as possible, ten hours,” the clerk replied crisply.
“All right, then,” he nodded. “As soon as they arrive they are to see me—and no one else. No one is even to know that they have been sent for. I mean absolutely no one, not even the rest of the office.”
“I shall attend to it personally, Chairman,” responded the clerk, and turned to leave. So much for the spongies, he thought.
“Clerk!” he called suddenly, and the other halted and turned.
“Chairman?”
“How do I arrange to have sex?”
The clerk looked surprised and bemused. “Whenever the Chairman wishes, of course. It is a great honor for any citizen.”
“I want the best specimen here in five minutes!” he ordered.
“Yes, Chairman,” responded the clerk knowingly, and left.
His eyes sparkled, and he rubbed his hands together gleefully, thinking about what was to come.
Suddenly Nathan Brazil’s visage arose from the corners of his mind.
He said he’d give me my chance, he thought seriously. And I’ll make good on it. This world will be changed!
The door opened, and another inhabitant of Paradise entered.
“Yes?” he snapped.
“I was told to report to you by the clerk,” the newcomer said.
He smiled. The world would be changed, yes—but not right away, he thought. Not until I’ve had much more fun.
“Come on over here,” he said lightly. “You’re about to be honored.”
ON THE FRONTIER—HARVICH’S WORLD
He groaned, and opened his eyes. An older man in overalls and checkered shirt, smelly and with a three-days’ growth of beard, was bending over him, looking anxious.
“Kally? You hear me, boy? Say somethin’!” the old man urged, shouting at him.
He groaned. “God! I feel lousy!” he managed.
The old man smiled. “Good! Good!” he enthused. “I was afeared we’d lost you, there. That was quite a crack on the nog you took!”
Kally felt the left side of his head. There was a knot under the hair, and some dried blood. It hurt—throbbed, really.
“Try to stand up,” the old man urged, and gave him a hand. He took it, and managed to stand shakily.
“How do ya feel, boy?” the old man asked.
“My head hurts,” he complained. “Otherwise—well, weak but okay.”
“Told ya ya shoulda got a good gal ta help with the farm,” the old man scolded. “If’n I hadn’ta happened along you’d be dead now.”
The man looked around, puzzled. It was a farm, he saw. Some chickens about, a ramshackle barn with a couple of cows, and an old log shack. It looked like corn growing in the fields.
“Somethin’ wrong, Kally?” the old man asked.
“I—uh, who are you?” he asked hesitantly. “And where am I?”
The old man looked concerned. “That bump on the noggin’s scrambled your brains, boy. Better get into town and see a doctor on it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” the other agreed. “But I still don’t know who you are, where I am—or who I am.”
“Must be magnesia or somethin’,” the old man said, concerned. “I’ll be damned. Heard about it, but never seed it afore. Hell, boy, you’re Kally Tonge, and since your pa died last winter you’ve run this farm here alone. You was borned here on Harvich,” he explained pronouncing it Harrige, “and you damned near died here.” He pointed to the ground.
He looked and saw an irrigation pump with compressor. Obviously he had been tightening the top holding nut with the big wrench and had kicked the thing into start. The wrench had whirled around and caught him on the head.
He looked at it strangely, knowing what it must mean.
“Will you be all right?” the old man asked concernedly. “I got to run down the road or the old lady’ll throw a fit, but if ya want I can send somebody back to take ya inta the doc’s.”
“I’ll see him,” Kally replied. “But let me get cleaned up first. How—how far is it into town?”
“Christ, Kally! Ya even talk a little funny!” the old man exclaimed. “But Depot’s a kilometer and a half down the road there.” He pointed in the right direction.
Kally Tonge nodded. “I’ll go in. If you get a head injury, it’s best to walk. Just check back in a little while, just in case. I’ll be all right.”
“Well, okay,” the old man responded dubiously. “But if I don’t hear ya got in town, I’m comin’ lookin’,” he warned, then walked back to the road.
He’s riding a horse! Kally thought wonderingly. And the road’s dirt!
He turned and went into the shack.
It was more modern than he would have guessed, although small. A big bed with natural fur blankets in one corner, a sink, a gas stove—bottled gas underneath, he noted—and the water was probably from a water tank near the barn. A big fireplace, and a crude indoor shower.
There was a small refrigerator, too, running off what would have been a tractor battery if he had had a tractor.
He noted the toilet in one corner, and went over to it. Above it hung a cracked mirror, some scissors, and toiletries.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
His was a strong, muscular, handsome face in a rugged sort of way. The hair was long and tied off in a ponytail almost a meter long, and he had a full but neatly trimmed beard and mustache. The hair was brown, but the beard was reddish.
He turned his head, saw that the knot was almost invisible in the hair. Brushing it back revealed an ugly wound.
He died in that accident, he thought. Kally Tonge died of that wound. And I filled the empty vessel.
He stripped and took the mirror off its nail hanger, looking at himself. He saw a rugged, muscular body, well toned and used to work. There were calluses on the hands, worn in from hard farm labor.
The wound did hurt, and while he was certain it wouldn’t be serious now, it would be better to go into town. It would also help to explain his mental lapses.