He peered at my badge again. "Inkswitch, eh? Well, Inkswitch, what have you done to get yourself promoted to be a family spy? It's a pretty important post, Ink-switch. Families really can be (bleepards)."
"I've always been one of your most trusted undercover men," I said. And I drew upon our file on him. "I covered up leaks of your links to I. G. Barben. And I covered up its links to Faustino 'The Noose' Narcotici's mob. What is an undercover man for if not to cover up links and leaks?"
I had his interest. I was taking no great risk: he had hundreds of millions of people sweating out their lives for him. He could not be expected to know even a millionth of his staff.
"Earlier," I said, "I befriended the family itself but never wanted to mention it. I was even a member of the burial party of Aunt Timantha."
"Well, well," he said. "I can see your promotion is long overdue."
"But I don't come empty-handed," I said. "Lately, I have been serving your interests as a Senate Investigator for Senator Twiddle's Energy Crisis Committee. And when I learned of my promotion, I made a point of gathering up every scrap of data of the most heinous skulduggery anyone could imagine. Senator Twiddle was utterly outraged. When I called it to his attention, he said it was the energy crisis of the century."
"One of our best men, Twiddle," said Rockecenter. "Sound. Always consults me before he casts a single vote! So what is this crisis?"
"I know of a plot to introduce a new, cheap energy source on this planet, completely independent of yourself, that would be in total competition to you."
Nothing else had gotten to him, really. The last word did. "By God! Inkswitch, the only good competition is dead competition!"
"Amen," I said devoutly, in keeping with this cathedral-like atmosphere.
"We've got thousands of patents," he said, "on devices to make fuel more efficient. We buy them up and throw them in the permanently closed file. Why couldn't this new development have been put on regular channels?"
"It's more dastardly than any of those," I said. "It makes fuel cheap as dirt. And they'll have a monopoly on the device."
"Who is this inventor?"
"The name is Jerome Terrance Wister."
"And he can't be bought off?"
"I'm absolutely certain he can't."
"And he can't be rubbed out the way some say my great-grandfather disposed of Rudolph Diesel? Into the English Channel in the dark?"
"It's been tried."
Rockecenter went over to his desk. The red desk lamps made his face pretty eerie. He punched a button. "Bury! Come over here."
He gave his throne chair a punch so it swivelled toward the balcony. He looked down at me. "Inkswitch," he said. "While we are waiting for Bury, I may as well swear you in as a family spy. Raise your right hand. Repeat after me: I hereby do solemnly swear to utilize, support and keep sacred the following family policies ..."
I raised my right hand. What's another oath to an Apparatus officer? I repeated after him.
"One: Competition strangles the free enterprise system. Two: The world must continue to believe that as long as D. J. Rockecenter owns everything, they are safe from destructive rivalries. Three: Governments must continue to understand that as long as they do as D. J. Rockecenter orders, they will have plenty of conflicts. Four: The banks must continue to know that as long as D. J. Rockecenter makes a profit, nobody else matters. Five: We stand for democracy so long as it doesn't get in the way of communism. Six: The population must be educated into the need of euthanasia and wholesale abortion, and cooperate in its own humanocide. Seven: Only what is good for D. J. Rockecenter is good for everybody. Eight: D. J. Rockecenter is the only family member that matters. And Nine: Trust nobody. I hereby faithfully swear to see that these policies are rammed down everybody's throat, so help me, Rockecenter."
I had repeated it all.
"Well, that's done," he said. "I can't trust anybody else to do it. I have to be sure."
Bury came in at that moment. It was through another door. He appeared a bit haggard and worried.
"Bury," said Rockecenter, sitting down at his altar desk, eerie in the red light, "Inkswitch here says somebody has been running around loose lately, inventing a cheap fuel. You ever hear of a Jerome Terrance Wister?"
The family lawyer turned chalk white!
I grasped the situation in an instant. Bury had never told Rockecenter about that incident! Bury thought the man was dead!
But Apparatus training is smooth stuff. I said quickly, "I can't imagine how Mr. Bury ever would have heard of him. He's just an upstart student." I closed my right eye to Bury out of Rockecenter's sight.
Bury stood there watching me like a Wall Street attorney sizing up the prosecution.
"This Wister," said Rockecenter, "seems to be a dangerous menace to society. Invented a cheap fuel and refused to sell out." He turned to me, "Do you know anything you haven't told me?"
I could feel Bury go tense. I said, "He's obviously going to demonstrate it in racing."
"Ah," said Rockecenter. He stroked his chin and frowned. Then he lit up and said something I couldn't for the life of me work out. He said, "Bury! Speak of this invention to nobody. Hire this Wister a public relations man."
"Yes, sir," said Bury.
Maybe it was not a loud enough "Yes, sir." Rockecenter got up and walked very close to Bury. He said, "Ride this thing! Get on it and pump! Ride this until you (bleep) it all up. Understood?"
I was a little bit jolted. The tone of voice! The posture! The only thing missing was the lapel jerk and the "stinger" to be Lombar!
Bury was even more haggard. "Yes, sir."
That was apparently loud enough. Rockecenter drew back. He pointed at me. "Inkswitch has just been sworn in as a family spy. He's undercover as a Federal Investigator and I'm assigning him at once to this case!"
Bury looked at me. He suddenly made up his mind. "I'm sure he'll make a marvelous family spy," he said. "It will be a pleasure to work with him."
Bury was gone. I myself rose to leave. But Rockecenter was looking at his watch. "No," he said. "It will only be a few minutes."
He walked to the balcony and opened the doors. The soft whirr of traffic came into the cathedral-like room. He waved his arm at the splendid arches.
"You may think this too plain and unpretentious, Inkswitch, now that you're a family spy. But I'm a modest man. I do not need much. My foundation of doctors was just telling me the other day how pleased they were to have made me immortal. It's such a good thing for the world to have just one man own it forever. They couldn't possibly pay the inheritance tax.
"When you came in, I saw that you were wondering why I didn't marry one of those girls. You've been so closely connected to the family—Aunt Timantha and all-that you really have a right to know and won't go wandering off getting close to any of my God (bleeped) relatives. I don't have to get married, Inkswitch. That foundation assures me that I'm going to live forever and I don't need any God (bleeped) son to add to the competition. You understand me, Inkswitch? So don't go being nice to any other family members. Got it?"
I nodded but he wasn't looking at me. Evening was sweeping the city which, like the planet, he owned.
He looked at his watch. He looked up. An ecstatic expression came across his face. "Don't you hear the harp music? It happens every day at this time. Now listen! Listen carefully!"
He paused. Bliss bathed his face. "There! Right on time! There it was! Ah, what beautiful words: 'The one true God is Delbert John Rockecenter!'"