“Explain it yourself then, if you can. I say it’s complete.”
The tech-man’s flush faded slowly as he bound the chain about his waist, and, following Mallow’s gesture, pushed the knob. The radiance that surrounded him shone into dim relief. His blaster lifted, then hesitated. Slowly, he adjusted it to an almost burnless minimum.
And then, convulsively, he closed circuit and the atomic fire dashed against his hand, harmlessly.
He whirled. “And what if I shoot you now, and keep the shield.”
“Try!” said Mallow. “Do you think I gave you my only sample?” And he, too, was solidly incased in light.
The tech-man giggled nervously. The blaster clattered onto the desk. He said, “And what is this mere nothing, this breath, that you wish in return?”
“I want to see your generators.”
“You realize that that is forbidden. It would mean ejection into space for both of us—”
“I don’t want to touch them or have anything to do with them. I want to see them — from a distance.”
“If not?”
“If not, you have your shield, but I have other things. For one thing, a blaster especially designed to pierce that shield.”
“Hm-m-m.” The tech-man’s eyes shifted. “Come with me.”
12
The tech-man’s home was a small two-story affair on the outskirts of the huge, cubiform, windowless affair that dominated the center of the city. Mallow passed from one to the other through an underground passage, and found himself in the silent, ozone-tinged atmosphere of the powerhouse.
For fifteen minutes, he followed his guide and said nothing. His eyes missed nothing. His fingers touched nothing. And then, the tech-man said in strangled tones, “Have you had enough? I couldn’t trust my underlings in this case.”
“Could you ever?” asked Mallow, ironically. “I’ve had enough.”
They were back in the office and Mallow said, thoughtfully, “And all those generators are in your hands?”
“Every one,” said the tech-man, with more than a touch of complacency.
“And you keep them running and in order?”
“Right!”
“And if they break down?”
The tech-man shook his head indignantly. “They don’t break down. They never break down. They were built for eternity.”
“Eternity is a long time. Just suppose—”
“It is unscientific to suppose meaningless cases.”
“All right. Suppose I were to blast a vital part into nothingness? I suppose the machines aren’t immune to atomic forces? Suppose I fuse a vital connection, or smash a quartz D-tube?”
“Well, then,” shouted the tech-man, furiously, “you would be killed.”
“Yes, I know that,” Mallow was shouting, too, “but what about the generator? Could you repair it?”
“Sir,” the tech-man howled his words, “you have had a fair return. You’ve had what you asked for. Now get out! I owe you nothing more!”
Mallow bowed with a satiric respect and left.
Two days later he was back at the base where the Far Star waited to return with him to the planet, Terminus.
And two days later, the tech-man’s shield went dead, and for all his puzzling and cursing never glowed again.
13
Mallow relaxed for almost the first time in six months. He was on his back in the sunroom of his new house, stripped to the skin. His great, brown arms were thrown up and out, and the muscles tautened into a stretch, then faded into repose.
The man beside him placed a cigar between Mallow’s teeth and lit it. He champed on one of his own and said, “You must be overworked. Maybe you need a long rest.”
“Maybe I do, Jael, but I’d rather rest in a council seat. Because I’m going to have that seat, and you’re going to help me.”
Ankor Jael raised his eyebrows and said, “How did I get into this?”
“You got in obviously. Firstly, you’re an old dog of a politico. Secondly, you were booted out of your cabinet seat by Jorane Sutt, the same fellow who’d rather lose an eyeball than see me in the council. You don’t think much of my chances, do you?”
“Not much,” agreed the ex-Minister of Education. “You’re a Smyrnian”
“That’s no legal bar. I’ve had a lay education.”
“Well, come now. Since when does prejudice follow any law but its own. Now, how about your own man — this Jaim Twer? What does he say?”
“He spoke about running me for council almost a year ago,” replied Mallow easily, “but I’ve outgrown him. He couldn’t have pulled it off in any case. Not enough depth. He’s loud and forceful — but that’s only an expression of nuisance value. I’m off to put over a real coup. I need you.”
“Jorane Sutt is the cleverest politician on the planet and he’ll be against you. I don’t claim to be able to outsmart him. And don’t think he doesn’t fight hard, and dirty.”
“I’ve got money.”
“That helps. But it takes a lot to buy off prejudice — you dirty Smyrnian.”
“I’ll have a lot.”
“Well, I’ll look into the matter. But don’t ever you crawl up on your hind legs and bleat that I encouraged you in the matter. Who’s that?”
Mallow pulled the corners of his mouth down, and said, “Jorane Sutt himself, I think. He’s early, and I can understand it. I’ve been dodging him for a month. Look, Jael, get into the next room, and turn the speaker on low. I want you to listen.”
He helped the council member out of the room with a shove of his bare foot, then scrambled up and into a silk robe. The synthetic sunlight faded to normal power.
The secretary to the mayor entered stiffly, while the solemn major-domo tiptoed the door shut behind him.
Mallow fastened his belt and said, “Take your choice of chairs, Sutt.”
Sutt barely cracked a flicking smile. The chair he chose was comfortable but he did not relax into it. From its edge, he said, “If you’ll state your terms to begin with, we’ll get down to business.”
“What terms?”
“You wish to be coaxed? Well, then, what, for instance, did you do at Korell? Your report was incomplete.”
“I gave it to you months ago. You were satisfied then.”
“Yes,” Sutt rubbed his forehead thoughtfully with one finger, “but since then your activities have been significant. We know a good deal of what you’re doing, Mallow. We know, exactly, how many factories you’re putting up; in what a hurry you’re doing it; and how much it’s costing you. And there’s this palace you have,” he gazed about him with a cold lack of appreciation, “which set you back considerably more than my annual salary; and a swathe you’ve been cutting — a very considerable and expensive swathe — through the upper layers of Foundation society.”
“So? Beyond proving that you employ capable spies, what does it show?”
“It shows you have money you didn’t have a year ago. And that can show anything — for instance, that a good deal went on at Korell that we know nothing of. Where are you getting your money?”
“My dear Sutt, you can’t really expect me to tell you.”
“I don’t.”
“I didn’t think you did. That’s why I’m going to tell you. It’s straight from the treasure-chests of the Commdor of Korell.”
Sutt blinked.
Mallow smiled and continued, “Unfortunately for you, the money is quite legitimate. I’m a Master Trader and the money I received was a quantity of wrought iron and chromite in exchange for a number of trinkets I was able to supply him with. Fifty percent of the profit is mine by hidebound contract with the Foundation. The other half goes to the government at the end of the year when all good citizens pay their income tax.”