He sat back, thinking. Ways, means.
What weapons could he use?
He drew marks on a sheet of paper.
How could he attack?
Perhaps the law could assist him-somehow. Perhaps the ACP. But what statute did Mervyn Alien violate? There were no precedents. The Chateau d'lf sold adventure. If a customer bought a great deal more than he had bargained for, he had only himself to blame.
Money, money, money. It could not buy back his own body. He needed leverage, a weapon, pressure to apply.
He called the public information service, requested the file on "golasma." It was unknown.
He drew more marks, scribbled meaningless patterns, where was Mervyn Alien vulnerable? The Chateau d'lf, the Empyrean Tower. Once more he dialed into the public information service, requested the sequence on the Empyrean Tower. Typescript flashed across his screen.
The Empyrean Tower will be a multiple-function building at a site in Meadowlands. The highest level will be three miles above ground. The architects are Kubal Associates, Incorporated, of Lanchester. Foundation contracts have been let to Lourey and Lyble-"
Mario touched the shift button; the screen showed an architect's pencil sketch-a slender structure pushing through cloud layers into the clear blue sky. Mario touched the shift button.
Now came detailed information, as to the weight, cubic volume, comparison with the Pyramids, the Chilung Gorge Dam, the Skatterholm complex at Ronn, the Hawke Pylon, the World's Mart at Dar es Salaam.
Mario pushed at his communicator button. No answer. Still too early. Impatient now, he ordered coffee, drank two cups, pacing the office nervously.
At last a voice answered his signal. "When Mr. Correaos comes in, I'd like to speak to him."
Five minutes later Louis Correaos knocked at his door.
"Morning, Louis," said Mario.
"Good morning, Mr. Ebery," said Correaos with a tight guarded expression, as if expecting the worst
Mario said, "Louis, I want some advice ... have you ever heard of Kubal Associates, Incorporated? Architects?"
"No. Can't say as I have."
"I don't want to distract you from your work," said Mario, "but I want to acquire control of that company. Quietly. Secretly, even. I'd like you to make some quiet inquiries. Don't use my name. Buy up as much voting stock as is being offered. Go as high as you like, but get the stock. And don't use my name."
Correaos's face became a humorous mask, with a bitter twist to his mouth. "What am I supposed to use for money?"
Mario rubbed the flabby folds around his jaw. "Hm. There's no reserve fund, no bank balance?"
Correaos looked at him queerly.
"You should know."
Mario squinted off to the side. True, he should know. To Louis Correaos, this was Ralston Ebery sitting before him- the arbitrary, domineering Ralston Ebery. Mario said, "Check on how much we can raise, will you, Louis?"
Correaos said, "Just a minute." He left the room. He returned with a bit of paper.
"I've been figuring up retooling costs. We'll have to borrow. It's none of my business what you did with the fund."
Mario smiled grimly. "You'd never understand, Louis. And if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. Just forget it, It's gone."
"The South African agency sent a draft for a little over a million yesterday. That won't even touch retooling."
Mario made an impatient gesture. "We'll get a loan. Right now you've got a million. See how much of Kubal Associates you can buy."
Correaos left the room without a word. Mario muttered to himself, "Thinks I'm off my nut Figures he'll humor me...."
All morning Mario turned old files through his desk-screen, trying to catch the thread of Ebery's business. There was much evidence of Ebery's hasty plundering-the cashing of bonds, disposal of salable assets, transference of the depreciation funds into his personal account. But in spite of the pillaging, Ebery Air-car seemed financially sound. It held mortgages, franchises, contracts worth many times what cash Ebery had managed to clear.
Tiring of the files, he ordered more coffee, paced the floor. His mind turned to 19 Seafoam Place. He thought of the accusing eyes of Florence Ebery, the hostility of Luther and Ralston Jr. And Mario wished Ralston Ebery a place in hell. Ebery's family was no responsibility, no concern of his. He called Florence Ebery.
"Florence, I won't be living at home any more." He tried to speak kindly.
She said, "That's what I thought."
Mario said hurriedly, "I think that, by and large, you'd be better off with a divorce. I won't contest it; you can have as much money as you want"
She gave him a fathomless silent stare. "That's what I thought," she said again. The screen went dead.
Correaos returned shortly after lunch. It was warm, Correaos had walked the pedestrip, his face shone with perspiration.
He flung a carved black plastic folder on the desk, baring his teeth in a triumphant smile. "There it is. I don't t know what you want with it, but there it is. Fifty-two percent of the stock. I bought it off of old man, Kubal's nephew and a couple of the associates. Got 'Em at the right time; they were glad to sell. They don't like the way the business is going. Old man Kubal gives all his time to the Empyrean Tower, and he's not taking any fee for the work. Says the honor of the job is enough. The nephew doesn't dare to fight it out with old man Kubal, but he sure was glad to sell out. The same with Kohn and Cheever, the associates. The Empyrean Tower job doesn't even pay the office overhead."
"Uhm. How old is Kubal?"
"Must be about eighty. Lively old boy, full of vinegar."
Honor of the job! thought Mario. Rubbish! Old Kubal's fee would be a young body. Aloud he said, "Louis, have you ever seen Kubal?"
"No, he hardly shows his face around the office. He lines up the jobs, the engineering is done in the office."
"Louis," said Mario, "here's what I want you to do. Record the stock in your own name, give me an undated transfer, which we won't record. You'll legally control the firm. Call the office, get hold of the general manager. Tell him that you're sending me over. I'm just a friend of yours you owe a favor to. Tell him that I'm to be given complete and final authority over any job I decide to work on. Get it?"
Correaos eyed Mario as if he expected the fat body to explode into fire. "Anything you like. I suppose you know what you're doing."
Mario grinned ruefully. "I can't think of anything else to do. In the meantime, bring out your new model. You're in charge."
Mario dressed Ralston Ebery's body in modest blue, reported to the office of Kubal Associates, an entire floor in the Rothenburg Building. He asked the receptionist for the manager and was shown in to a tall man in the early forties with a delicate lemonish face. He had a freckled forehead, thin sandy hair, and he answered Mario's questions with sharpness and hostility.
"My name is Taussig... . No, I'm just the office manager. Kohn ran the draughting room, Cheever the engineering. They're both out. The office is a mess. I've been here twelve years."
Mario assured him that there was no intention of stepping in over him. "No, Mr. Taussig, you're in charge. I speak for the new control. You handle the office-general routine, all the new jobs-just as usual. Your title is general manager. I want to work on the Empyrean Tower-without any interference. I won't bother you, you won't bother me. Right? After the Empyrean Tower, I leave and the entire office is yours."
Taussig's face unwound from around the lines of suspicion. "There's not much going on except the Empyrean Tower. Naturally that's a tremendous job in itself. Bigger than any one man."
Mario remarked that he did not expect to draw up the entire job on his own bench, and Taussig's face tightened again, at the implied sarcasm. No, said Mario, he merely would be the top ranking authority on the job, subject only to the wishes of the builder.