Mario said, "Can you conjecture how I plan to profit from these circumstances?"
Correaos's eyes were like poker chips; his mouth contracted, tightened, pursed to an O. He was thinking. After a moment he said, "You sold our steel plant to Jones and Cahill, our patent on the ride stabilizer to Bluecraft." He gazed narrowly askance at Mario. "It sounds like you're doing what you swore you'd never do. Bring out a new model that would fly."
"How do you like the idea?" asked Mario, looking wise.
Louis Correaos stammered, "Why, Mr. Ebery, this is-fantastic! You asking me what I think! I'm your yes-man. That's what you're paying me for. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it."
"You haven't been yessing me today," said Ebery. "You told me I was crazy."
"Well," stammered Correaos, "I didn't see your idea. It's what I'd like to have done long ago. Put in a new transformer, pull off all that ormolu, use plancheen instead of steel, simplify, simplify-"
"Louis," said Mario, "make the announcement. Start the works rolling. You're in charge. I'll back up anything you want done."
Louis Correaos's face was a drained mask.
"Make your salary anything you want," said Mario. "I've got some new projects I'm going to be busy on. I want you to run the business. You're the boss. Can you handle it?"
"Yes. I can."
"Do it your own way. Bring out a new model that'll beat everything in the field. I'll check on the final set-up, but until then, you're the boss. Right now-clean up all this detail." He pointed to the file of correspondence. "Take it to your office."
Correaos impulsively rushed up, shook Mario's hand. 'I'll do the best I can." He left the room.
Mario said into the communicator, "Get me the African Federal Bank... . "Hello-" to the girl's face on the screen. "-this is Ralston Ebery. Please check on my personal balance."
After a moment she said, "It's down to twelve hundred dollars, Mr. Ebery. Your last withdrawal almost wiped out your balance."
"Thank you," said Mario. He settled the thick body of Ralston Ebery into the chair, and became aware of a great cavernous growling in his abdomen. Ralston Ebery was hungry.
Mario grinned a ghastly sour grin. He called food service. "Send up a chopped olive sandwich, celery, a glass of skim milk."
CHAPTER V
An Understanding
During the afternoon he became aware of an ordeal he could no longer ignore: acquainting himself with Ralston Ebery's family, his home life. It could not be a happy one. No happy husband and father would leave his wife and children at the mercy of a stranger. It was the act of hate, rather than love.
A group photograph stood on the desk-a picture inconspicuously placed, as if it were there on sufferance. This was his family. Florence Ebery was a frail woman, filmy, timid, over-dressed, and her face peering out from under a preposterous hat, wore the patient perplexed expression of a family pet dressed in doll clothes-somehow pathetic.
Luther and Ralston Jr. were stocky young men with set mulish faces, Clydia a full-cheeked creature with a petulant mouth.
At three o'clock Mario finally summoned up his courage, called Ebery's home on the screen, had Florence Ebery put on. She said in a thin distant voice, "Yes, Ralston."
"I'll be home this evening, dear." Mario added the last word with conscious effort.
She wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips and her eyes shone as if she were about to cry. "You don't even tell me where you've been."
Mario said, "Florence-frankly. Would you say I've been a good husband?"
She blinked defiantly at him. "I've no complaints. I've never complained." The pitch of her voice hinted that this perhaps was not literally true. Probably had reason, thought Mario.
"No, I want the truth, Florence."
"You've given me all the money I wanted. You've humiliated me a thousand tunes-snubbed me, made me a laughing stock for the children."
Mario said, "Well, I'm sorry, Florence." He could not vow affection. He felt sorry for Florence-Ebery's wife-but she was Ralston Ebery's wife, not his own. One of Ralston Ebery's victims. "See you this evening," he said lamely, and switched off.
He sat back. Think, think, think. There must be a way out or was this to be his life, his end, in this corpulent unhealthy body? Mario laughed suddenly. If ten million dollars bought Ralston Ebery a new body-presumably his own-then ten million more of Ralston Ebery's dollars might buy the body back. For money spoke a clear loud language to Mervyn Alien. Humiliating, a nauseous obsequious act, a kissing of the foot which kicked you, a submission, an acquiescence-but it was either this or wear the form of Ralston Ebery.
Mario stood up, walked to the window, stepped out on the landing plat, signaled down an aircab.
Ten minutes later he stood at 5600 Exmoor Avenue in Meadowlands, the Chateau d'lf. A gardener clipping the hedges eyed him with distrust. He strode up the driveway, pressed the button.
There was, as before, a short wait, the unseen scrutiny of spy cells. The sun shone warm on his back, to his ears came the shirrrrr of the gardener's clippers.
The door opened.
"Please come in," said the soft commercial voice.
Down the hall, into the green and brown reception room with the painting of the three stark nudes before the olden forest.
The girl of fabulous beauty entered; Mario gazed again into the wide clear eyes which led to some strange brain. Whose brain? Mario wondered. Of man or woman?
No longer did Mario feel the urge to excite her, arouse her. She was unnatural, a thing.
"What do you wish?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Alien."
"On what business?"
"Ah, you know me?"
"On what business?"
"You're a money-making concern, are you not?"
"Yes."
"My business means money."
"Please be seated." She turned; Mario watched the slim body in retreat. She walked lightly, gracefully, in low elastic slippers. He became aware of Ebery's body. The old goat's glands were active enough. Mario fought down the wincing nausea.
The girl returned. "Follow me, please."
Mervyn Alien received him with affability, though not going so far as to shake hands.
"Hello, Mr. Mario. I rather expected you. Sit down. How's everything going? Enjoying yourself?"
"Not particularly. I'll agree that you've provided me with a very stimulating adventure. And indeed-now that I think back-nowhere have you made false representations."
Alien smiled a cool brief smile. And Mario wondered whose brain this beautiful body surrounded.
"Your attitude is unusually philosophical," said Alien. "Most of our customers do not realize that we give them exactly what they pay for. The essence of adventure is surprise, danger, and an outcome dependent upon one's own efforts."
"No question," remarked Mario, "that is precisely what you offer. But don't mistake me. If I pretended friendship, I would not be sincere. In spite of any rational processes, I feel a strong resentment. I would kill you without sorrow-even though, as you will point out, I brought the whole matter on myself."
"Exactly."
"Aside from my own feelings, we have a certain community of interests, which I wish to exploit. You want money, I want my own body. I came to inquire by what circumstances our desires could both be satisfied."
Alien's face was joyous, he laughed delightedly. "Mario, you amuse me. I've heard many propositions, but none quite so formal, so elegant. Yes, I want money. You want the body you have become accustomed to. I'm sorry to say that your old body is now the property of someone else, and I doubt if he'd be persuaded to surrender it. But - I can sell you another body, healthy, handsome, young, for our usual fee. Ten million dollars. For thirty million I'll give you the widest possible choice - a body like mine, for instance. The Empyrean Tower is an exceedingly expensive project."