‘Today,' Karp said in a brisk, harsh staccato, ‘the government let the simulacrum contract to Herr Frauenzimmer. We have studied the situation and our response is dictated by circumstances themselves. Because of this order, Frauenzimmer will expand; he will take on new employees. I want you, through your brother, to go to work for them, as soon as you can arrange it. Possibly today.'
Vince stared at him.
‘What's the matter?' Karp said.
‘I'm -- surprised,' Vince managed to say.
‘As soon as Frauenzimmer's taken you on, inform me direct; don't talk to anyone else but me.' Karp paced about the large carpeted room, scratching his nose vigorously.
‘We'll tell you what to do next. That's all for now, Herr Strikerock.'
‘Does it matter what I do there?' Vince asked weakly. ‘I mean, is it important exactly what my job is?'
‘No,' Karp said.
Vince left the suite; the door at once slid shut after him.
He stood alone in the corridor, trying to reassemble his scattered, disorganized faculties. My god, he thought. They want me to throw my sabots into Frauenzimmer's assembly line; I know it. Sabotage or spying, one or the other; anyhow something illegal, something that'll bring the NP down on me -- me, not the Karps.
My own brother's outfit, too, he said to himself.
He felt utterly impotent. They could make him do anything they wanted; all the Karps had to do was lift their little finger.
And I'll give in, he realized.
He returned to his own office, shakily seated himself with the door shut; alone, he sat silently at his desk, smoking an ersatz-tobacco cigar and pondering. His hands, he discovered, were numb.
I've got to get out of here, he told himself. I'm not goingto be a petty, minuscule, cipher-type minion for the KarpWerke -- it'll kill me.
He crushed his non-tobacco cigar out.
Where can I go? He asked himself.
Where? I need help.
Who can I get it from? There was that doctor. That he and Chic had been going to see.
Picking up the phone he signalled Karp's switchboard operator. ‘Get me Dr Egon Superb,' he instructed her, ‘that one analyst that's left.'
After that he sat miserably at his desk, the phone against his ear. Waiting.
Nicole Thibodeaux thought, I've got too much to do. I'm attempting to conduct delicate, tricky negotiations with Hermann Goering, I've instructed Garth McRae to let the new der Alte contract to a small firm and not to Karp, I have to decide what to do if Richard Kongrosian is ever found again, there's the McPhearson Act and that last analyst, Dr Superb, and now this. Now the NP's hasty decision -- made without even attempting to consult me or notify me in advance -- to move in on Loony Luke's jalopy lots in dead earnest.
Unhappily, she studied the police order which had gone out to every NP unit throughout the USEA.
This isn't in our interest, she decided. I can't afford to attack Luke because I simply can't get at him. We'll only look absurd.
And -- we'll look like a totalitarian society. Kept in existence only by our enormous military and police establishments.
Glancing up swiftly at Wilder Pembroke, Nicole said, ‘Have you actually found the lot, yet? The one in San Francisco where you can imagine -- merely imagine -- Richard is?'
‘No. We haven't found it yet.' Pembroke mopped his forehead nervously; quite clearly he was under heavy strain.
‘If there had been time of course I would have consulted you. But once he takes off for Mars -- ‘
‘Better to lose him than to move prematurely against Luke!' She had a good deal of respect for Luke; she had known him, and his operations, for a good long time. She had seen him easily evade the City Police.
‘I have an interesting report from the Karp Werke.' Obviously Pembroke was now desperately trying to switch the topic under discussion. ‘They've decided to penetrate the Frauenzimmer organization in order to -- ‘
‘Later.' Nicole scowled at him. ‘You know now you've made a mistake. Really, down underneath, I enjoy those jalopy jungles; they're amusing. You simply can't fathom that; you've got a cop's mind. Call your San Francisco unit and tell them to release the lot if they've found it. And if they haven't found it, tell them to give up. Bring them back in and forget about it; when the time arrives to proceed against Luke I'll tell you.'
‘Harold Slezak agreed -- ‘
‘Slezak doesn't make policy. I'm surprised you didn't get Rudi Kalbfleisch's approval on this. That would have been even more like you NP people. I really don't like you, I find you unsavoury.' She stared at him until he shrank back.
‘Well?' she said. ‘Say something.'
With dignity, Pembroke said, ‘They haven't found the lot, so no harm has been done.' He flicked on his com system.
‘Give up on the lots,' he said into it. At this moment he did not look very imposing; he was still perspiring freely.
‘Forget the whole damn thing. Yes, that's right.' He clicked the system off and raised his head to face Nicole.
‘You should be busted,' Nicole said.
‘Anything else, Mrs Thibodeaux?' Pembroke's voice was wooden.
‘No. Scram.'
Pembroke with measured, stiff steps, departed.
Looking at her wristwatch, Nicole saw that the time was eight P.M. And what had been planned for this evening? Shortly she would be going on TV with another Visit to the White House, the seventy-fifth of the year. Had Janet lined up anything and if so had Slezak managed to bumble through to an adequate schedule? Probably not.
She walked through the White House to Janet Raimer's tidy office. ‘Do you have anything spectacular coming along?' she demanded.
Rattling her notes, Janet frowned and said. ‘One act I'd call truly astonishing -- a jug act. Classical. Duncan & Miller; I watched them at The Abraham Lincoln and they're terrific.' She smiled hopefully.
Nicole groaned.
‘They really are quite good.' Janet's voice was insistent, now. Commanding. ‘It's relaxing: I'd like you to please give it a try. That's either for tonight or tomorrow, I'm not certain which Slezak scheduled it for.'
‘Jug acts,' Nicole said. ‘We've gone from Richard Kongrosian to that. I'm beginning to think we should let Bertold Goltz take over. And to think that in the Days of Barbarism they had Kirsten Flagstad to entertain them.'
‘Maybe things will pick up when the next der Alte takes office,' Janet said.
Regarding her keenly, Nicole said, ‘How is it that you know about that?'
‘Everybody in the White House is talking about it. Anyhow,' Janet Raimer bristled, ‘I'm a Ge.'
‘How wonderful,' Nicole said sardonically. ‘Then you must lead a truly delightful life.'
‘May I ask what this next der Alte will be like?'
‘Old,' Nicole said. Old and tired, she thought to herself. A worn-out stringbean, stiff and formal, full of moralizing speeches; a real leader type who can drum obedience into the Be masses. Who can keep the system creaking along a while longer. And, according to the von Lessinger technicians he will be the final der Alte.
At least, most likely.
And they are not certain quite why. We seem to have a chance but it is a small one. Time, and the dialectic forces of history are on the side of -- the worst creature possible. That vulgar buttinski, Bertold Goltz.
However, the future was not fixed and there was always room for the unexpected, the improbable; everyone who had handled von Lessinger equipment understood that ... time travel was still merely an art, not an exact science.
‘He will be called,' Nicole said, ‘Dieter Hogben.'
Janet giggled. ‘Oh no, not actually "Dieter Hogben", or is it "Hogbein"? What in the world are you trying to achieve?'