“Thanks,” he mumbled, and at once rang off. God, if the UN legal division had monitored the call… because Impy White, operating out of Mars, was a top pusher of Can-D.
With great reluctance he called the number.
Small-faced and sharp-eyed, pretty in a short sort of way, Impy White obtained on the vidscreen. He had imagined her as much more brawny; she looked quite bantamlike, but fierce, though. “Mr. Bulero, as soon as I say it—”
“There’s no other way? No channels?” A method existed by which Conner Freeman, chief of the Venusian operation, could contact him. Miss White could have worked through Freeman, her superior.
“I visited a hovel, Mr. Bulero, at the south of Mars this morning with a shipment. The hovelists declined. On the grounds they had spent all their skins for a new product. In the same class as—what we sell. Chew-Z.” She went on, “And—”
Leo Bulero rang off. And sat shakily in silence, thinking.
I’ve got to not get rattled, he told himself. After all, I’m an evolved human variety. So this is it; this is that Boston firm’s new product. Derived from Eldritch’s lichen; I have to assume that. He’s lying there on his hospital bed not a mile from me, giving the orders no doubt through Zoe, and there’s not a fligging thing I can do. The operation is all set up and functioning. I’m already too late. Even this thing in my tongue, he realized. It’s futile, now.
But I’ll think of something, he knew. I always do.
This was not the end of P. P. Layouts, exactly.
The only thing was, what could he do? It eluded him, and this did not decrease his sweaty, nervous alarm.
Come to me, artificially accelerated cortical-development idea, he said in prayer. God help me to overcome my enemies, the bastards. Maybe if I make use of my Pre-Fash precogs, Roni Fugate and Barney… maybe they can come up with something. Especially that old pro Barney; he hasn’t been brought in on this at all, as yet.
Once more he placed a vidcall to P. P. Layouts back on Terra. This time he requested Barney Mayerson’s department.
And then he remembered Barney’s problem with the draft, his need of developing an inability to endure stress, in order not to wind up in a hovel on Mars.
Grimly, Leo Bulero thought, I’ll provide that proof; for him the danger of being drafted is already over.
When the call came from Leo Bulero on Ganymede, Barney Mayerson was alone in his office.
The conversation did not last long; when he had hung up he glanced at his watch, and marveled. Five minutes. It had seemed a major interval in his life.
Rising, he touched the button of his intercom and said, “Don’t let anyone in for a while. Not even—especially not even—Miss Fugate.” He walked to the window and stood gazing out at the hot, bright, empty street.
Leo was dumping the entire problem in his lap. It was the first time he had seen his employer collapse; imagine, he thought, Leo Bulero baffled—by the first competition that he had ever experienced. He very simply was not used to it. The new Boston company’s existence had totally, for the time being, disoriented him; the man became the child.
Eventually Leo would snap out of it, but meanwhile– what can I get from this? Barney Mayerson asked himself, and did not immediately see any answer. I can help Leo… but exactly what can Leo do for me? That was a question more to his liking. In fact he had to think of it that way; Leo himself had taught him to, over the years. His employer would not have wanted it any other way.
For a time he sat meditating and then, as Leo had directed, he turned his attention to the future. And while he was at it he poked once more into his own draft situation; he tried to see precisely how that would finally resolve itself.
But the topic of his being drafted was too small, too much an iota, to be recorded in the public annals of the great; he could scan no homeopape headlines, hear no newscasts… in Leo’s case, however, it was something else again. Because he previewed a number of ‘pape lead articles pertaining to Leo and Palmer Eldritch. Everything of course was blurred, and alternates presented themselves in a chaos of profusion. Leo would meet Eldritch; Leo would not. And—at this he focused intently– Leo arraigned for the murder of Palmer Eldritch; good lord, what did that mean?
It meant, he discovered from closer scrutiny, just what it said. And if Leo were arrested, tried, and sentenced, it might mean the termination of P. P. Layouts as a salary-paying enterprise. Hence the end of a career to which he had already sacrificed everything else in his life, his marriage and the woman he—even now!–loved.
Obviously it was to his advantage, a necessity in fact, to warn Leo. And yet even this datum could be turned to advantage.
He phoned Leo back. “I have your news.”
“Good.” Leo beamed, his florid, elongated, rind-topped face suffused with relief. “Go ahead, Barney.”
Barney said, “There will soon be a situation which you can exploit. You can get in to see Palmer Eldritch—not there at the hospital but elsewhere. He’ll be removed from Ganymede by his own order.” He added with caution, not wanting to give away too much of the data he had collected, “There’ll be a falling-out between him and the UN; he’s using them now, while he’s incapacitated, to protect him. But when he’s well—”
“Details,” Leo said at once, cocking his big head alertly.
“There is something I’d like in exchange.”
“For what?” Leo’s palpably evolved face clouded.
Barney said, “In exchange for my telling you the exact date and locus at which you can successfully reach Palmer Eldritch.”
Grumbling, Leo said, “And what d’ya want, for chrissakes?” He eyed Barney apprehensively; E Therapy had not brought tranquillity.
“One quarter of one percent of your gross. Of P. P. Layout’s… not including revenue from any other source.” Meaning the plantation network on Venus where Can-D was obtained.
“Good food in heaven,” Leo said, and breathed raggedly.
“There’s more.”
“What more? I mean, you’ll be rich!”
“And I want a restructuring of your use of Pre-Fash consultants. Each will stay at his post, nominally handle the job he has now, but with this alteration. All their decisions will be referred to me for final review; I’ll have the ultimate say-so on their determinations. So I no longer will represent any one region; you can turn New York over to Roni as soon as—”
“Power hungry,” Leo said in a grating voice.
Barney shrugged. Who cared what it was called? It represented the culmination of his career; this was what counted. And they were all in it for this, Leo included. In fact Leo first of all.
“Okay,” Leo said, nodding. “You can ride herd on all the other Pre-Fash consultants; it doesn’t mean anything to me. Now tell me how and when and where—”
“You can meet Palmer Eldritch in three days. One of his own ships, unmarked, will take him off Ganymede the day after tomorrow, to his demesne on Luna; there he’ll continue to recuperate, but no longer in UN territory. Frank Santina won’t have any more authority in this matter so you can forget about him. On the twenty-third at his demesne Eldritch will meet ‘pape reporters, and give them his version of what took place on his trip; he’ll be in a good mood—at least so they’ll report. Apparently healthy, glad to be back, recovering satisfactorily… he’ll give a long story about—”
“Just tell me how to get in. There’ll still be a security system by his own boys.”
Barney said, “P. P. Layouts—get this—puts out a trade journal four times a year. The Mind of Minning. It’s such a small-scale operation you probably don’t even know it exists.”