The overlords of business and industry—and their scientists—knew nothing about overtones.
“So that's the way it is,” Lankey said. “You seem to have no notion of how lucky you were—how lucky we were. Denton should have made his move when he had a chance. Now we know what to expect, and when he finally wises up it'll be too late.”
“What could we do if he decided to put us out of business?”
“I have a few connections myself, Baque. They don't run in high society, like Denton, but they're every bit as dishonest, and Denton has a lot of enemies who'll be happy to back us. Said he could close me down in an hour, eh? Unfortunately there's not much we could do that would hurt Denton, but there's plenty we can do to keep him from hurting us.”
“I think we're going to hurt Denton,” Baque said.
Lankey moved over to the bar and came back with a tall glass of pink, foaming liquid. “Drink it,” he said. “You've had a long day, and you're getting delirious. How could we hurt Denton?”
“Visiscope depends on Coms. We'll show the people they can have entertainment without Coms. We'll make our motto NO COMS AT LANKEY'S!”
“Great,” Lankey drawled. “I invest a thousand in fancy new costumes for the girls—they can't wear those plastic things in our new place, you know—and you decide not to let them sing.”
“Certainly they're going to sing.”
Lankey leaned forward, caressing his nose. “And no Coms. Then what are they going to sing?”
“I took some lyrics out of an old school book my grandfather had. Back in those days they were called poems. I'm setting them to music. I was going to try them out here, but Denton might hear about it, and there's no use starting trouble before it's necessary.”
“No. Save all the trouble for the new place—after opening day we'll be important enough to be able to handle it. And you'll be on Morning with Marigold. Are you certain about this overtones business, Baque? You really could be projecting emotions, you know. Not that it makes any difference in the restaurant, but on visiscope—”
“I'm certain. How soon can we open?”
“I got three shifts remodeling the place. We'll seat twelve hundred and still have room for a nice dance floor. Should be ready in two weeks. Baque, I'm not sure this visiscope thing is wise.”
“I want to do it.”
Lankey went back to the bar and got a drink for himself. “All right. You do it. If your stuff comes over, all hell is going to break loose, and I might as well start getting ready for it.” He grinned. “Damned if it won't be good for business!”
Marigold Manning had changed her hair styling to a spiraled creation by Zann of Hong Kong, and she dallied for ten minutes in deciding which profile she would present to the cameras. Baque waited patiently, his awkward feeling wholly derived from the fact that his dress suit was the most expensive clothing he had ever owned. He kept telling himself to stop wondering if perhaps he really did project emotions.
“I'll have it this way,” Marigold said finally, waving a hand screen in front of her face for a last, searching look. “And you, Mr. Baque? What shall we do with you?”
“Just put me at the multichord,” Baque said.
“But you can't just play. You'll have to say something. I've been announcing this every day for a week, and we'll have the biggest audience in years, and you'll just have to say something.”
“Gladly,” Baque said, “if I can talk about Lankey's.”
“But of course, you silly man. That's why you're here. You talk about Lankey's, and I'll talk about Erlin Baque.”
“Five minutes,” a voice announced crisply.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I'm always so nervous just before.”
“Be happy you're not nervous during,” Baque said.
“That's so right. Jimmy makes fun of me, but it takes an artist to understand another artist. Do you get nervous?”
“When I'm playing, I'm much too busy.”
“That's just the way it is with me. Once my program starts, I'm much too busy.”
“Four minutes.”
“Oh, bother!” She seized the hand screen again. “Maybe I would be better the other way.”
Baque seated himself at the multichord. “You're perfect the way you are.”
“Do you really think so? It's a nice thing to say, anyway. I wonder if Jimmy will take the time to watch.”
“I'm sure he will.”
“Three minutes.”
Baque switched on the power and sounded a chord. Now he was nervous. He had no idea what he would play. He'd intentionally refrained from preparing anything because it was his improvisations that affected people so strangely. The one thing he had to avoid was the Sex Music. Lankey had been emphatic about that.
He lost himself in thought, failed to hear the final warning, and looked up startled at Marigold's cheerful, “Good morning, everyone. It's Morning with Marigold!”
Her bright voice wandered on and on. Erlin Baque. His career as a tunesmith. Her amazing discovery of him playing in the Lankey-Pank Out. She asked the engineers to run the Tamper Cheese Com. Finally she finished her remajks and risked the distortion of her lovely profile to glance in his direction. “Ladies and gentlemen, with admiration, with pride, with pleasure, I give you a Marigold Exclusive, Erlin Baque!”
Baque grinned nervously and tapped out a scale with one finger. “This is my first speech. Probably it'll be my last. The new restaurant opens tonight. Lankey's, on Broadway. Unfortunately I can't invite you to join us, because thanks to Miss Manning's generous comments this past week all space is reserved for the next two months. After that we'll be setting aside a limited number of reservations for visitors from distant places. Jet over and see us!
“You'll find something different at Lankey's. There is no visiscope screen. Maybe you've heard about that. We have attractive young ladies to sing for you. I play the multichord. We know you'll enjoy our music. We know you'll enjoy it because you'll hear no Coms at Lankey's. Remember that—no Coms at Lankey's. No soap with your soup. No air cars with your steaks. No shirts with your desserts. No Coms! Just good food, with good music played exclusively for your enjoyment—like this.”
He brought his hands down onto the keyboard.
Immediately he knew that something was wrong. He'd always had a throng of faces to watch, he'd paced his playing according to their reactions. Now he had only Miss Manning and the visiscope engineers, and he was suddenly apprehensive that his success had been wholly due to his audiences. People were listening throughout the Western Hemisphere. Would they clap and stomp, would they think awesomely, “So that's how music sounds without words, without Coms!” Or would they turn away in boredom?
Baque caught a glimpse of Marigold's pale face, of the engineers watching with mouths agape, and thought perhaps everything was all right. He lost himself in the music and played fervently.
He continued to play even after the pilot screen went blank. Miss Manning leaped to her feet and hurried toward him, and the engineers were moving about confusedly. Finally Baque brought his playing to a halt.
“We were cut off,” Miss Manning said tearfully. “Who would do such a thing to me? Never, never, in all the time I've been on visiscope—George, who cut us off?”
“Orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“My orders!” James Denton strode toward them, lips tight, face pale, eyes gleaming violence and sudden death. He spat words at Baque. “I don't know how you worked that trick, but no man fools James Denton more than once. Now you've made yourself a nuisance that has to be eliminated.”