Rumor circulates that Miss Curtis and Minister Powys' grandson, Alan Powys, have disappeared together. Strange that two people who were seen publicly fighting in the recent riots should have teamed up."
Shot of Simon Powys in his home, a smug expression on his powerful old face.
Reporter: "Minister Powys, you were the first to discover the bomb plot. How did it happen?"
Powys: "I suspected the Fireclown from the start. I don't blame people for being duped by his talk-we're all human, after all-but a responsible politician has to look below the surface…"
Reporter (murmuring): "And we're all very grateful."
"I made sure that a constant check was kept on his activities," Simon Powys continued, "and thus was able to avert what might have been a terrible crime-the ultimate crime, one might say. Even now the threat of this man still trying to bombard the Earth from some secret hiding place is enormous. We must be wary. We must take steps to ensure his capture or, failing that, ensure our own defense."
"Quite so. Thank you, Minister Powys."
"Everything's calm again in Swiss City," announced the newscaster as he faded in, "and we're back to normal after the riots and subsequent fire which swept sixteen levels yesterday. The Fireclown's victims number over three hundred men, women-and little children. We were all duped, folks, as Minister Powys has pointed out. But we'll know better next time, won't we? The freak hysteria has died as swiftly as it blew up. But now we're watching the skies-for the search for the Fireclown seems to prove that he has left Earth and may now be hiding out on Mars or Ganymede. If he's got bombs up there, too,-we must be ready for him!"
Although angered, Alan was also amused by the laser-caster's double-thinking ability. He, like the rest, had done a quick about-face and now Simon Powys, ex-villain and victimizer, was the hero of the hour.
But the hysteria, he realized, had not, in fact, died down. It had taken a different turn. Now there was a bomb scare. Though he hadn't planned it that way, Alan thought, Simon Powys could easily be falling into the arms syndicate's plot, for this scare was just what they needed to start trouble. As soon as he got the chance he was going to tell the police about Bias and the Dorchester-or else go there himself and confront the arms dealer.
He didn't bother to watch the lasercast but turned to Helen.
"We'd better try to get the Fireclown to let us go as soon as possible," he said worriedly. "There're things to be done on Earth."
"Apart from anything else," she pointed out, "I've got an election to fight!"
A chuckle behind her, full-throated and full of humor, made her turn and look up at the Fireclown's gaudy bulk filling the doorway.
"You are persistent, Miss Curtis. Even a journey into the heart of the sun does nothing to change your mind. You'll be pleased to hear that we are leaving very soon and you'll be able to return to Earth. But first…" He looked directly at Alan, stared into his eyes so that Alan felt a strange thrill run through him, partly fear, partly joy. There was no doubt that the Fireclown's magnetism was something apart from his strange ideas. "I must talk with you, Alan Powys- alone. Will you follow me?"
Alan followed. They entered a room decorated with marvelous oil paintings, all of them depicting the sun seen in different ways.
"Did you do these?" Alan was impressed as the Fire-clown nodded. "You could have put more across to the public by displaying them than with all that talking you did," he said.
"I didn't think of it. These are private." The Fireclown indicated a metal bench for Alan to sit on. "No one comes here but me. You are the first."
"I feel honored," Alan said ironically. "But why me?"
The Fireclown's huge chest heaved as he took an enormous breath. "Because you and I have something in common," he said.
Alan smiled, but kindly. "I should say that extremely unlikely judging by our earlier conversations."
"I don't mean ideas." The Fireclown moved about-like a caged lion. There was no other analogy to describe his restless pacing, Alan thought. "I regret that I’ve been unable to convince you. I regret it deeply, for I am not normally given to regretting anything, you know. What happens, happens-that is all. I should have said we have someone in common."
"Who?" Alan was half dazed already, for he thought he knew what the Fireclown was going to say.
"Your mother," grunted the Fireclown. The words took time coming out of this man, normally so verbose.
"You are my son, Alan."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"MY father…" Alan groped for words, failed, became silent.
The Fireclown spread his large hands, his painted fool's face incongruous now.
"I was, in spite of anything you may have heard, much in love with your mother.
We planned to marry, though Simon Powys wouldn't hear of it. I was a common space-pilot and she was Miriam Powys. That was before we could find the courage to tell him you were going to be born. We never did tell him-not together, anyway."
"What happened?" Alan spoke harshly, his heart thumping with almost overwhelming emotion.
"I got sent on a secret project. I couldn't avoid it. I thought it would only last a couple of months but it kept me away for nearly two years. When I got back Simon Powys wouldn't let me near you-and your mother was dead. Powys said she'd died of shame. I sometimes think he shamed her into dying." The Fireclown broke into a laugh but, unlike his earlier laughter, this was bitter and full of melancholy.
Alan stood up, his body taut.
"What's your real name? What did you do? What did my grandfather say?"
The Fireclown ceased his laughter and shrugged his great shoulders.
"My real name-Emmanuel Blumenthal-Manny Bloom to my friends…"
"And fans," Alan said softly, remembering a book he'd had confiscated as a child. His grandfather had, meaninglessly he'd thought, taken it from him with no explanation. The book had been called Heroes of Space. "Manny Bloom, test pilot of the Tearaway, captain of the Saturn Expedition. That was the secret project, wasn't it? Savior of Venus Satellite Seven."
"Co-pilot of the Solstar…" The Fireclown added.
"That's right-the Solstar, an experimental ship. It was supposed to have gone off course and crashed into the sun. You were reported dead."
"But a Martian freighter, carrying contraband so that it dare not notify the authorities or land in an official port, rescued us."
"Corso told me. That was ten years ago, as I remember. Why have you never contacted me? Why didn't you get custody of me when you came back from Saturn and found my mother was dead?"
"Simon Powys threatened to ruin me if I went near you. I was-heartbroken.
Heartbroken-yes-but I reckoned you'd have a better chance than any I could give you."
"I wonder," Alan said gloomily. "A kid would have been happy just knowing his father was Manny Bloom-Commander Manny Bloom, frontiersman of space!" The last phrase held a hint of irony.
"I wasn't like the stories, though I thought I was when younger. I loved my own legend then, had it in mind nearly all the time. I wasn't naturally brave. But people behave as other people expect them to-I acted brave."
"And now you're the Fireclown, shouting and raving against intelligence-championing mindless consciousness-with your fingerprints burned off, I suppose, and no records of who you really are. That's part of the general mystery solved, anyway. And part of my own-the main part."
"And now you know I’m your father, what will you do?"
"What can the knowledge possibly affect?" Alan said sadly.
"Your subconscious." The Fireclown grinned, half enjoying a private joke against his son.
"Yes, that, I suppose." He sighed. "What are you going to do?"