The day after tomorrow he would definitely attend the Fireclown's "audience".
Very deliberately, the next morning, Alan concentrated his thoughts entirely on his job. By the time he arrived at his office in City Administration on North Top, he had turned his thoughts to the matter of elevator installation which the City Council had decided was necessary to speed up pedestrian flow between levels.
His Assistant Directorship was well earned, but he had to admit that having it was partly due to his family connections and the education which his grandfather had insisted on him having. But he was a hard and conscientious worker who got on well with his staff, and the Director seemed pleased with him. He had been doing the job for two years since he had left the university.
He spent the morning catching up on lost time until just before lunch when Carson, the Director, called him into his office.
Carson was a thin man with an unsavory appearance. He was much respected by those working under him. His chin, however, always looked as if he needed a shave and his swarthy face always appeared to need a wash. But this wasn't his fault. After a little time in his company the first impression of his unsavoriness vanished swiftly.
Carson said mildly: "Sit down, Alan. I wonder if you could leave the elevator matter for a while and turn it over to Sevlin to get on with. Something else has cropped up."
Powys sat down and watched Carson leaf through the papers on his desk. The Director finally selected one and handed it to him.
It was headed Low Level Project, and a glance told Alan it was the proposed plan to seal off the lower levels from the upper ones.
So Helen had been right in her thinking. Simon Powys did hold sufficient sway with the City Council to have his "suggestions" put into action.
Carson was staring at 'his own right thumb. He did not look up. "It will involve temporarily re-routing pedestrian traffic, of course, though to save trouble we could work at night. It would be worth paying the men double overtime to get it done as quickly as possible."
"With a minimum of fuss?" Alan said with an edge to his voice.
"Exactly."
"The Council hasn't announced this publicly, I presume?"
"There's no need to-no one lives in the lower levels any more. There will be emergency doors constructed, naturally, but these will be kept locked. It shouldn't bother anyone…"
"Except the Fireclown!" Alan was so furious that he found difficulty in controlling himself.
"Ah, yes. The Fireclown. I expect he'll find somewhere else to go. Probably he'll leave the City altogether. I suspect he's no real right to live there in the first place."
"But the newspapers, the laservid, the RLM-and therefore the main weight of public opinion-all regard the Fireclown in a favorable way. He has a good part of the world on his side. This isn't political dynamite-it's a political megabang!"
"Quite." Carson nodded, still regarding his thumb. "But we aren't concerned with politics, are we, Alan? This is just another job for us-a simple one. Let's get it over with."
Alan took the papers Carson handed him and got up. The director was right, but he could not help feeling personally involved.
"I'll get started after lunch," he promised. He went back to his office, put the papers in his confidential drawer, went to the roof of the C.A. building and took a cab across the spacious artificial countryside to the Top towards his grandfather's apartments, which lay close to the Solar House at South Top.
But when he got there he found only Junnar and another of his cousins-Helen's brother, Denholm Curtis.
Curtis dressed with challenging bad taste. His clothes were a deliberate attack, a weapon which he flaunted. They proclaimed him an iconoclast impatient of any accepted dogma whether reasonable or not. Above the striped and polka-dotted trappings draping his lean body was a firm, sensitive head-the heavy Powys head with calm eyes, hopeful, seeming to be aware of detail and yet disdainful of it.
Curds' eyes were fixed on the future.
"Hello, Denholm, how are you?" He and his cousin shook hands.
"Fine-and you?"
"Not bad. And how's the Thirty Five Group? Still bent on gingering up the mother party?"
Curtis led the radical wing of the Solref party. His group was small but vociferous and carried a certain amount of weight in the Solar House. Yet, though they stuck to the traditional party of the Powys family, he would have been much more at home in his sister's movement. But his interest was in changing the party to change the policy rather than splitting away from it and forming a fresh one.
Curtis hadn't replied to Alan's question. He glanced at the big wall-clock just as his grandfather came hurrying in through the side door.
"Grandfather." Alan stepped quickly forward but old Simon Powys shook his head.
"Sorry, Alan. I have to get to the Solar House immediately. Coming, Denholm?"
Curtis nodded and the two of them left the room almost at a run.
Something was in the air, Alan guessed, and it wasn't the closing down of the lower levels. This seemed much more important.
"What's going on, Junnar?"
The Negro looked slightly embarrassed as their eyes met, but he spoke coolly.
"They're calling on old Benjosef to resign."
Benjosef, a dedicated member of the Solrefs, was Solar President. His two terms of office had been popular but not particularly enlightened. He had not had much public support over the last year, partly because he was slow to agree on a policy of expansion and colonization involving Mars and Ganymede.
"On what issue?"
"The planets. Ganymede and Mars are ready for settlers. There are businessmen willing to invest in them, ships ready to take them-but Benjosef is reluctant to pursue a policy of expansion because he says we haven't a sufficiently good organization for controlling it yet. He wants to wait another ten years to build up such an organization, but everyone else is impatient to get started. You know the story…"
"I know it," Alan agreed.
The projects to make the two planets inhabitable and fertile had been started over a hundred years previously and it had been hard enough holding private enterprise and would-be settlers back before they were ready. Benjosef had been foolish to take a stand on the issue, but he had done what he thought was right and his conviction now seemed likely to topple him.
"What are his chances of staying in power for the rest of his term?" Alan asked curiously.
"Bad. Minister Powys and the majority of Solrefs have to stand by him, of course, but Mr. Curtis and his group have sided with the RLMs. The other parties are fairly equally divided between both sides, but Mr. Curtis' support should give the vote against the President."
Once again Alan was glad he had decided to have no part of politics. Even his just and stern old grandfather was going to behave like a hypocrite, giving a vote of confidence for Benjosef while encouraging Curtis to vote against him.
He decided that there wasn't much he could do, since everyone would be at the Solar House, including, of course, Helen. The current session ended in two weeks and the next President would have to be elected during the recession. Probably, he thought ironically, both the main runners had their machines all geared for action.
"You'll be kept pretty busy from now on, I should think," he said to Junnar. The Negro nodded, and Alan continued: "What were you doing in the lower levels last night?"
"Keeping an eye on the Fireclown," Junnar said shortly.
"For Grandfather?"
"Yes, of course."
"Why is he so malevolent toward the Fireclown? He seems harmless to me. Has grandfather any special knowledge that the public doesn't have?" Alan was only partly interested in what he himself was saying. The other half of his mind was wondering about the elections-and Helen.
Junnar shook his head. "I don't think so. It's a question of your point of view.