Vorst made use of the interval to flood his body with stimulants. He was tingling, palpitating with vigor by the time his reply was due. He said, “David, I own you. I made you and I want you. I put you to sleep in 2090 when you were nothing, an upstart, and I brought you back to life in 2152 and gave you a world. You owe me everything. Now I’m calling in that obligation. I’ve been waiting a hundred years to reach this position. You people finally have the espers who can send my people to the stars. Whatever the personal cost at your end, I want you to send them.”
The strain of that speech left Vorst dizzy with fatigue. But he had time to recover. Time to think, to wait for the reply. He had made his gamble, and now it was up to Lazarus. Vorst did not have many cards left to play.
The blue-faced figure in the screen was motionless; Vorst’s words had not even reached Venus yet. Lazarus’s reply was a long time in coming.
He said, “I didn’t think you’d be so blunt, Vorst. Why should I be grateful to you for reviving me, when you jammed me into that hole in the first place? Oh, I know. Because my movement was insignificant when you took me away from it and a major force when you brought me back. Do you take credit for that too?” A pause. “Never mind. I don’t want to give you my espers. Breed your own, if you want to get to the stars.”
“You’re talking foolishness. You want the stars, too, David. But you don’t have the technical facilities, up there in the backwoods, to equip an expedition. I do. Let’s join forces. It’s what you your-self want to do, no matter how tough you talk now. Let me tell you what’s holding you back from agreeing to join me, David. You’re afraid of what your own people will do to you when they find out you’ve agreed to cooperate. They’ll say you’ve sold out to the Vorsters. You’re frozen in a position you don’t believe, just because you don’t have real independence. Assert yourself, David. Use your powers. I put that planet into your hands. Now I want you to repay me.”
“How can I go to Mondschein and Martell and the others and tell them that I’ve meekly agreed to submit to you?” Lazarus asked. “They’re restless enough at having had a resurrected martyr slapped down on top of them. There are times when I expect them to martyr me again, and this time for good. I need a bargaining point.”
Vorst smiled. Victory was in his grasp now. He said, “Tell them, David. that I offer you supreme authority over both worlds. Tell them that the Brotherhood not only will welcome the Harmonists back, but that you’ll be made the sole head of both branches of the faith.”
“Both?”
“Both.”
“And what becomes of you?”
Vorst told him. And once the words were past his lips, the Founder sank back, limp with relief, knowing that he had made the final move in a game a century old, and that it had all come out in the right way.
five
Reynolds Kirby was with his therapist when the summons came to go to Vorst. The Hemispheric Coordinator lay in a nutrient bath, an adapted Nothing Chamber whose purpose was not oblivion but revivification. If Kirby had chosen to escape into temporary nothingness, he could have sealed himself off from the universe and entered complete suspension. He had long since outgrown the need for such amusements, though. Now he was content to loll in the nutrient bath, restoring the vital substances after a fatiguing day, while an esper therapist combed the snags from his soul.
Ordinarily, Kirby did not tolerate interruptions of such sessions. At his age he needed all the peace he could get. He had been born too early to share the quasi-immortality of the younger generations; his body could not snap back to vitality the way a twenty-second-century man’s body could, for he had not had the benefit of a century of Vorster research when he was born. There was one exception to Kirby’s rule, however: a summons from Vorst took precedence over everything, even a session of needed therapy.
The therapist knew it. Deftly he brought the session to a premature close and fortified Kirby for his return to the tensions of the world. In less than half an hour the Coordinator was on his way to the white dome-roofed building where Vorst made his headquarters.
Vorst looked shaky. Kirby had never seen the Founder look so drained of strength. The vault of Vorst’s forehead was like the roof of a skull, and the dark eyes blazed with a peculiarly dis-comfiting intensity. A low pumping sound was evident in the room: Vorst’s machinery, feeding strength to the ancient body. Kirby took the seat toward which Vorst beckoned him. Strong fingers in the upholstery grasped him and began to knead the tension out of him.
Vorst said, “I’ll be calling a council meeting in a little while to ratify the steps I’ve just taken. But before the entire group gathers. I want to discuss things with you, run them through once or twice.”
Kirby’s expression was guarded. After decades with Vorst, he could supply an instant translation: I’ve done something authoritarian, Vorst was saying, and I’m going to call in everybody to rubber-stamp an okay on it, but first I’m going to force a rubber-stamping out of you. Kirby was prepared to acquiesce in what-ever Vorst had done. He was not a weak man by nature, but one did not dispute the doings of Vorst. The last one who had seriously attempted to try was Lazarus, who had slept in a box on Mars for sixty years as a result.
Into Kirby’s wary silence Vorst murmured, “I’ve talked to Lazarus and closed the deal. He’s agreed to supply us with pushers, as many as we need. It’s possible we’ll have an interstellar expedition on its way by the end of the year.”
“I feel a little numb at that, Noel.”
“Anticlimactic, isn’t it? For a hundred years you move an inch at a time toward that goal, and suddenly you find yourself staring at the finish line, and the thrill of pursuit becomes the boredom of accomplishment.”
“We haven’t landed that expedition on another solar system yet,” Kirby reminded the Founder quietly.
“We will We will. That’s beyond doubt. We’re at the finish line now. Capodimonte’s already running personnel checks for the expedition. We’ll be outfitting the capsule soon. Lazarus’s bunch will cooperate, and off we’ll go. That much is certain.”
“How did you get him to agree, Noel?”
“By showing him how it will be after the expedition has set out. Tell me, have you given much thought to the goals of the Brotherhood once we’ve sent that first expedition?”
Kirby hesitated. “Well—sending more expeditions, I guess. And consolidating our position. Continuing the medical research. Carrying on with all our current work.”
“Exactly. A long smooth slide toward utopia. No longer an uphill climb. That’s why I won’t stay around to run things any longer.”
“What?”
“I’m going on the expedition,” Vorst said.
If Vorst had ripped off one of his limbs and clubbed him to the floor with it, Kirby would not have been more amazed. The Founder’s words hit him with an almost physical jolt, making him recoil. Kirby seized the arms of his chair, and in response the chair seized him, cradling him gently until his spasm of shock abated.
“You’re going?” Kirby blurted. “No. No. It’s beyond belief, Noel. It’s madness.”
“My mind’s made up. My work on Earth is done. I’ve guided the Brotherhood for a century, and that’s long enough. I’ve seen it take control of Earth, and by proxy I have Venus, too, and I have the cooperation if not exactly the support of the Martians. I’ve done all I’ve intended to do here. With the departure of the first interstellar expedition, I will have fulfilled what I’ll be so gaudy as to call my mission on Earth. It’s time to be moving along. I’ll try another solar system.”