by Larry Niven
"Yes." Dammit, he knows Zach is his. Why didn't I say that?
"Then negotiate. Tell him you don't like it in Los Angeles. You're going a long way off, so far he'll never see Zachary again, unless you've got a better alternative. It's worth a try-"
"I've thought of that," she said, more to herself than to Renn. "Tony doesn't blackmail -"
"If you say it right, it isn't blackmail, it's an opportunity for him to talk you out of something." He stood. "If you'll excuse me a moment-"
"Sure."
Renn left the room. Genevieve drummed her fingers against the dinette table. It might work, it just might. I never wanted to put that kind of pressure on Tony, but why not? I'm not getting any younger. And if Zach is ever going to live in an arcology, he ought to grow up in one.
Might as well get dressed. She started toward the bedroom. Arnold was in the hall. "What in the world are you doing?" she asked.
"Oh, I dropped the telephone. Just checking to see that I didn't break anything. Looks all right." He tightened the earpiece cover and set the phone down.
"I will talk to Tony," Genevieve said. "And-I think you're more right than you know. If I can't bring him around, it probably would be better to leave Los Angeles."
"Hate to see you go," Arnold said. "But I can understand. Main thing is, whatever you do I'm on your side. Just don't forget that."
"I won't. You're sweet, Arnold. Thanks."
Tony Rand got off the elevator and went to the balcony edge. Midgard was a sight he always stopped for, even if it did trigger acrophobia. Too bad Delores couldn't be here with him. But there'd be time and they both had work to do, and always would. But being in love was a new experience (well, new again; he'd felt this way when he was married to Genevieve) and he didn't want to be parted from her even for a little while, even for this men-only luncheon.
He stood halfway between the floor of the Mall and the top of the pillar. Midgard was egg shaped, with view windows all around, and the bar at the small end. It was packed with men in three-piece suits.
They tended to form groups, small clumps of stability while others circulated with grim determination, maneuvering to be introduced. The older (and probably wealthier) men would find themselves in conversation with the younger newcomers, conversation punctuated with quick turns to greet old friends. Tony shook his head. There wouldn't be any real business conversation here.
A dozen hostesses circulated through the crowd; long-legged, pretty girls in their best party dresses, obviously models hired for the luncheon. There'd been a time when Tony would have looked at them wistfully and wondered how he could get to know one of them. Now he could be amused at the other men's efforts, which, when you came down to it, were futile anyway. These girls weren't for sale (although they certainly were interested in furthering their careers-).
His new-found objectivity was enlightening and wonderful.
But the room was far too crowded. There were elbows everywhere. The transparent walls helped dispel feelings of claustrophobia, but they did nothing to alleviate bruises and spilled drinks. Conversations flowed around him, none interesting enough to catch his attention, although it made Tony feel good to find that he could understand what the people next to him were saying. The sound-absorbent cones in the ceiling worked perfectly, keeping down echoes and the general noise level despite the overcrowding.
In fact, he thought, maybe they work too well: There was a chap yelling his head off at a friend not more than five meters away, and the friend was ignoring him. Deaf? Rude, as the yeller obviously thought? Tony went over to find out, fighting his way to a place next to the man being yelled at. He turned and listened.
"Sam, goddammit, I know bloody well you can hear me!"
Tony could just make out the words. He shouted back, "No, he can't hear you." To make it more effective he made it look as if he were screaming at the top of his lungs, knowing the shouter wasn't going to catch on. Then he pushed his way across again. "See? You can't get his attention from that far away. It always surprises Angelinos on their first visit to Midgard."
"Ah. Okay." He looked at Tony, puzzled, then in comprehension. "Rand. The court magician. You design this place?"
"Some of it. The sound absorbers. Not the rest of Midgard, although I wish I had."
"It's nice," the man agreed. He put out his hand. "Joe Adler. I'm with Disney Studios. I was admiring the holos." He pointed up to the center of the ceiling, where a probe's-eye view of Saturn hung in splendor. The view changed as the probe moved toward the Rings, wide-angle views of .the Saturnian system alternating with close-ups of the intricate Ring structure, panning over to the twisted streamers of the F-ring, then back to wide angle. "That's damned nice."
"Thanks. That part's mine too. When the probe gets past, the lunch is officially over."
"Good work. You ever think of consulting for the studios? You could make a bundle."
Tony grinned. "In my copious free time. I take it this is your first visit?"
Adler nodded. "Yeah, I just got promoted. One of the studio brass suggested I should contribute to Big Brothers. Suggested it strong enough that I called in and reserved a ticket the same day." He gestured at the crowd. "How do we get a drink?"
"Allow me," Tony said. He waved toward a waitress to get her attention and to let her see his gold-edged badge. She wriggled through the crowd like an exotic dancer, never touching anyone, took their drink orders, and vanished. In an astonishingly short time she reappeared with a tray.
"Guess you are a magician," Adler said. "There-My God!"
"What?" Tony demanded.
"Someone just fell past the window!" There were a lot of people clustered around the windows now. They chattered excitedly, but there was no aura of panic. Damned strange, Tony thought. He pushed his way through the crowd, heedless of custom or good manners or anything else. Another leaper? Or Fromates- "There goes another one," one of the businessmen shouted.
"Wow!"
A human-sized Golden Plover with iridescent feathers fell past in a headlong swan dive. Tony reached the window just in time to see the diver brought up short by the cables that trailed out behind. He - no, she-had almost hit the Mall deck before the cables had completely stretched. Now the girl bounced through the air, arms widespread, held by a pair of enormous shock cords, a riot of brilliant color. Seconds later she was joined by a boy dressed as a California condor.
"Bungee divers," someone said.
Aha, Tony thought. They do that-where? Mexico? South Seas? Somewhere. Dive off tree platforms and use vines to stop themselves. He looked up to see that Adler had followed him to the window. "They ought to warn us about entertainment like that!" Adler said.
"Damned right. I nearly had a heart attack." But it was damned interesting. Wonder why we never had anyone do that before? Maybe it'll catch on.
Adler drained his glass. "There sure are a lot of prizes."
Tony nodded. The luncheon included a raffle. The biggest prize sat in the middle of the room, roped off, crowding the bar area even further. Everyone was crowding to the window, so Tony made his way to the center area and examined the machine: a floatcycle. He'd never seen one of the two-person ground effect vehicles up close, but the ads said it would go over any land or swamp terrain as well as calm water. There were other prizes around the walls: portable televisions, expensive clothing, a hang glider, jewelry, and half a dozen kinds of home computers. He turned back to see that he'd lost Joe Adler to one of the hostesses. She was an Angelino, Tony noticed. She'd probably seen the Disney Studio label on his badge.
As usual there were too many at the table, so that Tony's elbows were jammed into his sides. He didn't catch the names as people were introduced (or if he did he didn't remember them) so he had no idea of whom he was talking to, but they did seem to admire the decor, particularly the holograms.
"I'm surprised to find somebody like you sitting with us," the beefy man across the table said. "I saw Art Bonner in the bar."
Tony smiled and tried to be friendly. "Corporate policy. When we have outside guests, they like us to mingle."
"Makes sense."
Generally does, Tony thought. Of course I'm not the world's best ambassador, but what the hell. And it was fun talking about the holograms. .
A couple of radio comics had been imported to raffle off the prizes. They also told jokes. Fairly rough ones- "I wasn't too sure about our welcome. I don't know if Floyd noticed, but they brought us in through Accessway 9, Level 18, past the hydrogen pipe-"
"-and the big sign that says 'Do your bit for human evolution.' I haven't been so nervous since the Reverend Jones invited me to Guyana for a cool drink."
"Another example of evolution in action, I suppose. Neverthestill, here we are, once again, to help redistribute the wealth-"
"Taking from the rich to give to the rich."
"But first, these updates for those of you who like to keep posted on what's happening outside these walls." The comics whipped sheets of notes from inside pockets.
"We're still paying taxes."
"We're still complaining about paying taxes."
"Death and taxes and a word from our sponsor. Hey, you people seem to have solved taxes, how're you doing on-"
"Jake!"
Uncomfortable laughter.
"-Sponsors? Hey, speaking of sponsors, James Shapiro would like to update you on another aspect of the outside world: the great work being done by Big Brothers of ... "
"Those birds have been retired for years," Tony said. The man to his left chuckled. "Sure. And who do you suggest we get?"
Tony frowned. "Ah. Yeah, I see. Jake and Floyd have been retired long enough that we remember them from before we built Todos Santos-"
"Exactly. While modern radio people are known mostly to freeway drivers. Look, I'm Louis Charp-" Quick handshake. "I did a lot of the work setting this up. Jake and Floyd have been good to us, we'd probably bring them as guests, but how can we get a little more current?"
Jake and Floyd began raffling off prizes, with the assistance of some of the ladies. Tony mulled over the problem. What stars would Angelinos and Saints have in common?
Louis Charp asked, "Do you still watch TV? Soaps, situation comedies?"
"Not those, no. They don't seem to make much sense. News well, mostly in-house news, actually. Even the Tonight Show monologue was pretty cryptic last time I watched. We get movies on the cable," Tony realized suddenly. "That new guy in Star Wars Eight, the sarcastic one who keeps poking holes in Han Solo's physics?"
"Rip Mendez. Mmm ... maybe. He might go for it. He's got an adopted son."
The table emptied, and Tony was able to move again. He stretched with a sigh of gratitude and ordered another cognac. For the moment his mind was clear of problems. He'd half finished the cognac when he became aware of a man standing expectantly near his chair. Tony didn't recognize him.
"You're Tony Rand, aren't you?" the man asked. "I recognize you from Lunan's documentary."
Tony sighed. It was flattering to be recognized, but there was a price to that. "Yeah, I'm the court magician."
The man grinned and put out his hand. "George Harris," he said. "We've got a mutual friend-"
Tony frowned. He was sure he'd heard the name before.
"Preston Sanders," Harris said. "My cell mate on weekends."
"Have you escaped from the jail?" Tony asked.
"In a manner of speaking-"
Tony's mood was completely shattered now. "How?"
"I just walked out-they let me out, Sunday night to dawn Saturday. Except for holidays. Holidays I go back in." He explained the work furlough program. "But weekends I room with Pres."
Like a bloody omen, Tony thought. "How are they treating you?"
"Not too bad, now. Mind if I join you?" Harris didn't wait for an answer. He sat next to Tony and caught the waiter's eye. "Two brandies. Anyway, it was pretty rough before they moved me in with Sanders, but now it's all right."
"Could you take something to Pres for me?"
"Nothing you couldn't send him through the Sheriff's office," Harris said. He grimaced. "They search us going in. Why, did you want to send something? I'd be glad to help, anything I could do to help that fine young man-"
It wasn't hard to draw Harris out. He liked to talk. He wanted to tell Tony about his electrical supply business in between stories about the jail, but after a while Tony had a good picture of the jail schedule.
The weekend schedule, he reminded himself. They might do things differently the rest of the time. So it'll be a weekend, he thought, and his heart thudded once, hard.
"I try to cheer him up," Harris was saying. "These things don't last. Look at Watergate. Forgotten. And all those big Mafia scandals. Same thing. People don't remember after a while. Of course that was pretty drastic, killing those kids, and Jim Planchet keeps things stirred up good, but I don't talk to Pres about that. Mostly I try to get him to keep in shape. Exercise. If he'd work out good every day, he could leave that place in better shape than he went in. Look at the bright side, that's what I tell him."
"Pres gets pretty moody," Tony said.
"Boy, and how, it's all I can do to get him talking-"
"He's also polite."
"Yeah, he sure is-hey, it was great meeting you. I've got to get back to the office now. Could I come see you sometime? I'd sure like to show you those new computerized light switch units. I can make you a hell of a price in the quantities you'd buy-"
"I'll call you sometime," Tony said. "Thanks for telling me about them." They shook hands and Tony waited until Harris had left, then picked up the untouched brandy that Harris had ordered for him.
His hands were shaking as he drained the glass.
XIV. PERCEPTIONS
There is nothing-absolutely nothing-half so much worth doing-as simply messing about in boats.
-Water Rat in The Wind in the Willows
Barbara Churchward smiled at the couple across the table from her. "Then it's settled," she said. "I don't think you've made a mistake."
"I hope not," Rebecca Plan said. She seemed nervous. Which, Barbara thought, she had every right to be. Ted and Rebecca Plan had just bet everything they owned on a long shot. Of course it was a long shot for Barbara Churchward, too, but she was used to that sort of thing. Not all her gambles had to succeed. Just enough to cover the rest and make a bottom line profit. It was different for Ted and Rebecca.
"We'll have the equipment installed by next Monday," Barbara said. "I've found space for you not far from your apartment."
"When could we move in?" Rebecca asked.
Barbara stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. "Tomorrow after four," she said. "The Services people will have everything ready then."
"You make things happen so fast," Ted Flan said. "I wouldn't have believed it-"
Barbara shrugged. "If it's worth doing at all, there's no point in being slow about it. Quite the opposite. The sooner you get into the market, the bigger your share will be." She gave him her best smile. "And I'm certain it will be a large share."
"I think so, too," Rebecca said. "I always thought Ted could be rich, if he just had a chance--"
Which just might be true, Barbara thought. Ted Plan was a brilliant man with insufficient confidence in himself. It wasn't that he didn't have the drive. He worked himself silly. With his energy properly directed- Just now, though, the problem was to get rid of them. The deal was made, the papers signed, and there was more work to do. But of course the Plans weren't the kind of people who could leave drinks half-finished in an expensive place like this. Normally she'd never have brought them. The Inferno Bar was hardly the place to do business. Midgard was much better. You could leave people to enjoy Midgard and they'd never notice you'd gone. But Midgard was taken up by the Big Brothers' fund raiser, and Rebecca had wanted to see Inferno.
It was worth seeing. One whole wall was a looped hologram tape of Antarctica: icy crags eroded by winds laced with fine snow
, all in glare white. Another showed holograms of volcanos: rivers of lava cascading down into the sea, fiery eruptions of flame and smoke into the night, then pan downward to towns and farms and fields covered with gray ash. (And in the midst of death there is life, Barbara noticed: Among the ruins of a forest there were tiny green shoots peeking above the thick layers of gray.)
"Great place if you dig bleak," Ted said.
"There are those who like it," Barbara said. She nodded to acknowledge a greeting from a gathering of men in three-piece suits grouped around a table near the bar. Two had shed their jackets and were arm wrestling.
