Madison ran.
He got in the airbus and Flick closed the door for him. "We got some money?" said Flick. And when Madison patted his pocket, Flick leaped behind the controls and they took off.
"I'm STARVING!" said Flick, as he threaded his way through Government City air lanes. "I'll just drop down to a busy street and we'll get some hot jolt and FRESH sweetbuns off a vendor. You also owe me a pack of puffsticks. I gave one to that guard, remember?"
He dropped down into the parking strip beside the thronged and noisy street. He yelled at a dark-complected old man who was pushing a cart laden with comestibles and other things.
"Two hot jolts, four sweetbuns, one pack of puff-sticks," said Flick.
Dutifully the old man handed them in and then held out his hand.
"Pay him," said Flick.
Madison got out a thousand-credit note and handed it over.
"I can't take that," the old man said. "It would clean out the change of the whole street. You only owe me a tenth of a credit. Haven't you got a coin?"
"Wait a minute," said Madison. "Two coffees, four buns, one pack of puffsticks. Ten cents? You must be mistaken."
"Well, things are a little high these days," the old man said. "And after all, I've got to make a living."
"No, no," said Madison. "I'm not haggling with you. I'm just trying to figure out how much a credit is worth. I got it: how much is a good pair of shoes?"
"Oh, call it a credit and a half," the old man said. "They're kind of dear, the good ones I mean."
Madison did a racing calculation. He had been thinking in terms of dollars. As close as he could guess, one credit must be worth at least twenty bucks!
He sank back on the seat in a sudden shock. He didn't have a billion-dollar drawing account.
HE HAD ONE FOR TWENTY BILLION!
A voice penetrated his shock. "Well, pay the man," said Flick. "He's got some blank vouchers there. Just stamp one."
Madison was still in shock. Flick came back to him, stuffed the thousand-credit note into his breast pocket and tapped around his coat and found his identoplate and drew it out. The old man was presenting the paper through the window and Flick, looking at the stamp face, was pushing the button to get it to come up with the right stamp.
Suddenly Flick froze.
He was staring at the plate.
Suddenly Flick cried, "Pay Status UNLIMITED?"
He stared at Madison.
The mouth opened in the squashed oval of a face. The mouth closed.
Flick looked back at the identoplate. He worked the button and made the picture of Madison come up. He looked at it. He looked back at Madison. Then Flick shifted the button and stared at the pay status again.
Flick sat back. His eyes were jiggling.
The old man urged the paper at the driver. "Stamp it for my tenth of a credit, please."
Flick got his eyes in focus. He went into sudden motion. He scribbled on the paper and stamped it and said, "THROW THE WHOLE CONTENTS OF YOUR CART IN!"
The old man looked at the paper in shock. Then he hastily began to pitch things through the window. He barely managed to tip up the last tray when Flick took off.
"HOT SAINTS!" cried Flick as he raced into the air. "MY DREAMS HAVE JUST COME TRUE!"
Chapter 3
The airbus was accelerating so rapidly and with such a wild turn that Madison was sent sprawling into the tumbling packs, canisters, chank-pops and jugs of sparklewater. He thought the world had gone vermilion until he found, from the floor of the vehicle, that he was looking at it through a disposable umbrella of that hue which, somehow, had sprung open.
"What the blazes are you doing?" yelped Madison.
"Just hold on," said Flick. "I'll have us there in a minute flat!"
"I didn't give you any orders to go anywhere!" howled Madison from amongst cartons of puffsticks.
"You don't know the place like I do," Flick called back. "Just don't worry. We're not lost. I know exactly where we're going."
The airbus swooped perilously. It wasn't a minute. It was more like ten. And Madison had just begun to get himself sorted out when WHAM! they landed.
Flick was out of the airbus like a flash. Madison, prying a sweetbun off his face, heard him chortling. "There she is. Oh, Gods, you beauty! Just what I have always wanted!"
Madison gingerly pried himself out of the car, dabbing at his face. They had evidently landed straight through the open doors of a huge display room. The sign in reverse on the window said Zippety-Zip Manufacturing Outlet, Commercial City.
Flick was standing ecstatically, looking at the ceiling.
A rather good-looking man in a bright green suit came over, somewhat upset about this unorthodox landing but not saying so. "I'm Chalber. Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?"
"That!" said Flick, jabbing with his finger.
Madison had gotten the sweetbun crumbs out of his eyes. They were surrounded by rows and rows of airbuses of every shape and hue. But Flick wasn't pointing at any of them. He was jabbing at the ceiling.
Up there, on a transparent sheet suspended by cables, was a vehicle on display, visible from the air if one looked through the high windows or glass dome. It was utterly huge: it had a flying angel in lifelike colors protruding forward from each of its four corners and it appeared to be solid gold.
"That, that, that!" said Flick. "I've wanted it for years!"
"Oh, I am sorry," said Chalber, "that's the Model 99. There were only six of them ever built and they were used for parades and vehicle shows. It's sort of our symbol of excellence to show what Zippety-Zip can do. It's not for sale."
"Oh, yes, by Gods, it's for sale. Look at that sign on the window. It says, 'We Sell Everything That Flies.' "
"Well, that's just a figure of speech," said Chalber.
"You better start figuring," said Flick. "I WANT THAT AIRBUS!"
"Well, really," said Chalber, "you must realize that when the Model 99s were built, they were never intended for sale. We were merely seeking to prove we could do better than any other manufacturers. One or two of them were presented to noblemen as a gesture of good will. But you gentlemen aren't noblemen."
"You want a fight?" said Flick, putting up his fists.
"Listen, Flick," said Madison. "I don't think we should get into any brawls...."
"Listen yourself!" said Flick. "That 99 has a bar, a toilet, a washbasin with jewelled buttons. It has a color organ and every known type of screen and viewer. The back seats break down into beds that massage you. The upholstery is real lepertige fur. It flies at six hundred miles an hour and can reach any place on the planet nonstop. It is fully automatic. It is completely soundproof and it is pressurized for flights up to three hundred miles altitude. When you land, a piece of the back end pulls out and becomes a ground car and you don't need to walk. The Model 99 has tons of storage cabinets and you can even hide a girl under the seat." He shook his fist at Chalber pugnaciously. "I've had dreams of driving one around, snooting at all the other traffic and I'm NOT going to be stopped!"
"Really," said Chalber. "Be reasonable. The price would be ten times that of a top-grade limousine airbus. I can show you gentlemen some very fine vehicles that--"
"How much?" said Flick.
"That Model 99," said Chalber with a superior sneer, "sits on the books at thirty thousand credits. I am sure..."
Flick still had Madison's identoplate. He stuck it in front of Chalber's face and said, "Will that do?"
Chalber looked at it. Then he went into staring shock. "Pay Status UNLIMITED?"
"Him," said Flick, jabbing a finger at Madison. "Apparatus-Palace City-Royal. Now get that beauty down here! Service it! And don't delay!"
Chalber nodded numbly. Flick threw his hands wide toward the car and cried, "Baby, come to your Daddy Flick!"
Chapter 4
After Flick had oohed and ahed over the lowered Model 99, showing Madison all its beauties, and while mechanic
s got dust off of it and fuel rods into it, Flick raced over to an office communication booth and got very busy.
Madison, already a car buff, began to warm to the vehicle. It certainly was FLASHY! Even the angels at the four corners had a sort of wild grin on their faces as though they were going to show the world. He thought for a moment of his poor Excalibur, probably on the river bottom still in New York, far away, and then dismissed it. This was a car that performed like a jetliner, with no wings. It wasn't chrome-plated. It was gold-plated! Every button was a precious stone. The seats were like sitting on a cloud. He forgot the Excalibur. This was a PR car to end all PR cars!
Chalber had a lot of papers to stamp and had to show him how but he was very respectful. Flick came away from the communication booth long enough to make sure it was all in order.
"You hold on to this Apparatus junk heap," said Flick to Chalber. "I'll tell you what to do with it. And you stand ready to give me two or three mass-passenger air-coaches if I send for them. I've always wanted some."
He went off leaving a numbed Chalber.
Suddenly Flick rushed out of the communication booth. He was flinging his arms around. He said, "I've got it! Oh, man, my dreams are really coming true. Would you believe it, I've got it!"
Flick was dashing around, checking the Model 99, and Madison couldn't get his attention.
Flick stacked all the contents of the vendor's cart into the hidden cabinets and pushed Madison in like another piece of baggage.
Madison felt a little piqued. After all, it was he who now owned the car. Who was boss here anyway?
"Listen, Flick," said Madison mildly as they took off, "I'm glad you got us a nice car but I have other things to think about and do. I am a working PR, you know. I should be about my business getting some connections."
"Feel her!" cried Flick. "Ain't she beautiful? Not a sound from the outside, not even a whirr from the drives. Oh, man, does she handle just like I knew she would."
The car did ride smoothly, actually like a feather. He was startled to look out the window and see the ground rushing by, quite close, at a speed which must be approaching sound. They had left Commercial City but the verdant countryside was such a blur, Madison could not tell if they were farms or parks or what.
"Flick," he said, "I'm sure it's a joy to drive this thing and she is a beauty, I admit. But I see it is now afternoon and I should not be wasting the day."
"Never you mind," said Flick. "Don't you fret. I can tell you're new here. An Earthman, isn't it? I didn't know we had such a planet but I don't know them all. So you just let me handle this so you don't get lost."
They were over buildings now and were slowing down. The area seemed to consist of a lot of parks and clubs whose signs were even visible in daylight. For a hopeful moment, he thought Flick might be taking him to Homeview, for he could see a gigantic dome ahead with that lettering upon it.
"We're almost there," said Flick. "This is Joy City. That's our destination over there, just beyond that big sign, Dirt Club. Ain't it remarkable?"
"Well, that IS a remarkable advertising sign," said Madison. "A girl in a military hat lying on cannon parabolas. But really, Flick, I think I should go over to Homeview...."
"Not the Dirt Club. That's for Army officers and we ain't Army. No, no. That big bright slab of a building."
Madison tried to see what they were heading for. All he saw was a rectangle of metal that must be eighty stories high and which covered an area of what might be six New York City blocks.
"That's her!" said Flick, hovering to let some traffic clear. "The five top stories of that building was the town-house of General Loop."
"All that?"
"Yeah, he was awful rich. He died a couple years ago and it's too big for anybody to want to live in. The swank residences are all over at Pausch Hills and nobody with that much money wants to live in Joy City: there's nothing but clubs and hotels and amusement parks and the entertainment industry around here. So it's been closed. It must be absolutely crammed with antiques and valuables. Way back before he retired, the owner, General Loop, was in charge of all electronic security for the whole Confederacy. Ever since I heard nobody was living in it now, I've tried and tried to sneak into it, but it's guarded by the fanciest electronic gimmicks anybody ever heard of! An awful challenge: I've laid awake nights trying to figure out how to break in and rob the joint. But back there, I solved it. I'll tell them we're interested in buying it. And they'll show me every security device! Then we'll come back and rob it. Smart, eh?"
Madison blinked. However, before he could protest, Flick received a clearance on a flashing screen on his dash and dived abruptly for the roof. The flat metal expanse was the size of several football fields. He headed for a solitary figure at one end, tiny as a doll in all that vastness. It was waving at them to come in. Flick landed.
An old man in a watchman's uniform was at their door. He was carrying a small box in his hand. "So you're the fellow that wants to buy this place," he said to Flick.
"Yes, sir," said Flick emphatically. "Another dream that's going to come true."
"Why hasn't anybody bought it?" said Madison, not at all happy about what he was getting into. He might be able to use some offices, but this was not even getting a building: it was a planned robbery. He was being steered way off his mark, and the meaningful look of Teenie hovered in memory.
"Oh, they're crazy, of course," the old man said, "but they think the place is haunted."
That was all Madison needed to get along: the robbery of a haunted townhouse. What a headline THAT would make! He tried to think of something that would dampen Flick's enthusiasm.
But the old man was talking, "You can't get into this place without help," he said, climbing in.
"I know," said Flick.
"So I thought I'd better come up in person with the box. They're all waiting for you down below, so if you'll just move this airbus ahead to that small white dot you see there, we'll go in."
Flick, quivering with expectancy, moved the car as stated and the old man pushed at the side of the box.
SWOOP!
Hidden doors whose edges had not been evident activated and they were still sitting in the airbus but it was now sitting in the center of a palatial living room!
Madison glanced up. The door was gone.
Three nicely dressed men were sitting around a desk.
Flick leaped out of the car, looking all around. There were paintings on the walls, vases on stands. He rubbed his hands.
Flick rushed over to the desk. He didn't shake hands. "Let me see the rest of this layout!"
One of the men, gray-headed, said, "We have to be sure this is a serious offer. We came over from the bank just in case somebody really wanted to buy it."
"We got to see the whole place," said Flick.
The three businessmen and the watchman seemed a little cool but then Flick, like a stage magician, flashed Madison's identoplate.
"Pay status UNLIMITED?" gawped the gray-haired man.
Flick gave Madison a broad wink when the bankers weren't looking.
Madison swallowed. This was NOT good PR! The identoplate was now being used as an entrance to case a joint and rob it! He had visions of himself being carted off to jail.
The bankers made haste to show them some of the rest of the townhouse. To see all of it would have taken more than a day. Five floors of this size would have taken far more walking than they had the legs for.
There were apartments beyond count, some quite elegant. Some were like the palatial cabins of ships at sea, some were like those of spacecraft. Some looked like hunting lodges.
There were several bars as big as a tavern, chairs and tables and decor approximating styles of different planets.
There were kitchens that were complex mazes of electronic cooking gear which sent viands upwards which would then appear magically on tables in dining salons without having seemed to travel.
There were rooms whi
ch contained such a multitude of screens that one got the impression he could look at any band or transmission on any planet anywhere.
They came to an auditorium that would seat at least two hundred people and whose stage revolved or simply flapped back when another decorated stage rose.
Madison got the distinct impression they were not seeing everything there was to see in these rooms. Something odd about it all, something strange. Spooky. Part of it was that there seemed to be windows but they were all black.
The old watchman didn't seem to be much interested. Flick ran along and the watchman would hit buttons in his box and the doors of rooms would open. Flick would look in, see paintings and hangings of great value and rush on.
"You realize," the watchman said at last, "that if I was not working this box right, we not only could not pass down these halls, for I've opened all the invisible barriers, but traps would open in the floor as well. There's this box for watchmen and such but some of the master suites can't be opened at all until they're voice-tuned to the new owner."
Flick whispered to Madison excitedly. "There's a half a million credits in loot in this place. It would be the haul of the century." Then he went racing on to glance into more rooms.
"Of course," the gray-haired banker told Madison, "the apartment has regular street entrances and elevators: several of them in fact. But you can only come up to the first floor of these five. The upper ones require special entrance. General Loop was pretty security conscious, I'm afraid."
Finally the three bankers and the bored watchman were so worn out with walking that they simply stopped. "Do you mind," said the gray-haired man, "if we go back to the hangar salon? If you're still interested..."
"Oh, we're interested!" said Flick with a wink at Madison. And he followed them back to where the airbus was.
Flick, arriving there, reached out his hand to the watchman. "Could I see that box?"
The watchman shook his head.
The three bankers sank wearily into chairs, quite worn out from almost two hours of unaccustomed walking. Madison himself felt fagged.
Mission Earth 09 - Villainy Victorious Page 13
