Four for Tomorrow Part 16

We are simply transplanting wealthy people of good taste a few generations into the future-and they get on well. Our only misstep so far was predicated upon a male 95 antagonism of the mutually accelerating variety, caused by a beautiful woman. That's all. Do you agree?"

"He thought that he was really going to die . . ." said Andrews. "I didn't stop to think that he knew nothing of the World Legal Code."

127.

"A minor matter," she dismissed it. "He's still living."

"You should have seen his face when he came to in the Clinic."

"I'm not interested in faces. I've seen too many. Our problem now is to manufacture a problem and then to solve it to the government's satisfaction."

"The world changes so rapidly that I almost need to make a daily adjustment to it myself. These poor-"

"Some things do not change," said Mary Maude, "but I can see what you're driving at. Very clever. We'll hiie us an independent Psych Team to do'us a study indica- ting that what the Set needs is more adjustment, and they'll recommend that one day be set aside every year for therapeutic purposes. We'll hold each one in a differ- ent part of the world-at a non-Party locale. Lots of cities have been screaming for concessions. They'll all be days spent doing simple, adjustive things, mingling with un-Set people. Then, in the evening we'll have a light meal, fol- lowed by casual, restful entertainment, and then some dancing-dancing's good for the psyche, it relaxes ten- sions. -I'm sure that will satisfy all parties concerned."

She smiled at the last.

"I believe you are right," said Andrews.

"Of course. After the Psych Team writes several thou- sand pages, you'll draft a few hundred of your own to summarize the findings and cast them into the form of a resolution to be put before the board."

He nodded.

"I thank you for your suggestions."

"Any time. That's what I'm paid for."

After he had left, Mary Maude donned her black glove and placed another log on the fire. Genuine logs cost more and more every year, but she did not trust nameless heaters.

It was three days before Moore had recovered suffi- 128.

ciently to enter the sleep again. As the prep-injection dulled his senses and his eyes closed, he wondered what alien judgment day would confront him when he awak- ened. He knew, though, that whatever else the new year brought, his credit would be good.

He slept, and the world pa.s.sed by.

THE DOORS OF HIS FACE,.

THE LAMPS OF-HIS MOUTH.

I'm a baitman. No one is born a baitman, except in a French novel where everyone is.In fact, I think that's the t.i.tle. We are All Bait. Pfft!) How I got that way is barely worth the telLng and has nothing to do with neo- exes, but the days of the beast deserve a few words, so here they are.

The Lowlands of Venus lie between the thumb and forefinger of the contin' nt known as Hand. When you break into Clo"d AHey it swings its silverblack bowling ball toward you wit''o"t a warning. You jump then, inside that fire-tailed tenpin they ride you down in, but the straps keep you from making a fool of yourself. You gen- erally chuckle afterwards, but you always jump first.

Next, you sb'dy Hand to lay its illusion and the two middle fingers become dozen-ringed archipelagoes as the outers resolve into greengray peninsulas; the thumb is too short, and curls like the embryo tail of Cape Horn.

You suck pure oxygen, sigh possibly, and begin the long topple to the Lowlands.

There, you are caught like an infield fly at the Lifeline landing area-so named because of its nearness to the great delta in the Eastern Bay-located between the first 130.

peninsula and "thumb." For a minute it seems as if you're going to miss Lifeline and wind up as canned seafood, but afterwards-shaking off the metaphors-you descend to scorched concrete and present your middle-sized tele- phone directory of authorizations to the short, fat man in the gray cap. The papers show that you are not subject to mysterious inner rottings and etcetera. He then smiles you a short, fat, gray smile and motions you toward the bus which hauls you to the Reception Area. At the B.A.

you spend three days proving that, indeed, you are not subject to mysterious inner rottings and etcetera.

Boredom, however, is another rot. When your three days are up, you generally hit Lifeline hard, and it re- turns the compliment as a matter of reflex. The effects of alcohol in variant atmospheres is a subject on which the connoisseurs have written numerous volumes, so I will confine my remarks to noting that a good binge is worthy of at least a week's time and often warrants a lifetime study.

I had been a student of exceptional promisestrictly undergraduate) for going on two years when the Bright Water fell through our marble ceiling and poured its people like targets into the city.

Pause. The Worlds Almanac re Lifeline: ". . . Port city 97 on the eastern coast of Hand. Employees of the Agency for Non-terrestrial Research comprise approximately 85% of its 100,000 population2010 Census). Its other resi- dents are primarily personnel maintained by several in- dustrial corporations engaged in basic research. Inde- pendent marine biologists, wealthy fis.h.i.+ng enthusiasts, and waterfront entrepreneurs make up the remainder of its inhabitants."

I turned to Mike Dabis, a fellow entrepreneur, and commented on the lousy state of basic research, "Not if the mumbled truth be known."

He paused behind his gla.s.s before continuing the slow 131.

swallowing process calculated to obtain my interest and a few oaths, before he continued.

"Carl," he finally observed, poker playing, "they're shaping Tensquare."

I could have hit him. I might have refilled his gla.s.s with sulfuric acid and looked on with glee as his lips blackened and cracked. Instead, I grunted a noncom- mital.

"Who's fool enough to sh.e.l.l out fifty grand a day?

ANR?".

He shook his head.

"Jean Luharich," he said, "the girl with the violet con- tacts and fifty or sixty perfect teeth. I understand her eyes are really brown."

"Isn't she selling enough face cream these days?"

He shrugged.

"Publicity makes the wheels go 'round. Luharich Enter- prises jumped sixteen points when she picked up the Sun Trophy. You ever play golf on Mercury?"

I had, but I overlooked it and continued to press.

"So she's coming here with a blank check and a fish- hook?"

"Bright Water, today," he nodded. "Should be down by now. Lots of cameras. She wants an Ikky, bad."

"Hmm," I hmmed. "How bad?"

"Sixty day contract, Tensquare. Indefinite extension clause. Million and a half deposit," he recited.

"You seem to know a lot about it."

"I'm Personnel Recruitment. Luharich Enterprises ap- proached me last month. It helps to drink in the right 98 places.

"Or own them." He smirked, after a moment.

I looked away, sipping my bitter brew. After awhile I swallowed several things and asked Mike what he ex- pected to be asked, leaving myself open for his monthly temperance lecture.

132.

"They told me to try getting you," he mentioned.

"When's the last time you sailed?"

"Month and a half ago. The Coming."

"Small stuff," he snorted. "When have you been under, yourself?"

"It's been awhile."

"It's been over a year, hasn't it? That time you got cut by the screw, under the Dolphin?"

I turned to him.

"I was in the river last week, up at Angleford where the currents are strong. I can still get around."

"Sober," he added.

"I'd stay that way," I said, "on a job like this."

A doubting nod.

"Straight union rates. Triple time for extraordinary cir- c.u.mstances," he narrated. "Be at Hangar Sixteen with your gear, Friday morning, five hundred hours. We push off Sat.u.r.day, daybreak."

"You're sailing?"

"I'm sailing."

"How come?"

"Money."

"Ikky guano."

"The bar isn't doing so well and baby needs new minks."

"I repeat-"

". . . And I want to get away from baby, renew my contact with basics-fresh air, exercise, make cash. . . ."

"All right, sorry I asked."

I poured him a drink, concentrating on HaS04, but it didn't trans.m.u.te. Finally I got him soused and went out into the night to walk and think things over.

Around a dozen serious attempts to land Ichthyform Leviosaurus Levianthus, generally known as "Ikky," had 99 been made over the past five years. When Ikky was first sighted, whaling techniques were employed. These 133.

proved either fruitless or disastrous, and a new procedure was inaugurated. Tensquare was constructed by a wealthy sportsman named Michael Jandt, who blew his entire roll on the project.

After a year on the Eastern Ocean, he returned to file bankruptcy. Carlton Davits, a playboy fis.h.i.+ng enthusiast, then purchased the huge raft and laid a wake for Ikky's sp.a.w.ning grounds. On the nineteenth day out he had a strike and lost one hundred and fifty bills' worth of un- tested gear, along with one Ichthyform Levianthus.

Twelve days later, using tripled lines, he hooked, narco- tized, and began to hoist the huge beast. It awakened then, destroyed a control tower, killed six men, and worked general h.e.l.l over five square blocks of Tensquare.

Carlton was left with partial hemiplegia and a bank- ruptcy suit of his own. He faded into waterfront atmo- sphere and Tensquare changed hands four more times, with less spectacular but equally expensive results.

Finally, the big raft, built only for one purpose was purchased at auction by ANR for "marine research."

Lloyd's still won't insure it, and the only marine research it has ever seen is an occasional rental at fifty bills a day -to people anxious to tell Leviathan fish stories. I've been baitman on three of the voyages, and I've been close enough to count Ikky's fangs on two occasions. I want one of them to show my grandchildren, for personal reasons. .

I faced the direction of the landing area and resolved a resolve.

"You want me for local coloring, gal. It'll look nice on the feature page and all that. But clear this- If anyone gets you an Ikky, it'll be me. I promise."

I stood in the empty Square. The foggy towers of Life- line shared their mists.

Sh.o.r.eline a couple eras ago, the western slope above 134.

Lifeline stretches as far as forty miles inland in some places. Its angle of rising is not a great one, but it achieves an elevation of several thousand feet before it meets the mountain range which separates us from the Highlands. About four miles inland and five hundred feet higher than Lifeline are set most of the surface airstrips and privately owned hangars. Hangar Sixteen houses Cal's Contract Cab, hop service, sh.o.r.e to s.h.i.+p. I do not like Cal, but he wasn't around when I climbed from the bus and waved to a mechanic.

Two of the hoppers tugged at the concrete, impatient beneath flywing haloes. The one on which Steve was working belched deep within its barrel carburetor and 100 shuddered spasmodically.

"Bellyache?" I inquired.

"Yeah, gas pains and heartburn."

He twisted setscrews until it settled into an even keen- ing, and turned to me.

"You're for out?"

I nodded.

"Tensquare. Cosmetics. Monsters. Stuff like that."

He blinked into the beacons and wiped his freckles.

The temperature was about twenty, but the big overhead spots served a double purpose.

"Luharich," he muttered. "Then you are the one.

There's some people want to see you."