Bronson had called the manager in flight; they were met-not with red carpet, canopy, and footmen, though the manager strove to give that impression. “Mr. van Vogel? And Mrs. van Vogel! We are honored indeed!” He ushered them into a tiny, luxurious unicar; they jeeped off the field, up a ramp, and into the lobby of the administration building! The manager, Mr. Blakesly, did not relax until he had seated them around a fountain in the lounge of his offices, struck cigarettes for them, and provided tall, cool drinks.
Bronson van Vogel was bored by the attention, as it was obviously inspired by his wife’s Dun & Bradstreet rating (ten stars, a sunburst, and heavenly music).
He preferred people who could convince him that he had invented the Briggs fortune, instead of marrying it.
“This is business Blakesly. I’ve an order for you.”
“So? Well, our facilities are at your disposal. What would you like, sir?”
“I want you to make me a Pegasus.”
“A Pegasus? A flying horse?”
“Exactly.”
Blakesly pursed his lips. “You seriously want a horse that will fly? An animal like the mythical Pegasus?”
“Yes, yes-that’s what I said.”
“You embarrass me, Mr. van Vogel. I assume you want a unique gift for your lady.
How about a midget elephant, twenty inches high, perfectly housebroken, and able to read and write? He holds the stylus in his trunk-very cunning.”
“Does he talk?” demanded Mrs. van Vogel.
“Well, now, my dear lady, his voice box, you know-and his tongue-he was not designed for speech. If you insist on it, I will see what our plasticians can do.”
“Now, Martha — ”
“You can have your Pegasus, Brownie, but I think I may want this toy elephant.
May I see him?”
“Most surely. Hartstone!”
The air answered Blakesly. “Yes, boss?”
“Bring Napoleon to my lounge.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Now about your Pegasus, Mr. van Vogel…I see difficulties but I need expert advice. Dr. Cargrew is the real heart of this organization, the most eminent bio-designer-of terrestrial origin, of course-on the world today.” He raised his voice to actuate relays. “Dr. Cargrew!”
“What is it, Mr. Blakesly?”
“Doctor, will you favor me by coming to my office?”
“I’m busy. Later.”
Mr. Blakesly excused himself, went into his inner office, then returned to say that Dr. Cargrew would be in shortly. In the mean time Napoleon showed up. The proportions of his noble ancestors had been preserved in miniature; he looked like a statuette of an elephant, come amazingly to life.
He took three measured steps into the lounge, then saluted them each with his trunk. In saluting Mrs. van Vogel he dropped on his knees as well.
“Oh, how cute!” she gurgled. “Come here. Napoleon.”
The elephant looked at Blakesly, who nodded. Napoleon ambled over and laid his trunk across her lap. She scratched his ears; he moaned contentedly.
“Show the lady how you can write,” ordered Blakesly. “Fetch your things from my room.”
Napoleon waited while she finished treating a particularly satisfying itch, then oozed away to return shortly with several sheets of heavy white paper and an oversize pencil. He spread a sheet in front of Mrs. van Vogel. held it down daintily with a fore foot, grasped the pencil with his trunk finger, and printed in large, shaky letters, “I LIKE YOU.”
“The darling!” She dropped to her knees and put her arms around his neck. “I simply must have him. How much is he?”
“Napoleon is part of a limited edition of six,” Blakesly said carefully. “Do you want an exclusive model, or may the others be sold?”
“Oh, I don’t care. I just want Nappie. Can I write him a note?”
“Certainly, Mrs. van Vogel. Print large letters and use Basic English. Napoleon knows most of it. His price, nonexclusive is $350,000. That includes five years salary for his attending veterinary.”
“Give the gentleman a check. Brownie,” she said over her shoulder.
“But Martha — ”
“Don’t be tiresome. Brownie.” She turned back to her pet and began printing. She hardly looked up when Dr. Cargrew came in.
Cargrew was a chilly figure in white overalls and skull cap. He shook hands brusquely, struck a cigarette and sat down. Blakesly explained —