The house, simple compared with Rudbek — twenty rooms, only two of them large — was as ready as if he had stepped out the day before. Two of the servants he recognized as having been at Rudbek. A ground car, with driver and footman in Rudbek livery, was waiting. The driver seemed to know where to take them; they rode around in the semi-tropic winter sunshine and Leda pointed out planetary embassies and consulates. When they passed the immense pile, which is headquarters of the Hegemonic Guard, Thorby had the driver slow down while he rubbernecked. Leda said, “That’s your alma mater, isn’t it?” Then she whispered, “Take a good look. The building opposite its main door is where you are going.”
They got out at the Replica Lincoln Memorial, walked up the steps and felt the same hushed awe that millions have felt when looking at that brooding giant figure. Thorby had a sudden feeling that the statue looked like Pop — not that it did, but still it did. His eyes filled with tears.
Leda whispered, “This place always gets me — it’s like a haunted church. You know who he was? He founded America. Ancient history is awesome.”
“He did something else.”
“What?”
“He freed slaves.”
“0h.” She looked up with sober eyes. “That means something special to you . . . doesn’t it?”
“Very special.” He considered telling Leda his strongest reason for pushing the fight, since they were alone and this was a place that wouldn’t be bugged. But he couldn’t. He felt that Pop would not mind — but he had promised Colonel Brisby.
He puzzled over inscriptions on the walls, in letters and spelling used before English became System English. Leda tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Come on. I can never stay here long or I start crying.” They tiptoed away.
Leda decided that she just had to see the show at the Milky Way. So they got out and she told the driver to pick them up in three hours and ten minutes, then Thorby paid outrageous scalpers’ prices for a double booth and immediate occupancy.
“There!” she sighed as they started inside. “That’s half of it. The footman will drop off as they round the corner, but we’re rid of the driver for a while; there isn’t a place to park around here. But the footman will be right behind us, if he wants to keep his job. He’s buying a ticket this minute. Or maybe he’s already inside. Don’t look.”
They started up the escalator. “This gives us a few seconds; he won’t get on until we curve out of sight. Now listen. The people holding these seats will leave as soon as we show the tickets — only I’m going to hang onto one, pay him to stay. Let’s hope it’s a man because our nursemaid is going to spot that booth in minutes . . . seconds, if he was able to get our booth number down below. You keep going. When he finds our booth he’ll see me in it with a man. He won’t see the man’s face in the dark but he’ll be certain of me because of this outlandish, night-glow outfit I’m wearing. So he’ll be happy. You zip out any exit but the main lobby; the driver will probably wait there. Try to be in the outer lobby a few minutes before the time I told them to have the car. If you don’t make it, hire a flea-cab and go home. I’ll complain aloud that you didn’t like the show and went home.”
Thorby decided that the “X” Corps had missed a bet In Leda. “Won’t they report that they lost track of me?”
“They’ll be so relieved they’ll never breathe it. Here we are — keep moving. See you!”
Thorby went out a side exit, got lost, got straightened out by a cop, at last found the building across from Guard SHQ. The building directory showed that Garsch had offices on the 34th terrace; a few minutes later he faced a receptionist whose mouth was permanently pursed in “No.”
She informed him frostily that the Counselor never saw anyone except by appointment. Did he care to make an inquiry appointment with one of the Counselor’s associates? “Name, please!”