“Commendable spirit.” The phone by Weemsby’s cup blinked; he picked it up, frowned, said, “Hold on.” He turned to Thorby. “That idiot can’t find those papers.”
“I meant to tell you. I hid them — I didn’t want to leave them out.”
“I see. Where are they?”
“Uh, I’ll have to dig them out”
Weemsby said in the phone, “Forget it” He tossed the phone to a servant and said to Thorby, “Then fetch them, if you don’t mind.”
Thorby did mind. So far he had had four bites; it annoyed him to be told to run an errand while eating. Besides . . . was he “Rudbek of Rudbek”? or still messenger for the weapons officer? “I’ll be going up after breakfast.”
Uncle Jack looked vexed. But he answered, “I beg your pardon. If you can’t tear yourself away, would you please tell me where to find them? I have a hard day ahead and I would like to dispose of this triviality and go to work. If you don’t mind.”
Thorby wiped his mouth. “I would rather not,” he said slowly, “sign them now.”
“What? You told me that you had satisfied yourself.”
“No, sir, I told you that I had read them. But I don’t understand them. Uncle Jack, where are the papers that my parents signed?”
“Eh?” Weemsby looked at him sharply. “Why?”
“I want to see them.”
Weemsby considered. “They must be in the vault at Rudbek City.”
“All right. I’ll go there.”
Weemsby suddenly stood up. “If you will excuse me, in go to work,” he snapped. “Young man, some day you will realize what I have done for you! In the meantime, since you choose to be uncooperative, I still must get on with my duties.”
He left abruptly. Thorby felt hurt — he didn’t want to be uncooperative . . . but if they had waited for years, why couldn’t they wait a little longer and give him a chance?
He recovered the papers, then phoned Leda. She answered, with vision switched off. “Thor dear, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”
He explained that he wanted to go to the family’s business offices. “I thought maybe you could direct me.”
“You say Daddy said to?”
“He’s going to assign me an office.”
“I won’t just direct you; I’ll take you. But give a girl a chance to get a face on and swallow orange juice.”
He discovered that Rudbek was connected with their offices in Rudbek City by high-speed sliding tunnel. They arrived in a private foyer guarded by an elderly receptionist She looked up. “Hello, Miss Leda! How nice to see you!”
“You, too, Aggie. Will you tell Daddy we’re here?”
“Of course.” She looked at Thorby.
“Oh,” said Leda. “I forgot. This is Rudbek of Rudbek.”
Aggie jumped to her feet “Oh, dear me! I didn’t know — I’m sorry, sir!”
Things happened quickly. In minutes Thorby found himself with an office of quiet magnificence, with a quietly magnificent secretary who addressed him by his double-barreled title but expected him to call her “Dolores.” There seemed to he unlimited genies ready to spring out of walls at a touch of her finger.
Leda stuck with him until he was installed, then said, “I’ll run along, since you insist on being a dull old businessman.” She looked at Dolores. “Or will it be dull? Perhaps I should stay.” But she left.
Thorby was intoxicated with being immensely wealthy and powerful. Top executives called him “Rudbek,” junior executives called him “Rudbek of Rudbek,” and those still more junior crowded their words with “sirs” — he could judge status by how he was addressed.
While he was not yet active in business — he saw Weemsby rarely and Judge Bruder almost never — anything he wanted appeared quickly. A word to Dolores and a respectful young man popped in to explain legal matters; another word and an operator appeared to show moving stereocolor of business interests anywhere, even on other planets. He spent days looking at such pictures, yet still did not see them all.
His office became so swamped with books, spools, charts, brochures, presentations, file jackets, and figures, that Dolores had the office next door refitted as a library. There were figures on figures, describing in fiscal analog enterprises too vast to comprehend otherwise. There were so many figures, so intricately related, that his head ached. He began to have misgivings about the vocation of tycoon. It wasn’t all just being treated with respect, going through doors first and always getting what you asked for. What was the point if you were so snowed under that you could not enjoy it? Being a Guardsman was easier.