Neither Santina nor Miss Eldritch tried to stop him. Disappointed, he continued on, feeling oppressive disgust.
Obviously he would have to reach Palmer Eldritch through some median agency. Perhaps, he reflected, Felix Blau and his private police could gain entry here. It was worth a try.
But once he became this depressed, nothing seemed to matter. Why not do as he had said, eat and then get some needed rest, forget about reaching Eldritch for the time being? The hell with all of them, he said to himself as he left the hospital building and marched out onto the sidewalk to search for a cab. That daughter, he thought. Tough-looking, like a lesbian, with her hair cut short and no makeup. Ugh.
He found a cab and rode airborne for a time while he pondered.
Using the cab’s vidsystem he contacted Felix back on Earth.
“I’m glad you called,” Felix Blau said, as soon as he made out who it was. “There’s an organization that’s come into existence in Boston under strange circumstances; it seems to have sprung up overnight completely intact, including–”
“What’s it doing?”
“They’re preparing to market something; the machinery is there, including three ad satellites, similar to your own, one on Mars, one on Io, one on Titan. The rumor we hear is that they’re preparing to approach the market with a commodity directly competing with your own Perky Pat layouts. It’ll be called Connie Companion Doll.” He smiled briefly. “Isn’t that cute?”
Leo said, “What about–you know. The additive.”
“No information on that. Assuming there is one, it would be beyond the legal scope of merchandising operations, presumably. Is a min layout any use minus the– ‘additive’?”
“No.”
“Then that would seem to answer that.”
Leo said, “I called you to find out if you can get me in to see Palmer Eldritch. I’ve located him here at Base III on Ganymede.”
“You recall my report on Eldritch’s importation of a lichen similar to that used in the manufacture of Can-D. Has it occurred to you that this new Boston outfit may have been set up by Eldritch? Although it would seem rather soon for that; however, he could have radioed ahead years ago to his daughter.”
“I’ve got to see him,” Leo said.
“It’s James Riddle Hospital, I assume. We thought he might be there. By the way; you ever heard of a man named Richard Hnatt?”
“Never.”
“A rep from this new Boston outfit met with him and transacted some kind of business deal. This rep, Icholtz–”
“What a mess,” Leo said. “And I can’t even get to Eldritch; Santina is hanging around at the door, along with that dyke daughter of Palmer’s.” No one would get past the two of them, he decided.
He gave Felix Blau the address of a hotel at Base III, the one at which he had left his baggage, and then rang off.
I bet he’s right, he said to himself. Palmer Eldritch is this competitor. Just my luck: I have to be in the particular line that Eldritch, on his way back from Prox, decides to enter. Why couldn’t I be making rocket guidance systems and be only competing with G.E. and General Dynamics?
Now he really wondered about the lichen which Eldritch had brought with him. An improvement on Can-D, perhaps. Cheaper to produce, capable of creating translation of longer duration and intensity. Jeez!
Mulling, here and now a bizarre recollection came to him. An organization, emanating from the United Arab Republic; trained assassins for hire. Fat chance they would have against Palmer Eldritch… a man like that, once he had made his mind up–
And yet Rondinella Fugate’s precognition remained; in the future he would be arraigned for the murder of Palmer Eldritch.
Evidently he would find a way despite the obstacles.
He had with him a weapon so small, so intangible, that even the most thorough search couldn’t disclose it. Some time ago a surgeon at Washington, D.C. had sewn it into his tongue: a self-guiding, high-velocity poison dart, modeled on Soviet Russian lines… but vastly improved, in that once it had reached its victim it obliterated itself, leaving no remains. The poison, too, was original; it did not curtail heart or respiratory action; in fact it was not a poison but a filterable virus which multiplied in the victim’s blood stream, causing death within forty-eight hours. It was carcinomatous, an importation from one of Uranus’s moons, and still generally unknown; it had cost him a great deal. All he needed to do was stand within arm’s length of his intended victim and manually squeeze the base of his tongue, protruding the same simultaneously in the victim’s direction. So if he could see Eldritch–
And I had better arrange it, he realized, before this new Boston corporation is in production. Before it can function without Eldritch. Like any weed it had to be caught early or not at all.
When he reached his hotel room he placed a call to P. P. Layouts to see if any vital-type messages or events were awaiting his attention.
“Yes,” Miss Gleason said, as soon as she recognized him. “There’s an urgent call from a Miss Impatience White– if that’s her name, if I did get it right. Here’s the number. It’s on Mars.” She held the slip to the vidscreen.
At first Leo could not place any woman named White. And then he identified her–and felt fright. Why had she called?
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and at once rang off. God, if the UN legal division had monitored the call… because Impy White, operating out of Mars, was a top pusher of Can-D.
With great reluctance he called the number.
Small-faced and sharp-eyed, pretty in a short sort of way, Impy White obtained on the vidscreen. He had imagined her as much more brawny; she looked quite bantamlike, but fierce, though. “Mr. Bulero, as soon as I say it–”
“There’s no other way? No channels?” A method existed by which Conner Freeman, chief of the Venusian operation, could contact him. Miss White could have worked through Freeman, her superior.
“I visited a hovel, Mr. Bulero, at the south of Mars this morning with a shipment. The hovelists declined. On the grounds they had spent all their skins for a new product. In the same class as–what we sell. Chew-Z.” She went on, “And–”
Leo Bulero rang off. And sat shakily in silence, thinking.
I’ve got to not get rattled, he told himself. After all, I’m an evolved human variety. So this is it; this is that Boston firm’s new product. Derived from Eldritch’s lichen; I have to assume that. He’s lying there on his hospital bed not a mile from me, giving the orders no doubt through Zoe, and there’s not a fligging thing I can do. The operation is all set up and functioning. I’m already too late. Even this thing in my tongue, he realized. It’s futile, now.
But I’ll think of something, he knew. I always do.
This was not the end of P. P. Layouts, exactly.
The only thing was, what could he do? It eluded him, and this did not decrease his sweaty, nervous alarm.
Come to me, artificially accelerated cortical-development idea, he said in prayer. God help me to overcome my enemies, the bastards. Maybe if I make use of my Pre-Fash precogs, Roni Fugate and Barney… maybe they can come up with something. Especially that old pro Barney; he hasn’t been brought in on this at all, as yet.
Once more he placed a vidcall to P. P. Layouts back on Terra. This time he requested Barney Mayerson’s department.
And then he remembered Barney’s problem with the draft, his need of developing an inability to endure stress, in order not to wind up in a hovel on Mars.
Grimly, Leo Bulero thought, I’ll provide that proof; for him the danger of being drafted is already over.
When the call came from Leo Bulero on Ganymede, Barney Mayerson was alone in his office.
The conversation did not last long; when he had hung up he glanced at his watch, and marveled. Five minutes. It had seemed a major interval in his life.
Rising, he touched the button of his intercom and said, “Don’t let anyone in for a while. Not even–especially not even–Miss Fugate.” He walked to the window and stood gazing out at the hot, bright, empty street.
Leo was dumping the entire problem in his lap. It was the first time he had seen his employer collapse; imagine, he thought, Leo Bulero baffled–by the first competition that he had ever experienced. He very simply was not used to it. The new Boston company’s existence had totally, for the time being, disoriented him; the man became the child.
Eventually Leo would snap out of it, but meanwhile– what can I get from this? Barney Mayerson asked himself, and did not immediately see any answer. I can help Leo… but exactly what can Leo do for me? That was a question more to his liking. In fact he had to think of it that way; Leo himself had taught him to, over the years. His employer would not have wanted it any other way.