Tyranopolis, page 13
Orlo put up his hand. ‘When I raise my hand like this, Mr. Arger, that is your signal to nullify the bugging. When I hold my thumb like this, then make us all buggable again.’ As he spoke, he switched to the thumb, and whispered, ‘Nod, when you’ve done this last.’
The man did something with a tinv instrument he held in one hand, nodded - and gestured. And Orlo said, ‘Well, gentlemen, I wish to welcome you here. And perhaps I should begin by outlining my reasons for inviting you. First of all, please be assured that I respect your earlier refusal to participate in the matter of re-discovering the Higenroth Pervasive System. It is my belief, however, that I have been appointed to my present eminent position for good reasons, with which - I have to admit - I am not yet fully acquainted. But it does seem to me that I should find out what the scientists are willing to become involved in. Mr. Ishkrin, may I have a comment from you?’
The great moustache and the eyes above it twinkled, as Ishkrin said in a formal tone, ‘We need time to think over basic questions like that. My overall feeling is that there are many creative areas which are not sensitive. Perhaps, while I am considering what those areas are you could talk to Mr. Rosten.’
Mr. Rosten said, ‘I’m just going to lean back here for a minute and think about this, and I suggest the other gentlemen do the same.’ As he finished speaking, he gestured violently at Arger.
Orlo, thereupon, raised his arm.
Arger did something in his hand, nodded, and gestured expansively.
Ishkrin said grimly, ‘Listen, kid, your entire situation here is illogical. Something is wrong. At this moment I don’t see how we can help you, but whatever scientific knowledge can do, we can place at your disposition.’
Orlo drew a deep breath. ‘I had in mind our writing messages to each other while we conducted a conversation on a more general level. Perhaps, we could combine the two. Before we switch over, my first real question is: how old is Lilgin?’
‘Good God!’ said Mcintosh, involuntarily.
Rosten made shushing movements with his hands.
Orlo brought up his thumb.
Arger nodded, and gestured.
It was all that simple - and that complex. Each man thereafter sat with a writing pad on his lap, and occasionally scrawled furiously, or wrote deliberately while someone else was talking. Orlo did have the feeling that the verbalized part was, for the most part, exceptionally dull. It worried him a little. But what he tried for was a mention of each of a number of sciences, with an opinion from the four invited men present as to what in that science the super-experts of Communications City might be willing to research.
Since it was only cover-up, it need merely be credible to those who were listening; and any silences had to be accounted for.
As it turned out, the writing filled in most of the gaps. And he was able to limit the silences to two more.
But the writing - fantastic.
‘How old is Lilgin! What’s the thought?’
‘The man I met at the dinner last night seemed to be in his early forties.’
‘He’s always looked like that.’
‘Always is a long time. Be more specific’
‘The regime has existed for 106 years. The last succession took place 32 years ago. So if he was thirty then, and is sixty-two now, he could - with all those new protein injections - look forty-two.’
‘Who was the previous dictator?’
‘What we have here is a grandfather-father-son succession, all with the same name.’
‘I presume they all looked a little bit alike, also.’
‘The photographs show some family resemblance but not that strong.’
‘Do you know anyone who remembers the father?’
‘No, the son had everybody who ever knew the father, killed.’
‘How about Jodell? Megara?’
‘Well, presumably, they knew the father, and are still alive. You have to remember that these are the two biggest suck-ups in the palace.’
‘What was the explanation for an hereditary dictatorship?’
‘The way I heard it, in the early days of a new idealistic society, opportunists, counter-revolutionaries, bourgeoisie falsifiers, deviationists, people with a narrow understanding of realism, nationalists of all types, etc., had to be fought to a standstill. This could best be done if there was no struggle for leadership during the formative -years of the first genuinely revolutionary civilization.’
Qrlo grinned at that one, and wrote: ‘You know the lingo even better than I do. Okay - do we have anyone who knows about those protein shots for slowing the appearance ofaging?’
That got a head shake, and a quick scrawl: ‘What would a diet expert be doing in Communications City?’
It was true; but - Orlo raised his hand.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘the thought which I have had in my mind is that the whole of history refutes this concept of a grandfather, father, and son all being equally competent, equally remorseless, and exactly the same kind of bastard. My feeling is that what we have here is not just protein prolongation of life but one man who has been in power the entire 106 years. Now, how can we prove, or disprove, that And where is the inventor of Martin Lilgin’s immortality? Or rather, where does he get those shots and who manufactures his current supply?’
The amazed discussion of that question could have gone on a lot longer than it did. But Orlo had been keeping one eye on his watch; and abruptly he put up his hand; Arger gestured, and nodded; and Orlo said, ‘Gentlemen, it’s twenty-three minutes to seven. And I absolutely have to be somewhere before seven; and I imagine so do you. Therefore
He raised his thumb.
Arger nodded and gestured.
Ishkrin made some final idiotic remark about possible collaboration between the scientists of Communications City and Orlo’s ‘office’. That’s how he worded it: office.
Orlo did not wait to find out what had happened to the staff of that office. He ushered the men out of his private exit. And departed hastily. He was thinking: it is a fact that no one person, no single human brain, can ever think of all the implications of an action. Lilgin was no exception.
The dictator had at least something that looked like an altruistic quality. He either gave, or pretended to give, credit to his colleagues of the Praesidium. In a special alcove on the way to the dinner room were portraits of all the persons who had ever been members of the Supreme Praesidium.
The credit part was a pretence - Orlo believed. The truth had to be over the years the dictator had had an increasing problem with memory lapses. The portraits were reminders for details that he dared not let fade. A man who forgets his enemies, and the charges against them, is in danger.
The alcove was dimly lighted. In fact, a single candle burned in front of each of the niches where the photograph was recessed so deep that a willing viewer had to stand directly in front of it to see it at all. Individuals who passed through the alcove could not help but notice the difficulty of seeing even one face, let alone all of them.
But the candle - so the story went - was a reversion to an ancient reverential symbol of admiration and friendship. The little flame, moreover, testified to the right of the individual to be respected for his personal accomplishments. Thus it was an expression of warmth and good feeling, and a tribute to the loyalty, ability, and sense of duty of him before whose portrait it flickered.
It was a quarter to seven, as Orlo walked in a deliberate way through the alcove. He appeared to be in an absent-minded state; for he stopped several times, and leaned with his back against one wall or another. Eyes half-closed (or half-open) he seemed to be thinking of something.
After a while he continued on his way. The overall direction of his motion was toward the room where the Praesidium members and the dictator and he had eaten their dinner the night before. In fact, on leaving the alcove, he proceeded briskly toward the barrier table in front of the dining room door as if he fully expected to attend. Soon, the sounds of merriment from inside were loud and unmistakable. The drunks were audibly screaming with laughter, and shrieking whatever it was they were saying to each other.
Orlo approached to within a dozen feet of the table where all the officers sat, watching him now. Abruptly, at that point, he stopped. He did an Oh-my-God-I’ve-just-remembered reaction, and half-turned away. But apparently realized the amenities, and so faced the uniformed men.
He called out to the group as a whole, yet looked at the youthful General Hintnell as he spoke: ‘I’ve just now realized, gentlemen, that I have an urgent appointment and cannot attend this dinner tonight. If anyone asks after me, say that I’ll explain later.’
With that, he turned and hurried away, shuddering at the madness of what he was doing. And half expecting to be pursued and apprehended.
When nothing happened, he grew calm again. And deliberate. Once more, he appeared to be in a series of deep, delaying thoughts as he passed through the alcove and its niches. This time he paused longest before the portrait of Crother Williams.
As in every instance, there were no dates; just the name.
The face stared down thoughtfully at Orlo. It had a slightly harassed expression. But it looked about thirty or so.
In his passage through the alcove the previous evening, Orlo had not lingered at all. But he had caught glimpses. And, during the night, had awakened once or twice and wondered about the significance of it all: the dim lights, the resultant difficulty of seeing what was in the niches; the very depth of those niches seemed meaningful.
Prior to coming to the palace, it had seemed to his sharp, suspicious mind that age thirty was just about the ultimate dividing line. As he came to that, or earlier, age, the average executive in Lilgin-land usually had charges placed against him. And he was either killed, or transported. What he was transported to depended on the charges and on his attitude. He could simply disappear into a remote hinterland into a technical activity. Or else, if the charges were especially severe - if he were, for example, charged with being a provocateur, or a bourgeoisie falsifier, or a hopelessly bureaucratic type, or showed political instability - rehabilitation could only be achieved by uncomplaining farm or other hard labour.
On this second night, Orlo took the time to observe that only about a third of the men were over thirty. He made that generalized observation while he was in the hurried act of counting the niches.
He got the unbelievable total of 284.
SEVENTEEN
It had been pitch dark for some while when there was finally a sound at the door. And, when Orlo opened it, Sheeda came in. She carried a newspaper.
‘The story about you is on page one,’ she said. ‘Your promotion.’
Orlo accepted the paper that she handed to him. But he did not immediately glance at it. ‘I notice,’ he said, instead, ‘it’s after nine. Where have you been?’
She had been taking her coat off. Now, she dropped it into a chair and stood looking at him, a slender girl in a brown dress, her long hair like a frame for her face and neck.
‘Is that a brotherly question?’ she asked.
Orlo considered that. ‘No,’ he said finally.
‘This is the night I get to be a mistress?’
He had to smile at that. ‘You certainly seem to be willing,’ he said.’
‘I just want to stay alive,’ said the girl, simply, ‘as long as I can. And I have a feeling that’s one of the requirements.’
‘You have the wrong thought about Lilgin,’ Orlo replied mechanically. ‘It’s his advisers we have to watch out for. He’s a social engineer. They’re suck-ups.’
The girl was silent; said nothing.
‘Actually,’ Orlo continued, ‘I’m probably what would be called an idealist. I made up my mind about this woman business before coming here. It’s really not good for a girl or a woman to have sex forced upon her. So it won’t happen. When I look at you, I don’t think of you as a sister. But I also don’t believe in having a woman sent to my bed for my pleasure.’
‘I still get to stay here?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘In the long run, we’ll have to sleep in the same bed; so why not settle that tonight.’
‘It’s a magnificent double bed, large enough for two friends to bed down on. I suppose there’s no reason why a youth and a girl shouldn’t just room together.’
‘Does that mean we sleep in the same bed tonight?’
Orlo sighed. ‘You’re one of those bulldog types,’ he said. ‘But - I suppose so.’
‘So that’s settled.’ She was smiling suddenly. ‘Why don’t I make us a drink? Okay?’
‘You haven’t answered my question yet.’
‘What question?’ A blank face. Eyes blinking in bewilderment.
‘Coming in this late?’
She shrugged. ‘I was held up at the office. Never happened before. Boss came rushing in at five to six, and said there was some extra work that had to be got out.’ She made a face. ‘It didn’t seem to be all that important to me, what he had me do. But you know how these sub-level executives are. They just about go out of their minds if there’s any possibility of their being charged with - what is the term? -defects in their work, poor leadership qualities, or; of course, worst of all, wrecking.’
When she had finished, Orlo said in a deliberate tone, ‘Never happened before?’
‘Never.’
Orlo leaned back, closed his eyes. Without opening them, he said, ‘Get us that drink, will you?’
It was not so much, then, that he heard her leave; that would have been a little difficult on such thick carpet. But there was a sense of emptiness where she had been that communicated to him.
That thought also faded. And he sat there, and he thought - Where was I at five to six? … And the answer to that was that he had been talking to Ishkrin and Rosten for over an hour by that time.
Hard to connect the two items. Presumably, he could have in his mind all through that conversation that Sheeda was normally due back at the apartment. And if it influenced him, then he would - presumably - end his meeting with the two scientists on the dot of six, and rush up to the apartment to await the girl.
But such a thought had not been in his mind. And he had not ended the conversation, and had not gone back to his apartment even when he did end it suddenly for another reason: that other reason being his plan to count the portraits in the alcove and to take a look at Crother Williams.
Besides, at no time had he known that she was being held at the office.
So she, and what she was doing, or why, was never a factor.
Yet it was. Because somebody had hastily caused her to be delayed at her office.
A total contradiction?
Actually, the logic of it was not all that difficult, or all that well thought out. When it had earlier become apparent that he was ignoring the instruction about attending the scientists’ luncheon, the overall question in the minds of those who watched, and listened in, and analyzed, on behalf of Lilgin, was: What all will he do? What is he up to?
The refusal of the scientists to cooperate on the Higenroth project came as a pleasant surprise to Lilgin. Immediately, it was no longer urgent that Orlo be kept away from the prisoners in Communications City.
The girl was held up, because … what else does he have in mind doing this afternoon and evening? The thought was that when Orlo returned to the apartment, and she was not there, perhaps he would be motivated to reveal some additional plan or purpose. Would go and do something else.
That simple. And that unnecessary. Because on returning from the alcove, he didn’t go anywhere.
Conclusion: He really doesn’t understand the situation.
It was just as well, of course. The result was that the decision was reaffirmed that he would be allowed to live another day.
And that the great experiment would continue.
In the darkness there was a movement in the bed beside Orlo. Then a small womanly voice: ‘Why don’t you come over on top of me?’
‘It wouldn’t be right.’
I think I’ve fallen in love with you.’
Orlo turned over on his back, and lay there under the sheets and the quilt, and was somehow aware that she had taken off all her clothes and was lying nude less than a foot away. That thought did something to him; but he braced himself against that something.
‘I can’t escape the feeling,’ he said, ‘that you believe this is something you’re expected to do for me, and therefore you want to do it for fear that you’ll be penalized.’ He lied, ‘I don’t believe you will be.’
‘I honestly,’ came the muffled voice, ‘find your attitude and restraint so wonderful that I feel overwhelmed with goodwill toward you.’
‘Don’t tempt me. I’m only human.’
Pause. Silence. Continuing night. Then: ‘For God’s sake, sir, I’m just wild with desire.’
‘Sir!‘he echoed. And he laughed.
It was not a long laughter, just an abrupt burst, which he hastily fought down into a cough.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sheeda in a subdued voice, ‘but I was told to address you that way.’
‘It wasn’t the word,’ Orlo gulped. ‘It was the context. I apologize.’
Silence. ‘You say,’ he said, ‘you’ve never been made love to before?’
‘No, never. So I’m curious, also. What would it be like?’
Orlo lay there in the silent darkness on the king-size bed; and he thought of kissing those sweet-looking lips, and imagined pressing his naked body down on hers. And there was no question - he wanted to, desperately.
But, also, from somewhere in the darkness of his inner being came a return of determination. Almost at once he could feel his lips tighten, and his eyes narrow. And, suddenly, there was that infinitely strong feeling of… No, I will not take advantage.
As he rationalized it (not for the first time): to give in to anything that was intended to corrupt, was always a mistake. True, a man should probably not deny himself sex. But truth also was, this girl was intended to start the demolish-ment of his purpose, whatever it might be. Therefore …
