Tyranopolis, page 14
He said, ‘Maybe if we fall in love, we should ask permission to get married.’
‘You’ll never be allowed to marry me,’ said Sheeda. She sounded resigned.
In the morning she was cheerful again. ‘I’ve figured it all out,’ she said. ‘You’re probably a homo.’
Women, thought Orlo. Grrrrr! .. .
Sheeda continued, ‘One has to be logical about such things. What we actually have here is not a brother-sister thing, but sisters.’
‘Grrrrr,’ said Orlo again. But he said it, also, under his breath. Aloud, he commented, ‘Until now I’ve had the peculiar belief that I might be able to talk out with you some of the problems that will surely come up in my new job. But if what you just said is a sample of your logic, I guess I’ll have to forgo taking you into my confidence.’
Here immediate response to that was to go over and look out of the great window down upon the landscaped vista below. She stood there, her back toward him. She seemed to be shuddering, all the while that he put on his coat. Finally, as he walked to the door, she said without turning, ‘I’m sorry. I won’t be nasty again.’
‘Okay,’ said Orlo.
As he said it, he could feel a change taking place in him … For Pete’s sake, he thought, what am I fighting so hard for?
He said, ‘How would you like to make me a birthday present?’
There must have been a new note in his voice, for that perfect body swung around abruptly, and the blue eyes shone.
‘When?’ Almost a whisper.
‘Tonight.’
‘When is your birthday?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘What would you like for your birthday?’
‘You,’ he said.
She, was in his arms. Exactly how she got there so quickly, Orlo would never clearly remember observing. He did recall a movement out of the corner of one eye, as he turned away. But the details were simply not analyzable; at least not then.
EIGHTEEN
The dictator had awakened with a thought: that is the sharpest thing anyone has ever done, lingering in that alcove as long as Orlo did…
He dressed thoughtfully.
During the evening he had listened to the discussion between Orlo and the five scientists; at which time he had sent secret police to Orlo’s office, and had them ransack it for scrap paper.
One crumpled sheet was the result. It had written on it in the handwriting of Peter Rosten: ‘Who is Orlo Thomas? That is the real question, as I see it -‘
… They had got that far! - So, sadly, decided Martin Lilgin.
Really amazing how perceptive people continued to be, and at the same time remained politically indifferent, showed serious opportunistic degeneration, and were cynical.
In his orderly mind, he labelled Peter Rosten’s single sentence as a ‘distinct enemy outburst.’ He realized as he ate breakfast that he was in a state of grave doubt again. Should this experiment continue even another hour?
Before making up his mind, he had significant passages from the evening, night, and morning dialogues between Orlo and Sheeda played to him. He was not amused by the girl’s ‘cynicism’, but after the morning interchange he had to admit that he had chosen well - as usual .. . She broke through, by God! Okay, he thought, that does it. ,
Continue!
Orders poured from him. Have the girl picked up, and get charges ready. Under no circumstances shall she this evening be allowed in the palace. Orlo Thomas must never see her again except on a closed circuit TV screen when she is being tortured - if that becomes necessary in order to control him. What torture? Be ready to peel off the skin of her face, as a beginning …
That decision made, he called Jodell and said in his mild voice, ‘Prepare a plan to clean up that nest of self-serving individuals - those so-called scientists in Communications City.’
‘Clean them up - when?’
‘Before this day is out.’
‘Does this instruction supersede your earlier caution command about doing nothing that Orlo Thomas might wonder about or be disturbed by?’
“Yes, it supersedes it - with this proviso. Have the roundup take place during the lunch hour. I shall have Alter invite Orlo to have lunch in my apartment. From there he will at Alter’s suggestion again go to visit the Gluckens, following up his promise to you yesterday that he intended to do so. This time I also want him to visit the rocket field from which the Higenroth material was launched twenty-one years ago. It should, accordingly, be quite late before he gets back - perhaps even as late as eight o’clock. Any more questions?’
‘No, excellency. I think that clarifies the situation. It shall be done. Should I know where you are while your Alter is having lunch with Orlo?’
‘I’ll decide about that later.’
To Jodell, that meant he would not be advised. As he waited courteously for the dictator to break the connection, he presumed that Lilgin would take the opportunity to visit a neglected mistress. These were small stereotypes that he -and others - had noticed over the years. And, of course, never mentioned. He even had an idea that he knew which mistress. Odelle had recently been doing those strange things that a woman does when something is wrong .. .
What do you do on your second day of being a member of the Supreme Praesidium? Particularly, what do you do when none of your thoughts are really on your job? And when there is a terrifying sense of. urgency, the need to not waste one precious minute.
Naturally, Orlo walked from his apartment to the elevator, and rode in it down to the main floor. It did not occur to him that there was anything significant about the fact that this morning he was in the elevator alone. The significance was that his absence from the leader’s dinner the night before had been noticed by that group of would-be survivors. And the conclusion drawn was: don’t, accidentally, get to associating with the new member until his status is further clarified. At this moment it looks like one of Lilgin’s games is in progress .. . Except for Megara and Jodell, the Praesidium members were themselves too new to know what that game was.
After leaving the elevator, Orlo proceeded along the vast corridors to the guarded entrance of Communications City. From there, on being admitted, he walked to his office.
En route the same uplifting experiences as on the previous morning. Civilians bowed to him. Military personnel saluted. And when he arrived at his headquarters, there was Bylol, as obsequious as ever. And so were the members of the office staff. During his passage along the inner corridor past the separate offices, the staff people surged to their feet and did not bow. Then, a few minutes after Lidla also had bowed, and Orlo, after acknowledging, walked past her into his private office, closing the door behind him, a timid knock on that door heralded her entrance.
She walked over and stood in front of his desk. Stood there and said nothing. Waited.
Orlo was disturbed.
Am I really, seriously, going to have two women?
Unfortunately, his final parting from Sheeda had stimulated him. And - even more unfortunate - at that point she absolutely had to leave in order to go to her place of work.
Reluctantly, now, Orlo reached into a desk drawer and took out one of the pills; handed it to the girl. She swallowed it, gave him a griefy smile - and waited. Orlo gestured toward the bedroom. She ran.
He joined her there the prescribed time later. And this time, he was glad to note, they were both in better control. The day before it had been one of those wild, over-excited first times. Neither he nor she had known exactly what to do. For him, at least a part of the sad reality of ejaculatio praecox had dominated. And had cut short. And had embarrassed him.
This second time he remained on top of her a full five minutes; and they were both absolutely enchanted.
Afterwards, back at his desk - and lidla back in her secretarial cubbyhole - a still guilty Orlo argued with himself that, as a consequence of what had happened, he would not disgrace himself with Sheeda that night.
Yet another thought buoyed him: the same thought as on the day before: if I’m murdered before dark, they can’t take away from me that I have now, twice, had a woman. (And Lidla a man.)
That seemed very real, and meaningful. And not at all naive.
Imagine, if he had lived nearly twenty-one years. And then died without that. And Lidla the same - for obviously he was her only option.
Somehow, that transcended the curious loyalty he was beginning to feel toward Sheeda, as if she had some special right with him. His obligation to Sheeda (he argued silently) was to make sure that she, also, did not die without having fulfilled herself as a woman.
That (grimly) is one of the true realities of Lilgin-land.
He felt guilty for another reason. The episode with Lidla had taken up nearly forty minutes … all that preliminary kissing and petting.
We who are somehow being used by the dictator, and -somehow - hoping to take advantage of that… had better get on with the job.
Doing what? he wondered.
Sitting there, he wrote a mental essay:
‘I, Orlo Thomas, a nobody who has been making tiny but secret rebel noises since the age of eleven - but for the most part haven’t worked very hard at it - a short time ago was motivated to make my rebel stand.
‘Instead of promptly having charges placed against me, I was brought to the palace of the dictator, and promoted to be one of the thirty or so most powerful men in the world.
‘It is my presumptuous belief that this dictator is an immortal man - which is pretty ridiculous (yet otherwise certain enduring consistencies of government cannot be explained) - and that he has an as yet unknown - to me -purpose for bringing me here to the heartland of power on this planet.
‘If this last is true, the question becomes: does anyone else know what that purpose is? If not, obviously then except for a few imprisoned scientists, I’m in this alone; and am probably going to die without ever knowing the facts.
‘BUT - if someone else is aware of Lilgin’s purpose with me, then my theory that millions of people everywhere are waiting for an opportunity to break the power of this super-villain of all earth history, could extend (I hope) even here to the palace.
‘What purpose could said dictator have with me that would justify even one person risking his own skin? …’
Having ‘written’ the little summary on a sort of a blackboard of the mind, Orlo ‘stared’ gloomily at the final paragraph.
Really, he thought, I’m out of my mind to even imagine such madness … The summary was true, word for word, and in a logical world had to have some explanation, but —
His thought was torn from its track.
The door to his office just about burst off its hinges.
Bylol darted in. His eyes were wide, and almost blank. He blurted, ‘His excellency is on the phone.’
‘Lilgin?’
Having spoken, Orlo became almost as blank as the other man. Presumably, he got a yes, or a nod. But it didn’t register, whatever it was.
When the blankness ended, Orlo thought shakily: after all, I talked to him two evenings ago. On the surface, he isn’t that hard to talk to …
But the inner tremor was still there as he reached for the receiver. Lifting it automatically turned on the viewplate. And there was the famous face.
‘Mr. Thomas,’ said the familiar, resonant voice, ‘will you have lunch with me in my apartment today?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Orlo. ‘What time?’
‘Twelve-thirty. D-One. The guards will have orders to admit you, so just walk in.’
After the contact was broken, Orlo glanced limply at his watch: Eleven minutes after ten. He had come in shortly after nine.
The day was barely begun.
When he looked up after thinking about that, Bylol had disappeared.
He sagged back into his chair. Inside him, a single word used by the dictator was making an impact: ‘… the guards…’
He thought, gulping: how to disappear in one easy lesson? Have lunch with Martin Lilgin …
Suddenly, he needed advice badly.
Up he swayed. Out of his back door he hurried. Out in the corridor he grew calm. Grew thoughtful.
Grew brave.
He thought: once more the intent is to draw me away from the scientists’ luncheon. This time using total power.
Why? … For God’s sake, what is this?
He found Ishkrin in the library, reading. The two men located Mcintosh, and then, with relief, ran into Arger of the magic ability to protect against spies. And, since the rapid minutes had already flown, settled for that much of a group.
Orlo wrote: I have an awful feeling that my coming to yesterday’s luncheon has endangered all the men in Communications City.
His reasoning: By bringing into the open that the scientists did not intend to do anything about the Higenroth project, he had possibly triggered in the dictator’s mind one of the sweeping, destructive thoughts which in times past had caused entire groups and areas to be decimated.
The anger that he envisaged was: They’re in Communications City for one purpose, and if they don’t accept that’s what they’re there for, strike them from the face of the earth!
Within the frame of the triple-level conversation -written, bugged, and unbugged - the great grey moustache of Ishkrin moved up, and down, and sideways, and the friendly voice or pen conveyed … unconcern.
‘We’re all doomed men,’ he said. ‘As individuals, at the doom moment we’re all prepared to take with us one or more of the persons sent against us. But since they’ll only be dupes themselves, it could be that some of us will not even exercise that privilege.’
Having spoken, his grey eyes stared blandly into Orlo’s blue ones.
And Orlo got the message. These men still didn’t trust him. Because what he was doing now, and what he had done late yesterday evening, could be a come-on game that he was trying to work on them. His charging out here to look for them so that he could sound an alarm, from one point of view had the look of a tactic.
It was stalemate forever. ‘Okay,’ he said, resigned. ‘I trust you know what you’re doing.’
‘If,’ said Ishkrin without flinching, ‘you had behind you our long years in this endless nightmare, and if we knew what your role is, and what Lilgin has in mind for you - I might be able to give you some other answer. Failing that -‘ he shrugged, and smiled ‘- have a pleasant luncheon with Chairman Lilgin, Orlo.’
On his way back to his office, Orlo thought: what other answer could he give me? …
It was amazing. In those final, denying words, he had in effect received the other answer:
If necessary, in a crisis, the scientists could act.
NINETEEN
Except for guard barriers, the corridor that stretched away from the open elevator door was the same as farther down.
Orlo stepped out onto the fourth floor, then paused to evaluate the barriers.
The first one was a steel fence which stretched from the inner wall to within a few feet of the plate window. It was at least seven feet high; and the long table behind it must have been on a raised dais. For the dozen youths who sat at the table peered over at him.
Orlo remembered his instructions, and walked slowly forward. The youths looked at him, but said nothing. He walked through the gap between the window and the fence. They let him.
Ahead was a second steel fence. This one stretched from the plate glass to within a yard of the inner wall. The same kind of young heads were visible behind it.
They, also, let him pass. Silently. Without a word. Stony-faced.
Orlo did not look back at either group to verify if they were in uniform, or if they were in fact sitting at a high desk. (They could all be eight feet tall, and standing.)
Ahead was a third barrier. Different. Not metal - and no guards. At least none visible. What it was was a sort of an arbor. Ornate. Flowers grew cunningly out of the floor, and up a trellis. And on the floor, a carpet pathway in red and blue and yellow - the personal colours of Martin Lilgin.
The entire attempt at an appearance of outdoors pointed slantingly at a wide, gilt door. Orlo walked up to that door, checked to make sure if it was in fact, D-One. Whereupon,, bracing himself, he did as he had been told: fingered the latch, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
… The two men - the little Lilgin and the medium Orlo - sat in a gleaming glass room at a glass table, and ate from and with crystal and silver dishes and silver cutlery.
During the meal, Orlo acknowledged the instructions he was given: First, re-visit the Gluckens …
On that, his host smiled, and said gently, ‘Jodell and I shall look forward with interest to the results of such a second interrogation. And perhaps even a third one tomorrow. It’s astonishing, sometimes, what a new mind can discover from old material …’ So, glibly, stated the false Lilgin, pursuant to his instructions.
The Alter also ‘advised’ the visit to the rocket-field. And, of course, Orlo had no alternative but to say that he would go there after his visit to the Gluckens.
Finally, they were at coffee and dessert. At which time the obsequious waiters disappeared.
Whereupon, Lilgin promptly took two sheets of paper from an inner pocket, unfolded them, and handed them to Orlo. The totally surprised Orlo read:
‘Keep reading this even if I continue talking. This may be my single opportunity, ever, to tell you that I am only the Alter Ego of Chairman Lilgin. Which means that I attend functions, and even important meetings, as if I am he.
‘My first thought to you is: Since the instructions about your afternoon and evening activities came to me from Lilgin himself, you must of course obey them.
‘But, now, hear this:
‘I have become convinced that I am about to be killed. I replaced somebody who disappeared a few years ago. And it is obvious that you represent a crisis of such severity that no one who knows anything about it can be permitted to live when it is over.
