rather bruised. Barbarous treatment for the wine of the century. Fitz-Jones took a delicate sip that somehow managed to deprive the tumbler of two centimeters of wine. “Did you have anything specific to see me about?—not that I don’t enjoy company whenever it comes my way.”
“Guess I just wanted to meet somebody else who wasn’t working for the Company. I need an outsider’s view of what’s been happening the past ten years. Quite a bit, I understand.”
Fitz-Jones made an expansive gesture that came within a millimeter of spilling wine. Otto could appreciate the years of practice that had gone into the perfection of that ploy. “Not really, not really… up until a year ago, of course. Until then it was just the workaday grind of running this, you’ll excuse the expression, world. Absolutely nothing for
me
to do while everybody else kept the sweatshop working. Submit a blank report twice a year.
“Then we had the disappearances, of course. Superintendent Malatesta was the official head, titular ruler, of this planet, so you can
imagine
the paperwork I went through. I was on the subspace radio for
hours
every day, until the… can you keep a secret,-Dr. Crowell?”
“As well as the next man, I suppose.”
“Well, it’s not really a secret anymore, since the doctor—Dr. Norman, that is—figured it out. It’s probably all around the Company by now. Anyhow, I talked to the Confederation officials on Terra, and they agreed to send a couple of investigators. Well, they came here—gave a splendid imitation of two scientific chaps—and while they were poking around, they disappeared, too.”
“The two geologists?”
“Precisely. And you’d think that, with two of their men gone, the Confederatión would send an army down here to see what’s going on. But no. I finally talked to some undersecretary, and he told me they just couldn’t afford any more men for our ‘petty intrigues’ on Bruuch.”
“That’s odd.” The first item in the one report the agents had filed had been a warning about the untrustworthiness of the ambassador.
“Indeed. So I don’t think the agents disappeared the way Malatesta did, you know, dead. They must have had a light cruiser hidden off somewhere, and when they found what they were after, they just left. Damned frustrating, you know;
we
still haven’t the faintest idea of what happened to Malatesta. I’m certain that they found out.”
It’s quite likely they did find out
, Otto thought. “Couldn’t the Confederación have sent more agents without telling you?”
“No, impossible; violation of Confederación law. I’m the sole federal official on this planet. I must be notified. And besides, only two people have come in since the agents disappeared. One was Dr. Struckheimer’s new assistant; I’ve kept my eye on him. I think he must be just what he says he is; dull fellow, really. The other newcomer, of course, is you.”
Crowell chuckled. “Well, I rather fancy being a spy. Will you ply me with wine frequently, then?”
Fitz-Jones smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Of course—as I said, it won’t keep.
“Confidentially, I am rather expecting another agent to show up, whether they tell me about it or not. It could be anybody. You know that personality overlay technique—”
“The zombie business?” Crowell echoed Dr. Norman’s words.
“Exactly. They can make a xerox copy of anybody. Anybody they can kidnap and hold for a month, anyhow.” He drained the last of his wine. “This puts a distinguished, shall we say a ‘well-exposed’ person, such as yourself, above suspicion, of course. Too many people would notice your absense.” And his eyes told Otto again: he’s lying, he suspects.
The ambassador levered himself out of the oversized cushion. “Here, let me freshen your drink.” He came back with two full glasses.
“Thanks. Oops, time to take my Pandroxin.” He took a pillbox from his pocket and washed two pills down, one Gravitol
“Guess I just wanted to meet somebody else who wasn’t working for the Company. I need an outsider’s view of what’s been happening the past ten years. Quite a bit, I understand.”
Fitz-Jones made an expansive gesture that came within a millimeter of spilling wine. Otto could appreciate the years of practice that had gone into the perfection of that ploy. “Not really, not really… up until a year ago, of course. Until then it was just the workaday grind of running this, you’ll excuse the expression, world. Absolutely nothing for
me
to do while everybody else kept the sweatshop working. Submit a blank report twice a year.
“Then we had the disappearances, of course. Superintendent Malatesta was the official head, titular ruler, of this planet, so you can
imagine
the paperwork I went through. I was on the subspace radio for
hours
every day, until the… can you keep a secret,-Dr. Crowell?”
“As well as the next man, I suppose.”
“Well, it’s not really a secret anymore, since the doctor—Dr. Norman, that is—figured it out. It’s probably all around the Company by now. Anyhow, I talked to the Confederation officials on Terra, and they agreed to send a couple of investigators. Well, they came here—gave a splendid imitation of two scientific chaps—and while they were poking around, they disappeared, too.”
“The two geologists?”
“Precisely. And you’d think that, with two of their men gone, the Confederatión would send an army down here to see what’s going on. But no. I finally talked to some undersecretary, and he told me they just couldn’t afford any more men for our ‘petty intrigues’ on Bruuch.”
“That’s odd.” The first item in the one report the agents had filed had been a warning about the untrustworthiness of the ambassador.
“Indeed. So I don’t think the agents disappeared the way Malatesta did, you know, dead. They must have had a light cruiser hidden off somewhere, and when they found what they were after, they just left. Damned frustrating, you know;
we
still haven’t the faintest idea of what happened to Malatesta. I’m certain that they found out.”
It’s quite likely they did find out
, Otto thought. “Couldn’t the Confederación have sent more agents without telling you?”
“No, impossible; violation of Confederación law. I’m the sole federal official on this planet. I must be notified. And besides, only two people have come in since the agents disappeared. One was Dr. Struckheimer’s new assistant; I’ve kept my eye on him. I think he must be just what he says he is; dull fellow, really. The other newcomer, of course, is you.”
Crowell chuckled. “Well, I rather fancy being a spy. Will you ply me with wine frequently, then?”
Fitz-Jones smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Of course—as I said, it won’t keep.
“Confidentially, I am rather expecting another agent to show up, whether they tell me about it or not. It could be anybody. You know that personality overlay technique—”
“The zombie business?” Crowell echoed Dr. Norman’s words.
“Exactly. They can make a xerox copy of anybody. Anybody they can kidnap and hold for a month, anyhow.” He drained the last of his wine. “This puts a distinguished, shall we say a ‘well-exposed’ person, such as yourself, above suspicion, of course. Too many people would notice your absense.” And his eyes told Otto again: he’s lying, he suspects.
The ambassador levered himself out of the oversized cushion. “Here, let me freshen your drink.” He came back with two full glasses.
“Thanks. Oops, time to take my Pandroxin.” He took a pillbox from his pocket and washed two pills down, one Gravitol
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