plants, and the Ankara Revolt that cost over a hundred thousand lives. Indirectly, it slowed the formation of the Middle Eastern Union and the disruption of their plans for a Martian colony at what is now Grandcanal City.
No, I had to be extremely careful. My Golden Congo Company was in delicate negotiations with United Africa people. My Baluchistan oil company was in trouble with the new government there. The new governor in Maryland was conducting a publicity-seeking probe into the Hagerstown arcology project. General Motors was unsure of cooperating with my General Anomaly complex on the new turbine patent.
No business is static. Life is not static. Even as one project is completed, it begets new projects. The beginning or end of one venture in a life such as mine is a unit in an intricate house of cards, and I was the dealer. Even when I had little or nothing to do with a project personally, when I was but a tertiary mover, or a simple stockholder, I was still related. If something happened to me, “it” happened all over. I needed to arrange things indirectly. I called Carol Oakland at Martian Explorations. “How is the documentary on the Vault coming?”
“It’s almost done, sir. Avery will have a closed circuit screening in a few days. We will inform your office. They will have the new edition of the Royal Jewels book out next month, Mr. Thorne. We presume you wish Publitex to handle it.”
She had given me a good opening. “Yes, of course. In fact, I think you could have them handle the Star Palace project as well. Perhaps we should send someone out there in person. Who’s available?”
She smiled. “For that kind of trip they’d all be willing. Kramer, Reiss, possibly Harrison. They’re all good.”
“What about Braddock? He might be the best.” I noted her expression and quickly added, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you a new expropriation just for this. Let him wander around awhile, get the feel of the place, and don’t pressure him for reports.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve never met him, but if you like him . . .” She paused but a moment. “I’ll get through to his service right away.”
“Good. How’s everything else?”
Carol suddenly looked tired. “Cropsey is in jail. He’s the one who was working on the correlations between the Burroughs 45-16
“Yes, I remember. Not much to go on, but if anything develops from it we might prove the Martians visited us here. But what happened to him?”
“He was found with a pet, sir, a . . . Doberman.”
“Jesus. What the hell was the matter with him? He knows damn well those things are over the legal limit. Couldn’t he keep a hamster or even a permakitten? Something that didn’t eat so much?”
“He was very fond of it, sir. He lives—uh, lived—in that old arcology tower in Omaha, one of the real oldies, a charming old place like two intersecting reversed pyramids. Only about five hundred thousand population.”
“Yes, I know the kind they used to build. Go on.”
“Well, there was a raid on some kind of black mass cult that was supposed to be making human sacrifices. You know the sort that springs up, the antitechnology types. Well, the police got the floor numbers reversed and they blew open the wrong door and—well, they found Armand with the animal—”
“What’s his fine?”
“It’s worse than that, Mr. Thorne. It’s his third offense. He had a whole pride of cats in Borneo and an unlicensed collie in Atlanta. You’d think he’d learn . . .” She sighed deeply. “I suppose they’ll let him work in prison, but maybe not—”
“All right. Do what you can for him. You’d think they would learn that we can’t afford pets any longer. Maybe some day, when we get over the food crisis—”
“They didn’t destroy the animal, sir, that’s one nice thing. It was sent to the preserve in Argentina. Maybe someday—”
“Yes, of course. Someday. They didn’t impound the stela or anything?”
“No, sir. We had all his papers picked up when they cleaned out his apartment. I’ve given the cubestone to Mittleman to study.”
“Fine. You’re doing well, keep it up.”
I thumbed the contact and then punched for Sandler, my chief accountant, signaling for a scrambler circuit. “Lowell, I need about . . . um . . . six million for a private project.” His eyebrows went up and I saw
