«Bosh! How could they know a thing like that? Keep quiet, Joseph. We admit nothing. Their man is a fake. In the meantime we make full use of our Special Service squads and grab him back, if possible before the Eastern Coalition makes its disclosure. If strong measures are necessary and this Smith person gets shot resisting arrest or something, well, it's just too bad. He's been a nuisance all along.»
«Agnes! Do you know what you are suggesting?»
«I'm not suggesting anything. People get hurt every day. This matter must be cleared up, Joseph, for everybody. The greatest good of the greatest number, as you are always saying.»
«I don't want the lad hurt.»
«Who said anything about hurting him? You must take firm steps, Joseph; it's your duty. History will justify you. Which is more important? — to keep things on an even keel for five billion people, or to go soft and sentimental about one man who isn't even properly a citizen?»
Douglas didn't answer. Mrs. Douglas stood up. «Well, I can't waste time arguing intangibles; I've got to get Madame Vesant to cast a new horoscope. I didn't give the best years of my life putting you where you are to throw it away through lack of backbone. Wipe the egg off your chin.» She left.
The chief executive of the planet stayed for two more cups of coffee before he felt up to going to the Council Chamber. Poor old Agnes! He guessed he had been a disappointment to her … and no doubt the change of life wasn't making things easier. Well, at least she was loyal, right to her toes … and we all have shortcomings; she was probably as sick of him as he — no point in that!
He straightened up. One damn sure thing! — he wasn't going to let them be rough with that Smith lad. He was a nuisance, granted, but rather appealing in a helpless, half-witted way. Agnes should have seen how easily he was frightened, then she wouldn't talk that way. Smith would appeal to the maternal in her.
But did Agnes have any «maternal» in her? When she set her mouth, it was hard to see it. Oh shucks, all women had maternal instincts; science had proved that. Well, hadn't they?
Anyhow, damn her guts, he wasn't going to let her push him around. She kept reminding him that she had put him into the top spot, but he knew better … and the responsibility was his alone. He got up, squared his shoulders, and went to Council.
All day he kept expecting someone to drop the other shoe. But no one did. He was forced to conclude that the fact that Smith was missing was close held in his own staff, unlikely as that seemed. The Secretary General wanted to close his eyes and have the whole horrid mess go away, but events would not let him. Nor would his wife.
Agnes Douglas did not wait for her husband to act in the case of the Man from Mars. Her husband's staff took orders as readily from her as from him — or more readily. She sent for the executive assistant for civil information, as Mr. Douglas' flack was called, then turned to the most urgent need, a fresh horoscope. There was a scrambled private link from her suite to Madame Vesant's studio; the astrologer's plump features came on screen at once. «Agnes? What is it, dear? I have a client.»
«Your circuit is hushed?»
«Of course.»
«Get rid of the client.»
Madame Alexandra Vesant showed no annoyance. «Just a moment.» Her features faded out, were replaced by the «Hold» signal. A man entered and stood by Mrs. Douglas's desk; she saw that it was James Sanforth, the press agent she had sent for.
«Have you heard from Berquist?» she demanded.
«Eh? I wasn't handling that; that's McCrary's pidgin.»
She brushed it aside. «You've got to discredit him before he talks.»
«You think Berquist sold us out?»
«Don't be naive. You should have checked with me before you used him.»
«But I didn't. It was McCrary's job.»
«You are supposed to know what is going on. I — » Madame Vesant's face came back on screen. «Wait over there,» Mrs. Douglas said to Sanforth. She turned to the screen. «Allie dear, I want fresh horoscopes for Joseph and myself, right away.»
«Very well.» The astrologer hesitated. «I can be of greater assistance, dear, if you tell me the nature of the emergency.»
Mrs. Douglas drummed on the desk. «You don't have to know?»
«Of course not. Anyone possessing the necessary rigorous training, mathematical skill, and knowledge of the stars could calculate a horoscope, knowing nothing but the hour and place of birth of the subject. You could learn it … if you weren't so terribly busy. But remember: the stars incline but do not compel. If I am to make a detailed analysis to advise you in a crisis, I must know in what sector to look. Are we most concerned with the influence of Venus? Or possibly with Mars? Or — »
Mrs. Douglas decided. «With Mars,» she interrupted. «Allie, I want a third horoscope.»
«Very well. Whose?»
«Uh … Allie, can I trust you?»
Madame Vesant looked hurt. «Agnes, if you do not trust me, you had best not consult me. Others can give you scientific readings. I am not the only student of the ancient knowledge. Professor von Krausemeyer is well thought of, even though he is inclined to …» She let her voice trail off.
«Please, please! I wouldn't think of letting anyone else perform a calculation for me. Now listen. No one can hear from your side?»
«Of course not, dear.»
«I want a horoscope for Valentine Michael Smith.»
«“Valentine Mich — ” The Man from Mars?»
«Yes, yes. Allie, he's been kidnapped. We've got to find
Two hours later Madame Alexandra Vesant pushed back from her desk and sighed. She had had her secretary cancel all appointments; sheets covered with diagrams and figures and a dog-eared nautical almanac testified to her efforts. Alexandra Vesant differed from some astrologers in that she did attempt to calculate the «influences» of heavenly bodies, using a paper-backed book titled
She trusted the book as she had trusted him; there was no one who could cast a horoscope like Simon, when he was sober — half the time he had not needed the book. She knew that she would never have that degree of skill; she always used both almanac and manual. Her calculations were sometimes fuzzy; Becky Vesey (as she had been known) had never really mastered multiplication tables and was inclined to confuse sev ens with nines.
Nevertheless her horoscopes were eminently satisfactory; Mrs. Douglas was not her only distinguished client.
She had been a touch panicky when Mrs. Douglas demanded a horoscope for the Man from Mars — she had felt the way she used to feel when some idiot from the audience had retied her blindfold just before the Professor was to ask her questions. But she had discovered 'way back then, as a girl, that she had talent for the right answer; she had suppressed her panic and gone on with the show.
So she had demanded of Agnes the exact hour, date, and place of birth of the Man from Mars, being fairly sure that they were not known.
But precise information had been supplied, after short delay, from the
But, after two hours of painful arithmetic, although she had completed findings for Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, she had nothing for Smith. The trouble was simple — and insuperable. Smith had not been born on Earth.
Her astrological bible did not include such an idea; its anonymous author had died before the first rocket to the Moon. She had tried to find a way out of the dilemma, on the assumption that principles were unchanged and that she must correct for displacement. But she grew lost in a maze of unfamiliar relationships; she was not sure the signs of the Zodiac were the same from Mars … and what could one do without signs of the Zodiac?
She could as easily have extracted a cube root, that being the hurdle that had caused her to quit
