send you over a complete selection of all of our models.”
Don said, “I don’t think I could afford—”
The other was distressed. “Oh, sir, there would be no charge.”
Don said, “I’ll think it over. Thanks.” He flicked off the other’s distressed face before he could go into a sales pitch. Don knew what the other was thinking. The interplanetary hero was probably considering the vehicles of some of the competitors, Mercedes Hover, or whoever. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Rolls-Royce Hovers would be on the way to Center City before the night was out.
He turned to Alicia and said, “See what I mean? What would I do with money if I had it?”
She said, “Holy Almighty Ultimate, I didn’t know it went
“Well, it does. I can’t spend a pseudo-cent. Hell, I can’t give it away.”
For the time, at least, they talked no more of the hold over Don that she sensed her father and Rostoff held.
She had never again mentioned the possibility of marriage. Don didn’t know if it was because she had second thoughts, or if she was waiting for him to take the initiative. Actually, he still didn’t know how he felt about it. She was a dish, but was she the kind of dish you’d want to spend the rest of your life with, even after the initial notoriety of his getting his medal had died away a bit and he was more able to appear in public places without being mobbed? That she was a spoiled, selfish young woman was obvious. But, on the other hand, one day she would inherit the Demming fortune and by that time the Demming fortune would be a damned sight larger than it was today. And although he didn’t really need money now, perhaps the time would come. Money was power and he was beginning to like the feeling of power.
It was the day following this discourse with Alicia that the fourth man to join the holders of preferred stock came on the scene.
Don had been sitting at his desk, going over the speech he was to make the following day. This was only the second time he had been on Tri-Di lens and the first time, at the ceremony in Geneva, it wasn’t a personal thing. He hadn’t really given a speech or anything. He was unhappy about it, in spite of all the coaching the two actors had given him, and in spite of all the careful honing the speech writers had done to bring out the proper sincerity, the proper simplicity, the proper terminology. For instance, it wouldn’t have done to use a single word or expression that couldn’t be understood by everyone in the system older than ten.
The identity screen on the door buzzed and he flicked the button that activated it. Rostoff’s face was there.
He said, oozing unctuousness, “May we come in, Colonel Mathers?”
Mildly surprised at the courtesy, Don flicked another button which opened the door.
Rostoff strode in, followed by a stranger, followed by Demming. All were fawning.
The stranger was a bluff, slightly red-faced type, who simply radiated good will and honesty. He was conservatively dressed, clear and deep of voice when he spoke. And in five seconds flat Don had branded him
Don began to stand but the newcomer said, still radiating cheerful admiration, “No, no, Colonel. Don’t bother.” He reached across the desk to shake hands. His grip was firm and friendly.
Demming wheezed, “Colonel Mathers, this is Senator Frank Makowski, of Callisto. Undoubtedly you have heard his inspired speeches over and over again; possibly when you were in deep space in your One Man Scout. He is Callisto’s representative to the Solar System League’s Parliament in Geneva.”
“Yes, of course,” Don said, smiling as best he could. He had never heard of the man in his life. “Please be seated, gentlemen. It’s an honor to meet you personally, Senator.”
The senator, even while finding his chair said, “Colonel Mathers, the honor is mine.”
“Could I offer you gentlemen a drink?” Don said. He had already had two or three today, even though he was trying to concentrate on the speech.
Rostoff said, “No, no, Colonel. It’s only four o’clock and Lawrence and I are acquainted with your restrained drinking habits.”
“Well,” Don said, in deprecation, “I’m not exactly a teetotaler.” The bastard. Don could have used another drink along in here.
“But almost,” Demming said in his flat voice. “Colonel, we know how busy you are, but we have a business matter with the Senator, here, and in view of the fact that you are president and chairman of the board, he was desirous to clear it with you.”
The senator chuckled. “In actuality, Colonel, my big motivation was to have the honor of meeting you. I have dealt with Mr. Demming and Mr. Rostoff before, in line of my duties, and, of course trust them implicitly.”
Don tried to look interested and sincere and held his peace.
Demming cleared his voice and said, “In view of the fact that Senator Makowski is in a key position so far as the corporation is concerned, it occurred to Max and me that possibly we should, ah, give him a piece of the action, as the old saying goes. He has invariably cooperated most generously with both Max and myself in earlier projects involving the mineral exploitation of Callisto and I am sure that in this more all out effort, his position will make it imperative that we work in full cooperation with him.”
“Yes, indeed,” Rostoff said.
“Of course, in this great crusade,” the Senator said, “you would have my all out support in any case…”
Don said, “What is the problem, gentlemen?” He hadn’t the vaguest idea what they were talking about.
Rostoff said, “Lawrence and I have suggested that one percent of the preferred stock of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Mining Corporation be issued to the Senator.”
Demming said, “And he wished your assurance that you completely concurred.”
“Why, of course,” Don said earnestly. “In fact, I had been considering bringing up the matter myself, except that I had thought in terms of two percent.”
The Senator shone.
Demming and Rostoff glared.
Rostoff got out finally, “We shall have to look into it, Colonel Mathers. You are aware of how thinly stretched we already are.” He came to his feet, followed by the other two. “I’ll confer with you later on, after checking with the executive committee of the board.”
When they were gone, Don snorted in both self-satisfaction and ill humor. He said aloud, “If they keep on passing out chunks of their stock to every crook that comes along with his hand extended, they’ll be running out themselves, the bastards.” He had to laugh at the expression on Rostoff’s face as the three had filed out. The other was going to hit the ceiling the next time he saw Don Mathers. Don didn’t give a damn.
They held the initial broadcast in a comparatively small conference room of the offices of the corporation. The penthouse was too luxurious to fit in with the soon to be mounted campaign for the Simplicity Look. In fact, the conference room itself had been redecorated with a less ostentatious table, less ornate chairs.
Don was alone save for Dirck Bosch and two of the bodyguards, but these sat to one side, so as not to appear on lens. The bodyguards kept their cold eyes roaming continuously over the swarm of Tri-Di technicians, in spite of the fact that all of these had been electronically frisked as they entered the building.
The director finally checked his wrist chronometer, turned and said to Don, “All ready, Colonel?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Don said.
The crew all laughed. Hell it wasn’t as good a bon mot as all that. It was just that he was Colonel Mathers, modest attainer of the Galactic Medal of Honor and anything he said in self-deprecation was humor.
Don, seated at the end of the table, looked down at the speech. At first his coaches had wanted him to memorize it and seem to be speaking off the cuff. It would add to the utter sincerity which was the big ingredient. But Don had killed that, telling them that there wasn’t a chance in the world of his being able to memorize anything as long as this. Besides, if he did it once, from then on every audience he addressed was going to expect it, and Don Mathers was scheduled for a lot of audiences in the near future.
The director pointed a finger at one of the cameras and counted down, one, two, three. A red light went on, indicating the conference room was hot. The director then, spoke, being on lens.
He said simply, “Fellow citizens of the Solar System League, I bring you Colonel Donal Mathers, sole living holder of the Galactic Medal of Honor. Colonel Mathers.” He pointed his finger at Don dramatically, and another camera picked Don up, all three lenses shining at him.
