is.”
“About fifty years ago. Maybe exactly fifty years? Go on.”
“Well, it was an ad sort of like this. Not just the same, but, well, I wondered.”
“And you kept silent? You never called it to my attention.”
“I was scared!” Rosa screamed. “Like I am now!” She stumbled to a chair, sank onto its zebra hide, and wept.
After a little while Corinne went to her, bent down, laid arms about the bowed shoulders and cheek close to cheek.
“I understand, Aliyat, dear,” she murmured. “You hadn’t been with me but a few short years. You had finally, barely won to something good, something hopeful. After those dreadful centuries—yes, of course you were terrified of any change, and the change here would have been unforeseeable. Oh, I forgive you. You may even have been right.”
She straightened. “Still,” she said most softly, “that fifty-year interval is strong evidence for another immortal. Isn’t it? He or she wouldn’t risk a continuous campaign. The short-lived would be too likely to start wondering. Our kind has time, and learns patience.”
“How do you know what they’re like?” Rosa pleaded. “They could be bad. I told you how I met two men and— well, we didn’t get along. If they’re still alive, if they’re behind this, I wouldn’t put anything past them.”
Corinne’s tone parched. “I gather you made enemies of them. You had better pull yourself together and”explain, at long last, what did happen.” She waved a hand. “Not today, as overwrought as you are. And ... yes, we must certainly stay cautious. I’ll see what I can discover about Mr. Willock before deciding whether to contact him—and how, if I do.”
She gentled again: “Meanwhile, don’t worry too much, dear. We have resources. I haven’t told you in any detail. Secrecy does become a habit, doesn’t it? Besides, this kind of thing isn’t your metier. But over the years I’ve developed my own connections, including a few persons in key official positions.” The voice clanged. “We won’t stay passive. We’re not alone any more? Then we’ve got to claim our share in the world, or else make ready to defend what is ours.”
3
The tax examiner ruffled several sheets of paper and frowned across his desk. “I think we ought to see your client in person,” he said.
“I believed I,mentioned to you, Mr. Tomek is vacationing abroad,” Hanno replied with studied edginess. “I’ve shown you my power of attorney in this matter.”
“Yes, yes. However. Naturally, you may accompany him, Mr. Levine, if he wants legal counsel at his side.”
“Why? Have you any reason to suspect wrongdoing? I assure you, each detail in each one of his enterprises is in order. Haven’t I been able to answer every single question you’ve put, these past two hours?”
“We have barely begun, Mr. Levine. I have never seen so complicated a web of transactions and interlocking arrangements.”
“Go ahead and trace them out. If you turn up anything unlawful, I’ll be totally surprised, but I’ll be on call.” Hanno drew breath. “Mr. Tomek is an old man. He’s earned a long rest and as much pleasure as is possible at his age. I don’t think you can make any case for calling him in, and if you try, I intend to protest formally, as high up the ladder as necessary.” He left implied: Your superiors won’t thank you for that.
Nasty young corporation mercenary, said the examiner’s attitude, before he sagged a bit and his gray head bent. Fleetingly, Hanno pitied him. What a hell of a way to have spent the few worthwhile decades nature doled out, harassing people in their business and always with paper, never with more than a ghost of whatever blood-joy stirred in village busybody, religious inquisitor, state secret policeman.
Hanno dismissed the feeling: He’s making me waste this afternoon, and yes, doubtless the dreariness has just started. He calculated his conciliation. “No offense. You have your duty to do. And you’ll find us entirely cooperative. But—“ try for a laugh— “I guarantee you won’t make wages.”
The auditor smiled sourly. “I admit you’ve given me what we need to conduct a preliminary check. You understand, don’t you, we accuse nobody. It would be easy to make honest mistakes in this, uh, cat’s cradle.”
“Mr. Tomek’s staff keeps close track, you know. Now if you have no further need of me today, perhaps I should leave you to your work.”
He ought to be calmer, inside as well as outside, Hanno thought when he left. There was nothing worse to fear than a dismal nuisance, because Charles Tomek’s affairs were in truth defensible. Every last one of the many steps by which a gross income of millions became a taxable income of some hundred thousands, was legal. Let IRS try its meanest. Not only governments could use computers. Human beings could.
And Washington had no state income tax yet. That had been one strong reason among many for moving to Seattle. For that matter, he hadn’t really shot the afternoon. Thinking he might, he had made no other commitments; much of die long summer day remained for him to enjoy.
Nevertheless the session rankled. He knew why. I’ve been spoiled, he thought. Once this was a free country. Oh, I always knew that couldn’t last, that here too things were bound to grind back to the norm—masters and serfs, whatever names they go by. And so far we continue happier than most of the world ever was. But damn, modern democracy has the technology to regiment us beyond anything Caesar, Torquemada, Suleyman, or Louis XIV dared dream of.
He sighed, standing in the elevator, suppressing the wish for a smoke although he was alone. Quite apart from the laws that multiplied around him tike bacteria, he owed consideration to the lungs of poor, vulnerable mortals. Indeed, be hadn’t brought his tax liability down as far as he could have. A man who lived in a country ought to contribute his fair share to its maintenance and defense. Everything else was extortion.
John Wanderer disagrees, Hanno reflected. He speaks of human needs, threatened biosphere, scientific mysteries, and says it’s romanticism to suppose private enterprise can cope with them all. No doubt he’s right to some extent. But where do you draw the line?
Maybe I’ve been around too long, maybe it’s prejudiced me. But I remember, for example, those glorious public works that government gave to Egypt, century after century, and how they benefitted the people—pyramids, statues of Rameses II, grain tribute to Rome, Aswan Dam. I remember small shops I’ve closed, men and women thrown out of jobs, because the regulations and required record-keeping changed them to losing propositions.
He came forth into downtown. A wind, strong and cold, thrust odors of salt water through automobile stench. Sunlight spilled from heaven. Crowds bustled. A street musician fiddled a tune he liked, to judge by his stance and his face. The wind flapped the skirts of a particularly delicious girl, as brave a sight as Old Glory on her staff above one building. The vitality caught at Hanno, blew the darkness out of him.
For a minute, practicality lingered. He must consider seriously, and soon, phasing out Charles Tomek. Death and cremation abroad, widower, childless, assets willed to various individuals and certain foundations. ... In due course Toraek’s pet lawyer had better move away, drop out of sight. That would be much simpler to arrange; hundreds or thousands of men hi the United States must bear the name Joseph Levine ... And the dozen additional identities in four different countries, ranging from magazine publisher to day laborer, yes, they ail needed attention. Those which he had created as boltholes, mere camouflage, against a day of need, probably remained safe. Others, though, were for diversification, so he could be active, carry out his undertakings and investments, without making any of them unduly noticeable; and by now some of them, such as Tannahill, were becoming so. How long could he keep up the dance?
How long did he actually wish to? He well understood that his resentment of the modem state sprang in large part from its erosion of privacy; and privacy, like liberty, was a pretty new and fragile idea. Gods damn it, he was a seaman, he wanted a deck again under his feet. But for most of the twentieth century,he had only been able to operate, if he would keep his secret, in offices, by mail and wire and telephone and computer, chasing paper profits, hardly better off—except for his yachts, women, feasts, luxuries, travels, and the hunt that was his ultimate purpose in life—hardly better off than that poor publican, his enemy.
To what end? Wealth? It was a Phoenician’s way to strength. But how much strength would he ever find use
