“I’d be more likely to think it was Vyckhoven.”
“Could be. Or it could be the Armageddonists, or Human Supremacy; I am ashamed to say that this heil-Merlin Cybernarchist gang are friendly to us. Or it could be some of the banking crowd, or some of these rival space-companies. Barton-Massarra is trying to find out. Well, we have some of Wade’s pet suspects at Interplanetary Building now. There’s been a meeting going for the last week to partition the Alpha Gartner System.”
The Interplanetary Building had been a medium-class residence hotel at the time of the War. Junior staff officers and civilian technicians and their families had lived there. It had been vacant ever since the disastrous outbreak of peace. Now it had a big new fluorolite sign, and housed the offices of all the Maxwell companies. There was a truculent display of anti-vehicle weapons on the top landing stage, and more Barton-Massarra private police. They looked even more villainous then the ones at the spaceport. Conn recalled having heard that most of the Blackie Perales gang had been discharged for lack of evidence; he wondered how many of them had hired with Barton-Massarra.
The meeting was in a big conference room six floors down; it had been going on uninterrupted for days, with all the interested companies’ representatives standing watch-and-watch around the clock. Lester Dawes and Morgan Gatworth and Lorenzo Menardes were there for L. E. & S.; Transcontinent & Overseas was represented; there were people from Alpha-Interplanetary, and bankers and financiers, and people from the companies building the two ships at the spaceport. And J. Fitzwilliam Sterber, the lawyer.
And reporters, phoning stories in and getting audiovisual interviews of anybody who would hold still long enough. They converged in a rush as Conn and his father and Lucas came in.
“No statement, gentlemen!” Rodney Maxwell shouted, above the babble of their questions. “When we have anything to release, it will be released to all of you.”
Jacquemont and Nichols had already arrived; Lucas went to them and began talking about stevedores and lifters to get off the cargoes from the ships. Conn hastened to join them.
“The scanning and mining equipment aboard the Helen O’Loy,” he said. “That shouldn’t be unloaded here; we’ll take the ship out to Force Command and unload it there.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw, a lurking reporter snatch the handphone off his radio and begin talking; it would be stated authoritatively that Merlin was at Force Command and would be uncovered as soon as special equipment from Koshchei arrived.
Everybody at the long table was shouting at everybody else. The Jurgen and Janicot Companies wanted to buy ships from Koshchei Exploitation & Development. The Alpha-Interplanetary director, who was also a vice-president of Transcontinent & Overseas, opposed that; another director of A-I, who was also board chairman of Koshchei Exploitation & Development, wanted to sell ships to anybody who had the price, the Transcontinent & Overseas man was calling him a traitor to the company, and one of the stockbrokers, who was also a vice-president of Trisystem Investments and a director of Trisystem & Interstellar Spacelines, was wanting to know which company. And a banker who was stockholder in all the companies was shouting that they were all a gang of crooks, and J. Fitzwilliam Sterber was declaring that anybody who called him a crook could continue the discussion through seconds.
Conn suddenly realized that dueling had never been illegal on Poictesme. He wondered how many duels this meeting was going to hatch.
The next afternoon the Helen O’Loy was unloaded, all but the mining equipment; Conn and Yves Jacquemont and Charley Gatworth and a few others took her out to Force Command. They were met by Klem Zareff’s armed airboats two hundred and fifty miles from the mesa, and they found the place in more of a state of siege than when the Badlands had been full of outlaws. A lot of heavy armament seemed to have been moved in from Barathrum Spaceport, and Zareff had more men and firepower than he had ever commanded during the System States War. If Minister-General Murchison was convinced that the Merlin excitement was a cover for some seditious plot against the Federation, this ought to give him food for thought.
There was still work, mostly boring lateral shafts for echo shots, going on at the butte, under the relay station. That was Leibert, who was still insisting that that was where Merlin was buried. There was also some work on top of the mesa, by those who were convinced that that was where Merlin was to be found. Kurt Fawzi was taking the lead in that. Franz Veltrin and Dolf Kellton sided with Leibert, and Fawzi’s office clique had split into two factions. Judge Ledue was maintaining strict impartiality, as befitted his judicial position.
“Why hasn’t your father gotten those detectives of his to work on this fake preacher?” Zareff wanted to know, when he and Tom Brangwyn were able to talk to Conn alone.
“Well, they’ve been busy,” Conn said. “Trying to keep him alive, for one thing. You heard about the robo-bomb somebody launched at us the day we brought the ships in, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and we heard about the Nocero girl, too,” Brangwyn said. “But hasn’t it ever occurred to you or your dad that this fellow that calls himself Leibert might be mixed up with the gang that did that?”
“You suspect him, too?”
Brangwyn nodded. “I took a few audiovisuals of him, when he didn’t know it; I sent them to some different law-enforcement people over in Morven, where he says he comes from. They never saw him before, and couldn’t find anybody who did.”
“Well? He just doesn’t have a police record, then.”
“He says he’s a preacher. Preachers don’t go off in the woods by themselves to preach; they get up in
