He drew himself up to his full height. Hell, he told himself,
Why not do a whaling show instead of this science fiction thing with Gabriel?
Because, his business sense told him, it would be too realistic. Historicals are dead. Nobody watched them. The Hallmark Hall of Fame killed them years ago and nobody’s had the guts to try them again. Too dull. And too realistic.
Still, he thought, it’ll be good to have something like this in reserve. Doesn’t have to be realistic or even historical. Maybe a science fiction whaler, on another planet. Yeah! With a different monster every week! He smiled; felt almost giddy. Bernie, he told himself, you’re a genius. He made a mental note to look into the possibility of taking acting lessons. In secret. Like that football player far the Jets had done.
And then the real idea hit him. It came in a flash, the whole of it, so completely detailed that he saw the columns of figures adding up to a fortune, nine digits worth. It was blinding. Terrifying. He sagged against the rail.
“That’s it,” he whispered to himself. “That’ll do it! But it’s got to be done in secret.” He squeezed his eyes shut and locked the secret deep within his convoluted brain.
“You looking for me?”
Fnger whirled, startled, and saw Brenda Impanema standing at the hatch that led inside to the bridge. She was out of costume now, wearing a comfortable kaftan that billowed in the breeze against her lean figure.
“I got a phone message from the computer that said you wanted to see me,” Brenda said.
Gathering himself together, Finger grumbled, “That was last night”
“Gabriel’s two goons wouldn’t let me out of the bar until you two had finished your business talk,” she said. “By the time I got to my stateroom and saw the message, I figured you were asleep… or at least in bed.”
From someone else, Finger would have taken that for insolence. But from Brenda—he smiled.
“You were right. Smart girl.” Then he looked sharply at her. She seemed weary, red eyed. “You didn’t sleep good?”
“Not very.”
“Who were you with?”
“Nobody,” she said.
Finger considered the pros and cons for a moment. His ultimate, secret new idea glowed within him like a warming beacon. “Gabriel and I came to an agreement last night. We’re going to do the show up in Canada. Les will check on the available studios up there. The talent office will start looking for a suitable male lead this morning.”
“What about the female lead?”
“Rita Yearling.”
Brenda’s mouth went tight.
“Nobody’s going to find out about her previous life. That’s why I’ve got a publicity department, to keep things quiet.”
“Sure,” Brenda said.
“So you don’t like her,” Finger said. “That’s too bad.”
Brenda looked away from him and let the salt wind blow at her hair. “No problem for me. I’m not going to have to work with her.”
Taking a step closer to her, Finger said, “I still want you to go to Canada and keep an eye on things for me.”
“You mean service Ron Gabriel.”
“No. He’s seen Rita and he’s gone crazy over her. She’ll keep him busy enough.”
“You don’t know Ron.” Still looking away from Finger, she said, “I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going!”
“I don’t want to!”
“You’ll do what I tell you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Thanks.”
“I wouldn’t send you up there if Gabriel was going to make things tough for you. You know that.”
“Like hell.”
She still wouldn’t look at him. Feeling hurt, Finger said. “It’s for the good of the show. There’ll be a promotion in it for you.”
“Wonderful,” Brenda said. “But I’d rather jump over the rail.
He could feel his face getting red with anger. “So jump already!” he snapped and stamped off to the hatch.
8: THE TEAM
It was spring in Southern California. The rains had finally stopped and for a few weeks everything was green and flowering. As long as it was domed over or otherwise protected from the smog.
Bill Oxnard’s Holovision Laboratory was perched high enough on a Malibu hillside to be out of the usual smog banks, although when there was inversion the tinted clouds crept up and engulfed even the highest of the hills. But at the moment it was a beautiful spring day. Oxnard could lean back in Us desk chair and see the surfers ‘way down on the beach, in their colorful anticorrosion suits and motorized surfboards. In a few weeks—or perhaps days—he’d see the gardeners painting the lawns green and starting to worry about brush fires again. But for the moment, everything was beautiful.
His phone buzzed. He clicked it on and his secretary’s grandmotherly face appeared on the screen.
“Ms. Impanema’s here,” she said.
Oxnard couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Send her right in.”
Brenda strode into his office: tall, leggy, brightly dressed in a flowered slit-skirt sari that was becoming the hit of the new Oriental decorative style. Oxnard himself still wore his regular business clothes: an engineer’s zipsuit of plain orange.
“Hope I’m not late,” she said, smiling at him.
Oxnard came around the desk and took her hand. “No. Right on the tick. Here, have a seat. How’s everything in Toronto? Have you eaten? Want some coffee or something?”
She took the chair and let the heavy-looking handbag she was carrying clunk to the floor. “A Bloody Mary, if you can produce one. I haven’t had any breakfast. The damned airline didn’t serve anything again. It’s getting to be a regular scrooging with them.”
Leaning over his desk to get at the phone, Oxnard called, “May… can you dig up two Bloody Marys and some breakfast?”
His secretary’s face showed that she clearly disapproved of drinking on company time. But after all, it was his company. She nodded and switched off.
“So what’s happening in Toronto?” Oxnard asked as he went back around the desk and sat down. For some reason he felt that he needed the desk between them.
“Everything’s in a whirl,” Brenda replied. “Let’s see… when’s the last time we talked?”
“A week after you first went up there. Ron hadn’t gone yet; he was still here.”
She nodded. “Right… that was the flight where they didn’t serve any dinner. ‘Sorry to inconvenience you,’ she whined nasally, ‘but the food service on this flight has been rendered inoperative due to a malfunctioning of the ground-based portion of our logistical system.’ Fancy way of saying they didn’t stash any food aboard the plane.”
They chatted easily for a while. May brought in a pair of drinks in plastic cups and a tray of real eggs and imitation bacon from the cafeteria. Brenda wolfed down everything hungrily. Oxnard answered a couple of routine phone calls while she ate, then told his secretary to hold all calls and visits.
