Kesley thought of the shining towers and compared them with the squat
tenements of Chicago and Buenos Aires. "It's an incredible city."
"Yes," Daveen said.
With sudden bitterness Kesley said: "Why does the Antarctican Duke keep
that barrier up? Why doesn't he invite the world down here to see what
he has? Why must ninety percent of mankind live in squalor?"
"They want it that way," Daveen pointed out.
He fingered his instrument gently; a mocking note crept forth. Kesley
remained silent in thought for a moment.
Then he nodded. "You're right. The Dukes see to it that nothing
changes, that no progress is ever made. The Twelve Empires don't want
any part of Antarctica, and Antarctica doesn't want any part of them."
Antarctica's Duke, for one reason or another, had raised an impregnable
wall around his fantastic paradise. The Twelve Dukes of the war-blasted
world had erected their own barriers. But who was to say those barriers
could not be thrown down again? There was a _fourteenth_ Immortal. And
he was free to act.
Ten minutes ago such thoughts would have been nothing more than
bravado. Now, Kesley knew, he held power in his hands.
"Daveen?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to leave. I'm going to go looking for the Duke. Is there
anything else you want to tell me, before I go?"
A calm smile spread over the tired face. "Not now," Daveen said.
* * * * *
Another panel in the wall opened as if at Kesley's request, and without
hesitating he stepped through. He found himself in a small rectangular
enclosure whose luminescent walls were inlaid with tiles of a glowing
green plastic.
"Down," he said, and the enclosure sank.
It glided downward with no illusion of descent, drifted through a
thousand-foot shaft and came to a silent halt. A wall opened. Kesley
saw that he was at ground level, in the vestibule of the great building.
He saw the people: tanned, happy-faced people who did not seem to
notice him. They wore smooth, free-flowing tunics of what seemed like
an uncreasable fabric; it put the finest robes of the courtiers of the
Americas to shame.
As he paused in the vestibule, not quite knowing which way to turn, he
heard a familiar humming sound, turned, and saw a mechanical man near
him. It might have been a twin of the ones he had seen at Wiener.
"I give information," the robot said.
"How can I get to the Duke's palace?"
"Duke's residence is reached by travelling on slidewalk eleven blocks
north to crosspoint, transferring to eastbound slidewalk and continuing
until destination. You will be aware when reaching Duke's residence."
"Thanks," Kesley said.
"Is any other information requested?"
"Not just yet," he said. He turned away and broke the photon beam that
controlled the front door. It swung open. He stepped out onto the
slidewalks.
There were five of them, he saw, running in a parallel series--five
bright metal strips moving at different speeds. He was on the slowest
of the five; it glided forward effortlessly, seemingly without
friction. Carefully, he stepped to the adjoining strip, which was a
little more crowded, and picked up speed. He became intrigued by the
moving roadway and rapidly passed to the fastest of the slidewalks.
By that time, though, eight blocks had slipped past, and he hastily
edged back to the slow walk. At the eleventh block, he cut off deftly
onto the eastbound walk that intercepted the one he had been on.
Now he could see the Duke's Palace: a square, blocky edifice of lacy
foamglass that was dwarfed by the towering buildings to either side.
Remembering the awesome majesty of Winslow's and Miguel's palaces in
comparison to the rest of Chicago and Buenos Aires, he thought it
odd--and then not so odd--that Antarctica's Duke should affect a
small, relatively unimpressive home.
The slidewalk brought him rapidly to the shining door that fronted the
Ducal palace. Kesley formulated his plan, set forth his demands in his
mind.
It was a bold, rash idea. If it failed, he had lost nothing. And if it
succeeded--
He stepped off the slidewalk. The Duke's Palace seemed to beckon.
* * * * *
Inside, a robot attendant came humming up to him. Kesley confronted the
featureless face calmly.
"I'd like to see the Duke."
"Certainly. Have you an appointment?"
"No," Kesley said. "Tell him--"
"Just one moment," the robot interrupted. "I'll arrange for an
appointment. Your name, please?"
"Dale Kesley."
There was the momentary clicking of data-sorters over memory banks.