It was Beardsley's first error. He realized it instantly. The remark
seemed to trigger something in Mandleco.
The Minister of Justice turned slowly, rolling the cigar from one corner
of his mouth to the other. "But I may," he said. "You know, I just may!
It's barely possible, Beardsley, that with some luck we'll be able to
dispense with your talents!" He said it with considerable more relish
than conviction, and moved for the door. "I think I'll just see how
Arnold is making out!"
* * * * *
Arnold was making out very well, much to Mandleco's delight. No longer
was there chaos and confusion. The new feed-back unit had arrived, and
installation was well under way. Blueprints were spread out as a crew of
techs worked feverishly at all damage areas.
"It looks promising," Arnold hurried up to greet him. "Told you I had a
good crew here! Look--see this?" He indicated one of the variant-tapes
being slowly reversed across the relays.
"What is it?"
"The number eight reject."
"That what caused the trouble?"
"Well ... we think so, but it's problematical. Whether it did or not,
we're safe in resuming the run without any shift in the correlation
total."
Mandleco stared at the number eight. "Throw it out!" he snapped.
"What--what did you say, sir?"
"I said throw it out! Get this thing to functioning!"
Arnold was aghast. "But," he gulped, "we just can't throw out data!
Sure, it was about to be a reject--but everything, even rejects, contain
a factor-balance! You know that, sir."
Mandleco got control of himself with an effort. "Yes--yes, of course. I
know you're right. But damn it, man, those units cost something like
eighty thousand dollars! Suppose the same breakdown occurs?"
"Not a chance of it this time. We'll merely continue with a stepped-up
synaptic check. Take longer for Cumulative, perhaps, but absolutely
fool-proof once we--"
* * * * *
For a long instant Mandleco stood musing. Then he nodded brusquely. "All
right. How long to get going?"
"Why, we'll be ready in forty minutes at the most. I told you I had a
good crew, sir! Excuse me--" One of Arnold's techs was motioning to him.
"Excuse me," Arnold said again, and hurried away to consult with the
man.
"Forty minutes!" Mandleco couldn't believe it. He chortled happily, and
swung about to greet Beardsley who approached at that moment. "Hear
that, Beardsley? Forty minutes! Excellent man, Arnold. I'm sorry I ever
doubted--"
Beardsley wasn't listening. He stared about at the miracle of
reconstruction, and there was more of amazement on his face than
distress. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed thoughtfully at Jeff Arnold's
retreating figure.
Mandleco was saying, "Just as well your little experiment didn't go any
further! Dangerous precedent ... don't know what possessed me ... you
realize that in the last analysis I'll have to put my faith in ECAIAC!
No bad feelings?"
"No, sir," Beardsley pronounced somberly. "No bad feelings, because I'm
holding you to your word. ECAIAC hasn't solved your case and it never
will."
Mandleco stood still, open-mouthed. "What's that? Nonsense! Arnold just
assured me--"
"He assured you of nothing! I'm more convinced than ever now. I'm the
only one who can solve this case, and I'm holding you to your word."
Mandleco seemed undecided whether to laugh or censure. His heavy fingers
opened and closed aimlessly, as he stared across the room at Arnold and
back at Beardsley. Finally his teeth snapped together. "Beardsley," he
choked--"I warn you, if this is some sort of trickery--"
Beardsley shook his head solemnly. "You'd do well to believe me, sir. I
was never more serious."
"So you're determined to go on with it! Very well, Beardsley. You have
something like forty minutes, and believe me you'd better prove
yourself! May I remind you"--fraught with meaning, his voice bordered on
anticipation--"may I remind you, Beardsley, that already you've given
sufficient cause for a complete review of your qualifications as
Cooerdinator?"
Beardsley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I remind _you_,
sir," he nodded toward the far door, "that your guests have arrived?"
* * * * *
Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley thought as he watched her, was that rare type of
woman who could defy all the current conventions of style and carry it
off successfully; her type of beauty was unostentatious and yet vibrant.
She was dressed impeccably in black and silver, her hair was authentic
honey-blonde in a coronet braid, and her face possessed that pure line
of profile together with the quality of translucence one sees in rare
porcelain.... Sheila Carmack was thirty-five, and she paid her
beauticians that many thousands annually to keep her looking fifteen
years younger. Just now she seemed in buoyant good spirits as she
greeted Mandleco.
Not so the young man who accompanied her. The escort was a person
Beardsley had never seen before, quite handsome and quite aware of it,
with an impudent world-wisdom centered about his sharp eyes. He turned
immediately to Mandleco with a bluster as phony as it was towering:
"This is an outrage, sir! A damned outrage! On Sheila's behalf I deplore
these tactics, and I question your right! Our entire afternoon perfectly
ruined...."
"Correction, darling," purred Mrs. Carmack. "You mean our perfect
afternoon entirely ruined." She turned smiling to the Minister of
Justice. "You really mustn't mind Victor."
"Hello, Sheila," Mandleco greeted her wanly. "I must apologize for the
inconvenience, but I assure you--"
"Oh, but this is thrilling! I mean really!" Mrs. Carmack was gazing
about ECAIAC's room with considerable more delight than suspicion, and
Beardsley watching her was thinking: _Thrilling! Can she really mean it?
She must surely be aware of ECAIAC's task for today--today of all
days...._
* * * * *
He glanced uneasily down the room, and saw that Jeff Arnold was much too
occupied to have noticed the newcomers. He gestured to Mandleco, who
finally took the hint and escorted the visitors into the privacy of the
office.
There Mandleco offered drinks, but the young man named Victor refused
his, preferring to maintain his air of injured dignity. Mandleco sighed
and gave an accusing look at Beardsley. "I know this is unusual," he
apologized to Sheila, "but I--uh--I _am_ rather hopeful that you may
find it entertaining!" He gave a slight sardonic emphasis to the last
word. "If you'll just bear with me until our other guest arrives."
Victor had been awaiting his chance. "Another? _Really!_ We're guests,
Sheila, do you hear that?" He looked at Mandleco with immense disdain,
gave a pert tilt of his head and surveyed the room with a grimace of
distaste. "And just how long are we to be detained in this--this--"
Beardsley's fist itched to splatter those handsome features around a
little. Instead he strode forward, said bluntly: "That'll do it, sonny!
Who the hell are you anyway?"
The handsome face sneered at him. "I am Victor d'Arlan! I am a good
friend of Sheila's--of the family," he corrected. "We were on our way to
the Concert when those--those _impertinent_ men detained us. To think we
must forego Perro's Fifth Color-Concerto for Sub-Chromatics in favor of
_this_!"
Sheila's eyes danced with tolerant amusement. "Victor, please. This
promises to be much more exciting; I'm sure Mr. Mandleco knows what he
is about, and...." Wide and curious, her gaze went to Beardsley and
lingered there.
Belatedly, Mandleco made introductions. "Perhaps I should explain," he
gave an improvident laugh, "that Mr. Beardsley's role at the moment
is--ah--a little beyond the ordinary! That is, I--" He paused
miserably, and then was saved for the moment as all eyes turned toward
the door.
Brook Pederson had arrived and the attention of everyone was drawn to
him.
* * * * *
The effect was startling. The tele-columnist was a tall, dour and
bushy-browed man who took a perverse sort of pride in the impression he
gave of shabbiness. He slouched wordlessly into the room, hands thrust
deep in the pockets of a makeshift jacket. But there was nothing shabby
about the man's perceptive and analytic mind, Beardsley remembered;
true, Pederson had fallen from the heights since the ECAIAC debacle, but
his retirement from the limelight was more studied than sullen and could
only have been his own choosing. Lately he had emerged again, and with
all of his old news-sense and political acumen he was making his
presence felt ... he was a man of considered but lightning mood who,
when asked for an opinion invariably gave an argument.
Beardsley observed him shrewdly. From the depths of his mind came a
warning, a restless unease that took root and blossomed into turbulence.
_This man will bear special watching...._
Pederson came on into the room, nodded dourly at Mandleco (no love lost
there!) and remained alertly silent; for the merest instant he met
Beardsley's gaze, and there was a definite challenge and something of
mockery. _Damn him_, thought Beardsley, _he knows why he's here ... but
how could he know? He's aware that he's on the tapes, too--even one of
the Primes--and he doesn't give a damn!_
Mandleco finished the introductions quickly and took over. It was plain
that he wanted to get through with this, but at the same time Beardsley
sensed that he was no longer _quite_ so sure of Jeff Arnold and ECAIAC ...
above all things, Mandleco had to avoid any hint of trouble with ECAIAC.
And he managed that with an adroitness that bordered on the cunning.
After some glowing comments on Beardsley's past esteemed record--with
pointed emphasis on the pre-ECAIAC era--he ended with a truly
inspirational touch:
"Let us just say, then, that you have been invited here in the interests
of an experiment which Crime-Central has been contemplating for some
time. An inquiry into--ah--certain facets of past investigatory methods.
Crude as it may seem to you, certain factors may be forthcoming
here--psychologic and derivational--which may later be refined, analyzed
and integrated into the operational function of ECAIAC...."
Beardsley stared at Mandleco. It was altogether a neat side-step, and he
almost admired him for it.
"Please understand, this is a necessary adjunct to the true development
of ECAIAC. We shall have here two divergent lines of approach within
parallel fields. Actually, each of you will be an important co-aide in
this experiment! I would like you to cooperate fully with Mr.
Beardsley's line of approach. Uh--vintage '60," he added for their
amusement.
The reaction was immediate and varied. Victor d'Arlan examined his
fingernails and registered aristocratic boredom. Pederson slouched up
against the desk, seeming amused at Mandleco's pitch ... but he wasn't
watching Mandleco. The gaze he fastened on Beardsley said plainer than
words that he was quite aware of the situation.
Only Sheila Carmack seemed fascinated, as she sat a bit straighter in
her chair and peered brightly across her drink. It was obvious that she,
for one, was taken in.
"Why, I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" she sparkled. "Just
like, you know, in those--what did they call them--_whodunits_? It's
actually thrilling!"
"It's archaic!" d'Arlan sneered.
"It's heroic," said Pederson, his gaze still on the little Cooerdinator.
"Beardsley, I hope you pull it off. I actually do. Always did think you
were twice the man ECAIAC is!"
Beardsley moved forward, not smiling. "Thanks," he said. "In that case
you won't mind if I begin with you."
"With _me_?" Pederson stared, then laughed suddenly and without mirth.
"Skip it, Beardsley! I know your methods, and I can tell you right now
it won't get you any--"
Beardsley stopped him. "Pederson," he said, "as of now we agree on just
one thing. I also think I'm twice the man. The only difference is that
I'm man enough to _really_ believe it." He paused and watched him absorb
that. "It's going to be ECAIAC or vintage '60, Pederson. Your choice!"
* * * * *
It was at once a rebuff and a challenge. Pederson then straightened up
slowly, a muscle in his face flinched and then he smiled--with all but
his eyes. "All right," he snapped, "we'll begin with me. I'll fill you
in plenty! You want to know if I saw Carmack the day of the murder? I
did! The louse put through a vis call to me. _Insisted_ I come out and
see him--"
"Whoa, now just a minute! You wouldn't say this was a friendly visit?"
"I'll get to that!" Pederson's words came fast and clipped. "You know
how I fought the ECAIAC lobby. I fought it long and hard, and when I
lost it finished me with the public. But I wasn't through! I began
digging up every fact I could about Carmack. Took me a few years, but
worth it. Most of it smelled! Ask Professor Losch, he'll tell you--"
"I've already spoken with Losch," Beardsley said quietly. "He managed to
convey his sentiments pretty thoroughly."
"Good. Then try talking to _him_," Pederson nodded venomously at
_Mandleco_. "Ask Mandleco how the great Carmack managed to get those
patents through.... I can tell you he didn't do it alone! Oh, I've dug
plenty!"
"Why, you--" Mandleco gave a snort of anger and started forward, but
Beardsley managed to forestall him. He gazed sternly at the
tele-columnist.
"I think we're all aware of your considerable talent for digging,
Pederson. ECAIAC, too," he added pointedly, "for we already have it on
the tapes."
Pederson bristled. "Sure. Sure, you have it! My past connection, my
opposition to the lobby, even my digging maybe. But you don't have it
all! How do you equate _hate_, Beardsley? Is _that_ on your tapes?"
Beardsley could have told him that it was, indeed, on the tapes. But he
only shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "we don't have it all. Not
ECAIAC nor I nor any of us, and that's the eternal pity of it. But I'd
like to try! The sum and the substance, Pederson ... don't you
understand me? Just once before I'm through--"
* * * * *
It was the voice, some secret and subtle thing in the voice that reached
out and gripped Pederson and bore meaning with it. He stood quite
motionless, staring at Beardsley; for a split second his eyes widened,
then disbelief gave way to something of comprehension, admiration.
"Beardsley," he said softly. "You fool. You utter damned fool!"
Oblivious of the others, then, he turned and began to pace. "All right.
Here it is. Carmack called me out to see him. He had gotten wind of what
I was up to, and offered to buy me off." Pederson laughed bitterly.
"Wasn't even subtle about it! Said he liked my stuff, and would like to
see me at the top again where I belonged. Said he could arrange for me
to step into a top job at Central Telecast. Providing, of course, I
could manage to--ah--'forget' certain little items I'd uncovered."
* * * * *
Pederson was doing all right. Beardsley gave him his lead.
"He actually thought it would be that simple! I refused him outright,
and of course, he couldn't believe it. A man like that--We dropped all
pretense, there were some bitter words--"