"That I do," Kennedy said. "He's purged, to use a term of yesteryear. At
the rate you laddy-bucks are going, there won't be anything left of you
by the time our half century is up." He snapped his fingers and a
Genoese servant who'd been inconspicuously in the background, hurried to
his side. "Let's have some refreshments here. What'll everybody have?"
"You act as though you've had enough already," Watson bit out.
Kennedy ignored him, insisted on everyone being served before he allowed
the conversation to turn serious. Then he said, slyly, "I see we've been
successful in apprehending all of your agents, or you'd know more of our
affairs."
"Not all our agents," Watson barked. "Only those on your southern
continent. What happened to Amschel Mayer?"
Peter MacDonald, who, with Buchwald, was for the first time attending
one of the decade-end conferences, had been hardly recognized in his new
girth by the Texcocan team. But his added weight had evidently done
nothing to his keenness of mind. He said smoothly, "Our good Amschel is
under arrest. Imprisoned, in fact." He shook his head, his double chin
wobbling. "A tragedy."
"Imprisoned! By whom?" Taller scowled. "I don't like this. After all, he
was your expedition's head man."
Barry Watson rapped, "Don't leave us there, MacDonald. What happened to
him?"
MacDonald explained. "The financial and industrial empire he had built
was overextended. A small crisis and it collapsed. Thousands of
investors suffered. In brief, he was arrested and found guilty."
Watson was unbelieving. "There is nothing you could do? The whole team!
Couldn't you bribe him out? Rescue him by force and get him back to the
ship? With all the wealth you characters control--"
Jerry Kennedy laughed shortly. "We were busy bailing ourselves out of
our own situations, Watson. You don't know what international finance
can be. Besides, he dug his grave ... uh ... that is, he made his bed."
Kennedy signaled the servant for another drink, said, "Let's cut out
this dismal talk. How about our progress reports?"
"Progress reports," Barry Watson said. "That's a laugh. You have agents
on Texcoco, we have them on Genoa. What's the use of having these
conferences at all?"
For the first time, one of the Genoese put in a word. Baron Leonar, son
of the original Baron who had met with Amschel Mayer thirty years
before, was a man in his mid-forties. He said quietly, "It seems to me
the time has arrived when the two planets might profit by intercourse.
Surely in this time one has progressed beyond the other in this field,
but lagged in that. If I understand the mission of the _Pedagogue_ it is
to bring us to as high a technological level as possible in half a
century. Already three decades have passed."
The Texcocans studied him thoughtfully, but Jerry Kennedy waved in
negation with the hand that held his glass. "You don't get it, Baron.
You see, the thing is we wanta find out what system is going to do the
most the quickest. If we co-operate with Barry's gang, everything'll get
all mixed up."
The Honorable Russ, now a wizened man of at least seventy, but still
sharply alert, said, "However, Texcoco and Genoa might both profit."
Kennedy said happily, "What do we care? You gotta take the long view.
What we're working out here is going to be used on half a million
planets eventually." He tried to snap his fingers. "These two lousy
planets don't count that much." He succeeded in snapping them this time.
"Not that much."