Now Wait for Last Year

NINE

The members of Terra's delegation to the hastily called conference occupied seats on one side of the long oak table, and now, on the far side, the personages from Lilistar began to emerge from side corridors and find chairs. As a whole they did not look sinister; they looked, in fact, overworked and harried, caught up, as was Terra, by the strain of conducting the war. Obviously they had no time to spare. They were clearly mortal.

'Translation,' a 'Starman said in English, 'will be done by human agency not by machine, as any machine might make a permanent record, which is contrary to our desires here.'

Molinari grunted, nodded.

Now Freneksy appeared; the 'Star delegation and several members of the Terran rose in a show of respect; the 'Starmen clapped their hands as the bald, lean, oddly round-skulled man took a chair at the center of the delegation and began without preliminaries to open a briefcase of documents.

But his eyes. Eric noticed that, as Freneksy glanced briefly up at Molinari and smiled in greeting, Freneksy had what Eric thought of – and recognized in his practice as – paranoid eyes. Once he had learned to spot this, future identification generally came easy. This was not the glittering, restless stare of ordinary suspicion; this was a motionless gaze, a gathering of the totality of faculties within to comprise a single undisturbed psychomotor concentration. Freneksy did not decide to do this; in fact he was helpless, compelled to confront his compatriots and adversaries alike in this fashion, with this unending ensnaring fixity. It was an attentiveness which made empathic understanding impossible; the eyes did not reflect any inner reality; they gave back to the viewer exactly what he himself was. The eyes stopped communication dead; they were a barrier that could not be penetrated this side of the tomb.

Freneksy was not a bureaucrat and he did not – could not even if he tried – subordinate himself to his office. Freneksy remained a man – in the bad sense; he retained, in the midst of the busy activity of official conduct, the essence of the purely personal, as if to him everything was deliberate and intentional – a contest between people, not one between abstract or ideal issues.

What Minister Freneksy does, Eric realized, is to deprive all the others of the sanctity of their office. Of the security-producing reality of their titled position. Facing Freneksy, they became as they were born: isolated and individual, unsupported by the institutions which they were supposed to represent.

Take Molinari. Customarily, the Mole was the UN Secretary; he as an individual had – and properly so – dissolved into his function. But facing Minister Freneksy, the naked, hapless, lonely man reemerged – and was required to stand up to the Minister in this unhappy infinitude. The normal relative-ness of existence, lived with others in a fluctuating state of more or less adequate security, had vanished.

Poor Gino Molinari, Eric thought. Because facing Freneksy the Mole might as well not have become UN Secretary. And meanwhile Minister Freneksy became even more cold, more lifeless; he did not burn with the desire to destroy or dominate: he merely took away what his antagonist possessed – and left him nothing and nowhere, literally.

It was perfectly clear to Eric, at this point, why Molinari's procession of lethal illnesses had not proved fatal. The illnesses were not merely a symptom of the stress under which he lay; they were simultaneously a solution to that stress.

He could not as yet make out quite precisely how the illnesses behaved in order to function as a response to Freneksy. But he had the deep and acute intuition that he would very soon; the confrontation between Freneksy and Molinari lay only moments away, and everything which the Mole had would have to be trotted out, if the Mole wished to survive.

Beside Eric a minor State Department official muttered, 'Oppressive in here, isn't it? Wish they'd open a window or turn on the vent system.'

Eric thought, No mechanical vent system will clear this air. Because the oppression emanates from those seated across from us and it will not depart until they depart – and perhaps not even then.

Leaning toward Eric, Molinari said, 'Sit here beside me.' He drew the chair back. 'Listen, doctor, do you have your bag of instruments with you?'

'It's in my conapt.'

Molinari at once dispatched a robant runner. 'I want you to have the bag at all times.' He cleared his throat, then turned toward those seated on the far side of the table. 'Minister Freneksy, I have a, uh, statement. I'd like to read it; the statement summarizes Earth's present position as regards—'

'Secretary,' Freneksy said suddenly in English, 'before you read any statement I would like to describe the status of the war effort on Front A.' Freneksy rose; an aide at once unrolled a map projection which took effect on the far wall. The room sank into shadow.

Grunting, Molinari placed his written statement back inside the jacket of his uniform; he would not get his opportunity to read it. In an obvious manner he had been pre-empted. And, for a political strategist, this was a grave defeat. The initiative, if it had ever been his, was gone now.

'Our combined armies,' Freneksy stated, 'are shortening their lines for strategic purposes. The reegs are expending inordinate amounts of men and materiel in this area.' He indicated a sector on the map; it lay halfway between two planets of the Alpha System. 'They will not be able to continue this long; I predict a bankruptcy of their strength no later than a month – Terran count – from now. The reegs do not understand yet that this is to be a long war. Victory, for them, must come soon or not at all. We, however—' Freneksy indicated the entire map with a sweep of the pointer. 'We are maturely aware of the over-all strategic meaning of this struggle, and how long it must remain with us in terms of time as well as space. Also, the reegs are spread too thinly. If a major battle were to break out here—' Freneksy indicated the spot '—they could not support their forces already committed. Further, we will have twenty more first-line divisions in action by the end of the Terran year; this is a promise, Secretary. We have yet to call up several classes here on Terra, whereas the reegs have scraped the barrel.' He paused.

Molinari murmured, 'Is your bag here yet, doctor?'

'Not yet,' Eric said, looking for the robant runner; it had not returned.

Leaning close to Eric, the Mole whispered, 'Listen. You know what I've been experiencing lately? Head noises. Rushing sounds – you know, in my ears. Swoop, zwoop. Does that sound like anything?'

Minister Freneksy had continued. 'We have new weapons, also, emanating from Planet Four of the Empire; you will be astonished, Secretary, when you see video clips of them in tactical operation. They are devastating in their accuracy. I will not attempt to describe them in detail now; I prefer to wait until the tapes are available. I personally supervised their engineering and construction.'

His head almost touching Eric's, Molinari whispered, 'And when I turn my head from side to side I get a distinct cracking sound from the base of my neck. Can you hear it?' He turned his head from side to side, nodding in a slow, stiff manner. 'What is that? It resounds unpleasantly as hell in my ears.'

Eric said nothing; he was watching Freneksy, barely paying attention to the whispering from the man beside him.

'Secretary,' Freneksy said, pausing, 'consider this aspect of our joint effort; the reegs' space-drive output has been severely restricted due to the success by our W-bombs. Those which have come off their assembly lines recently – we are informed by MCI – are unreliable, and a number of highly destructive contaminations have occurred in deep space aboard their line ships.'

The robant runner entered the room now, with Eric's instrument case.

Ignoring this, Freneksy continued, his voice harsh and insistent. 'I also point out, Secretary, that on Front Blue the Terran brigades have not performed well, no doubt due to a lack of proper equipment. Victory is of course inevitable for us – eventually. But right now we must see to it that our troops who hold the line against the reegs are not put in the position of facing the enemy deprived of adequate materiel. It is criminal to allow men to fight under those circumstances; don't you agree, Secretary?' Without pausing, Freneksy continued, 'Therefore you can see the urgency of increasing Terra's output of strategic war goods and weapons of all sorts.'

Molinari saw Eric's instrument case and nodded with relief. 'You have it,' he said. 'Good. Keep it ready, just in case. You know what I think these head noises are from? Hypertension.'

Cautiously, Eric said, 'Could be.'

Now Minister Freneksy had ceased; his expressionless face seemed to become more severe, more withdrawn into the vacuum of his own intensity, the nonBeing which seemed to be his major quality. Irritated by Molinari's lack of attention, Freneksy was drawing from this well of his own anti-existence, Eric decided. Casting his principle over the conference room and the people in it, as if forcing everyone away from each other step by step.

'Secretary,' Freneksy said, 'this now is most crucial. My generals in the field tell me that the new reeg offensive weapon, their—'

'Wait,' Molinari croaked. 'I wish to confer with my colleague, here beside me.' Bending so close to Eric that his soft, perspiration-dampened cheek pressed against his neck, Molinari whispered to him, 'And you know what else? I seem to be having trouble with my eyes. As if I'm going completely blind. Here's what I want you to do, doctor; give me a pressure reading right now. Just to be sure it's not dangerously high. I feel it is frankly.'

Eric opened his instrument case.

At the wall map Minister Freneksy said, 'Secretary, we must attend to this decisive detail before we can continue. Terran troops do not stand up well against the reegs' new homeostatic bomb, hence I would like to relieve a million and a half of my own factory workers and put them into uniform, replacing them in Empire factories with Terrans. This is an advantage for you, Secretary, in that Terrans will not be fighting and dying in the lines but will be safe inside Empire factories. However, this must be done soon or not at all.' He added, 'This explains my desire for an immediate conference at a superior level.'

Eric read, from the testing disc, a pressure of 290 for Molinari, an elevation unnaturally high and ominous.

'Bad, isn't it?' Molinari said, resting his head on his arms. 'Get Teagarden in here,' he instructed a robant. 'I want him to confer with Dr Sweetscent; tell him to be prepared to make a diagnosis on the spot.'

'Secretary,' Freneksy said, 'we cannot continue unless you turn attention to what I'm saying. My request for a million and a half Terran males and females to work in Empire factories – did you hear that? This crucial requisition must be honored at once; transport of these entities must begin no later than the end of this week, your time.'

'Um,' Molinari murmured. 'Yes, Minister, I heard; I'm pondering this request.'

'There is nothing to ponder,' Freneksy said. 'It must be achieved if we are to hold the line on Front C, where reeg pressure is now greatest. A breakthrough is imminent, and Terran brigades have not—'

'I'll have to consult with my Labor Secretary,' Molinari said, after a long pause. 'Get his approval.'

'We must have the one and a half million of your people!'

Reaching into his jacket, Molinari fished out his folded sheets of paper. 'Minister, this statement which I—'

'Do I have your promise?' Freneksy demanded. 'So that we can go on to other matters, now?'

'I'm sick,' Molinari said.

There was silence.

At last Freneksy said thoughtfully, 'I am aware. Secretary, that your health has not been good for years now. Therefore I took the liberty of bringing an Empire physician with me to this conference. This is Dr Gornel.' On the far side of the table a lank-faced 'Starman nodded curtly to the Mole. 'I would like him to examine you, with a view toward making a permanent correction of your physical problems.'

'Thank you, Minister,' Molinari said. 'Your kindness in bringing Dr Gornel is deeply appreciated. However, I have my own staff physician here, Dr Sweetscent. He and Dr Teagarden are about to perform an exploratory examination to determine the cause of my hypertension.'

'Now?' Freneksy said, and showed, for the first time, a trace of genuine emotion. Amazed anger.

'My blood pressure is dangerously high,' Molinari explained. 'If it continues I'll lose my eyesight. In fact already I'm suffering impaired vision.' In a low voice he said to Eric, 'Doctor, everything around me has become dim; I think I'm already blind. Where the hell's Teagarden?'

Eric said, 'I can seek for the source of the hypertension, Secretary; I have the necessary diagnostic instruments with me.' He reached into his case once more. 'Initially I'll give you an injection of radioactive salts which will carry through your bloodstream—'

'I know,' Molinari said. 'And collect at the source of the vasoconstriction. Go ahead.' He rolled up his sleeve and held out his furry arm; Eric pressed the self-cleansing head of the injecting tube against a vein near the elbow and pressed the tab.

Severely, Minister Freneksy said, 'What is taking place, Secretary? Can't we continue with the conference?'

'Yes, go ahead,' Molinari said, nodding. 'Dr Sweetscent is merely making an exploration to—'

'Medical matters bore me,' Freneksy interrupted. 'Secretary, there is a further proposal I wish to make to you now. First, I would like to have my physician, Dr Gornel, placed permanently on your staff to supervise your medical care. Secondly, I have been informed by the Empire counter-intelligence agency operating here on Terra that a group of malcontents, desiring an end to Terra's participation in the war, are planning your assassination; hence I wish, for your safety, to provide you with a perpetual armed guard of 'Starmen commando troops who will, by their extreme courage and determination and efficiency, protect your person at all times. They number twenty-five, an adequate number, given their unique quality.'

'What?' Molinari said. He shuddered. 'What do you find, doctor?' He seemed confused now, unable to keep his attention fixed on both Eric and the progess of the conference. 'Wait, Minister.' To Eric he murmured, 'What the hell do you find, doctor? Or did you just tell me? Sorry.' He rubbed his forehead. 'I'm blind!' His voice was filled with panic. 'Do something doctor!'

Eric, examining the sighting graph which traced the movement of the radioactive salts in Molinari's circulatory system, said, 'There appears to be a stricture of the renal artery which passes through your right kidney. A ring which—'

'I know,' Molinari said, nodding. 'I knew the stricture was in my right kidney; I've had it before. You'll have to operate, doctor, and cut the ring or it'll kill me.' He seemed too weak now to raise his head; he sat slumped over, face in his hands. 'God, I feel terrible,' he mumbled. Then he raised his head and said to Freneksy, 'Minister, I must undergo an immediate corrective operation to relieve this arterial stricture. We'll have to postpone this discussion.' He rose to his feet, swayed, and then fell noisily back; Eric and the man from the state caught him, helped him back into his chair. The Mole seemed incredibly heavy and inert; Eric could hardly support him, even with assistance.

Freneksy declared, The conference must continue.'

'All right,' Molinari gasped. 'I'll have the operation while you talk.' He nodded weakly to Eric. 'Don't wait for Teagarden; get started.'

'Here?' Eric said.

'It'll have to be,' Molinari whimpered. 'Cut the ring, doctor, or I'm dead. I'm dying – I know it.' He slumped, then, against the table. And this time he did not draw himself back up to a sitting position; he remained as he was. Like some great discarded, tossed sack.

At the far end of the table UN Vice Secretary Rick Prindle said to Eric, 'Begin, doctor. As he said, it's urgent; you know that.' Obviously he – and the others present – had been through this before.

Freneksy said, 'Secretary, will you empower Mr Prindle to take your official place in Terra-Lilistar negotiations?'

There was no answer from Molinari; he had passed into unconsciousness.

From his case Eric lifted a small surgical homeostatic unit; it would suffice – he hoped – for the delicate operation. Drilling its own path, and closing the passage behind it, the tool would penetrate the dermal layer and then the omentum until it reached the renal stricture, whereupon, if it was behaving properly, it would begin construction of a plastic bypass for the arterial section; this would be safer, at the moment, than attempting to remove the ring.

The door opened and Dr Teagarden entered; he hurried up to Eric, saw Molinari lying unconscious with his head on the table, said, 'Are you prepared to operate?'

'I have the equipment; yes, I'm ready.'

'No artiforg, of course?'

'It isn't necessary.'

Teagarden took hold of Molinari by the wrist, measured his pulse; then he whipped out a stethoscope, unbuttoned the Secretary's jacket and shirt, listened to his heart. 'Weak and irregular. We'd better cool him off.'

'Yes,' Eric agreed, and brought a cold-pak assembly from his case.

Freneksy, coming over to see, said, 'You're going to lower his body temperature during the operation?'

'Yes, we'll put him out,' Eric said. The metabolic processes—'

'I don't care to hear,' Freneksy said. 'Biological matters do not interest me; all I am concerned with is the evident fact that the Secretary is unable to continue at present with this discussion. A discussion for which we have traveled a number of light-years.' His face displayed a dull, baffled anger which he could not suppress.

Eric said, 'We have no choice, Minister. Molinari is dying.'

'I realize that,' Freneksy said, and walked away, his fists clenched.

'He's technically dead,' Teagarden said, still listening to Molinari's heart action. 'Put the freeze into effect at once, doctor.'

Eric swiftly attached the cold-pak to Molinari's neck, started its self-contained compression-circuit up. The cold radiated out from it; he let go and turned his attention to the surgical tool.

Minister Freneksy conferred, speaking in his own tongue, with the Empire doctor; he lifted his head all at once and said crisply, 'I would like Dr Gornel to assist in this operation.'

Vice Secretary Prindle spoke up. 'It can't be permitted. Molinari has given strict orders that only his own staff doctors, chosen by himself personally, are to touch his person.' He nodded to Tom Johannson and his corps of Secret Service men; they moved closer to Molinari.

'Why?' Freneksy asked.

'They're familiar with his case history,' Prindle said woodenly.

Freneksy shrugged, walked away; he seemed even more baffled now, even bewildered. 'It's inconceivable to me,' he said aloud, his back to the table, 'that this could be permitted to happen, that Secretary Molinari could let his physical condition deteriorate to such a point.'

To Teagarden, Eric said, 'Has this happened before?'

'You mean has Molinari died during a conference with the 'Starmen?' Teagarden smiled reflexively. 'Four times. Right here in this room, even in the same chair. You may start your borer, now.'

Placing the homeostatic surgical tool against Molinari's lower right side, Eric activated it; the device, the size of a shot glass, at once flung itself into activity, delivering first a strong local anaesthetic and then beginning its task of cutting its way to the renal artery and the kidney.

The only sound in the room now was the whirring caused by the action of the tool; everyone, including Minster Freneksy, watched it disappear from sight, burrowing into Molinari's heavy, motionless, slumped body.

'Teagarden,' Eric said, 'I suggest that we keep—' He stood back and lit a cigarette. 'Watch for a case of hypertension occurring somewhere here in the White House, another partially blocked renal artery or—'

'It's come up already. A maid on the third floor. Hereditary malformation, as it has to be of course. But coming to a crisis in this woman during the last twenty-four hours because of an overdose of amphetamines; she began to lose her sight and we decided to go ahead and operate – that's where I was when summoned here. I was just finishing up.'

'Then you know,' Eric said.

'Know what?' Teagarden's voice was low, concealed from those across the table. 'We'll discuss it later. But I can assure you that I know nothing. Nor do you.'

Coming over to them, Minister Freneksy said, 'How soon will Molinari be capable to resuming this discussion?'

Eric and Teagarden glanced at each other. Caught each other's eye.

'Hard to say,' Teagarden said presently.

'Hours? Days? Weeks? Last time it was ten days.' Freneksy's face writhed with impotence. 'I am simply unable to remain here on Terra that long; the conference will have to be rescheduled for later in the year if it's to be a wait of more than seventy-two hours.' Behind him his consulting staff, his military and industrial and protocol advisers, were already putting their notes away in their briefcases, closing up shop.

Eric said, 'Probably he won't be strong enough within the two-day period generally allowed in cases like this; his over-all condition is too—'

Turning to Prindle, Minister Freneksy said, 'And you decline any authority as Vice Secretary to speak in his place? What an abominable situation! It's obvious why Terra—' He broke off. 'Secretary Molinari is a personal friend of mine,' he said, then. 'I'm keenly concerned as to his welfare. But why must Lilistar bear the major burden in this war? Why can Terra go on dragging her feet indefinitely?'

Neither Prindle nor the two doctors answered.

In his own language Freneksy spoke to his delegation; they rose en masse, obviously prepared to depart.

The conference, because of Molinari's sudden near-fatal illness, had been called off. At least for now. Eric felt overwhelming relief.

Through his illness Molinari had escaped. But only temporarily.

Nevertheless, that was something. That was enough. The million and a half Terrans, demanded by Lilistar for its factories, would not be rounded up ... Eric glanced at Teagarden, exchanged a brief flash of agreement and comprehension. Meanwhile, the borer went about its task, unaided, whining on.

A psychosomatic, hypochrondiacal illness had protected the lives of a great many people and it made Eric rethink, already, the value of medicine, the effect of bringing about a 'cure' for Molinari's condition.

It seemed to him as he listened to the borer at work that he was now beginning to understand the situation – and what was really required of him by the ailing U N Secretary who lay against the conference table, neither seeing nor hearing, in a state where the problems of the discussion with Minister Freneksy did not exist.

Later, in his well-guarded bedroom, Gino Molinari sat propped up on pillows, weakly contemplating the homeopape the New York Times, which had been placed at his disposal.

'It's okay to read, isn't it, doctor?' he murmured faintly.

'I think so,' Eric said. The operation had been totally successful; the elevated blood pressure had been restored to a normal plateau, commensurate with the patient's age and general condition.

'Look at what the papes are able to get wind of.' Molinari passed the first section to Eric.

POLICY MEET CALLED OFF ABRUPTLY DUE TO

SECRETARY'S ILLNESS. 'STAR DELEGATION

HEADED BY FRENEKSY IN SECLUSION.

'How do they find those things out?' Molinari complained peevishly. 'God, it makes me look bad; makes it obvious I finked out at a crucial time.' He glared at Eric. 'If I had any guts I'd have stood up to Freneksy on that labor-force conscription demand.' He shut his eyes wearily. 'I knew the demand was coming. Knew it last week, even.'

'Don't blame yourself,' Eric said. How much of the physiological fugal dynamism was comprehensible to Molinari? None of it, evidently; Molinari not only did not grasp the purpose of his illness – he did not even approve of it. And so it continued to function at an unconscious level.

But how long can this go on? Eric wondered. With such a powerful dichotomy between conscious aspiration and unconscious will to escape ... perhaps, finally, an illness would be produced from which the Secretary would never emerge; it would not only be fatal, it would be final.

The door to the next room opened; there stood Mary Reineke.

Taking her by the arm, Eric led her back out into the hall, shutting the door after them. 'Can't I see him?' she demanded indignantly.

'In a minute.' He studied her, still unable to determine just how well she understood the situation. 'I want to ask you something. Has Molinari undergone any psychiatric therapy or analysis that you know of?' No mention existed in the file ; but he had a hunch.

'Why should he?' Mary toyed with the zipper of her skirt. 'He's not crazy.'

That certainly was true; he nodded. 'But his physical—'

'Gino has had back luck. That's why he's always getting sick. You know no psychiatrist is going to change his luck.' Mary Reineke added with reluctance, 'Yes, he did consult an analyst once, last year, a few times. But that's a top secret; if the homeopapes got hold of it—'

'Give me the analyst's name.'

'The hell I will.' Her black eyes snapped with hostile triumph; she glared at him unwinkingly. 'I won't even tell Dr Teagarden, and him I like.'

'After watching Gino's illness in action I feel I—'

'The analyst,' Mary broke in, 'is dead. Gino had him killed.'

Eric stared at her.

'Guess why.' She smiled with the random malice of a teen-age girl, the purposeless, delicious cruelty which took him back in a flash to his own boyhood. To the agonies such girls had caused him before. 'It was something the analyst said. About Gino's illness. I don't know what it was but I assume he was on the right track ... as you think you are. So do you really want to be so clever?'

'You remind me,' he said, 'of Minister Freneksy.'

She pushed by him, toward Gino's door. 'I want to go on in; good-by.'

'Did you know that Gino died there in that conference room today?'

'Yes, he had to. Just for a few moments, of course; not long enough to muddle his brain cells. And of course you and Teagarden cooled him right down; I know about that, too. Why do I remind you of Freneksy, that crulp!' She came back toward him, studying him intently. 'I'm not like him at all. You're just trying to make me sore so I'll tell you something.'

Eric said, 'What do you think I want you to tell me?'

'About Gino's suicide impulses.' She spoke matter-of-factly. 'He has them; everybody knows that. That's why I was brought here by his relatives, to make sure somebody spent every night with him, snuggled right up against him in bed every hour or watching him while he paces around when he can't sleep. He can't be alone at night; he's got to have me to talk to. And I can talk sense to him – you know, restore his perspective at four o'clock in the morning. That's hard to do but I do it.' She smiled. 'See? Do you have somebody to do that for you, doctor? At your four a.m. moments?'

Presently he shook his head no.

'A shame. You need it. Too bad I can't do it for you, too, but one's enough. Anyhow you're not my type. But good luck – maybe someday you'll find someone like me.' Opening the door, she disappeared. He stood alone in the corridor, feeling futile. And, all at once, extremely lonely.

I wonder what became of the analyst's files? he thought mechanically, turning his mind back to his job. No doubt Gino had them destroyed, so as not to fall into 'Star hands.

That's right, he thought. It is about four a.m. when it hits hardest. But there's no one else like you, he thought. So that's that.

'Dr Sweetscent?'

He glanced up. A Secret Service man had approached him. 'Yes.'

'Doctor, there's a woman outside who says she's your wife; she wants to be admitted to the building.'

'It can't be,' Eric said, with fear.

'You want to come with me and see if you can identify her, please?'

Automatically he fell in beside the Secret Service man. Tell her to go away,' he said. No, he thought, that won't do; you don't handle your problems like that, like a child waving a wand. 'I have no doubt it's Kathy,' he said. 'Followed me here after all. In the name of God – what dreadful luck. Did you ever feel this way?' he asked the Secret Service man. 'Did you ever find yourself unable to live with someone you had to live with?'

'Nope,' the Secret Service man said unfeelingly, leading the way.