The Winds of Limbo

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TWO days later Alan emerged from the cavern on the first level, where he had been avoiding everyone, and ascended to the Top, passing a great many talkie-posters proclaiming Helen Curtis for President. Listening to the conversation, his faith in the stupidity of human nature was fully restored. In the swift movement of events, the public had changed their loyalty from the Fireclown to Simon Powys, and now to Helen Curtis. Why did they need heroes? he wondered. What was wrong in people that they could not find what they needed within themselves? How did they know Helen was any better than the rest?

News-sheets announced the complete rounding up of the members of the arms syndicate and the discovery of every nuclear cache left in existence. That was one good thing. The new-sheets also said that order had been completely restored. Alan wondered. On the surface, perhaps, it was true. But what of the disorder that must still exist in the hearts and minds of most members of the public?

He reached the Top and entered Police Headquarters. After a few moments he was shown into Chief Sandai's office.

"Mr. Powys! There has been a general search out for you! You and Miss Curtis are the heroes of the hour. Every laservid station and news-sheet in the Solar System has been after you."

"In that case," Alan said coolly, "I'm glad they couldn't find me. I want to see my grandfather, Chief-if that's possible."

"Of course. He made a full confession, you know. He's been very subdued since his arrest-hasn't given us any trouble."

"Good. Well, can I see him now?"

Not exactly every home comfort had been provided for Simon Powys, but his room hardly looked like a prison cell with its pleasant view of the clear summer sky, the cloud-wreathed mountain peaks in the distance. It was well furnished. There were books, writing materials and news-sheets on the small desk by the window.

His grandfather was staring out at the mountains, his chair pushed back from his desk, when Alan entered "Grandfather."

The old man turned. And it was an old man who stared gauntly up at his grandson.

All the vitality had left him. He seemed completely enervated.

"Hello, Alan. Glad to see you. Do sit down." He gestured vaguely towards the only other chair in the room.

"How do you feel?" Alan asked inanely.

Simon Powys smiled thinly. "As well as can be expected," he said. "How are you?"

Alan seated himself on the edge of the chair. "I'm sorry I had to do it, Grandfather, but you know why it was necessary."

"Yes. I’m glad, in a way, that you did-though I can hardly bear the shame. I don't know if you'll understand, Alan, but I was insane, in a way. I was caught up in a nightmare-my ambition, my hatred, my schemes ran away with me. Do you know that when my fortunes turned after the Fireclown business I seemed to be living in a dream thereafter? I feel as if I’ve just woken up. I remember I accused you of having none of the good Powys blood. I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry. But it seems you had better stuff in you than I. I’ve always been conscious of my inherent weakness, that I wasn't of the same breed as our ancestors, but I always fought it, Alan. I tried not to let it get the better of me. It did, of course, but in a different way."

"You didn't really hate the Fireclown for anything he was doing, did you?" Alan spoke softly. "You hated him for ' loving my mother, and giving her a son-me.

You knew he was Manny Bloom all the time."

"Yes." Simon Powys sighed and stared out of the window again. "I knew he was Manny Bloom. I was responsible for sending him on the Saturn mission. That was my first major mistake, I suppose. But I couldn't see my daughter marrying an ordinary spaceman, however much of a hero he was in the public eye. I didn't realize you were going to be born. He was away for two years. When he came back you were here-and your mother had killed herself."

"Killed herself! I didn't know…"

"I'd told her Manny Bloom was dead-killed in a space accident. I didn't expect those consequences, of course. That was the first death I was responsible for, indirectly. As Minister for Space Transport I was in the perfect position to send Manny Bloom wherever I chose. I bided my time-then I really did try to kill him."

"What? You mean the rocket that went too near the sun?"

"Yes. I bribed the technician responsible for the final check-had him fix the steering rockets so that the ship would plunge into the sun. I heard the ship had gone off course and I thought I was rid of him. But somehow he survived-and he came back, to haunt me as it were, as the Fireclown."

"So you really created your own nemesis. You caused my father to drift towards the sun and that experience resulted in his strange mental state. Ultimately he appeared as the Fireclown and, because of your hatred against him, brought about your ruin without ever consciously wishing for vengeance against you."

Simon Powys nodded. "I appreciate the irony of it all," he said. "If s one of the things I've been thinking about, sitting here and waiting for my trial."

"When is it to be?"

"They haven't fixed it yet. It's going to be a big one-will probably take place after the Presidential elections."

"Helen will be able to influence the judges then," Alan said. "She'll probably try to get you the lightest possible sentence."

"The lightest sentence would be death, Alan. And that, I'm afraid, is outside even the President's powers to exact."

Alan remembered Helen's proposal to assassinate Simon Powys. In many ways,- he thought, everyone would have welcomed it. It was painful to see this once respected and powerful man in such a wretched state, no matter how much he deserved it.

Simon Powys got up, extending his hand. "It was good of you to come, Alan. I wonder if you would mind leaving now. This-this is somewhat hard to…" He broke off, unable to express his shame.

"Yes, of course," Alan went forward and shook Simon Powys' hand. The old man tried to make the grip firm, but failed.

Feeling considerably more affection for his grandfather than he had ever felt in the past, Alan left the cell, left Police Headquarters and stood for a long time by a splashing fountain, staring into the clear water and watching the darting goldfish swimming in the narrow confines of the pool. Did they understand just how narrow their little universe was? he wondered. They seemed happy enough, if fish could be happy. But if they weren't happy, he reflected, neither were they sad. They had no tradition but instinct, no ritual but the quest for food and a mate. He didn't envy them much.