The Winds of Limbo

CHAPTER TWO

ALAN POWYS fingered the case of papers under his arm, studying his grandfather and the painted Negro as they confronted one another. They made a strange pair.

Minister Simon Powys was tall and heavy without much obvious fat, but his face was as grim and disturbing as an Easter Island god's. The leonine set of his head was further enhanced by the flowing mane of white hair which reached almost to his shoulders, hanging straight as if carved. He wore the standard purple suit of a high-ranking cabinet minister-he was Minister for Space Transport, an important office-pleated jacket, padded pantaloons, red stockings and white pumps. His white shirt was open at the neck to reveal old but firm flesh, and on his breast was a golden star, symbol of his rank.

Junnar was sighing and spreading his hands. "If you, Minister Powys, want to stop him you should act now. His power increases daily. People are flocking to him. He seems harmless, insofar as he doesn't appear to have any great political ambitions, but his power could be used to threaten society's stability."

"Could be? I'm sure it will be." Minister Powys spoke heavily. "But can we convince parliament of the danger? There's the irony."

"Probably not." Alan Powys spoke distantly, conscious of an outsider's presence.

He thought he glimpsed, momentarily, a strange expression on the Negro's face.

"Helen and that mob of rabble-rousers she calls a political party are only too pleased to encourage him," Minister Powys grumbled. "Not to mention certain members of the government who seem as fascinated by him as schoolgirls on their first dates." He straightened his shoulders which were beginning to stoop with old age. "There must be some way of showing them their mistake."

Alan Powys chose not to argue with his grandfather in Junnar’s presence.

Personally, however, he thought the old man over-emphasized the Fireclown's importance. Perhaps Junnar sensed this, for he said softly:

"The Fireclown has a certain ability to attract and hold interest. The most unlikely people seem to have come under his spell. His magnetism is intense and almost irresistible. Have you been to one of his 'audiences,' Mr. Powys?"

Alan shook his head.

"Then go to one-before you judge. Believe me, he has something. He's more than a crank."

Alan wondered why the normally self-possessed and taciturn Negro should choose to speak in this way. Perhaps one day he would attend a meeting. He certainly was curious.

"Who is he, anyway?" Alan asked as his grandfather paced towards the window comprising the outer wall of the room.

"No one knows," Junnar said. "His origins, like his theories, are obscure. He will not tell anyone his real name. There are no records of his fingerprints at Identity Center; he seems demented, but no mental hospital has heard of him.

Perhaps, as he says, he came down from the sun to save the world?"

"Don't be facetious, Junnar." Minister Powys pursed his lips, paused, then took a long breath and said: "Who was down there today?"

"Vernitz, Chief of the China Police-he is in the city on a vacation and to attend the Police Conference next Sixday. Martha Gheld, Professor of Electrobiology at Tel Aviv. All the Persian representatives currently elected to parliament…"

"Including Isfahan?" Minister Powys was too well bred to shout, but there was astonishment in his voice. Isfahan was the leader of the Solref faction in the Solar House.

"Including all the Persian Solrefs, I'm afraid." Junnar nodded. "Not to mention a number of Dutch, Swedish and Mexican party members."

"We had advised our members not to take part in the Fireclown's farcical 'audiences' P' "Doubtless they were all there on fact-finding missions," Alan interrupted, a faint gleam in his eyes.

"Doubtless," Powys said grimly, choosing to ignore his grandson's irony.

"Your niece was there, too," Junnar said quietly.

"That doesn't surprise me. The woman's a fool. To think that she could be the next President! "

Alan knew that his cousin, Helen Curtis, leader of the Radical Liberal Movement, and his grandfather were both planning to run for President in the forthcoming Presidential elections. One of them was sure to win.

"All right, Junnar." Simon Powys dismissed his secretary. The Negro went out through a side door opening on an inner passage leading to his own office.

When the door had closed, Alan said: "I think you place too much importance on this character, Grandfather. He's harmless enough. Perhaps he could threaten society-but it's doubtful if he would. You seem to have an obsession about him.

No one else, in politics at least, seems so concerned. If the situation became serious people would soon leave him or act against him. Why not wait and see?"

"No. I seem to have an obsession, do I? Well, it may be that I'm the only man not blinded to what this Fireclown represents. I have already drafted a bill which, if it gets passed, could easily put a stop to the fool's posturing."

Alan laid his briefcase on the desk and sat down in one of the deep armchairs.

"But will it? Surely it isn't wise at this stage to back what could easily be an unpopular motion. The Fireclown is an attractive figure to most people-and as yet harmless. If you were to oppose him openly it might cost you votes in the Presidential election. You could lose it!"

Alan felt he had scored a point. He knew how important winning was to the old man. Since the formation of the Solar Referendum Party, a Powys of every generation had held the Presidential chair for at least one term of his life-a Powys had in fact formed the first Solref cabinet. Yet it was likely the Powys would not be voted in, for public opinion was gradually going against the Solrefs and tending to favor the more vociferous and dynamic RLM, which had grown rapidly in strength under Helen Curtis's fiery leadership. Throughout his life Simon Powys had aimed at the Presidency, and this would be his last chance to gain it.

"I have never sacrificed principles for mere vote-catching!" Simon Powys said scornfully. "It is unworthy of a Powys to suggest it, Alan. Your mother would have been horrified if she had heard such a remark coming from her own son.

Though you have the look of a Powys, the blood, whoever gave it you, is not Powys blood!"

For a second before he controlled himself, Alan felt pain at this remark. This was the first time his grandfather had referred to his obscure origins-he had been illegitimate, his mother dying soon after he was born. Though, in his grim way, Simon Powys had assured his grandson's education and position, he had always been withdrawn from Alan, caring for him but not encouraging friendship or love. His wife had died five years earlier and she and Alan had been close.

When Eleanor Powys died Simon had begun to see a little more of Alan, but had always remained slightly distant. However, this remark about his bastardy was the first spoken in anger. Obviously the matter of the Presidency was weighing on his mind.

Alan ignored the elder Powys' reference and smiled.

"City Administration-if I may return to the original topic-isn't worried by the Fireclown. He inhabits the disused lower levels and gives us no trouble, doesn't threaten to come upstairs at all. Leave him alone, Grandfather-at least until after the election."

Minister Powys went to the picture window and stared out into the twilight, his erect body silhouetted against the distant mountains.

"The Fireclown is a tangible threat, Alan. He has admitted that he is bent on the destruction of our whole society, on the rejection of all its principles of progress and democracy. With his babbling of fire-worship and nature-worship, the Fireclown threatens to throw us all back to disorganized and retrogressive savagery!"

"Grandfather-the man isn't that powerful! You place too much importance on him!"

Simon Powys shook his head, his heavy hands clasping behind him.

"I say I do not!"

"Then you are wrong P' Alan said angrily, half aware that his anger was not so much inspired by the old man's righteousness as by his earlier, wounding remark.

Simon Powys remained with his back to Alan, silent.

At least his grandfather's solid reputation for integrity and sticking to what he thought was well earned, Alan reflected. But that reputation might not save him if the Fireclown became a political issue in the elections.

His own view, shared with a great many people, was that the Fireclown's mysterious appearance a year ago was welcome as an agent to relieve the comparative monotony of running the smoothly ordered City of Switzerland.

"Goodbye, Grandfather," he said, picking up his briefcase. "I'm going home. I’ve got a lot of work to get through this evening."

Simon Powys turned-a considered and majestic movement.

"You may like to know that I have approached the City Council on this matter, suggesting that they completely seal off the lower levels. I hope they will adopt my suggestion. City Administration, of course, would be responsible for carrying it out. As Assistant Director, you would probably be in charge of the project."

"If the City Council has any sense they'll ignore your suggestion. They have no evidence of law-breaking on the Fireclown's part. They can take no legal steps against him. All he has done, so far as I can see, is to address a public meeting-and that isn't a crime in this democracy you've been boasting of. To make it one would invalidate your whole argument. Don't you agree?"

"One short step back could save us from a long slide down," Minister Powys said curtly as Alan left the room.

Entering the elevator that would take him home to the sixty-fourth level, Alan decided that he could have misjudged his grandfather over the matter of the Fireclown. He had heard a great deal about him and his "audiences" and, emotionally, was attracted by the romantic character of the man. But he had argued the Fireclown's case too strongly without really knowing it at first hand.

He left the elevator and crossed to the middle of the corridor, taking the fastway belt towards his flat. As he neared it, he crossed to the slowway with instinctive practice, produced a small box from his pocket and spoke his name into it. The door of the flat opened in the wall.

In the passage his manservant took his briefcase and carried it into the study.

"We were expecting you home earlier, sir. Madeleine apologizes, but she feels the polter may be overdone."

"My fault, Stefanos." He was not particularly fond of synthetic poultry, anyway.

"And Miss Curtis is waiting for you in the living room. I told her you hadn't dined…"

"That's all right." Outwardly decisive, he was inwardly confused. He even felt a slight trembling in his legs and cursed himself for an uncontrolled buffoon. He had only seen Helen once, briefly, since their affair 'had ended, at a party.

He entered the austere living room.

"Good evening, Helen. How are you?"

They did not shake hands.

"Hello, Alan."

He could not guess why she was here but he did not particularly want to know. He was afraid he might get involved emotionally with her again.

He sat down. She seated herself opposite him in the other padded, armless chair.

She was made up-which was unusual. Her lips were a light green and she had on some sort of ultra-white powder. Her eyebrows and eyelids were red. Her taste, he thought, had never been all it might. She had an almost triangular face; short, black hair and a small nose so that she looked rather like a cat-save for the make-up which made her look like a corpse.

"I hear you attended the Fireclown's 'audience' today?" he said casually.

"Where did you hear that? Bush telegraph? Have you been at a cocktail party?"

"No." He smiled half-heartedly. "But spies are everywhere these days."

"You've been to see Uncle Simon, then? Is he planning to use the information against me in the election?"

"I don't think so-no."

She was evidently nervous. Her voice was shaking slightly. Probably his own was, too. They had been very close-in love, even-and the break, when it had finally come, had been made in anger. He had not been alone with her since.

"What do you think your chances are of winning it?"

She smiled. "Good."

"Yes, they seem to be."

"Will you be pleased?"

She knew very well that he wouldn't be. Her political ambitions had been the main reason for their parting. Unlike all the rest of his family, including remote cousins, he had no interest in politics. Maybe, he thought with a return of his earlier bitterness, Simon Powys had been right about his blood being inherited from his unknown father. He shook his head, shrugging slightly, smiling vaguely.

"I-I don't know," he lied. Of course he would be disappointed if she won. He hated the political side of her character. Whereas he had nothing against women in politics-it would have been atavistic and unrealistic if he had,an objection-he felt that her talents lay elsewhere. Perhaps in the painting she no longer had time for? She had been,: potentially, a very fine painter.

"It's time the Solar System had a shake-up," she said. "The Solrefs have been in for too long."

"Probably," he said noncommittally. Then, desperate to get it over: "Why are you here, Helen?"

"I wanted some help."

"What kind of help? Personal…?"

"No, of course not. Don't worry. When you said it was over I believed you. I’ve still got the mark on my shoulder."

This had been on his conscience and her reference to it hurt him. He had struck her on her shoulder, not really intending the blow to be hard, but it had been.

"I'm sorry about that…" he said stumblingly. "I didn't mean…";

"I know. I shouldn't have brought it up." She smiled and; said quickly:

"Actually, I want some information, Alan. I; know that you're politically uncommitted, so I'm sure you won't mind giving it to me.".;

"But I don't have any secrets, Helen. I'm not in that position-I'm only a civil servant, you know that."

"It's not really a secret. All I want is some-what d'you call it?-advance information."

"About what?"

"I heard a rumor that the City Council plans to close off the lower levels. Is that true?";

"I really couldn't say, Helen." News was travelling fast.: Obviously an indiscreet councilor had mentioned Simon Powys' letter to someone and this had been the start of the rumor. On the other hand, his grandfather, when he told! him of it, had understood that he would keep the old man's: confidence. He could say nothing-though the truth would put paid to the rumor.

"But you're in City Administration. You must know. You'd be responsible for the project, wouldn't you?"

"If such a project were to be carried out, yes. But I have: been told nothing either by the City Council or my Director. I should ignore the rumor. Anyway, why should it bother you?"

"Because if it's true it would be interesting to know which councilors backed the motion, and who egged them on. The only man with sufficient power and a great enough obsession is your grandfather-my uncle, Simon Powys!"

"How many Solar Referendum councilors are in the Council?" he asked vaguely. He was smelling her perfume now. He remembered it with a sad nostalgia. This was becoming too much to bear.

"There are five Solrefs, three RLMs, one independent Socialist and one Crespignite who slipped in somewhere on the pensioner's vote. Giving, if you are so ignorant of simple politics, a majority to the Solrefs and virtual control of the Council, since the Crespignite is bound to vote with them on nearly every issue."

"So you want to tell the people that this hypothetical closing down of the lower levels is a Solref plot-a blow to their liberty."

"My very words," she said with a kind of triumphant complacency.

He got up. "And you expect me to help you-to betray confidence, not to mention giving my own grandfather's opponents extra ammunition-and let you know what the City Council decides before it is made public? You're becoming foolish, Helen.

Politics must be addling your brains!"

"But it means nothing to you, anyway. You're.not interested in politics!"

"That's so. One of the reasons I’m not interested is because of the crookedness that seems to get into the best of people-people who think any means to win elections are fair! I’m not naive, Helen. I’m from the same family as you. I grew up knowing politics. That's why I stay out of it!"

"Surely you don't support this victimization of the Fire-clown, Alan? He is a simple, spontaneous…"

"I'm not interested in hearing a list of the Fireclown's virtues. And whether I support any 'victimization,' as you call it, is of no importance. As a matter of fact, I'm attracted to the Fireclown and consider him no danger at all. But it seems to me that both you and Grandfather are using this man for your own political ends, and I’ll have no part of it!" He paused, considering what he had said, then added: "Finally, there has been no 'victimization,' and there isn't likely to be!"

"That's what you think. I support the Fireclown for good reasons. His ambitions and the ambitions of the RLM are linked. He wants to bring sanity and real life back to this machine-ridden world. We want real values back again!"

"Oh, God!" He shook his head impatiently. "Helen, I've got a great deal of work to do before I go to bed tonight."

"Very well. I have, too. If you reconsider…"

"Even if there was a plot to arrest the Fireclown I wouldn't tell you so that you could use it for political fuel, Helen." He suddenly found himself moving towards her, gripping her arm. "Listen. Why get involved with this? You've got a good chance of winning the election without indulging in dealings of this sort.

Wait until you're President, then you can make the Fireclown into a Solar Trust if you like!"

"You can't understand," she said grimly, shaking herself free of his hand. "You don't realize that you have to be comparatively ruthless when you know what you're aiming for is right."

"Then I'm glad you know what's right," he said pityingly. "I'm bloody glad you know. It's more than I do."

She left in silence and he went back to his chair, slumping down heavily and feeling, with morose pleasure, that he had scored.

The mood didn't last long. By the time Stefanos came in to tell him his meal was waiting for him he had sunk into a brooding, unconstructive melancholy.

Brusquely he told his manservant to eat the meal himself and then go out for the rest of the evening.

"Thank you, sir," Stefanos said wonderingly, chewing his ridged underlip as he left the room.

In this mood in which his confrontation of his ex-mistress had left him, Alan felt incapable of work. The work was of little real importance anyway, routine stuff which he had hoped to clear up before he took his vacation in two weeks' time. He decided to go to bed, hoping that a good ten hours' sleep would help him forget Helen.

He had reached the point where he felt he must see the mysterious figure for himself, since so many matters seemed to be revolving around him all of a sudden.

He walked into the darkened hall and ordered the light on. The light responded to his voice and flooded the flat. The tiny escalator leading upstairs began to move, too, and he stepped on it, letting it carry him to the landing.

He went into his bedroom. It was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the flat-a bed, a mellowlamp for reading, a small shelf of books, a wing on the headboard of the bed for anything he cared to put there, and a concealed wardrobe. The air was fresh from the ventilators, also hidden.

He took off his scarlet jacket and pants, told the wardrobe to open, told the cleaning chute to open and dropped them in. He selected a single-piece sleeping suit and moved moodily to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he got up and went back to the wardrobe, removed an ordinary suit of street garments and put them on. Rapidly, feeling that he should have taken something (with him-a weapon or a notebook or an alarm signaller which would contact the police wherever he was-he left the flat and took the fastway towards the elevators.

He was going to the lower levels. He was going to find the Fireclown.