Tomorrow’s World

Chapter 3

The projector snapped off, leaving the room black for an instant, somehow cold and empty after what had been. Van Brant sank back in the foam-upholstered chair, feeling completely spent and exhausted. Music flowed from the wall speakers, and the lights came on, soft and golden.

“Well,” Hayden Thorpe said, “how’d you like it?”

“I’m dead,” Brant said. He wasn’t kidding. It had been terrific. Positively sensational.

Hayden beamed happily. He was a short, corpulent man who affected tight tunics slashed to his waist in an attempt to cover the roll of flesh there. Van had to admit this was preferable, on Hayden, to a bare chest. Hayden rubbed his pudgy hands together now, and said, “This is going to set the Senso industry solid, Van. I’m telling you this is the biggest goddamned thing since video.”

“You’ve sold me, Hayden,” Van said. “How many scribes will you need?”

“Always business,” Hayden said, chuckling. He nudged one of his assistants, a pale-faced lad with an uneven crewcut. “What do you think of this illidge, Lawrence?”

Lawrence chuckled back, not daring to offend Van by agreeing with Hayden, yet not wanting to seem disagreeable.

“What’d you think of the love scene?” he asked Brant, changing the subject about as subtly as a riveter.

“Destruction,” Van said. It had been. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before.

“Felt as if the chick was really in your arms, didn’t it?” Hayden asked.

“In my arms? Father, I could feel her flesh and smell her perfume. Hayden, you’ve got something here that...”

“That’s only half of it, Van,” Hayden said proudly. “Remember, we call this Individual Sensory Productions. Just a second.” He leaned back and pressed a button on the arm of his chair. Above the music drifting from the speaks, came a well-modulated feminine voice.

“Yes, sir?”

“Rhonda, would you come in a moment, please?”

“Certainly, Mr. Thorpe.”

Hayden leaned forward again and said, “My secretary, Van; I think you’ll be more than a little surprised by what she has to say.”

Van nodded and waited for the door to slide open. When it did, a tall brunette entered, carrying a small stenotab. Her hair was piled high on her head, accentuating her height, in the fashion most tall girls affected. She wore her breasts pitch black, matching her hair, with silver sequins scattered from each nipple in a haphazard smear. Her skirt was long, but slit up the center and revealing laced, transparent underwear. She walked across the room in long-legged strides, sitting in a chair next to Hayden. She crossed her legs and poised her slender, well-manicured fingers over the keys of the stenotab, ready for dictation.

“No,” Hayden said, “I just wanted you to tell Mr. Brant something.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She arched her brows, batted her lashes over the auburn contact lenses she wore. “What was it, sir?”

“You saw the Indi-Senso we ran yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember the love scene?”

A pulse in her throat quickened, and she lowered her eyes, “Yes, sir.”

“Will you describe it to Mr. Brant, please?”

“Well, I... that is, sir... I...” She looked to Van, hopefully.

“Really, Hayden,” Van said, “there’s no need to get Ree about this. I saw the scene, and I...”

“Please, Van,” Hayden said, holding his hand up like a traffic robot. “I have no intention of intruding on your privacy, Rhonda, believe me. I want typical audience reactions, and you’re one of the few women who saw the Senso. Would you describe the love scene?”

The girl wet her lips, batted her lashes again, sucked in a deep breath and said, “Well... it was set on a balcony...”

“Yes?”

“And... and it was a starry night...”

Van remembered the balcony, and he remembered the stars. He also remembered how crisp and clean the air had smelled. The stars had shone like brittle glass in an immensely black sky, and there had been a quiet feel of peace over the land. The hero had taken the girl into his arms, and Van had actually felt the pressure of her breasts, the silkiness of her hair. He’d smelled the musky fragrance of her perfume, tasted the faint mint flavor of her lipstick. It had been an experience, all right, one of the best Sensos he’d ever seen. But he was beginning to wonder just why Hayden was putting his secretary through a personal inquisition.

“The... the girl went into the boy’s arms,” Rhonda said. “And then he kissed her.”

“Yes, go on.”

“I... his face was rough, as if he had shaved but not too closely. There was the smell of aftershave on his face, I remember, and an old leather smell about him, somehow. You know what I mean. A very... masculine smell.”

Van looked at the girl in astonishment, beginning to understand just exactly what Hayden had accomplished.

“His arms were very strong,” she said. “They’d been coated with alcojel, you know the odor. He’d been smoking before that, and I could... could taste the tobacco on his mouth. It... it was very nice.” She paused, seeming to wander into a reverie. “Very nice.”

“Thank you, Rhonda,” Hayden said. “You may go now.” She rose, uncrossing her legs and striding across the room. Hayden could hardly contain himself until the door slid shut behind her. “Well, Van?” he asked, a smile mushrooming over his face.

“I don’t believe it,” Van said. “It was a put-up job.”

“God’s truth,” Hayden said soberly. “The gal saw the show yesterday. I haven’t chopped with her since.”

Van digested this for about three seconds. “Father,” he said, “you’re a crazy, drug-loving, psyched-up illidge, but I love you I This will set the industry...”

“...solid. Just what I said. Individual Sensos, Van. The men live a completely different experience than the women. I’ve brought viewpoint to the Sensos, Van. It overwhelms me when I think of it. I’m a genius!”

“Genius! You’re going to be a millionaire, you crazy stud. You’re going to have more money than Fort Knox!”

Hayden turned suddenly to his assistant. “Take a powder, Lawrence.”

“Yes, sir,” Lawrence answered obediently. He walked to the door and left soundlessly. Hayden’s face turned suddenly serious.

“You think I’ve got something, Van?”

“Got something? Hayden, this is the most terrific thing I’ve ever...”

“I need money,” he said quickly.

He shocked Van for a moment. Hayden had been producing Sensos for a long time now. If there was anyone Van thought was comfortably fixed, it was Hayden Thorpe. “You’re kidding,” he said.

“No. No, I’m straight, Van.”

“Money? You?”

“My habit is long and strong,” he said. “Corradon.”

“Oh,” Brant said, understanding at once. Corradon was a synthetic drug. It cost a hell of a lot, even now that narcotics were legal. A Corradonict needed a pile, and he needed a pile measured in miles.

“This thing is the biggest,” Hayden said. “There’s plenty in it for both of us. You back me, Van, and we’re wedded.”

“Five-five?” Van asked.

“You know the idea itself rates a seven-three,” Hayden said. “At least a six-four, anyway.” He shrugged and spread his hands wide. “Without the moo, though, I’ve got nothing. You back me, and I’ll make it an even split. Five-five. Grooved?”

“How much do you need?”

“Two stones.”

“What!”

“I thought I could get by on one, but it’s impossible. Even cutting to the marrow, it would come to at least a stone and a half.”

Van shook his head. “I haven’t got that kind of money, Hayden.”

“How much can you raise immediately?”

“Nine hundred gee. Maybe.”

Hayden nodded. “That’s not bad; that’s only a gee short of a stone. Can we raise the other million?”

“Hayden, that’s a hell of a lot of moo.”

“Goddamnit, I know it, father. Do you think I’d have come to you if I could’ve raised it myself? Van, this is the biggest thing on the scene. You want to make some money, you’ve got to invest some. I thought you had connections.”

“I do, I do. But...”

“Do you want in or not? I came to you first because I know you and I like you. You want to be a ten-percenter all your life? You can cut loose of all your scribes, once this thing hits the market.”

He looked at Brant, saw the dubious look on his face, and said, “Did you see the stars in that chick’s eyes when she described the mush to you? You ever see anyone look like that talking about an ordinary Senso? Hell, Van, you saw the show yourself. Was it, or wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Did it fix you?”

“It fixed me. It was doom. But two stones...”

“You said you could raise close to one. That leaves a million to go. If you can get the nine hundred gee by the end of the week, we can start production. We’ll need another gee or so by the end of the month, and the remainder for the ballyhoo just before release. That won’t be too close. Six months, at least.”

“How long did it take you to make the pilot?” Van asked.

“Three months.”

“And you figure on a full length feature in six months. Father, what are you mixing?”

“All right, the pilot you just saw was a fifteen minute show. But we were working out a lot of bugs, and the technique was new. There’ll be no guessing on the feature, Van. We’ve got it down pat. When I say six months, I mean six months. Not a day over.”

“What about scribes?”

“That’s your end; you’re a literary agent, aren’t you?” “Sure, but scribes can’t eat promises.”

“We’ll pay them from the first nine hundred you raise.”

“How many will we need?”

“I used a team of six men and six women for the pilot. We need both, you know. This takes a special kind of writing, Van, you don’t know the half of it.”

“I know we won’t get six of each for less than a stone. My scribes are high-priced, Hayden.”

“Can’t you...”

“I’m their agent. I work for them, remember?”

“Then get some low-priced scribes. Get one of each, a man and a woman. They don’t have to be terrific; the medium will carry the lousiest writing, as long as it’s suited to the process. Besides, this is all new. There are no experienced scribes for this sort of thing.”

“How high can we go?”

“You’re not thinking of your commish, are you?”

“Hell, no! I want to know who I can get. For that, I want to know what I can pay. Come, father, don’t make glip.”

“All right. We can go to twenty gee.”

“Per?”

“I was thinking of twenty gee for both. If we have to make it per, okay.” Hayden smiled. “It’s your money, Van.”

“Yeah.” Brant stood up and took his hand. “Deal?” he asked.

“Deal,” Hayden said.

“Real,” Van acknowledged. “I’ll have the moo by the end of the week. Nine hundred gee. Another gee by the end of the month, and the rest in six months or so.”

“Right.”

“I see the light, father.”

“Give me a call, Van,” Hayden said. “This thing is big.”

“Your language is small,” Van answered. “This thing is doom!”

He called Walt Alloway from a pay phone. When his picture and voice came on, Van said, “I’m using scrambler thirty-one. Want to tune in?”

“Hush stuff?” Alloway asked.

“Much hush. Come on, Walt.”

“Sure,” he said.

Van pressed the button marked thirty-one on the face of the instrument. That would scramble his voice and picture so that only Walt, after adjusting his own set to decode, would receive his message. Common plug-ins were widespread, but the use of the scrambler made that impossible.

“Okay?” Van asked.

“Grooved.”

“Fine. You still want to take a powder on Lana Davis?”

“I’d love to. How?”

“I’ve got something big for you. It’ll mean a cut, though.”

“How much of a cut?”

“Down to twenty gee.”

“What!”

“Twenty gee,” Van repeated.

“That’s a mean slash, father.”

“I know. Do you want it?”

Alloway shook his head. “I’d sure like to get from under that chick, Van. But twenty gee. Hell, after taxes, I’d have marbles.”

“This is the biggest goddamn thing you’ve ever fallen into,” Van said harshly. “I can get sixty scribes who’ll do it for nothing, just on the promise of what it’ll bring them later on. If you don’t want it, I’ll look elsewhere. So long, Walt.”

“Hey, hold on, father!”

“What is it?”

“Well, chop a little more about it. Be fair, Van.”

“I can’t chop on the phone.”

“You’re scrambled, Van.”

“Even scrambled. Look, think it over. I’m your agent, and I say this is hot. You can take my word, remembering who pulled you out of the pabacks, or you can donut-leap.”

“Van, give me a chance to...”

“I’ll see you at Deborah’s tonight. I’ll tell you more then— But only if you’re in. If you’re cool, fool, this is too hot to spread around. You follow?”

“All the way. It’s big, huh, Van?”

“Bigger than birth.”

“But a cut in cash.”

“It’ll be the smartest move you ever made. Think about it.”

Brant clicked off, smiling to himself and swinging the door of the booth wide. He was on the fifth level, where his accountants, Barton and Houston, kept shop. They were the people to see next.

He stepped out of the booth, walked through the store, and out onto the curb. He was still smiling.

Brant grabbed the first pneumotube that came by, setting the electronic hailing signal at the curb. When the car stopped, he climbed in, deposited his coin, and punched the tabs near his seat. The car hummed and then swept forward swiftly. In three minutes, he’d travelled three miles, and he cursed the snail’s pace until he remembered he was down on the fifth level, a local level. The signal light near his seat blared red, and he rose as the car slowed and the door slid open. He stepped onto the curb, looked for the numbers on the buildings, found the one he wanted, and walked inside.

His heels echoed on the marble floors as he walked down the corridor. He passed two Rees in the hallway, complete with shirts and ties and wearing (of all goddamned things, he thought) hats. They studied the hair on his chest with obvious distaste, wrinkled their noses, and hurried off down the hallway. He shrugged, and then walked into the reception room of Barton and Houston.

A redheaded switchboard operator, her skin tinted an offcolor green, sat with her hands darting out for rubbery, snakelike connections. Her shoulders were bare, as were her breasts, and she had left the skin between her collar bones and the lower side of her bosom its natural shade. The effect was a bit startling, and Van glanced at it appreciatively.

The girl plugged one of the connections into a hole on the board.

“Barton and Houston, good afternoon.”

Van looked at his wrist chron. Damn if it wasn’t afternoon; twelve-ten already. He whistled tunelessly while she disposed of the lights flickering on her board. When she turned to him, he said, “Jo Houston, please.”

“Who’s calling, sir?”

“Van Brant.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Brant.”

Van walked over to the long window looking out over the criss-crossed ribbons that wound through the sky above and below the fifth level. Stretching from the third level up to the ninth, he saw the full-length figure of the star of one of the stereoshows originating on the seventh level. As he watched, the gigantic figure sucked in a deep breath. Her breasts moved suggestively, and her navel filled with shadow.

“Mr. Brant?”

He turned away from the window and the poster art, and walked back to the redhead, who was real. “Yes?”

“Mr. Houston will see you now, sir.”

“Thanks. Say, do you always dress formally in this office?”

The girl glanced down at her skin tint self-consciously. “Oh, no, sir. I’m going to a party straight from work. Mr. Houston said it would be all right if...”

“I see. I was just wondering.”

She smiled, and Brant smiled back and walked through the gate into Jo’s office. He was sitting behind a cluttered desk, with an enormous ledger opened before him. When Van entered, he rose and. extended his hand.

“Van, you old illidge! How goes the body?”

“Ticking and clicking, no kicking. And you?”

“Sound and round, like money found. What brings you, Van?”

“Business.”

“Oh?”

“Uhm,” Van said flatly. “Look, Jo, I haven’t been fixed since Lord knows. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, no,” Jo said expansively. “Go right ahead. Just had mine, as a matter of fact. What’s your pleasure?”

“Morph, Jo.”

“Morph it is. A straight lad, eh?”

“Always.”

Jo moved to the bar, pressed a stud in its top, and removed a leather case. “Been on herro myself,” he said. He selected a vial from the case and handed it to Van. He waited while Van checked the gauge and located the vein. He nodded, then, and said, “Happy, Van.”

Van nodded acknowledgement and fired. It hit him fast and hard, and he sucked in a deep breath, twisted the cap, and handed the vial back to Jo. “Your stuff is always good.”

“Only the best for my clients,” Jo said. “What’s on your mind, Van?”

“Liquidation.”

“Huh?”

“I need cash fast, Jo. I want you to get rid of all my holdings; everything but the agency. I need close to a stone by Saturday.”

Jo whistled softly. “In a jam?”

“No. Business.”

“Sounds good.”

“It is. Can you do it for me?”

Jo spread the fingers of one hand wide. “Sure.” Then he cocked his head to one side, his deep brown eyes set into the layers of flesh on his face. “Anything that might interest me?”

“Sorry, Jo.”

Jo smiled. “Okay, okay.” He patted the air with his hand. “So what’s new otherwise?”

“Nothing much. You?”

“A few new accounts. Very nice. You know Steele and Dawes?”

“Advertising?”

“Yes. Enormous. We just got them.”

“How’s Day?”

“He’s fine. Holding down the Barton end of Barton and Houston.”

“Steele and Dawes, you say. Why does it ring a bell?”

“The boys who finally broke through the prohibition lobby.”

“Oh yes, of course. The ones who started the new swing in liquor advertising.”

Jo nodded. “You remember what the ads used to be like. For Mellow Flavor or For A Taste Treat. Anything but what they really wanted to say.” He chuckled audibly, remembering, and added, “I’ll never forget the first one, Van. The name of the liquor was Daley’s, I believe. Steele and Dawes plastered the town with tri-dim bottles. Everywhere you looked, a bottle was staring down at you. And all the copy said was, Daley’s Makes You Drunk As A Lord!”

He laughed aloud, and Van laughed with him, remembering what a furor that first honest liquor ad had caused.