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starved him to death, to see how philosophical he would be about it &
For the first time in a while, Reuben recalled Ohira and Shiba, in their
dungeon. He pressed his intercom button.
Find McKinnon. Quick.
When Carrot-Head came into the study ten minutes later, he did so without
knocking.
I don t think you knocked, observed Reuben.
Aw, come off it! You and me, Reuben, we re
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Reuben held up his hand. There s gotta be respect.
Sure I respect you, Reuben. Anyone who could have pulled off all this & ! I
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mean, it beats me. The trouble was, it beat Reuben too. Which was why he
couldn t afford to be too intimate with his old colleague. Actually, lots of
things weren t allowed, and he had no idea why. Liquor was okay. And women
were okay, just so long as he didn t bring them back to the Farm; which was a
nuisance, since he had to be back on the Farm faithfully every Sunday morning
to catch that programme on closed circuit.
And comics were okay, though some of the words fogged out occasionally. Words
such as hyp & hyp &
Then there was the business of the Ace Detective Agency. If he had his own way
(and why didn t he?), he would have sent Craig McKinnon on the trail like a
bloodhound. Got rid of him that way. But it seemed that he had to keep
McKinnon here, as his chauffeur.
It was always okay, so long as he didn t try to puzzle things out. His running
of King Enterprises by remote control was, well, downright inspired. But it
didn t add up, no sir.
And then at night sometimes he dreamed of the ground splitting open, and an
imp flying out of hell straight at him. However, he only had to say a magic
word, Egnach! to send the imp scooting back into the abyss, screaming in
frustration. He was in charge; not it. At other times, when he was awake, he
couldn t pronounce the magic word.
You want me to stand about all night like a dummy? McKinnon asked peevishly.
I m thinking
.
Immediately McKinnon looked respectful; because whatever Reuben Maccoby s
thoughts had been in the last year or so and Craig couldn t fathom them
they had certainly brought the man to power. And even if Reuben hadn t cut
Craig in on all the action, there were ample pickings.
Those two doctors & Reuben began thoughtfully.
You want to see a doctor?
Shut up! The very notion sent a shaft of migraine through Reuben s lobes.
Them? They re no better than if they did experiments on Jews in prison camps.
Trying to breed freaks and monsters.
Uh? They aren t that old. Well, maybe Ohira is. Those guys don t always show
their age different kind of skin, I guess.
We gotta keep them out of circulation forever, Craig.
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Was Reuben delivering a broad hint? McKinnon smiled slowly, as in the old
pre-King days, to indicate that he had got the message. If message it was. To
his astonishment Maccoby recoiled.
No! Thou shalt not kill! What I was getting at, dummy, was an & an analogue.
It s as they re Nazi if doctors, and we ve caught us a couple. Governments
are soft and sloppy, and would let them go.
But surely Japanese doctors never & I don t get you.
I suppose analogues are beyond you.
So okay. I never did understand computers.
Maccoby stared at McKinnon in disgust. I want to check up on those two,
personally. Right now
surprise inspection. Wily: that s what Orientals are. They could be scheming
something.
You could easily patch the video through from
I said personally. I don t trust TV.
This, from the man who routinely locked himself in his study every Sunday
morning, to goggle at a screen? McKinnon had watched Maccoby through
binoculars, behind the French windows of a Sunday morning. That must be when
Reuben did his real work of corporate decision-making. But McKinnon had never
seen the screen itself. Wrong angle.
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We ll go visit them, us two. Maybe not visit
, exactly. We ll spy from the gallery.
Whatever you say, boss.
That s better, Craig. Much better. Maccoby rose. Off to the dungeons!
What dungeons? asked McKinnon, perplexed. Immediately he spoke, he wished he
hadn t. Probably this was another analogue. It was a sign of Reuben s
superiority. This time, Maccoby was kind enough not to comment.
It was but a short distance to the former Chimporium, yet Maccoby insisted on
being chauffeured there.
By now it was dusk, and Reuben nodded approvingly when they were scanned by
the guard in his glass cabin, while the Merc idled in the floodlit transit
cage; though Reuben couldn t see whether or not the guard saluted. The
mesh-gate rolled aside; the drawbridge descended; and the limousine purred
onward.
No sign, in the failing light, of any alligators. Or was that hump, on the
bank of the moat, a pile of them?
Reuben keyed the intercom. do you ever come and toss them steaks, Craig?
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Who, Shiba and Ohira? I don t think they d appreciate it, boss.
The alligators, lunkhead. Yet there had seemed to be a note of guile in
McKinnon s voice. They are
getting fed properly?
Best porterhouse, honest. Actually, McKinnon had a little arrangement worked
out. The alligators were receiving offal: loads of lights and ox-liver,
sweetbreads and heart. They didn t seem to notice any difference, gulping it
all down. McKinnon wasn t particularly worried. He had been to Britain once,
where he noticed butchers selling pig and lamb offal to people as though it
was real food. What was good enough for the British was probably good enough
for alligators.
Hmm, said Maccoby, making a mental note.
But already they were at the horseshoe. Reuben waited for McKinnon to hop out
and hold the door for him.
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