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discovered a stud poker game in one of the holds. From the beginning he lost.
Not every game-an occasional win helped him recuperate a few credits. But by
the third day of the endless game, the second last of the trip, the direction of his
fortune was so marked that he took alarm and quit.
In his cabin he counted the money that remained to him-eighty-one credits. He
had paid eight percent commission on the thousand credits to the representative
of the bank. The rest had gone on fare, poker losses and one Imperial-style gun.
"At least," Clark thought, "I'll soon be back in Imperial City. And with more
money than when I arrived last time."
He lay back, amazingly at ease. The poker losses did not disturb him. He hadn't,
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when he came right down to it, planned to try gambling again. He had a different
picture of his Life. He would take risks, of course, but on a higher level. He had
won five hundred thousand credits- at least-in the Penny Palace. It would be
difficult to collect it but he would succeed. He felt himself patient and capable,
ready for all eventualities.
As soon as he had the money he would secure a commission from Colonel
Medlon. He might pay for it and he might not It depended upon the moment.
There was no vengefulness in his plan. He didn't care what happened to two venal
creatures like Fatty and the colonel. They were stepping stones, it seemed to
Clark, in the most ambitious scheme that had ever been planned in the Empire of
Isher. A scheme rooted in a fact that seemed to have escaped all the creature-men
who had risen to positions of rank in the Imperial Service.
Innelda of Isher meant well by the country. In his one contact with her he had
sensed a personality frustrated by the corruption of others. In spite of the talk
against her, the empress was honest-on a Machiavellian level, of course. Clark did
not doubt that she could issue an order of execution. But that was part of her
function as a ruler. Like himself, she must rise to the necessities of her situation.
The empress was honest. She would welcome a man who would use her limitless
authority to clean house for her. For two and a half months now he had been
thinking over what she had said that day in Medlon's office and he had some
pretty shrewd answers. There was her reference to officer-prospects staying away
in droves because they had heard something was up. And her accusation of a pro-
weapon shop conspiracy tied in with the inexplicable closing of the shops.
Something was up and, for a man who had made a personal contact, it spelled
massive opportunity.
To all his planned actions Clark made but one qualification. First, he must seek
out Lucy Rail and ask her to marry him.
That hunger would not wait.
The ship came down into its cradle a few minutes before noon on a cloudless day.
There were formalities and it was two o'clock before Clark's papers were stamped
and he emerged into the open. A breeze touched his cheeks and, from the peak of
metal that was the landing field, he could see the dazzling city to the west.
It was a view to make a man catch his breath, but Clark did not waste any time.
From a 'stat booth, he called Lucy's number. A pause, then a young man's face
came onto the screen. "I'm Lucy's husband," he said. "She went out for a minute,
but you don't want to talk to her." Persuasively. "Take a good look at me and
you'll agree."
Clark stared blankly. But the familiarity of the other's face would not penetrate
through the shock of the words he had spoken.
"Look hard," the image in the 'stat urged.
Clark began, "I don't think that-"
And then he got it. He drew back like a man whose face had been slapped. He put
out his hand as if he would defend his eyes from a vision that was too bright for
them. He could feel the blood draining from his cheeks, and he swayed. The now
familiar voice drew him back to normalcy.
"Pull yourself together!" it said. "And listen. I want you to meet me tomorrow
night on the beach of the Haberdashery Paradise. Take one more look at me,
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convince yourself, and be there."
Clark didn't need the look but his eyes sought the image ,face. And there was no
question. The face that was staring at him from the 'stat was his own.
Cayle Clark was looking at Cayle Clark-at 2:10 P.M., October 4, 4784 Isher.
CHAPTER XXII
OCTOBER 6th- The empress stirred, and turned over in bed. She had a memory. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]