Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

That was shortly before Ivor Mandel’stahm—this time in the Penn-Mass autojitney—totally demolished his peace of mind. They had just left the Dupont Circle Interchange when he told Duncan: “I’ve some interesting news for you, but I don’t know what it means. You may be able to explain it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I think I can claim, without much exaggeration or conceit, that I can get to anyone on Earth in one jump. But sometimes discretion suggests doing it in two , and that’s how I proceeded with Miss Ellerman. I’ve never had any dealings with her personally—or so I thought , until you advised me otherwise—but we have mutual friends. So I got one, whom I can trust without question, to give her a call... Tell me, have you tried to contact her recently?”

“Not for—oh, at least a week. I thought it better to keep out of the way.” Duncan did not add, to this perfectly good excuse, the fact that he had felt ashamed to face Calindy.

“She answered my friend’s call, but there’s something very odd. She wouldn’t switch on her viddy.”

That certainly was peculiar; as a matter of common good manners, one never overrode the vision circuit unless there was a very good excuse indeed. Of course, this could sometimes cause acute embarrassment—a fact exploited to the utmost in countless comedies. But whatever the real reason, social protocol demanded some explanation. To say that the viddy was out of order was to invite total disbelief, even on those rare occasions when it was true.

“What was her excuse?” asked Duncan.

“A plausible one. She explained that she had a bad fall, and apologized for not showing her face.”

“I hope she wasn’t badly hurt.”

“Apparently not, though she sounded rather unhappy. Anyway, my friend had a brief conversation with her and raised the subject of Titan—quite legitimately, and in a way that couldn’t possibly arouse suspicion. He knew that she’d been there, and asked if she could put him in touch with any Titanians she happened to know on Earth. Actually, he said he had an export order in mind.”

“Not a very good story. All business is handled through the Embassy Trade Division, and he could have contacted them.”

“If I may say so, Mr. Makenzie, you still have a lot to learn. I can think of half a dozen reasons for not going to the Embassy—at least for the first approach. My friend knows that, and you can be sure that Miss Ellerman does.”

“If you say so—I don’t doubt that you’re right. What was her reaction?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. She said that she did have a good Titanian friend who might be able to help, that he’d just arrived for the celebrations, and he was in Washington...”

Duncan began to laugh; the anticlimax was so ridiculous...

“So your friend wasted his time. We’re right back to where we started.”

“Along this line, yes. I thought you’d be amused. But there’s rather more to come.”

“Go on,” said Duncan, his confidence in Mandel’stahm now somewhat diminished by this debacle.

“I tried several other lines of inquiry, but they all came to nothing. I even thought of calling Miss Ellerman myself and saying outright that I knew she was the principal behind the titanite negotiations—without accusing her of anything, of course.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh, it would have been a perfectly reasonable thing to do—she wouldn’t have been surprised if I found out sooner or later. But as it happened, I had a better idea—one I should have tried in the first place. I checked on her visitors for the last month.”

“How,” Duncan asked in astonishment, “could you do that?”

“It’s the oldest trick in the world. Have you never seen one of those twentieth-century French detective films? No, I suppose not. I simply asked the concierge.”

“The what?”

“You don’t have them on Titan?”

“I don’t even know what they are.”

“Perhaps you’re lucky. On Earth, they’re an indispensable nuisance. Miss Ellerman, as I assume you know, lives in a very luxurious Deep Ten just south of Mount Rockefeller. In fact, she has the basement penthouse—a hankering I’ve never understood; the farther down I go, the more claustrophobic I get. Well, any large complex has a doorkeeper at the entrance to tell visitors who’s in and who’s out, take messages, accept deliveries—and authorize the right people to go to the right apartments. That’s the concierge.”

“And you were able to get at its memory bank?”

Mandel’stahm had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

“It’s surprising what can be done if you know the right people. Oh, don’t misunderstand. There was nothing illegal; but I prefer to omit details.”

“On Titan, we’re very particular about invasion of privacy.”

“So are we on Earth. Anyone who really wants to do so can easily by-pass the concierge. Which, in fact, suggests to me that Miss Ellerman does not have a guilty conscience, or anything to hide. But tell me, Mr. Makenzie—didn’t you know that she had a Titanian guest staying with her?”

Duncan stared at him open-mouthed, but quickly recovered himself. Of course—Karl might well have prevailed on some trusted friend to act as a courier. That must have been a good many months ago; there had been no passenger ship for six weeks before Sirius . Who could possibly...?

That could wait. There was another little matter to clear up first.

“You said staying with her? ”

“Yes. That is, until only two days ago.”

That explained everything—almost. No wonder Calindy had avoided him! In equal measure, Duncan felt jealousy, disappointment—and relief that his maneuverings had, after all, been justified by events.

“Who is this Titanian?” he asked glumly. “I wonder if I know him.”

“That’s what I’ll be interested to hear. His name is Karl Helmer.”

“That’s utterly impossible,” said Duncan, when he had recovered from the initial shock. “I left Helmer at Saturn—and I came here on the fastest ship in the Solar System.”

Mandel’stahm gave an expressive shrug.

“Then perhaps someone else is using that name, for reasons best known to himself. Miss Ellerman’s concierge is not very bright—they seldom are—and incidentally, we were lucky to get at it just before the end-of-month memory update. I got hold of the visual recognition coding, and here’s the recording circuit.”

He handed over the crude but perfectly adequate synthesis. Duncan could identify it as quickly as any robot pattern-detecting circuit.

Without question, it was Karl.

“So you know him,” said Mandel’stahm.

“Very well,” Duncan replied faintly. His mind was still in a whirl; even now, he could not fully believe the evidence of his eyes. It would take a long time for him to work out all the implications of this stunning development.

“You said he was no longer at Cal—Miss Ellerman’s. Do you know where he is now?”

“No. I was hoping you might have some ideas. But now that we know the name, I’ll be able to trace him—though it may take some time.”

And doubtless expense, thought Duncan.

“Tell me, Mr. Mandel’stahm, why are you taking all this trouble? Frankly, I don’t see what you hope to get out of it.”

“Don’t you? Well, it’s a good question. I certainly began this out of a pure and honest lust for titanite, and I hope that in due course my efforts will win their just reward. But now it’s gone beyond that. The only thing more valuable than gems or works of art is entertainment. And this little caper, Mr. Makenzie, is more interesting than anything I’ve seen on the viddy for weeks.”