Stochastic Man by Robert Silverberg Read Free Book Online Page B

parched and withered. Slowly, with obvious effort, he reconstituted himself, sitting up, filling his lungs, pretending to an animation that his eyes, his empty and frightening eyes, wholly betrayed. One of the walking dead, yes.
    “Will you be joining us for lunch?” I asked him.
    “No. No, I wouldn’t impose. I wanted only a few words with you, Mr. Nichols.”
    “I’m at your service.”
    “Are you? How splendid.” He smiled an ashen smile. “I’ve heard a good deal about you, you know. Even before you went into politics. In a way, we’ve both been in the same line of work.”
    “You mean the market?” I said, puzzled.
    His smile grew brighter and more troubling. “Predictions,” he said. “For me, the stock market. For you, consultant to business and politics. We’ve both lived by our wits and by our, ah, decent understanding of trends.”
    I was altogether unable to read him. He was opaque, a mystery, an enigma.
    He said, “So now you stand at the mayor’s elbow, telling him the shape of the road ahead. I admire people who have such clear vision. Tell me, what sort of career do you project for Mayor Quinn?”
    “A splendid one,” I said.
    “A successful mayor, then.”
    “He’ll be one of the finest this city’s ever had.”
    Lombroso came back into the room. Carvajal said, “And afterward?”
    I looked uncertainly at Lombroso, but his eyes were hooded. I was on my own.
    “After his term as mayor?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    “He’s still a young-man, Mr. Carvajal. He might win three or four terms as mayor. I can’t give you any sort of meaningful projection about events a dozen years from now.”
    “Twelve years in City Hall? Do you think he’ll be content to stay there as long as that?”
    Carvajal was playing with me. I felt I had been drawn unawares into some sort of duel. I gave him a long look and perceived something terrifying and indeterminable, something powerful and incomprehensible, that made me grasp the first available defensive move, I said, “What do you think, Mr. Carvajal?”
    For the first time a flicker of life showed in his eyes. He was enjoying the game.
    “That Mayor Quinn is headed for higher office,” he said softly.
    “Governor?”
    “Higher.”
    I made no immediate answer, and then I was unable to answer, for an immense silence had seeped out of the leather-paneled walls to engulf us, and I feared being the one to puncture it. If only the phone would ring again, I thought, but all was still, as becalmed as the air on a freezing night, until Lombroso rescued us by saying, “We think he has a lot of potential, too.”
    “We have big plans for him,” I blurted.
    “I know,” said Carvajal. “That’s why I’m here. I want to offer my support.”
    Lombroso said, “Your financial aid has been tremendously helpful to us all along, and—”
    “What I have in mind isn’t only financial.”
    Now Lombroso looked to me for help. But I was lost. I said, “I don’t think we’re following you, Mr. Carvajal.”
    “If I could have a moment alone with you, then.”
    I glanced at Lombroso. If he was annoyed at being tossed out of his own office, he didn’t show it. With characteristic grace he bowed and stepped into the back room. Once more I was alone with Carvajal, and once more I felt ill at ease, thrown awry by the peculiar threads of invulnerable steel that seemed to lace his shriveled and enfeebled soul. In a new tone, insinuating, confidential, Carvajal said, “As I remarked, you and I are in the same line of work. But I think our methods are rather different, Mr. Nichols. Your technique is intuitive and probabilistic, and mine— Well, mine is different I believe perhaps some of my insights might supplement yours, is what I’m trying to say.”
    “Predictive insights?”
    “Exactly. I don’t wish to intrude on your area of responsibility. But I might be able to make a suggestion or two that I think would be of value.”
    I winced. Suddenly the enigma lay