The Light That Never Was by Jr. Lloyd Biggle Read Free Book Online Page B

thinking about anything else.”
    “I’ve got ahold of some filmstrips of the Mestil riots—never mind how. Can the W.M. see well enough to make use of them?”
    Wargen shook his head. “He’d ask someone to look and then tell him about them.”
    “He can hear, can’t he?” one of the men asked. “Just hearing those things would be the most shattering experience of his lifetime. Hearing and seeing—”
    Colyff nodded soberly. “If I get them to you, will you see that the W.M. hears them and has someone describe them to him?”
    “Certainly. If possible I’ll do it myself.”
    “I’m worried,” Colyff said. “This is going to be bad for business—in times of trouble people tend to stay home and look after their own interests—but there’s more than that at stake. I’m worried that this madness might spread here. I know we haven’t any animaloids for anyone to blow his top about, but I can’t help thinking—madness finds its own object, doesn’t it? We have a lovely world here. I’d like to keep it that way.”
    “Send me the strips,” Wargen said. “I’ll do what I can.”
    As he turned away someone firmly barred his path: Jaward Jorno, slender, superbly conditioned, outstandingly elegant even in that vast room of elegance, handsome, so youthful in appearance that Wargen, who knew his age, found himself doubting it.
    Jorno murmured, “Count Wargen? I’d like to ask you a favor.”
    “Please do,” Wargen said with a smile. It happened a minimum dozen times at every rev.
    “Do you have any influence with your boss?”
    “I can—sometimes—influence the order in which his mail is read to him.”
    “I need to see him. Tomorrow. It’s urgent. That’s why I came to the Metro. I spent the whole dratted afternoon at the Cirque and couldn’t get past the first receptionist.”
    “What did you want to see him about?”
    “A private matter.”
    “Is that what you told the receptionist?”
    Jorno nodded.
    “Then you’ll never see him. He thinks of himself as a public official, and he’s pleased to discuss public business with almost anyone, at almost any time. He considers private business none of his business.”
    “I see.”
    “I’d suggest that you draw up a memo demonstrating how your private business touches the public interest.”
    “If I gave you such a memo, would you see that it reaches him?”
    “Certainly. That’s my job.”
    “Thank you. I’ll consider it.” He turned away, paused, looked at Wargen again. “It is a public matter, you see, but I’m not certain whom the public might be.”
    Jorno moved off, and Lilya Vaan pounced on Wargen. Big, overhearing, too often vulgarly loud, flamboyant in appearance, her first rev on Donov would have been her last had she not been giving it herself. But her magnificent home had the most fabulous rev facilities in Donov Metro—each level of the enormous building had its own rev room, and they flowed together by way of cascading ramps. To this she added vast wealth and a peerless gall in bagging prominent guests and celebrated entertainers. Her invitations were even more prized than those of Ronony Gynth. Behind her formidable Facade, Wargen found her touchingly shy, generous, and kindhearted.
    “Look,” she said. “My cousin Telka is after me to twist your arm.”
    “She wants to see the W.M. on private business?”
    “Nope. She wants you and your mother at her next rev.”
    “If I’m free I’ll be delighted to attend. As for Mother, I seem to recall some kind of unfortunate accident—”
    “You seem to recall?”
    They stared at each other and then burst into laughter. Years before, at one of Telka’s famous seafood revs, the countess had been served a cup of govo chowder that on close examination proved to contain one live govo. Since such a thing was physically impossible—no govo could survive its conversion into chowder—the countess instantly concluded that it had reached her chowder cup aided by someone’s