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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Copyright © 1976 by Mack Reynolds.
All rights reserved.
*
Published by Wildside Press, LLC.
www.wildsidepress.com
Books by Mack Reynolds
THE BAT HARDIN SERIES
Commune 2000 AD
The Towers of Utopia
Rolltown
THE HOMER CRAWFORD SERIES
Black Man’s Burden
Border, Breed nor Birth
The Best Ye Breed
THE JOE MAUSER SERIES
Mercenary from Tomorrow
The Earth War
The Fracas Factor
Time Gladiator
Joe Mauser: Mercenary from Tomorrow (with Michael A. Banks)
THE JULIAN WEST SERIES
Looking Backward from the Year 2000
Equality in the Year 2000
THE LAGRANGE SERIES
Lagrange Five
The Lagrangists (with Dean Ing)
Chaos in Lagrangia
Trojan Orbit (with Dean Ing)
THE UNITED PLANETS SERIES
Planetary Agent X
Dawnman Planet
The Rival Rigelians
Code Duello
Amazon Planet
OTHER BOOKS
Ability Quotient
After Some Tomorrow
After Utopia
Brain World
Computer War
Computer World
Day After Tomorrow
Depression or Bust
Galactic Medal of Honour
Of Godlike Power (aka Earth Unaware)
Perchance to Dream
Police Patrol: 2000AD
Satellite City
Section G: United Planets
Space Pioneer
Space Search
Space Visitor
The Computer Conspiracy
The Cosmic Eye
The Five-way Secret Agent
The Space Barbarians
Tomorrow Might be Different
Trample an Empire Down
Part One: Barry Ten Eyck
Barry Ten Eyck came briskly into his inner office in fine mood, tossed his briefcase to his old fashioned steel desk and called over to his secretary cum Man Friday, “Miss Cusack, I shall allow exactly four crises this morning. No more.”
Carol Ann Cusack looked down at her notes. She was a tallish brunette with unusually dark blue eyes. She had a strong face, a wide warm mouth, and glossy, quizzical brows, and was well liked by the staff for her quick humor.
She said, “I have nine. No, ten.”
“Four,” he said again, severely. “No more. Turn the others over to Jim and Bat. A good Demecrat must learn to delegate authority. Besides, they need the experience.”
“Mr. Cotswold is on vacation.”
“That’s right, he is. Then turn the last six over to Bat Hardin. He has strong, broad shoulders whilst I am failing by the minute.”
“Yes, Mr. Ten Eyck.”
“When are you going to begin calling me Barry, Carol Ann?”
“When I am no longer your secretary, Mr. Ten Eyck. The Head Chef, Monsieur Daunou, has tendered his resignation again.”
“What! Pete can’t do this to me.” He glared at her. Somehow, in spite of his position as the Demecrat of Shyler-deme, Barry Ten Eyck’s glares didn’t come off. Not, at least, when he was dealing with his immediate staff. A tall, lanky, easygoing and good-natured type, especially when not under pressure, when he could get as tough as the occasion warranted, he wasn’t exactly typical as young Meritcrats went, believing in a highly informal administration.
“What’s the reason this time? Too many complaints about his latest soufflé creation?”
Carol Ann shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. He seemed to be in some sort of huff.”
Her boss slumped down into his chair. “Good grief, the budget doesn’t allow for any pay increases, if that’s it. I’ll see him later. You don’t get a chef like Pierre Daunou just any day in the week. Have you got the computer report on this week’s take?”
Carol Ann said, “That’s the next crisis. It’s down to four hundred and seventy-five thousand pseudo-dollars.”
He stared at her. “It is? That’s not much above our breakeven point.”
“No, sir.”
“What happened—in particular?”
“That’s the next crisis. We lost two hundred and three resident families.”
“And took in how many?”
“Eighty-three. Some of them, of course, renting from the owners.”
Barry Ten Eyck winced, got up from his desk and looked out the window and over the acres of parks and trees that surrounded the hundred-and-nineteen-story, aluminium-sheathed, twin towers of the apartment building which he managed.
He muttered, barely audible, “The building is less than ten years old. What gets into people that they can’t stay put in an apartment worth some $40,000 that they’ve been given practically free?”
Carol Ann said dryly, “They haven’t got anything else to do but move around. They get bored.”
He took a breath and turned to her. “What’s the current occupancy, Miss Cusack?”
She flicked a switch, said something into a desk TV phone screen. She looked up and reported, “Four thousand and fifty-two, including Mr. Vanderfeller’s penthouse.”
He grunted. “Which is empty most of the time. It’d be our most lucrative occupancy if we had some high-living playboy in there.”
Carol Ann said, “Which