Man of Two Worlds by Frank Herbert
The editorial conference definitely was not a rerun of the earlier one Ryll had watched. From his first entry into the room, Lutt displayed a new confidence and sense of his own power.
Suzanne Day, obviously aware of his hangover, had closed the shades on the eastern windows to reduce the morning light. Lutt felt grateful for this as he sat down and scanned the six faces around the long table. His head still felt misused and his eyes burned.
City editor Anaya Nelson, who had been reading through a stack of notes, looked up at him with open amusement.
“We could draw red ink right out of your eyes,” she said. “You really tied one on last night.”
Lutt ignored her and focused on Ade Stuart. The managing editor’s electric cart was pulled up close to the conference table on Lutt’s right. Stuart’s softly rounded face was held in bland immobility.
“I’m tapping the special fund, Ade,” Lutt said. “We’re going all out on my Spiral News Service project and that’s where we’re getting some of the money for it.”
Nelson, with her usual condescending expression, emitted a barking laugh. “So we’re not out to make a profit, after all!”
Lutt looked down at the polished surface of the table while he silently counted ten, then aimed a hard glare at Nelson. She ran a hand through her golden hair and grinned at him.
“I’ve had it with you, Anaya,” Lutt said. “If I get any more crap, we’re going to my father, just the two of us, and have him tell us which of us is running this paper. Meanwhile, I expect your full cooperation in what I’m about to do.”
She went pale under his glare and wet her lips with her tongue. Lutt could almost hear the thoughts racing through her head. Anaya surely knew old L.H.’s hopes for his Number-One Son. She knew the old man would back his son in a showdown.
Lutt pressed his advantage. “If I see the slightest sign that you are not cooperating, one of us will no longer work for this publication. Is that clear?”
Stuart, always the diplomat and certainly worried about his precious special fund, entered the breach. “We’ll cooperate, Lutt, but what’re you planning and how much of the special fund will you need?”
Lutt returned his attention to Stuart, but not before noting how much this exchange pleased Suzanne Day. The Style Section editor studied Lutt with a softly contemplative look, obviously asking herself what personal advantage she could gain.
The others, even old Mark Sorrell, who had edited the business pages “since coming off the Ark,” watched Stuart. Young and old, they all knew who mediated trouble on the staff.
“I’ll need all of the fund, Ade,” Lutt said.
That brought them to attention.
“The best little war we have is between France and China on Venus,” Lutt said and fell silent as Ryll, reading the plan in full at last, objected: No, Lutt!
Shut up, Ryll! I’m busy.
“What about Venus?” Stuart asked.
“I’m going there personally,” Lutt said. “I’ll set up at Pe-Duc or Berguun and—”
“You’ll report the war yourself?” Nelson asked.
“Personally.”
“Who’s going with you?” Nelson asked.
“Were you thinking you might like to be part of this?”
“Perish forbid! They kill people on Venus.”
“I’ll use our existing staff there and hire others if I need them,” Lutt said. “We’ll call it the Hanson Task Force.”
“All of this out of my special fund?” Stuart asked.
“Every penny. And there’s more. We’ll send our copy back instantaneously from the war zones by Spiral transmission.”
“You call it Spiral now and not vorspiral?” Day asked.
“It sounds better,” Lutt said. “We’ll call the news service SNS instead of VNS.”
Thanks for the small concession, Ryll intruded.
“It’ll give us a time advantage, certainly,” Stuart said, “but the special fund is—”
Lutt cut him off. “It’ll also pay for a big kick-off party to which you will invite all of our competitors. Every one of you will be there selling access to Spiral News Service.”
Stuart was shocked. “But the special fund provides—”
“It’s there to help us make a profit,” Lutt said, adjusting his glasses. “And when we get subscribers, our profits will replenish the fund.”
Cle-ver!” Suzanne Day said. “We sell hard or there’ll be no money in the special fund.”
“Get the business office to set the subscription price,” Lutt said. “I want it as high as the traffic will bear.”
The editors exchanged glances.
Nelson leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How heat-sensitive is your transmission equipment?”
“Good question,” Stuart said. “It’s at least eight hundred degrees Fahrenheit on the Venusian surface.”
“Don’t belabor the obvious, Ade,” Lutt chided him. “My lab has been studying ways we can adapt inceram to our needs. An inceram casing will protect everything we use.”
They took a few seconds to absorb this. Countless war stories and articles analyzing human occupation of Venus had made inceram a household word. Without the ceramic porosity of inceram’s high-temperature insulation, the forms of life known on Earth could not survive on Venus.
“Will you just be reporting the war?” Stuart asked.
“Yes,” Suzanne Day intruded. “What about terraforming efforts and the role of women on Venus?”
“I hear the Foreign Legion has the best bordello in the universe up there,” Nelson said. “That’d make one helluva story with a woman’s angle.”
Day was not diverted. She smiled politely and continued: “The word is that your father thinks Venus has a big potential as a power source.”
Nelson turned a different, heavily weighted look on the younger woman. “How the hell do you know what the old man thinks?”
“I have my sources,” Day said.
Nelson nodded, accepting this. “Right. L.H. believes Venus could make a lot of money for Hanson Industries . . . once it’s terraformed. He’s thinking of harnessing volcanoes to augment solar power.”
“We have a multiple stake in the planet,” Lutt said. He sat back to let them absorb this.
Ryll took the opportunity to renew his objections. Why will you put us in such danger?
You don’t know about real danger, Ryll baby: Anaya’s right. They kill people on Venus.
Nelson returned to a previous thread, a reflexive tone in her voice. “Why Pe-Duc or Berguun?”
“The southern hemisphere is where the heavy action is.”
Stuart at last indicated full acceptance of Lutt’s plan. “It’s also the most dramatic—the Foreign Legion fighting the Elite Mao Guards. We still get a lot of mileage out of that even without instantaneous transmission.”
Nelson shrugged. “Okay. We’d better alert our bureaus on the other planets. France and China are fully mobilized along their common borders on other areas of the solar system.”
“But only fighting on Venus,” Stuart reminded her.
“Until one of them breaks the nuclear ban,” Nelson said.
Lutt offered her an olive branch. “Anaya’s right. The treaty won’t stop nuclear war if one of them gets backed into a corner.” He looked at Albert Li, dark and saturnine director of the editorial pages, who sat at the far end of the table, above all this, and mostly silent at conferences unless directly addressed.
“You getting this, Albert?” Lutt asked.
Li lowered his chin slightly.
“Start preparing our readers,” Lutt said. “Editorialize about the fragility of treaties, recap nuclear ban efforts, make comments on other Earth colonies where France and China face each other, that sort of thing.”
Li granted them another almost imperceptible nod.
The business editor finally decided to demonstrate his special expertise. Sorrell was well known as one who carefully gauged proximity to the t
“You’d better know, Lutt, that getting you to Venus may cost more than the special fund can afford. National Security is about to impose new restrictions.”
“What restrictions?”
“Seats to Venus are being set up on a higher priority basis: Zone Patrol agents, military advisers, presidential aides. The press comes last.”
“Okay, what are they fishing for?” Lutt demanded.
“Heavier payoffs to a few top officials. It takes big baksheesh to support our democracy. The bagman is Senator Gilperton Woon on the Interplanetary Transportation Committee. He splits with three other ITC reps and one Congressman.”
“Can we prove it?”
“Not likely.”
“Tell you what, Mark,” Lutt said, accepting the man’s new self-appointed status. “Get to Woon. Tell him we’re preparing an editorial attack on corruption in government, that we’ll demand grand jury investigations of ITC activities.”
“He may just laugh at us and we’ve made an enemy,” Stuart objected.
“Not if Mark makes it plain we won’t rock any boats if I get low-cost priority on a seat to Venus.”
Sorrell nodded and said: “Let me suggest you travel under an assumed name.”
“False papers?” Lutt asked.
“We can make it part of the deal with Woon.”
“Good. Arrange it.”
Nelson cleared her throat. “Okay. Is fun and games time over? We do have everyday ordinary news to publish. And I have a report that someone tried to blow up a Zone Patrol hangar last night.”
Lutt stood and looked at Stuart. “Take over, Ade. I’ll provide all of you with memos on your parts. Right now, I have to get out to the lab and set things in motion.”
Without waiting to see the effect of his words, Lutt strode to the door. A trick of the room’s acoustics picked up Nelson whispering to Stuart: “If last night’s drinking bout is any indicator, he may be starting the Hanson Flask Force.”
Stuart’s whispered response was equally clear: “Lay off, Anaya. You can’t lose in this. If he shows big profit, L.H. will accept it. If he flops, the old man will be doubly delighted.”
Lutt closed the door behind him with a soft click and smiled tightly.
Once they were in the outer hallway, Ryll resumed his arguments. Lutt, you’ve plenty of talented people you could send. There’s no need to risk us.
If you want a thing done right, you do it yourself.
But think of the dangers!
Yeah! I’m looking forward to that. And did you hear what Anaya said about the Foreign Legion’s bordello?
This is insane!
Maybe, but it’s sure gonna be fun.
Ryll lapsed into his own thoughts, wondering if he dared try to take over their body. But this new strength in Lutt frightened him and there was an added fear: What if I tried and failed?
They were in the elevator now and they emerged presently in the underground parking garage. Lutt strode toward the reserved limo area, ignoring the other human activity in the garage—people coming and going, vehicles leaving and entering.
Ryll, only part of his attention on their surroundings, was attracted suddenly by the sight of a characteristic Dreen aura—a faint glow of yellow—around two figures approaching them. The pair appeared normally Earther, nondescript men in ordinary business attire.
Those two Earthers approaching us are Dreens, Ryll alerted Lutt.
How do you know?
Trust me. They seem very interested in you.
They do, don’t they. Why is that?
They obviously recognize this as Dreen flesh.
Before Lutt could explore this, the two men were abreast of him. Without warning, they whirled and, one on each side, grabbed Lutt’s arm.
“Identify yourself!” one of them growled.
With his Dreen-amplified human muscles, Lutt hurled the men aside and started running toward the limos. The two recovered and rushed in pursuit. Lutt dodged between the vehicles and temporarily confused the pursuers. Crouching behind a limo, he peered through the windows at the two disguised Dreens.
What do they want? Lutt demanded.
I think they have been sent to capture me. They probably suspect who I am.
Shit! I would have to be locked in with a fugitive.
Lutt glanced left and right. The whole incident appeared to have attracted no attention from others in the garage. He was on his own unless he called for help.
Let me help, Ryll offered.
How?
For answer, Ryll swiveled their eyes inward and idmaged a transparent barrier around the pursuers.
The two collided with the barrier immediately but responded with their own Dreen powers, idmaging an opening in the barrier only to find that Ryll had superimposed another barrier around them . . . and another . . . and another . . .
It soon became apparent that Ryll’s idmaging powers were superior to those of the pursuers and they stopped in defeat.
Ryll was elated. Those had to be two adult Dreens and he, a mere student, had bested them. He was tempted to go to them and gloat but found this an unDreenlike response. Perhaps the Earther side inflicted him with hubris. He would have to watch out for such weaknesses.
We can go now, Ryll told Lutt.
As Lutt drove them out of the garage, Ryll removed the barrier around the two Dreens, wondering at himself. Letting the two Dreens capture him might have led to freedom from Lutt. Ryll began to lament his own foolishness.
Lutt drove with characteristic gleeful abandon. That was clever what you did back there, Ryll baby. But you said once you would like to see a war. And that’s where we’re going.
***
The seven days in the Dreenor week are called Old Story Day, New Story Day, Journey Day, Home Day, Rest Day, Marriage Day and Birth Day. Some choose to follow this pattern in their lives but you may engage in any permitted event on any day.
—Dreen schoolbook
Incomplete though it was, the idmaged shield around Dreenor presented a wide patch of gray in the morning sky. Habiba thought it appropriate this first test of the shield should occur on Home Day, the day tradition said all Storytellers should choose for their return to Dreenor. She sat at the peak of her cupola with only Jongleur nearby-waiting to give her another message about that accursed Earth, no doubt.
On the barren plain in all directions, uncounted numbers of her subjects knelt in united idmaging effort to produce this test shield.
They must idmage more powerfully, she thought.
Habiba knew their problem. Some were shirking, giving less than their full effort. And who could blame them? The shield spelled an end to a familiar and necessary element of their lives. Everyone knew this must bring other changes. Future birthings would present problems. Gaps must be opened temporarily to admit sunlight onto the seedhouses.
But the Earther threat was real and uncontrolled.
Recent reports said Earthers already had reached the tenth planet in their system. They called it Kassina. A dark ice giant, the planet orbited beyond the one they knew as Pluto. Even without Dreen technology, Earther ships soon would reach beyond Kassina.
Jongleur had reported this with obvious fear.
“Their ships are slower than ours but with only minor modifications could reach Dreenor.”
The ships would certainly arrive bearing terrible weapons.
We must raise the shield!
She looked down at the patient Jongleur. “Urge our people to the utmost effort. Warn them again about the Earther threat. Find those of us who have adapted to reliance on a chemistry more conservative of sunlight. Concentrate on demanding that they try harder. The shield must be idmaged.”
“It will be done, Habiba. May I give you my report now?”
“If you must.”
“We believe Ryll has been seen. It must b
“Then why hasn’t he been returned to Dreenor?”
“He is in the guise of Lutt Hanson, Jr., and, Habiba, he resisted our operatives. He idmaged barriers our people could not overcome.”
Jongleur could not disguise his pride at such superior ability but there was a tone of fear in his voice. It pained him that his son might be a rogue.
“I am happy if your son lives, Jongleur, but what of Mugly’s erasure ship? Has Prosik found it?”
“Prosik . . . yes. But there was an explosion at the ship and Prosik may be dead or a captive.”
“Mugly sent only Prosik?”
“He felt that sending others might bring Earther attention to our concerns and cause them to stiffen their defenses. The Zone Patrol is certainly keeping that Hanson fellow under close watch.”
“Why didn’t you order Mugly to send others?”
“Habiba! That ship is Mugly’s responsibility.”
“But you are Chief Storyteller.”
“You know how Mugly is when he’s crossed. The smell of anger . . .”
“Don’t let Mugly intimidate you. He must do as you instruct. I have a thought about your son and his Earther guise.”
“You fear he may have merged with the Earther?”
“That would explain his behavior. You are certain the person seen is Dreen and that it is Ryll?”
“Why would any Dreen resist our operatives?”
Habiba nodded in the manner of her people, with the entire upper portion of her body. “Merging does produce bizarre responses and various mental disorders. Three who did it were suicidal.”
“But it usually occurs only under the most urgent conditions.”
“To survive serious injury, yes. And there was that collision with the erasure ship. You are right. The evidence suggests it is Ryll and he has merged with the Earther.”
“Unless my son is a stowaway on a joyride somewhere and this Dreen in the guise of Lutt Hanson, Jr., is a captive who has somehow become Earther-contaminated.”