thing when I see it, sir."
"And you think I'm a good thing?"
"It's no longer a matter of opinion, sir. Hasn't been for some years. You've proved what you're capable of."
"And you think I can prove the same as a legal that I proved as an illegal?"
"I think, sir," said Basright, openly and unashamedly, "that you can do absolutely anything you want to do."
That put Loo-Macklin slightly off-stride. "Well," he murmured, "that's quite a compliment."
"No compliment, sir. You know me well enough by now to know I don't give compliments. It's not part of my nature. It's just a statement of fact. A fact, which, I think, you're equally aware of, though you may not admit it to yourself."
"Maybe I'm not quite the genius you think I am," Loo-Macklin countered.
"It's not merely a question of intellect, sir, though I know you have more of that than you choose to reveal. Khryswhy was right about that much, at least. You are an obsessed man, sir."
"Really?" Loo-Macklin seemed mildly amused. "And would you be kind enough to tell me exactly what it is I am supposed to be obsessed with?"
"I don't know, sir. I've spent ten years trying to find out, and I'm no closer to knowing than I was when I started. Do you?"
The massive head turned away from the old man. "We've a great deal to do here today, Basright. We've accumulated a lot of credit and we've got to get it locked in place quickly, before our confused friends on Terra find a way to take it away from us, before the authorities think of some new way to tax it."
"Yes, sir," agreed Basright obediently. "It's all right if you'd rather not tell me, sir. It's not all that important. I think you really don't know what it is yourself."
Loo-Macklin said nothing. He had moved to the huge screen and was manipulating the complex keyboard beneath it. Hundreds of figures and charts ran rapidly across the plastic wall. Turquoise eyes scanned every one.
"It's only, sir," Basright continued softly, "that I'm curious to see if I'll live long enough to find out."
"Tell me, Basright," said Loo-Macklin briskly as enormous charts flashed across the screen. They showed the economic output and graphic separation of gross planetary production for each of the eighty-three worlds in the UTW. "What is it that people are most interested in, that they desire and need more than anything else?"
"Air," said Basright.
Loo-Macklin laughed, one of those brief, genuine laughs he so rarely experienced. "You were always good at going to the heart of a question, old man. That's one reason why I thought so highly of you when the others thought you were just simple."
"I learned long ago, sir," said Basright, "that appearances are unimportant. Simplicity is the essence of most critical decisions."
"After air," Loo-Macklin prompted him.
"Food, shelter."
"Get beyond the basics, the survival elements. I'm talking about what's important to the mind, not the machine."
Basright considered further. "I should say recreation, sir. Some form of entertainment. Mental sustenance. Relief from the agonies of the everyday."
"Something to make you feel more than just alive, in other words," Loo-Macklin added. "Something to make you feel good. Pleasure."
Basright nodded, bit off the tip of another dopestick and waited for the air to set it alight. "A good general term, sir."
"That's where we're going to begin, Basright." He stared unwinkingly at the burgeoning, helpful screen. "That's where we're going to put our first credits."
"Quite a jump, sir. From killing people who don't do what you want to giving them pleasure they happen to want."
"We've done dealing in the field before, Basright. We have experience there. Drugs, for example."
"I expect there are legal pharmaceuticals we could buy into, sir. On Yermolin, for example . . . ."
Loo-Macklin shook his head, his voice impatient. "Dull companies, cautious R&D. Fiscally sound, I know, but I want something where we can build a solid legal base in a hurry. I've done a lot of
"And you think I'm a good thing?"
"It's no longer a matter of opinion, sir. Hasn't been for some years. You've proved what you're capable of."
"And you think I can prove the same as a legal that I proved as an illegal?"
"I think, sir," said Basright, openly and unashamedly, "that you can do absolutely anything you want to do."
That put Loo-Macklin slightly off-stride. "Well," he murmured, "that's quite a compliment."
"No compliment, sir. You know me well enough by now to know I don't give compliments. It's not part of my nature. It's just a statement of fact. A fact, which, I think, you're equally aware of, though you may not admit it to yourself."
"Maybe I'm not quite the genius you think I am," Loo-Macklin countered.
"It's not merely a question of intellect, sir, though I know you have more of that than you choose to reveal. Khryswhy was right about that much, at least. You are an obsessed man, sir."
"Really?" Loo-Macklin seemed mildly amused. "And would you be kind enough to tell me exactly what it is I am supposed to be obsessed with?"
"I don't know, sir. I've spent ten years trying to find out, and I'm no closer to knowing than I was when I started. Do you?"
The massive head turned away from the old man. "We've a great deal to do here today, Basright. We've accumulated a lot of credit and we've got to get it locked in place quickly, before our confused friends on Terra find a way to take it away from us, before the authorities think of some new way to tax it."
"Yes, sir," agreed Basright obediently. "It's all right if you'd rather not tell me, sir. It's not all that important. I think you really don't know what it is yourself."
Loo-Macklin said nothing. He had moved to the huge screen and was manipulating the complex keyboard beneath it. Hundreds of figures and charts ran rapidly across the plastic wall. Turquoise eyes scanned every one.
"It's only, sir," Basright continued softly, "that I'm curious to see if I'll live long enough to find out."
"Tell me, Basright," said Loo-Macklin briskly as enormous charts flashed across the screen. They showed the economic output and graphic separation of gross planetary production for each of the eighty-three worlds in the UTW. "What is it that people are most interested in, that they desire and need more than anything else?"
"Air," said Basright.
Loo-Macklin laughed, one of those brief, genuine laughs he so rarely experienced. "You were always good at going to the heart of a question, old man. That's one reason why I thought so highly of you when the others thought you were just simple."
"I learned long ago, sir," said Basright, "that appearances are unimportant. Simplicity is the essence of most critical decisions."
"After air," Loo-Macklin prompted him.
"Food, shelter."
"Get beyond the basics, the survival elements. I'm talking about what's important to the mind, not the machine."
Basright considered further. "I should say recreation, sir. Some form of entertainment. Mental sustenance. Relief from the agonies of the everyday."
"Something to make you feel more than just alive, in other words," Loo-Macklin added. "Something to make you feel good. Pleasure."
Basright nodded, bit off the tip of another dopestick and waited for the air to set it alight. "A good general term, sir."
"That's where we're going to begin, Basright." He stared unwinkingly at the burgeoning, helpful screen. "That's where we're going to put our first credits."
"Quite a jump, sir. From killing people who don't do what you want to giving them pleasure they happen to want."
"We've done dealing in the field before, Basright. We have experience there. Drugs, for example."
"I expect there are legal pharmaceuticals we could buy into, sir. On Yermolin, for example . . . ."
Loo-Macklin shook his head, his voice impatient. "Dull companies, cautious R&D. Fiscally sound, I know, but I want something where we can build a solid legal base in a hurry. I've done a lot of
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