McCurdy, and that was what Jason Blunt wanted.
In its early stages, Nova Industries had been entirely his idea. At that time there was no thought of building a new superstate out of the lessons of the past. The computer complex with its fabulous input and hundreds of highly skilled technologists was designed strictly as a business proposition. That was before the coming of Stanley Ambrose.
It was Ambrose who schemed and plotted, Ambrose who split the Nova employees into two factions, Ambrose who wanted an election. And once an election was agreed upon, it seemed only natural that it be conducted by computer.
Jason Blunt had no doubt as to the outcome of that secret election. Ambrose was in control from the beginning, and now he knew Ambrose would be traveling about the country notifying the others of the result. Blunt would be the last to know, and by then it would be too late to resist Stanley Ambrose’s plans for conquest.
“Why did you show him all that?” Masha asked on the flight back to their island after depositing Crader at the Dallas International Jetport.
“Because it pleased me to do so.”
“What about Ambrose and the others? Won’t they be angry?”
“Let them be! I built that complex out there, and I don’t intend to lose it to Ambrose because of some foolish election. He can do what he wants, but now Crader knows its location. If Ambrose tried to seize control of the government, McCurdy could destroy the whole thing with a few well-placed hydrobombs.”
“It’s dangerous, Jason.”
“These days life is dangerous.”
“Why not let Ambrose have it? There’s still our island, and the drilling operations. You don’t need computers for any of that.”
“Masha, Masha …” He rumpled her hair as he would a child’s. “You are so much a woman in some things, and yet still a youngster in others. Don’t you see, life today is computers! There’s nowhere we could go on earth to escape the influence of the machines. Back on the island? In case you’ve forgotten, we have computerized drilling machinery, a computerized security system, even computerized climate control, thanks to the federal government. When you get out of bed in the morning and find your breakfast prepared, that’s done by computer too!”
“But none of these depend upon those things back in Utah. That’s my point, Jason—let Stanley Ambrose have the underground city!”
“I’ll see it destroyed first.”
Below, like a jewel of green in the blue of the Gulf, their island appeared. The rocketcopter dipped toward it, avoiding a flight of gulls that spiraled up from the water. In another moment they were on the ground.
Jason Blunt entered the big house and went immediately to the video where a printout of the afternoon news awaited him. Scanning the headlines and seeing nothing but the usual presidential campaign news, he transferred his attention to the message center. There were stock quotations and oil futures, along with a drilling report from a new island off South Africa that looked promising. But the thing that caught his eye was a one-sentence unsigned messagegram.
“Sunsite pioneers seek meeting at earliest convenience.”
Sunsite.
It was from Milly Norris, and something had happened. She’d never contacted him by messagegram before, directly to his home. He ripped the plastic from the machine and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he walked down the long hall to the solarium where Masha waited.
She was stretched on the floor, nude in the glow of afternoon sunlight, waiting to make love. It had become a ritual on days when he was home, harking back somehow to those early days of honeymooning aboard the Strombol, when everything was sunshine and sensuality.
“I must go away,” he said quietly.
“Again, darling? But you’ve been away.”
“It’s business. There was a messagegram waiting for me.”
“Business with Stanley Ambrose?”
“No. Oil business.”
“Must you leave right now?”
He
In its early stages, Nova Industries had been entirely his idea. At that time there was no thought of building a new superstate out of the lessons of the past. The computer complex with its fabulous input and hundreds of highly skilled technologists was designed strictly as a business proposition. That was before the coming of Stanley Ambrose.
It was Ambrose who schemed and plotted, Ambrose who split the Nova employees into two factions, Ambrose who wanted an election. And once an election was agreed upon, it seemed only natural that it be conducted by computer.
Jason Blunt had no doubt as to the outcome of that secret election. Ambrose was in control from the beginning, and now he knew Ambrose would be traveling about the country notifying the others of the result. Blunt would be the last to know, and by then it would be too late to resist Stanley Ambrose’s plans for conquest.
“Why did you show him all that?” Masha asked on the flight back to their island after depositing Crader at the Dallas International Jetport.
“Because it pleased me to do so.”
“What about Ambrose and the others? Won’t they be angry?”
“Let them be! I built that complex out there, and I don’t intend to lose it to Ambrose because of some foolish election. He can do what he wants, but now Crader knows its location. If Ambrose tried to seize control of the government, McCurdy could destroy the whole thing with a few well-placed hydrobombs.”
“It’s dangerous, Jason.”
“These days life is dangerous.”
“Why not let Ambrose have it? There’s still our island, and the drilling operations. You don’t need computers for any of that.”
“Masha, Masha …” He rumpled her hair as he would a child’s. “You are so much a woman in some things, and yet still a youngster in others. Don’t you see, life today is computers! There’s nowhere we could go on earth to escape the influence of the machines. Back on the island? In case you’ve forgotten, we have computerized drilling machinery, a computerized security system, even computerized climate control, thanks to the federal government. When you get out of bed in the morning and find your breakfast prepared, that’s done by computer too!”
“But none of these depend upon those things back in Utah. That’s my point, Jason—let Stanley Ambrose have the underground city!”
“I’ll see it destroyed first.”
Below, like a jewel of green in the blue of the Gulf, their island appeared. The rocketcopter dipped toward it, avoiding a flight of gulls that spiraled up from the water. In another moment they were on the ground.
Jason Blunt entered the big house and went immediately to the video where a printout of the afternoon news awaited him. Scanning the headlines and seeing nothing but the usual presidential campaign news, he transferred his attention to the message center. There were stock quotations and oil futures, along with a drilling report from a new island off South Africa that looked promising. But the thing that caught his eye was a one-sentence unsigned messagegram.
“Sunsite pioneers seek meeting at earliest convenience.”
Sunsite.
It was from Milly Norris, and something had happened. She’d never contacted him by messagegram before, directly to his home. He ripped the plastic from the machine and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he walked down the long hall to the solarium where Masha waited.
She was stretched on the floor, nude in the glow of afternoon sunlight, waiting to make love. It had become a ritual on days when he was home, harking back somehow to those early days of honeymooning aboard the Strombol, when everything was sunshine and sensuality.
“I must go away,” he said quietly.
“Again, darling? But you’ve been away.”
“It’s business. There was a messagegram waiting for me.”
“Business with Stanley Ambrose?”
“No. Oil business.”
“Must you leave right now?”
He
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