“Thanks, Greta,” Hebster said, switching to the personal now that they were alone. He plumped into his desk chair and blew out gustily: “There must be easier ways of making a million.”
She raised two perfect blond eyebrows. “Or of being an absolute monarch right inside the parliament of man?”
“If they wait long enough,” he told her lazily, “I’ll be the UM, modern global government and all. Another year or two might do it.”
“Aren’t you forgetting Vandermeer Dempsey? His huskies also want to replace the UM. Not to mention their colorful plans for you. And there are an awful, awful lot of them.”
“They don’t worry me, Greta. Humanity First will dissolve overnight once that decrepit old demagogue gives up the ghost.” He stabbed at the communicator button. “Maintenance! Maintenance, that party I sent down arrived at a safe lab yet?”
“No, Mr. Hebster. But everything’s going all right. We sent them up to the twenty-fourth floor and got the SIC men rerouted downstairs to the personnel levels. Uh, Mr. Hebster—about the SIC. We take your orders and all that, but none of us wants to get in trouble with the Special Investigating Commission. According to the latest laws, it’s practically a capital offense to obstruct them.”
“Don’t worry,” Hebster told him. “I’ve never let one of my employees down yet. The boss fixes everything is the motto here. Call me when you’ve got those Primeys safely hidden and ready for questioning.”
He turned back to Greta. “Get that stuff typed before you leave and into Professor Kleimbocher’s hands. He thinks he may have a new angle on their gabble-honk.”
She nodded. “I wish you could use recording apparatus instead of making me sit over an old-fashioned click-box.”
“So do I. But Primeys enjoy reaching out and putting a hex on electrical apparatus—when they aren’t collecting it for the Aliens. I had a raft of tape recorders busted in the middle of Primey interviews before I decided that human stenos were the only answer. And a Primey may get around to bollixing them some day.”