The Lagrangists. Mack Reynolds
breath, and without enthusiasm.
“…in all the Chrezvychainaya Komissiya.”
“It’s a reputation I never sought,” the espionage ace said emptily.
The academician ignored him and went on. “Your orders in this assignment come directly from Number One.” He extended his paper. “There are only three persons in the Soviet Complex who know your assignment. Nubmer, myself; and you. If you are exposed, you will be disowned. You are—to be blunt—expendable.”
Ilya Simonov looked at the paper stolidly. He had never before seen the signature of the supreme head of his country.
He said, “Yes, Comrade Mendeleev, you have been given complete control of my activities. What are my orders?”
“To sabotage the Lagrange Five Project by whatever means you find expedient.”
The academician retrieved the letter of command from the ultimate head of the Party to Ilya Simonov, struck a match, lit the paper, allowed it largely to burn away in his hand, then dropped it into the ashtray on his desk and stirred up the ashes with a stylo.
CHAPTER FOUR
International Diversified Industries, Incorporated, had a long history.
These days, it was one of the largest multinational conglomerates in the world, despite humble beginnings. These days, among other properties, Diversified owned the Bahama Islands, lock, stock and British, including the government; and it ran them like a feudal fief.
It seems that back in the middle ages a patriotic society was formed by Sicilians under the rule of the hated French. They adopted a slogan, Morte ale Francia Italia anela. But even after the French were expelled, the secret society continued. Centuries later some of them, poverty stricken, emigrated to America. At first they didn’t prosper but with the advent of Prohibition, these valiant desperadoes largely took over production and distribution of illegal alcoholic beverages. They made millions. When the 18th Amendment was repealed, they moved into other fields, some of them almost legitimate. They were wealthy enough now to send their children and grandchildren to universities. They continued to become increasingly more legitimate, moving into resorts, restaurants, nightclubs. In States where gambling was legal they opened casinos—in Reno and Las Vegas, for instance. And they began to expand into other countries. As a group of families with overlapping interests, they were actually one of the nation’s first multinational conglomerates. Sometimes they had set-backs, as when Castro ran them out of Cuba, but largely they prospered unbelievably. Meanwhile, the old Prohibition elements—the ‘mustache Petes’—died away and a new generation, highly prosperous, highly educated, socially acceptable, took over. And they expanded.
They took over the Bahamas. In the old days, there used to be the term ‘sin city’ which applied to such towns as Panama City, Port Said, Tangier. The families thought big: they created a ‘sin country’. In the Bahamas one could buy any vice, any financial service for that matter, that he could afford. The banking system that prevailed made Switzerland’s numbered accounts and other banking dodges look most innocent.
The families continued to branch out, continued to prosper, until they became one of the wealthiest corporations on Earth, but they never forgot the original motto which had brought them together.
The initials of Morte ala Francia Italia anela! spell MAFIA.
Sophia Anastasis was briskly businesslike in her opulent office in the penthouse of the International Diversified Industries, Incorporated Building in central Manhattan. She looked at the two studious, early-middle-aged men seated before her desk.
They were at least a decade older than she, and looked even more so. For Sophia Anastasis had at her command the best beauticians, the best hairdressers, the best dressing houses of the world to enhance her brunette beauty, her Mediterranean complexion, her natural-red and generous mouth, her assiduously-maintained figure.
“Good,” she said. “You’ve been on this for the past two weeks. I’ve already formed my own opinions but I know nothing about the technology. Now tell me: what effect will this Lagrange Five Project finally have on International Diversified?”
The older of the two, his attaché case on his lap, was deferential. He was a milquetoast type, a gutless wonder. It took a little imagination to picture him as a top economist and even more to picture him as a member of the families. He wasn’t even particularly dark of complexion; but then, it had been a long time since all the family members had come from Sicily; there had been some cross-jostling in the four-posters since then.
He said, “Eventually, it will mean our ruin.”
“Why?” she said, irritation in her voice. “We’re adaptable. We have adapted for the better part of five centuries. If something sours, such as Prohibition and later the labor unions, we move into something else.”
The other of the two, who was somewhat younger and not quite so scholarly looking, and was evidently not quite so impressed by her, said, “There’ll probably be no place else to move. This is going to be a revolution eventually. It’ll make the industrial revolution look like a tea party, so far as consequences to our whole way of life are concerned.”
“Aren’t you going a bit overboard?” Sophia Anastasis said coldly. “I don’t appreciate dramatics in my office. I can go to the theatre to watch Tri-Di, Zen forbid.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not being dramatic.”
She looked at him. “A good many of our resources are in gambling, resorts, entertainment. For all practical purposes, we own Nueva Las Vegas, Reno, and for that matter, Nevada and the important part of Florida. I do not even mention the Bahamas, Malta and Macao.”
The first of the two said, apologetically, “Cousin Sophia, even Island One, which will be operative in no time at all, will be a potential resort such as never been known—and there have been resorts since the days of Pompeii.”
“Bullshit.”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “Think about it. Perfect climate, never too hot, never too cold. Perfect swimming in their artificial lakes. Never too much sun, never too little. The food they are going to produce up there will be perfection beyond anything ever turned out, even in France and Italy. The fishing will be unbelievable. They’re going to stock those lakes—and later, when the larger Islands get underway, the rivers—with the best game on Earth. Imagine fresh-water versions of Marlin and Atlantic Permit! They’re going to have sports such as we can hardly conceive of. The nearer you get to the axis of one of those Islands, the less the gravity becomes. In other words, you’ll be able to fly, for all practical purposes. The sexual sport in low gravity will intrigue every horny arthritic on Earth.”
“Those aren’t the only things people go to resorts for,” she said sourly.
“No,” he agreed. “Suppose that you’re retired and with a heart problem, or various other health problems which a low gravity would help. Who would want to go to Acapulco or the Bahamas? So far as health is concerned, they’re not going to import any bugs up there. It will be all but sterile. Disease free, for all practical purposes.”
“But the cost!”
“Eventually, it’s going to be cheaper to travel to the space colonies that it is, say, from New York to the French Riviera. And once there? Prices are going to be low. What’s there to keep them high? Food production will be a fraction of that on Earth; energy and raw materials will be all but free. Everything that can be automated will be. Anybody retiring would be a fool to go to one of our expensive resorts, rather than a space Island. Every one of those space colonies, even the first experimental one, will be a paradise compared to one of our resorts.”
“Gambling?” she said, her voice almost hoarse.
The milquetoast one said, apologetically, “Cousin Sophia, there is no particular reason why they can’t open casinos the same as we do.”
“But… well, sports.”
“I