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  Wheels Within Wheels

  ( LaNague Federation - 2 )

  F. Paul Wilson

  Canny old Pete Paxton thinks there's a monstrous conspiracy brewing that threatens the LaNague Charter and the freedoms it guarantees for Federation planets. The only way to head it off is to enlist the aid of Josephine "Jo" Finch, the current CEO of Interstellar Business Advisors, a firm Pete co-founded with Jo's grandfather more than half-a-century before. Jo mistrusts Pete and suspects he may be responsible for the bizarre death of her father, but she is soon convinced that the old man's fears are more than justified.

  Jo and Pete are soon matching wits with one of the shrewdest, most devious politicos in the Federation, threatened by a ruthless psi-talent whose victims face a fate far worse than mere death. They must also deal with the Vanek — the gentle, enigmatic inhabitants of the planet Jebinose who, against all logic, claim to have murdered Jo's father.

  F. Paul Wilson

  Wheels Within Wheels

  (LaNague Federation — 2)

  SUMMARY:

  Canny old Pete Paxton thinks there's a monstrous conspiracy brewing that threatens the LaNague Charter and the freedoms it guarantees for Federation planets. The only way to head it off is to enlist the aid of Josephine "Jo" Finch, the current CEO of Interstellar Business Advisors, a firm Pete co-founded with Jo's grandfather more than half-a-century before. Jo mistrusts Pete and suspects he may be responsible for the bizarre death of her father, but she is soon convinced that the old man's fears are more than justified. Jo and Pete are soon matching wits with one of the shrewdest, most devious politicos in the Federation, threatened by a ruthless psi-talent whose victims face a fate far worse than mere death. They must also deal with the Vanek — the gentle, enigmatic inhabitants of the planet Jebinose who, against all logic, claim to have murdered Jo's father. "Wilson tells a fast-paced, well-written story that holds reader interest from the first chapter. If he can keep up the quality he reached with the first two (LaNague Federation) novels, it will be quite an impressive series indeed." (Future Retrospective) "Ho hum, you think. Here comes future history saga. Then you start meeting interesting people. If you've caught the cleverly planted clues, you close the book with all the satisfaction of a good Agatha Christie. Vive la Federation!" (Library Journal) "The ending holds a surprise, as well as a satisfying resolution of the political intrigues. Recommended." (Science Fiction and Fantasy Book Review) "Wilson creates a nice blend of science fiction, politics, and finance in a diverting page turner." (Booklist) "Easy to follow, hard to put down." (Manchester Evening News) TheInfrapress edition has been revised and will include stories "Higher Centers" and "The Man with the Anteater" as well as a new introduction by the author. Wheels Within Wheels, Wilson's second novel, won the first Prometheus Award for Libertarian fiction in 1979. The award helped pigeonhole the author as "that Libertarian science fiction writer" and Wilson consequently dropped out of SF and wrote horror thriller (and beginning of the Repairman Jack franchise) THE KEEP (1981). "Higher Centers" (published in "Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact," April 1971) and "The Man with the Anteater" ("Analog," July 1971) were Wilson's first two published stories.

  I

  Peter J. Paxton marveled as he moved his old body through the brand-new offices of Interstellar Business Advisers. He had played no small part in the genesis of the organization, but in the old days he and Joe Finch had operated out of a small, rented office on the far side of the city. IBA now owned the building in which it was located and many others. The firm had come a long way.

  He was on his way to the top office to see Josephine Finch. She had been a teen-ager the last time he had been on this side of Ragna; she’d be in her late twenties by now.

  “May I help you, sir?” the receptionist asked politely from behind her pearly desk.

  “Yes. Is Miss Finch busy at the moment?”

  She answered his question with another. “Do you have an appointment?” Her day book was open and her pencil was poised to check off his name.

  “No, I’m afraid not. You see-”

  “I’m very sorry,” she said, closing the book with an air of finality. “Miss Finch can see no one without an appointment.”

  Paxton rested a gnarled hand on the desk and leaned toward the girl. “Listen, dearie. You just tell her Old Pete is here. We’ll worry about appointments later.”

  The receptionist hesitated a second or two, then shrugged and pressed a button. A simple click acknowledged her call.

  “Someone named Old Pete demands to see you, Miss Finch,” she said.

  “Is this a joke?” a tiny speaker replied.

  “I really couldn’t say,” the girl answered nervously.

  “Send him in.”

  The receptionist rose to show him in, but Paxton waved her back to her seat and strode toward an ornate door of solid Maratak firewood that rippled with shifting waves of color; the name JosephineFinch was carved in the wood at eye-level and its color shifts were out of sync with the rest of the wood.

  A young woman opened the door as he reached it. She wore an azure clingsuit that highlighted the blue of her eyes and the curves of her body. Short, raven hair framed a full-lipped, fine-featured face.

  “Hello, Jo,” said Paxton, eying her up and down. “You’ve grown a bit since I saw you last.”

  The girl examined him closely, then smiled with delight. “Old Pete! It’s really you!”

  “It’s me all right,” he said as he stepped into the office and glanced around. “You’ve really taken over, haven’t you?”

  “Why not? I own controlling interest and I happen to enjoy the work.” She moved behind her desk and sat down. “But how about you? You’ve been retired and tucked away on an island in the Kel Sea for the past eight years. What brings you to IBA?”

  Old Pete smiled as he settled himself into a chair. “Beating around the bush never was a Finch trait.”

  Jo shrugged. “As second largest stockholder you should know that IBA’s being plagued with a host of imitators. You can’t beat around the bush and stay on top.”

  “True, true. So I’ll get to the point. Jo, what do you know about the Restructurist Movement?”

  She paused before answering and regarded her visitor. Why would an aging man travel halfway, around a planet just to ask her what she knew about the Restructurists? A simple call would have accomplished the same purpose with much less difficulty. Something was up.

  “It’s a political group that wants to change the Federation,” she replied. “Elson deBloise is their current leader, I believe. They want to broaden the powers of the Federation to include planetary affairs.”

  Paxton nodded slowly. “To say, `change the Federation’ is to understate their purposes by a long shot-turn the Fed inside-out is more like it! The Federation was designed to keep the lid on interplanetary affairs, but that’s not enough for the Restructurists. They think the Fed should be some sort of equalizer between planets; they want to regulate trade and aid underdeveloped planets.”

  Jo was unconcerned. “They’ll never get anywhere. The Federation Charter severely limits its activities.”

  “But there’s an emergency clause in the Charter that allows for a temporary increase in powers should the Fed, or its planets, be threatened.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Jo said. “But they’ve tried to invoke that clause many times and every time they’ve been voted down. And even if they did invoke it, so what? It’s only temporary.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Jo,” Paxton said gravely. “If you look at the history of old Earth, you’ll find that very seldom is any increase in governmental power temporary. The emergency clause is the key to Restructurist control; once they invok
e it they’ll have their foot in the door and the Federation may never be the same again. I don’t want to see that happen, Jo. Your grandfather and I were able to make IBA a growing concern because the Federation’s policy toward a legally operating business has been strictly ‘hands off.’ We humans have got as far as we have as fast as we have because of that policy. I don’t want to see that changed. I don’t want the Federation turned into an empire, and I see the word

  ‘Empire’ looming in the future if the Restructurists get their way.”

  “But they won’t.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, my dear. Many of the Restructurists may be starry-eyed idealists but not a few of them are crafty plotters with power as their goal. I’ve made a study of the movement and Elson deBloise is by far its most dangerous member. He’s after empire, I’m sure of it. He’s a capable man-a mere planetary delegate ten years ago, he’s now a sector representative. And something is cooking in his circle. I don’t know exactly what it is, but a connection has been made between deBloise and a certain physicist named Denver Haas. If deBloise thinks Haas can further his aims, then both Haas and the Federation had better be on guard!”

  “Well, why not go directly to the Federation?” Jo said.

  “For the simple reason that deBloise’s affairs need looking into and to obtain the information we want we need secrecy. The Fed is a wonderful organization, but it’s too open and aboveboard in its maneuverings. A Fed investigation of deBloise would be pointless because he’d be ready when they came. But IBA has contacts as far flung as the Federation’s. I think we can move on our own to find out the connection between Haas and deBloise and then go to the Fed.”

  Jo was silent a moment. “But it’s always been a policy of IBA to stay out of politics. It’s one of our bylaws, as a matter of fact.”

  “I know,” Paxton replied, his face creasing into a smile. “I wrote it.”

  “Then why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Well, I could say it’s for the good of the company-and it is-but it goes deeper than that.” He hesitated. “You never really knew your grandfather, did you?”

  Jo’s mouth twisted. “I hardly knew my own father. But when he was still around I remember you two talking a lot about Joe, Sr. He must have been quite a man.”

  “Oh, he was!” Paxton enthusiastically agreed. “We both started out from Earth when the Federation was young and growing by leaps and bounds. The Earth government was very big, very bureaucratic then. Starting a new business was no easy matter on Earth in those days, that’s why Joe and I came to Ragna-that and, uh, other reasons. As I guess you know, your grandfather already had a successful book publishing company under his belt, though how he made it work I’ll never know. The sale of Finch House gave us enough capital to leave Earth and come to Ragna to start IBA. Yes, your grandfather was quite a man. Why …”

  Jo tuned the old man out momentarily and considered the situation. Joe Finch, Sr. and Old Pete had been the shrewdest pair of businessmen in the galaxy in their day; their counsel had pulled countless businesses out of the red and had started just as many others on their way. But Joe was long dead and Old Pete had carried that moniker for as long as Jo could remember. Was the current structure of the Federation really in danger, thereby endangering IBA, or was Old Pete suffering from a touch of senile paranoia?

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she said, interrupting Paxton’s reminiscent monologue. “I’ll have someone run a check on this Denver Haas character. If we can learn something about Haas, maybe we can get an idea of what deBloise has in mind and go from there.” Catching a nod of approval from Old Pete, she went on. “We have a suite of rooms upstairs for visiting clients, it’s empty now and you can use it for as long as you like. We’d be honored to have you as a guest.”

  Jo pressed a button as she finished speaking and the receptionist came through the multi-hued door.

  “Take Mr. Paxton to the guest suite,” she told her. “He’ll be with us for a while.”

  “Let me know as soon as you hear anything,” Old Pete remarked, rising.

  “You’ll know as soon as I do,” Jo assured him.

  When she was alone, Jo sat behind her desk and stared at the two-dimensional painting of Joe Finch, Sr. that hung from the wall.

  “I hope your old partner is wrong, Gran’pa,” she muttered.

  II

  Old Pete appeared somewhat shaken when he entered Jo’s office a few days later.

  “I just saw a man,” he said, “walking down the hall with what looked like a space rat on his shoulder.”

  Jo smiled. “That’s just what it was. His name is Sam Orzechowski and it seems he’s tamed the space rat. I’m trying to help him work up some commercial uses.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit down. We’ve got some information on Haas and deBloise.”

  Old Pete leaned forward. “What have you found?”

  “I don’t know just yet,” Jo replied. “I put one of the best investigators in the sector on the job. He just called to say that he’s got some interesting information.”

  “Why didn’t he tell you when he called?”

  “Larry Easly rarely says anything of interest when there’s a possibility that the wrong ears might hear it.”

  “Well, then, when does he arrive?” Pete asked.

  Jo shook her head. “He doesn’t. He never comes to this building. IBA uses his services quite often and frequent visits would give away the relationship. We’re to meet him tonight at the Casino.”

  “Why there?”

  “Because it’s a perfect meeting place. I make it a practice to visit the Casino once a week and he stops in whenever he’s on Ragna; that way no one thinks it’s strange when we run into each other now and then-especially since we’re both avid pokochess players.”

  “I hope you’ve included me in your plans tonight,” Old Pete said. “I haven’t had a really good game of pokochess in years.”

  “Of course you’re included,” Jo told him. “I want you along to question him on his information since you seem to have made a private study of deBloise and his activities.”

  “Just his public life. I know nothing of his private affairs.”

  “That’s a start,” Jo said.

  Later that night, as they flittered toward the Casino, Jo turned to Old Pete. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s about my father. You were the last person on Ragna to see him and were closest to him except for my mother. What kind of a man was he?”

  Old Pete studied her for a moment. “You’re a lot like your grandfather,” he said finally. “Junior-your father-was different. He was never a very happy person; he was a born achiever, but his major problem was that he was born at the top, the heir apparent to IBA. He tried his best to make it with the company while your grandfather was alive, but after Joe died he became increasingly restless.” Old Pete’s mind drifted back to the day of Junior Finch’s departure.

  “But where are you going?” Paxton asked.

  Joe Finch, Jr. shrugged. “I haven’t really decided yet. It’s only for a year, Pete, and I’m sure IBA won’t miss me. You’ve been running the show ever since Dad’s death anyway.” He put his hand on Pete’s shoulder. They were close-Junior had called him “Uncle Pete” as a kid-and Pete now and then tended to take on a fatherly attitude. “I’m a big boy now, Pete. I’m thirty-three, I have a wife who understands and a ten-year-old daughter who’ll miss me but who’ll somehow survive a year without me.”

  “I know what’s eating you, Joe,” Pete said gravely. “But can’t you climb a mountain, or something?”

  Junior laughed. “I’ve no desire to be a mountain goat. I just don’t feel a part of IBA, that’s all. It’s not my company. I had nothing to do with its growth, or founding … it was just handed to me.”

  “But the company has a lot of growing to do,” Pete said. “You could be part of tha
t. Its future will ultimately depend on you, you know.”

  “IBA’s present momentum will carry it another ten or twenty years with little help from anyone. I’ve got no qualms about taking out a year to go somewhere.”

  “And do what?”

  “I dunno … something.” He stuck out his hand. “Good-bye, Pete. I’ll contact you when I get where I’m going.”

  Peter Paxton watched him walk off in the direction of one of the shuttle ramps, a man in the shadow of his father, the only son of Joe Finch trying to prove to himself that he was worthy of the title.

  Junior didn’t know why he picked Jebinose. Maybe he had heard about their minor racial problem once and had tucked it into the back of his mind for future reference. Maybe he was drawn to situations in flux. Jebinose was in minor flux.

  Jebinose was one of those mistakes that blot the early history of man’s interstellar colonization. In the old days of the splinter colonies, exploration teams were sent out to find Earth-class planets and now and then one of these teams became a little careless. A major criterion for colonizable classification was the absence of an “intelligent” native species. No one was quite sure just exactly what was meant by

  “intelligent” but tool-making was the favorite rule of thumb for dividing the intelligent from unintelligent.

  The Jebinose fiasco had nothing to do with interpretation of the rules. The fact of the matter is that Jebinose was given an “M” classification (Earth-type, suitable for settling) after the most cursory of examinations. The colonists were indeed surprised when they found out that they were sharing the planet with a tribe of primitive humanoids.

  No one knows too much about the early colonial history of Jebinose. The splinter colony that landed there was conspicuous only by reason of its particular ineptitude at the task of colonization. But for the Vanek, not a single member would have survived a decade.