Part 2 (1/2)

He stepped over to a cork-lined wall, pressed a concealed b.u.t.ton, and panels parted. An organizational chart, with designations that were meaningless to Tom, appeared behind it.

”Speaking basically,” Andrusco said, ”Homelovers, Incorporated represents the interests of the world's leading real estate concerns.

Land, you know, is still the number one commodity of Earth, the one priceless possession that rarely deteriorates in value. In fact, with the increase in the Earth's population, the one commodity that never seems to be in excess supply.”

”I see,” Tom said, not wholly in truth.

”The stability of real estate is our prime concern. By unification of our efforts, we have maintained these values over a good many years. But as you know, a good business organization never rests on its laurels.

Sometimes, even basic human needs undergo unusual--alterations.”

”I'm not following too well,” Tom said frankly. ”Just where does public relations come into this? I can't see much connection.”

Andrusco frowned, but without wrinkling his serene brow too much. He went to the multipaned window and locked his hands behind his back.

”Let me put it this way, Mr. Blacker. With the Earth's population approaching the three billion mark, you can imagine that real estate is at a greater premium than ever--yes, even the remotest land areas have gained in market value. But let me ask you this. If there were only a hundred apples in the world, and you owned all of them, what would you do if you learned that someone else had discovered a fruitful orchard, which contains ten million apples?”

”I'd go out of the apple business.”

”Precisely.” Andrusco rocked on his heels. ”In a sense, that's very much the problem that Homelovers, Incorporated may have to face in the next generation.”

”Somebody swiping your apples?”

”In a way.” The man chuckled. ”Yes, in a way.” He raised his arm slowly, and pointed to the sky. ”The apples,” he said, ”are up there.”

”Huh?” Tom said.

”s.p.a.ce, Mr. Blacker. s.p.a.ce is opening its doors to us. Already, the UN s.p.a.ce Commission has launched some two dozen manned vehicles into the outer reaches. Already, the satellite-building colony on the moon is well under way. The progress of our s.p.a.ce program has been accelerating month by month. The expert predictions have been more and more optimistic of late. In another ten, twenty years, the solar system will be beckoning the children of Earth ...”

Tom said nothing for a while. Then he cleared his throat.

”Well ... I'm no expert on these things. But maybe the population could stand a little more real estate, Mr. Andrusco. In twenty years ...”

”Nonsense!” The voice was snappish. ”The best authorities say it isn't so. There's plenty of room on Earth. But if ever a ma.s.s exodus begins--”

”That doesn't seem possible,” Tom said. ”Does it? I mean, only a handful of guys have ever gone out there. A drop in the bucket. I mean, Mars and all that may be fun to visit, but who'd want to live there?”

Andrusco turned to him slowly.

”The apples in the new orchard may be sour, Mr. Blacker. But if your livelihood depended on your own little stack of fruit--would you be willing to sit by and take the chance?”

Tom shrugged. ”And is that the public relations job? To keep people out of s.p.a.ce?”

”Put in its crudest form, yes.”

”A pretty tough job. You know that guff about Man's Pioneering Spirit.”

”Yes. But we're worried about the public spirit, Mr. Blacker. If we can dampen their ardor for s.p.a.ce flight--only delay it, mind you, for another few years--we can tighten our own lines of economic defense. Do I make myself clear?”