The Jagged Orbit Read Online Free PDF Page B

standpoint—as in a wish to improve the mask of proper social behavior, the impervious coffin to hide the corruption within. Hence he kept his distance, dealt with people by choice via a comweb screen, feeling face to face contact a waste of the facilities which financial success had brought to him. It made him a perfect buffer in negotiations between Matthew Flamen Inc. and the Holocosmic directorate, but sometimes it became ridiculous.
    For example, now.
    Exactly as predicted, Prior said huffily, "Matthew, one doesn't expect to have to—"
    Abruptly Flamen ran out of patience. "On the contrary, one does expect to have to! Unless one does something to cure the trouble! How many breaks did we have on today's show—five, was it?"
    "Ah . . ." Prior swallowed. "Yes, I'm afraid so. And the longest ran nearly fifty seconds."
    "And in the face of that you think it's surprising when our comweb goes wrong? Come off it, Lionel, you aren't that naïve! Or—well, come to think of it, maybe you are, the way you abase yourself by kowtowing in front of that lump of plastic you call a Lar!"
    "Matthew, a man's personal choice of religion is—"
    "When did you last bother to check our own computers? We have seventy-plus in favor of L&P being a college-educated front for that kneeblank outfit Conjuh Man Inc. Pickings from the black enclaves apparently aren't enough for them, so they've decided to expand and milk some gullible blanks as well. If you're anything to judge by, they're going to be a roaring success on a par with the Gottschalks!"
    Prior's eyes bulged. Cruelly Flamen gambled on his habitual unwillingness to be seen giving way to emotion even in the presence of someone he had worked with for years. He let silence stretch elastically; then, at the last possible moment, brought up the important subject again.
    "What did you call me about, anyway? Got some brilliant idea for tomorrow's slot which will drag the viewers back by the millions?"
    Recovering with an effort from the shock Flamen had administered, Prior mumbled, "Well, the audience figures are holding up pretty well, considering. And that's mainly what counts, I guess."
    "So if they're holding up why do the interruptions make you so furious? Darl, you know as well as I do that if someone carried out a physical check of the sets that are nominally tuned to my show, they'd find that half of them have the color and hold controls deliberately set adrift. Who watches three-vee at midday nowadays except while they're orbiting? Hell, the viewers probably even like the interference!"
    Looking anxious, Prior came back with a reflex answer. "Matthew, you're too modest. You're one of only a handful of people who can still hold an audience for a talking show. You mustn't run down your own talents."
    "I don't have to. It gets done for me." Flamen sent the rest of his drink down in one long gulp; when it struck the pit of his stomach he felt marginally better. "Do me a favor, darl—think for a moment, hm? Does this mysterious interference ever hit during a commercial? It does not. Does it even hit when we have a good juicy piece of tape from the site and scene of some nauseous scandal? Uh-uh. It hits when I'm on camera and at no other time. Truth, darl?"
    Prior would have liked to contest the statement, by his expression, but the facts were self-evident. He nodded sadly.
    Flamen set his glass in position for a refill and hit the console stud. "So what you want I should do?" he said. "Have the situation comped? Darl, why should I need to? Recall the background: they eased us out of prime time with the bribe of fifteen minutes daily instead of ten, didn't they? Then they chopped down the bonus with extra advertising. Fine, it's a convincing argument—here's this fabulous audience that more and more sponsors want to reach—but the fact stands that our fifteen-minute slot is down to twelve and a half and apt to get shorter still. Meanwhile the number of items we have comped out on network