Free The Astral Mirror by Ben Bova Page B

unconscious imitation of the eunuchs who guarded sultans’ harems.
    He took a deep breath and went around the desk and sat on the typist’s chair.
    The phone rang as soon as his butt touched the chair. He jumped, but grabbed the phone and settled himself before it could ring again.
    “Dr. Carlton Young speaking.” His voice sounded an octave too high, and quavery, even to himself.
    “Dr. Young, I thank you for accompanying the agents who brought you there without questioning their purpose. They were instructed to tell you who sent them and nothing else.”
    He recognized the voice at once. “You—you’re welcome, Mr. President.”
    “Please! No names! This is a matter of utmost security.”
    “Ye—yessir.”
    “Dr. Young, you have been recommended very highly for the special task I must ask of you. I know that, as a loyal, patriotic American, you will do your best to accomplish this task. And as the most competent man in your highly demanding and complex field, your efforts will be crowned with success. That’s the American way, now isn’t it?”
    “Yessir. May I ask, just what is the task?”
    “I’m glad you asked that. I have a personnel problem that you are uniquely qualified to solve. One of my closest and most valued aides—a man I depend on very heavily— has gone into a tailspin. I won’t explain why or how. I must ask you merely to accept the bald statement. This aide is a man of great drive and talent, high moral purpose, and enormous energy. But at the moment, he’s useless to himself, to this Administration, and to the Nation. I need you to help him find himself.”
    “Me? But all I do is—”
    “You run the best computer dating service in the nation, I know. Your service has been checked out thoroughly by the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Defense Intelligence Agency—”
    “Not the CIA?”
    “I don’t know, they won’t tell me.”
    “Oh.”
    “This aide of mine—a very sincere and highly motivated man—needs a girl. Not just any girl. The psychiatrists at Walter Reed tell me that he must find the woman who’s perfect for him, his exact match, the one mate that can make him happy enough to get back to the important work he should be doing. As you know, I have a plan for stopping inflation, bridging the generation gap, and settling the Cold War. But to make everything perfectly clear, Dr. Young, none of these plans can be crowned with success unless this certain aide can do his part of the job, carry his share of the burden, pull his share of the load.”
    Dr. Young nodded in the darkness. “I understand, sir. He needs a woman to make him happy. So many people do.” A fleeting thought of the bins upon bins of floppy disks that made up his files passed through Dr. Young’s mind. “Even you, sir, even you need a woman.”
    “Dr. Young! I’m a married man!”
    “I know—that’s what I meant. You couldn’t be doing the terrific job you’re doing without your lovely wife, your lifetime mate, to support and inspire you.”
    “Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, of course. Well, Dr. Young, my aide is in the office there with you, in the inner office. I want you to talk with him, help him, find him the woman he truly needs. Then we can end the war in Indochina, stop inflation, bridge—well, you know.”
    “Yes sir. I’ll do my best.”
    “That will be adequate for the task, I’m sure. Good night, and God bless America!”
    Dr. Young found that he was on his feet, standing at ramrod attention, a position he hadn’t assumed since his last Boy Scout jamboree.
    Carefully he replaced the phone in its cradle, then turned to face the door that led to the inner office. Who could be in there? The Vice President? No, Young told himself with a shake of his head; that didn’t fit the description the President had given him.
    Squaring his shoulders once again, Dr. Young took the three steps that carried him to the door and knocked on it sharply.
    “Come in,” said an equally sharp