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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29908-h.zip b/29908-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2c46a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/29908-h.zip diff --git a/29908-h/29908-h.htm b/29908-h/29908-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3818649 --- /dev/null +++ b/29908-h/29908-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1228 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Adventurer, by C. M. Kornbluth + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,.center {text-align: center;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 2em auto; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figc {margin: 1em auto; width: 600px;} + .figr {float: right; clear: right; margin: 1em 0 1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 362px;} + img {border: none;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 136px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; min-height: 230px;} + .trn p {margin: 15px;} + .bk1 {margin: 2em auto; width: 24em;} + + </style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventurer, by Cyril M. Kornbluth + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventurer + +Author: Cyril M. Kornbluth + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: September 4, 2009 [EBook #29908] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + <div class="figc"> + <img src="images/001.png" width="600" height="290" alt="THE Adventurer" + title="" /> + <h1> + THE<br /> Adventurer + </h1> + </div> + <h2> + BY C. M. KORNBLUTH + </h2> + <p class="center"> + <big>ILLUSTRATED BY FREAS</big> + </p> + <div class="bk1"> + <p> + <big>For every evil under the sun, there's an answer. It may be a + simple, direct answer; it may be one that takes years, and seems + unrelated to the problem. But there's an answer—of a kind....</big> + </p> + </div> + <p> + President Folsom XXIV said petulantly to his Secretary of the Treasury: + "Blow me to hell, Bannister, if I understood a single word of that. <i>Why</i> + can't I buy the Nicolaides Collection? And don't start with the rediscount + and the Series W business again. Just tell me <i>why</i>." + </p> + <p> + The Secretary of the Treasury said with an air of apprehension and a + thread-like feeling across his throat: "It boils down to—no money, + Mr. President." + </p> + <p> + The President was too engrossed in thoughts of the marvelous collection to + fly into a rage. "It's <i>such</i> a bargain," he said mournfully. "An + archaic Henry Moore figure—really too big to finger, but I'm no + culture-snob, thank God—and fifteen early Morrisons and I can't + begin to tell you what else." He looked hopefully at the Secretary of + Public Opinion: "Mightn't I seize it for the public good or something?" + </p> + <p> + The Secretary of Public Opinion shook his head. His pose was gruffly + professional. "Not a chance, Mr. President. We'd never get away with it. + The art-lovers would scream to high Heaven." + </p> + <div class="figr"> + <img src="images/002.png" width="362" height="550" alt="" title="" /> + </div> + <p> + "I suppose so.... <i>Why</i> isn't there any money?" He had swiveled + dangerously on the Secretary of the Treasury again. + </p> + <p> + "Sir, purchases of the new Series W bond issue have lagged badly because + potential buyers have been attracted to—" + </p> + <p> + "Stop it, stop it, <i>stop</i> it! You know I can't make head or tail of + that stuff. Where's the money <i>going</i>?" + </p> + <p> + The Director of the Budget said cautiously: "Mr. President, during the + biennium just ending, the Department of Defense accounted for 78 per cent + of expenditures—" + </p> + <p> + The Secretary of Defense growled: "Now wait a minute, Felder! We were + voted—" + </p> + <p> + The President interrupted, raging weakly: "Oh, you rascals! My father + would have known what to do with you! But don't think I can't handle it. + <i>Don't</i> think you can hoodwink me." He punched a button ferociously; + his silly face was contorted with rage and there was a certain tension on + all the faces around the Cabinet table. + </p> + <p> + Panels slid down abruptly in the walls, revealing grim-faced Secret + Servicemen. Each Cabinet officer was covered by at least two automatic + rifles. + </p> + <p> + "Take that—that traitor away!" the President yelled. His finger + pointed at the Secretary of Defense, who slumped over the table, sobbing. + Two Secret Servicemen half-carried him from the room. + </p> + <p> + President Folsom XXIV leaned back, thrusting out his lower lip. He told + the Secretary of the Treasury: "<i>Get</i> me the money for the Nicolaides + Collection. Do you understand? I don't care how you do it. <i>Get</i> it." + He glared at the Secretary of Public Opinion. "Have you any comments?" + </p> + <p> + "No, Mr. President." + </p> + <p> + "All right, then." The President unbent and said plaintively: "I don't see + why you can't all be more reasonable. I'm a very reasonable man. I don't + see why I can't have a few pleasures along with my responsibilities. + Really I don't. And I'm sensitive. I don't <i>like</i> these scenes. Very + well. That's all. The Cabinet meeting is adjourned." + </p> + <p> + They rose and left silently in the order of their seniority. The President + noticed that the panels were still down and pushed the button that raised + them again and hid the granite-faced Secret Servicemen. He took out of his + pocket a late Morrison fingering-piece and turned it over in his hand, a + smile of relaxation and bliss spreading over his face. <i>Such</i> amusing + textural contrast! <i>Such</i> unexpected variations on the classic + sequences! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The Cabinet, less the Secretary of Defense, was holding a rump meeting in + an untapped corner of the White House gymnasium. + </p> + <p> + "God," the Secretary of State said, white-faced. "Poor old Willy!" + </p> + <p> + The professionally gruff Secretary of Public Opinion said: "We should + murder the bastard. I don't care what happens—" + </p> + <p> + The Director of the Budget said dryly: "We all know what would happen. + President Folsom XXV would take office. No; we've got to keep plugging as + before. Nothing short of the invincible can topple the Republic...." + </p> + <p> + "What about a war?" the Secretary of Commerce demanded fiercely. "We've no + proof that our program will work. What about a war?" + </p> + <p> + State said wearily: "Not while there's a balance of power, my dear man. + The Io-Callisto Question proved that. The Republic and the Soviet fell all + over themselves trying to patch things up as soon as it seemed that there + would be real shooting. Folsom XXIV and his excellency Premier Yersinsky + know at least that much." + </p> + <p> + The Secretary of the Treasury said: "What would you all think of Steiner + for Defense?" + </p> + <p> + The Director of the Budget was astonished. "Would he take it?" + </p> + <p> + Treasury cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, I've asked him to stop + by right about now." He hurled a medicine ball into the budgetary gut. + </p> + <p> + "Oof!" said the Director. "You bastard. Steiner would be perfect. He runs + Standards like a watch." He treacherously fired the medicine ball at the + Secretary of Raw Materials, who blandly caught it and slammed it back. + </p> + <p> + "Here he comes," said the Secretary of Raw Materials. "Steiner! Come and + sweat some oleo off!" + </p> + <p> + Steiner ambled over, a squat man in his fifties, and said: "I don't mind + if I do. Where's Willy?" + </p> + <p> + State said: "The President unmasked him as a traitor. He's probably been + executed by now." + </p> + <p> + Steiner looked grim, and grimmer yet when the Secretary of the Treasury + said, dead-pan: "We want to propose you for Defense." + </p> + <p> + "I'm happy in Standards," Steiner said. "Safer, too. The Man's father took + an interest in science, but The Man never comes around. Things are very + quiet. Why don't you invite Winch, from the National Art Commission? It + wouldn't be much of a change for the worse for him." + </p> + <p> + "No brains," the Secretary for Raw Materials said briefly. "Heads up!" + </p> + <p> + Steiner caught the ball and slugged it back at him. "What good are + brains?" he asked quietly. + </p> + <p> + "Close the ranks, gentlemen," State said. "These long shots are too hard + on my arms." + </p> + <p> + The ranks closed and the Cabinet told Steiner what good were brains. He + ended by accepting. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The Moon is all Republic. Mars is all Soviet. Titan is all Republic. + Ganymede is all Soviet. But Io and Callisto, by the Treaty of Greenwich, + are half-and-half Republic and Soviet. + </p> + <p> + Down the main street of the principal settlement on Io runs an invisible + line. On one side of the line, the principal settlement is known as New + Pittsburgh. On the other side it is known as Nizhni-Magnitogorsk. + </p> + <p> + Into a miner's home in New Pittsburgh one day an eight-year-old boy named + Grayson staggered, bleeding from the head. His eyes were swollen almost + shut. + </p> + <p> + His father lurched to his feet, knocking over a bottle. He looked stupidly + at the bottle, set it upright too late to save much of the alcohol, and + then stared fixedly at the boy. "See what you made me do, you little + bastard?" he growled, and fetched the boy a clout on his bleeding head + that sent him spinning against the wall of the hut. The boy got up slowly + and silently—there seemed to be something wrong with his left arm—and + glowered at his father. + </p> + <p> + He said nothing. + </p> + <p> + "Fighting again," the father said, in a would-be fierce voice. His eyes + fell under the peculiar fire in the boy's stare. "Damn fool—" + </p> + <p> + A woman came in from the kitchen. She was tall and thin. In a flat voice + she said to the man: "Get out of here." The man hiccupped and said: "Your + brat spilled my bottle. Gimme a dollar." + </p> + <p> + In the same flat voice: "I have to buy food." + </p> + <p> + "<i>I said gimme a dollar!</i>" The man slapped her face—it did not + change—and wrenched a small purse from the string that suspended it + around her neck. The boy suddenly was a demon, flying at his father with + fists and teeth. It lasted only a second or two. The father kicked him + into a corner where he lay, still glaring, wordless and dry-eyed. The + mother had not moved; her husband's handmark was still red on her face + when he hulked out, clutching the money bag. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grayson at last crouched in the corner with the eight-year-old boy. + "Little Tommy," she said softly. "My little Tommy! Did you cross the line + again?" + </p> + <p> + He was blubbering in her arms, hysterically, as she caressed him. At last + he was able to say: "I didn't cross the line, Mom. Not this time. It was + in school. They said our name was really Krasinsky. God-damn him!" the boy + shrieked. "They said his grandfather was named Krasinsky and he moved over + the line and changed his name to Grayson! God-damn him! Doing that to us!" + </p> + <p> + "Now, darling," his mother said, caressing him. "Now, darling." His + trembling began to ebb. She said: "Let's get out the spools, Tommy. You + mustn't fall behind in school. You owe that to me, don't you, darling?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Mom," he said. He threw his spindly arms around her and kissed her. + "Get out the spools. We'll show him. I mean them." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + President Folsom XXIV lay on his death-bed, feeling no pain, mostly + because his personal physician had pumped him full of morphine. Dr. Barnes + sat by the bed holding the presidential wrist and waiting, occasionally + nodding off and recovering with a belligerent stare around the room. The + four wire-service men didn't care whether he fell asleep or not; they were + worriedly discussing the nature and habits of the President's first-born, + who would shortly succeed to the highest office in the Republic. + </p> + <p> + "A firebrand, they tell me," the A.P. man said unhappily. + </p> + <p> + "Firebrands I don't mind," the U.P. man said. "He can send out all the + inflammatory notes he wants just as long as he isn't a fiend for exercise. + I'm not as young as I once was. You boys wouldn't remember the <i>old</i> + President, Folsom XXII. He used to do point-to-point hiking. He worshipped + old F.D.R." + </p> + <p> + The I.N.S. man said, lowering his voice: "Then he was worshipping the + wrong Roosevelt. Teddy was the athlete." + </p> + <p> + Dr. Barnes started, dropped the presidential wrist and held a mirror to + the mouth for a moment. "Gentlemen," he said, "the President is dead." + </p> + <p> + "O.K.," the A.P. man said. "Let's go, boys. I'll send in the flash. U.P., + you go cover the College of Electors. I.N.S., get onto the President + Elect. Trib, collect some interviews and background—" + </p> + <p> + The door opened abruptly; a colonel of infantry was standing there, + breathing hard, with an automatic rifle at port. "Is he dead?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," the A.P. man said. "If you'll let me past—" + </p> + <p> + "Nobody leaves the room," the colonel said grimly. "I represent General + Slocum, Acting President of the Republic. The College of Electors is + acting now to ratify—" + </p> + <p> + A burst of gunfire caught the colonel in the back; he spun and fell, with + a single hoarse cry. More gunfire sounded through the White House. A + Secret Serviceman ducked his head through the door: "President's dead? You + boys stay put. We'll have this thing cleaned up in an hour—" He + vanished. + </p> + <p> + The doctor sputtered his alarm and the newsmen ignored him with + professional poise. The A.P. man asked: "Now who's Slocum? Defense + Command?" + </p> + <p> + I.N.S. said: "I remember him. Three stars. He headed up the Tactical + Airborne Force out in Kansas four-five years ago. I think he was retired + since then." + </p> + <p> + A phosphorus grenade crashed through the window and exploded with a globe + of yellow flame the size of a basketball; dense clouds of phosphorus + pentoxide gushed from it and the sprinkler system switched on, drenching + the room. + </p> + <p> + "Come on!" hacked the A.P. man, and they scrambled from the room and + slammed the door. The doctor's coat was burning in two or three places, + and he was retching feebly on the corridor floor. They tore his coat off + and flung it back into the room. + </p> + <p> + The U.P. man, swearing horribly, dug a sizzling bit of phosphorus from the + back of his hand with a pen-knife and collapsed, sweating, when it was + out. The I.N.S. man passed him a flask and he gurgled down half a pint of + liquor. "Who flang that brick?" he asked faintly. + </p> + <p> + "Nobody," the A.P. man said gloomily. "That's the hell of it. None of this + is happening. Just the way Taft the Pretender never happened in '03. Just + the way the Pentagon Mutiny never happened in '67." + </p> + <p> + "'68," the U.P. man said faintly. "It didn't happen in '68, not '67." + </p> + <p> + The A.P. man smashed a fist into the palm of his hand and swore. "<i>God</i>-damn," + he said. "Some day I'd like to—" He broke off and was bitterly + silent. + </p> + <p> + The U.P. man must have been a little dislocated with shock and quite drunk + to talk the way he did. "Me too," he said. "Like to tell the story. Maybe + it was '67 not '68. I'm not sure now. Can't write it down so the details + get lost and then after a while it didn't happen at all. Revolution'd be + good deal. But it takes people t' make revolution. <i>People.</i> With + eyes 'n ears. 'N memories. We make things not-happen an' we make people + not-see an' not-hear...." He slumped back against the corridor wall, + nursing his burned hand. The others were watching him, very scared. + </p> + <p> + Then the A.P. man caught sight of the Secretary of Defense striding down + the corridor, flanked by Secret Servicemen. "Mr. Steiner!" he called. + "What's the picture?" + </p> + <p> + Steiner stopped, breathing heavily, and said: "Slocum's barricaded in the + Oval Study. They don't want to smash in. He's about the only one left. + There were only fifty or so. The Acting President's taken charge at the + Study. You want to come along?" + </p> + <p> + They did, and even hauled the U.P. man after them. + </p> + <p> + The Acting President, who would be President Folsom XXV as soon as the + Electoral College got around to it, had his father's face—the + petulant lip, the soft jowl—on a hard young body. He also had an + auto-rifle ready to fire from the hip. Most of the Cabinet was present. + When the Secretary of Defense arrived, he turned on him. "Steiner," he + said nastily, "can you explain why there should be a rebellion against the + Republic in your department?" + </p> + <p> + "Mr. President," Steiner said, "Slocum was retired on my recommendation + two years ago. It seems to me that my responsibility ended there and + Security should have taken over." + </p> + <p> + The President Elect's finger left the trigger of the auto-rifle and his + lip drew in a little. "Quite so," he said curtly, and, turned to the door. + "Slocum!" he shouted. "Come out of there. We can use gas if we want." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The door opened unexpectedly and a tired-looking man with three stars on + each shoulder stood there, bare-handed. "All right," he said drearily. "I + was fool enough to think something could be done about the regime. But you + fat-faced imbeciles are going to go on and on and—" + </p> + <p> + The stutter of the auto-rifle cut him off. The President Elect's knuckles + were white as he clutched the piece's forearm and grip; the torrent of + slugs continued to hack and plow the general's body until the magazine was + empty. "Burn that," he said curtly, turning his back on it. "Dr. Barnes, + come here. I want to know about my father's passing." + </p> + <p> + The doctor, hoarse and red-eyed from the whiff of phosphorus smoke, spoke + with him. The U.P. man had sagged drunkenly into a chair, but the other + newsmen noted that Dr. Barnes glanced at them as he spoke, in a + confidential murmur. + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, Doctor," the President Elect said at last, decisively. He + gestured to a Secret Serviceman. "Take those traitors away." They went, + numbly. + </p> + <p> + The Secretary of State cleared his throat. "Mr. President," he said, "I + take this opportunity to submit the resignations of myself and fellow + Cabinet members according to custom." + </p> + <p> + "That's all right," the President Elect said. "You may as well stay on. I + intend to run things myself anyway." He hefted the auto-rifle. "You," he + said to the Secretary of Public Opinion. "You have some work to do. Have + the memory of my father's—artistic—preoccupations obliterated + as soon as possible. I wish the Republic to assume a war-like posture—yes; + what is it?" + </p> + <p> + A trembling messenger said: "Mr. President, I have the honor to inform you + that the College of Electors has elected you President of the Republic—unanimously." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Cadet Fourth-Classman Thomas Grayson lay on his bunk and sobbed in an + agony of loneliness. The letter from his mother was crumpled in his hand: + "—prouder than words can tell of your appointment to the Academy. + Darling, I hardly knew my grandfather but I know that you will serve as + brilliantly as he did, to the eternal credit of the Republic. You must be + brave and strong for my sake—" + </p> + <p> + He would have given everything he had or ever could hope to have to be + back with her, and away from the bullying, sneering fellow-cadets of the + Corps. He kissed the letter—and then hastily shoved it under his + mattress as he heard footsteps. + </p> + <p> + He popped to a brace, but it was only his roommate Ferguson. Ferguson was + from Earth, and rejoiced in the lighter Lunar gravity which was punishment + to Grayson's Io-bred muscles. + </p> + <p> + "Rest, mister," Ferguson grinned. + </p> + <p> + "Thought it was night inspection." + </p> + <p> + "Any minute now. They're down the hall. Lemme tighten your bunk or you'll + be in trouble—" Tightening the bunk he pulled out the letter and + said, calvishly: "Ah-<i>hah</i>! Who is she?—" and opened it. + </p> + <p> + When the cadet officers reached the room they found Ferguson on the floor + being strangled black in the face by spidery little Grayson. It took all + three of them to pull him off. Ferguson went to the infirmary and Grayson + went to the Commandant's office. + </p> + <p> + The Commandant glared at the cadet from under the most spectacular pair of + eyebrows in the Service. "Cadet Grayson," he said, "explain what + occurred." + </p> + <p> + "Sir, Cadet Ferguson began to read a letter from my mother without my + permission." + </p> + <p> + "That is not accepted by the Corps as grounds for mayhem. Do you have + anything further to say?" + </p> + <p> + "Sir, I lost my temper. All I thought of was that it was an act of + disrespect to my mother and somehow to the Corps and the Republic too—that + Cadet Ferguson was dishonoring the Corps." + </p> + <p> + <i>Bushwah</i>, the Commandant thought. <i>A snow job and a crude one.</i> + He studied the youngster. He had never seen such a brace from an Io-bred + fourth-classman. It must be torture to muscles not yet toughened up to + even Lunar gravity. Five minutes more and the boy would have to give way, + and serve him right for showing off. + </p> + <p> + He studied Grayson's folder. It was too early to tell about academic work, + but the fourth-classman was a bear—or a fool—for extra duty. + He had gone out for half a dozen teams and applied for membership in the + exacting Math Club <i>and</i> Writing Club. The Commandant glanced up; + Grayson was still in his extreme brace. The Commandant suddenly had the + queer idea that Grayson could hold it until it killed him. + </p> + <p> + "One hundred hours of pack-drill," he barked, "to be completed before + quarter-term. Cadet Grayson, if you succeed in walking off your tours, + remember that there is a tradition of fellowship in the Corps which its + members are expected to observe. Dismiss." + </p> + <p> + After Grayson's steel-sharp salute and exit the Commandant dug deeper into + the folder. Apparently there was something wrong with the boy's left arm, + but it had been passed by the examining team that visited Io. Most + unusual. Most irregular. But nothing could be done about it now. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The President, softer now in body than on his election day, and infinitely + more cautious, snapped: "It's all very well to create an incident. But + where's the money to come from? Who wants the rest of Io anyway? And what + will happen if there's war?" + </p> + <p> + Treasury said: "The hoarders will supply the money, Mr. President. A + system of percentage-bounties for persons who report currency-hoarders, + and then enforced purchase of a bond issue." + </p> + <p> + Raw materials said: "We need that iron, Mr. President. We need it + desperately." + </p> + <p> + State said: "All our evaluations indicate that the Soviet Premier would + consider nothing less than armed invasion of his continental borders as + occasion for all-out war. The consumer-goods party in the Soviet has + gained immensely during the past five years and of course their armaments + have suffered. Your shrewd directive to put the Republic in a war-like + posture has borne fruit, Mr. President...." + </p> + <p> + President Folsom XXV studied them narrowly. To him the need for a border + incident culminating in a forced purchase of Soviet Io did not seem as + pressing as they thought, but they were, after all, specialists. And there + was no conceivable way they could benefit from it personally. The only + alternative was that they were offering their professional advice and that + it would be best to heed it. Still, there was a vague, nagging + something.... + </p> + <p> + Nonsense, he decided. The spy dossiers on his Cabinet showed nothing but + the usual. One had been blackmailed by an actress after an affair and + railroaded her off the Earth. Another had a habit of taking bribes to + advance favorite sons in civil and military service. And so on. The + Republic could not suffer at their hands; the Republic and the dynasty + were impregnable. You simply spied on everybody—including the spies—and + ordered summary executions often enough to show that you meant it, and + kept the public ignorant: deaf-dumb-blind ignorant. The spy system was + simplicity itself; you had only to let things get as tangled and confused + as possible until <i>nobody</i> knew who was who. The executions were + literally no problem, for guilt or innocence made no matter. And + mind-control when there were four newspapers, six magazines and three + radio and television stations was a job for a handful of clerks. + </p> + <p> + No; the Cabinet couldn't be getting away with anything. The system was + unbeatable. + </p> + <p> + President Folsom XXV said: "Very well. Have it done." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Mrs. Grayson, widow, of New Pittsburgh, Io, disappeared one night. It was + in all the papers and on all the broadcasts. Some time later she was found + dragging herself back across the line between Nizhni-Magnitogorsk and New + Pittsburgh in sorry shape. She had a terrible tale to tell about what she + had suffered at the hands and so forth of the Nizhni-Magnitogorskniks. A + diplomatic note from the Republic to the Soviet was answered by another + note which was answered by the dispatch of the Republic's First Fleet to + Io which was answered by the dispatch of the Soviet's First and Fifth + Fleets to Io. + </p> + <p> + The Republic's First Fleet blew up the customary deserted target hulk, + fulminated over a sneak sabotage attack and moved in its destroyers. + Battle was joined. + </p> + <p> + Ensign Thomas Grayson took over the command of his destroyer when its + captain was killed on his bridge. An electrified crew saw the strange, + brooding youngster perform prodigies of skill and courage, and responded + to them. In one week of desultory action the battered destroyer had + accounted for seven Soviet destroyers and a cruiser. + </p> + <p> + As soon as this penetrated to the flagship, Grayson was decorated and + given a flotilla. His weird magnetism extended to every officer and man + aboard the seven craft. They struck like phantoms, cutting out cruisers + and battlewagons in wild unorthodox actions that couldn't have succeeded + but did—every time. Grayson was badly wounded twice, but his driving + nervous energy carried him through. + </p> + <p> + He was decorated again and given the battlewagon of an ailing + four-striper. + </p> + <p> + Without orders he touched down on the Soviet side of Io, led out a landing + party of marines and bluejackets, cut through two regiments of Soviet + infantry, and returned to his battlewagon with prisoners: the top civil + and military administrators of Soviet Io. + </p> + <p> + They discussed him nervously aboard the flagship. + </p> + <p> + "He has a mystical quality, Admiral. His men would follow him into an + atomic furnace. And—and I almost believe he could bring them through + safely if he wanted to." The laugh was nervous. + </p> + <p> + "He doesn't look like much. But when he turns on the charm—watch + out!" + </p> + <p> + "He's—he's a <i>winner</i>. Now I wonder what I mean by that?" + </p> + <p> + "I know what you mean. They turn up every so often. People who can't be + stopped. People who have everything. Napoleons. Alexanders. Stalins. Up + from nowhere." + </p> + <p> + "Suleiman. Hitler. Folsom I. Jenghis Khan." + </p> + <p> + "Well, let's get it over with." + </p> + <p> + They tugged at their gold-braided jackets and signalled the honor guard. + </p> + <p> + Grayson was piped aboard, received another decoration and another speech. + This time he made a speech in return. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + President Folsom XXV, not knowing what else to do, had summoned his + cabinet. "Well?" he rasped at the Secretary of Defense. + </p> + <p> + Steiner said with a faint shrug: "Mr. President, there is nothing to be + done. He has the fleet, he has the broadcasting facilities, he has the + people." + </p> + <p> + "People!" snarled the President. His finger stabbed at a button and the + wall panels snapped down to show the Secret Servicemen standing in their + niches. The finger shot tremulously out at Steiner. "Kill that traitor!" + he raved. + </p> + <p> + The chief of the detail said uneasily: "Mr. President, we were listening + to Grayson before we came on duty. He says he's de facto President now—" + </p> + <p> + "Kill him! Kill him!" + </p> + <p> + The chief went doggedly on: "—and we liked what he had to say about + the Republic and he said citizens of the Republic shouldn't take orders + from you and he'd relieve you—" + </p> + <p> + The President fell back. + </p> + <p> + Grayson walked in, wearing his plain ensign's uniform and smiling faintly. + Admirals and four-stripers flanked him. + </p> + <p> + The chief of the detail said: "Mr. Grayson! Are you taking over?" + </p> + <p> + The man in the ensign's uniform said gravely: "Yes. And just call me + 'Grayson,' please. The titles come later. You can go now." + </p> + <p> + The chief gave a pleased grin and collected his detail. The rather slight, + youngish man who had something wrong with one arm was in charge—<i>complete</i> + charge. + </p> + <p> + Grayson said: "Mr. Folsom, you are relieved of the presidency. Captain, + take him out and—" He finished with a whimsical shrug. A portly + four-striper took Folsom by one arm. Like a drugged man the deposed + president let himself be led out. + </p> + <p> + Grayson looked around the table. "Who are you gentlemen?" + </p> + <p> + They felt his magnetism, like the hum when you pass a power station. + </p> + <p> + Steiner was the spokesman. "Grayson," he said soberly, "We were Folsom's + Cabinet. However, there is more that we have to tell you. Alone, if you + will allow it." + </p> + <p> + "Very well, gentlemen." Admirals and captains backed out, looking + concerned. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Steiner said: "Grayson, the story goes back many years. My predecessor, + William Malvern, determined to overthrow the regime, holding that it was + an affront to the human spirit. There have been many such attempts. All + have broken up on the rocks of espionage, terrorism and opinion-control—the + three weapons which the regime holds firmly in its hands. + </p> + <p> + "Malvern tried another approach than espionage versus espionage, terrorism + versus terrorism and opinion-control versus opinion-control. He determined + to use the basic fact that certain men make history: that there are men + born to be mould-breakers. They are the Phillips of Macedon, the + Napoleons, Stalins and Hitlers, the Suleimans—the adventurers. Again + and again they flash across history, bringing down an ancient empire, + turning ordinary soldiers of the line into unkillable demons of battle, + uprooting cultures, breathing new life into moribund peoples. + </p> + <p> + "There are common denominators among all the adventurers. Intelligence, of + course. Other things are more mysterious but are always present. They are + foreigners. Napoleon the Corsican. Hitler the Austrian. Stalin the + Georgian. Phillip the Macedonian. Always there is an Oedipus complex. + Always there is physical deficiency. Napoleon's stature. Stalin's withered + arm—and yours. Always there is a minority disability, real or + fancied. + </p> + <p> + "This is a shock to you, Grayson, but you must face it. <i>You were + manufactured.</i> + </p> + <p> + "Malvern packed the cabinet with the slyest double-dealers he could find + and they went to work. Eighty-six infants were planted on the outposts of + the Republic in simulated family environments. Your mother was not your + mother but one of the most brilliant actresses ever to drop out of sight + on Earth. Your intelligence-heredity was so good that we couldn't turn you + down for lack of a physical deficiency. We withered your arm with gamma + radiation. I hope you will forgive us. There was no other way. + </p> + <p> + "Of the eighty-six you are the one that worked. Somehow the combination + for you was minutely different from all the other combinations, + genetically or environmentally, and it worked. That is all we were after. + The mould has been broken, you know now what you are. Let come whatever + chaos is to come; the dead hand of the past no longer lies on—" + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Grayson went to the door and beckoned; two captains came in. Steiner broke + off his speech as Grayson said to them: "These men deny my godhood. Take + them out and—" he finished with a whimsical shrug. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, your divinity," said the captains, without a trace of humor in their + voices. + </p> + <div class="trn"> + <div class="figt"> + <a href="images/003-2.jpg"><img src="images/003-1.jpg" width="136" + height="200" alt="" title="" /></a> + </div> + <p> + <big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big> + </p> + <p> + This etext was produced from <i>Space Science Fiction</i> May 1953. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright + on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors + have been corrected without note. + </p> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventurer, by Cyril M. 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Kornbluth + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventurer + +Author: Cyril M. Kornbluth + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: September 4, 2009 [EBook #29908] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE + Adventurer + + BY C. M. KORNBLUTH + + ILLUSTRATED BY FREAS + + + For every evil under the sun, there's an answer. + It may be a simple, direct answer; it may be one + that takes years, and seems unrelated to the + problem. But there's an answer--of a kind.... + + +President Folsom XXIV said petulantly to his Secretary of the Treasury: +"Blow me to hell, Bannister, if I understood a single word of that. +_Why_ can't I buy the Nicolaides Collection? And don't start with the +rediscount and the Series W business again. Just tell me _why_." + +The Secretary of the Treasury said with an air of apprehension and a +thread-like feeling across his throat: "It boils down to--no money, Mr. +President." + +The President was too engrossed in thoughts of the marvelous collection +to fly into a rage. "It's _such_ a bargain," he said mournfully. "An +archaic Henry Moore figure--really too big to finger, but I'm no +culture-snob, thank God--and fifteen early Morrisons and I can't begin +to tell you what else." He looked hopefully at the Secretary of Public +Opinion: "Mightn't I seize it for the public good or something?" + +The Secretary of Public Opinion shook his head. His pose was gruffly +professional. "Not a chance, Mr. President. We'd never get away with it. +The art-lovers would scream to high Heaven." + +[Illustration] + +"I suppose so.... _Why_ isn't there any money?" He had swiveled +dangerously on the Secretary of the Treasury again. + +"Sir, purchases of the new Series W bond issue have lagged badly because +potential buyers have been attracted to--" + +"Stop it, stop it, _stop_ it! You know I can't make head or tail of that +stuff. Where's the money _going_?" + +The Director of the Budget said cautiously: "Mr. President, during the +biennium just ending, the Department of Defense accounted for 78 per +cent of expenditures--" + +The Secretary of Defense growled: "Now wait a minute, Felder! We were +voted--" + +The President interrupted, raging weakly: "Oh, you rascals! My father +would have known what to do with you! But don't think I can't handle it. +_Don't_ think you can hoodwink me." He punched a button ferociously; his +silly face was contorted with rage and there was a certain tension on +all the faces around the Cabinet table. + +Panels slid down abruptly in the walls, revealing grim-faced Secret +Servicemen. Each Cabinet officer was covered by at least two automatic +rifles. + +"Take that--that traitor away!" the President yelled. His finger pointed +at the Secretary of Defense, who slumped over the table, sobbing. Two +Secret Servicemen half-carried him from the room. + +President Folsom XXIV leaned back, thrusting out his lower lip. He told +the Secretary of the Treasury: "_Get_ me the money for the Nicolaides +Collection. Do you understand? I don't care how you do it. _Get_ it." He +glared at the Secretary of Public Opinion. "Have you any comments?" + +"No, Mr. President." + +"All right, then." The President unbent and said plaintively: "I don't +see why you can't all be more reasonable. I'm a very reasonable man. +I don't see why I can't have a few pleasures along with my +responsibilities. Really I don't. And I'm sensitive. I don't _like_ +these scenes. Very well. That's all. The Cabinet meeting is adjourned." + +They rose and left silently in the order of their seniority. The +President noticed that the panels were still down and pushed the button +that raised them again and hid the granite-faced Secret Servicemen. He +took out of his pocket a late Morrison fingering-piece and turned it +over in his hand, a smile of relaxation and bliss spreading over his +face. _Such_ amusing textural contrast! _Such_ unexpected variations on +the classic sequences! + + * * * * * + +The Cabinet, less the Secretary of Defense, was holding a rump meeting +in an untapped corner of the White House gymnasium. + +"God," the Secretary of State said, white-faced. "Poor old Willy!" + +The professionally gruff Secretary of Public Opinion said: "We should +murder the bastard. I don't care what happens--" + +The Director of the Budget said dryly: "We all know what would happen. +President Folsom XXV would take office. No; we've got to keep plugging +as before. Nothing short of the invincible can topple the Republic...." + +"What about a war?" the Secretary of Commerce demanded fiercely. "We've +no proof that our program will work. What about a war?" + +State said wearily: "Not while there's a balance of power, my dear man. +The Io-Callisto Question proved that. The Republic and the Soviet fell +all over themselves trying to patch things up as soon as it seemed that +there would be real shooting. Folsom XXIV and his excellency Premier +Yersinsky know at least that much." + +The Secretary of the Treasury said: "What would you all think of Steiner +for Defense?" + +The Director of the Budget was astonished. "Would he take it?" + +Treasury cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, I've asked him to +stop by right about now." He hurled a medicine ball into the budgetary +gut. + +"Oof!" said the Director. "You bastard. Steiner would be perfect. He +runs Standards like a watch." He treacherously fired the medicine ball +at the Secretary of Raw Materials, who blandly caught it and slammed it +back. + +"Here he comes," said the Secretary of Raw Materials. "Steiner! Come and +sweat some oleo off!" + +Steiner ambled over, a squat man in his fifties, and said: "I don't mind +if I do. Where's Willy?" + +State said: "The President unmasked him as a traitor. He's probably been +executed by now." + +Steiner looked grim, and grimmer yet when the Secretary of the Treasury +said, dead-pan: "We want to propose you for Defense." + +"I'm happy in Standards," Steiner said. "Safer, too. The Man's father +took an interest in science, but The Man never comes around. Things are +very quiet. Why don't you invite Winch, from the National Art +Commission? It wouldn't be much of a change for the worse for him." + +"No brains," the Secretary for Raw Materials said briefly. "Heads up!" + +Steiner caught the ball and slugged it back at him. "What good are +brains?" he asked quietly. + +"Close the ranks, gentlemen," State said. "These long shots are too hard +on my arms." + +The ranks closed and the Cabinet told Steiner what good were brains. He +ended by accepting. + + * * * * * + +The Moon is all Republic. Mars is all Soviet. Titan is all Republic. +Ganymede is all Soviet. But Io and Callisto, by the Treaty of Greenwich, +are half-and-half Republic and Soviet. + +Down the main street of the principal settlement on Io runs an invisible +line. On one side of the line, the principal settlement is known as New +Pittsburgh. On the other side it is known as Nizhni-Magnitogorsk. + +Into a miner's home in New Pittsburgh one day an eight-year-old boy +named Grayson staggered, bleeding from the head. His eyes were swollen +almost shut. + +His father lurched to his feet, knocking over a bottle. He looked +stupidly at the bottle, set it upright too late to save much of the +alcohol, and then stared fixedly at the boy. "See what you made me do, +you little bastard?" he growled, and fetched the boy a clout on his +bleeding head that sent him spinning against the wall of the hut. The +boy got up slowly and silently--there seemed to be something wrong with +his left arm--and glowered at his father. + +He said nothing. + +"Fighting again," the father said, in a would-be fierce voice. His eyes +fell under the peculiar fire in the boy's stare. "Damn fool--" + +A woman came in from the kitchen. She was tall and thin. In a flat voice +she said to the man: "Get out of here." The man hiccupped and said: +"Your brat spilled my bottle. Gimme a dollar." + +In the same flat voice: "I have to buy food." + +"_I said gimme a dollar!_" The man slapped her face--it did not +change--and wrenched a small purse from the string that suspended it +around her neck. The boy suddenly was a demon, flying at his father with +fists and teeth. It lasted only a second or two. The father kicked him +into a corner where he lay, still glaring, wordless and dry-eyed. The +mother had not moved; her husband's handmark was still red on her face +when he hulked out, clutching the money bag. + +Mrs. Grayson at last crouched in the corner with the eight-year-old boy. +"Little Tommy," she said softly. "My little Tommy! Did you cross the +line again?" + +He was blubbering in her arms, hysterically, as she caressed him. At +last he was able to say: "I didn't cross the line, Mom. Not this time. +It was in school. They said our name was really Krasinsky. God-damn +him!" the boy shrieked. "They said his grandfather was named Krasinsky +and he moved over the line and changed his name to Grayson! God-damn +him! Doing that to us!" + +"Now, darling," his mother said, caressing him. "Now, darling." His +trembling began to ebb. She said: "Let's get out the spools, Tommy. You +mustn't fall behind in school. You owe that to me, don't you, darling?" + +"Yes, Mom," he said. He threw his spindly arms around her and kissed +her. "Get out the spools. We'll show him. I mean them." + + * * * * * + +President Folsom XXIV lay on his death-bed, feeling no pain, mostly +because his personal physician had pumped him full of morphine. Dr. +Barnes sat by the bed holding the presidential wrist and waiting, +occasionally nodding off and recovering with a belligerent stare around +the room. The four wire-service men didn't care whether he fell asleep +or not; they were worriedly discussing the nature and habits of the +President's first-born, who would shortly succeed to the highest office +in the Republic. + +"A firebrand, they tell me," the A.P. man said unhappily. + +"Firebrands I don't mind," the U.P. man said. "He can send out all the +inflammatory notes he wants just as long as he isn't a fiend for +exercise. I'm not as young as I once was. You boys wouldn't remember the +_old_ President, Folsom XXII. He used to do point-to-point hiking. He +worshipped old F.D.R." + +The I.N.S. man said, lowering his voice: "Then he was worshipping the +wrong Roosevelt. Teddy was the athlete." + +Dr. Barnes started, dropped the presidential wrist and held a mirror to +the mouth for a moment. "Gentlemen," he said, "the President is dead." + +"O.K.," the A.P. man said. "Let's go, boys. I'll send in the flash. +U.P., you go cover the College of Electors. I.N.S., get onto the +President Elect. Trib, collect some interviews and background--" + +The door opened abruptly; a colonel of infantry was standing there, +breathing hard, with an automatic rifle at port. "Is he dead?" he asked. + +"Yes," the A.P. man said. "If you'll let me past--" + +"Nobody leaves the room," the colonel said grimly. "I represent General +Slocum, Acting President of the Republic. The College of Electors is +acting now to ratify--" + +A burst of gunfire caught the colonel in the back; he spun and fell, +with a single hoarse cry. More gunfire sounded through the White House. +A Secret Serviceman ducked his head through the door: "President's dead? +You boys stay put. We'll have this thing cleaned up in an hour--" He +vanished. + +The doctor sputtered his alarm and the newsmen ignored him with +professional poise. The A.P. man asked: "Now who's Slocum? Defense +Command?" + +I.N.S. said: "I remember him. Three stars. He headed up the Tactical +Airborne Force out in Kansas four-five years ago. I think he was retired +since then." + +A phosphorus grenade crashed through the window and exploded with a +globe of yellow flame the size of a basketball; dense clouds of +phosphorus pentoxide gushed from it and the sprinkler system switched +on, drenching the room. + +"Come on!" hacked the A.P. man, and they scrambled from the room and +slammed the door. The doctor's coat was burning in two or three places, +and he was retching feebly on the corridor floor. They tore his coat off +and flung it back into the room. + +The U.P. man, swearing horribly, dug a sizzling bit of phosphorus from +the back of his hand with a pen-knife and collapsed, sweating, when it +was out. The I.N.S. man passed him a flask and he gurgled down half a +pint of liquor. "Who flang that brick?" he asked faintly. + +"Nobody," the A.P. man said gloomily. "That's the hell of it. None of +this is happening. Just the way Taft the Pretender never happened in +'03. Just the way the Pentagon Mutiny never happened in '67." + +"'68," the U.P. man said faintly. "It didn't happen in '68, not '67." + +The A.P. man smashed a fist into the palm of his hand and swore. +"_God_-damn," he said. "Some day I'd like to--" He broke off and was +bitterly silent. + +The U.P. man must have been a little dislocated with shock and quite +drunk to talk the way he did. "Me too," he said. "Like to tell the +story. Maybe it was '67 not '68. I'm not sure now. Can't write it down +so the details get lost and then after a while it didn't happen at all. +Revolution'd be good deal. But it takes people t' make revolution. +_People._ With eyes 'n ears. 'N memories. We make things not-happen an' +we make people not-see an' not-hear...." He slumped back against the +corridor wall, nursing his burned hand. The others were watching him, +very scared. + +Then the A.P. man caught sight of the Secretary of Defense striding down +the corridor, flanked by Secret Servicemen. "Mr. Steiner!" he called. +"What's the picture?" + +Steiner stopped, breathing heavily, and said: "Slocum's barricaded in +the Oval Study. They don't want to smash in. He's about the only one +left. There were only fifty or so. The Acting President's taken charge +at the Study. You want to come along?" + +They did, and even hauled the U.P. man after them. + +The Acting President, who would be President Folsom XXV as soon as the +Electoral College got around to it, had his father's face--the petulant +lip, the soft jowl--on a hard young body. He also had an auto-rifle +ready to fire from the hip. Most of the Cabinet was present. When the +Secretary of Defense arrived, he turned on him. "Steiner," he said +nastily, "can you explain why there should be a rebellion against the +Republic in your department?" + +"Mr. President," Steiner said, "Slocum was retired on my recommendation +two years ago. It seems to me that my responsibility ended there and +Security should have taken over." + +The President Elect's finger left the trigger of the auto-rifle and his +lip drew in a little. "Quite so," he said curtly, and, turned to the +door. "Slocum!" he shouted. "Come out of there. We can use gas if we +want." + + * * * * * + +The door opened unexpectedly and a tired-looking man with three stars on +each shoulder stood there, bare-handed. "All right," he said drearily. +"I was fool enough to think something could be done about the regime. +But you fat-faced imbeciles are going to go on and on and--" + +The stutter of the auto-rifle cut him off. The President Elect's +knuckles were white as he clutched the piece's forearm and grip; the +torrent of slugs continued to hack and plow the general's body until the +magazine was empty. "Burn that," he said curtly, turning his back on it. +"Dr. Barnes, come here. I want to know about my father's passing." + +The doctor, hoarse and red-eyed from the whiff of phosphorus smoke, +spoke with him. The U.P. man had sagged drunkenly into a chair, but the +other newsmen noted that Dr. Barnes glanced at them as he spoke, in a +confidential murmur. + +"Thank you, Doctor," the President Elect said at last, decisively. He +gestured to a Secret Serviceman. "Take those traitors away." They went, +numbly. + +The Secretary of State cleared his throat. "Mr. President," he said, "I +take this opportunity to submit the resignations of myself and fellow +Cabinet members according to custom." + +"That's all right," the President Elect said. "You may as well stay on. +I intend to run things myself anyway." He hefted the auto-rifle. "You," +he said to the Secretary of Public Opinion. "You have some work to do. +Have the memory of my father's--artistic--preoccupations obliterated as +soon as possible. I wish the Republic to assume a war-like posture--yes; +what is it?" + +A trembling messenger said: "Mr. President, I have the honor to inform +you that the College of Electors has elected you President of the +Republic--unanimously." + + * * * * * + +Cadet Fourth-Classman Thomas Grayson lay on his bunk and sobbed in an +agony of loneliness. The letter from his mother was crumpled in his +hand: "--prouder than words can tell of your appointment to the Academy. +Darling, I hardly knew my grandfather but I know that you will serve as +brilliantly as he did, to the eternal credit of the Republic. You must +be brave and strong for my sake--" + +He would have given everything he had or ever could hope to have to be +back with her, and away from the bullying, sneering fellow-cadets of the +Corps. He kissed the letter--and then hastily shoved it under his +mattress as he heard footsteps. + +He popped to a brace, but it was only his roommate Ferguson. Ferguson +was from Earth, and rejoiced in the lighter Lunar gravity which was +punishment to Grayson's Io-bred muscles. + +"Rest, mister," Ferguson grinned. + +"Thought it was night inspection." + +"Any minute now. They're down the hall. Lemme tighten your bunk or +you'll be in trouble--" Tightening the bunk he pulled out the letter and +said, calvishly: "Ah-_hah_! Who is she?--" and opened it. + +When the cadet officers reached the room they found Ferguson on the +floor being strangled black in the face by spidery little Grayson. It +took all three of them to pull him off. Ferguson went to the infirmary +and Grayson went to the Commandant's office. + +The Commandant glared at the cadet from under the most spectacular pair +of eyebrows in the Service. "Cadet Grayson," he said, "explain what +occurred." + +"Sir, Cadet Ferguson began to read a letter from my mother without my +permission." + +"That is not accepted by the Corps as grounds for mayhem. Do you have +anything further to say?" + +"Sir, I lost my temper. All I thought of was that it was an act of +disrespect to my mother and somehow to the Corps and the Republic +too--that Cadet Ferguson was dishonoring the Corps." + +_Bushwah_, the Commandant thought. _A snow job and a crude one._ He +studied the youngster. He had never seen such a brace from an Io-bred +fourth-classman. It must be torture to muscles not yet toughened up to +even Lunar gravity. Five minutes more and the boy would have to give +way, and serve him right for showing off. + +He studied Grayson's folder. It was too early to tell about academic +work, but the fourth-classman was a bear--or a fool--for extra duty. He +had gone out for half a dozen teams and applied for membership in the +exacting Math Club _and_ Writing Club. The Commandant glanced up; +Grayson was still in his extreme brace. The Commandant suddenly had the +queer idea that Grayson could hold it until it killed him. + +"One hundred hours of pack-drill," he barked, "to be completed before +quarter-term. Cadet Grayson, if you succeed in walking off your tours, +remember that there is a tradition of fellowship in the Corps which its +members are expected to observe. Dismiss." + +After Grayson's steel-sharp salute and exit the Commandant dug deeper +into the folder. Apparently there was something wrong with the boy's +left arm, but it had been passed by the examining team that visited Io. +Most unusual. Most irregular. But nothing could be done about it now. + + * * * * * + +The President, softer now in body than on his election day, and +infinitely more cautious, snapped: "It's all very well to create an +incident. But where's the money to come from? Who wants the rest of Io +anyway? And what will happen if there's war?" + +Treasury said: "The hoarders will supply the money, Mr. President. A +system of percentage-bounties for persons who report currency-hoarders, +and then enforced purchase of a bond issue." + +Raw materials said: "We need that iron, Mr. President. We need it +desperately." + +State said: "All our evaluations indicate that the Soviet Premier would +consider nothing less than armed invasion of his continental borders as +occasion for all-out war. The consumer-goods party in the Soviet has +gained immensely during the past five years and of course their +armaments have suffered. Your shrewd directive to put the Republic in a +war-like posture has borne fruit, Mr. President...." + +President Folsom XXV studied them narrowly. To him the need for a border +incident culminating in a forced purchase of Soviet Io did not seem as +pressing as they thought, but they were, after all, specialists. And +there was no conceivable way they could benefit from it personally. The +only alternative was that they were offering their professional advice +and that it would be best to heed it. Still, there was a vague, nagging +something.... + +Nonsense, he decided. The spy dossiers on his Cabinet showed nothing but +the usual. One had been blackmailed by an actress after an affair and +railroaded her off the Earth. Another had a habit of taking bribes to +advance favorite sons in civil and military service. And so on. The +Republic could not suffer at their hands; the Republic and the dynasty +were impregnable. You simply spied on everybody--including the +spies--and ordered summary executions often enough to show that you +meant it, and kept the public ignorant: deaf-dumb-blind ignorant. The +spy system was simplicity itself; you had only to let things get as +tangled and confused as possible until _nobody_ knew who was who. The +executions were literally no problem, for guilt or innocence made no +matter. And mind-control when there were four newspapers, six magazines +and three radio and television stations was a job for a handful of +clerks. + +No; the Cabinet couldn't be getting away with anything. The system was +unbeatable. + +President Folsom XXV said: "Very well. Have it done." + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Grayson, widow, of New Pittsburgh, Io, disappeared one night. It +was in all the papers and on all the broadcasts. Some time later she was +found dragging herself back across the line between Nizhni-Magnitogorsk +and New Pittsburgh in sorry shape. She had a terrible tale to tell +about what she had suffered at the hands and so forth of the +Nizhni-Magnitogorskniks. A diplomatic note from the Republic to the +Soviet was answered by another note which was answered by the dispatch +of the Republic's First Fleet to Io which was answered by the dispatch +of the Soviet's First and Fifth Fleets to Io. + +The Republic's First Fleet blew up the customary deserted target hulk, +fulminated over a sneak sabotage attack and moved in its destroyers. +Battle was joined. + +Ensign Thomas Grayson took over the command of his destroyer when its +captain was killed on his bridge. An electrified crew saw the strange, +brooding youngster perform prodigies of skill and courage, and responded +to them. In one week of desultory action the battered destroyer had +accounted for seven Soviet destroyers and a cruiser. + +As soon as this penetrated to the flagship, Grayson was decorated and +given a flotilla. His weird magnetism extended to every officer and man +aboard the seven craft. They struck like phantoms, cutting out cruisers +and battlewagons in wild unorthodox actions that couldn't have succeeded +but did--every time. Grayson was badly wounded twice, but his driving +nervous energy carried him through. + +He was decorated again and given the battlewagon of an ailing +four-striper. + +Without orders he touched down on the Soviet side of Io, led out a +landing party of marines and bluejackets, cut through two regiments of +Soviet infantry, and returned to his battlewagon with prisoners: the top +civil and military administrators of Soviet Io. + +They discussed him nervously aboard the flagship. + +"He has a mystical quality, Admiral. His men would follow him into an +atomic furnace. And--and I almost believe he could bring them through +safely if he wanted to." The laugh was nervous. + +"He doesn't look like much. But when he turns on the charm--watch out!" + +"He's--he's a _winner_. Now I wonder what I mean by that?" + +"I know what you mean. They turn up every so often. People who can't be +stopped. People who have everything. Napoleons. Alexanders. Stalins. Up +from nowhere." + +"Suleiman. Hitler. Folsom I. Jenghis Khan." + +"Well, let's get it over with." + +They tugged at their gold-braided jackets and signalled the honor guard. + +Grayson was piped aboard, received another decoration and another +speech. This time he made a speech in return. + + * * * * * + +President Folsom XXV, not knowing what else to do, had summoned his +cabinet. "Well?" he rasped at the Secretary of Defense. + +Steiner said with a faint shrug: "Mr. President, there is nothing to be +done. He has the fleet, he has the broadcasting facilities, he has the +people." + +"People!" snarled the President. His finger stabbed at a button and the +wall panels snapped down to show the Secret Servicemen standing in their +niches. The finger shot tremulously out at Steiner. "Kill that traitor!" +he raved. + +The chief of the detail said uneasily: "Mr. President, we were listening +to Grayson before we came on duty. He says he's de facto President +now--" + +"Kill him! Kill him!" + +The chief went doggedly on: "--and we liked what he had to say about the +Republic and he said citizens of the Republic shouldn't take orders from +you and he'd relieve you--" + +The President fell back. + +Grayson walked in, wearing his plain ensign's uniform and smiling +faintly. Admirals and four-stripers flanked him. + +The chief of the detail said: "Mr. Grayson! Are you taking over?" + +The man in the ensign's uniform said gravely: "Yes. And just call me +'Grayson,' please. The titles come later. You can go now." + +The chief gave a pleased grin and collected his detail. The rather +slight, youngish man who had something wrong with one arm was in +charge--_complete_ charge. + +Grayson said: "Mr. Folsom, you are relieved of the presidency. Captain, +take him out and--" He finished with a whimsical shrug. A portly +four-striper took Folsom by one arm. Like a drugged man the deposed +president let himself be led out. + +Grayson looked around the table. "Who are you gentlemen?" + +They felt his magnetism, like the hum when you pass a power station. + +Steiner was the spokesman. "Grayson," he said soberly, "We were Folsom's +Cabinet. However, there is more that we have to tell you. Alone, if you +will allow it." + +"Very well, gentlemen." Admirals and captains backed out, looking +concerned. + + * * * * * + +Steiner said: "Grayson, the story goes back many years. My predecessor, +William Malvern, determined to overthrow the regime, holding that it was +an affront to the human spirit. There have been many such attempts. +All have broken up on the rocks of espionage, terrorism and +opinion-control--the three weapons which the regime holds firmly in its +hands. + +"Malvern tried another approach than espionage versus espionage, +terrorism versus terrorism and opinion-control versus opinion-control. +He determined to use the basic fact that certain men make history: that +there are men born to be mould-breakers. They are the Phillips of +Macedon, the Napoleons, Stalins and Hitlers, the Suleimans--the +adventurers. Again and again they flash across history, bringing down an +ancient empire, turning ordinary soldiers of the line into unkillable +demons of battle, uprooting cultures, breathing new life into moribund +peoples. + +"There are common denominators among all the adventurers. Intelligence, +of course. Other things are more mysterious but are always present. They +are foreigners. Napoleon the Corsican. Hitler the Austrian. Stalin the +Georgian. Phillip the Macedonian. Always there is an Oedipus complex. +Always there is physical deficiency. Napoleon's stature. Stalin's +withered arm--and yours. Always there is a minority disability, real or +fancied. + +"This is a shock to you, Grayson, but you must face it. _You were +manufactured._ + +"Malvern packed the cabinet with the slyest double-dealers he could find +and they went to work. Eighty-six infants were planted on the outposts +of the Republic in simulated family environments. Your mother was not +your mother but one of the most brilliant actresses ever to drop out of +sight on Earth. Your intelligence-heredity was so good that we couldn't +turn you down for lack of a physical deficiency. We withered your arm +with gamma radiation. I hope you will forgive us. There was no other +way. + +"Of the eighty-six you are the one that worked. Somehow the combination +for you was minutely different from all the other combinations, +genetically or environmentally, and it worked. That is all we were +after. The mould has been broken, you know now what you are. Let come +whatever chaos is to come; the dead hand of the past no longer lies +on--" + + * * * * * + +Grayson went to the door and beckoned; two captains came in. Steiner +broke off his speech as Grayson said to them: "These men deny my +godhood. Take them out and--" he finished with a whimsical shrug. + +"Yes, your divinity," said the captains, without a trace of humor in +their voices. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Space Science Fiction_ May 1953. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventurer, by Cyril M. 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