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+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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    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. Kornbluth
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