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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/32719-h.zip b/32719-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eba40c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/32719-h.zip diff --git a/32719-h/32719-h.htm b/32719-h/32719-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f428395 --- /dev/null +++ b/32719-h/32719-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1425 @@ +<!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=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr. President, by Stephen Arr + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.p1 { margin-left: 80%; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0.2em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. President, by Stephen Arr + +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: Mr. President + +Author: Stephen Arr + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook #32719] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PRESIDENT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="613" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>Mr. President</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By STEPHEN ARR</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>He had been overwhelmingly elected. +Messages of sympathy poured in, but +they couldn't help ... nothing could.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g1.jpg" alt="G" width="41" height="50" /></div> +<p>eorge Wong stood +pale and silent by the +video screen, listening to +the election returns, a long-stemmed +glass of champagne clutched +forgotten in his trembling right +hand.</p> + +<p>The announcer droned on: "—latest +returns from Venus, with +half of the election districts reporting, +give three billion four +hundred and ninety-six million +votes for Wong, against one billion, +four hundred million for +Thompson, one billion one hundred +million for Miccio, and nine +hundred million for Kau. These +results, added to the almost complete +returns from Earth and the +first fragmentary reports from +Mars, clearly indicate a landslide +vote for Wong as the next President +of the Solar Union. The two +billion votes from Ganymede and +Callisto, which will be received +early tomorrow morning, cannot +appreciably affect the results. The +battle for the twenty-five Vice-Presidents +is less clear. It is certain +that Thompson, Miccio, +Kau, Singh, and DuLavier will +all be among those elected, but +in what order is not yet...."</p> + +<p>Wong leaned over and snapped +the video off. His shoulders sagged. +He leaned against the console +as though too tired to move, +a slight, narrow-shouldered man +with a very high forehead and +thin receding black hair. His +large, sad, almond-shaped eyes +and yellow-tinted skin indicated +that there was a good deal of +Asiatic in the mixed blood that +flowed through his veins.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, truly sorry," +Michael Thompson said sympathetically, +placing a friendly arm +across the narrow shoulders of the +successful candidate. They were +alone in the living room of the +hotel suite in New Geneva, which +they had shared for the campaign. +"The people chose well. +After the wonderful job you did +in organizing the colonization of +Io and Europa, you were the logical +man. And then you do have +the fantastic Responsibility Quotient +of 9.6 out of 10. Anyway," +he added with a weary shrug, +"don't feel too bad—it looks as +though I'll be First Vice-President."</p> + +<p>A brief ghost of a smile crossed +George Wong's face. "We who +are about to die salute you," he +said, lifting his glass in a bitter +toast to the blank video screen.</p> + +<p>Thompson, the man who was +to be First Vice-President, silently +joined him.</p> + +<p>"At least," Wong sighed, putting +his empty glass down on the +video, "I don't have a family. +Look at poor Kau. At Miccio. +With wives and children, how +they must have suffered when +they learned they had been drafted +by the conventions.... Well, I +guess there's nothing else to do +but to go to bed and wait until +they come for me in the morning. +Good night, Michael."</p> + +<p>"Good night, George," Michael +Thompson said. He turned toward +his own room. "I <i>am</i> sorry," +he said again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="51" height="40" /></div> + +<p>ong had already eaten +breakfast and was dressed +in an inconspicuous tweed suit +for the inauguration when the +chimes sounded, telling him that +they were at the door. Slowly, he +walked to the door and opened +it.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mr. President," +the man outside said +cheerily, flashing his famous grin. +George Wong immediately recognized +Al Grimm, the man who +had been personal secretary to +sixty-three Presidents. He was +one of the vast army of civil servants +who kept the wheels of +government turning smoothly until +Presidents were able to make +the decisions that would create +policy.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Al," George +Wong said. "I am afraid I'll have +to place myself completely in +your hands for these first few +days. Do we go to the Executive +Mansion for the inauguration +now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Then, after your inauguration, +to the office. Messages +of condolence have been +pouring in all night, but I don't +think you want to bother with +them. However, I am afraid we +will have to bring up some of the +problems that have arisen in the +two weeks since President Reynolds +left office."</p> + +<p>"How is he?" Wong asked. "I +knew him, you know. He taught +at Venus University at the same +time I did. He was a fine man."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he's no better," Al +said, shaking his head. "We're +doing all we can for him, but he +won't even speak to his wife. You +know how difficult it is."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," Wong said.</p> + +<p>They rode downstairs in silence +and walked to the Presidential +Copter parked in the street in +front of the house. A few guards +loitered in the vicinity, but there +were no crowds. They entered +the plush copter, which rose +smoothly under its whirling +blades and carried them over the +city, landing finally on the lawn +of the Executive Mansion.</p> + +<p>Chief Justice Herz met them, +dressed in a blue business suit, +and after they shook hands he +administered the oath.</p> + +<p>"Do you, George Wong," he +asked, "swear to make every decision +you are asked to make as +President of the Solar Union for +the benefit of the people of the +Union and in accord with what +you believe to be fair and just, +fully cognizant of the fact that +the welfare of seventy-five billion +citizens of the Union is dependent +on you?"</p> + +<p>"I do," George Wong said, +through a painfully dry throat +that would barely permit the +words to come out.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>hey all shook hands again. +Then Al Grimm led the President +across the grassy lawn, into +the mansion, and up to the office +that had served over a thousand +Presidents. Wong entered it nervously. +It was a large plain room, +severely decorated. Tentatively, +he slid into the chair behind the +huge steel desk, and began opening +the drawers. He found them +fully stocked with tapes, a recorder, +all the other necessities. +The desk and everything else in +the room was brand new. There +was no trace anywhere of his +predecessors, and he was relieved +to find it so. The Psychology Department +at work, he thought.</p> + +<p>"While we are moving your +effects into the living quarters, +Mr. President," Al said from the +doorway, "I wonder if we could +start discussing the problem of +the Gnii ... their Ambassadors +have presented an ultimatum, +and they demand an answer today."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>o soon, President Wong +thought. Couldn't he have +just a few hours to get used to +his office, to wander through the +building, to explore the green +garden that he could see from his +barred window stretching out behind +the mansion?</p> + +<p>For a second, he almost rebelled; +but even as he thought of answering +no, he realized that he +never would. The Psych Agents +had measured his Responsibility +Quotient at 9.6, and they didn't +make mistakes.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he answered with +forced enthusiasm. "Who do you +suggest I discuss the matter +with? For that matter, who are +the Gnii?"</p> + +<p>"I have the Manager of Defense, +the Manager of Trade, and +the Manager of Foreign Affairs +waiting in the anteroom. With +your permission, I'll call them in +and they'll explain the problem. +But first, if you would sign this +order ... it has already been approved +by President Reynolds +and by all of the Managers concerned."</p> + +<p>President Wong took the paper. +It was an order sending a space +platoon, 5,000 warships and 500,000 +men, to the system of Altair +A, to place themselves under the +command of the Grasvian fleet +for an attack against the system +of Altair D.</p> + +<p>The President frowned. "What's +the story behind this?"</p> + +<p>"As you know," Al explained +patiently, "there is an unwritten +agreement throughout the Galaxy +that if any system conquers too +many other systems, an intersystem +police force is formed to +cut the conqueror down. Since +for all practical purposes, there is +an infinity of systems in the Galaxy, +and as each conqueror borders +on more and more of them +as he grows larger in three-dimensional +expansion, unlike the +one-dimensional conquests that +used to occur on the surface of +planets, conquest of the Galaxy +is an obvious impossibility. However, +the inhabitants of Altair D +seem to have embarked on a policy +of reckless expansion that +could reach us in time."</p> + +<p>"I see," President Wong said. +"How far away are they?"</p> + +<p>"It will take the platoon sixteen +years to get to the rendezvous. +They will remain for ten +years, then return. Because of +the distance, we are not expected +to send more than this token +force."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_p.jpg" alt="P" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>resident Wong looked at +the order. It had already been +signed by President Reynolds, by +the Managers of Defense and of +Foreign Affairs. After all, even +though forty-two years was a +long period of time to chop out +of a man's life, only 500,000 men +were involved, and it was the +duty of every citizen to give his +life for his planet if required.</p> + +<p>With an impatient motion, he +rolled his thumbprint in the soft +plastic signature space, and held +it for a second as it hardened. +Then he threw the order into a +basket labeled <span class="smcap">outgoing correspondence</span>.</p> + +<p>His first official duty completed, +he should have felt exhilarated; +but instead, nagging +thoughts of guilt tugged at his +brain.</p> + +<p>Who were the inhabitants of +Altair D, anyway? How did he +know that the police action was +just? Shouldn't he get out the +whole file and go over it?</p> + +<p>But that would take days ... +and there was the matter of the +Gnii, whoever they were.</p> + +<p>The three managers entered. +President Wong stood up and +shook hands with them. They +didn't waste time on other preliminaries, +but rushed straight +into business.</p> + +<p>"The Gnii," the Manager of +Trade, a large, red-faced man +said, "demand that we remove +our trading planetoid from their +system. They allege that the +planetoid is a security risk, in +that it could be used for remote-control +bombing of any of their +planets. They threaten that if we +don't remove it voluntarily, they +will attack it, and their Ambassadors +are here in person to take +our reply to their ultimatum."</p> + +<p>There was nothing unusual in +that, President Wong knew. Since +both spaceships and any other +known means of communication +traveled at the speed of light, it +was now more common to send +Ambassadors on important missions +than to send messages.</p> + +<p>"What do you think we should +do?" President Wong asked the +Manager of Trade.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p> think we should tell them +to go to hell," the Manager +of Trade replied, his heavy face +turning redder. "After all, we +have a million trading planetoids +out in the Galaxy—if we retreat +here, we set a dangerous precedent."</p> + +<p>"I see," Wong said, frowning. +"I don't recall any alien trading +planetoids in <i>our</i> system."</p> + +<p>"Of course not, Mr. President," +said the Manager Of Foreign Affairs, +a tall, lean, distinguished-looking +gentleman with blue eyes +and iron-gray hair. "We don't +permit them, for much the same +reason that the Gnii want them +removed from their system. Trading +planetoids are usually only +tolerated in backward systems. +Apparently the Gnii no longer +desire to be considered backward. +I, for one, think that we would be +making a mistake not to accede +to their request."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's very fine, decent, +sporting and all that," the Manager +of Trade said irritatedly. +"But I have to worry about feeding +this overpopulated system of +ours, which would starve if it +weren't for intersystem trade—a +significant part of which is carried +on through the planetoids."</p> + +<p>"Can we protect the threatened +planetoid?" President Wong asked +the Manager of Defense, a +short, slim black man with flaming +red hair.</p> + +<p>The Manager of Defense considered +his reply carefully. "Not +if they are willing to pay a terrific +price to destroy it," he said +finally. "After all, it's thirty-three +years away. While we can +send out a fleet immediately that +would get there at the same time +as the Ambassadors, and before +they could mount an attack, we +hardly could send reinforcements +and replacements once the battle +is joined. But from the best information +available, I think that +a small force of twenty or twenty-five +thousand troops should be +able to frighten the Gnii out of +doing anything foolish. They +aren't very far advanced."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-three years," President +Wong said frowning. "That +means a mixed crew with facilities +for children. I am told that +things often go wrong on that +type of mission."</p> + +<p>The Manager of Defense nodded. +"They do," he agreed shortly. +"However, I have analyzed +that problem in detail in my report."</p> + +<p>President Wong sighed. "If you +gentlemen will leave your reports +with me, I will make my decision +by tomorrow morning."</p> + +<p>Each of the Managers gave him +several rolls of tape. Those of the +Manager of Trade felt by far the +heaviest. President Wong slipped +them into the racks in his upper +left-hand desk drawer.</p> + +<p>"Ask the Gnii to come in," he +said to Al.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>l pushed a button on the arm +of his chair, and the door +swung open. Four large spidery +creatures entered the room, followed +by a small bald man. +Their round bodies were encased +in plastic globes, in which a +whitish translucent gas swirled. +They walked over to the President's +desk, and the leader extended +a hairy leg.</p> + +<p>With an effort, President Wong +forced himself to take the leg +with his hand and pump it up +and down. He noticed that the +creature withdrew the leg as soon +as it was decently possible, and +smiled a bit as he concluded that +their aversion was mutual.</p> + +<p>The Gnii stepped back and began +waving his two front legs.</p> + +<p>"He is asking for your reply to +his ultimatum," the small bald +man interpreted.</p> + +<p>"Tell him I'll give him a definite +decision tomorrow," President +Wong said. "Apologize for my not +being able to reply today, and +point out that since it will take +him thirty-three years to get +home, one day will not make +much difference."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="800" height="404" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The bald interpreter waved his +hands. The four Gnii went into a +small huddle, waving their spidery +legs at each other. Then the +leader turned to the interpreter +again and "spoke."</p> + +<p>"They say that they agree," +the interpreter said. "But they +want to emphasize that it is not +because they fear the power of +the Solar System."</p> + +<p>The Gnii leader hesitated a +moment, then extended his leg +again. President Wong pumped +it once. The Gnii dropped his +hand and turned and left the +room, with the three others and +the interpreter filing after him.</p> + +<p>"If you don't need me any +more," the Manager of Trade +said, glancing at his watch, "I'll +go back to the Trade Bureau. I +have a meeting with a number +of the department heads."</p> + +<p>President Wong nodded tiredly. +"I have the tapes. I'll study all +your positions tonight."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he Manager of Trade and +the Manager of Foreign Affairs +rose and left the room. The +Manager of Defense stayed in +his seat.</p> + +<p>"If you feel up to it," Al said, +"the Manager of Defense would +appreciate it if you would present +a Presidential citation to the remains +of the Third Company. +They were involved in a police +action in the system of Veganea, +and their morale is shattered. As +you know, the award is traditional, +as is the speech. Here's the +text—all you need do is read it."</p> + +<p>"All right," President Wong +said, taking the paper from Al's +hand and scanning it. There was +only one paragraph.</p> + +<p>The door opened and four old +men entered, followed by an honor +guard of eight husky privates. +They approached the desk and +stood at attention. President +Wong looked up from the speech +and felt a wave of sudden nausea. +For a second, he was afraid +that he actually was going to be +sick. None of their old lined faces +was complete. The worst wounded +had less than half a face, and +that discolored by purple blotches +of radiation scar-tissue. He was +blind, and the others maneuvered +him into position before the desk.</p> + +<p>"For the heroic parts which +you played in the Police Action +against Veganea—" Wong stumbled +over the name, then continued +hastily—"I, the President of +the Solar Union, hereby...."</p> + +<p>"Rot," said the blind one, +through toothless gums in a voice +that was only a hoarse whisper. +"Tell me, do you know where +Veganea is? Does anyone on +Earth know where Veganea is, or +care? How many men, Mr. President, +how many men, young and +healthy, left for that police action? +Do you know?" His hoarse +voice rose. "Four came back ... but +can any of you gentlemen +tell me <i>how many left</i>?"</p> + +<p>"That's enough," the Manager +of Defense said. At his signal, +two of the honor guards gently +took hold of the veteran's arms +and walked him out of the room +along with the others.</p> + +<p>"I order that he not be punished," +Wong said sharply.</p> + +<p>"He won't be," the Manager of +Defense said. "Do you take me +for a barbarian? I had hoped, +though, that your interest might +change their attitude. As you can +imagine, it's raising hell with the +morale of the recruits."</p> + +<p>"By the way," the President +asked, "where is Veganea, and +how many men <i>did</i> we send +there?"</p> + +<p>"It's about twenty-four years +away, near Vega. The action +started before my time and I +don't know how many men were +involved—probably not more than +a few million. The Police Action +ended successfully, but our ships +were in the first wave and were +wiped out."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he President sat down wearily. +His hand strayed over to +the order he had signed that +morning for a police action, then +drifted aimlessly away.</p> + +<p>"What's next?" he asked Al. +He slipped a few energy pills into +his mouth as Al consulted his +book.</p> + +<p>"There's the matter of the conversion +bomb," Al said. "The +Manager of Scientific Research +and the Manager of Defense +would like you to make a decision +about it."</p> + +<p>"The conversion bomb?" President +Wong said, puzzled. "I've +never heard of it."</p> + +<p>"It is highest level top secret," +the Manager of Defense explained. +"Instead of breaking down +atoms and releasing some energy +as in the standard fission weapons, +it converts matter entirely +into energy. Given the matter-energy +equation, the energy released +by a small amount of +matter is fantastic."</p> + +<p>Al had risen and gone to the +door. He returned with an old, +gray-haired, stoop-shouldered +man. The President recognized +the famous Manager of Research.</p> + +<p>The Manager launched immediately +into his argument without +preliminaries. "Mr. President, +while my department has finally +found a way to convert matter +directly into energy, I believe +that any use of this process would +be disastrous. First, there is absolutely +no safeguard that could +prevent a matter-conversion powered +machine, used for peaceful +purposes, from being changed +into a lethal weapon by the simplest +of alterations. And as a +weapon, the conversion bomb, unlike +atomic bombs, could not +only destroy planets but stars +with their entire systems. We all +know that the law of the Galaxy +is to prevent its domination by +any one system—and given the +distances and populations involved, +that domination is obviously +impossible. But if we +began to construct conversion +bombs, and if word of it got out, +the whole Galaxy would rise +against us, all the way to the +Edge."</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. President," the Manager +of Defense said calmly. "We +are not a unique people. If we +do not produce the conversion +bomb, you may rest assured that +someone else will. Maybe even +our friends, the Gnii. No system +has ever saved itself by refusing +to manufacture the best weapons +available to it. As for the Galaxy +rising against us—if we have the +conversion bomb, let them! We +will be able to defend ourselves +against any or all of them and +blast their suns into novae."</p> + +<p>"Until <i>they</i> have the bomb," +the Manager of Scientific Research +interrupted. "As you say, +we are not a unique people."</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," the President +said, standing up suddenly. "I feel +tired and dizzy. The idea of a +bomb that can wipe out systems +is new to me. If you will leave +your tapes, I will study your +arguments tonight, and we can +resume this discussion tomorrow."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he two Managers rose immediately, +shook hands with +the President, and left. They did +not speak to each other as they +went through the door.</p> + +<p>"Mr. President," Al said, "it's +seven o'clock. Will you join me +for dinner, sir?"</p> + +<p>President Wong slumped back +into his seat and stared dully at +Al, only half noticing his friendly +grin. "What would you do about +the Gnii, Al, if you were in my +place?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, sir," Al said, "but +I really don't know. Better come +along for some dinner. You've +had a hard day, and you have +a harder one ahead of you tomorrow. +We saved a number of +difficult problems that we didn't +want to throw at you on your +first day in office."</p> + +<p>A ghost of a smile crept over +the President's face, then disappeared +quickly. "It's all right, Al. +Go ahead and eat. I think I'll +just stay here and go over these +tapes."</p> + +<p>As Al left, President Wong saw +the order for the police action on +his desk. He picked it up to call +Al to take it with him, but his +eyes caught the words <i>500,000 +men</i> ... <i>sixteen years</i>, and a picture +of the terribly wounded veterans +flashed before his eyes. +Really, he would have to go +through the files and find out if +the expedition was necessary....</p> + +<p>He opened the left-hand desk +drawer and stared at the Gnii +tapes, but he didn't take any of +them out. It seemed like too much +of an effort.</p> + +<p>And then, the conversion bomb +was so much more important.</p> + +<p>He closed the first drawer and +opened the one with the conversion +bomb tapes.</p> + +<p>But the Gnii had to be answered +tomorrow—the bomb +could wait. He slammed the +drawer shut.</p> + +<p>"Gnii," he muttered to himself, +and opened the other drawer.</p> + +<p>Then he noticed that he had +put the police action order back +into his <span class="smcap">outgoing</span> basket. He +slammed the drawer with the Gnii +tapes shut again and opened the +drawer below it and pushed the +order inside, so that it wouldn't +be picked up by mistake before +he could check on it.</p> + +<p>"Five hundred thousand men +in here," he said as he closed the +drawer. "Going to—"</p> + +<p>Where were they supposed to +go? He couldn't remember. He +opened the drawer again and +looked at the order. To Altair D. +The name had no meaning for +him.</p> + +<p>Now, let's see ... oh, yes, the +conversion bomb tape.</p> + +<p>He opened the drawer to take +out the tapes, and remembered +that the Gnii ultimatum had to +be answered by tomorrow.</p> + +<p>"Gnii, Gnu, Gnuts," he said, +opening a drawer. It was the +wrong one, and the tapes weren't +there. Which tapes?</p> + +<p>The door opened, and President +Wong looked up to see Al's +smiling face peering in.</p> + +<p>"I was passing by, sir," Al said, +"and I wondered if I couldn't +talk you into supper—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Get out!</i>" the President shouted.</p> + +<p>The door closed softly.</p> + +<p>Now where was he?... Oh, yes, +the conversion bomb. Conversion, +conversion, conversation, bomb, +bomb, boom, <i>BOOM</i>. But that +wasn't it either—it was the Gnii, +they had to be answered by tomorrow.... +Gnii, Gnii, Gnu, +Gnuts, now in what drawer had +he put the gnats? And why order +a police action against Gnats? +Just convert every one of them +into spiders....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>l walked slowly down the +hall, his grin gone, his face +looking washed out. He turned +into his own little office and +snapped on the communications +video.</p> + +<p>"First Vice-President Michael +Thompson," he said to the operator.</p> + +<p>In a moment Thompson appeared +on the screen.</p> + +<p>"Mr. First Vice-President," Al +said in a tired voice, "may I +suggest that you remain in the +Capital for the next few weeks?"</p> + +<p>Even though he knew that it +was not polite, Al snapped off +the set without waiting for a reply—but +not before he caught the +white and frightened look on +Thompson's face.</p> + +<p class="p1"><b>—STEPHEN ARR</b></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. President, by Stephen Arr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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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: Mr. President + +Author: Stephen Arr + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook #32719] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PRESIDENT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1953. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + Mr. President + + + By STEPHEN ARR + + + Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS + + + He had been overwhelmingly elected. Messages of sympathy + poured in, but they couldn't help ... nothing could. + + * * * * * + + + + +George Wong stood pale and silent by the video screen, listening to +the election returns, a long-stemmed glass of champagne clutched +forgotten in his trembling right hand. + +The announcer droned on: "--latest returns from Venus, with half of +the election districts reporting, give three billion four hundred and +ninety-six million votes for Wong, against one billion, four hundred +million for Thompson, one billion one hundred million for Miccio, and +nine hundred million for Kau. These results, added to the almost +complete returns from Earth and the first fragmentary reports from +Mars, clearly indicate a landslide vote for Wong as the next President +of the Solar Union. The two billion votes from Ganymede and Callisto, +which will be received early tomorrow morning, cannot appreciably +affect the results. The battle for the twenty-five Vice-Presidents is +less clear. It is certain that Thompson, Miccio, Kau, Singh, and +DuLavier will all be among those elected, but in what order is not +yet...." + +Wong leaned over and snapped the video off. His shoulders sagged. He +leaned against the console as though too tired to move, a slight, +narrow-shouldered man with a very high forehead and thin receding +black hair. His large, sad, almond-shaped eyes and yellow-tinted skin +indicated that there was a good deal of Asiatic in the mixed blood +that flowed through his veins. + +"I'm sorry, truly sorry," Michael Thompson said sympathetically, +placing a friendly arm across the narrow shoulders of the successful +candidate. They were alone in the living room of the hotel suite in +New Geneva, which they had shared for the campaign. "The people chose +well. After the wonderful job you did in organizing the colonization +of Io and Europa, you were the logical man. And then you do have the +fantastic Responsibility Quotient of 9.6 out of 10. Anyway," he added +with a weary shrug, "don't feel too bad--it looks as though I'll be +First Vice-President." + +A brief ghost of a smile crossed George Wong's face. "We who are about +to die salute you," he said, lifting his glass in a bitter toast to +the blank video screen. + +Thompson, the man who was to be First Vice-President, silently joined +him. + +"At least," Wong sighed, putting his empty glass down on the video, "I +don't have a family. Look at poor Kau. At Miccio. With wives and +children, how they must have suffered when they learned they had been +drafted by the conventions.... Well, I guess there's nothing else to +do but to go to bed and wait until they come for me in the morning. +Good night, Michael." + +"Good night, George," Michael Thompson said. He turned toward his own +room. "I _am_ sorry," he said again. + + * * * * * + +Wong had already eaten breakfast and was dressed in an inconspicuous +tweed suit for the inauguration when the chimes sounded, telling him +that they were at the door. Slowly, he walked to the door and opened +it. + +"Good morning, Mr. President," the man outside said cheerily, flashing +his famous grin. George Wong immediately recognized Al Grimm, the man +who had been personal secretary to sixty-three Presidents. He was one +of the vast army of civil servants who kept the wheels of government +turning smoothly until Presidents were able to make the decisions +that would create policy. + +"Good morning, Al," George Wong said. "I am afraid I'll have to place +myself completely in your hands for these first few days. Do we go to +the Executive Mansion for the inauguration now?" + +"Yes, sir. Then, after your inauguration, to the office. Messages of +condolence have been pouring in all night, but I don't think you want +to bother with them. However, I am afraid we will have to bring up +some of the problems that have arisen in the two weeks since President +Reynolds left office." + +"How is he?" Wong asked. "I knew him, you know. He taught at Venus +University at the same time I did. He was a fine man." + +"I'm afraid he's no better," Al said, shaking his head. "We're doing +all we can for him, but he won't even speak to his wife. You know how +difficult it is." + +"Yes, I know," Wong said. + +They rode downstairs in silence and walked to the Presidential Copter +parked in the street in front of the house. A few guards loitered in +the vicinity, but there were no crowds. They entered the plush copter, +which rose smoothly under its whirling blades and carried them over +the city, landing finally on the lawn of the Executive Mansion. + +Chief Justice Herz met them, dressed in a blue business suit, and +after they shook hands he administered the oath. + +"Do you, George Wong," he asked, "swear to make every decision you are +asked to make as President of the Solar Union for the benefit of the +people of the Union and in accord with what you believe to be fair and +just, fully cognizant of the fact that the welfare of seventy-five +billion citizens of the Union is dependent on you?" + +"I do," George Wong said, through a painfully dry throat that would +barely permit the words to come out. + + * * * * * + +They all shook hands again. Then Al Grimm led the President across the +grassy lawn, into the mansion, and up to the office that had served +over a thousand Presidents. Wong entered it nervously. It was a large +plain room, severely decorated. Tentatively, he slid into the chair +behind the huge steel desk, and began opening the drawers. He found +them fully stocked with tapes, a recorder, all the other necessities. +The desk and everything else in the room was brand new. There was no +trace anywhere of his predecessors, and he was relieved to find it so. +The Psychology Department at work, he thought. + +"While we are moving your effects into the living quarters, Mr. +President," Al said from the doorway, "I wonder if we could start +discussing the problem of the Gnii ... their Ambassadors have +presented an ultimatum, and they demand an answer today." + + * * * * * + +So soon, President Wong thought. Couldn't he have just a few hours to +get used to his office, to wander through the building, to explore the +green garden that he could see from his barred window stretching out +behind the mansion? + +For a second, he almost rebelled; but even as he thought of answering +no, he realized that he never would. The Psych Agents had measured his +Responsibility Quotient at 9.6, and they didn't make mistakes. + +"Of course," he answered with forced enthusiasm. "Who do you suggest I +discuss the matter with? For that matter, who are the Gnii?" + +"I have the Manager of Defense, the Manager of Trade, and the Manager +of Foreign Affairs waiting in the anteroom. With your permission, I'll +call them in and they'll explain the problem. But first, if you would +sign this order ... it has already been approved by President Reynolds +and by all of the Managers concerned." + +President Wong took the paper. It was an order sending a space +platoon, 5,000 warships and 500,000 men, to the system of Altair A, to +place themselves under the command of the Grasvian fleet for an attack +against the system of Altair D. + +The President frowned. "What's the story behind this?" + +"As you know," Al explained patiently, "there is an unwritten +agreement throughout the Galaxy that if any system conquers too many +other systems, an intersystem police force is formed to cut the +conqueror down. Since for all practical purposes, there is an infinity +of systems in the Galaxy, and as each conqueror borders on more and +more of them as he grows larger in three-dimensional expansion, unlike +the one-dimensional conquests that used to occur on the surface of +planets, conquest of the Galaxy is an obvious impossibility. However, +the inhabitants of Altair D seem to have embarked on a policy of +reckless expansion that could reach us in time." + +"I see," President Wong said. "How far away are they?" + +"It will take the platoon sixteen years to get to the rendezvous. They +will remain for ten years, then return. Because of the distance, we +are not expected to send more than this token force." + + * * * * * + +President Wong looked at the order. It had already been signed by +President Reynolds, by the Managers of Defense and of Foreign Affairs. +After all, even though forty-two years was a long period of time to +chop out of a man's life, only 500,000 men were involved, and it was +the duty of every citizen to give his life for his planet if required. + +With an impatient motion, he rolled his thumbprint in the soft plastic +signature space, and held it for a second as it hardened. Then he +threw the order into a basket labeled OUTGOING CORRESPONDENCE. + +His first official duty completed, he should have felt exhilarated; +but instead, nagging thoughts of guilt tugged at his brain. + +Who were the inhabitants of Altair D, anyway? How did he know that the +police action was just? Shouldn't he get out the whole file and go +over it? + +But that would take days ... and there was the matter of the Gnii, +whoever they were. + +The three managers entered. President Wong stood up and shook hands +with them. They didn't waste time on other preliminaries, but rushed +straight into business. + +"The Gnii," the Manager of Trade, a large, red-faced man said, "demand +that we remove our trading planetoid from their system. They allege +that the planetoid is a security risk, in that it could be used for +remote-control bombing of any of their planets. They threaten that if +we don't remove it voluntarily, they will attack it, and their +Ambassadors are here in person to take our reply to their ultimatum." + +There was nothing unusual in that, President Wong knew. Since both +spaceships and any other known means of communication traveled at the +speed of light, it was now more common to send Ambassadors on +important missions than to send messages. + +"What do you think we should do?" President Wong asked the Manager of +Trade. + + * * * * * + +"I think we should tell them to go to hell," the Manager of Trade +replied, his heavy face turning redder. "After all, we have a million +trading planetoids out in the Galaxy--if we retreat here, we set a +dangerous precedent." + +"I see," Wong said, frowning. "I don't recall any alien trading +planetoids in _our_ system." + +"Of course not, Mr. President," said the Manager Of Foreign Affairs, a +tall, lean, distinguished-looking gentleman with blue eyes and +iron-gray hair. "We don't permit them, for much the same reason that +the Gnii want them removed from their system. Trading planetoids are +usually only tolerated in backward systems. Apparently the Gnii no +longer desire to be considered backward. I, for one, think that we +would be making a mistake not to accede to their request." + +"Oh, that's very fine, decent, sporting and all that," the Manager of +Trade said irritatedly. "But I have to worry about feeding this +overpopulated system of ours, which would starve if it weren't for +intersystem trade--a significant part of which is carried on through +the planetoids." + +"Can we protect the threatened planetoid?" President Wong asked the +Manager of Defense, a short, slim black man with flaming red hair. + +The Manager of Defense considered his reply carefully. "Not if they +are willing to pay a terrific price to destroy it," he said finally. +"After all, it's thirty-three years away. While we can send out a +fleet immediately that would get there at the same time as the +Ambassadors, and before they could mount an attack, we hardly could +send reinforcements and replacements once the battle is joined. But +from the best information available, I think that a small force of +twenty or twenty-five thousand troops should be able to frighten the +Gnii out of doing anything foolish. They aren't very far advanced." + +"Thirty-three years," President Wong said frowning. "That means a +mixed crew with facilities for children. I am told that things often +go wrong on that type of mission." + +The Manager of Defense nodded. "They do," he agreed shortly. "However, +I have analyzed that problem in detail in my report." + +President Wong sighed. "If you gentlemen will leave your reports with +me, I will make my decision by tomorrow morning." + +Each of the Managers gave him several rolls of tape. Those of the +Manager of Trade felt by far the heaviest. President Wong slipped them +into the racks in his upper left-hand desk drawer. + +"Ask the Gnii to come in," he said to Al. + + * * * * * + +Al pushed a button on the arm of his chair, and the door swung open. +Four large spidery creatures entered the room, followed by a small +bald man. Their round bodies were encased in plastic globes, in which +a whitish translucent gas swirled. They walked over to the President's +desk, and the leader extended a hairy leg. + +With an effort, President Wong forced himself to take the leg with his +hand and pump it up and down. He noticed that the creature withdrew +the leg as soon as it was decently possible, and smiled a bit as he +concluded that their aversion was mutual. + +The Gnii stepped back and began waving his two front legs. + +"He is asking for your reply to his ultimatum," the small bald man +interpreted. + +"Tell him I'll give him a definite decision tomorrow," President Wong +said. "Apologize for my not being able to reply today, and point out +that since it will take him thirty-three years to get home, one day +will not make much difference." + +[Illustration] + +The bald interpreter waved his hands. The four Gnii went into a small +huddle, waving their spidery legs at each other. Then the leader +turned to the interpreter again and "spoke." + +"They say that they agree," the interpreter said. "But they want to +emphasize that it is not because they fear the power of the Solar +System." + +The Gnii leader hesitated a moment, then extended his leg again. +President Wong pumped it once. The Gnii dropped his hand and turned +and left the room, with the three others and the interpreter filing +after him. + +"If you don't need me any more," the Manager of Trade said, glancing +at his watch, "I'll go back to the Trade Bureau. I have a meeting with +a number of the department heads." + +President Wong nodded tiredly. "I have the tapes. I'll study all your +positions tonight." + + * * * * * + +The Manager of Trade and the Manager of Foreign Affairs rose and left +the room. The Manager of Defense stayed in his seat. + +"If you feel up to it," Al said, "the Manager of Defense would +appreciate it if you would present a Presidential citation to the +remains of the Third Company. They were involved in a police action in +the system of Veganea, and their morale is shattered. As you know, the +award is traditional, as is the speech. Here's the text--all you need +do is read it." + +"All right," President Wong said, taking the paper from Al's hand and +scanning it. There was only one paragraph. + +The door opened and four old men entered, followed by an honor guard +of eight husky privates. They approached the desk and stood at +attention. President Wong looked up from the speech and felt a wave of +sudden nausea. For a second, he was afraid that he actually was going +to be sick. None of their old lined faces was complete. The worst +wounded had less than half a face, and that discolored by purple +blotches of radiation scar-tissue. He was blind, and the others +maneuvered him into position before the desk. + +"For the heroic parts which you played in the Police Action against +Veganea--" Wong stumbled over the name, then continued hastily--"I, +the President of the Solar Union, hereby...." + +"Rot," said the blind one, through toothless gums in a voice that was +only a hoarse whisper. "Tell me, do you know where Veganea is? Does +anyone on Earth know where Veganea is, or care? How many men, Mr. +President, how many men, young and healthy, left for that police +action? Do you know?" His hoarse voice rose. "Four came back ... but +can any of you gentlemen tell me _how many left_?" + +"That's enough," the Manager of Defense said. At his signal, two of +the honor guards gently took hold of the veteran's arms and walked him +out of the room along with the others. + +"I order that he not be punished," Wong said sharply. + +"He won't be," the Manager of Defense said. "Do you take me for a +barbarian? I had hoped, though, that your interest might change their +attitude. As you can imagine, it's raising hell with the morale of the +recruits." + +"By the way," the President asked, "where is Veganea, and how many men +_did_ we send there?" + +"It's about twenty-four years away, near Vega. The action started +before my time and I don't know how many men were involved--probably +not more than a few million. The Police Action ended successfully, but +our ships were in the first wave and were wiped out." + + * * * * * + +The President sat down wearily. His hand strayed over to the order he +had signed that morning for a police action, then drifted aimlessly +away. + +"What's next?" he asked Al. He slipped a few energy pills into his +mouth as Al consulted his book. + +"There's the matter of the conversion bomb," Al said. "The Manager of +Scientific Research and the Manager of Defense would like you to make +a decision about it." + +"The conversion bomb?" President Wong said, puzzled. "I've never heard +of it." + +"It is highest level top secret," the Manager of Defense explained. +"Instead of breaking down atoms and releasing some energy as in the +standard fission weapons, it converts matter entirely into energy. +Given the matter-energy equation, the energy released by a small +amount of matter is fantastic." + +Al had risen and gone to the door. He returned with an old, +gray-haired, stoop-shouldered man. The President recognized the famous +Manager of Research. + +The Manager launched immediately into his argument without +preliminaries. "Mr. President, while my department has finally found a +way to convert matter directly into energy, I believe that any use of +this process would be disastrous. First, there is absolutely no +safeguard that could prevent a matter-conversion powered machine, used +for peaceful purposes, from being changed into a lethal weapon by the +simplest of alterations. And as a weapon, the conversion bomb, unlike +atomic bombs, could not only destroy planets but stars with their +entire systems. We all know that the law of the Galaxy is to prevent +its domination by any one system--and given the distances and +populations involved, that domination is obviously impossible. But if +we began to construct conversion bombs, and if word of it got out, the +whole Galaxy would rise against us, all the way to the Edge." + +"But, Mr. President," the Manager of Defense said calmly. "We are not +a unique people. If we do not produce the conversion bomb, you may +rest assured that someone else will. Maybe even our friends, the Gnii. +No system has ever saved itself by refusing to manufacture the best +weapons available to it. As for the Galaxy rising against us--if we +have the conversion bomb, let them! We will be able to defend +ourselves against any or all of them and blast their suns into novae." + +"Until _they_ have the bomb," the Manager of Scientific Research +interrupted. "As you say, we are not a unique people." + +"Gentlemen," the President said, standing up suddenly. "I feel tired +and dizzy. The idea of a bomb that can wipe out systems is new to me. +If you will leave your tapes, I will study your arguments tonight, and +we can resume this discussion tomorrow." + + * * * * * + +The two Managers rose immediately, shook hands with the President, and +left. They did not speak to each other as they went through the door. + +"Mr. President," Al said, "it's seven o'clock. Will you join me for +dinner, sir?" + +President Wong slumped back into his seat and stared dully at Al, only +half noticing his friendly grin. "What would you do about the Gnii, +Al, if you were in my place?" he asked. + +"I'm sorry, sir," Al said, "but I really don't know. Better come along +for some dinner. You've had a hard day, and you have a harder one +ahead of you tomorrow. We saved a number of difficult problems that we +didn't want to throw at you on your first day in office." + +A ghost of a smile crept over the President's face, then disappeared +quickly. "It's all right, Al. Go ahead and eat. I think I'll just stay +here and go over these tapes." + +As Al left, President Wong saw the order for the police action on his +desk. He picked it up to call Al to take it with him, but his eyes +caught the words _500,000 men_ ... _sixteen years_, and a picture of +the terribly wounded veterans flashed before his eyes. Really, he +would have to go through the files and find out if the expedition was +necessary.... + +He opened the left-hand desk drawer and stared at the Gnii tapes, but +he didn't take any of them out. It seemed like too much of an effort. + +And then, the conversion bomb was so much more important. + +He closed the first drawer and opened the one with the conversion bomb +tapes. + +But the Gnii had to be answered tomorrow--the bomb could wait. He +slammed the drawer shut. + +"Gnii," he muttered to himself, and opened the other drawer. + +Then he noticed that he had put the police action order back into his +OUTGOING basket. He slammed the drawer with the Gnii tapes shut again +and opened the drawer below it and pushed the order inside, so that it +wouldn't be picked up by mistake before he could check on it. + +"Five hundred thousand men in here," he said as he closed the drawer. +"Going to--" + +Where were they supposed to go? He couldn't remember. He opened the +drawer again and looked at the order. To Altair D. The name had no +meaning for him. + +Now, let's see ... oh, yes, the conversion bomb tape. + +He opened the drawer to take out the tapes, and remembered that the +Gnii ultimatum had to be answered by tomorrow. + +"Gnii, Gnu, Gnuts," he said, opening a drawer. It was the wrong one, +and the tapes weren't there. Which tapes? + +The door opened, and President Wong looked up to see Al's smiling face +peering in. + +"I was passing by, sir," Al said, "and I wondered if I couldn't talk +you into supper--" + +"_Get out!_" the President shouted. + +The door closed softly. + +Now where was he?... Oh, yes, the conversion bomb. Conversion, +conversion, conversation, bomb, bomb, boom, _BOOM_. But that wasn't it +either--it was the Gnii, they had to be answered by tomorrow.... Gnii, +Gnii, Gnu, Gnuts, now in what drawer had he put the gnats? And why +order a police action against Gnats? Just convert every one of them +into spiders.... + + * * * * * + +Al walked slowly down the hall, his grin gone, his face looking washed +out. He turned into his own little office and snapped on the +communications video. + +"First Vice-President Michael Thompson," he said to the operator. + +In a moment Thompson appeared on the screen. + +"Mr. First Vice-President," Al said in a tired voice, "may I suggest +that you remain in the Capital for the next few weeks?" + +Even though he knew that it was not polite, Al snapped off the set +without waiting for a reply--but not before he caught the white and +frightened look on Thompson's face. + + --STEPHEN ARR + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. President, by Stephen Arr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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