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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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