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+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: 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
+
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