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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa4140e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50441 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50441) diff --git a/old/50441-8.txt b/old/50441-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d0d8d79..0000000 --- a/old/50441-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6863 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Master of Life and Death, by Robert Silverberg - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Master of Life and Death - -Author: Robert Silverberg - -Release Date: November 12, 2015 [EBook #50441] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - _MASTER - of Life and Death_ - - by - ROBERT SILVERBERG - - ACE BOOKS - A Division of A. A. Wyn, Inc. - 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y. - - - MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH - - Copyright 1957, by A. A. Wyn, Inc. - All Rights Reserved - - For Antigone-- - Who Thinks We're Property - - Printed in U.S.A. - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any - evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - -THE MAN WHO RATIONED BABIES - - -By the 23rd century Earth's population had reached seven billion. -Mankind was in danger of perishing for lack of elbow room--unless -prompt measures were taken. Roy Walton had the power to enforce those -measures. But though his job was in the service of humanity, he soon -found himself the most hated man in the world. - -For it was _his_ job to tell parents their children were unfit to live; -_he_ had to uproot people from their homes and send them to remote -areas of the world. Now, threatened by mobs of outraged citizens, -denounced and blackened by the press, Roy Walton had to make a -decision: resign his post, or use his power to destroy his enemies, -become a dictator in the hopes of saving humanity from its own folly. -In other words, should he become the MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH? - - - - -CAST OF CHARACTERS - - -ROY WALTON - -He had to adopt the motto--_the ends justify the means_. - - -FITZMAUGHAM - -His reward for devoted service was--an assassin's bullet. - - -FRED WALTON - -His ambition was to fill his brother's shoes--but he underestimated -their size. - - -LEE PERCY - -His specialty was sugarcoating bitter pills. - - -PRIOR - -With the pen as his only weapon, could he save his son? - - -DR. LAMARRE - -He died for discovering the secret of immortality. - - - - -I - - -The offices of the Bureau of Population Equalization, vulgarly known -as Popeek, were located on the twentieth through twenty-ninth floors -of the Cullen Building, a hundred-story monstrosity typical of -twenty-second-century neo-Victorian at its overdecorated worst. Roy -Walton, Popeek's assistant administrator, had to apologize to himself -each morning as he entered the hideous place. - -Since taking the job, he had managed to redecorate his own office--on -the twenty-eighth floor, immediately below Director FitzMaugham's--but -that had created only one minor oasis in the esthetically repugnant -building. It couldn't be helped, though; Popeek was unpopular, though -necessary; and, like the public hangman of some centuries earlier, the -Bureau did not rate attractive quarters. - -So Walton had removed some of the iridescent chrome scalloping that -trimmed the walls, replaced the sash windows with opaquers, and changed -the massive ceiling fixture to more subtle electroluminescents. But the -mark of the last century was stamped irrevocably on both building and -office. - -Which was as it should be, Walton had finally realized. It was the last -century's foolishness that had made Popeek necessary, after all. - -His desk was piled high with reports, and more kept arriving via -pneumochute every minute. The job of assistant administrator was -a thankless one, he thought; as much responsibility as Director -FitzMaugham, and half the pay. - -He lifted a report from one eyebrow-high stack, smoothed the crinkly -paper carefully, and read it. - -It was a despatch from Horrocks, the Popeek agent currently on duty in -Patagonia. It was dated _4 June 2232_, six days before, and after a -long and rambling prologue in the usual Horrocks manner it went on to -say, _Population density remains low here: 17.3 per square mile, far -below optimum. Looks like a prime candidate for equalization._ - -Walton agreed. He reached for his voicewrite and said sharply, "Memo -from Assistant Administrator Walton, re equalization of ..." He paused, -picking a trouble-spot at random, "... central Belgium. Will the -section chief in charge of this area please consider the advisability -of transferring population excess to fertile areas in Patagonia? -Recommendation: establishment of industries in latter region, to ease -transition." - -He shut his eyes, dug his thumbs into them until bright flares of light -shot across his eyeballs, and refused to let himself be bothered by -the multiple problems involved in dumping several hundred thousand -Belgians into Patagonia. He forced himself to cling to one of Director -FitzMaugham's oft-repeated maxims, _If you want to stay sane, think of -these people as pawns in a chess game--not as human beings._ - -Walton sighed. This was the biggest chess problem in the history of -humanity, and the way it looked now, all the solutions led to checkmate -in a century or less. They could keep equalizing population only so -long, shifting like loggers riding logs in a rushing river, before -trouble came. - -There was another matter to be attended to now. He picked up the -voicewrite again. "Memo from the assistant administrator, re -establishment of new policy on reports from local agents: hire a staff -of three clever girls to make a précis of each report, eliminating -irrelevant data." - -It was a basic step, one that should have been taken long ago. Now, -with three feet of reports stacked on his desk, it was mandatory. One -of the troubles with Popeek was its newness; it had been established so -suddenly that most of its procedures were still in the formative stage. - -He took another report from the heap. This one was the data sheet of -the Zurich Euthanasia Center, and he gave it a cursory scanning. During -the past week, eleven substandard children and twenty-three substandard -adults had been sent on to Happysleep. - -That was the grimmest form of population equalization. Walton initialed -the report, earmarked it for files, and dumped it in the pneumochute. - -The annunciator chimed. - -"I'm busy," Walton said immediately. - -"There's a Mr. Prior to see you," the annunciator's calm voice said. -"He insists it's an emergency." - -"Tell Mr. Prior I can't see anyone for at least three hours." Walton -stared gloomily at the growing pile of paper on his desk. "Tell him he -can have ten minutes with me at--oh, say, 1300." - -Walton heard an angry male voice muttering something in the outer -office, and then the annunciator said, "He insists he must see you -immediately in reference to a Happysleep commitment." - -"Commitments are irrevocable," Walton said heavily. The last thing in -the world he wanted was to see a man whose child or parent had just -been committed. "Tell Mr. Prior I can't see him at all." - -Walton found his fingers trembling; he clamped them tight to the edge -of his desk to steady himself. It was all right sitting up here in this -ugly building and initialing commitment papers, but actually to _see_ -one of those people and try to convince him of the need-- - -The door burst open. - -A tall, dark-haired man in an open jacket came rushing through and -paused dramatically just over the threshold. Immediately behind him -came three unsmiling men in the gray silk-sheen uniforms of security. -They carried drawn needlers. - -"Are you Administrator Walton?" the big man asked, in an astonishingly -deep, rich voice. "I have to see you. I'm Lyle Prior." - -The three security men caught up and swarmed all over Prior. One of -them turned apologetically to Walton. "We're terribly sorry about this, -sir. He just broke away and ran. We can't understand how he got in -here, but he did." - -"Ah--yes. So I noticed," Walton remarked drily. "See if he's planning -to assassinate anybody, will you?" - -"Administrator Walton!" Prior protested. "I'm a man of peace! How can -you accuse me of--" - -One of the security men hit him. Walton stiffened and resisted the urge -to reprimand the man. He was only doing his job, after all. - -"Search him," Walton said. - -They gave Prior an efficient going-over. "He's clean, Mr. Walton. -Should we take him to security, or downstairs to health?" - -"Neither. Leave him here with me." - -"Are you sure you--" - -"Get out of here," Walton snapped. As the three security men slinked -away, he added, "And figure out some more efficient system for -protecting me. Some day an assassin is going to sneak through here -and get me. Not that I give a damn about myself, you understand; it's -simply that I'm indispensable. There isn't another lunatic in the world -who'd take this job. Now _get out_!" - -They wasted no time in leaving. Walton waited until the door closed -and jammed down hard on the lockstud. His tirade, he knew, was wholly -unjustified; if he had remembered to lock his door as regulations -prescribed, Prior would never have broken in. But he couldn't admit -that to the guards. - -"Take a seat, Mr. Prior." - -"I have to thank you for granting me this audience," Prior said, -without a hint of sarcasm in his booming voice. "I realize you're a -terribly busy man." - -"I am." Another three inches of paper had deposited itself on Walton's -desk since Prior had entered. "You're very lucky to have hit the -psychological moment for your entrance. At any other time I'd have -had you brigged for a month, but just now I'm in need of a little -diversion. Besides, I very much admire your work, Mr. Prior." - -"Thank you." Again that humility, startling in so big and commanding a -man. "I hadn't expected to find--I mean that you--" - -"That a bureaucrat should admire poetry? Is that what you're groping -for?" - -Prior reddened. "Yes," he admitted. - -Grinning, Walton said, "I have to do _something_ when I go home at -night. I don't really read Popeek reports twenty-four hours a day. No -more than twenty; that's my rule. I thought your last book was quite -remarkable." - -"The critics didn't," Prior said diffidently. - -"Critics! What do they know?" Walton demanded. "They swing in cycles. -Ten years ago it was form and technique, and you got the Melling Prize. -Now it's message, political content that counts. That's not poetry, Mr. -Prior--and there are still a few of us who recognize what poetry is. -Take Yeats, for instance--" - -Walton was ready to launch into a discussion of every poet from Prior -back to Surrey and Wyatt; anything to keep from the job at hand, -anything to keep his mind from Popeek. But Prior interrupted him. - -"Mr. Walton...." - -"Yes?" - -"My son Philip ... he's two weeks old now...." - -Walton understood. "No, Prior. Please don't ask." Walton's skin felt -cold; his hands, tightly clenched, were clammy. - -"He was committed to Happysleep this morning--potentially tubercular. -The boy's perfectly sound, Mr. Walton. Couldn't you--" - -Walton rose. "_No_," he said, half-commanding, half-pleading. "Don't -ask me to do it. I can't make any exceptions, not even for you. You're -an intelligent man; you understand our program." - -"I voted for Popeek. I know all about Weeding the Garden and the -Euthanasia Plan. But I hadn't expected--" - -"You thought euthanasia was a fine thing for _other_ people. So did -everyone else," Walton said. "That's how the act was passed." Tenderly -he said, "I can't do it. I can't spare your son. Our doctors give a -baby every chance to live." - -"_I_ was tubercular. They cured me. What if they had practiced -euthanasia a generation ago? Where would my poems be now?" - -It was an unanswerable question; Walton tried to ignore it. -"Tuberculosis is an extremely rare disease, Mr. Prior. We can wipe -it out completely if we strike at those with TB-susceptible genetic -traits." - -"Meaning you'll kill any children I have?" Prior asked. - -"Those who inherit your condition," Walton said gently. "Go home, Mr. -Prior. Burn me in effigy. Write a poem about me. But don't ask me to do -the impossible. I can't catch any falling stars for you." - -Prior rose. He was immense, a hulking tragic figure staring broodingly -at Walton. For the first time since the poet's abrupt entry, Walton -feared violence. His fingers groped for the needle gun he kept in his -upper left desk drawer. - -But Prior had no violence in him. "I'll leave you," he said somberly. -"I'm sorry, sir. Deeply sorry. For both of us." - -Walton pressed the doorlock to let him out, then locked it again and -slipped heavily into his chair. Three more reports slid out of the -chute and landed on his desk. He stared at them as if they were three -basilisks. - -In the six weeks of Popeek's existence, three thousand babies had been -ticketed for Happysleep, and three thousand sets of degenerate genes -had been wiped from the race. Ten thousand subnormal males had been -sterilized. Eight thousand dying oldsters had reached their graves -ahead of time. - -It was a tough-minded program. But why transmit palsy to unborn -generations? Why let an adult idiot litter the world with subnormal -progeny? Why force a man hopelessly cancerous to linger on in pain, -consuming precious food? - -Unpleasant? Sure. But the world had voted for it. Until Lang and his -team succeeded in terraforming Venus, or until the faster-than-light -outfit opened the stars to mankind, something had to be done about -Earth's overpopulation. There were seven billion now and the figure was -still growing. - -Prior's words haunted him. _I was tubercular ... where would my poems -be now?_ - -The big humble man was one of the great poets. Keats had been -tubercular too. - -_What good are poets?_ he asked himself savagely. - -The reply came swiftly: _What good is anything, then?_ Keats, -Shakespeare, Eliot, Yeats, Donne, Pound, Matthews ... and Prior. How -much duller life would be without them, Walton thought, picturing -his bookshelf--his one bookshelf, in his crowded little cubicle of a -one-room home. - -Sweat poured down his back as he groped toward his decision. - -The step he was considering would disqualify him from his job if he -admitted it, though he wouldn't do that. Under the Equalization Law, it -would be a criminal act. - -But just one baby wouldn't matter. Just one. - -Prior's baby. - -With nervous fingers he switched on the annunciator and said, "If there -are any calls for me, take the message. I'll be out of my office for -the next half-hour." - - - - -II - - -He stepped out of the office, glancing around furtively. The outer -office was busy: half a dozen girls were answering calls, opening -letters, coordinating activities. Walton slipped quickly past them into -the hallway. - -There was a knot of fear in his stomach as he turned toward the -lift tube. Six weeks of pressure, six weeks of tension since Popeek -was organized and old man FitzMaugham had tapped him for the -second-in-command post ... and now, a rebellion. The sparing of a -single child was a small rebellion, true, but he knew he was striking -as effectively at the base of Popeek this way as if he had brought -about repeal of the entire Equalization Law. - -Well, just one lapse, he promised himself. I'll spare Prior's child, -and after that I'll keep within the law. - -He jabbed the lift tube indicator and the tube rose in its shaft. The -clinic was on the twentieth floor. - -"Roy." - -At the sound of the quiet voice behind him, Walton jumped in surprise. -He steadied himself, forcing himself to turn slowly. The director stood -there. - -"Good morning, Mr. FitzMaugham." - -The old man was smiling serenely, his unlined face warm and friendly, -his mop of white hair bright and full. "You look preoccupied, boy. -Something the matter?" - -Walton shook his head quickly. "Just a little tired, sir. There's been -a lot of work lately." - -As he said it, he knew how foolish it sounded. If anyone in Popeek -worked harder than he did, it was the elderly director. FitzMaugham -had striven for equalization legislature for fifty years, and now, at -the age of eighty, he put in a sixteen-hour day at the task of saving -mankind from itself. - -The director smiled. "You never did learn how to budget your strength, -Roy. You'll be a worn-out wreck before you're half my age. I'm glad -you're adopting my habit of taking a coffee break in the morning, -though. Mind if I join you?" - -"I'm--not taking a break, sir. I have some work to do downstairs." - -"Oh? Can't you take care of it by phone?" - -"No, Mr. FitzMaugham." Walton felt as though he'd already been tried, -drawn, and quartered. "It requires personal attention." - -"I see." The deep, warm eyes bored into his. "You ought to slow down a -little, I think." - -"Yes, sir. As soon as the work eases up a little." - -FitzMaugham chuckled. "In another century or two, you mean. I'm afraid -you'll never learn how to relax, my boy." - -The lift tube arrived. Walton stepped to one side, allowed the Director -to enter, and got in himself. FitzMaugham pushed _Fourteen_; there was -a coffee shop down there. Hesitantly, Walton pushed _twenty_, covering -the panel with his arm so the old man would be unable to see his -destination. - -As the tube began to descend, FitzMaugham said, "Did Mr. Prior come to -see you this morning?" - -"Yes," Walton said. - -"He's the poet, isn't he? The one you say is so good?" - -"That's right, sir," Walton said tightly. - -"He came to see me first, but I had him referred down to you. What was -on his mind?" - -Walton hesitated. "He--he wanted his son spared from Happysleep. -Naturally, I had to turn him down." - -"Naturally," FitzMaugham agreed solemnly. "Once we make even one -exception, the whole framework crumbles." - -"Of course, sir." - -The lift tube halted and rocked on its suspension. The door slid back, -revealing a neat, gleaming sign: - - _FLOOR 20_ - _Euthanasia Clinic and Files_ - -Walton had forgotten the accursed sign. He began to wish he had avoided -traveling down with the director. He felt that his purpose must seem -nakedly obvious now. - -The old man's eyes were twinkling amusedly. "I guess you get off here," -he said. "I hope you catch up with your work soon, Roy. You really -should take some time off for relaxation each day." - -"I'll try, sir." - -Walton stepped out of the tube and returned FitzMaugham's smile as the -door closed again. Bitter thoughts assailed him as soon as he was alone. - -_Some fine criminal you are. You've given the show away already! And -damn that smooth paternal smile. FitzMaugham knows! He must know!_ - -Walton wavered, then abruptly made his decision. He sucked in a deep -breath and walked briskly toward the big room where the euthanasia -files were kept. - - * * * * * - -The room was large, as rooms went nowadays--thirty by twenty, with deck -upon deck of Donnerson micro-memory-tubes racked along one wall and a -bank of microfilm records along the other. In six weeks of life Popeek -had piled up an impressive collection of data. - -While he stood there, the computer chattered, lights flashed. New facts -poured into the memory banks. It probably went on day and night. - -"Can I help--oh, it's you, Mr. Walton," a white-smocked technician -said. Popeek employed a small army of technicians, each one faceless -and without personality, but always ready to serve. "Is there anything -I can do?" - -"I'm simply running a routine checkup. Mind if I use the machine?" - -"Not at all, sir. Go right ahead." - -Walton grinned lightly and stepped forward. The technician practically -backed out of his presence. - -_No doubt I must radiate charisma_, he thought. Within the building he -wore a sort of luminous halo, by virtue of being Director FitzMaugham's -protégé and second-in-command. Outside, in the colder reality of the -crowded metropolis, he kept his identity and Popeek rank quietly to -himself. - -Frowning, he tried to remember the Prior boy's name. Ah ... Philip, -wasn't it? He punched out a request for the card on Philip Prior. - -A moment's pause followed, while the millions of tiny cryotronic -circuits raced with information pulses, searching the Donnerson -tubes for Philip Prior's record. Then, a brief squeaking sound and a -yellow-brown card dropped out of the slot: - - _3216847AB1_ - - _PRIOR, Philip Hugh. Born 31 May 2232, New York General Hospital, - New York. First son of Prior, Lyle Martin and Prior, Ava Leonard. - Wgt. at birth 5lb. 3oz._ - -An elaborate description of the boy in great detail followed, ending -with blood type, agglutinating characteristic, and gene-pattern, -codified. Walton skipped impatiently through that and came to the -notification typed in curt, impersonal green capital letters at the -bottom of the card: - - _EXAMINED AT N Y EUTH CLINIC 10 JUNE 2332_ - - _EUTHANASIA RECOMMENDED_ - -He glanced at his watch: the time was 1026. The boy was probably still -somewhere in the clinic lab, waiting for the figurative axe to descend. - -Walton had set up the schedule himself: the gas chamber delivered -Happysleep each day at 1100 and 1500. He had about half an hour to save -Philip Prior. - -He peered covertly over his shoulder; no one was in sight. He slipped -the baby's card into his breast pocket. - -That done, he typed out a requisition for explanation of the -gene-sorting code the clinic used. Symbols began pouring forth, -and Walton puzzledly correlated them with the line of gibberish on -Phillip Prior's record card. Finally he found the one he wanted: _3f2, -tubercular-prone_. - -He scrapped the guide sheet he had and typed out a message to the -machine. _Revision of card number 3216847AB1 follows. Please alter in -all circuits._ - -He proceeded to retype the child's card, omitting both the fatal symbol -_3f2_ and the notation recommending euthanasia from the new version. -The machine beeped an acknowledgement. Walton smiled. So far, so good. - -Then, he requested the boy's file all over again. After the customary -pause, a card numbered 3216847AB1 dropped out of the slot. He read it. - -The deletions had been made. As far as the machine was concerned, -Philip Prior was a normal, healthy baby. - -He glanced at his watch. 1037. Still twenty-three minutes before this -morning's haul of unfortunates was put away. - -Now came the real test: could he pry the baby away from the doctors -without attracting too much attention to himself in the process? - - * * * * * - -Five doctors were bustling back and forth as Walton entered the main -section of the clinic. There must have been a hundred babies there, -each in a little pen of its own, and the doctors were humming from one -to the next, while anxious parents watched from screens above. - -The Equalization Law provided that every child be presented at its -local clinic within two weeks of birth, for an examination and a -certificate. Perhaps one in ten thousand would be denied a -certificate ... and life. - -"Hello, Mr. Walton. What brings you down here?" - -Walton smiled affably. "Just a routine investigation, Doctor. I try to -keep in touch with every department we have, you know." - -"Mr. FitzMaugham was down here to look around a little while ago. We're -really getting a going-over today, Mr. Walton!" - -"Umm. Yes." Walton didn't like that, but there was nothing he could -do about it. He'd have to rely on the old man's abiding faith in his -protégé to pull him out of any possible stickiness that arose. - -"Seen my brother around?" he asked. - -"Fred? He's working in room seven, running analyses. Want me to get him -for you, Mr. Walton?" - -"No--no, don't bother him, thanks. I'll find him later." Inwardly, -Walton felt relieved. Fred Walton, his younger brother, was a doctor in -the employ of Popeek. Little love was lost between the brothers, and -Roy did not care to have Fred know he was down there. - -Strolling casually through the clinic, he peered at a few plump, -squalling babies, and said, "Find many sour ones today?" - -"Seven so far. They're scheduled for the 1100 chamber. Three tuberc, -two blind, one congenital syph." - -"That only makes six," Walton said. - -"Oh, and a spastic," the doctor said. "Biggest haul we've had yet. -Seven in one morning." - -"Have any trouble with the parents?" - -"What do you think?" the doctor asked. "But some of them seemed to -understand. One of the tuberculars nearly raised the roof, though." - -Walton shuddered. "You remember his name?" he asked, with feigned calm. - -Silence for a moment. "No. Darned if I can think of it. I can look it -up for you if you like." - -"Don't bother," Walton said hurriedly. - -He moved on, down the winding corridor that led to the execution -chamber. Falbrough, the executioner, was studying a list of names at -his desk when Walton appeared. - -Falbrough didn't look like the sort of man who would enjoy his work. He -was short and plump, with a high-domed bald head and glittering contact -lenses in his weak blue eyes. "Morning, Mr. Walton." - -"Good morning, Doctor Falbrough. You'll be operating soon, won't you?" - -"Eleven hundred, as usual." - -"Good. There's a new regulation in effect from now on," Walton said. -"To keep public opinion on our side." - -"Sir?" - -"Henceforth, until further notice, you're to check each baby that -comes to you against the main file, just to make sure there's been no -mistake. Got that?" - -"_Mistake?_ But how--" - -"Never mind that, Falbrough. There was quite a tragic slip-up at one -of the European centers yesterday. We may all hang for it if news gets -out." _How glibly I reel this stuff off_, Walton thought in amazement. - -Falbrough looked grave. "I see, sir. Of course. We'll double-check -everything from now on." - -"Good. Begin with the 1100 batch." - -Walton couldn't bear to remain down in the clinic any longer. He left -via a side exit, and signaled for a lift tube. - -Minutes later he was back in his office, behind the security of a -towering stack of work. His pulse was racing; his throat was dry. He -remembered what FitzMaugham had said: _Once we make even one exception, -the whole framework crumbles._ - -Well, the framework had begun crumbling, then. And there was little -doubt in Walton's mind that FitzMaugham knew or would soon know what he -had done. He would have to cover his traces, somehow. - -The annunciator chimed and said, "Dr. Falbrough of Happysleep calling -you, sir." - -"Put him on." - -The screen lit and Falbrough's face appeared; its normal blandness had -given way to wild-eyed tenseness. - -"What is it, Doctor?" - -"It's a good thing you issued that order when you did, sir! You'll -never guess what just happened--" - -"No guessing games, Falbrough. Speak up." - -"I--well, sir, I ran checks on the seven babies they sent me this -morning. And guess--I mean--well, one of them shouldn't have been sent -to me!" - -"No!" - -"It's the truth, sir. A cute little baby indeed. I've got his card -right here. The boy's name is Philip Prior, and his gene-pattern is -fine." - -"Any recommendation for euthanasia on the card?" Walton asked. - -"No, sir." - -Walton chewed at a ragged cuticle for a moment, counterfeiting great -anxiety. "Falbrough, we're going to have to keep this very quiet. -Someone slipped up in the examining room, and if word gets out that -there's been as much as one mistake, we'll have a mob swarming over us -in half an hour." - -"Yes, sir." Falbrough looked terribly grave. "What should I do, sir?" - -"Don't say a word about this to _anyone_, not even the men in the -examining room. Fill out a certificate for the boy, find his parents, -apologize and return him to them. And make sure you keep checking for -any future cases of this sort." - -"Certainly, sir. Is that all?" - -"It is," Walton said crisply, and broke the contact. He took a deep -breath and stared bleakly at the far wall. - -The Prior boy was safe. And in the eyes of the law--the Equalization -Law--Roy Walton was now a criminal. He was every bit as much a criminal -as the man who tried to hide his dying father from the investigators, -or the anxious parents who attempted to bribe an examining doctor. - -He felt curiously dirty. And, now that he had betrayed FitzMaugham and -the Cause, now that it was done, he had little idea why he had done -it, why he had jeopardized the Popeek program, his position--his life, -even--for the sake of one potentially tubercular baby. - -Well, the thing was done. - -No. Not quite. Later, when things had quieted down, he would have to -finish the job by transferring all the men in the clinic to distant -places and by obliterating the computer's memories of this morning's -activities. - -The annunciator chimed again. "Your brother is on the wire, sir." - -Walton trembled imperceptibly as he said, "Put him on." Somehow, Fred -never called unless he could say or do something unpleasant. And -Walton was very much afraid that his brother meant no good by this -call. No good at all. - - - - -III - - -Roy Walton watched his brother's head and shoulders take form out of -the swirl of colors on the screen. Fred Walton was more compact, built -closer to the ground than his rangy brother; he was a squat five-seven, -next to Roy's lean six-two. Fred had always threatened to "get even" -with his older brother as soon as they were the same size, but to -Fred's great dismay he had never managed to catch up with Roy in height. - -Even on the screen, Fred's neck and shoulders gave an impression of -tremendous solidity and force. Walton waited for his brother's image to -take shape, and when the time lag was over he said, "Well, Fred? What -goes?" - -His brother's eyes flickered sleepily. "They tell me you were down here -a little while ago, Roy. How come I didn't rate a visit?" - -"I wasn't in your section. It was official business, anyway. I didn't -have time." - -Walton fixed his eyes sharply on the caduceus emblem gleaming on Fred's -lapel, and refused to look anywhere else. - -Fred said slowly, "You had time to tinker with our computer, though." - -"Official business!" - -"Really, Roy?" His brother's tone was venomous. "I happened to -be using the computer shortly after you this morning. I was -curious--unpardonably so, dear brother. I requested a transcript of -your conversation with the machine." - -Sparks seemed to flow from the screen. Walton sat back, feeling numb. -He managed to pull his sagging mouth back into a stiff hard line and -say, "That's a criminal offense, Fred. Any use I make of a Popeek -computer outlet is confidential." - -"Criminal offence? Maybe so ... but that makes two of us, then. Eh, -Roy?" - -"How much do you know?" - -"You wouldn't want me to recite it over a public communications system, -would you? Your friend FitzMaugham might be listening to every word of -this, and I have too much fraternal feeling for that. Ole Doc Walton -doesn't want to get his bigwig big brother in trouble--oh, no!" - -"Thanks for small blessings," Roy said acidly. - -"You got me this job. You can take it away. Let's call it even for now, -shall we?" - -"Anything you like," Walton said. He was drenched in sweat, though -the ingenious executive filter in the sending apparatus of the screen -cloaked that fact and presented him as neat and fresh. "I have some -work to do now." His voice was barely audible. - -"I won't keep you any longer, then," Fred said. - -The screen went dead. - -Walton killed the contact at his end, got up, walked to the window. He -nudged the opaquer control and the frosty white haze over the glass -cleared away, revealing the fantastic beehive of the city outside. - -_Idiot!_ he thought. _Fool!_ - -He had risked everything to save one baby, one child probably doomed -to an early death anyway. And FitzMaugham knew--the old man could see -through Walton with ease--and Fred knew, too. His brother, and his -father-substitute. - -FitzMaugham might well choose to conceal Roy's defection this time, -but would surely place less trust in him in the future. And as for -Fred.... - -There was no telling what Fred might do. They had never been -particularly close as brothers; they had lived with their parents (now -almost totally forgotten) until Roy was nine and Fred seven. Their -parents had gone down off Maracaibo in a jet crash; Roy and Fred had -been sent to the public crèche. - -After that it had been separate paths for the brothers. For Roy, an -education in the law, a short spell as Senator FitzMaugham's private -secretary, followed last month by his sudden elevation to assistant -administrator of the newly-created Popeek Bureau. For Fred, medicine, -unsuccessful private practice, finally a job in the Happysleep section -of Popeek, thanks to Roy. - -_And now he has the upper hand for the first time_, Walton thought. _I -hope he's not thirsting for my scalp._ - -He was being ground in a vise; he saw now the gulf between the -toughness needed for a Popeek man and the very real streak of softness -that was part of his character. Walton suddenly realized that he had -never merited his office. His only honorable move would be to offer his -resignation to FitzMaugham at once. - -He thought back, thought of the Senator saying, _This is a job for a -man with no heart. Popeek is the cruelest organization ever legislated -by man. You think you can handle it, Roy?_ - -_I think so, sir. I hope so._ - -He remembered going on to declare some fuzzy phrases about the need -for equalization, the immediate necessity for dealing with Earth's -population problem. - -_Temporary cruelty is the price of eternal happiness_, FitzMaugham had -said. - -Walton remembered the day when the United Nations had finally -agreed, had turned the Population Equalization Bureau loose on a -stunned world. There had been the sharp flare of flash guns, the -clatter of reporters feeding the story to the world, the momentary -high-mindedness, the sense of the nobility of Popeek.... - -And then the six weeks of gathering hatred. No one liked Popeek. No one -liked to put antiseptic on wounds, either, but it had to be done. - -Walton shook his head sorrowfully. He had made a serious mistake by -saving Philip Prior. But resigning his post was no way to atone for it. - -He opaqued the window again and returned to his desk. It was time to go -through the mail. - -The first letter on the stack was addressed to him by hand; he slit it -open and scanned it. - - _Dear Mr Walton_, - - _Yesterday your men came and took away my mother to be kild. She - didn't do nothing and lived a good life for seventy years and I want - you to know I think you people are the biggest vermin since Hitler - and Stalin and when youre old and sick I hope your own men come for - you and stick you in the furnace where you belong. You stink and - all of you stink._ - - Signed, _Disgusted_ - -Walton shrugged and opened the next letter, typed in a crisp voicewrite -script on crinkly watermarked paper. - - _Sir_: - - _I see by the papers that the latest euthanasia figures are the - highest yet, and that you have successfully rid the world of many - of its weak sisters, those who are unable to stand the gaff, those - who, in the words of the immortal Darwin "are not fit to survive." - My heartiest congratulations, sir, upon the scope and ambition of - your bold and courageous program. Your Bureau offers mankind its - first real chance to enter that promised land, that Utopia, that - has been our hope and prayer for so long._ - - _I do sincerely hope, though, that your Bureau is devoting careful - thought to the type of citizen that should be spared. It seems - obvious that the myriad spawning Asiatics should be reduced - tremendously, since their unchecked proliferation has caused such - great hardship to humanity. The same might be said of the Europeans - who refuse to obey the demands of sanity; and, coming closer to - home, I pray you reduce the numbers of Jews, Catholics, Communists, - anti-Herschelites, and other freethinking rabble, in order to make - the new reborn world purer and cleaner and ..._ - -With a sickly cough Walton put the letter down. Most of them were just -this sort: intelligent, rational, bigoted letters. There had been the -educated Alabamian, disturbed that Popeek did not plan to eliminate all -forms of second-class citizens; there had been the Michigan minister, -anxious that no left-wing relativistic atheists escape the gas chamber. - -And, of course, there were the other kind--the barely literate letters -from bereaved parents or relatives, accusing Popeek of nameless crimes -against humanity. - -Well, it was only to be expected, Walton thought. He scribbled his -initials on both the letters and dropped them into the chute that led -to files, where they would be put on microfilm and scrupulously stored -away. FitzMaugham insisted that every letter received be read and so -filed. - -Some day soon, Walton thought, population equalization would be -unnecessary. Oh, sure, euthanasia would stick; it was a sane and, in -the long run, merciful process. But this business of uprooting a few -thousand Belgians and shipping them to the open spaces in Patagonia -would cease. - -Lang and his experimenters were struggling to transform Venus into a -livable world. If it worked, the terraforming engineers could go on to -convert Mars, the bigger moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and perhaps even -distant Pluto, if some form of heating could be developed. - -There would be another transition then. Earth's multitudes would be -shipped wholesale to the new worlds. Perhaps there would be riots; none -but a few adventurers would go willingly. But some would go, and that -would be a partial solution. - -And then, the stars. The faster-than-light project was top secret, so -top secret that in Popeek only FitzMaugham knew what was being done on -it. But if it came through.... - -Walton shrugged and turned back to his work. Reports had to be read, -filed, expedited. - -The thought of Fred and what Fred knew bothered him. If only there -were some way to relive this morning, to let the Prior baby go to the -chamber as it deserved.... - -Tension pounded in him. He slipped a hand into his desk, fumbled, found -the green, diamond-shaped pellet he was searching for, and swallowed -the benzolurethrin almost unthinkingly. The tranquilizer was only -partly successful in relaxing him, but he was able to work steadily, -without a break, until noon. - -He was about to dial for lunch when the private screen he and -FitzMaugham used between their offices glowed into life. - -"Roy?" - -The director's face looked impossibly tranquil. - -"Sir?" - -"I'm going to have a visitor at 1300. Ludwig. He wants to know how -things are going." - -Walton nodded. Ludwig was the head American delegate to the United -Nations, a stubborn, dedicated man who had fought Popeek for years; -then he had seen the light and had fought just as strenuously for its -adoption. "Do you want me to prepare a report for him?" Walton asked. - -"No, Roy. I want you to be here. I don't want to face him alone." - -"Sir?" - -"Some of the UN people feel I'm running Popeek as a one-man show," -FitzMaugham explained. "Of course, that's not so, as that mountain of -work on your desk testifies. But I want you there as evidence of the -truth. I want him to see how much I have to rely on my assistants." - -"I get it. Very good, Mr. FitzMaugham." - -"And another thing," the Director went on. "It'll help appearances if -I show myself surrounded with loyal young lieutenants of impeccable -character. Like you, Roy." - -"Thank you, sir," Walton said weakly. - -"Thank _you_. See you at 1300 sharp, then?" - -"Of course, sir." - -The screen went dead. Walton stared at it blankly. He wondered if this -were some elaborate charade of the old man's; FitzMaugham was devious -enough. That last remark, about loyal young lieutenants of impeccable -character ... it had seemed to be in good faith, but was it? Was -FitzMaugham staging an intricate pretense before deposing his faithless -protégé? - -Maybe Fred had something to do with it, Walton thought. He decided -to have another session with the computer after his conference with -FitzMaugham and Ludwig. Perhaps it still wasn't too late to erase the -damning data and cover his mistake. - -Then it would be just his word against Fred's. He might yet be able to -brazen through, he thought dully. - -He ordered lunch with quivering fingers, and munched drearily on the -tasteless synthetics for awhile before dumping them down the disposal -chute. - - - - -IV - - -At precisely 1255 Walton tidied his desk, rose and for the second time -that day, left his office. He was apprehensive, but not unduly so; -behind his immediate surface fears and tensions lay a calm certainty -that FitzMaugham ultimately would stick by him. - -And there was little to fear from Fred, he realized now. It was next to -impossible for a mere lower-level medic to gain the ear of the director -himself; in the normal course of events, if Fred attempted to contact -FitzMaugham, he would automatically be referred to Roy. - -No; the danger in Fred's knowledge was potential, not actual, and there -might still be time to come to terms with him. It was almost with a -jaunty step that Walton left his office, made his way through the busy -outer office, and emerged in the outside corridor. - -Fred was waiting there. - -He was wearing his white medic's smock, stained yellow and red by -reagents and coagulants. He was lounging against the curving plastine -corridor wall, hands jammed deep into his pockets. His thick-featured, -broad face wore an expression of elaborate casualness. - -"Hello, Roy. Fancy finding _you_ here!" - -"How did you know I'd be coming this way?" - -"I called your office. They told me you were on your way to the lift -tubes. Why so jumpy, brother? Have a tough morning?" - -"I've had worse," Walton said. He was tense, guarded. He pushed the -stud beckoning the lift tube. - -"Where you off to?" Fred asked. - -"Confidential. Top-level powwow with Fitz, if you have to know." - -Fred's eyes narrowed. "Strictly upper-echelon, aren't you? Do you have -a minute to talk to a mere mortal?" - -"Fred, don't make unnecessary trouble. You know--" - -"_Can it._ I've only got a minute or two left of my lunch hour. I want -to make myself perfectly plain with you. Are there any spy pickups in -this corridor?" - -Walton considered that. There were none that he knew of, and he knew of -most. Still, FitzMaugham might have found it advisable to plant a few -without advertising the fact. "I'm not sure," he said. "What's on your -mind?" - -Fred took a pad from his pocket and began to scrawl a note. Aloud he -said, "I'll take my chances and tell you about it anyway. One of the -men in the lab said another man told him you and FitzMaugham are both -secretly Herschelites." His brow furrowed with the effort of saying one -thing and writing another simultaneously. "Naturally, I won't give you -any names yet, but I want you to know I'm investigating his background -very carefully. He may just have been shooting his mouth off." - -"Is that why you didn't want this to go into a spy pickup?" Walton -asked. - -"Exactly. I prefer to investigate unofficially for the time being." -Fred finished the note, ripped the sheet from the pad and handed it to -his brother. - -Walton read it wordlessly. The handwriting was jagged and untidy, for -it was no easy feat to carry on a conversation for the benefit of any -concealed pickups while writing a message. - -It said, _I know all about the Prior baby. I'll keep my mouth shut -for now, so don't worry. But don't try anything foolish, because I've -deposited an account of the whole thing where you can't find it._ - -Walton crumpled the note and tucked it into his pocket. He said, -"Thanks for the information, Fred. I'll keep it in mind." - -"Okay, pal." - -The lift tube arrived. Walton stepped inside and pressed _twenty-nine_. - -In the moment it took for the tube to rise the one floor, he thought, -_So Fred's playing a waiting game.... He'll hold the information over -my head until he can make good use of it._ - -That was some relief, anyway. No matter what evidence Fred had already -salted away, Walton still had a chance to blot out some of the -computer's memory track and obscure the trail to that extent. - - * * * * * - -The lift tube opened; a gleaming sign listed the various activities of -the twenty-ninth floor, and at the bottom of the list it said _D. F. -FitzMaugham, Director_. - -FitzMaugham's office was at the back of a maze of small cubicles -housing Popeek functionaries of one sort or another. Walton had -made some attempt to familiarize himself with the organizational -stratification of Popeek, but his success thus far had been minimal. -FitzMaugham had conceived the plan half a century ago, and had lovingly -created and worked over the organization's structure through all the -long years it took before the law was finally passed. - -There were plenty of bugs in the system, but in general FitzMaugham's -blueprint had been sound--sound enough for Popeek to begin functioning -almost immediately after its UN approval. The manifold departments, the -tight network of inter-reporting agencies, the fantastically detailed -budget with its niggling appropriations for office supplies and its -massive expenditures for, say, the terraforming project--most of these -were fully understood only by FitzMaugham himself. - -Walton glanced at his watch. He was three minutes late; the -conversation with his brother had delayed him. But Ludwig of the UN -was not known to be a scrupulously punctual man, and there was a high -probability he hadn't arrived. - -The secretary in the office guarding FitzMaugham's looked up as Walton -approached. "The director is in urgent conference, sir, and--oh, I'm -sorry, Mr. Walton. Go right in; Mr. FitzMaugham is expecting you." - -"Is Mr. Ludwig here yet?" - -"Yes, sir. He arrived about ten minutes ago." - -Curious, Walton thought. From what he knew of Ludwig he wasn't the man -to arrive early for an appointment. Walton and FitzMaugham had had -plenty of dealings with him in the days before Popeek was approved, and -never once had Ludwig been on time. - -Walton shrugged. If Ludwig could switch his stand so decisively from an -emphatic anti-Popeek to an even more emphatic pro-Popeek, perhaps he -could change in other respects as well. - -Walton stepped within the field of the screener. His image, he knew, -was being relayed inside where FitzMaugham could scrutinize him -carefully before admitting him. The director was very touchy about -admitting people to his office. - -Five seconds passed; it usually took no more than that for FitzMaugham -to admit him. But there was no sign from within, and Walton coughed -discreetly. - -Still no answer. He turned away and walked over to the desk where the -secretary sat dictating into a voicewrite. He waited for her to finish -her sentence, then touched her arm lightly. - -"Yes, Mr. Walton?" - -"The screen transmission seems to be out of order. Would you mind -calling Mr. FitzMaugham on the annunciator and telling him I'm here?" - -"Of course, sir." - -Her fingers deftly flipped the switches. He waited for her to announce -him, but she paused and looked back at Walton. "He doesn't acknowledge, -Mr. Walton. He must be awfully busy." - -"He _has_ to acknowledge. Ring him again." - -"I'm sorry, sir, but--" - -"_Ring him again._" - -She rang, reluctantly, without any response. FitzMaugham preferred the -sort of annunciator that had to be acknowledged; Walton allowed the -girl to break in on his privacy without the formality of a return buzz. - -"Still no answer, sir." - -Walton was growing impatient. "Okay, devil take the acknowledgment. -Break in on him and tell him I'm waiting out here. My presence is -important inside." - -"Sir, Mr. FitzMaugham absolutely forbids anyone to use the annunciator -without his acknowledgment," the girl protested. - -He felt his neck going red. "I'll take the responsibility." - -"I'm sorry, sir--" - -"All right. Get away from that machine and let _me_ talk to him. If -there are repercussions, tell him I forced you at gunpoint." - -She backed away, horrified, and he slid in behind the desk. He made -contact; there was no acknowledgment. He said, "Mr. FitzMaugham, this -is Roy. I'm outside your office now. Should I come in, or not?" - -Silence. He stared thoughtfully at the apparatus. - -"I'm going in there," he said. - - * * * * * - -The door was of solid-paneled imitation wood, a couple of inches thick -and probably filled with a good sturdy sheet of beryllium steel. -FitzMaugham liked protection. - -Walton contemplated the door for a moment. Stepping into the screener -field, he said, "Mr. FitzMaugham? Can you hear me?" In the ensuing -silence he went on, "This is Walton. I'm outside with a blaster, and -unless I get any orders to the contrary, I'm going to break into your -office." - -Silence. This was very extraordinary indeed. He wondered if it were -part of some trap of FitzMaugham's. Well, he'd find out soon enough. He -adjusted the blaster aperture to short-range wide-beam, and turned it -on. A soft even flow of heat bathed the door. - -Quite a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered by now, at a respectful -distance. Walton maintained the steady heat. The synthetic wood was -sloughing away in dribbly blue masses as the radiation broke it down; -the sheet of metal in the heart of the door was gleaming bright red. - -The lock became visible now. Walton concentrated the flame there, and -the door creaked and groaned. - -He snapped the blaster off, pocketed it, and kicked the door soundly. -It swung open. - -He had a momentary glimpse of a blood-soaked white head slumped over a -broad desk--and then someone hit him amidships. - -He was a man about his own height, wearing a blue suit woven through -with glittering gold threads; Walton's mind caught the details with odd -clarity. The man's face was distorted with fear and shock, but Walton -recognized it clearly enough. The ruddy cheeks, the broad nose and -bushy eyebrows, belonged to Ludwig. - -The UN man. The man who had just assassinated Director FitzMaugham. - -He was battering his fists into Walton, struggling to get past him and -through the wrecked door, to escape somewhere, anywhere. Walton grunted -as a fist crashed into his stomach. He reeled backward, gagging and -gasping, but managed to keep his hand on the other's coat. Desperately -he pulled Ludwig to him. In the suddenness of the encounter he had no -time to evaluate what had happened, no time to react to FitzMaugham's -murder. - -His one thought was that Ludwig had to be subdued. - -His fist cracked into the other's mouth; sharp pain shot up through his -hand at the impact of knuckles against teeth. Ludwig sagged. Walton -realized that he was blocking the doorway; not only was he preventing -Ludwig from escaping, he was also making it impossible for anyone -outside to come to his own aid. - -Blindly he clubbed his fist down on Ludwig's neck, spun him around, -crashed another blow into the man's midsection. Suddenly Ludwig pulled -away from him and ran back behind the director's desk. - -Walton followed him ... and stopped short as he saw the UN man pause, -quiver tremulously, and topple to the floor. He sprawled grotesquely on -the deep beige carpet, shook for a moment, then was still. - -Walton gasped for breath. His clothes were torn, he was sticky with -sweat and blood, his heart was pounding from unaccustomed exertion. - -_Ludwig's killed the director_, he thought leadenly. _And now Ludwig's -dead._ - -He leaned against the doorpost. He was conscious of figures moving past -him, going into the room, examining FitzMaugham and the figure on the -floor. - -"Are you all right?" a crisp, familiar voice asked. - -"Pretty winded," Walton admitted. - -"Have some water." - -Walton accepted the drink, gulped it, looked up at the man who had -spoken. "Ludwig! How in hell's name--" - -"A double," the UN man said. "Come over here and look at him." - -Ludwig led him to the pseudo-Ludwig on the floor. It was an incredible -resemblance. Two or three of the office workers had rolled the body -over; the jaws were clenched stiffly, the face frozen in an agonized -mask. - -"He took poison," Ludwig said. "I don't imagine he expected to get out -of here alive. But he did his work well. God, I wish I'd been on time -for once in my life!" - -Walton glanced numbly from the dead Ludwig on the floor to the live -one standing opposite him. His shocked mind realized dimly what had -happened. The assassin, masked to look like Ludwig, had arrived at -1300, and had been admitted to the director's office. He had killed the -old man, and then had remained inside the office, either hoping to make -an escape later in the day, or perhaps simply waiting for the poison to -take effect. - -"It was bound to happen," Ludwig said. "They've been gunning for the -senator for years. And now that Popeek was passed...." - -Walton looked involuntarily at the desk, mirror bright and uncluttered -as always. Director FitzMaugham was sprawled forward, hands -half-clenched, arms spread. His impressive mane of white hair was -stained with his own blood. He had been clubbed--the simplest, crudest -sort of murder. - -Emotional reaction began. Walton wanted to break things, to cry, to let -off steam somehow. But there were too many people present; the office, -once sacrosanct, had miraculously become full of Popeek workers, -policemen, secretaries, possibly some telefax reporters. - -Walton recovered a shred of his authority. "All of you, _outside_!" he -said loudly. He recognized Sellors, the building's security chief, and -added, "Except you, Sellors. You can stay here." - -The crowd melted away magically. Now there were just five in the -office--Sellors, Ludwig, Walton, and the two corpses. - -Ludwig said, "Do you have any idea who might be behind this, Mr. -Walton?" - -"I don't know," he said wearily. "There are thousands who'd have wanted -to kill the director. Maybe it was a Herschelite plot. There'll be a -full investigation." - -"Mind stepping out of the way, sir?" Sellors asked. "I'd like to take -some photos." - -Walton and Ludwig moved to one side as the security man went to work. -It was inevitable, Walton thought, that this would happen. FitzMaugham -had been the living symbol of Popeek. - -He walked to the battered door, reflecting that he would have it -repaired at once. That thought led naturally to a new one, but before -it was fully formed in his own mind, Ludwig voiced it. - -"This is a terrible tragedy," the UN man said. "But one mitigating -factor exists. I'm sure Mr. FitzMaugham's successor will be a fitting -one. I'm confident you'll be able to carry on FitzMaugham's great work -quite capably, Mr. Walton." - - - - -V - - -The new sign on the office door said: - - _ROY WALTON_ - _Interim Director_ - _Bureau of Population Equalization_ - -He had argued against putting it up there, on the grounds that his -appointment was strictly temporary, pending a meeting of the General -Assembly to choose a new head for Popeek. But Ludwig had maintained it -might be weeks or months before such a meeting could be held and that -there was no harm in identifying his office. - -"Everything under control?" the UN man asked. - -Walton eyed him unhappily. "I guess so. Now all I have to do is start -figuring out how Mr. FitzMaugham's filing system worked, and I'll be -all set." - -"You mean you don't know?" - -"Mr. FitzMaugham took very few people into his confidence," Walton -said. "Popeek was his special brain-child. He had lived with it so long -he thought its workings were self-evident to everyone. There'll be a -period of adjustment." - -"Of course," Ludwig said. - -"This conference you were going to have with the director yesterday -when he--ah, what was it about?" Walton asked. - -The UN man shrugged. "It's irrelevant now, I suppose. I wanted to find -out how Popeek's subsidiary research lines were coming along. But I -guess you'll have to go through Mr. FitzMaugham's files before you know -anything, eh?" Ludwig stared at him sharply. - -Suddenly, Walton did not like the cheerful UN man. - -"There'll be a certain period of adjustment," he repeated. "I'll let -you know when I'm ready to answer questions about Popeek." - -"Of course. I didn't mean to imply any criticism of you or of the late -director or of Popeek, Mr. Walton." - -"Naturally. I understand, Mr. Ludwig." - -Ludwig took his leave at last, and Walton was alone in the late Mr. -FitzMaugham's office for the first time since the assassination. He -spread his hands on the highly polished desk and twisted his wrists -outward in a tense gesture. His fingers made squeaking sounds as they -rubbed the wood surface. - -It had been an uneasy afternoon yesterday, after the nightmare of the -assassination and the subsequent security inquisition. Walton, wrung -dry, had gone home early, leaving Popeek headless for two hours. The -newsblares in the jetbus had been programmed with nothing but talk of -the killing. - -"A brutal hand today struck down the revered D. F. FitzMaugham, -eighty-one, Director of Population Equalization. Security officials -report definite prospects of solution of the shocking crime, and...." - -The other riders in the bus had been vehemently outspoken. - -"It's about time they let him have it," a fat woman in sleazy old -clothes said. "That baby killer!" - -"I knew they'd get him sooner or later," offered a thin, wispy-haired -old man. "They _had_ to." - -"Rumor going around he was really a Herschelite...." - -"Some new kid is taking over Popeek, they say. They'll get him too, -mark my words." - -Walton, huddling in his seat, pulled up his collar, and tried to shut -his ears. It didn't work. - -_They'll get him too, mark my words._ - -He hadn't forgotten that prophecy by the time he reached his cubicle in -upper Manhattan. The harsh words had drifted through his restless sleep -all night. - -Now, behind the safety of his office door, he thought of them again. - -He couldn't hide. It hadn't worked for FitzMaugham, and it wouldn't for -him. - -Hiding wasn't the answer. Walton smiled grimly. If martyrdom were -in store for him, let martyrdom come. The work of Popeek had to go -forward. He decided he would conduct as much of his official business -as possible by screen; but when personal contact was necessary, he -would make no attempt to avoid it. - -He glanced around FitzMaugham's office. The director had been a product -of the last century, and he had seen nothing ugly in the furnishings -of the Cullen Building. Unlike Walton, then, he had not had his office -remodeled. - -That would be one of the first tasks--to replace the clumsy battery of -tungsten-filament incandescents with a wall of electroluminescents, to -replace the creaking sash windows with some decent opaquers, to get rid -of the accursed gingerbread trimming that offended the eye in every -direction. The _thunkety-thunk_ air-conditioner would have to go too; -he'd have a molecusorter installed in a day or two. - -The redecorating problems were the minor ones. It was the task of -filling FitzMaugham's giant shoes, even on an interim basis, that -staggered Walton. - -He fumbled in the desk for a pad and stylus. This was going to call for -an agenda. Hastily he wrote: - - _1. Cancel F's appointments_ - _2. Investigate setup in Files_ - _a) Lang terraforming project_ - _b) faster-than-light_ - _c) budget--stretchable?_ - _d) locate spy pickups in building_ - _3. Meeting with section chiefs_ - _4. Press conference with telefax services_ - _5. See Ludwig ... straighten things out_ - _6. Redecorate office_ - -He thought for a moment, then erased a few of his numbers and changed -_Press conference_ to _6._ and _Redecorate office_ to _4._ He licked -the stylus and wrote in at the very top of the paper: - - _0. Finish Prior affair._ - -In a way, FitzMaugham's assassination had taken Walton off the hook -on the Prior case. Whatever FitzMaugham suspected about Walton's -activities yesterday morning no longer need trouble him. If the -director had jotted down a memorandum on the subject, Walton would be -able to find and destroy it when he went through FitzMaugham's files -later. And if the dead man had merely kept the matter in his head, -well, then it was safely at rest in the crematorium. - -Walton groped in his jacket pocket and found the note his brother had -slipped to him at lunchtime the day before. In the rush of events, -Walton had not had a chance to destroy it. - -Now, he read it once more, ripped it in half, ripped it again, and -fed one quarter of the note into the disposal chute. He would get rid -of the rest at fifteen-minute intervals, and he would defy anyone -monitoring the disposal units to locate all four fragments. - -Actually, he realized he was being overcautious. This was Director -FitzMaugham's office and FitzMaugham's disposal chute. The director -wouldn't have arranged to have his _own_ chute monitored, would he? - -Or would he? There was never any telling, with FitzMaugham. The old man -had been terribly devious in every maneuver he made. - -The room had the dry, crisp smell of the detecting devices that had -been used--the close-to-the-ground, ugly metering-robots that had -crawled all over the floor, sniffing up footprints and stray dandruff -flakes for analysis, the chemical cleansers that had mopped the blood -out of the rug. Walton cursed at the air-conditioner that was so -inefficiently removing these smells from the air. - -The annunciator chimed. Walton waited impatiently for a voice, then -remembered that FitzMaugham had doggedly required an acknowledgment. -He opened the channel and said, "This is Walton. In the future no -acknowledgment will be necessary." - -"Yes, sir. There's a reporter from _Citizen_ here, and one from Globe -Telefax." - -"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone today. Here, I'll give them a -statement. Tell them the Gargantuan task of picking up the reins where -the late, great Director FitzMaugham dropped them is one that will -require my full energy for the next several days. I'll be happy to hold -my first official press conference as soon as Popeek is once again -moving on an even keel. Got that?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Good. Make sure they print it. And--oh, listen. If anyone shows up -today or tomorrow who had an appointment with Director FitzMaugham, -tell him approximately the same thing. Not in those flowery words, of -course, but give him the gist of it. I've got a lot of catching up to -do before I can see people." - -"Certainly, Director Walton." - -He grinned at the sound of those words, _Director Walton_. Turning away -from the annunciator, he took out his agenda and checked off number -one, _Cancel FitzMaugham's appointments_. - -Frowning, he realized he had better add a seventh item to the list: -_Appoint new assistant administrator_. Someone would have to handle his -old job. - -But now, top priority went to the item ticketed zero on the list: -_Finish Prior affair_. He'd never be in a better position to erase the -evidence of yesterday's illegality than he was right now. - -"Connect me with euthanasia files, please." - -A moment later a dry voice said, "Files." - -"Files, this is Acting Director Walton. I'd like a complete transcript -of your computer's activities for yesterday morning between 0900 and -1200, with each separate activity itemized. How soon can I have it?" - -"Within minutes, Director Walton." - -"Good. Send it sealed, by closed circuit. There's some top-level stuff -on that transcript. If the seal's not intact when it gets here, I'll -shake up the whole department." - -"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?" - -"No, that'll be--on second thought, yes. Send up a list of all doctors -who were examining babies in the clinic yesterday morning." - - * * * * * - -He waited. While he waited, he went through the top layer of memoranda -in FitzMaugham's desk. - -There was a note on top which read, _Appointment with Lamarre, 11 -June--1215. Must be firm with him, and must handle with great delicacy. -Perhaps time to let Walton know._ - -Hmm, that was interesting, Walton thought. He had no idea who Lamarre -might be, but FitzMaugham had drawn a spidery little star in the -upper-right-hand corner of the memo sheet, indicating crash priority. - -He flipped on the annunciator. "There's a Mr. Lamarre who had an -appointment with Director FitzMaugham for 1215 today. If he calls, tell -him I can't see him today but will honor the appointment tomorrow at -the same time. If he shows up, tell him the same thing." - -His watch said it was time to dispose of another fragment of Fred's -message. He stuffed it into the disposal chute. - -A moment later the green light flashed over the arrival bin; -FitzMaugham had not been subject, as Walton had been in his previous -office, to cascades of material arriving without warning. - -Walton drew a sealed packet from the bin. He examined the seal -and found it untampered, which was good; it meant the packet had -come straight from the computer, and had not even been read by the -technician in charge. With it was a typed list of five names--the -doctors who had been in the lab the day before. - -Breaking open the packet, Walton discovered seven closely-typed sheets -with a series of itemized actions on them. He ran through them quickly, -discarding sheets one, two, and three, which dealt with routine -activities of the computer in the early hours of the previous day. - -Item seventy-three was his request for Philip Prior's record card. He -checked that one off. - -Item seventy-four was his requisition for the key to the clinic's -gene-sorting code. - -Item seventy-five was his revision of Philip Prior's records, omitting -all reference to his tubercular condition and to the euthanasia -recommendation. Item seventy-six was the acknowledgment of this -revision. - -Item seventy-seven was his request for the boy's record card--this -time, the amended one. The five items were dated and timed; the -earliest was 1025, the latest 1037, all on June tenth. - -Walton bracketed the five items thoughtfully, and scanned the rest of -the page. Nothing of interest there, just more routine business. But -item ninety-two, timed at 1102, was an intriguing one: - -_92: Full transcript of morning's transactions issued at request of Dr. -Frederic Walton, 932K104AZ._ - -Fred hadn't been bluffing, then; he actually had possession of all the -damning evidence. But when one dealt with a computer and with Donnerson -micro-memory-tubes, the past was an extremely fluid entity. - -"I want a direct line to the computer on floor twenty," he said. - -After a brief lag a technician appeared on the screen. It was the same -one he had spoken to earlier. - -"There's been an error in the records," Walton said. "An error I -wouldn't want to perpetuate. Will you set me up so I can feed a direct -order into the machine?" - -"Certainly, sir. Go ahead, sir." - -"This is top secret. Vanish." - -The technician vanished. Walton said, "Items seventy-three through -seventy-seven on yesterday morning's record tape are to be deleted, -and the information carried in those tubes is to be deleted as well. -Furthermore, there is to be no record made of this transaction." - -The voicewrite on floor twenty clattered briefly, and the order -funneled into the computer. Walton waited a moment, tensely. Then he -said, "All right, technician. Come back in where I can see you." - -The technician appeared. Walton said, "I'm running a check now. Have -the machine prepare another transcript of yesterday's activities -between 0900 and 1200, and also one of today's doings for the last -fifteen minutes." - -"Right away, sir." - -While he waited for the new transcripts to arrive, Walton studied the -list of names on his desk. Five doctors--Gunther, Raymond, Archer, Hsi, -Rein. He didn't know which one of them had examined the Prior baby, nor -did he care to find out. All five would have to be transferred. - -Meticulously, he took up his stylus and pad again, and plotted a -destination for each: - - _Gunther ... Zurich._ - _Raymond ... Glasgow._ - _Archer ... Tierra del Fuego._ - _Hsi ... Leopoldville._ - _Rein ... Bangkok._ - -He nodded. That was optimum dissemination; he would put through notice -of the transfers later in the day, and by nightfall the men would be on -their way to their new scenes of operation. Perhaps they would never -understand why they had been uprooted and sent away from New York. - -The new transcripts arrived. Impatiently Walton checked through them. - -In the June tenth transcript, item seventy-one dealt with smallpox -statistics for North America 1822-68, and item seventy-two with the -tally of antihistamine supply for requisitions for Clinic Three. There -was no sign of any of Walton's requests. They had vanished from the -record as completely as if they had never been. - -Walton searched carefully through the June eleventh transcript for any -mention of his deletion order. No, that hadn't been recorded either. - -He smiled, his first honest smile since FitzMaugham's assassination. -Now, with the computer records erased, the director dead, and the -doctors on their way elsewhere, only Fred stood in the way of Roy's -chance of escaping punishment for the Prior business. - -He decided he'd have to take his chances with Fred. Perhaps brotherly -love would seal his lips after all. - - - - -VI - - -The late Director FitzMaugham's files were spread over four floors of -the building, but for Walton's purposes the only ones that mattered -were those to which access was gained through the director's office -alone. - -A keyboard and screen were set into the wall to the left of the desk. -Walton let his fingers rest lightly on the gleaming keys. - -The main problem facing him, he thought, lay in not knowing where to -begin. Despite his careful agenda, despite the necessary marshaling -of his thoughts, he was still confused by the enormity of his job. -The seven billion people of the world were in his hands. He could -transfer fifty thousand New Yorkers to the bleak northern provinces of -underpopulated Canada with the same quick ease that he had shifted five -unsuspecting doctors half an hour before. - -After a few moments of uneasy thought he pecked out the short message, -_Request complete data file on terraforming project_. - -On the screen appeared the words, _Acknowledged and coded; prepare to -receive_. - -The arrival bin thrummed with activity. Walton hastily scooped out -a double handful of typed sheets to make room for more. He grinned -in anguish as the paper kept on coming. FitzMaugham's files on -terraforming, no doubt, covered reams and reams. - -Staggering, he carted it all over to his desk and began to skim through -it. The data began thirty years earlier, in 2202, with a photostat of -a letter from Dr. Herbert Lang to FitzMaugham, proposing a project -whereby the inner planets of the solar system could be made habitable -by human beings. - -Appended to that was FitzMaugham's skeptical, slightly mocking reply; -the old man had kept everything, it seemed, even letters which showed -him in a bad light. - -After that came more letters from Lang, urging FitzMaugham to plead -terraforming's case before the United States Senate, and FitzMaugham's -increasingly more enthusiastic answers. Finally, in 2212, a notation -that the Senate had voted a million-dollar appropriation to Lang--a -miniscule amount, in terms of the overall need, but it was enough to -cover preliminary research. Lang had been grateful. - -Walton skimmed through more-or-less familiar documents on the nature of -the terraforming project. He could study those in detail later, if time -permitted. What he wanted now was information on the current status of -the project; FitzMaugham had been remarkably silent about it, though -the public impression had been created that a team of engineers headed -by Lang was already at work on Venus. - -He shoved whole handfuls of letters to one side, looking for those of -recent date. - -Here was one dated 1 Feb 2232, FitzMaugham to Lang: it informed the -scientist that passage of the Equalization Act was imminent, and that -Lang stood to get a substantial appropriation from the UN in that -event. A jubilant reply from Lang was attached. - -Following that came another, 10 May 2232, FitzMaugham to Lang: -official authorization of Lang as an executive member of Popeek, and -appropriation of--Walton's eyes bugged--five billion dollars for -terraforming research. - -Note from Lang to FitzMaugham, 14 May: the terraforming crew was -leaving for Venus immediately. - -Note from FitzMaugham to Lang, 16 May: best wishes, and Lang was -instructed to contact FitzMaugham without fail at weekly intervals. - -Spacegram from Lang to FitzMaugham, 28 May: arrived at Venus safely, -preparing operation as scheduled. - -The file ended there. Walton rummaged through the huge heap, hoping to -discover a later communiqué; by FitzMaugham's own request, Lang should -have contacted Popeek about four days ago with his first report. - -Possibly it had gone astray in delivery, Walton thought. He spent -twenty minutes digging through the assorted material before remembering -that he could get a replacement within seconds from the filing computer. - -He typed out a requisition for any and all correspondence between -Director FitzMaugham and Dr. Herbert Lang that was dated after 28 May -2232. - -The machine acknowledged, and a moment later replied, _This material is -not included in memory banks_. - -Walton frowned, gathered up most of his superfluous terraforming data, -and deposited it in a file drawer. The status of the project, then, -was uncertain: the terraformers were on Venus and presumably at work, -but were yet to be heard from. - -The next Popeek project to track down would be the faster-than-light -spaceship drive. But after the mass of data Walton had just absorbed, -he found himself hesitant to wade through another collection so soon. - -He realized that he was hungry for the sight of another human being. He -had spent the whole morning alone, speaking to anonymous underlings via -screen or annunciator, and requisitioning material from an even more -impersonal computer. He wanted noise, life, people around him. - -He snapped on the annunciator. "I'm calling an immediate meeting of the -Popeek section chiefs," he said. "In my office, in half an hour--at -1230 sharp. Tell them to drop whatever they're doing and come." - - * * * * * - -Just before they started to arrive, Walton felt a sudden sick wave of -tension sweep dizzyingly over him. He pulled open the top drawer of -his new desk and reached for his tranquilizer tablets. He suffered a -moment of shock and disorientation before he realized that this was -FitzMaugham's desk, not his own, and that FitzMaugham forswore all -forms of sedation. - -Chuckling nervously, Walton drew out his wallet and extracted the extra -benzolurethrin he carried for just such emergencies. He popped the -lozenge into his mouth only a moment before the spare figure of Lee -Percy, first of the section chiefs to arrive, appeared in the screener -outside the door. - -"Roy? It's me--Percy." - -"I can see you. Come on in, Lee." - -Percy was in charge of public relations for Popeek. He was a tall, -angular man with thick corrugated features. - -After him came Teddy Schaunhaft, clinic coordinator; Pauline Medhurst, -personnel director; Olaf Eglin, director of field agents; and Sue -Llewellyn, Popeek's comptroller. - -These five had constituted the central council of Popeek. Walton, as -assistant administrator, had served as their coordinator, as well as -handling population transfer and serving as a funnel for red tape. -Above them all had been FitzMaugham, brooding over his charges like an -untroubled Wotan; FitzMaugham had reserved for himself, aside from the -task of general supervision, the special duties attendant on handling -the terraforming and faster-than-light wings of Popeek. - -"I should have called you together much earlier than this," Walton said -when they were settled. "The shock, though, and the general confusion--" - -"We understand, Roy," said Sue Llewellyn sympathetically. She -was a chubby little woman in her fifties, whose private life was -reported to be incredibly at variance with her pleasantly domestic -appearance. "It's been rough on all of us, but you were so close to Mr. -FitzMaugham...." - -There was sympathetic clucking from various corners of the room. Walton -said, "The period of mourning will have to be a brief one. What I'm -suggesting is that business continue as usual, without a hitch." He -glanced at Eglin, the director of field agents. "Olaf, is there a man -in your section capable of handling your job?" - -Eglin looked astonished for a moment, then mastered himself. "There -must be five, at least. Walters, Lassen, Dominic--" - -"Skip the catalogue," Walton told him. "Pick the man you think is best -suited to replace you, and send his dossier up to me for approval." - -"And where do _I_ go?" - -"You take over my slot as assistant administrator. As director of field -agents, you're more familiar with the immediate problems of my old job -than anyone else here." - -Eglin preened himself smugly. Walton wondered if he had made an unwise -choice; Eglin was competent enough, and would give forth one hundred -percent effort at all times--but probably never the one hundred two -percent a really great administrator could put out when necessary. - -Still, the post had to be filled at once, and Eglin could pick up the -reins faster than any of the others. - -Walton looked around. "Otherwise, activities of Popeek will continue as -under Mr. FitzMaugham, without a hitch. Any questions?" - -Lee Percy raised an arm slowly. "Roy, I've got a problem I'd like to -bring up here, as long as we're all together. There's a growing public -sentiment that you and the late director were secretly Herschelites." -He chuckled apologetically. "I know it sounds silly, but I just report -what I hear." - -"I'm familiar with the rumor," Walton said. "And I don't like it much, -either. That's the sort of stuff riots are made of." - -The Herschelites were extremists who advocated wholesale sterilization -of defectives, mandatory birth control, and half a dozen other -stringent remedies for overpopulation. - -"What steps are you taking to counteract it?" Walton asked. - -"Well," said Percy, "we're preparing a memorial program for FitzMaugham -which will intimate that he was murdered by the Herschelites, who hated -him." - -"Good. What's the slant?" - -"That he was too easygoing, too humane. We build up the Herschelites as -ultrareactionaries who intend to enforce their will on humanity if they -get the chance, and imply FitzMaugham was fighting them tooth and nail. -We close the show with some shots of you picking up the great man's -mantle, etcetera, etcetera. And a short speech from you affirming the -basically humanitarian aims of Popeek." - -Walton smiled approvingly and said, "I like it. When do you want me to -do the speech?" - -"We won't need you," Percy told him. "We've got plenty of stock -footage, and we can whip the speech out of some spare syllables you -left around." - -Walton frowned. Too many of the public speeches of the day were -synthetic, created by skilled engineers who split words into their -component phonemes and reassembled them in any shape they pleased. "Let -me check through my speech before you put it over, at least." - -"Will do. And we'll squash this Herschelite thing right off the bat." - -Pauline Medhurst squirmed uneasily in her chair. Walton caught the hint -and recognized her. - -"Uh, Roy, I don't know if this is the time or the place, but I got that -transfer order of yours, the five doctors...." - -"You did? Good," Walton said hurriedly. "Have you notified them yet?" - -"Yes. They seemed unhappy about it." - -"Refer them to FitzMaugham's book. Tell them they're cogs in a mighty -machine, working to save humanity. We can't let personal considerations -interefere, Pauline." - -"If you could only explain why--" - -"Yeah," interjected Schaunhaft, the clinic coordinator suddenly. "You -cleaned out my whole morning lab shift down there. I was wondering--" - -Walton felt like a stag at bay. "Look," he said firmly, cutting -through the hubbub, "_I_ made the transfer. I had reasons for doing -it. It's your job to get the five men out where they've been assigned, -and to get five new men in here at once. You're not required to make -explanations to them--nor I to you." - -Sudden silence fell over the office. Walton hoped he had not been too -forceful, and cast suspicion on his actions by his stiffness. - -"Whew!" Sue Llewellyn said. "You really mean business!" - -"I said we were going to run Popeek without a hitch," Walton replied. -"Just because you know my first name, that doesn't mean I'm not going -to be as strong a director as FitzMaugham was." - -_Until the UN picks my successor_, his mind added. Out loud he said, -"Unless you have any further questions, I'll ask you now to return to -your respective sections." - -He sat slumped at his desk after they were gone, trying to draw on some -inner reserve of energy for the strength to go on. - -One day at the job, and he was tired, terribly tired. And it would be -six weeks or more before the United Nations convened to choose the next -director of Popeek. - -He didn't know who that man would be. He expected they would offer the -job to him, provided he did competent work during the interim; but, -wearily, he saw he would have to turn the offer down. - -It was not only that his nerves couldn't handle the grinding daily -tension of the job; he saw now what Fred might be up to, and it stung. - -What if his brother were to hold off exposing him until the moment the -UN proffered its appointment ... and then took that moment to reveal -that the head of Popeek, far from being an iron-minded Herschelite, had -actually been guilty of an irregularity that transgressed against one -of Popeek's own operations? He'd be finished. He'd be laughed out of -public life for good--and probably prosecuted in the bargain--if Fred -exposed him. - -And Fred was perfectly capable of doing just that. - -Walton saw himself spinning dizzily between conflicting alternatives. -Keep the job and face his brother's exposé? Or resign, and vanish into -anonymity. Neither choice seemed too appealing. - -Shrugging, he dragged himself out of his chair, determined to shroud -his conflict behind the mask of work. He typed a request to Files, -requisitioning data on the faster-than-light project. - -Moments later, the torrent began--rising from somewhere in the depths -of the giant computer, rumbling upward through the conveyor system, -moving onward toward the twenty-ninth floor and the office of Interim -Director Walton. - - - - -VII - - -The next morning there was a crowd gathered before the Cullen Building -when Walton arrived. - -There must have been at least a hundred people, fanning outward from a -central focus. Walton stepped from the jetbus and, with collar pulled -up carefully to obscure as much of his face as possible, went to -investigate. - -A small red-faced man stood on a rickety chair against the side of the -building. He was flanked by a pair of brass flagpoles, one bearing the -American flag and the other the ensign of the United Nations. His voice -was a biting rasp--probably, thought Walton, intensified, sharpened, -and made more irritating by a harmonic modulator at his throat. An -irritating voice put its message across twice as fast as a pleasant one. - -He was shouting, "This is the place! Up here, in this building, that's -where they are! That's where Popeek wastes our money!" - -From the slant of the man's words Walton instantly thought: -_Herschelite!_ - -He repressed his anger and, for once, decided to stay and hear the -extremist out. He had never really paid much attention to Herschelite -propaganda--he had been exposed to little of it--and he realized -that now, as head of Popeek, he owed it to himself to become familiar -with the anti-Popeek arguments of both extremist factions--those who -insisted Popeek was a tyranny, and the Herschelites, who thought it was -too weak. - -"This Popeek," the little man said, accenting the awkwardness of the -word. "You know what it is? It's a stopgap. It's a silly, soft-minded, -half-hearted attempt at solving our problems. It's a fake, a fraud, a -phony!" - -There was real passion behind the words. Walton distrusted small men -with deep wells of passion; he no more enjoyed their company than he -did that of a dynamo or an atomic pile. They were always threatening to -explode. - -The crowd was stirring restlessly. The Herschelite was getting to them, -one way or another. Walton drew back nervously, not wanting to be -recognized, and stationed himself at the fringe of the crowd. - -"Some of you don't like Popeek for this reason or that reason. But let -me tell you something, friends ... you're wronger than they are! We've -got to get tough with ourselves! We have to face the truth! Popeek is -an unrealistic half-solution to man's problems. Until we limit birth, -establish rigid controls over who's going to live and who isn't, we--" - -It was straight Herschelite propaganda, undiluted. Walton wasn't -surprised when someone in the audience interrupted, growling, "And -who's going to set those controls? You?" - -"You trusted yourselves to Popeek, didn't you? Why hesitate, then, to -trust yourselves to Abel Herschel and his group of workers for the -betterment and purification of mankind?" - -Walton was almost limp with amazement. The Herschelite group was so -much more drastic in its approach than Popeek that he wondered how they -dared come out with these views in public. Animosity was high enough -against Popeek; would the public accept a group more stringent yet? - -The little man's voice rose high. "Onward with the Herschelites! -Mankind must move forward! The Equalization people represent the forces -of decay and sloth!" - -Walton turned to the man next to him and murmured, "But Herschel's a -fanatic. They'll kill all of us in the name of mankind." - -The man looked puzzled; then, accepting the idea, he nodded. "Yeah, -buddy. You know, you may have something there." - -That was all the spark needed. Walton edged away surreptitiously and -watched it spread through the crowd, while the little man's harangue -grew more and more inflammatory. - -Until a rock arced through the air from somewhere, whipped across the -billowing UN flag, and cracked into the side of the building. That was -the signal. - -A hundred men and women converged on the little man on the battered -chair. "_We have to face the truth!_" the harsh voice cried; then -the flags were swept down, trampled on. Flagpoles fell, ringing -metallically on the concrete; the chair toppled. The little man was -lost beneath a tide of remorseless feet and arms. - -A siren screamed. - -"Cops!" Walton yelled from his vantage point some thirty feet away, and -abruptly the crowd melted away in all directions, leaving Walton and -the little man alone on the street. A security wagon drew up. Four men -in gray uniforms sprang out. - -"What's been going on here? Who's this man?" Then, seeing Walton, "Hey! -Come over here!" - -"Of course, officer." Walton turned his collar down and drew near. He -spotted the glare of a ubiquitous video camera and faced it squarely. -"I'm Director Walton of Popeek," he said loudly, into the camera. "I -just arrived here a few minutes ago. I saw the whole thing." - -"Tell us about it, Mr. Walton," the security man said. - -"It was a Herschelite." Walton gestured at the broken body crumpled -against the ground. "He was delivering an inflammatory speech aimed -against Popeek, with special reference to the late Director FitzMaugham -and myself. I was about to summon you and end the disturbance, when -the listeners became aware that the man was a Herschelite. When they -understood what he was advocating, they--well, you see the result." - -"Thank you, sir. Terribly sorry we couldn't have prevented it. Must be -very unpleasant, Mr. Walton." - -"The man was asking for trouble," Walton said. "Popeek represents -the minds and hearts of the world. Herschel and his people seek to -overthrow this order. I can't condone violence of any sort, naturally, -but"--he smiled into the camera--"Popeek is a sacred responsibility to -me. Its enemies I must regard as blind and misguided people." - -He turned and entered the building, feeling pleased with himself. That -sequence would be shown globally on the next news screenings; every -newsblare in the world would be reporting his words. - -Lee Percy would be proud of him. Without benefit either of rehearsal or -phonemic engineering, Walton had delivered a rousing speech and turned -a grisly incident into a major propaganda instrument. - -And more than that, Director FitzMaugham would have been proud of him. - -But beneath the glow of pride, he was trembling. Yesterday he had saved -a boy by a trifling alteration of his genetic record; today he had -killed a man by sending a whispered accusation rustling through a mob. - -_Power._ Popeek represented power, perhaps the greatest power in the -world. That power would have to be channeled somehow, now that it had -been unleashed. - -The stack of papers relating to the superspeed space drive was still on -his desk when he entered the office. He had had time yesterday to read -through just some of the earliest; then, the pressure of routine had -dragged him off to other duties. - -Encouraged by FitzMaugham, the faster-than-light project had -originated about a decade or so before. It stemmed from the fact that -the ion-drive used for travel between planets had a top velocity, a -limiting factor of about ninety thousand miles per second. At that -rate, it would take some eighteen years for a scouting party to visit -the closest star and report back ... not very efficient for a planet in -a hurry to expand outward. - -A group of scientists had set to work developing a subspace warp drive, -one that would cut across the manifold of normal space and allow speeds -above light velocity. - -All the records were here: the preliminary trials, the budget -allocations, the sketches and plans, the names of the researchers. -Walton ploughed painstakingly through them, learning names, -assimilating scientific data. It seemed that, while it was still in its -early stages, FitzMaugham had nurtured the project along with money -from his personal fortune. - -For most of the morning Walton leafed through documents describing -projected generators, types of hull material, specifications, -speculations. It was nearly noon when he came across the neatly-typed -note from Colonel Leslie McLeod, one of the military scientists in -charge of the ultradrive project. Walton read it through once, gasped, -and read it again. - -It was dated 14 June 2231, almost one year ago. It read: - - _My dear Mr. FitzMaugham:_ - - _I'm sure it will gladden you to learn that we have at last achieved - success in our endeavors. The X-72 passed its last tests splendidly, - and we are ready to leave on the preliminary scouting flight at - once._ - - McLeod - -It was followed by a note from FitzMaugham to McLeod, dated 15 June: - - _Dr. McLeod:_ - - _All best wishes on your great adventure. I trust you'll be - departing, as usual, from the Nairobi base within the next few days. - Please let me hear from you before departure._ - - _FitzM._ - -The file concluded with a final note from McLeod to the director, dated -19 June 2231: - - _My dear Mr. FitzMaugham:_ - - _The X-72 will leave Nairobi in eleven hours, bound outward, manned - by a crew of sixteen, including myself. The men are all impatient - for the departure. I must offer my hearty thanks for the help you - have given us over the past years, without which we would never have - reached this step._ - - _Flight plans include visiting several of the nearer stars, with - the intention of returning either as soon as we have discovered a - habitable extrasolar world, or one year after departure, whichever - first occurs._ - - _Sincere good wishes, and may you have as much success when you - plead your case before the United Nations as we have had - here--though you'll forgive me for hoping that our work might make - any population equalization program on Earth totally superfluous!_ - - _McLeod_ - -Walton stared at the three notes for a moment, so shocked he was unable -to react. So a faster-than-light drive was not merely a hoped-for -dream, but an actuality--with the first scouting mission a year absent -already! - -He felt a new burst of admiration for FitzMaugham. What a marvelous old -scoundrel he had been! - -Faster-than-light achieved, and the terraforming group on Venus, and -neither fact released to the public ... or even specifically given to -FitzMaugham's own staff, his alleged confidants. - -It had been shrewd of him, all right. He had made sure nothing could -go wrong. If something happened to Lang and his crew on Venus--and it -was quite possible, since word from them was a week overdue--it would -be easy to say that the terraforming project was still in the planning -stage. In the event of success, the excuse was that word of their -progress had been withheld for "security reasons." - -And the same would apply to the space drive; if McLeod and his men -vanished into the nether regions of interstellar space and never -returned, FitzMaugham would not have had to answer for the failure of -a project which, as far as the public knew, was still in the planning -stage. It was a double-edged sword with the director controlling both -edges. - -And now Walton was in charge. He hoped he would be able to continue -manipulations with an aplomb worthy of the late Director FitzMaugham. - -The annunciator chimed. "Dr. Lamarre is here for his appointment with -you, Mr. Walton." - -Walton was caught off guard. His mind raced furiously. _Lamarre? Who -the dickens--oh, that left-over appointment of FitzMaugham's._ - -"Tell Dr. Lamarre I'll be glad to see him in just a few minutes, -please. I'll buzz you when I'm ready." - -Hurriedly he gathered up the space-flight documents and jammed them in -a file drawer near the data on terraforming. He surveyed his office; -it looked neat, presentable. Glancing around, he made sure no stray -documents were visible, documents which might reveal the truth about -the space drive. - -"Send in Dr. Lamarre," he said. - -Dr. Lamarre was a short, thin, pale individual, with an uncertain wave -in his sandy hair and a slight stoop of his shoulders. He carried a -large, black leather portfolio which seemed on the point of exploding. - -"Mr. Walton?" - -"That's right. You're Dr. Lamarre?" - -The small man handed him an engraved business card. - - _T. ELLIOT LAMARRE_ - _Gerontologist_ - -Walton fingered the card uneasily and returned it to its owner. -"Gerontologist? One who studies ways of increasing the human life-span?" - -"Precisely." - -Walton frowned. "I presume you've had some previous dealings with the -late Director FitzMaugham?" - -Lamarre gaped. "You mean he didn't _tell_ you?" - -"Director FitzMaugham shared very little information with his -assistants, Dr. Lamarre. The suddenness of my elevation to this post -gave me little time to explore his files. Would you mind filling me in -on the background?" - -"Of course." Lamarre crossed his legs and squinted myopically across -the desk at Walton. "To be brief, Mr. FitzMaugham first heard of my -work fourteen years ago. Since that time, he's supported my experiments -with private grants of his own, public appropriations whenever -possible, and lately with money supplied by Popeek. Naturally, because -of the nature of my work I've shunned publicity. I completed my final -tests last week, and was to have seen the director yesterday. But--" - -"I know. I was busy going through Mr. FitzMaugham's files when you -called yesterday. I didn't have time to see anyone." Walton wished he -had checked on this man Lamarre earlier. Apparently it was a private -project of FitzMaugham's and of some importance. - -"May I ask what this 'work' of yours consists of?" - -"Certainly. Mr. FitzMaugham expressed a hope that someday man's life -span might be infinitely extended. I'm happy to report that I have -developed a simple technique which will provide just that." The little -man smiled in self-satisfaction. "In short," he said, "what I have -developed, in everyday terms, is immortality, Mr. Walton." - - - - -VIII - - -Walton was becoming hardened to astonishment; the further he excavated -into the late director's affairs, the less susceptible he was to the -visceral reaction of shock. - -Still, this stunned him for a moment. - -"Did you say you'd perfected this technique?" he asked slowly. "Or that -it was still in the planning stage?" - -Lamarre tapped the thick, glossy black portfolio. "In here. I've got it -all." He seemed ready to burst with self-satisfaction. - -Walton leaned back, spread his fingers against the surface of the desk, -and wrinkled his forehead. "I've had this job since 1300 on the tenth, -Mr. Lamarre. That's exactly two days ago, minus half an hour. And in -that time I don't think I've had less than ten major shocks and half a -dozen minor ones." - -"Sir?" - -"What I'm getting at is this: just why did Director FitzMaugham sponsor -this project of yours?" - -Lamarre looked blank. "Because the director was a great humanitarian, -of course. Because he felt that the human life was short, far too -short, and he wished his fellow men to enjoy long life. What other -reason should there be?" - -"I know FitzMaugham was a great man ... I was his secretary for -three years." (_Though he never said a word about you, Dr. Lamarre_, -Walton thought.) "But to develop immortality at this stage of man's -existence...." Walton shook his head. "Tell me about your work, Dr. -Lamarre." - -"It's difficult to sum up readily. I've fought degeneration of the -body on the cellular level, and my tests show a successful outcome. -Phagocyte stimulation combined with--the data's all here, Mr. Walton. I -needn't run through it for you." - -He began to hunt in the portfolio, fumbling for something. After a -moment he extracted a folded quarto sheet, spread it out, and nudged it -across the desk toward Walton. - -The director glanced at the sheet; it was covered with chemical -equations. "Spare me the technical details, Dr. Lamarre. Have you -tested your treatment yet?" - -"With the only test possible, the test of time. There are insects in my -laboratories that have lived five years or more--veritable Methuselahs -of their genera. Immortality is not something one can test in less -than infinite time. But beneath the microscope, one can see the cells -regenerating, one can see decay combated...." - -Walton took a deep breath. "Are you aware, Dr. Lamarre, that for the -benefit of humanity I really should have you shot at once?" - -"_What?_" - -Walton nearly burst out laughing; the man looked outrageously funny -with that look of shocked incomprehension on his face. "Do you -understand what immortality would do to Earth?" he asked. "With no -other planet of the solar system habitable by man, and none of the -stars within reach? Within a generation we'd be living ten to the -square inch. We'd--" - -"Director FitzMaugham was aware of these things," Lamarre interrupted -sharply. "He had no intention of administering my discovery wholesale -to the populace. What's more, he was fully confident that a -faster-than-light space drive would soon let us reach the planets, and -that the terraforming engineers would succeed with their work on Venus." - -"Those two factors are still unknowns in the equation," Walton said. -"Neither has succeeded, as of now. And we can't possibly let word of -your discovery get out until there are avenues to handle the overflow -of population already on hand." - -"So you propose--" - -"To confiscate the notes you have with you, and to insist that you -remain silent about this serum of yours until I give you permission to -announce it." - -"And if I refuse?" - -Walton spread his hands. "Dr. Lamarre, I'm a reasonable man trying to -do a very hard job. You're a scientist--and a sane one, I hope. I'd -appreciate your cooperation. Bear with me a few weeks, and then perhaps -the situation will change." - -Awkward silence followed. Finally Lamarre said, "Very well. If you'll -return my notes, I promise to keep silent until you give me permission -to speak." - -"That won't be enough. I'll need to keep the notes." - -Lamarre sighed. "If you insist," he said. - - * * * * * - -When he was again alone, Walton stored the thick portfolio in a file -drawer and stared at it quizzically. - -_FitzMaugham_, he thought, _you were incredible!_ - -Lamarre's immortality serum, or whatever it was, was deadly. Whether -it actually worked or not was irrelevant. If word ever escaped that an -immortality drug existed, there would be rioting and death on a vast -scale. - -FitzMaugham had certainly seen that, and yet he had sublimely -underwritten development of the serum, knowing that if terraforming and -the ultradrive project should fail, Lamarre's project represented a -major threat to civilization. - -Well, Lamarre had knuckled under to Walton willingly enough. The -problem now was to contact Lang on Venus and find out what was -happening up there.... - -"Mr. Walton," said the annunciator. "There's a coded message arriving -for Director FitzMaugham." - -"Where from?" - -"From space, sir. They say they have news, but they won't give it to -anyone but Mr. FitzMaugham." - -Walton cursed. "Where is this message being received?" - -"Floor twenty-three, sir. Communications." - -"Tell them I'll be right down," Walton snapped. - -He caught a lift tube and arrived on the twenty-third floor moments -later. No sooner had the tube door opened than he sprang out, dodging -around a pair of startled technicians, and sprinted down the corridor -toward communications. - -Here throbbed the network that held the branches of Popeek together. -From here the screens were powered, the annunciators were linked, the -phones connected. - -Walton pushed open a door marked _Communications Central_ and -confronted four busy engineers who were crowded around a complex -receiving mechanism. - -"Where's that space message?" he demanded of the sallow young engineer -who approached him. - -"Still coming in, sir. They're repeating it over and over. We're -triangulating their position now. Somewhere near the orbit of Pluto, -Mr. Walton." - -"Devil with that. Where's the message?" - -Someone handed him a slip of paper. It said, _Calling Earth. Urgent -call, top urgency, crash urgency. Will communicate only with D. F. -FitzMaugham._ - -"This all it is?" Walton asked. "No signature, no ship name?" - -"That's right, Mr. Walton." - -"Okay. Find them in a hurry and send them a return message. Tell them -FitzMaugham's dead and I'm his successor. Mention me by name." - -"Yes, sir." - -He stamped impatiently around the lab while they set to work beaming -the message into the void. Space communication was a field that dazzled -and bewildered Walton, and he watched in awe as they swung into -operation. - -Time passed. "You know of any ships supposed to be in that sector?" he -asked someone. - -"No, sir. We weren't expecting any calls except from Lang on Venus--" -The technician gasped, realizing he had made a slip, and turned pale. - -"That's all right," Walton assured him. "I'm the director, remember? I -know all about Lang." - -"Of course, sir." - -"Here's a reply, sir," another of the nameless, faceless technicians -said. Walton scanned it. - -It read, _Hello Walton. Request further identification before we -report. McL._ - -A little shudder of satisfaction shook Walton at the sight of the -initialed _McL._ at the end of the message. That could mean only -McLeod--and _that_ could mean only one thing: the experimental starship -had returned! - -Walton realized depressedly that this probably implied that they -hadn't found any Earth-type worlds among the stars. McLeod's note to -FitzMaugham had said they would search for a year, and would return -home at the end of that time if they had no success. And just about a -year had elapsed. - -He said, "Send this return message: McLeod, Nairobi, X-72. -Congratulations! Walton." - -The technician vanished again, leaving Walton alone. He gazed moodily -at the complex maze of equipment all around him, listened to the steady -_tick-tick_ of the communication devices, strained his ears to pick up -fragments of conversation from the men. - -After what seemed like an hour, the technician returned. "There's a -message coming through now, sir. We're decoding it as fast as we can." - -"Make it snappy," Walton said. His watch read 1429. Only twenty minutes -had passed since he had gone down there. - -A grimy sheet of paper was thrust under his nose. He read it: - - _Hello Walton, this is McLeod. Happy to report that experimental - ship X-72 is returning home with all hands in good shape, after - a remarkable one-year cruise of the galaxy. I feel like Ulysses - returning to Ithaca, except we didn't have such a hard time of it._ - - _I imagine you'll be interested in this: we found a perfectly - lovely and livable world in the Procyon system. No intelligent life - at all, and incredibly fine climate. Pity old FitzMaugham couldn't - have lived to hear about it. Be seeing you soon. McLeod._ - -Walton's hands were still shaking as he pressed the actuator that would -let him back into his office. He would have to call another meeting of -the section chiefs again, to discuss the best method of presenting this -exciting news to the world. - -For one thing, they would have to explain away FitzMaugham's failure -to reveal that the X-72 had been sent out over a year ago. That could -be easily handled. - -Then, there would have to be a careful build-up: descriptions of the -new world, profiles of the heroes who had found it, etcetera. Someone -was going to have to work out a plan for emigration ... unless the -resourceful FitzMaugham had already drawn up such a plan and stowed it -in Files for just this anticipated day. - -And then, perhaps Lamarre could be called back now, and allowed to -release his discovery. Plans buzzed in Walton's mind: in the event that -people proved reluctant to leave Earth and conquer an unknown world, -no matter how tempting the climate, it might be feasible to dangle -immortality before them--to restrict Lamarre's treatment to volunteer -colonists, or something along that line. There was plenty of time to -figure that out, Walton thought. - -He stepped into his office and locked the door behind him. A glow of -pleasure surrounded him; for once it seemed that things were heading in -the right direction. He was happy, in a way, that FitzMaugham was no -longer in charge. Now, with mankind on the threshold of-- - -Walton blinked. _Did I leave that file drawer open when I left the -office?_ he wondered. He was usually more cautious than that. - -The file was definitely open now, as were the two cabinets adjoining -it. Numbly he swung the cabinet doors wider, peered into the shadows, -groped inside. - -The drawers containing the documents pertaining to terraforming and to -McLeod's space drive seemed intact. But the cabinet in which Walton had -placed Lamarre's portfolio--that cabinet was totally empty! - -_Someone's been in here_, he thought angrily. And then the anger -changed to agony as he remembered what had been in Lamarre's portfolio, -and what would happen if that formula were loosed indiscriminately in -the world. - - - - -IX - - -The odd part of it, Walton thought, was that there was absolutely -nothing he could do. - -He could call Sellors and give him a roasting for not guarding his -office properly, but that wouldn't restore the missing portfolio. - -He could send out a general alarm, and thereby let the world know that -there was such a thing as Lamarre's formula. That would be catastrophic. - -Walton slammed the cabinet shut and spun the lock. Then, heavily, -he dropped into his chair and rested his head in his arms. All the -jubilation of a few moments before had suddenly melted into dull -apprehension. - -Suspects? Just two--Lamarre, and Fred. Lamarre because he was obvious; -Fred because he was likely to do anything to hurt his brother. - -"Give me Sellors in security," Walton said quietly. - -Sellors' bland face appeared on the screen. He blinked at the sight of -Walton, causing Walton to wonder just how ghastly his own appearance -was; even with the executive filter touching up the transmitted image, -sprucing him up and falsifying him for the public benefit, he probably -looked dreadful. - -"Sellors, I want you to send out a general order for a Dr. Lamarre. -You'll find his appearance recorded on the entrance tapes for today; -he came to see me earlier. The first name is--ah--Elliot. T. Elliot -Lamarre, gerontologist. I don't know where he lives." - -"What should I do when I find him, sir?" - -"Bring him here at once. And if you catch him at home, slap a seal -on his door. He may be in possession of some very important secret -documents." - -"Yes, sir." - -"And get hold of the doorsmith who repaired my office door; I want the -lock calibration changed at once." - -"Certainly, sir." - -The screen faded. Walton turned back to his desk and busied himself in -meaningless paper work, trying to keep himself from thinking. - -A few moments later the screen brightened again. It was Fred. - -Walton stared coldly at his brother's image. "Well?" - -Fred chuckled. "Why so pale and wan, dear brother? Disappointed in -love?" - -"What do you want?" - -"An audience with His Highness the Interim Director, if it please His -Grace." Fred grinned unpleasantly. "A private, audience, if you please, -m'lord." - -"Very well. Come on up here." - -Fred shook his head. "Sorry, no go. There are too many tricky spy -pickups in that office of yours. Let's meet elsewhere, shall we?" - -"Where?" - -"That club you belong to. The Bronze Room." - -Walton sputtered. "But I can't leave the building now! There's no one -who--" - -"Now," Fred interrupted. "The Bronze Room. It's in the San Isidro, -isn't it? Top of Neville Prospect?" - -"All right," said Walton resignedly. "There's a doorsmith coming up -here to do some work. Give me a minute to cancel the assignment and -I'll meet you downstairs." - -"You leave now," Fred said. "I'll arrive five minutes after you. And -you won't need to cancel anything. _I_ was the doorsmith." - - * * * * * - -Neville Prospect was the most fashionable avenue in all of New York -City, a wide strip of ferroconcrete running up the West Side between -Eleventh Avenue and the West Side Drive from Fortieth to Fiftieth -Street. It was bordered on both sides by looming apartment buildings in -which a man of wealth might have as many as four or five rooms to his -suite; and at the very head of the Prospect, facing down-town, was the -mighty San Isidro, a buttressed fortress of gleaming metal and stone -whose mighty, beryllium-steel supports swept out in a massive arc five -hundred feet in either direction. - -On the hundred fiftieth floor of the San Isidro was the exclusive -Bronze Room, from whose quartz windows might be seen all the sprawling -busyness of Manhattan and the close-packed confusion of New Jersey just -across the river. - -The jetcopter delivered Walton to the landing-stage of the Bronze -Room; he tipped the man too much and stepped within. A door of dull -bronze confronted him. He touched his key to the signet plate; the door -pivoted noiselessly inward, admitting him. - -The color scheme today was gray: gray light streamed from the -luminescent walls, gray carpets lay underfoot, gray tables with gray -dishes were visible in the murky distance. A gray-clad waiter, hardly -more than four feet tall, sidled up to Walton. - -"Good to see you again, sir," he murmured. "You have not been here of -late." - -"No," Walton said. "I've been busy." - -"A terrible tragedy, the death of Mr. FitzMaugham. He was one of our -most esteemed members. Will you have your usual room today, sir?" - -Walton shook his head. "I'm entertaining a guest--my brother, Fred. -We'll need a compartment for two. He'll identify himself when he -arrives." - -"Of course. Come with me, please." - -The gnome led him through a gray haze to another bronze door, down a -corridor lined with antique works of art, through an interior room -decorated with glowing lumi-facts of remarkable quality, past a broad -quartz window so clean as to be dizzyingly invisible, and up to a -narrow door with a bright red signet plate in its center. - -"For you, sir." - -Walton touched his key to the signet plate; the door crumpled like a -fan. He stepped inside, gravely handed the gnome a bill, and closed the -door. - -The room was tastefully furnished, again in gray; the Bronze Room was -always uniformly monochromatic, though the hue varied with the day and -with the mood of the city. Walton had long speculated on what the club -precincts would be like were the electronic magic disconnected. - -Actually, he knew, none of the Bronze Room's appurtenances had any -color except when the hand in the control room threw the switch. The -club held many secrets. It was FitzMaugham who had brought about -Walton's admission to the club, and Walton had been deeply grateful. - -He was in a room just comfortably large enough for two, with a single -bright window facing the Hudson, a small onyx table, a tiny screen -tastefully set in the wall, and a bar. He dialed himself a filtered -rum, his favorite drink. The dark, cloudy liquid came pouring instantly -from the spigot. - -The screen suddenly flashed a wave of green, breaking the ubiquitous -grayness. The green gave way to the bald head and scowling face of -Kroll, the Bronze Room's door-man. - -"Sir, there is a man outside who claims to be your brother. He alleges -he has an appointment with you here." - -"That's right, Kroll; send him in. Fulks will bring him to my room." - -"Just one moment, sir. First it is needful to verify." Kroll's face -vanished and Fred's appeared. - -"Is this the man?" Kroll's voice asked. - -"Yes," Walton said. "You can send my brother in." - - * * * * * - -Fred seemed a little dazed by the opulence. He sat gingerly on the -edge of the foamweb couch, obviously attempting to appear blasé and -painfully conscious of his failure to do so. - -"This is quite a place," he said finally. - -Walton smiled. "A little on the palatial side for my tastes. I don't -come here often. The transition hurts too much when I go back outside." - -"FitzMaugham got you in here, didn't he?" - -Walton nodded. - -"I thought so," Fred said. "Well, maybe someday soon I'll be a member -too. Then we can meet here more often. We don't see enough of each -other, you know." - -"Dial yourself a drink," Walton said. "Then tell me what's on your -mind--or were you just angling to get an invite up here?" - -"It was more than that. But let me get a drink before we begin." - -Fred dialed a Weesuer, heavy on the absinthe, and took a few sampling -sips before wheeling around to face Walton. He said, "One of the minor -talents I acquired in the course of my wanderings was doorsmithing. -It's really not very difficult to learn, for a man who applies himself." - -"You were the one who repaired my office door?" - -Fred smirked. "I was. I wore a mask, of course, and my uniform -was borrowed. Masks are very handy things. They make them most -convincingly, nowadays. As, for instance, the one worn by the man who -posed as Ludwig." - -"What do you know about--" - -"_Nothing._ And that's the flat truth, Roy. I didn't kill FitzMaugham, -and I don't know who did." He drained his drink and dialed another. -"No, the old man's death is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. -But I have to thank you for wrecking the door so completely when you -blasted your way in. It gave me a chance to make some repairs when I -most wanted to." - -Walton held himself very carefully in check. He knew exactly what Fred -was going to say in the next few minutes, but he refused to let himself -precipitate the conversation. - -With studied care he rose, dialed another filtered rum for himself, and -gently slid the initiator switch on the electroluminescent kaleidoscope -embedded in the rear wall. - -A pattern of lights sprang into being--yellow, pale rose, blue, soft -green. They wove together, intertwined, sprang apart into a sharp -hexagon, broke into a scatter-pattern, melted, seemed to fall to the -carpet in bright flakes. - -"Shut that thing off!" Fred snapped suddenly. "Come on! Shut it! _Shut -it!_" - -Walton swung around. His brother was leaning forward intently, eyes -clamped tight shut. "Is it off?" Fred asked. "Tell me!" - -Shrugging, Walton canceled the signal and the lights faded. "You can -open your eyes, now. It's off." - -Cautiously Fred opened his eyes. "None of your fancy tricks, Roy!" - -"Trick?" Walton asked innocently. "What trick? Simple decoration, -that's all--and quite lovely, too. Just like the kaleidowhirls you've -seen on video." - -Fred shook his head. "It's not the same thing. How do I know it's not -some sort of hypnoscreen? How do I know what those lights can do?" - -Walton realized his brother was unfamiliar with wall kaleidoscopes. -"It's perfectly harmless," he said. "But if you don't want it on, we -can do without it." - -"Good. That's the way I like it." - -Walton observed that Fred's cool confidence seemed somewhat shaken. -His brother had made a tactical error in insisting on holding their -interview here, where Walton had so much the upper hand. - -"May I ask again why you wanted to see me?" Walton said. - -"There are those people," Fred said slowly, "who oppose the entire -principle of population equalization." - -"I'm aware of that. Some of them are members of this very club." - -"Exactly. Some of them are. The ones I mean are the gentry, those still -lucky enough to cling to land and home. The squire with a hundred acres -in the Matto Grosso; the wealthy landowner of Liberia; the gentleman -who controls the rubber output of one of the lesser Indonesian islands. -These people, Roy, are unhappy over equalization. They know that sooner -or later you and your Bureau will find out about them and will equalize -them ... say, by installing a hundred Chinese on a private estate, or -by using a private river for a nuclear turbine. You'll have to admit -that their dislike of equalization is understandable." - -"Everyone's dislike of equalization is understandable," Walton said. "I -dislike it myself. You got your evidence of that two days ago. No one -likes to give up special privileges." - -"You see my point, then. There are perhaps a hundred of these men in -close contact with each other--" - -"_What!_" - -"Ah, yes," Fred said. "A league. A conspiracy, it might almost be -called. Very, very shady doings." - -"Yes." - -"I work for them," Fred said. - -Walton let that soak in. "You're an employee of Popeek," he said. "Are -you inferring that you're both an employee of Popeek and an employee -of a group that seeks to undermine Popeek?" - -Fred grinned proudly. "That's the position on the nose. It calls for -remarkable compartmentalization of mind. I think I manage nicely." - -Incredulously Walton said, "How long has this been going on?" - -"Ever since I came to Popeek. This group is older than Popeek. They -fought equalization all the way, and lost. Now they're working from -the bottom up and trying to wreck things before you catch wise and -confiscate their estates, as you're now legally entitled to do." - -"And now that you've warned me they exist," Walton said, "you can be -assured that that's the first thing I'll do. The second thing I'll do -will be to have the security men track down their names and find out if -there was an actual conspiracy. If there was, it's jail for them. And -the third thing I'll do is discharge you from Popeek." - -Fred shook his head. "You won't do any of those things, Roy. You can't." - -"Why?" - -"I know something about you that wouldn't look good if it came out -in the open. Something that would get you bounced out of your high -position in a flash." - -"Not fast enough to stop me from setting the wheels going. My successor -would continue the job of rooting out your league of landed gentry." - -"I doubt that," Fred said calmly. "I doubt it very much--because _I'm_ -going to be your successor." - - - - -X - - -Crosscurrents of fear ran through Walton. He said, "What are you -talking about?" - -Fred folded his arms complacently. "I don't think it comes as news to -you that I broke into your office this morning while you were out. It -was very simple: when I installed the lock, I built in a canceling -circuit that would let me walk in whenever I pleased. And this morning -I pleased. I was hoping to find something I could use as immediate -leverage against you, but I hadn't expected anything as explosive as -the portfolio in the left-hand cabinet. - -"Where is it?" - -Fred grinned sharply. "The contents of that portfolio are now in very -safe keeping, Roy. Don't bluster and don't threaten, because it won't -work. I took precautions." - -"And--" - -"And you know as well as I what would happen if that immortality serum -got distributed to the good old man in the street," Fred said. "For one -thing, there'd be a glorious panic. That would solve your population -problem for, a while, with millions killed in the rush. But after -that--where would you equalize, with every man and woman on Earth -living forever, and producing immortal children?" - -"We don't know the long-range effects yet--" - -"Don't temporize. You damned well know it'd be the biggest upheaval the -world has ever seen." Fred paused. "My employers," he said, "are in -possession of the Lamarre formulas now." - -"And with great glee are busy making themselves immortals." - -"No. They don't trust the stuff, and won't use it until it's been -tried on two or three billion guinea pigs. Human ones." - -"They're not planning to release the serum, are they?" Walton gasped. - -"Not immediately," Fred said. "In exchange for certain concessions -on your part, they're prepared to return Lamarre's portfolio to you -without making use of it." - -"Concessions? Such as what?" - -"That you refrain from declaring their private lands open territory for -equalization. That you resign your post as interim director. That you -go before the General Assembly and recommend me as your successor." - -"_You?_" - -"Who else is best fitted to serve the interests I represent?" - -Walton leaned back, his face showing a mirth he scarcely felt. "Very -neat, Fred. But full of holes. First thing, what assurance have I that -your wealthy friends won't keep a copy of the Lamarre formula and use -it as a bludgeon in the future against anyone they don't agree with?" - -"None," Fred admitted. - -"Naturally. What's more, suppose I refuse to give in and your employers -release the serum to all and sundry. Who gets hurt? Not me; I live in a -one-room box myself. But they'll be filling the world with billions and -billions of people. Their beloved estates will be overrun by the hungry -multitudes, whether they like it or not. And no fence will keep out a -million hungry people." - -"This is a risk they recognize," Fred said. - -Walton smiled triumphantly. "You mean they're bluffing! They know they -don't dare release that serum, and they think they can get me out of -the way and you, their puppet, into office by making menacing noises. -All right. I'll call their bluff." - -"You mean you refuse?" - -"Yes," Walton said. "I have no intention of resigning my interim -directorship, and when the Assembly convenes I'm going to ask for the -job on a permanent basis. They'll give it to me." - -"And my evidence against you? The Prior baby?" - -"Hearsay. Propaganda. I'll laugh it right out of sight." - -"Try laughing off the serum, Roy. It won't be so easy as all that." - -"I'll manage," Walton said tightly. He crossed the room and jabbed down -on the communicator stud. The screen lit; the wizened face of the tiny -servitor appeared. - -"Sir?" - -"Fulks, would you show this gentleman out of my chamber, please? He has -no further wish to remain with me." - -"Right away, Mr. Walton." - -"Before you throw me out," Fred said, "let me tell you one more thing." - -"Go ahead." - -"You're acting stupidly--though that's nothing new for you, Roy. I'll -give you a week's grace to make up your mind. Then the serum goes into -production." - -"My mind is made up," Walton said stiffly. The door telescoped and -Fulks stood outside. He smiled obsequiously at Walton, bowed to Fred, -and said to him, "Would you come with me, please?" - - * * * * * - -It was like one of those dreams, Walton thought, in which you were a -butler bringing dishes to the table, and the tray becomes obstinately -stuck to your fingertips and refuses to be separated; or in which the -Cavendishes are dining in state and you come to the table nude; or in -which you float downward perpetually with never a sign of bottom. - -There never seemed to be any way out. Force opposed force and he seemed -doomed always to be caught in the middle. - -Angrily he snapped the kaleidoscope back on and let its everchanging -swirl of color distract him. But in the depth of the deepest violet he -kept seeing his brother's mocking face. - -He summoned Fulks. - -The gnome looked up at him expectantly. "Get me a jetcopter," Walton -ordered. "I'll be waiting on the west stage for it." - -"Very good, sir." - -Fulks never had any problems, Walton reflected sourly. The little man -had found his niche in life; he spent his days in the plush comfort of -the Bronze Room, seeing to the wants of the members. Never any choices -to make, never any of the agonizing decisions that complicated life. - -Decisions. Walton realized that one particular decision had been made -for him, that of seeking the directorship permanently. He had not been -planning to do that. Now he had no choice but to remain in office as -long as he could. - -He stepped out onto the landing stage and into the waiting jetcopter. -"Cullen Building," he told the robopilot abstractedly. - -He did not feel very cheerful. - - * * * * * - -The annunciator panel in Walton's office was bright as a Christmas -tree; the signal bulbs were all alight, each representing someone -anxious to speak to him. He flipped over the circuit-breaker, -indicating he was back in his office, and received the first call. - -It was from Lee Percy. Percy's thick features were wrinkled into a -smile. "Just heard that speech you made outside the building this -morning, Roy. It's getting a big blare on the newsscreens. Beautiful! -Simply beautiful! Couldn't have been better if we'd concocted it -ourselves." - -"Glad you like it," Walton said. "It really was off the cuff." - -"Even better, then. You're positively a genius. Say, I wanted to tell -you that we've got the FitzMaugham memorial all whipped up and ready to -go. Full channel blast tonight over all media at 2000 sharp ... a solid -hour block. Nifty. Neat." - -"Is my speech in the program?" - -"Sure is, Roy. A slick one, too. Makes two speeches of yours blasted in -a single day." - -"Send me a transcript of my speech before it goes on the air," Walton -said. "I want to read and approve that thing if it's supposed to be -coming out of my mouth." - -"It's a natural, Roy. You don't have to worry." - -"_I want to read it beforehand!_" Walton snapped. - -"Okay, okay. Don't chew my ears off. I'll ship it to you posthaste, -man. Ease up. Pop a pill. You aren't loose, Roy." - -"I can't afford to be," Walton said. - -He broke contact and almost instantly the next call blossomed on the -screen. Walton recognized the man as one of the technicians from -communications, floor twenty-three. - -"Well?" - -"We heard from McLeod again, sir. Message came in half an hour ago and -we've been trying to reach you ever since." - -"I wasn't in. Give me the message." - -The technician unfolded a slip of paper. "It says, 'Arriving Nairobi -tonight, will be in New York by morning. McLeod.'" - -"Good. Send him confirmation and tell him I'll keep the entire morning -free to see him." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Oh--anything from Venus?" - -The technician shook his head emphatically. "Not a peep. We can't make -contact with Dr. Lang at all." - -Walton frowned. He wondered what was happening to the terraforming -crew up there. "Keep trying, will you? Work a twenty-four-hour-a-day -schedule. Draw extra pay. But get in touch with Lang, dammit!" - -"Y-yes, sir. Anything else?" - -"No. Get off the line." - -As the contact snapped Walton smoothly broke connection again, leaving -ten more would-be callers sputtering. A row of lights a foot long -indicated their presence on the line. Walton ignored them and turned -instead to his newsscreen. - -The 1400 news was on. He fiddled with the controls and saw his own face -take form on the screen. He was standing outside the Cullen Building, -looking right out of the screen at himself, and in the background could -be seen a huddled form under a coat. The dead Herschelite. - -Walton of the screen was saying, "... The man was asking for trouble. -Popeek represents the minds and hearts of the world. Herschel and his -people seek to overthrow this order. I can't condone violence of any -sort, naturally, but Popeek is a sacred responsibility to me. Its -enemies I must regard as blind and misguided people." - -He was smiling into the camera, but there was something behind the -smile, something cold and steely, that astonished the watching Walton. -_My God_, he thought. _Is that genuine? Have I really grown so hard?_ - -Apparently he had. He watched himself turn majestically and stride -into the Cullen Building, stronghold of Popeek. There was definitely a -commanding air about him. - -The commentator was saying, "With those heartfelt words, Director -Walton goes to his desk in the Cullen Building to carry out his weighty -task. To bring life out of death, joy out of sadness--this is the -job facing Popeek, and this is the sort of man to whom it has been -entrusted. Roy Walton, we salute you!" - -The screen panned to a still of Director FitzMaugham. "Meanwhile," the -commentator went on, "Walton's predecessor, the late D. F. FitzMaugham, -went to his rest today. Police are still hoping to uncover the group -responsible for his brutal slaying, and report a good probability of -success. Tonight all channels will carry a memorial program for this -great leader of humanity. D. F. FitzMaugham, hail and farewell!" - -A little sickened, Walton snapped the set off. He had to admire Lee -Percy; the propaganda man had done his job well. With a minor assist -from Walton by way of a spontaneous speech, Percy had contrived to gain -vast quantities of precious air time for Popeek. All to the good. - -The annunciator was still blinking violently; it seemed about to -explode with the weight of pent-up, frustrated calls. Walton nudged a -red stud at the top and Security Chief Sellors entered the screen. - -"Sellors, sir. We've been looking for this Lamarre. Can't find him -anywhere." - -"What?" - -"We checked him to his home. He got there, all right. Then he -disappeared. No sign of him anywhere in the city. What now, sir?" - -Walton felt his fingers quivering. "Order a tracer sent out through -all of Appalachia. No, cancel that--make it country-wide. Beam his -description everywhere. Got any snaps?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Get them on the air. Tell the country this man is vital to global -security. Find him, Sellors." - -"We'll give it a try." - -"Better than that. You'll _find_ him. If he doesn't turn up within -eight hours, shift the tracer to world-wide. He might be anywhere--and -he has to be found!" - -Walton blanked the screen and avoided the next caller. He called his -secretary and said, "Will you instruct everyone now calling me to refer -their business downstairs to Assistant Administrator Eglin. If they -don't want to do that, tell them to put it in writing and send it to -me. I can't accept any more calls just now." Then he added, "Oh, put me -through to Eglin myself before you let any of those calls reach him." - - * * * * * - -Eglin's face appeared on the private screen that linked the two -offices. The small man looked dark-browed and harried. "This is a hell -of a job, Roy," he sighed. - -"So is mine," Walton said. "Look, I've got a ton of calls on the wire, -and I'm transferring them all down to you. Throw as many as you can -down to the subordinates. It's the only way to keep your sanity." - -"Thanks. Thanks loads, Roy. All I need now is some more calls." - -"Can't be helped. Who'd you pick for your replacement as director of -field agents?" Walton asked. - -"Lassen. I sent his dossier to you hours ago." - -"Haven't read it yet. Is he on the job already?" - -"Sure. He's been there since I moved up here," Eglin said. "What--" - -"Never mind," said Walton. He hung up and called Lassen, the new -director of field agents. - -Lassen was a boyish-looking young man with stiff sandy hair and a -sternly efficient manner. Walton said, "Lassen, I want you to do a job -for me. Get one of your men to make up a list of the hundred biggest -private estates still unequalized. I want the names of their owners, -location of the estates, acreage, and things like that. Got it?" - -"Right. When will you want it, Mr. Walton?" - -"Immediately. But I don't want it to be a sloppy job. This is top -important, double." - -Lassen nodded. Walton grinned at him--the boy seemed to be in good -control of himself--and clicked off. - -He realized that he'd been engaged in half a dozen high-power -conversations without a break, over a span of perhaps twenty minutes. -His heart was pounding; his feet felt numb. - -He popped a benzolurethrin into his mouth and kept on going. He -would need to act fast, now that the wheels were turning. McLeod -arriving the next day to report the results of the faster-than-light -expedition, Lamarre missing, Fred at large and working for a conspiracy -of landowners--Walton foresaw that he would be on a steady diet of -tranquilizers for the next few days. - -He opened the arrival bin and pulled out a handful of paper. One thick -bundle was the dossier on Lassen; Walton initialed it and tossed -it unread into the Files chute. He would have to rely on Eglin's -judgement; Lassen seemed competent enough. - -Underneath that, he found the script of the FitzMaugham memorial -program to be shown that evening. Walton sat back and started to skim -through it. - -It was the usual sort of eulogy. He skipped rapidly past FitzMaugham's -life and great works, on to the part where Interim Director Walton -appeared on the screen to speak. - -This part he read more carefully. He was very much interested in the -words that Percy had placed in his mouth. - - - - -XI - - -The speech that night went over well ... almost. - -Walton watched the program in the privacy of his home, sprawled out -on the foamweb sofa with a drink in one hand and the text of Percy's -shooting-script in the other. The giant screen that occupied nearly -half of his one unbroken wall glowed in lifelike colors. - -FitzMaugham's career was traced with pomp and circumstance, done -up in full glory: plenty of ringing trumpet flourishes, dozens of -eye-appealing color groupings, much high-pitched, tense narrative. -Percy had done his job skillfully. The show was punctuated by -quotations from FitzMaugham's classic book, _Breathing Space and -Sanity_. Key government figures drifted in and out of the narrative -webwork, orating sonorously. That pious fraud, M. Seymour Lanson, -President of the United States, delivered a flowery speech; the old -figurehead was an artist at his one function, speechmaking. Walton -watched, spellbound. Lee Percy was a genius in his field; there was no -denying that. - -Finally, toward the end of the hour, the narrator said, "The work -of Popeek goes on, though its lofty-minded creator lies dead at an -assassin's hand. Director FitzMaugham had chosen as his successor a -young man schooled in the ideals of Popeek. Roy Walton, we know, will -continue the noble task begun by D. F. FitzMaugham." - -For the second time that day Walton watched his own face appear on -a video screen. He glanced down at the script in his hand and back -up at the screen. Percy's technicians had done a brilliant job. The -Walton-image on the screen looked so real that the Walton on the couch -almost believed he had actually delivered this speech--although he -knew it had been cooked up out of some rearranged stills and a few -brokendown phonemes with his voice characteristics. - -It was a perfectly innocent speech. In humble tones he expressed his -veneration for the late director, his hopes that he would be able to -fill the void left by the death of FitzMaugham, his sense of Popeek as -a sacred trust. Half-listening, Walton began to skim the script. - -Startled, Walton looked down at the script. He didn't remember having -encountered any such lines on his first reading, and he couldn't find -them now. "This morning," the pseudo-Walton on the screen went on, "we -received _contact from outer space_! From a faster-than-light ship -sent out over a year ago to explore our neighboring stars. - -"News of this voyage has been withheld until now for security reasons. -But it is my great pleasure to tell you tonight that the stars have at -last been reached by man.... A new world waits for us out there, lush, -fertile, ready to be colonized by the brave pioneers of tomorrow!" - -Walton stared aghast at the screen. His simulacrum had returned now to -the script as prepared, but he barely listened. - -He was thinking that Percy had let the cat out for sure. It was a -totally unauthorized newsbreak. Numbly, Walton watched the program -come to its end, and wondered what the repercussions would be once the -public grasped all the implications. - - * * * * * - -He was awakened at 0600 by the chiming of his phone. Grumpily he -climbed from bed, snapped on the receiver, switched the cutoff on the -picture sender in order to hide his sleep-rumpled appearance, and said, -"This is Walton. Yes?" - -A picture formed on the screen: a heavily-tanned man in his late -forties, stocky, hair close cropped. "Sorry to roust you this way, old -man. I'm McLeod." - -Walton came fully awake in an instant. "McLeod? Where are you?" - -"Out on Long Island. I just pulled into the airport half a moment ago. -Traveled all night after dumping the ship at Nairobi." - -"You made a good landing, I hope?" - -"The best. The ship navigates like a bubble." McLeod frowned worriedly. -"They brought me the early-morning telefax while I was having -breakfast. I couldn't help reading all about the speech you made last -night." - -"Oh. I--" - -"Quite a crasher of a speech," McLeod went on evenly. "But don't you -think it was a little premature of you to release word of my flight. I -mean--" - -"It was quite premature," Walton said. "A member of my staff inserted -that statement into my talk without my knowledge. He'll be disciplined -for it." - -A puzzled frown appeared on McLeod's face. "But _you_ made that speech -with your own lips! How can you blame it on a member of your staff?" - -"The science that can send a ship to Procyon and back within a year," -Walton said, "can also fake a speech. But I imagine we'll be able to -cover up the pre-release without too much trouble." - -"I'm not so sure of that," said McLeod. He shrugged apologetically. -"You see, that planet's there, all right. But it happens to be the -property of alien beings who live in the next world. And they're not so -happy about having Earth come crashing into their system to colonize!" - -Somehow Walton managed to hang onto his self-control, even with this -staggering news crashing about him. "You've been in contact with these -beings?" he asked. - -McLeod nodded. "They have a translating gadget. We met them, yes." - -Walton moistened his lips. "I think there's going to be trouble," he -said. "I think I may be out of a job, too." - -"What's that?" - -"Just thinking out loud," Walton said. "Finish your breakfast and meet -me at my office at 0900. We'll talk this thing out then." - - * * * * * - -Walton was in full command of himself by the time he reached the Cullen -Building. - -He had read the morning telefax and heard the newsblares: they all -screamed the sum and essence of Walton's speech of the previous night, -and a few of the braver telefax outfits went as far as printing a -resumé of the entire speech, boiled down to Basic, of course, for -benefit of that substantial segment of the reading public that was -most comfortable while moving its lips. The one telefax outfit most -outspokenly opposed to Popeek, _Citizen_, took great delight in giving -the speech full play, and editorializing on a subsequent sheet against -the "veil of security" hazing Popeek operations. - -Walton read the _Citizen_ editorial twice, savoring its painstaking -simplicities of expression. Then he clipped it out neatly and shot it -down the chute to public relations, marked _Attention: Lee Percy_. - -"There's a Mr. McLeod waiting to see you," his secretary informed him. -"He says he has an appointment." - -"Send him in," Walton said. "And have Mr. Percy come up here also." - -While he waited for McLeod to arrive, Walton riffled through the -rest of the telefax sheets. Some of them praised Popeek for having -uncovered a new world; others damned them for having hidden news of the -faster-than-light drive so long. Walton stacked them neatly in a heap -at the edge of his desk. - -In the bleak, dark hours of the morning, he had expected to be -compelled to resign. Now, he realized, he could immeasurably strengthen -his own position if he could control the flow of events and channel -them properly. - -The square figure of McLeod appeared on the screen. Walton admitted him. - -"Sir. I'm McLeod." - -"Of course. Won't you sit down?" - -McLeod was tense, stiffly formal, very British in his reserve and -general bearing. Walton gestured uneasily, trying to cut through the -crackle of nervousness. - -"We seem to have a mess on our hands," he said. "But there's no mess so -messy we can't muddle through it, eh?" - -"If we have to, sir. But I can't help feeling this could all have been -avoided." - -"No. You're wrong, McLeod. If it _could_ have been avoided, it would -have been avoided. The fact that some idiot in my public relations -department gained access to my wire and found out you were returning is -incontrovertible; it happened, despite precautions." - -"Mr. Percy to see you," the annunciator said. - -The angular figure of Lee Percy appeared on the screen. Walton told him -to come in. - -Percy looked frightened--terrified, Walton thought. He held a folded -slip of paper loosely in one hand. - -"Good morning, sir." - -"Good morning, Lee." Walton observed that the friendly _Roy_ had -changed to the formal salutation, _sir_. "Did you get the clipping I -sent you?" - -"Yes, sir." Glumly. - -"Lee, this is Leslie McLeod, chief of operations of our successful -faster-than-light project. Colonel McLeod, I want you to meet Lee -Percy. He's the man who masterminded our little newsbreak last night." - -Percy flinched visibly. He stepped forward and laid his slip of paper -on Walton's desk. "I m-made a m-mistake last night," he stammered. "I -should never have released that break." - -"Damned right you shouldn't have," Walton agreed, carefully keeping -any hint of severity from his voice. "You have us in considerable -hot water, Lee. That planet isn't ours for colonization, despite the -enthusiasm with which I allegedly announced it last night. And you -ought to be clever enough to realize it's impossible to withdraw and -deny good news once you've broken it." - -"The planet's not ours? But--?" - -"According to Colonel McLeod," Walton said, "the planet is the property -of intelligent alien beings who live on a neighboring world, and who -no more care to have their system overrun by a pack of Earthmen than we -would to have extrasolar aliens settle on Mars." - -"Sir, that sheet of paper ..." Percy said in a choked voice. -"It's--it's--" - -Walton unfolded it. It was Percy's resignation. He read the note -carefully twice, smiled, and laid it down. Now was his time to be -magnanimous. - -"Denied," he said. "We need you on our team, Lee. I'm authorizing a ten -percent pay-cut for one week, effective yesterday, but there'll be no -other penalty." - -"Thank you, sir." - -_He's crawling to me_, Walton thought in amazement. He said, "Only -don't pull that stunt again, or I'll not only fire you but blacklist -you so hard you won't be able to find work between here and Procyon. -Understand?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Okay. Go back to your office and get to work. And no more publicity -on this faster-than-light thing until I authorize it. No--cancel that. -Get out a quick release, a followup on last night. A smoke screen, I -mean. Cook up so much cloudy verbiage about the conquest of space that -no one bothers to remember anything of what I said. And play down the -colonization angle!" - -"I get it, sir." Percy grinned feebly. - -"I doubt that," Walton snapped. "When you have the release prepared, -shoot it up here for my okay. And heaven help you if you deviate from -the text I see by as much as a single comma!" - -Percy practically backed out of the office. - - * * * * * - -"Why did you do that?" McLeod asked, puzzled. - -"You mean, why did I let him off so lightly?" - -McLeod nodded. "In the military," he said, "we'd have a man shot for -doing a thing like that." - -"This isn't the military," Walton said. "And even though the man -behaved like a congenital idiot yesterday, that's not enough evidence -to push him into Happysleep. Besides, he knows his stuff. I can't -afford to discharge him." - -"Are public relations men that hard to come by?" - -"No. But he's a good one--and the prospect of having him desert to the -other side frightens me. He'll be forever grateful to me now. If I had -fired him, he would've had half a dozen anti-Popeek articles in the -_Citizen_ before the week was out. And they'd ruin us." - -McLeod smiled appreciatively. "You handle your job well, Mr. Walton." - -"I have to," Walton said. "The director of Popeek is paid to produce -two or three miracles per hour. One gets used to it, after a while. -Tell me about these aliens, Colonel McLeod." - -McLeod swung a briefcase to Walton's desk and flipped the magneseal. He -handed Walton a thick sheaf of glossy color photos. - -"The first dozen or so are scenes of the planet," McLeod explained. -"It's Procyon VIII--number eight out of sixteen, unless we missed a -couple. We checked sixteen worlds in the system, anyway. Ten of 'em -were methane giants; we didn't even bother to land. Two were ammonia -supergiants, even less pleasant. Three small ones had no atmosphere -at all worth speaking about, and were no more livable looking than -Mercury. And the remaining one was the one we call New Earth. Take a -look, sir." - -Walton looked. The photos showed rolling hills covered with -close-packed shrubbery, flowing rivers, a lovely sunrise. Several of -the shots were of indigenous life--a wizened little four-handed monkey, -a six-legged doglike thing, a toothy bird. - -"Life runs to six limbs there," Walton observed. "But how livable can -this place be? Unless your photos are sour, that grass is _blue_ ... -and the water's peculiar looking, too. What sort of tests did you run?" - -"It's the light, sir. Procyon's a double star; that faint companion -gets up in the sky and does tricky things to the camera. That grass may -look blue, but it's a chlorophyll-based photosynthesizer all the same. -And the water's nothing but H_{2}O, even with that purple tinge." - -Walton nodded. "How about the atmosphere?" - -"We were breathing it for a week, and no trouble. It's pretty rich in -oxygen--twenty-four percent. Gives you a bouncy feeling--just right for -pioneers, I'd say." - -"You've prepared a full report on this place, haven't you?" - -"Of course. It's right here." McLeod started to reach for his briefcase. - -"Not just yet," Walton said. "I want to go through the rest of these -snapshots." He turned over one after another rapidly until he came to -a photo that showed a strange blocky figure, four-armed, bright green -in color. Its neckless head was encased in a sort of breathing mask -fashioned from some transparent plastic. Three cold, brooding eyes -peered outward. - -"What's this?" Walton asked. - -"Oh, that." McLeod attempted a cheerful grin. "That's a Dirnan. They -live on Procyon IX, one of the ammonia-giant planets. They're the -aliens who don't want us there." - - - - -XII - - -Walton stared at the photograph of the alien. There was intelligence -there ... yes, intelligence and understanding, and perhaps even a sort -of compassion. - -He sighed. There were always qualifications, never unalloyed successes. - -"Colonel McLeod, how long would it take your ship to return to the -Procyon system?" he asked thoughtfully. - -McLeod considered the question. "Hardly any time, sir. A few days, -maybe. Why?" - -"Just a wild idea. Tell me about your contact with these--ah--Dirnans." - -"Well, sir, they landed after we'd spent more than a week surveying New -Earth. There were six of them, and they had their translating widget -with them. They told us who they were, and wanted to know who we were. -We told them. They said they ran the Procyon system, and weren't of a -mind to let any alien beings come barging in." - -"Did they sound hostile?" Walton asked. - -"Oh, no. Just businesslike. We were trespassing, and they asked us to -get off. They were cold about it, but not angry." - -"Fine," Walton said. "Look here, now. Do you think you could go back -to their world as--well as an ambassador from Earth? Bring one of the -Dirnans here for treaty talks, and such?" - -"I suppose so," McLeod said hesitantly. "If it's necessary." - -"It looks as if it may be. You had no luck in any of the other nearby -systems?" - -"No." - -"Then Procyon VIII's our main hope. Tell your men we'll offer double -pay for this cruise. And make it as fast as you know how." - -"Hyperspace travel's practically instantaneous," McLeod said. "We spent -most of our time cruising on standard ion drive from planet to planet. -Maneuvering in the subspace manifold's a snap, though." - -"Good. Snap it up, then. Back to Nairobi and clear out of there as -soon as you're ready. Remember, it's urgent you bring one of the aliens -here for treaty talks." - -"I'll do my best," McLeod said. - - * * * * * - -Walton stared at the empty seat where McLeod had been, and tried to -picture a green Dirnan sitting there, goggling at him with its three -eyes. - -He was beginning to feel like a juggler. Popeek activity proceeded on -so many fronts at once that it quite dazzled him. And every hour there -were new challenges to meet, new decisions to make. - -At the moment, there were too many eggs and not enough baskets. Walton -realized he was making the same mistake FitzMaugham had, that of -carrying too much of the Popeek workings inside his skull. If anything -happened to him, the operation would be fatally paralyzed, and it would -be some time before the gears were meshing again. - -He resolved to keep a journal, to record each day a full and -mercilessly honest account of each of the many maneuvers in which he -was engaged. He would begin with his private conflict with Fred and the -interests Fred represented, follow through with the Lamarre-immortality -episode, and include a detailed report on the problems of the -subsidiary projects, New Earth and Lang's terraforming group. - -That gave him another idea. Reaching for his voicewrite, he dictated -a concise confidential memorandum instructing Assistant Administrator -Eglin to outfit an investigatory mission immediately; purpose, to go -to Venus and make contact with Lang. The terraforming group was nearly -two weeks overdue in its scheduled report. He could not ignore them any -longer. - -The everlasting annunciator chimed, and Walton switched on the screen. -It was Sellors, and from the look of abject terror on the man's face, -Walton knew that something sticky had just transpired. - -"What is it, Sellors? Any luck in tracing Lamarre?" - -"None, sir," the security chief said. "But there's been another -development, Mr. Walton. A most serious one. _Most_ serious." - -Walton was ready to expect anything--a bulletin announcing the end of -the universe, perhaps. "Well, tell me about it," he snapped impatiently. - -Sellors seemed about ready to collapse with shame. He said hesitantly, -"One of the communications technicians was making a routine check of -the building's circuits, Mr. Walton. He found one trunk-line that -didn't seem to belong where it was, so he checked up and found out that -it had been newly installed." - -"Well, what of it?" - -"It was a spy pickup with its outlet in your office, sir," Sellors -said, letting the words tumble out in one blur. "All the time you were -talking this morning, someone was spying on you." - -Walton grabbed the arms of his chair. "Are you telling me that your -department was blind enough to let someone pipe a spy pickup right into -this office?" he demanded. "Where did this outlet go? And is it cut -off?" - -"They cut it off as soon as they found it, sir. It went to a men's -lavatory on the twenty-sixth floor." - -"And how long was it in operation?" - -"At least since last night, sir. Communications assures me that it -couldn't possibly have been there before yesterday afternoon, since -they ran a general check then and didn't see it." - -Walton groaned. It was small comfort to know that he had had privacy -up till last evening; if the wrong people had listened in on his -conversation with McLeod, there would be serious trouble. - -"All right, Sellors. This thing can't be your fault, but keep your eyes -peeled in the future. And tell communications that my office is to be -checked for such things twice a day from now on, at 0900 and at 1300." - -"Yes, sir." Sellors looked tremendously relieved. - -"And start interrogating the communications technicians. Find out who's -responsible for that spy circuit, and hold him on security charges. And -locate Lamarre!" - -"I'll do my best, Mr. Walton." - -While the screen was clearing, Walton jotted down a memorandum to -himself: _investigate Sellors_. So far, as security chief, Sellors had -allowed an assassin to reach FitzMaugham, allowed Prior to burst into -Walton's old office, permitted Fred to masquerade as a doorsmith long -enough to gain access to Walton's private files, and stood by blindly -while Lee Percy tapped into Walton's private wire and some unidentified -technician strung a spy pickup into the director's supposedly sacred -office. - -No security chief could have been as incompetent as all that. It had to -be a planned campaign, directed from the outside. - -He dialed Eglin. - -"Olaf, you get my message about the Venus rescue mission okay?" - -"Came through a few minutes ago. I'll have the specs drawn up by -tonight." - -"Devil with that," Walton said. "Drop everything and send that ship out -_now_. I've got to know what Lang and his crew are up to, and I have -to know right away. If we don't produce a livable Venus, or at least -the possibility of one, in a couple of days, we'll be in for it on all -sides." - -"Why? What's up?" - -"You'll see. Keep an eye on the telefax. I'll bet the next edition of -_Citizen_ is going to be interesting." - - * * * * * - -It was. - -The glossy sheets of the 1200 _Citizen_ extruded themselves from a -million receivers in the New York area, but none of those million -copies was as avidly pounced on as was Director Walton's. He had been -hovering near the wall outlet for ten minutes, avidly awaiting the -sheet's arrival. - -And he was not disappointed. - -The streamer headline ran: - - _THINGS FROM SPACE NIX BIG POPEEK PLAN_ - -And under it in smaller type: - - _Greenskinned Uglies Put Feet In Director Walton's Big Mouth_ - -He smiled grimly and went on to the story itself. Written in the best -approved _Citizen_ journalese, it read: - - _Fellow human beings, we've been suckered again. The_ Citizen _found - out for sure this morning that the big surprise Popeek's Interim - Director Walton yanked out of his hat last night has a hole in it._ - - _It's sure dope that there's a good planet up there in the sky for - grabs. The way we hear it, it's just like earth only prettier, with - trees and flowers (remember them?). Our man says the air there is - nice and clean. This world sounds okay._ - - _But what Walton didn't know last night came home to roost today. - Seems the folks on the next planet out there don't want any sloppy - old Earthmen messing up their pasture--and so we ain't going to have - any New Earth after all. Wish-washy Walton is a cinch to throw in - the towel now._ - - _More dope in later editions. And check the edit page for extra - info._ - -It was obvious, Walton thought, that the spy pickup which had been -planted in his office had been a direct pipe line to the _Citizen_ news -desk. They had taken his conversation with McLeod and carefully ground -it down into the chatty, informal, colloquial style that made _Citizen_ -the world's most heavily-subscribed telefax service. - -He shuddered at what might have happened if they'd had their spy -pickup installed a day earlier, and overheard Walton in the process of -suppressing Lamarre's immortality serum. There would have been a lynch -mob storming the Cullen Building ten minutes after the _Citizen_ hit -the waves with its exposé. - -Not that he was much better off now. He no longer had the advantage of -secrecy to cloak his actions, and public officials who were compelled -to conduct business in the harsh light of public scrutiny generally -didn't hold their offices for long. - -He turned the sheet over and searched for the editorial column, merely -to confirm his expectations. - -It was captioned in bold black: - - _ARE WE PATSIES FOR GREENSKINS?_ - -And went on to say: - - _Non-human beings have said "Whoa!" to our plans for opening up a - new world in space. These aliens have put thumbs down on - colonization of the New Earth discovered by Colonel Leslie McLeod._ - - _Aside from the question of why Popeek kept word of the McLeod - expedition from the public so long, there is this to consider--will - we take this lying down?_ - - _We've got to find space for us to live. New Earth is a good place. - The answer to the trouble is easy: we take New Earth. If the - greenskins don't like it, bounce 'em!_ - - _How about it? What do we do? Mr. Walton, we want to know. What - goes?_ - -It was an open exhortation to interstellar warfare. Dispiritedly, -Walton let the telefax sheets skitter to the floor, and made no move to -pick them up. - -War with the Dirnans? If _Citizen_ had its way, there would be. The -telefax sheet would remorselessly stir the people up until the cry for -war was unanimous. - -_Well_, thought Walton callously, _a good war would reduce the -population surplus. The idiots!_ - - * * * * * - -He caught the afternoon newsblares. They were full of the _Citizen_ -break, and one commentator made a point-blank demand that Walton either -advocate war with the Dirnans or resign. - -Not long afterward, UN delegate Ludwig called. - -"Some hot action over here today," he told Walton. "After that -_Citizen_ thing got out, a few of the Oriental delegates started -howling for your scalp on sixteen different counts of bungling. What's -going on, Walton?" - -"Plenty of spy activity, for one thing. The main problem, though, is -the nucleus of incompetent assistants surrounding me. I think I'm going -to reduce the local population personally before the day is out. With a -blunt instrument, preferably." - -"Is there any truth in the _Citizen_ story?" - -"Hell, yes!" Walton exclaimed. "For once, it's gospel! An enterprising -telefax man rigged a private pipe line into my office last night and -no one caught it until it was too late. Sure, those aliens are holding -out. They don't want us coming in there." - -Ludwig chewed at his lip. "You have any plans?" - -"Dozens of them. Want some, cheap?" He laughed, a brittle, unamused -laugh. - -"Seriously, Roy. You ought to go on the air again and smooth this thing -over. The people are yelling for war with these Dirnans, and half of -us over here at the UN aren't even sure the damned creatures exist. -Couldn't you fake it up a little?" - -"No," Walton said. "There's been enough faking. I'm going on the air -with the truth for a change! Better have all your delegates over there -listening in, because their ears are in for an opening." - -As soon as he was rid of Ludwig he called Lee Percy. - -"That program on the conquest of space is almost ready to go," the -public relations man informed him. - -"Kill it. Have you seen the noon _Citizen_?" - -"No; been too busy on the new program. Anything big?" - -Walton chuckled. "Fairly big. The _Citizen_ just yanked the rug out -from under everything. We'll probably be at war with Procyon IX by -sundown. I want you to buy me air space on every medium for the 1900 -spot tonight." - -"Sure thing. What kind of speech you want us to cook up?" - -"None at all," Walton said. "I'm going to speak off the cuff for a -change. Just buy the time for me, and squeeze the budget for all it's -worth." - - - - -XIII - - -The bright light of the video cameras flooded the room. Percy had -done a good job; there was a representative from every network, every -telefax, every blare of any sort at all. The media had been corralled. -Walton's words would echo round the world. - -He was seated behind his desk--seated, because he could shape his words -more forcefully that way, and also because he was terribly tired. He -smiled into the battery of cameras. - -"Good evening," he said. "I'm Roy Walton, speaking to you from the -offices of the Bureau of Population Equalization. I've been director -of Popeek for a little less than a week, now, and I'd like to make a -report--a progress report, so to speak. - -"We of Popeek regard ourselves as holding a mandate from you, the -people. After all, it was the world-wide referendum last year that -enabled the United Nations to put us into business. And I want to tell -you how the work of Popeek is going. - -"Our aim is to provide breathing space for human beings. The world is -vastly overcrowded, with its seven billion people. Popeek's job is to -ease that overcrowdedness, to equalize the population masses of the -world so that the empty portions of the globe are filled up and the -extremely overcrowded places thinned out a little. But this is only -part of our job--the short-range, temporary part. We're planning for -the future here. We know we can't keep shifting population from place -to place on Earth; it won't work forever. Eventually every square inch -is going to be covered, and then where do we go? - -"You know the answer. We go _out_. We reach for the stars. At present -we have spaceships that can take us to the planets, but the planets -aren't suitable for human life. All right, we'll _make_ them suitable! -At this very moment a team of engineers is on Venus, in that hot, dry, -formaldehyde atmosphere, struggling to turn Venus into a world fit for -oxygen-breathing human beings. They'll do it, too--and when they're -done with Venus they'll move on to Mars, to the Moon, perhaps to the -big satellites of Jupiter and Saturn too. There'll be a day when the -solar system will be habitable from Mercury to Pluto--we hope." - -"But even that is short-range," Walton said pointedly. "There'll be -a day--it may be a hundred years from now, or a thousand, or ten -thousand--when the entire solar system will be as crowded with humanity -as Earth is today. We have to plan for that day, too. It's the _lack_ -of planning on the part of our ancestors that's made things so hard for -us. We of Popeek don't want to repeat the tragic mistakes of the past. - -"My predecessor, the late Director FitzMaugham, was aware of this -problem. He succeeded in gathering a group of scientists and -technicians who developed a super space drive, a faster-than-light ship -that can travel to the stars virtually instantaneously, instead of -taking years to make the trip as our present ships would. - -"The ship was built and sent out on an exploratory mission. Director -FitzMaugham chose to keep this fact a secret. He was afraid of arousing -false hopes in case the expedition should be a failure. - -"The expedition was _not_ a failure! Colonel Leslie McLeod and his men -discovered a planet similar to Earth in the system of the star Procyon. -I have seen photographs of New Earth, as they have named it, and I can -tell you that it is a lovely planet ... and one that will be receptive -to our pioneers." - -Walton paused a moment before launching into the main subject of his -talk. - -"Unfortunately, there is a race of intelligent beings living on a -neighboring planet of this world. Perhaps you have seen the misleading -and inaccurate reports blared today to the effect that these people -refuse to allow Earth to colonize in their system. Some of you have -cried out for immediate war against these people, the Dirnans. - -"I must confirm part of the story the telefax carried today: the -Dirnans are definitely not anxious to have Earth set up a colony on a -world adjoining theirs. We are strangers to them, and their reaction is -understandable. After all, suppose a race of strange-looking creatures -landed on Mars, and proceeded with wholesale colonization of our -neighboring world? We'd be uneasy, to say the least. - -"And so the Dirnans are uneasy. However, I've summoned a Dirnan -ambassador--our first diplomatic contact with intelligent alien -creatures!--and I hope he'll be on Earth shortly. I plan to convince -him that we're peaceful, neighborly people, and that it will be to our -mutual benefit to allow Earth colonization in the Procyon system. - -"I'm going to need your help. If, while our alien guest is here, he -discovers that some misguided Earthmen are demanding war with Dirna, -he's certainly not going to think of us as particularly desirable -neighbors to welcome with open arms. I want to stress the importance of -this. Sure, we can go to war with Dirna for possession of Procyon VIII. -But why spread wholesale destruction on two worlds when we can probably -achieve our goal peacefully? - -"That's all I have to say tonight, people of the world. I hope you'll -think about what I've told you. Popeek works twenty-four hours a day -in your behalf, but we need your full cooperation if we're going to -achieve our aims and bring humanity to its full maturity. Thank you." - - * * * * * - -The floodlights winked out suddenly, leaving Walton momentarily -blinded. When he opened his eyes again he saw the cameramen moving -their bulky apparatus out of the office quickly and efficiently. The -regular programs had returned to the channels--the vapid dancing and -joke-making, the terror shows, the kaleidowhirls. - -Now that it was over, now that the tension was broken, Walton -experienced a moment of bitter disillusionment. He had had high hopes -for his speech, but had he really put it over? He wasn't sure. - -He glanced up. Lee Percy stood over him. - -"Roy, can I say something?" Percy said diffidently. - -"Go ahead," Walton said. - -"I don't know how many millions I forked over to put you on the media -tonight, but I know one thing--we threw a hell of a lot of money away." - -Walton sighed wearily. "Why do you say that?" - -"That speech of yours," Percy said, "was the speech of an amateur. You -ought to let pros handle the big spiels, Roy." - -"I thought you liked the impromptu thing I did when they mobbed that -Herschelite. How come no go tonight?" - -Percy shook his head. "The speech you made outside the building was -different. It had emotion; it had punch! But tonight you didn't come -across at all." - -"No?" - -"I'd put money behind it." Acidly Percy said, "You can't win the public -opinion by being reasonable. You gave a nice smooth speech. Bland ... -folksy. You laid everything on the line where they could see it." - -"And that's wrong, is it?" Walton closed his eyes for a moment. "_Why?_" - -"Because they won't listen! You gave them a sermon when you should have -been punching at them! Sweet reason! You can't be _sweet_ if you want -to sell your product to seven billion morons!" - -"Is that all they are?" Walton asked. "Just morons?" - -Percy chuckled. "In the long run, yes. Give them their daily bread and -their one room to live in, and they won't give a damn what happens -to the world. FitzMaugham sold them Popeek the way you'd sell a car -without turbines. He hoodwinked them into buying something they hadn't -thought about or wanted." - -"They _needed_ Popeek, whether they wanted it or not. No one needs a -car without turbines." - -"Bad analogy, then," Percy said. "But it's true. They don't care a -blast about Popeek, except where it affects them. If you'd told them -that these aliens would kill them all if they didn't act nice, you'd -have gotten across. But this sweetness and light business--oh, no, Roy. -It just doesn't work." - -"Is that all you have to tell me?" Walton asked. - -"I guess so. I just wanted to show you where you had a big chance and -muffed it. Where we could have helped you out if you'd let us. I don't -want you to think I'm being rude or critical, Roy; I'm just trying to -be helpful." - -"Okay, Lee. Get out." - -"Huh?" - -"Go away. Go sell ice to the Eskimos. Leave me alone, yes?" - -"If that's the way you want it. Hell, Roy, don't brood over it. We can -still fix things up before that alien gets here. We can put the content -of tonight's speech across so smoothly that they won't even know -we're--" - -"_Get out!_" - -Percy skittered for the door. He paused and said, "You're all wrought -up, Roy. You ought to take a pill or something for your nerves." - - * * * * * - -Well, he had his answer. An expert evaluation of the content and effect -of his speech. - -Dammit, he had _tried_ to reach them. Percy said he hadn't, and Percy -probably was right, little as Walton cared to admit the fact to himself. - -But was Percy's approach the only one? Did you have to lie to them, -push them, treat them as seven billion morons? - -Maybe. Right now billions of human beings--the same human beings Walton -was expending so much energy to save--were staring at the kaleidowhirl -programs on their videos. Their eyes were getting fixed, glassy. Their -mouths were beginning to sag open, their cheeks to wobble, their lips -to droop pendulously, as the hypnosis of the color patterns took effect. - -This was humanity. They were busy forgetting all the things they had -just been forced to listen to. All the big words, like _mandate_ and -_eventually_ and _wholesale destruction_. Just so many harsh syllables -to be wiped away by the soothing swirl of the colors. - -And somewhere else, possibly, a poet named Prior was listening to his -baby's coughing and trying to write a poem--a poem that Walton and a -few others would read excitedly, while the billions would ignore it. - -Walton saw that Percy was dead right: Roy Walton could never have sold -Popeek to the world. But FitzMaugham, that cagy, devious genius, did -it. By waving his hands before the public and saying abracadabra, he -bamboozled them into approving Popeek before they knew what they were -being sold. - -It was a lousy trick, but FitzMaugham had realized that it had to be -done. Someone had killed him for it, but it was too late by then. - -And Walton saw that he had taken the wrong track by trying to be -reasonable. Percy's callous description of humanity as "seven billion -morons" was uncomfortably close to the truth. Walton would have to make -his appeal to a more subliminal level. - -Perhaps, he thought, at the level of the kaleidowhirls, those endless -patterns of colored light that were the main form of diversion for the -Great Unwashed. - -_I'll get to them_, Walton promised himself. _There can't be any -dignity or nobility in human life with everyone crammed into one -sardine can. So I'll treat them like the sardines they are, and hope -I can turn them into the human beings they could be if they only had -room._ - -He rose, turned out the light, prepared to leave. He wondered if the -late Director FitzMaugham had ever faced an internal crisis of this -sort, or whether FitzMaugham had known these truths innately from the -start. - -Probably, the latter was the case. FitzMaugham had been a genius, a -sort of superman. But FitzMaugham was dead, and the man who carried on -his work was no genius. He was only a mere man. - - * * * * * - -The reports started filtering in the next morning. It went much as -Percy had predicted. - -_Citizen_ was the most virulent. Under the sprawling headline, _WHO'S -KIDDING WHO?_ the telefax sheet wanted to know what the "mealy-mouthed" -Popeek director was trying to tell the world on all media the night -before. They weren't sure, since Walton, according to _Citizen_, had -been talking in "hifalutin prose picked on purpose to befuddle John Q. -Public." But their general impression was that Walton had proposed some -sort of sellout to the Dirnans. - -The sellout idea prevailed in most of the cheap telefax sheets. - -"Behind a cloud of words, Popeek czar Walton is selling the world -downstream to the greenskins," said one paper. "His talk last night was -strictly bunk. His holy-holy words and grim face were supposed to put -over something, but we ain't fooled--and don't you be fooled either, -friend!" - -The video commentators were a little kinder, but not very. One called -for a full investigation of the Earth-Dirna situation. Another wanted -to know why Walton, an appointed official and not even a permanent -one at that, had taken it upon himself to handle such high-power -negotiations. The UN seemed a little worried about that, even though -Ludwig had made a passionate speech insisting that negotiations with -Dirna were part of Walton's allotted responsibilities. - -That touched off a new ruckus. "How much power does Walton have?" -_Citizen_ demanded in a later edition. "Is he the boss of the world? -And if he is, who the devil is he anyway?" - -That struck Walton harder than all the other blows. He had been -gradually realizing that he did, in fact, control what amounted to -dictatorial powers over the world. But he had not yet fully admitted it -to himself, and it hurt to be accused of it publicly. - -One thing was clear: his attempt at sincerity and clarity had been -a total failure. The world was accustomed to subterfuge and verbal -pyrotechnics, and when it didn't get the expected commodity, it grew -suspicious. Sincerity had no market value. By going before the public -and making a direct appeal, Walton had aroused the suspicion that he -had something hidden up his sleeve. - -When _Citizen's_ third edition of the day openly screamed for war with -Dirna, Walton realized the time had come to stop playing it clean. From -now on, he would chart his course and head there at any cost. - -He tore a sheet of paper from his memo pad and inscribed on it a brief -motto: _The ends justify the means!_ - -With that as his guide, he was ready to get down to work. - - - - -XIV - - -Martinez, security head for the entire Appalachia district, was a -small, slight man with unruly hair and deep, piercing eyes. He stared -levelly at Walton and said, "Sellors has been with security for twenty -years. It's absurd to suggest that he's disloyal." - -"He's made a great many mistakes," Walton remarked. "I'm simply -suggesting that if he's not utterly incompetent he must be in someone -else's pay." - -"And you want us to break a man on your say-so, Director Walton?" -Martinez shook his head fussily. "I'm afraid I can't see that. Of -course, if you're willing to go through the usual channels, you could -conceivably request a change of personnel in this district. But I don't -see how else--" - -"Sellors will have to go," Walton said. "Our operation has sprung too -many leaks. We'll need a new man in here at once, and I want you to -double-check him personally." - -Martinez rose. The little man's nostrils flickered ominously. "I -refuse. Security is external to whims and fancies. If I remove Sellors, -it will undermine security self-confidence all throughout the country." - -"All right," sighed Walton. "Sellors stays. I'll file a request to have -him transferred, though." - -"I'll pigeonhole it. I can vouch for Sellors' competence myself," -Martinez snapped. "Popeek is in good hands, Mr. Walton. Please believe -that." - -Martinez left. Walton glowered at the retreating figure. He knew -Martinez was honest--but the security head was a stubborn man, and -rather than admit the existence of a flaw in the security structure he -had erected, Martinez would let a weak man continue in a vital position. - -Well, that blind spot in Martinez' makeup would have to be compensated -for, Walton thought. One way or another, he would have to get rid of -Sellors and replace him with a security man he could trust. - -He scribbled a hasty note and sent it down the chute to Lee Percy. As -Walton anticipated, the public relations man phoned minutes later. - -"Roy, what's this release you want me to get out? It's -fantastic--Sellors a spy? How? He hasn't even been arrested. I just saw -him in the building." - -Walton smirked. "Since when do you have such a high respect for -accuracy?" he asked. "Send out the release and we'll watch what -happens." - -The 1140 newsblares were the first to carry the news. Walton listened -cheerlessly as they revealed that Security Chief Sellors had been -arrested on charges of disloyalty. According to informed sources, said -the blares, Sellors was now in custody and had agreed to reveal the -nature of the secret conspiracy which had hired him. - -At 1210 came a later report: Security Chief Sellors had temporarily -been released from custody. - -And at 1230 came a still later report: Security Chief Sellors had been -assassinated by an unknown hand outside the Cullen Building. - -Walton listened to the reports with cold detachment. He had foreseen -the move: Sellors' panicky employers had silenced the man for good. -_The ends justify the means_, Walton told himself. There was no reason -to feel pity for Sellors; he had been a spy and death was the penalty. -It made no real difference whether death came in a federal gas chamber -or as the result of some carefully faked news releases. - -Martinez called almost immediately after word of Sellors' murder -reached the blares. The little man's face was deadly pale. - -"I owe you an apology," he said. "I acted like an idiot this morning." - -"Don't blame yourself," Walton said. "It was only natural that you'd -trust Sellors; you'd known him so long. But you can't trust anyone -these days, Martinez. Not even yourself." - -"I will have to resign," the security man said. - -"No. It wasn't your fault. Sellors was a spy and a bungler, and he paid -the price. His own men struck him down when that rumor escaped that he -was going to inform. Just send me a new man, as I asked--and make him a -good one!" - -Keeler, the new security attaché, was a crisp-looking man in his early -thirties. He reported directly to Walton as soon as he reached the -building. - -"You're Sellors' replacement, eh? Glad to see you, Keeler." Walton -studied him. He looked tough and hard and thoroughly incorruptible. -"I've a couple of jobs I'd like you to start on right away. First, you -know Sellors was looking for a man named Lamarre. Let me fill you in on -that, and--" - -"No need for that," Keeler said. "I was the man Sellors put on the -Lamarre chase. There isn't a trace of him anywhere. We've got feelers -out all over the planet now, and no luck." - -"Hmm." Walton was mildly annoyed; he had been wishfully hoping Sellors -had found Lamarre and had simply covered up the fact. But if Keeler had -been the one who handled the search, there was no hope of that. - -"All right," Walton said. "Keep on the hunt for Lamarre. At the moment -I want you to give this building a thorough scouring. There's no -telling how many spy pickups Sellors planted here. Top to bottom, and -report back to me when the job is done." - -Next on Walton's schedule was a call from communications. He received -it and a technician told him, "There's been a call from the Venus ship. -Do you want it, sir?" - -"Of course!" - -"It says, 'Arrived Venus June fifteen late, no sign of Lang outfit yet. -Well keep looking and will report daily.' It's signed, 'Spencer.'" - -"Okay," Walton said. "Thanks. And if any further word from them comes, -let me have it right away." - -The fate of the Lang expedition, Walton reflected, was not of immediate -importance. But he would like to know what had happened to the group. -He hoped Spencer and his rescue mission had something more concrete to -report tomorrow. - -The annunciator chimed. "Dr. Frederic Walton is on the line, sir. He -says it's urgent." - -"Okay," Walton said. He switched over and waited for his brother's face -to appear on the screen. A nervous current of anticipation throbbed in -him. - -"Well, Fred?" he asked at length. - -"You've been a busy little bee, haven't you?" Fred said. "I understand -you have a new security chief to watch over you." - -"I don't have time to make conversation now," Walton snapped. - -"Nor do I. You fooled us badly, with that newsbreak on Sellors. You -forced us into wiping out a useful contact prematurely." - -"Not so useful," Walton said. "I was on to him. If you hadn't killed -him, I would have had to handle the job myself. You saved me the -trouble." - -"My, my! Getting ruthless, aren't we!" - -"When the occasion demands," Walton said. - -"Fair enough. We'll play the same way." Fred's eyes narrowed. "You -recall our conversation in the Bronze Room the other day, Roy?" - -"Vividly." - -"I've called to ask for your decision," Fred said. "One way or the -other." - -Walton was caught off guard. "But you said I had a week's grace!" - -"The period has been halved," Fred said. "We now see it's necessary to -accelerate things." - -"Tell me what you want me to do. Then I'll give you my answer." - -"It's simple enough. You're to resign in my favor. If it's not done -by nightfall tomorrow, we'll find it necessary to release the Lamarre -serum. Those are our terms, and don't try to bargain with me." - -Walton was silent for a moment, contemplating his brother's cold face -on the screen. Finally he said, "It takes time to get such things done. -I can't just resign overnight." - -"FitzMaugham did." - -"Ah, yes--if you call that a resignation. But unless you want to -inherit the same sort of chaos I did, you'd better give me a little -time to prepare things." - -Fred's eyes gleamed. "Does that mean you'll yield? You'll resign in my -favor?" - -"There's no guarantee the UN will accept you," Walton warned. "Even -with my recommendation, I can't promise a one hundred percent chance of -success." - -"We'll have to risk it," said Fred. "The important step is getting you -out of there. When can I have confirmation of all this?" - -Walton eyed his brother shrewdly. "Come up to my office tomorrow at -this time. I'll have everything set up for you by then, and I'll be -able to show you how the Popeek machinery works. That's one advantage -you'll have over me. FitzMaugham kept half the workings in his head." - -Fred grinned savagely. "I'll see you then, Roy." Chuckling, he added, -"I knew all that ruthlessness of yours was just skin deep. You never -were tough, Roy." - - * * * * * - -Walton glanced at his watch after Fred had left the screen. The time -was 1100. It had been a busy morning. - -But some of the vaguenesses were beginning to look sharper. He knew, -for instance, that Sellors had been in the pay of the same organization -that backed Fred. Presumably, this meant that FitzMaugham had been -assassinated by the landed gentry. - -But for what reason? Surely, not simply for the sake of assassination. -Had they cared to, they might have killed FitzMaugham whenever they -pleased. - -He saw now why the assassination had been timed as it had. By the time -the conspirators had realized that Walton was sure to be the old man's -successor, Fred had already joined their group. They had ready leverage -on the prospective director. They knew they could shove him out of -office almost as quickly as he got in, and supplant him with their -puppet, Fred. - -Well, they were in for a surprise. Fred was due to appear at Walton's -office at 1100 on the morning of the seventeenth to take over command. -Walton planned to be ready for them by then. - -There was the matter of Lamarre. Walton wanted the little scientist and -his formula badly. But by this time Fred had certainly made at least -one copy of Lamarre's documents; the threat would remain, whether or -not Popeek recovered the originals. - -Walton had twenty-four hours to act. He called up Sue Llewellyn, -Popeek's comptroller. - -"Sue, how's our budget looking?" - -"What's on your mind, Roy?" - -"Plenty. I want to know if I can make an expenditure of--say, a -billion, between now and nightfall." - -"A _billion_? You joking, Roy?" - -"Hardly." Walton's tone was grim. "I hope I won't need it all. But -there's a big purchase I want to make ... an investment. Can you -squeeze out the money? It doesn't matter where you squeeze it from, -either, because if we don't get it by nightfall there probably won't be -a Popeek by the day after tomorrow." - -"What _are_ you talking about, Roy?" - -"Give me a yes or no answer. And if the answer's not the one I want to -hear, I'm afraid you can start looking for a new job, Sue." - -She uttered a little gasp. Then she said, "Okay, Roy. I'll play along -with you, even if it bankrupts us. There's a billion at your disposal -as of now, though Lord knows what I'll use for a payroll next week." - -"You'll have it back," Walton promised. "With compound interest." - -His next call was to a man he had once dealt with in his capacity of -secretary to Senator FitzMaugham. He was Noel Hervey, a registered -securities and exchange slyster. - -Hervey was a small, worried-looking little man, but his unflickering -eyes belied his ratty appearance. "What troubles you, Roy?" - -"I want you to make a stock purchase for me, pronto. Within an hour, -say?" - -Hervey shook his head instantly. "Sorry, Roy. I'm all tied up on a hefty -monorail deal. Won't be free until Wednesday or Thursday, if by then." - -Walton said, "What sort of money will you be making on this big deal of -yours, Noel?" - -"Confidential! You wouldn't invade a man's privacy on a delicate matter -like--" - -"Will it be worth five million dollars for you, Noel?" - -"Five million--hey, is this a gag?" - -"I'm awfully serious," Walton said. "I want you to swing a deal for me, -right away. You've heard my price." - -Hervey smiled warmly. "Well, start talking, friend. Consider me hired." - - * * * * * - -A few other matters remained to be tended to hurriedly. Walton spent -some moments talking to a communications technician, then sent out an -order for three or four technical books--_Basic Kaleidowhirl Theory_ -and related works. He sent a note to Lee Percy requesting him to stop -by and see him in an hour, and told his annunciator that for no reason -whatsoever was he to be disturbed for the next sixty minutes. - -The hour passed rapidly; by its end, Walton's head was slightly -dizzy from too much skimming, but his mind was thrumming with new -possibilities, with communications potentials galore. Talk about -reaching people! He had a natural! - -He flipped on the annunciator. "Is Mr. Percy here yet?" - -"No, sir. Should I send for him?" - -"Yes. He's due here any minute to see me. Have there been any calls?" - -"Quite a few. I've relayed them down to Mr. Eglin's office, as -instructed." - -"Good girl," Walton said. - -"Oh, Mr. Percy's here. And there's a call for you from communications." - -Walton frowned. "Tell Percy to wait outside a minute or two. Give me -the call." - -The communications tech on the screen was grinning excitedly. He said, -"Subspace message just came in for you, sir." - -"From Venus?" - -"No, sir. From Colonel McLeod." - -"Let's have it," Walton said. - -The technician read, "'To Walton from McLeod, via subspace radio: Have -made successful voyage to Procyon system, and am on way back with -Dirnan ambassador on board. See you soon, and good luck--you'll need -it.'" - -"Good. That all?" - -"That's all, sir." - -"Okay. Keep me posted." He broke contact and turned to the annunciator. -Excitement put a faint quiver in his voice. "You can send in Mr. Percy -now," he said. - - - - -XV - - -Walton looked up at the public relations man and said, "How much do you -know about kaleidowhirls, Lee?" - -"Not a hell of a lot. I never watch the things, myself. They're bad for -the eyes." - -Walton smiled. "That makes you a nonconformist, doesn't it? According -to the figures I have here, the nightly kaleidowhirl programs are -top-ranked on the rating charts." - -"Maybe so," Percy said cautiously. "I still don't like to watch them. -What goes, Roy?" - -"I've suddenly become very interested in kaleidowhirls myself," Walton -said. He leaned back and added casually, "I think they can be used as -propaganda devices. My brother's reaction to one gave me the idea, -couple days ago, at the Bronze Room. For the past hour or so, I've been -studying kaleidowhirls in terms of information theory. Did you know -that it's possible to get messages across via kaleidowhirl?" - -"Of course," Percy gasped. "But the Communications Commission would -never let you get away with it!" - -"By the time the Communications Commission found out what had been -done," Walton said calmly, "we wouldn't be doing it any more. They -won't be able to prove a thing." Sarcastically he added, "After -spending a lifetime in public relations, you're not suddenly getting a -rush of ethics, are you?" - -"Well ... let's have the details, then." - -"Simple enough," Walton said. "We feed through a verbal -message--something like _Hooray for Popeek_ or _I Don't Want War With -Dirna_. We flash it on the screen for, say, a microsecond, then cover -it up with kaleidowhirl patterns. Wait two minutes, then flash it -again. Plenty of noise, but the signal will get through if we flash it -often enough." - -"And it'll get through deep down," Percy said. "Subliminally. They -won't even realize that they're being indoctrinated, but suddenly -they'll have a new set of opinions about Popeek and Dirna!" He -shuddered. "Roy, I hate to think what can happen if someone else gets -to thinking about this and puts on his own kaleidowhirl show." - -"I've thought of that. After the Dirna crisis is over--after we've put -over our point--I'm going to take steps to make sure no one can use -this sort of weapon again. I'm going to frame someone into putting on a -propaganda kaleidowhirl, and then catch him in the act. That ought to -be sufficient to wise up the Communications Commission." - -"In other words," Percy said, "you're willing to use this technique -_now_. But since you don't want anyone else to use it, you're willing -to give up future use of it yourself as soon as the Dirna trouble is -over." - -"Exactly." Walton shoved the stack of textbooks over to the PR man. -"Read these through first. Get yourself familiar with the setup. Then -buy a kaleidowhirl hour and get a bunch of our engineers in there to -handle the special inserts. Okay?" - -"It's nasty, but I like it. When do you want the program to begin?" - -"Tomorrow. Tonight, if you can work it. And set up a poll of some kind -to keep check on the program's effectiveness. I want two messages -kaleidowhirled alternately: one supporting Popeek, one demanding a -peaceful settlement with the aliens. Have your pulse takers feel out -the populace on those two propositions, and report any fluctuation to -me immediately." - -"Got it." - -"Oh, one more thing. I suspect you'll have some extra responsibilities -as of tomorrow, Lee." - -"Eh?" - -"Your office will have one additional medium to deal with. Telefax. I'm -buying _Citizen_ and we're going to turn it into a pro-Popeek rag." - -Percy's mouth dropped in astonishment; then he started to laugh. -"You're a wonder, Roy. A genuine wonder." - - * * * * * - -Moments after Percy departed, Noel Hervey, the security and exchange -slyster, called. - -"Well?" Walton asked. - -Hervey looked preoccupied. "I've successfully spent a couple of hundred -million of Popeek's money in the last half-hour, Roy. You now own the -single biggest block of _Citizen_ stock there is." - -"How much is that?" - -"One hundred fifty-two thousand shares. Approximately thirty-three -percent." - -"Thirty-three percent! What about the other eighteen percent?" - -"Patience, lad, patience. I know my job. I snapped up all the small -holdings there were, very quietly. It cost me a pretty penny to farm -out the purchases, too." - -"Why'd you do that?" Walton asked. - -"Because this has to be handled very gingerly. You know the ownership -setup of _Citizen_?" - -"No." - -"Well, it goes like this: Amalgamated Telefax owns a twenty-six percent -chunk, and Horace Murlin owns twenty-five percent. Since Murlin also -owns Amalgamated, he votes fifty-one percent of the stock, even though -it isn't registered that way. The other forty-nine percent doesn't -matter, Murlin figures. So I'm busy gathering up as much of it as I -can for you--under half a dozen different brokerage names. I doubt -that I can get it all, but I figure on rounding up at least forty-nine -percent. Then I'll approach Murlin with a Big Deal and sucker him into -selling me six percent of his _Citizen_ stock. He'll check around, find -out that the remaining stock is splintered ninety-seven different ways, -and he'll probably let go of a little of his, figuring he still has -control." - -"Suppose he doesn't?" Walton asked. - -"Don't worry," Hervey said confidently. "He will. I've got a billion -smackers to play with, don't I? I'll cook up a deal so juicy he can't -resist it--and all he'll have to do to take a flyer will be to peel off -a little of his _Citizen_ stock. The second he does that, I transfer -all the fragmented stock to you. With your controlling majority of -fifty-one percent, you boot Murlin off the Board, and the telefax sheet -is yours! Simple? Clear?" - -"Perfectly," Walton said. "Okay. Keep in touch." - -He broke contact and walked to the window. The street was packed with -people scrambling in every direction, like so many ants moving at -random over the ground. Many of them clutched telefax sheets--and the -most popular one was the _Citizen_. Many of them would gape and goggle -at kaleidowhirl programs, come evening. - -Walton suddenly tightened his fist. In just that way, he thought, -Popeek was tightening its hold on the public by capturing the mass -media. If Hervey's confidence had any justification in truth, they -would own the leading anti-Popeek telefax sheet by tomorrow. With -subtle handling over the course of several days, they could swing -the slant of _Citizen_ around to a pro-Popeek stand, and do it so -surreptitiously that it would seem as though the sheet had never had -any other policy. - -As for the kaleidowhirl subterfuge--that, Walton admitted, was hitting -below the belt. But he had resolved that all would be fair during the -current crisis. There would be time enough for morality after war had -been averted. - -At about 1430 that day, Walton took advantage of a lull in activities -to have a late lunch at the Bronze Room. He felt that he had to get -away from the confining walls of his office for at least some part of -the afternoon. - -The Bronze Room had adopted cerise as its color scheme for the day. -Walton selected a private room, lunched lightly on baked chlorella -steak and filtered rum, and dialed a twelve-minute nap. When the alarm -system in the foamweb couch stirred him to wakefulness, he stretched -happily, some of the choking tension having been washed out of him. - -Thoughtfully, he switched on the electroluminescent kaleidoscope and -stared at it. It worked on the same principle as the kaleidowhirl -programs beamed over the public video, except that the Bronze Room -provided closed-channel beaming of its own kaleidoscopic patterns; -tending more to soft greens and pale rose, they were on a higher -esthetic plane, certainly, than the jagged, melodramatic purples and -reds the video channels sent out for popular consumption. - -But it was with a certain new apprehension that Walton now studied the -kaleidoscopic pattern. Now that he knew what a dangerous weapon the -flashing colors could be, how could he be certain that the Bronze Room -proprietors were not flashing some scarcely seen subliminal command at -him this very moment? - -He turned the set off with a brusque gesture. - -_The ends justify the means._ A nice homily, he thought, which allowed -him to do almost anything. It brought to mind the rationale of Ivan -Karamazov: without God, everything is permissible. - -But both God and Dostoevski seem to be obsolete these days, he reminded -himself. God is now a lean young man with an office on the twenty-ninth -floor of the Cullen Building--and as for Dostoevski, all he did was -write books, and therefore could not have been of any great importance. - -He felt a tremor of self-doubt. Maybe it had been unwise to let -kaleidowhirl propaganda loose on the world; once unleashed, it might -not be so easily caged again. He realized that as soon as the Popeek -campaign was over, he would have to make sure some method was devised -for pre-checking all public and closed-channel kaleidoscopic patterns. - -The most damnable part of such propaganda techniques, he knew, was that -you could put over almost any idea at all without arousing suspicion on -the part of the viewer. He wouldn't know he'd been tampered with; you -could tell him so, after the new idea had been planted, and by then he -wouldn't believe you. - -Walton dialed another filtered rum, and lifted it to his lips with a -slightly shaky hand. - - * * * * * - -"Mr. Ludwig of the United Nations called while you were out, sir," -Walton was told upon returning to his office. "He'd like you to call -him back." - -"Very well. Make the connection for me." - -When Ludwig appeared, Walton said, "Sorry I missed your call. What's -happening?" - -"Special session of the Security Council just broke up. They passed -a resolution unanimously and shipped it on to the Assembly. There's -going to be an immediate hearing to determine the new permanent head of -Popeek." - -Walton clamped his lips together. After a moment he said, "How come?" - -"The Dirnan crisis. They don't want a mere interim director handling -things. They feel the man dealing with the aliens ought to have full UN -blessing." - -"Should I interpret that to mean I get the job automatically?" - -"I couldn't swear to it," said Ludwig. "General consensus certainly -favors you to continue. I'd advise that you show up at the hearing in -person and present your program in detail; otherwise they may stick -some smooth-talking politico in your place. The noise is slated to -start at 1100, day after tomorrow. The eighteenth." - -"I'll be there," Walton said. "Thanks for the tip." - -He chewed the end of his stylus for a moment, then hastily scribbled -down the appointment. As of now, he knew he couldn't worry too strongly -about events taking place the day after tomorrow--not with Fred -arriving for a show-down the next morning. - - * * * * * - -The next day began busily enough. Hervey was the first to call. - -"The _Citizen's_ sewed up, Roy! I had dinner with Murlin last night and -weaseled him out of four percent of _Citizen_ stock in exchange for a -fancy tip on the new monorail project out Nevada way. He was grinning -all over the place--but I'll bet he's grinning out of the other side of -his mouth this morning." - -"Is it all arranged?" Walton asked. - -"In the bag. I was up by 0700 and consolidating my holdings--_your_ -holdings, I mean. Forty-seven percent of the stock I had fragmented in -a dozen different outfits; the other two percent outstanding belonged -to rich widows who wouldn't sell. I lumped the forty-seven percent -together in your name, then completed the transfer on Murlin's four -percent and stuck that in there too. _Citizen_ telefax is now the -property of Popeek, Roy!" - -"Fine work. How much did it cost?" - -Then he said, "Four hundred eighty-three million and some change. Plus -my usual five percent commission, which in this case comes to about two -and a quarter million." - -"But I offered you five million," Walton said. "That offer still goes." - -"You want me to lose my license? I spend years placing bribes to get a -slyster's license, and you want me to throw it away for an extra couple -million? Uh-uh. I'll settle for two and a quarter, and damn good doing -I call that for a day's work." - -Walton grinned. "You win. And Sue Llewellyn will be glad to know it -didn't cost the whole billion to grab _Citizen_. You'll be over with -the papers, won't you?" - -"About 1000," the slyster said. "I've gotta follow through for Murlin -on his monorail deal first. The poor sucker! See you in an hour." - -"Right." - -Rapidly Walton scribbled memos. As soon as the papers were in his -hands, he'd serve notice on Murlin that a stock-holders' meeting was -to be held at once. After that, he'd depose Murlin, fire the present -_Citizen_ editors, and pack the telefax sheet with men loyal to Popeek. - -Fred was due at 1100. Walton buzzed Keeler, the new security chief, and -said, "Keeler, I have an appointment with someone at 1100. I want you -to station three men outside my door and frisk him for weapons as he -comes in." - -"We'd do that anyway, sir. It's standard procedure now." - -"Good. But I want you to be one of the three. And make sure the two who -come with you are tight-mouthed. I don't want _any_ newsbreaks on this." - -"Right, sir." - -"Okay. Be there about 1050 or so. About 1115, I'm going to press -my door opener, and I want you and your men to break in, arrest my -visitor, and spirit him off to the deepest dungeon security has. And -leave him there. If Martinez wants to know what's going on, tell him -I'll take responsibility." - -Keeler looked vaguely puzzled, but merely nodded. "We frisk him first, -then let him talk to you for fifteen minutes. Then we come in on signal -and take him away. I've got it." - -"This man's a dangerous anti-Popeek conspirator. Make sure he's drugged -before he gets out of my office. I don't want him making noise." - -The annunciator sounded. "Man from communications has a message for -you, Mr. Walton." - -He switched over from Keeler to communications and said, "Go ahead." - -"From McLeod, Mr. Walton. We just got it. It says, 'Arriving Nairobi on -the 18th, will be in your office with Dirnan following morning if he -feels like making the trip. Otherwise will you come to Nairobi?'" - -"Tell him yes, if necessary," Walton said. - -He glanced at his watch. 0917. It looked like it was going to be hectic -all day. - -And Fred was due at 1100. - - - - -XVI - - -Hervey showed up at 1003, grinning broadly. He unfolded a thick wad of -documents and thrust them at Walton. - -"I hold in my hand the world's most potent telefax sheet," Hervey said. -He flipped the documents casually onto Walton's desk and laughed. -"They're all yours. Fifty-one percent, every bit of it voting stock. -I told Murlin about it just before I left him this morning. He turned -purple." - -"What did he say?" - -"What _could_ he say? I asked him offhandedly if he knew where all the -outstanding _Citizen_ stock was, and he said yes, it was being held by -a lot of small holders. And then I told him that somebody was buying -out the small holders, and that I was selling my four percent to him. -That's when he started to change colors. When I left he was busy making -phone calls, but I don't think he'll like what he's going to find out." - -Walton riffled through the papers. "It's all here, eh? Fine work. I'll -put through your voucher in half an hour or so, unless you're in a -hurry." - -"Oh, don't rush," Hervey said. He ran a finger inside his collar. -"Couple of security boys outside, y'know. They really gave me a -going-over." - -"I'm expecting an assassin at 1100," Walton said lightly. "They're on -the lookout." - -"Oh? A close friend?" - -"A relative," Walton said. - -Fred arrived promptly at 1100. By that time Walton had already set the -machinery in operation for the taking-over of _Citizen_. - -The first step had been to call Horace Murlin and confirm the fact that -Popeek now owned the telefax sheet. Murlin's fleshy face was a curious -shade of rose-purple; he sputtered at Walton for five minutes before -admitting he was beaten. - -With Murlin out of the way, Walton selected a new editorial staff for -the paper from a list Percy supplied. He intended to keep the reporting -crew of the old regime intact; _Citizen_ had a fantastically efficient -newsgathering team, and there was no point in breaking it up. It was -the policy-making level Walton was interested in controlling. - -The 1000 edition of _Citizen_ was the last under the old editors. They -had received word from Murlin about what had happened, and by 1030, -when Walton sent his dismissal notices over, they were already cleaning -out their desks. - -That 1000 edition was a beauty, though. The lead headline read: - - _ARE WE CHUMPS FOR THE GREENSKINS?_ - -And most of the issue was devoted to inflammatory pro-war anti-Popeek -journalism. A full page of "letters from the readers"--actually -transcribed phone calls, since few of _Citizen's_ readers were -interested in writing letters--echoed the editorial stand. One "letter" -in particular caught Walton's attention. - -It was from a Mrs. P.F. of New York City Environ, which probably meant -Jersey or lower Connecticut, and it was short and to the point: - - _To the Editor_-- - - _Horray for you. Popeek is a damned crime and that Walton criminal - ought to be put away and we ought to kill those greenskins up there - before they kill us. We gotta have room to live._ - -_Kill them before they kill us._ Walton snickered. All the old -hysterias, the old panic reactions, come boiling up again in times of -stress. - -He looked at his hand. It was perfectly steady, even though his wrist -watch told him Fred would be here in just a few minutes. A week ago, a -situation like this would have had him gobbling benzolurethrin as fast -as he could unwrap the lozenges. - -The ghostly presence of FitzMaugham seemed to hover in the room. _The -ends justify the means_, Walton told himself grimly, as he waited for -his brother to arrive. - - * * * * * - -Fred was dressed completely in black, from his stylish neo-Victorian -waistcoat and the bit of ribbon at his throat to the mirror-bright -leather pumps on his feet. The splendor of his clothing was curiously -at odds with the coarseness of his features and the stockiness of his -body. - -He walked into Walton's office at the stroke of 1100 and sighed -deeply--the sigh of a man about to take permanent possession. "Good -morning, Roy. I'm on time, as always." - -"And looking radiant, my dear brother." Walton gestured appreciatively -at Fred's clothes. "It's been a long time since I've seen you in -anything but your lab smock." - -"I gave notice at the lab yesterday, night after I spoke to you. I'm -no longer an employee of Popeek. And I felt I should dress with the -dignity suitable to my new rank." He grinned buoyantly. "Well, ready to -turn over the orb and scepter, Roy?" - -"Not exactly," Walton said. - -"But--" - -"But I promised you I'd resign in your favor today, Fred. I don't think -I ever used those words, but I certainly implied it, didn't I?" - -"Of course you did. You told me to come here at 1100 and you'd arrange -the transfer." - -Walton nodded. "Exactly so." He waited a long moment and then said -quietly, "I lied, Fred." - -He had chosen the words carefully, for maximum impact. He had not -chosen wrongly. - -For a brief instant Fred's face was very pale against the blackness of -his garb. Total disbelief flickered across his eyes and mouth. - -Walton had considered his brother's mental picture of him--the elder -brother, virtuous, devoted to hard work, kind to animals, and just a -little soft in the head. Also, extremely honest. - -Fred hadn't expected Walton to be lying. And the calm admission stunned -him. - -"You're not planning to go through with it, then?" Fred asked in a dead -voice. - -"No." - -"You realize what this means in terms of the serum, don't you? The -moment I get out of here and transmit your refusal to my employers, -they'll begin wholesale manufacture and distribution of the Lamarre -serum. The publicity won't be good, Roy. Nor the result." - -"You won't get out of here," Walton said. - -Another shock wave rippled over Fred's face. "You can't be serious, -Roy. My employers know where I am; they know what I'm here for. If they -don't hear from me within twenty-four hours, they'll proceed with serum -distribution. You can't hope to--" - -"I'll risk it," Walton interrupted. "If nothing else, I'll have a -twenty-four extension. You didn't really think I could hand Popeek over -to you on a platter, Fred? Why, I don't even know how secure my _own_ -position is here. So I'm afraid I'll have to back down on my offer. -You're under arrest, Fred!" - -"_Arrest!_" Fred sprang from his seat and circled around the desk -toward Walton. For a moment the two brothers stared at each other, -faces inches apart. Walton put one hand on his brother's shoulder and, -gripping tightly, forced him around to the front of the desk. - -"You had this all planned, didn't you?" Fred said bitterly. "Yesterday, -when you talked to me, you knew this was what you were going to do. -But you said you'd yield, and I believed you! I don't fool easy, but I -thought I had you pegged because you were my brother. I _knew_ you. You -wouldn't do a sneaky thing like this." - -"But I did," Walton said. - -Suddenly, Fred jumped. He charged at Walton blindly, head down. - -In the same motion, Walton signaled for Keeler and his men to break -in, and met Fred's charge. He caught his brother in midstride with a -swinging punch that sent his head cracking back sharply. - -Fred's face twisted and writhed, more in astonishment than pain. He -stepped back, rubbing his chin. "You've changed," he said. "This job's -made you tough. A year ago you would never have done this to me." - -Walton shrugged. "Look behind you, Fred. And this time you can trust -me." - -Fred turned warily. Keeler and two other gray-clad security men stood -there. - -"Drug him and take him away," Walton said. "Have him held in custody -until I notify Martinez." - -Fred's eyes widened. "You're a _dictator_!" he said hoarsely. "You just -move people around like chessmen, Roy. Like chessmen." - -"Drug him," Walton repeated. - -Keeler stepped forward, a tiny hypodermic spray cupped in his hand. -He activated it with a twitch of his thumb and touched it to Fred's -forearm. A momentary hum droned in the office as the vibrating spray -forced the drug into Fred's arm. - -He slumped like an empty sack. "Pick him up," Keeler ordered. "Take him -and let's get going." - - * * * * * - -The story broke in the 1300 edition of _Citizen_, and from the general -tone of the piece Walton could see the fine hand of Lee Percy at work. - -The headline was: - - _GUY TRIES TO KNOCK OFF POPEEK HEAD_ - -After the usual string of subheads, all in the cheerful, breezy, barely -literate _Citizen_ style, came the body of the story: - - _A guy tried to bump Popeek top number Roy Walton today. Security - men got there in time to keep Walton from getting the same finisher - as dead Popeek boss FitzMaugham got last week._ - - _Walton says he's all right; the assassin didn't even come close. He - also told our man that he expects good news on the New Earth bit - soon. We like the sound of those words. Popeek may be with the - stream after all. Who knows?_ - -The voice was that of _Citizen_, but the man behind the voice was -thinking a little differently. Had the previous editors of _Citizen_ -been handling the break, the prevailing tone would most likely have -been too-bad-he-missed. - -Walton called Percy after the edition came out. "Nice job you did on -our first _Citizen_," he said approvingly. "It's just what I want: same -illiterate style, but a slow swerving of editorial slant until it's -completely pro-Popeek." - -"Wait till you see tomorrow's paper. We're just getting the hang of -it! And we'll have our first kaleidowhirl show at 2000 tonight. Cost a -fortune to buy in, but we figured that's the best hour." - -"What's the buried message?" - -"As you said," Percy told him. "A pro-Popeek job and some pacifist -stuff. We've got a team of pollsters out now, and they say the -current's predominantly going the other way. We'll be able to tell if -the kaleidowhirl stuff works out, all right." - -"Keep up the good work," Walton said. "We'll get there yet. The alien -isn't due to arrive for another day or so--McLeod gets into Nairobi -tomorrow some time. I'm going to testify before the UN tomorrow, too. I -hope those UN boys are watching our pretty color patterns tonight." - -Percy grinned. "Boy, you bet!" - - * * * * * - -Walton threw himself energetically into his work. It was taking shape, -now. There were still some loose ends, of course, but he was beginning -to feel that some end to the tangle of interlocking intrigues was in -sight. - -He checked with a public recreation director and discovered there would -be a block forum on West 382nd Street at 1830 that night. He made a -note to attend, and arranged to have a synthetic mask fashioned so he -wouldn't have to reveal his own identity. - -Twenty-four hours. In that time, Fred's employers would presumably -be readying themselves to loose Lamarre's serum on the world; an -extraterrestrial being would be landing on Earth--and, by then, Walton -would have been called to render an account of his stewardship before -the United Nations. - -The annunciator chimed again. "Yes?" Walton said. - -"Mr. O'Mealia of Mount Palomar Observatory, calling long distance to -talk to you, sir." - -"Put him on," Walton said puzzledly. - -O'Mealia was a red-faced individual with deep-set, compelling eyes. -He introduced himself as a member of the research staff at Mount -Palomar. "Glad I could finally reach you," he said, in a staccato burst -of words. "Been trying to call for an hour. Made some early-morning -observations of Venus a little while ago, and I thought you'd be -interested." - -"Venus? What?" - -"Cloud blanket looks awfully funny, Mr. Walton. Blazing away like -sixty. Got the whole staff down here to discuss it, and the way it -looks to us there's some sort of atomic chain-reaction going on in -Venus' atmosphere. I think it's those terraforming men you Popeek folk -have up there. I think they've blown the whole place up!" - - - - -XVII - - -Walton stepped off the jetbus at Broadway and West 382nd Street, paused -for a moment beneath a street lamp, and fingered his chin to see if his -mask were on properly. It was. - -Three youths stood leaning against a nearby building. "Could you tell -me where the block meeting's being held?" Walton asked. - -"Down the street and turn left. You a telefax man?" - -"Just an interested citizen," Walton said. "Thanks for the directions." - -It was easy to see where the block meeting was; Walton saw streams of -determined-looking men and women entering a bulky old building just off -382nd Street. He joined them and found himself carried along into the -auditorium. - -Nervously he found a seat. The auditorium was an old one, predominantly -dark brown and cavernous, with row after row of hard wooden folding -chairs. Someone was adjusting a microphone on stage. A sharp metallic -whine came over the public-address system. - -"Testing. Testing, one two three...." - -"It's all right, Max!" someone yelled from the rear. Walton didn't turn -around to look. - -A low undercurrent of murmuring was audible. It was only 1815; the -meeting was not due to start for another fifteen minutes, but the hall -was nearly full, with more than a thousand of the local residents -already on hand. - -The fifteen minutes passed slowly. Walton listened carefully to the -conversations around him; no one was discussing the Venus situation. -Apparently his cloud of censorship had been effective. He had -instructed Percy to keep all word of the disaster from the public -until the 2100 newsblares. By that time, the people would have been -exposed to the indoctrinating kaleidowhirl program at 2000, and their -reaction would be accordingly more temperate--he hoped. - -Also, releasing the news early would have further complicated the -survey Walton was trying to make by attending this public meeting. -The Index of Public Confusion increased factorially; one extra -consideration for discussion and Walton's task would be hopelessly -difficult. - -At exactly 1830, a tall, middle-aged man stepped out on the stage. He -seized the microphone as if it were a twig and said, "Hello, folks. -Glad to see you're all here tonight. This is an important meeting -for us all. In case some of you don't know me--and I do see some new -faces out there--I'm Dave Forman, president of the West 382nd Street -Association. I also run a little law business on the side, just to help -pay the rent." (Giggles.) - -"As usual in these meetings," Forman went on, "we'll have a brief -panel discussion, and then I'll throw the thing open to you folks for -floor discussion. The panelists tonight are people you all know--Sadie -Hargreave, Dominic Campobello, Rudi Steinfeld. Come on out here, folks." - -The panelists appeared on the stage diffidently. Sadie Hargreave was -a short, stout, fierce-looking little woman; Campobello was chunky, -balding, Steinfeld tall and ascetic. Walton was astonished that there -should be such camaraderie here. Was it all synthetic? It didn't seem -that way. - -He had always remained aloof, never mingling with his neighbors in -the gigantic project where he lived, never suspecting the existence -of community life on this scale. But, somehow, community life had -sprung up in this most Gargantuan of cities. Organizations within each -project, within each block perhaps, had arisen, converting New York -into an interlocking series of small towns. _I ought to investigate -the grass roots more often_, Walton thought. _Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid -having a night on the town._ - -"Hello, folks," Sadie Hargreave said aggressively. "I'm glad I can -talk to you tonight. Gosh, I want to speak out. I think it's crazy to -let these thing-men from outer space push us around. I for one feel we -ought to take strong action against that space world." - -Cries of "Yeah! Yeah! Go to it, Sadie!" rose from the audience. - -Skillfully she presented three inflammatory arguments in favor of -war with Dirna, backing up each with a referent of high emotional -connotation. Walton watched her performance with growing admiration. -The woman was a born public relations technician. It was too bad she -was on the other side of the fence. - -He saw the effect she had: people were nodding in agreement, grimacing -vehemently, muttering to themselves. The mood of the meeting, he -gathered, was overwhelmingly in favor of war if Dirna did not yield New -Earth. - -Dominic Campobello began his address by inviting all and sundry to his -barber shop; this was greeted with laughter. Then he launched into a -discourse on Popeek as an enemy of mankind. A few catcalls, Walton -noted, but again chiefly approval. Campobello seemed sincere. - -The third man, Rudi Steinfeld, was a local music teacher. He, too, -spoke out against Popeek, though in a restrained, dryly intellectual -manner. People began yawning. Steinfeld cut his speech short. - -It was now 1900. In one hour Percy's kaleidowhirl program would be -screened. - -Walton stayed at the block meeting until 1930, listening to citizen -after citizen rise and heap curses upon Popeek, Dirna, or Walton, -depending on where his particular ire lay. At 1930 Walton rose and left -the hall. - -He phoned Percy. "I'm on West 382nd Street. Just attended a block -meeting. I'd say the prevailing sentiment runs about ninety percent -agin us. We don't have the people backing our program any more, Lee." - -"We never did. But I think we'll nail 'em now. The kaleidowhirl's ready -to go, and it's a honey. And I think _Citizen_ will sell 'em too! We're -on our way, Roy." - -"I hope so," Walton said. - - * * * * * - -He was unable to bring himself to watch Percy's program, even though he -reached his room in time that night. He knew there could be no harm in -watching--at least not for him--but the idea of voluntarily submitting -his mind to external tampering was too repugnant to accept. - -Instead he spent the hour dictating a report on the block meeting, for -benefit of his pollster staff. When he was done with that, he turned -to the 2100 edition of _Citizen_, which came clicking from the telefax -slot right on schedule. - -He had to look hard for the Venus story. Finally he found it tucked -away at the bottom of the sheet. - - _ACCIDENT ON VENUS_ - - _A big blowup took place on the planet Venus earlier today. Sky-men - who watched the popoff say it was caused by an atomic explosion in - the planet's atmosphere._ - - _Meanwhile, attempts are being made to reach the team of Earth - engineers working on Venus. No word from them yet. They may be - dead._ - -Walton chuckled. _They may be dead_, indeed! By now Lang and his team, -and the rescue mission as well, lay dead under showers of radioactive -formaldehyde, and Venus had been turned into a blazing hell ten times -less livable than it had been before. - -Percy had mishandled the news superbly. For one thing, he had -carefully neglected to link Lang with Popeek in any way. That was good -connotative thinking. It would be senseless to identify Popeek in the -public mind with disasters or fiascos of any kind. - -For another, the skimpy insignificance of the piece implied that it -had been some natural phenomenon that sent Venus up in flames, not the -fumbling attempts of the terraformers. Good handling there, too. - -Walton felt cheerful. He slept soundly, knowing that the public -consciousness was being properly shaped. - - * * * * * - -By 0900, when he arrived at his office, the pollsters had reported a -ten percent swing in public opinion, in the direction of Popeek and -Walton. At 1000, _Citizen_ hit the slots with an extra announcing that -prospects for peaceful occupation of New Earth looked excellent. The -editorial praised Walton. The letters-to-the-editor column, carefully -fabricated by Lee Percy, showed a definite upswing of opinion. - -The trend continued, and it was contagious. By 1100, when Walton -left the Cullen Building and caught a jetcopter for United Nations -Headquarters, the pro-Popeek trend in public opinion was almost -overwhelming. - -The copter put down before the gleaming green-glass facade of UN -Headquarters; Walton handed the man a bill and went inside, where a -tense-faced Ludwig was waiting for him. - -"They started early," Ludwig said. "It's been going on since 1000." - -"How do things look?" - -"I'm puzzled, Roy. Couple of die-hards are screaming for your scalp, -but you're getting help from unexpected quarters. Old Mogens Snorreson -of Denmark suddenly got up and said it was necessary for the safety -of mankind that we give you a permanent appointment as director of -Popeek." - -"_Snorreson?_ But hasn't he been the one who wanted me bounced?" - -Ludwig nodded. "That's what I mean. The climate is changing, definitely -changing. Ride the crest, Roy. The way things look now, you may end up -being swept into office for life." - -They entered the giant Assembly hall. At the dais, a black-faced man -with bright teeth was speaking. - -"Who's that?" Walton whispered. - -"Malcolm Nbono, the delegate from Ghana. He regards you as a sort of -saint for our times." - -Walton slipped into a seat in the gallery and said, "Let's listen from -here before we go down below. I want to catch my breath." - -The young man from Ghana was saying, "... Crisis points are common -to humanity. Many years ago, when my people came from their colonial -status and achieved independence, we learned that painstaking -negotiations and peaceful approaches are infinitely more efficacious -than frontal attack by violent means. In my eyes, Roy Walton is an -outstanding exponent of this philosophy. I urge his election as -director of the Bureau of Population Equalization." - -A heavy-bearded, ponderous man to Nbono's right shouted "Bravo!" at -that point, and added several thick Scandinavian expletives. - -"That's good old Mogens. The Dane really is on your side this morning," -Ludwig said. - -"Must have been watching the kaleidowhirl last night," Walton murmured. - -The delegate from Ghana concluded with a brief tremolo cadenza praising -Walton. Walton's eyes were a little moist; he hadn't realized he was a -saint. Nbono tacked on an abrupt coda and sat down. - -"All right," Walton said. "Let's go down there." - -They made a grand entrance. Ludwig took his seat behind the neon -_United States_ sign, and Walton slid into the unoccupied seat to -Ludwig's right. A definite stir of interest was noticeable. - -The secretary-general was presiding--beady-eyed Lars Magnusson of -Sweden. "I see Mr. Walton of Popeek has arrived," he commented. "By a -resolution passed unanimously yesterday, we have invited Mr. Walton -this morning to address us briefly. Mr. Walton, would you care to speak -now?" - -"Thank you very much," Walton said. He rose. - -The delegates were staring at him with great interest ... and, -somewhere behind them, obscured by the bright lights of the cameras, -there were, he sensed, a vast multitude of onlookers peering at him -from the galleries. - -Onlookers who had seen Percy's kaleidowhirl last night, evidently. A -thunderous wave of applause swept down on him. _This is too easy_, he -thought. _That kaleidowhirl program seems to have hypnotized everybody._ - -He moistened his lips. - -"Mr. Secretary-General, members of the Assembly, friends: I'm very -grateful for this chance to come before you on my own behalf. It's -my understanding that you are to choose a permanent successor to Mr. -FitzMaugham today. I offer myself as a candidate for that post." - -He had planned a long, impassioned, semantically loaded speech to sway -them, but the happenings thus far this morning convinced him it was -unnecessary. The kaleidowhirl had done the work for him. - -"My qualifications for the post should be apparent to all. I worked -with the late Director FitzMaugham during the formative days of -Popeek. Upon his death I succeeded to his post and have efficiently -maintained the operation of the Bureau during the eight days since his -assassination. - -"There are special circumstances which dictate my continuation -in office. Perhaps you know of the failure of our terraforming -experiments--the destruction of our outpost on Venus, and the permanent -damage done to that planet. The failure of this project makes it -imperative that we move outward to the stars to relieve our population -crisis." - -He took a deep breath. "In exactly four hours," he said, "a -representative of an alien race will land on Earth to confer with -the director of Popeek. I cannot stress too greatly the importance -of maintaining a continuity of thought and action within our Bureau. -Bluntly, it is essential that _I_ be the one who deals with this alien. -I ask for your support. Thank you." - -He took his seat again. Ludwig was staring at him, aghast. - -"Roy! What kind of a speech was that? You can't just _demand_ the job! -You've got to give reasons! You have to--" - -"Hush," Walton said. "Don't worry about it. Were you watching the -kaleidowhirls last night?" - -"Me? Of course not!" - -Walton grinned. "_They_ were," he said, gesturing at the other -delegates. "I'm not worried." - - - - -XVIII - - -Walton left the Assembly meeting about 1215, pleading urgent Popeek -business. The voting began at 1300, and half an hour later the result -was officially released. - -The 1400 _Citizen_ was the first to carry the report. - - _WALTON ELECTED POPEEK HEAD_ - - _The General Assembly of the United Nations gave Roy Walton a - healthy vote of confidence today. By a 95-0 vote, three abstaining, - he was picked to succeed the late D. F. FitzMaugham as Popeek czar. - He has held the post on a temporary basis for the past eight days._ - -Walton rang up Percy. "Who wrote that _Citizen_ piece on me?" he asked. - -"I did, chief. Why?" - -"Nicely done, but not enough sock. Get all those three-syllable words -out of it by the next edition. Get back to the old _Citizen_ style of -jazzy writing." - -"We thought we'd brush it up a little now that you're in," Percy said. - -"No. That's dangerous. Keep to the old style, but revamp the content. -We're rolling along, now. What's new from the pollsters?" - -"Fifty percent swing to Popeek. You're the most popular man in the -country, as of noon. Churches are offering up prayers for you. There's -a move afoot to make you President of the United States in place of old -Lanson." - -"Let Lanson keep his job," Walton chuckled. "I'm not looking for any -figurehead jobs. I'm too young. When's the next _Citizen_ due?" - -"At 1500. We're keeping up hourly editions until the crisis is over." - -Walton thought for a moment. "I think 1500's too early. The Dirnan -arrives in Nairobi at 1530 our time. I want a big splash in the 1600 -edition--but not a word before then!" - -"I'm with you," Percy said, and signed off. - -A moment later the annunciator said, "There's a closed-circuit call for -you from Batavia, sir." - -"From where?" - -"Batavia. Java." - -"Let's have it," Walton said. - -A fleshy face filled the screen, the face of a man who had lived a soft -life in a moist climate. A rumbling voice said, "You are Walton." - -"I am Walton." - -"I am Gaetano di Cassio. Pleased of making the acquaintance, Signor -Director Walton. I own rubber plantation in the area here." - -Walton's mind immediately clocked off the top name on the list of -landed proprietors Lassen had prepared for him: - -_di Cassio, Gaetano. 57. Holdings estimated at better than a billion -and a quarter. Born Genoa 2175, settled in Amsterdam 2199. Purchased -large Java holding 2211._ - -"What can I do for you, Mr. di Cassio?" - -The rubber magnate looked ill; his fleshy face was beaded with globules -of sweat. "Your brother," he grunted heavily. "Your brother worked for -me. I sent him to see you yesterday. He has not come back." - -"Indeed?" Walton shrugged. "There's a famous phrase I could use at this -point. I won't." - -"Make no flippancies," di Cassio said heavily. "Where is he?" - -Walton said, "In jail. Attempted coercion of a public official." He -realized di Cassio was twice as nervous and tense as he was. - -"You have jailed him," di Cassio repeated flatly. "Ah, I see. Jail." -The audio pickup brought in the sound of stertorous breathing. "Will -you not free him?" di Cassio asked. - -"I will not." - -"Did he not tell you what would happen if he would not be granted his -request?" - -"He told me," Walton said. "Well?" - -The fat man looked sick. Walton saw that the bluff was going to be -unsuccessful; that the conspirators would not dare put Lamarre's drug -into open production. It had been a weapon without weight, and Walton -had not let himself be cowed by it. - -"Well?" Walton repeated inflexibly. - -"You trouble me sorely," said di Cassio. "You give my heart pain, Mr. -Walton. Steps will have to be taken." - -"The Lamarre immortality serum--" - -The face on the screen turned a leaden gray. "The serum," di Cassio -said, "is not entered into this talking." - -"Oh, no? My brother Fred made a few remarks--" - -"Serum _non esiste_!" - -Walton smiled calmly. "A nonexistent serum," he said, "has, -unfortunately, nonexistent leverage against me. You don't scare me, di -Cassio. I've outbluffed you. Go take a walk around your plantation. -While you still have it, that is." - -"Steps will be taken," di Cassio said. But his malevolence was hollow. -Walton laughed and broke contact. - -He drew Lassen's list from his desk and inscribed a brief memo to Olaf -Eglin on it. These were the hundred biggest estates in the world. -Within a week, there would be equalized Japanese living on all of them. - -He called Martinez of security. "I've ordered my brother Fred remanded -to your care," he said. - -"I know." The security man sounded peeved. "We can't hold a man -indefinitely, not even on your say-so, Director Walton." - -"The charge is conspiracy," Walton said. "Conspiracy against the -successful operation of Popeek. I'll have a list of the ringleaders on -your desk in half an hour. I want them rounded up, given a thorough -psyching, and jailed." - -"There are times," Martinez said slowly, "when I suspect you exceed -your powers, Director Walton. But send me the list and I'll have the -arrests made." - - * * * * * - -The afternoon crawled. Walton proceeded with routine work on half -a dozen fronts, held screened conferences with each of his section -chiefs, read reports augmenting what he already knew of the Venus -disaster, and gobbled a few benzolurethrin tranquilizers. - -He called Keeler and learned that no sign of Lamarre had come to -light yet. From Percy he discovered that _Citizen_ had added two -hundred thousand subscribers overnight. The 1500 edition had a lengthy -editorial praising Walton, and some letters that Percy swore were -genuine, doing the same. - -At 1515 Olaf Eglin called to announce that the big estates were in the -process of being dismembered. "You'll be able to hear the howls from -here to Batavia when we get going," Eglin warned. - -"We have to be tough," Walton told him firmly. - -At 1517 he devoted a few minutes to a scientific paper that proposed -terraforming Pluto by establishing synthetic hydrogen-fusion suns -on the icy planet. Walton skimmed through the specifications, which -involved passing a current of several million amperes through a tube -containing a mixture of tritium and deuterium. The general idea, he -gathered, was to create electromagnetic forces of near-solar intensity; -a pulsed-reaction engine would supply a hundred megawatts of power -continuously at 10,000,000 degrees centigrade. - -_Has possibilities_, Walton noted, and forwarded the plan on to Eglin. -It sounded plausible enough, but Walton was personally skeptical of -undertaking any more terraforming experiments after the Venus fiasco. -There were, after all, limits to the public relations miracles Lee -Percy could create. - -At 1535 the annunciator chimed again. "Call from Nairobi, Africa, Mr. -Walton." - -"Okay." - -McLeod appeared on the screen. - -"We're here," he said. "Arrived safely half a microsecond ago, and -all's well." - -"How about the alien?" - -"We have him in a specially constructed cabin. Breathes hydrogen and -ammonia, you know. He's very anxious to see you. When can you come?" - -Walton thought for a moment. "I guess there's no way of transporting -him here, is there?" - -"I wouldn't advise it. The Dirnans are very sensitive about traveling -in such a low gravitational field. Makes their stomachs queasy, you -know. Do you think you could come out here?" - -"When's the earliest?" - -"Oh--half an hour?" McLeod suggested. - -"I'm on my way," said Walton. - - * * * * * - -The sprawling metropolis of Nairobi, capital of the Republic of Kenya, -lay at the foot of the Kikuyu Hills, and magnificent Mount Kilimanjaro -towered above it. Four million people inhabited Nairobi, finest of the -many fine cities along Africa's western coast. Africa's Negro republics -had built soundly and well after achieving their liberation from -colonial status. - -The city was calm as Walton's special jet decelerated for landing -at the vast Nairobi airport. He had left at 1547 New York time; the -transatlantic trip had taken two hours and some minutes, and there was -an eight-hour time zone differential between Kenya and New York. It -was now 0313 in Nairobi; the early-morning rain was falling right on -schedule as the jet taxied to a halt. - -McLeod was there to meet him. "The ship's in the hills, five miles out -of town. There's a copter waiting for you here." - -Moments after leaving the jetliner, Walton was shepherded aboard the -'copter. Rotors whirred; the 'copter rose perpendicularly until it hung -just above the cloud-seeders at 13,000 feet, then fired its jets and -streaked toward the hills. - -It was not raining when they landed; according to McLeod, the night -rain was scheduled for 0200 in this sector, and the seeders had already -been here and moved on to bring rain to the city proper. A groundcar -waited for them at the airstrip in the hills. McLeod drove, handling -the turboelectric job with skill. - -"There's the ship," he said proudly, pointing. - -Walton felt a sudden throat lump. - -The ship stood on its tail in the midst of a wide, flat swath of -jet-blackened concrete. It was at least five hundred feet high, a -towering pale needle shimmering brightly in the moonlight. Wideswept -tailjets supported it like arching buttresses. Men moved busily about -in the floodlighted area at its base. - -McLeod drove up to the ship and around it. The flawless symmetry of the -foreside was not duplicated behind; there, a spidery catwalk ran some -eighty feet up the side of the ship to a gaping lock, and by its side a -crude elevator shaft rose to the same hatch. - -McLeod drew efficient salutes from the men as he left the car; Walton, -only puzzled glares. - -"We'd better take the elevator," McLeod said. "The men are working on -the catwalk." - -Silently they rode up into the ship. They stepped through the open -airlock into a paneled lounge, then into narrow companionways. McLeod -paused and pressed down a stud in an alcove along the way. - -"I'm back," he announced. "Tell Thogran Klayrn that I've brought -Walton. Find out whether he'll come out to talk to him." - -"I thought he had to breathe special atmosphere," Walton said. "How can -he come out?" - -"They've got breathing masks. Usually they don't like to use them." -McLeod listened at the earpiece for a moment, then nodded. To Walton -he said, "The alien will see you in the lounge." - - * * * * * - -Walton had barely time to fortify himself with a slug of filtered rum -when a crewman appeared at the entrance to the lounge and declared -ostentatiously, "His Excellency, Thogran Klayrn of Dirna." - -The alien entered. - -Walton had seen the photographs, and so he was partially prepared. But -only partially. - -The photos had not given him any idea of size. The alien stood eight -feet high, and gave an appearance of astonishing mass. It must have -weighed four or five hundred pounds, but it stood on two thick legs -barely three feet long. Somewhere near the middle of the columnar -body, four sturdy arms jutted forth strangely. A neckless head topped -the ponderous creature--a head covered entirely with the transparent -breathing mask. One of the hands held a mechanical device of some sort; -the translating machine, Walton surmised. - -The alien's hide was bright-green, and leathery in texture. A faint -pungent odor drifted through the room, as of an object long immersed in -ammonia. - -"I am Thogran Klayrn," a booming voice said. "Diplomasiarch of Dirna. I -have been sent to talk with Roy Walton. Are you Roy Walton?" - -"I am." Walton's voice sounded cold and dry to his own ears. He knew he -was too tense, pressing too hard. "I'm very glad to meet you, Thogran -Klayrn." - -"Please sit. I do not. My body is not made that way." - -Walton sat. It made him feel uncomfortable to have to crane his neck -upward at the alien, but that could not be helped. "Did you have a -pleasant trip?" Walton asked, temporizing desperately. - -A half-grunt came from Thogran Klayrn. "Indeed it was so. But I do not -indulge in little talk. A problem we have, and it must be discussed." - -"Agreed." Whatever a diplomasiarch might be on Dirna, it was _not_ a -typical diplomat. Walton was relieved that it would not be necessary to -spend hours in formalities before they reached the main problem. - -"A ship sent out by your people," the alien said, "invaded our system -some time ago. In command was your Colonel McLeod, whom I have come to -know well. What was the purpose of this ship?" - -"To explore the worlds of the universe and to discover a planet where -we of Earth could settle. Our world is very overcrowded now." - -"So I have been given to know. You have chosen Labura--or, in your -terms, Procyon VIII--as your colony. Is this so?" - -"Yes," Walton said. "It's a perfect world for our purposes. But Colonel -McLeod has informed me that you object to our settling there." - -"We do so object." The Dirnan's voice was cold. "You are a young and -active race. We do not know what danger you may bring to us. To have -you as our neighbors--" - -"We could swear a treaty of eternal peace," Walton said. - -"Words. Mere words." - -"But don't you see that we can't even _land_ on that planet of yours! -It's too big, too heavy for us. What possible harm could we do?" - -"There are races," said the Dirnan heavily, "which believe in violence -as a sacred act. You have long-range missiles. How might we trust you?" - -Walton squirmed; then sudden inspiration struck him. "There's a planet -in this system that's as suitable for your people as Labura is for -ours. I mean Jupiter. We could offer you colonial rights to Jupiter in -exchange for the privilege of colonizing Labura!" - -The alien was silent for a moment. Considering? There was no way of -telling what emotions passed across that face. At length the alien -said, "Not satisfactory. Our people have long since reached stability -of population. We have no need of colonies. It has been many thousands -of your years since we have ventured into space." - -Walton felt chilled. _Many thousands of years!_ He realized he was up -against a formidable life form. - -"We have learned to stabilize births and deaths," the Dirnan went on -sonorously. "It is a fundamental law of the universe, and one that you -Earthfolk must learn sooner or later. How you choose to do it is your -own business. But we have no need of planets in your system, and we -fear allowing you to enter ours. The matter is simple of statement, -difficult of resolution. But we are open to suggestions from you." - -Walton's mind blanked. Suggestions? What possible suggestion could he -make? - -He gasped. "We have something to offer," he said. "It might be of value -to a race that has achieved population stability. We would give it to -you in exchange for colonization rights." - -"What is this commodity?" the Dirnan asked. - -"Immortality," Walton said. - - - - -XIX - - -He returned to New York alone, later that night, too tired to sleep -and too wide awake to relax. He felt like a poker player who had -triumphantly topped four kings with four aces, and now was fumbling -in his hand trying to locate some of those aces for his skeptical -opponents. - -The alien had accepted his offer. That was the one solid fact he was -able to cling to, on the lonely night ride back from Nairobi. The rest -was a quicksand of ifs and maybes. - -_If_ Lamarre could be found.... - -_If_ the serum actually had any value.... - -_If_ it was equally effective on Earthmen and Dirnans.... - -Walton tried to dismiss the alternatives. He had made a desperately -wild offer, and it had been accepted. New Earth was open for -colonization, _if_.... - -The world outside the jet was a dark blur. He had left Nairobi at 0518 -Nairobi time; jetting back across the eight intervening time zones, he -would arrive in New York around midnight. Ultrarapid jet transit made -such things possible; he would live twice through the early hours of -June nineteenth. - -New York had a fifteen minute rain scheduled at 0100 that night. Walton -reached the housing project where he lived just as the rain was turned -on. The night was otherwise a little muggy; he paused outside the main -entrance, letting the drops fall on him. After a few minutes, feeling -faintly foolish and very tired, he went inside, shook himself dry, and -went to bed. He did not sleep. - -Four caffeine tablets helped him get off to a running start in the -morning. He arrived at the Cullen Building early, about 0835, and spent -some time bringing his private journal up to date, explaining in detail -the burden of his interview with the alien ambassador. Some day, Walton -thought, a historian of the future would discover his journal and find -that for a short period in 2232 a man named Roy Walton had acted as -absolute dictator of humanity. The odd thing, Walton reflected, was -that he had absolutely no power drive: he had been pitchforked into the -role, and each of his successive extra-legal steps had been taken quite -genuinely in the name of humanity. - -Rationalization? Perhaps. But a necessary one. - -At 0900 Walton took a deep breath and called Keeler of security. The -security man smiled oddly and said, "I was just about to call you, sir. -We have some news, at last." - -"News? What?" - -"Lamarre. We found his body this morning, just about an hour ago. -Murdered. It turned up in Marseilles, pretty badly decomposed, but we -ran a full check and the retinal's absolutely Lamarre's." - -"Oh," Walton said leadenly. His head swam. "Definitely Lamarre," he -repeated. "Thanks, Keeler. Fine work. Fine." - -"Something wrong, sir? You look--" - -"I'm very tired," Walton said. "That's all. Tired. Thanks, Keeler." - -"You called me about something, sir," Keeler reminded him gently. - -"Oh, I was calling about Lamarre. I guess there's no point in--thanks, -Keeler." He broke the contact. - -For the first time Walton felt total despair, and, out of despair, -came a sort of deathlike calmness. With Lamarre dead, his only hope of -obtaining the serum was to free Fred and wangle the notes from him. But -Fred's price for the notes would be Walton's job. Full circle, and a -dead end. - -Perhaps Fred could be induced to reveal the whereabouts of the notes. -It wasn't likely, but it was possible. And if not? Walton shrugged. -A man could do only so much. Terraforming had proved a failure, -equalization was a stopgap of limited value, and the one extrasolar -planet worth colonizing was held by aliens. Dead end. - -_I tried_, Walton thought. _Now let someone else try._ - -He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of negation that suddenly -surrounded him. His thinking was all wrong; he had to keep trying, had -to investigate every possible avenue before giving up. - -His fingers hovered lightly over a benzolurethrin tablet, then drew -back. Stiffly he rose from his chair and switched on the annunciator. - -"I'm leaving the office for a while," he said hoarsely. "Send all calls -to Mr. Eglin." - -He had to see Fred. - - * * * * * - -Security Keep was a big, blocky building beyond the city limits proper, -a windowless tower near Nyack, New York. Walton's private jetcopter -dropped noiselessly to the landing stage on the wide parapet of the -building. He contemplated its dull-bronze metallic exterior for a -moment. - -"Should I wait here?" the pilot asked. - -"Yes," Walton said. With accession to the permanent directorship he -rated a private ship and a live pilot. "I won't be here long." - -He left the landing stage and stepped within an indicated screener -field. There was a long pause. The air up here, Walton thought, is -fresh and clean, not like city air. - -A voice said, "What is your business here?" - -"I'm Walton, director of Popeek. I have an appointment with Security -Head Martinez." - -"Wait a moment, Director Walton." - -None of the obsequious _sirring_ and _pleasing_ Walton had grown -accustomed to. In its way, the bluntness of address was as refreshing -as the unpolluted air. - -Walton's keen ears detected a gentle electronic whirr; he was being -thoroughly scanned. After a moment the metal door before him rose -silently into a hidden slot, and he found himself facing an inner door -of burnished copper. - -A screen was set in the inner door. - -Martinez' face confronted him. - -"Good morning, Director Walton. You're here for our interview?" - -"Yes." - -The inner door closed. This time, two chunky atomic cannons came -barreling down to face him snout first. Walton flinched involuntarily, -but a smiling Martinez stepped before them and greeted him. "Well, why -are you here?" - -"To see a prisoner of yours. My brother, Fred." - -Martinez frowned and passed a delicate hand through his rumpled hair. -"Seeing prisoners is positively forbidden, Mr. Walton. Seeing them in -person, that is. I could arrange a closed-circuit video screening for -you." - -"Forbidden? But the man's here on my word alone. I--" - -"Your powers, Mr. Walton, are still somewhat less than infinite. This -is one rule we never have relaxed, and never will. The prisoners in the -Keep are under constant security surveillance, and your presence in the -cell block would undermine our entire system. Will video do?" - -"I guess it'll have to," Walton said. He was not of a mind to argue now. - -"Come with me, then," said Martinez. - -The little man led him down a dim corridor into a side room, one entire -wall of which was an unlit video screen. "You'll have total privacy -in here," Martinez assured him. He did things to a dial set in the -right-hand wall, and murmured a few words. The screen began to glow. - -"You can call me when you're through," Martinez said. He seemed to -glide out of the room, leaving Walton alone with Fred. - -The huge screen was like a window directly into Fred's cell. Walton met -his brother's bitter gaze head on. - -Fred looked demonic. His eyes were ringed by black shadows; his hair -was uncombed, his heavy-featured face unwashed. He said, "Welcome to my -palatial abode, dearest brother." - -"Fred, don't make it hard for me. I came here to try to clarify things. -I didn't _want_ to stick you away here. I _had_ to." - -Fred smiled balefully. "You don't need to apologize. It was entirely -my fault. I underestimated you; I didn't realize you had changed. I -thought you were the same old soft-hearted dope I grew up with. You -aren't." - -"Possibly." Walton wished he had taken that benzolurethrin after all. -Every nerve in his body seemed to be jumping. He said, "I found out -today that Lamarre's dead." - -"So?" - -"So there's no possible way for Popeek to obtain the immortality serum -except through you. Fred, I need that serum. I've promised it to the -alien in exchange for colonization rights on Procyon VIII." - -"A neat little package deal," Fred said harshly. "_Quid pro quo._ Well, -I hate to spoil it, but I'm not going to tell where the _quo_ lies -hidden. You're not getting that serum out of me." - -"I can have you mind blasted," Walton said. "They'll pick your mind -apart and strip it away layer by layer until they find what they want. -There won't be much of _you_ left by then, but we'll have the serum." - -"No go. Not even you can swing that deal," Fred said. "You can't get a -mind-pick permit on your lonesome: you need the President's okay. It -takes at least a day to go through channels--half a day, if you pull -rank. And by that time, Roy, I'll be out of here." - -"What?" - -"You heard me clear enough. _Out._ Seems you're holding me here on -pretty tenuous grounds. Habeas corpus hasn't been suspended yet, Roy, -and Popeek isn't big enough to do it. I've got a writ. I'll be sprung -at 1500 today." - -"I'll have you back in by 1530," Walton said angrily. "We're picking up -di Cassio and that whole bunch. That'll be sufficient grounds to quash -your habeas corpus." - -"Ah! Maybe so," Fred said. "But I'll be out of here for half an hour. -That's long enough to let the world know how you exercised an illegal -special privilege and spared Philip Prior from Happysleep. Wiggle out -of that one, then." - -Walton began to sweat. - -Fred had him neatly nailed this time. - -Someone in security evidently had let him sneak his plea out of the -Keep. Martinez? Well, it didn't matter. By 1500 Fred would be free, -and the long-suppressed Prior incident would be smeared all over the -telefax system. That would finish Walton; affairs were at too delicate -an impasse for him to risk having to defend himself now. Fred might not -be able to save himself, but he could certainly topple his brother. - -There was no possible way to get a mind-pick request through before -1500; President Lanson himself would have to sign the authorization, -and the old dodderer would take his time about it. - -Mind picking was out, but there was still one weapon left to the head -of Popeek, if he cared to use it. Walton moistened his lips. - -"It sounds very neat," he said. "I'll ask you one more time: will you -yield Lamarre's serum to me for use in my negotiations with the Dirnan?" - -"Are you kidding? No!" Fred said positively. "Not to save your life or -mine. I've got you exactly where I want you, Roy. Where I've wanted you -all my life. And you can't wriggle out of it." - -"I think you've underestimated me again," Walton said in a quiet voice. -"And for the last time." - -He stood up and opened the door of the room. A gray-clad security man -hovered outside. - -"Will you tell Mr. Martinez I'm ready to leave?" Walton said. - -The jetcopter pilot was dozing when Walton reached the landing stage. -Walton woke him and said, "Let's get back to the Cullen Building, fast." - -The trip took about ten minutes. Walton entered his office, signaling -his return but indicating he wanted no calls just yet. Carefully, -thoughtfully, he arranged the various strands of circumstance in his -mind, building them into a symmetrical structure. - -Di Cassio and the other conspirators would be rounded up by nightfall, -certainly. But no time element operated there; Walton knew he could -get mind-pick authorizations in a day or so, and go through one after -another of them until the whereabouts of Lamarre's formula turned up. -It was brutal, but necessary. - -Fred was a different problem. Unless Walton prevented it, he'd be freed -on his writ within hours--and when he revealed the Prior incident, it -would smash Walton's whole fragile construct to flinders. - -He couldn't fight habeas corpus. But the director of Popeek did have -one weapon that legally superseded all others. Fred had gambled on his -brother's softness, and Fred had lost. - -Walton reached for his voicewrite and, in a calm, controlled voice, -began to dictate an order for the immediate removal of Frederic Walton -from Security Keep, and for his prompt transference to the Euthanasia -Clinic on grounds of criminal insanity. - - - - -XX - - -Even after that--for which he felt no guilt, only relief--Walton felt -oppressive foreboding hanging over him. Martinez phoned, late that day, -to inform him that the hundred landowners had been duly corralled and -were being held in the lower reaches of Security Keep. - -"They're yelling and squalling," Martinez said, "and they'll have -plenty of high-power legal authority down here soon enough. You'd -better have a case against them." - -"I'm obtaining an authorization to mind blast the one named di Cassio. -He's the ringleader, I think." Walton paused for a moment, then asked, -"Did a Popeek copter arrive to pick up Frederic Walton?" - -"Yes," Martinez said. "At 1406. A lawyer showed up here waving a writ, -a little while later, but naturally we had no further jurisdiction." -The security man's eyes were cold and accusing, but Walton did not -flinch. - -"1406?" he repeated. "All right, Martinez. Thanks for your cooperation." - -He blanked the screen. He was moving coolly, crisply now. In order to -get a mind-pick authorization, he would have to see President Lanson -personally. Very well; he would see President Lanson. - -The shrunken old man in the White House was openly deferential to -the Popeek head. Walton stated his case quickly, bluntly. Lanson's -watery, mild eyes blinked a few times at the many complexities of the -situation. He rocked uneasily up and down. - -Finally he said, "This mind picking--it's absolutely necessary?" - -"Absolutely. We must know where that serum is hidden." - -Lanson sighed heavily. "I'll authorize it," he said. He looked beaten. - -Washington to New York was a matter of some few minutes. The precious -authorization in his hands, Walton spoke to di Cassio via the screener -setup at Security Keep, informed him of what was going to be done with -him. Then, despite the fat man's hysterical protests, he turned the -authorization over to Martinez with instructions to proceed with the -mind pick. - -It took fifty-eight minutes. Walton waited in a bare, austere office -somewhere in the Keep while the mind-picking technicians peeled away -the cortex of di Cassio's mind. By now Walton was past all ambivalence, -all self-doubt. He thought of himself as a mere robot fulfilling a -preset pattern of action. - -At 1950 Martinez presented himself before Walton. The little security -head looked bleak. - -"It's done. Di Cassio's been reduced to blubber and bone. I wouldn't -want to watch another mind picking too soon." - -"You may have to," Walton said. "If di Cassio wasn't the right one, I -intend to go straight down the line on all hundred-odd of them. One of -them dealt with Fred. One of them must know where the Lamarre papers -are." - -Martinez shook his head wearily. "No. There won't need to be any more -mind-picking. We got it all out of di Cassio. The transcript ought to -be along any moment." - -As the security man spoke, an arrival bin in the office flashed and -a packet arrived. Walton broke impatiently for the bin, but Martinez -waved him away. "This is my domain, Mr. Walton. Please be patient." - -With infuriating slowness, Martinez opened the packet, removed some -closely-typed sheets, nodded over them. He handed them to Walton. - -"Here. Read for yourself. Here's the record of the conversation between -your brother and di Cassio. I think it's what you're looking for." - -Walton accepted the sheets tensely and began to read: - - Di Cassio: _You have a what?_ - - Fred Walton: _An immortality serum. Eternal life. You know. Some - Popeek scientist invented it, and I stole his notebook from my - brother's office. It's all here._ - - Di Cassio: _Buono! Excellent work. Excellent. Immortality, you say?_ - - Fred Walton: _Damned right. And it's the weapon we can use to pry - Roy out of office. All I have to do is tell him he'd better get out - of the way or we'll turn the serum loose on humanity, and he'll - move. He's an idealist--stars in his eyes and all that. He won't - dare resist._ - - Di Cassio: _This is marvelous. You will, of course, send the serum - formula to us for safe keeping?_ - - Fred Walton: _Like hell I will. I'm keeping those notes right where - they belong--inside my head. I've destroyed the notebooks and had - the scientist killed. The only one who knows the secret is yours - truly. This is just to prevent double-crossing on your part, di - Cassio. Not that I don't trust you, you understand._ - - Di Cassio: _Fred, my boy--_ - - Fred Walton: _None of that stuff. You gave me a free hand. Don't - try to interfere now._ - -Walton let the transcript slip from his numb hands to the floor. - -"My God," he said softly. "My God!" - -Martinez' bright eyes flicked from Walton to the scattered papers -on the floor. "What's the trouble? You've got Fred in your custody, -haven't you?" - -"Didn't you read the order I sent you?" - -Martinez chuckled hollowly. "Well, yes--it was a Happysleep -authorization. But I thought it was just a way of avoiding that -writ ... I mean ... your own _brother_, man?" - -"That was no dodge," Walton said. "That was a Happysleep order, and I -meant it. Really. Unless there was a slip-up, Fred went to the chamber -four hours ago. And," said Walton, "he took the Lamarre formula along -with him." - - * * * * * - -Alone in his office in the night-shadowed Cullen Building, Walton -stared at his own distorted reflection mirrored in the opaqued windows. -On his desk lay the slip of paper bearing the names of those who had -gone to Happysleep in the 1500 gassing. - -Frederic Walton was the fourth name on the list. For once, there had -been no slip-ups. - -Walton thought back over the events of the last nine days. One of his -earliest realizations during that time had been that the head of Popeek -held powers of life and death over humanity. - -Godlike, he had assumed both responsibilities. He had granted life to -Philip Prior; that had been the start of this chain of events, and the -first of his many mistakes. Now, he had given death to Frederic Walton, -an act in itself justifiable, but in consequence the most massive of -his errors. - -All his scheming had come to naught. Any help now would have to come -from without. - -Wearily, he snapped on the phone and asked for a connection to Nairobi. -The interstellar swap would have to be canceled; Walton was unable to -deliver the goods. Fred would have the final smirk yet. - -Some minutes later, he got through to McLeod. - -"I'm glad you called," McLeod said immediately. "I've been trying to -reach you all day. The Dirnan's getting rather impatient; this low -gravity is making him sick, and he wants to get going back to his home -world." - -"Let me talk to him. He'll be able to leave right away." - -McLeod nodded and vanished from the screen. The alien visage of Thogran -Klayrn appeared. - -"I have been waiting for you," the Dirnan said. "You promised to call -earlier today. You did not." - -"I'm sorry about that," Walton told him. "I was trying to locate the -papers to turn over to you." - -"Ah, yes. Has it been done?" - -"No," Walton said. "The serum doesn't exist any more. The man who -invented it is dead, and so is the only other man who knew the formula." - -There was a moment of startled silence. Then the Dirnan said, "You -assured me delivery of the information." - -"I know. But it can't be delivered." Walton was silent a long while, -brooding. "The deal's off. There was a mix-up and the man who had the -data was--was inadvertently executed today." - -"_Today_, you say?" - -"Yes. It was an error on my part. A foolish blunder." - -"That is irrelevant," the alien interrupted peevishly. "Is the man's -body still intact?" - -"Why, yes," Walton said, taken off guard. He wondered what plan the -alien had. "It's in our morgue right now. But--" - -The alien turned away from the screen, and Walton heard him conferring -with someone beyond the field of vision. Then the Dirnan returned. - -"There are techniques for recovering information from newly dead -persons," Thogran Klayrn said. "You have none of these on Earth?" - -"Recovering information?" Walton stammered. "No, we don't." - -"These techniques exist. Have you such a device as an -electroencephalograph on Earth?" - -"Of course." - -"Then it is still possible to extract the data from this dead man's -brain." The alien uttered a wistful wheeze. "See that the body comes -to no harm. I will be at your city shortly." - -For a moment Walton did not understand. - -Then he thought, _Of course. It had to happen this way._ - -He realized the rent in the fabric had been bound up, his mistakes -undone, his conscience granted a reprieve. He felt absurdly grateful. -That all his striving should have been ruined at the last moment would -have been intolerable. Now, all was made whole. - -"Thanks," he said with sudden fervor. "Thanks!" - - * * * * * - -_14 May 2233...._ - - * * * * * - -Roy Walton, director of the Bureau of Population Equalization, stood -sweltering in the sun at Nairobi Spaceport, watching the smiling people -file past him into the towering, golden-hulled ship. - -A powerful-looking man holding a small child in his arms came up to him. - -"Hello, Walton," he said in a majestic basso. - -Walton turned, startled. "Prior!" he exclaimed, after a moment's -fumbling. - -"And this is my son, Philip," said Prior. "We'll both be going as -colonists. My wife's already aboard, but I just wanted to thank you--" - -Walton looked at the happy, red-cheeked boy. "There was a medical exam -for all volunteer colonists. How did you get the boy through _this_ -time?" - -"Legitimately," Prior said, grinning. "He's a perfectly healthy, normal -boy. That potential TB condition was just that--potential. Philip got -an A-one health clearance, so it's New Earth and the wide ranges for -the Prior family!" - -"I'm glad for you," Walton said absently. "I wish I could go." - -"Why can't you?" - -"Too much work here," Walton said. "If you turn out any poetry up -there, I'd like to see it." - -Prior shook his head. "I have a feeling I'll be too busy. Poetry's -really just a substitute for living, I'm getting to think. I'll be too -busy _living_ up there to write anything." - -"Maybe," said Walton. "I suppose you're right. But you'd better move -along. That ship's due to blast pretty soon." - -"Right. Thanks again for everything," Prior said, and he and the child -moved on. - -Walton watched them go. He thought back over the past year. _At least_, -he thought, _I made one right guess. The boy deserved to live._ - -The loading continued. One thousand colonists would go this first trip, -and a thousand more the next day, and a thousand and a thousand more -until a billion of Earth's multitudes were on the new world. There was -a great deal of paperwork involved in transporting a billion people -through space. Walton's desk groaned with a backlog of work. - -He glanced up. No stars were visible, of course, in the midday sky, but -he knew that New Earth was out there somewhere. And near it, Dirna. - -_Some day_, he thought, _we'll have learned to control our growth. And -that will be the day the Dirnans give us back our immortality formula._ - -A warning siren sounded suddenly, and ship number one sprang up -from Earth, hovered for a few instants on a red pillar of fire, and -vanished. Director Walton looked blankly at the place where the ship -had been, and, after a moment, turned away. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Master of Life and Death - -Author: Robert Silverberg - -Release Date: November 12, 2015 [EBook #50441] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="336" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - - -<h1><i>MASTER<br /> -of Life and Death</i></h1> - -<p>by<br /> -ROBERT SILVERBERG</p> - -<p>ACE BOOKS<br /> -A Division of A. A. Wyn, Inc.<br /> -23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y.</p> - - -<p>MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH</p> - -<p>Copyright 1957, by A. A. Wyn, Inc.<br /> -All Rights Reserved</p> - -<p>For Antigone—<br /> -Who Thinks We're Property</p> - -<p>Printed in U.S.A.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any<br /> -evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">THE MAN WHO RATIONED BABIES</p> - - -<p>By the 23rd century Earth's population had reached seven billion. -Mankind was in danger of perishing for lack of elbow room—unless -prompt measures were taken. Roy Walton had the power to enforce those -measures. But though his job was in the service of humanity, he soon -found himself the most hated man in the world.</p> - -<p>For it was <i>his</i> job to tell parents their children were unfit to live; -<i>he</i> had to uproot people from their homes and send them to remote -areas of the world. Now, threatened by mobs of outraged citizens, -denounced and blackened by the press, Roy Walton had to make a -decision: resign his post, or use his power to destroy his enemies, -become a dictator in the hopes of saving humanity from its own folly. -In other words, should he become the MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CAST OF CHARACTERS</p> - - -<p class="ph3">ROY WALTON</p> - -<p class="ph4">He had to adopt the motto—<i>the ends justify the means</i>.</p> - - -<p class="ph3">FITZMAUGHAM</p> - -<p class="ph4">His reward for devoted service was—an assassin's bullet.</p> - - -<p class="ph3">FRED WALTON</p> - -<p class="ph4">His ambition was to fill his brother's shoes—but he underestimated -their size.</p> - - -<p class="ph3">LEE PERCY</p> - -<p class="ph4">His specialty was sugarcoating bitter pills.</p> - - -<p class="ph3">PRIOR</p> - -<p class="ph4">With the pen as his only weapon, could he save his son?</p> - - -<p class="ph3">DR. LAMARRE</p> - -<p class="ph4">He died for discovering the secret of immortality.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">Contents</p> - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#I">I</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#II">II</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#III">III</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#IV">IV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#V">V</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#VI">VI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#VII">VII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#VIII">VIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#IX">IX</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#X">X</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XI">XI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XII">XII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XIII">XIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XIV">XIV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XV">XV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XVI">XVI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XVII">XVII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XVIII">XVIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XIX">XIX</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="center"><a href="#XX">XX</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="I" id="I">I</a></h2> - - -<p>The offices of the Bureau of Population Equalization, vulgarly known -as Popeek, were located on the twentieth through twenty-ninth floors -of the Cullen Building, a hundred-story monstrosity typical of -twenty-second-century neo-Victorian at its overdecorated worst. Roy -Walton, Popeek's assistant administrator, had to apologize to himself -each morning as he entered the hideous place.</p> - -<p>Since taking the job, he had managed to redecorate his own office—on -the twenty-eighth floor, immediately below Director FitzMaugham's—but -that had created only one minor oasis in the esthetically repugnant -building. It couldn't be helped, though; Popeek was unpopular, though -necessary; and, like the public hangman of some centuries earlier, the -Bureau did not rate attractive quarters.</p> - -<p>So Walton had removed some of the iridescent chrome scalloping that -trimmed the walls, replaced the sash windows with opaquers, and changed -the massive ceiling fixture to more subtle electroluminescents. But the -mark of the last century was stamped irrevocably on both building and -office.</p> - -<p>Which was as it should be, Walton had finally realized. It was the last -century's foolishness that had made Popeek necessary, after all.</p> - -<p>His desk was piled high with reports, and more kept arriving via -pneumochute every minute. The job of assistant administrator was -a thankless one, he thought; as much responsibility as Director -FitzMaugham, and half the pay.</p> - -<p>He lifted a report from one eyebrow-high stack, smoothed the crinkly -paper carefully, and read it.</p> - -<p>It was a despatch from Horrocks, the Popeek agent currently on duty in -Patagonia. It was dated <i>4 June 2232</i>, six days before, and after a -long and rambling prologue in the usual Horrocks manner it went on to -say, <i>Population density remains low here: 17.3 per square mile, far -below optimum. Looks like a prime candidate for equalization.</i></p> - -<p>Walton agreed. He reached for his voicewrite and said sharply, "Memo -from Assistant Administrator Walton, re equalization of ..." He paused, -picking a trouble-spot at random, "... central Belgium. Will the -section chief in charge of this area please consider the advisability -of transferring population excess to fertile areas in Patagonia? -Recommendation: establishment of industries in latter region, to ease -transition."</p> - -<p>He shut his eyes, dug his thumbs into them until bright flares of light -shot across his eyeballs, and refused to let himself be bothered by -the multiple problems involved in dumping several hundred thousand -Belgians into Patagonia. He forced himself to cling to one of Director -FitzMaugham's oft-repeated maxims, <i>If you want to stay sane, think of -these people as pawns in a chess game—not as human beings.</i></p> - -<p>Walton sighed. This was the biggest chess problem in the history of -humanity, and the way it looked now, all the solutions led to checkmate -in a century or less. They could keep equalizing population only so -long, shifting like loggers riding logs in a rushing river, before -trouble came.</p> - -<p>There was another matter to be attended to now. He picked up the -voicewrite again. "Memo from the assistant administrator, re -establishment of new policy on reports from local agents: hire a staff -of three clever girls to make a précis of each report, eliminating -irrelevant data."</p> - -<p>It was a basic step, one that should have been taken long ago. Now, -with three feet of reports stacked on his desk, it was mandatory. One -of the troubles with Popeek was its newness; it had been established so -suddenly that most of its procedures were still in the formative stage.</p> - -<p>He took another report from the heap. This one was the data sheet of -the Zurich Euthanasia Center, and he gave it a cursory scanning. During -the past week, eleven substandard children and twenty-three substandard -adults had been sent on to Happysleep.</p> - -<p>That was the grimmest form of population equalization. Walton initialed -the report, earmarked it for files, and dumped it in the pneumochute.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed.</p> - -<p>"I'm busy," Walton said immediately.</p> - -<p>"There's a Mr. Prior to see you," the annunciator's calm voice said. -"He insists it's an emergency."</p> - -<p>"Tell Mr. Prior I can't see anyone for at least three hours." Walton -stared gloomily at the growing pile of paper on his desk. "Tell him he -can have ten minutes with me at—oh, say, 1300."</p> - -<p>Walton heard an angry male voice muttering something in the outer -office, and then the annunciator said, "He insists he must see you -immediately in reference to a Happysleep commitment."</p> - -<p>"Commitments are irrevocable," Walton said heavily. The last thing in -the world he wanted was to see a man whose child or parent had just -been committed. "Tell Mr. Prior I can't see him at all."</p> - -<p>Walton found his fingers trembling; he clamped them tight to the edge -of his desk to steady himself. It was all right sitting up here in this -ugly building and initialing commitment papers, but actually to <i>see</i> -one of those people and try to convince him of the need—</p> - -<p>The door burst open.</p> - -<p>A tall, dark-haired man in an open jacket came rushing through and -paused dramatically just over the threshold. Immediately behind him -came three unsmiling men in the gray silk-sheen uniforms of security. -They carried drawn needlers.</p> - -<p>"Are you Administrator Walton?" the big man asked, in an astonishingly -deep, rich voice. "I have to see you. I'm Lyle Prior."</p> - -<p>The three security men caught up and swarmed all over Prior. One of -them turned apologetically to Walton. "We're terribly sorry about this, -sir. He just broke away and ran. We can't understand how he got in -here, but he did."</p> - -<p>"Ah—yes. So I noticed," Walton remarked drily. "See if he's planning -to assassinate anybody, will you?"</p> - -<p>"Administrator Walton!" Prior protested. "I'm a man of peace! How can -you accuse me of—"</p> - -<p>One of the security men hit him. Walton stiffened and resisted the urge -to reprimand the man. He was only doing his job, after all.</p> - -<p>"Search him," Walton said.</p> - -<p>They gave Prior an efficient going-over. "He's clean, Mr. Walton. -Should we take him to security, or downstairs to health?"</p> - -<p>"Neither. Leave him here with me."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure you—"</p> - -<p>"Get out of here," Walton snapped. As the three security men slinked -away, he added, "And figure out some more efficient system for -protecting me. Some day an assassin is going to sneak through here -and get me. Not that I give a damn about myself, you understand; it's -simply that I'm indispensable. There isn't another lunatic in the world -who'd take this job. Now <i>get out</i>!"</p> - -<p>They wasted no time in leaving. Walton waited until the door closed -and jammed down hard on the lockstud. His tirade, he knew, was wholly -unjustified; if he had remembered to lock his door as regulations -prescribed, Prior would never have broken in. But he couldn't admit -that to the guards.</p> - -<p>"Take a seat, Mr. Prior."</p> - -<p>"I have to thank you for granting me this audience," Prior said, -without a hint of sarcasm in his booming voice. "I realize you're a -terribly busy man."</p> - -<p>"I am." Another three inches of paper had deposited itself on Walton's -desk since Prior had entered. "You're very lucky to have hit the -psychological moment for your entrance. At any other time I'd have -had you brigged for a month, but just now I'm in need of a little -diversion. Besides, I very much admire your work, Mr. Prior."</p> - -<p>"Thank you." Again that humility, startling in so big and commanding a -man. "I hadn't expected to find—I mean that you—"</p> - -<p>"That a bureaucrat should admire poetry? Is that what you're groping -for?"</p> - -<p>Prior reddened. "Yes," he admitted.</p> - -<p>Grinning, Walton said, "I have to do <i>something</i> when I go home at -night. I don't really read Popeek reports twenty-four hours a day. No -more than twenty; that's my rule. I thought your last book was quite -remarkable."</p> - -<p>"The critics didn't," Prior said diffidently.</p> - -<p>"Critics! What do they know?" Walton demanded. "They swing in cycles. -Ten years ago it was form and technique, and you got the Melling Prize. -Now it's message, political content that counts. That's not poetry, Mr. -Prior—and there are still a few of us who recognize what poetry is. -Take Yeats, for instance—"</p> - -<p>Walton was ready to launch into a discussion of every poet from Prior -back to Surrey and Wyatt; anything to keep from the job at hand, -anything to keep his mind from Popeek. But Prior interrupted him.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Walton...."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"My son Philip ... he's two weeks old now...."</p> - -<p>Walton understood. "No, Prior. Please don't ask." Walton's skin felt -cold; his hands, tightly clenched, were clammy.</p> - -<p>"He was committed to Happysleep this morning—potentially tubercular. -The boy's perfectly sound, Mr. Walton. Couldn't you—"</p> - -<p>Walton rose. "<i>No</i>," he said, half-commanding, half-pleading. "Don't -ask me to do it. I can't make any exceptions, not even for you. You're -an intelligent man; you understand our program."</p> - -<p>"I voted for Popeek. I know all about Weeding the Garden and the -Euthanasia Plan. But I hadn't expected—"</p> - -<p>"You thought euthanasia was a fine thing for <i>other</i> people. So did -everyone else," Walton said. "That's how the act was passed." Tenderly -he said, "I can't do it. I can't spare your son. Our doctors give a -baby every chance to live."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> was tubercular. They cured me. What if they had practiced -euthanasia a generation ago? Where would my poems be now?"</p> - -<p>It was an unanswerable question; Walton tried to ignore it. -"Tuberculosis is an extremely rare disease, Mr. Prior. We can wipe -it out completely if we strike at those with TB-susceptible genetic -traits."</p> - -<p>"Meaning you'll kill any children I have?" Prior asked.</p> - -<p>"Those who inherit your condition," Walton said gently. "Go home, Mr. -Prior. Burn me in effigy. Write a poem about me. But don't ask me to do -the impossible. I can't catch any falling stars for you."</p> - -<p>Prior rose. He was immense, a hulking tragic figure staring broodingly -at Walton. For the first time since the poet's abrupt entry, Walton -feared violence. His fingers groped for the needle gun he kept in his -upper left desk drawer.</p> - -<p>But Prior had no violence in him. "I'll leave you," he said somberly. -"I'm sorry, sir. Deeply sorry. For both of us."</p> - -<p>Walton pressed the doorlock to let him out, then locked it again and -slipped heavily into his chair. Three more reports slid out of the -chute and landed on his desk. He stared at them as if they were three -basilisks.</p> - -<p>In the six weeks of Popeek's existence, three thousand babies had been -ticketed for Happysleep, and three thousand sets of degenerate genes -had been wiped from the race. Ten thousand subnormal males had been -sterilized. Eight thousand dying oldsters had reached their graves -ahead of time.</p> - -<p>It was a tough-minded program. But why transmit palsy to unborn -generations? Why let an adult idiot litter the world with subnormal -progeny? Why force a man hopelessly cancerous to linger on in pain, -consuming precious food?</p> - -<p>Unpleasant? Sure. But the world had voted for it. Until Lang and his -team succeeded in terraforming Venus, or until the faster-than-light -outfit opened the stars to mankind, something had to be done about -Earth's overpopulation. There were seven billion now and the figure was -still growing.</p> - -<p>Prior's words haunted him. <i>I was tubercular ... where would my poems -be now?</i></p> - -<p>The big humble man was one of the great poets. Keats had been -tubercular too.</p> - -<p><i>What good are poets?</i> he asked himself savagely.</p> - -<p>The reply came swiftly: <i>What good is anything, then?</i> Keats, -Shakespeare, Eliot, Yeats, Donne, Pound, Matthews ... and Prior. How -much duller life would be without them, Walton thought, picturing -his bookshelf—his one bookshelf, in his crowded little cubicle of a -one-room home.</p> - -<p>Sweat poured down his back as he groped toward his decision.</p> - -<p>The step he was considering would disqualify him from his job if he -admitted it, though he wouldn't do that. Under the Equalization Law, it -would be a criminal act.</p> - -<p>But just one baby wouldn't matter. Just one.</p> - -<p>Prior's baby.</p> - -<p>With nervous fingers he switched on the annunciator and said, "If there -are any calls for me, take the message. I'll be out of my office for -the next half-hour."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="II" id="II">II</a></h2> - - -<p>He stepped out of the office, glancing around furtively. The outer -office was busy: half a dozen girls were answering calls, opening -letters, coordinating activities. Walton slipped quickly past them into -the hallway.</p> - -<p>There was a knot of fear in his stomach as he turned toward the -lift tube. Six weeks of pressure, six weeks of tension since Popeek -was organized and old man FitzMaugham had tapped him for the -second-in-command post ... and now, a rebellion. The sparing of a -single child was a small rebellion, true, but he knew he was striking -as effectively at the base of Popeek this way as if he had brought -about repeal of the entire Equalization Law.</p> - -<p>Well, just one lapse, he promised himself. I'll spare Prior's child, -and after that I'll keep within the law.</p> - -<p>He jabbed the lift tube indicator and the tube rose in its shaft. The -clinic was on the twentieth floor.</p> - -<p>"Roy."</p> - -<p>At the sound of the quiet voice behind him, Walton jumped in surprise. -He steadied himself, forcing himself to turn slowly. The director stood -there.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mr. FitzMaugham."</p> - -<p>The old man was smiling serenely, his unlined face warm and friendly, -his mop of white hair bright and full. "You look preoccupied, boy. -Something the matter?"</p> - -<p>Walton shook his head quickly. "Just a little tired, sir. There's been -a lot of work lately."</p> - -<p>As he said it, he knew how foolish it sounded. If anyone in Popeek -worked harder than he did, it was the elderly director. FitzMaugham -had striven for equalization legislature for fifty years, and now, at -the age of eighty, he put in a sixteen-hour day at the task of saving -mankind from itself.</p> - -<p>The director smiled. "You never did learn how to budget your strength, -Roy. You'll be a worn-out wreck before you're half my age. I'm glad -you're adopting my habit of taking a coffee break in the morning, -though. Mind if I join you?"</p> - -<p>"I'm—not taking a break, sir. I have some work to do downstairs."</p> - -<p>"Oh? Can't you take care of it by phone?"</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. FitzMaugham." Walton felt as though he'd already been tried, -drawn, and quartered. "It requires personal attention."</p> - -<p>"I see." The deep, warm eyes bored into his. "You ought to slow down a -little, I think."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. As soon as the work eases up a little."</p> - -<p>FitzMaugham chuckled. "In another century or two, you mean. I'm afraid -you'll never learn how to relax, my boy."</p> - -<p>The lift tube arrived. Walton stepped to one side, allowed the Director -to enter, and got in himself. FitzMaugham pushed <i>Fourteen</i>; there was -a coffee shop down there. Hesitantly, Walton pushed <i>twenty</i>, covering -the panel with his arm so the old man would be unable to see his -destination.</p> - -<p>As the tube began to descend, FitzMaugham said, "Did Mr. Prior come to -see you this morning?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"He's the poet, isn't he? The one you say is so good?"</p> - -<p>"That's right, sir," Walton said tightly.</p> - -<p>"He came to see me first, but I had him referred down to you. What was -on his mind?"</p> - -<p>Walton hesitated. "He—he wanted his son spared from Happysleep. -Naturally, I had to turn him down."</p> - -<p>"Naturally," FitzMaugham agreed solemnly. "Once we make even one -exception, the whole framework crumbles."</p> - -<p>"Of course, sir."</p> - -<p>The lift tube halted and rocked on its suspension. The door slid back, -revealing a neat, gleaming sign:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>FLOOR 20</i><br /> -<i>Euthanasia Clinic and Files</i></p> - -<p>Walton had forgotten the accursed sign. He began to wish he had avoided -traveling down with the director. He felt that his purpose must seem -nakedly obvious now.</p> - -<p>The old man's eyes were twinkling amusedly. "I guess you get off here," -he said. "I hope you catch up with your work soon, Roy. You really -should take some time off for relaxation each day."</p> - -<p>"I'll try, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton stepped out of the tube and returned FitzMaugham's smile as the -door closed again. Bitter thoughts assailed him as soon as he was alone.</p> - -<p><i>Some fine criminal you are. You've given the show away already! And -damn that smooth paternal smile. FitzMaugham knows! He must know!</i></p> - -<p>Walton wavered, then abruptly made his decision. He sucked in a deep -breath and walked briskly toward the big room where the euthanasia -files were kept.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The room was large, as rooms went nowadays—thirty by twenty, with deck -upon deck of Donnerson micro-memory-tubes racked along one wall and a -bank of microfilm records along the other. In six weeks of life Popeek -had piled up an impressive collection of data.</p> - -<p>While he stood there, the computer chattered, lights flashed. New facts -poured into the memory banks. It probably went on day and night.</p> - -<p>"Can I help—oh, it's you, Mr. Walton," a white-smocked technician -said. Popeek employed a small army of technicians, each one faceless -and without personality, but always ready to serve. "Is there anything -I can do?"</p> - -<p>"I'm simply running a routine checkup. Mind if I use the machine?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all, sir. Go right ahead."</p> - -<p>Walton grinned lightly and stepped forward. The technician practically -backed out of his presence.</p> - -<p><i>No doubt I must radiate charisma</i>, he thought. Within the building he -wore a sort of luminous halo, by virtue of being Director FitzMaugham's -protégé and second-in-command. Outside, in the colder reality of the -crowded metropolis, he kept his identity and Popeek rank quietly to -himself.</p> - -<p>Frowning, he tried to remember the Prior boy's name. Ah ... Philip, -wasn't it? He punched out a request for the card on Philip Prior.</p> - -<p>A moment's pause followed, while the millions of tiny cryotronic -circuits raced with information pulses, searching the Donnerson -tubes for Philip Prior's record. Then, a brief squeaking sound and a -yellow-brown card dropped out of the slot:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>3216847AB1</i></p> - -<p><i>PRIOR, Philip Hugh. Born 31 May 2232, New York General Hospital, New -York. First son of Prior, Lyle Martin and Prior, Ava Leonard. Wgt. at -birth 5lb. 3oz.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>An elaborate description of the boy in great detail followed, ending -with blood type, agglutinating characteristic, and gene-pattern, -codified. Walton skipped impatiently through that and came to the -notification typed in curt, impersonal green capital letters at the -bottom of the card:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>EXAMINED AT N Y EUTH CLINIC 10 JUNE 2332</i><br /> -<i>EUTHANASIA RECOMMENDED</i></p> - -<p>He glanced at his watch: the time was 1026. The boy was probably still -somewhere in the clinic lab, waiting for the figurative axe to descend.</p> - -<p>Walton had set up the schedule himself: the gas chamber delivered -Happysleep each day at 1100 and 1500. He had about half an hour to save -Philip Prior.</p> - -<p>He peered covertly over his shoulder; no one was in sight. He slipped -the baby's card into his breast pocket.</p> - -<p>That done, he typed out a requisition for explanation of the -gene-sorting code the clinic used. Symbols began pouring forth, -and Walton puzzledly correlated them with the line of gibberish on -Phillip Prior's record card. Finally he found the one he wanted: <i>3f2, -tubercular-prone</i>.</p> - -<p>He scrapped the guide sheet he had and typed out a message to the -machine. <i>Revision of card number 3216847AB1 follows. Please alter in -all circuits.</i></p> - -<p>He proceeded to retype the child's card, omitting both the fatal symbol -<i>3f2</i> and the notation recommending euthanasia from the new version. -The machine beeped an acknowledgement. Walton smiled. So far, so good.</p> - -<p>Then, he requested the boy's file all over again. After the customary -pause, a card numbered 3216847AB1 dropped out of the slot. He read it.</p> - -<p>The deletions had been made. As far as the machine was concerned, -Philip Prior was a normal, healthy baby.</p> - -<p>He glanced at his watch. 1037. Still twenty-three minutes before this -morning's haul of unfortunates was put away.</p> - -<p>Now came the real test: could he pry the baby away from the doctors -without attracting too much attention to himself in the process?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Five doctors were bustling back and forth as Walton entered the main -section of the clinic. There must have been a hundred babies there, -each in a little pen of its own, and the doctors were humming from one -to the next, while anxious parents watched from screens above.</p> - -<p>The Equalization Law provided that every child be presented at its -local clinic within two weeks of birth, for an examination and a -certificate. Perhaps one in ten thousand would be denied a -certificate ... and life.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Mr. Walton. What brings you down here?"</p> - -<p>Walton smiled affably. "Just a routine investigation, Doctor. I try to -keep in touch with every department we have, you know."</p> - -<p>"Mr. FitzMaugham was down here to look around a little while ago. We're -really getting a going-over today, Mr. Walton!"</p> - -<p>"Umm. Yes." Walton didn't like that, but there was nothing he could -do about it. He'd have to rely on the old man's abiding faith in his -protégé to pull him out of any possible stickiness that arose.</p> - -<p>"Seen my brother around?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Fred? He's working in room seven, running analyses. Want me to get him -for you, Mr. Walton?"</p> - -<p>"No—no, don't bother him, thanks. I'll find him later." Inwardly, -Walton felt relieved. Fred Walton, his younger brother, was a doctor in -the employ of Popeek. Little love was lost between the brothers, and -Roy did not care to have Fred know he was down there.</p> - -<p>Strolling casually through the clinic, he peered at a few plump, -squalling babies, and said, "Find many sour ones today?"</p> - -<p>"Seven so far. They're scheduled for the 1100 chamber. Three tuberc, -two blind, one congenital syph."</p> - -<p>"That only makes six," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, and a spastic," the doctor said. "Biggest haul we've had yet. -Seven in one morning."</p> - -<p>"Have any trouble with the parents?"</p> - -<p>"What do you think?" the doctor asked. "But some of them seemed to -understand. One of the tuberculars nearly raised the roof, though."</p> - -<p>Walton shuddered. "You remember his name?" he asked, with feigned calm.</p> - -<p>Silence for a moment. "No. Darned if I can think of it. I can look it -up for you if you like."</p> - -<p>"Don't bother," Walton said hurriedly.</p> - -<p>He moved on, down the winding corridor that led to the execution -chamber. Falbrough, the executioner, was studying a list of names at -his desk when Walton appeared.</p> - -<p>Falbrough didn't look like the sort of man who would enjoy his work. He -was short and plump, with a high-domed bald head and glittering contact -lenses in his weak blue eyes. "Morning, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Doctor Falbrough. You'll be operating soon, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"Eleven hundred, as usual."</p> - -<p>"Good. There's a new regulation in effect from now on," Walton said. -"To keep public opinion on our side."</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"Henceforth, until further notice, you're to check each baby that -comes to you against the main file, just to make sure there's been no -mistake. Got that?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Mistake?</i> But how—"</p> - -<p>"Never mind that, Falbrough. There was quite a tragic slip-up at one -of the European centers yesterday. We may all hang for it if news gets -out." <i>How glibly I reel this stuff off</i>, Walton thought in amazement.</p> - -<p>Falbrough looked grave. "I see, sir. Of course. We'll double-check -everything from now on."</p> - -<p>"Good. Begin with the 1100 batch."</p> - -<p>Walton couldn't bear to remain down in the clinic any longer. He left -via a side exit, and signaled for a lift tube.</p> - -<p>Minutes later he was back in his office, behind the security of a -towering stack of work. His pulse was racing; his throat was dry. He -remembered what FitzMaugham had said: <i>Once we make even one exception, -the whole framework crumbles.</i></p> - -<p>Well, the framework had begun crumbling, then. And there was little -doubt in Walton's mind that FitzMaugham knew or would soon know what he -had done. He would have to cover his traces, somehow.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed and said, "Dr. Falbrough of Happysleep calling -you, sir."</p> - -<p>"Put him on."</p> - -<p>The screen lit and Falbrough's face appeared; its normal blandness had -given way to wild-eyed tenseness.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Doctor?"</p> - -<p>"It's a good thing you issued that order when you did, sir! You'll -never guess what just happened—"</p> - -<p>"No guessing games, Falbrough. Speak up."</p> - -<p>"I—well, sir, I ran checks on the seven babies they sent me this -morning. And guess—I mean—well, one of them shouldn't have been sent -to me!"</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"It's the truth, sir. A cute little baby indeed. I've got his card -right here. The boy's name is Philip Prior, and his gene-pattern is -fine."</p> - -<p>"Any recommendation for euthanasia on the card?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton chewed at a ragged cuticle for a moment, counterfeiting great -anxiety. "Falbrough, we're going to have to keep this very quiet. -Someone slipped up in the examining room, and if word gets out that -there's been as much as one mistake, we'll have a mob swarming over us -in half an hour."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Falbrough looked terribly grave. "What should I do, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Don't say a word about this to <i>anyone</i>, not even the men in the -examining room. Fill out a certificate for the boy, find his parents, -apologize and return him to them. And make sure you keep checking for -any future cases of this sort."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, sir. Is that all?"</p> - -<p>"It is," Walton said crisply, and broke the contact. He took a deep -breath and stared bleakly at the far wall.</p> - -<p>The Prior boy was safe. And in the eyes of the law—the Equalization -Law—Roy Walton was now a criminal. He was every bit as much a criminal -as the man who tried to hide his dying father from the investigators, -or the anxious parents who attempted to bribe an examining doctor.</p> - -<p>He felt curiously dirty. And, now that he had betrayed FitzMaugham and -the Cause, now that it was done, he had little idea why he had done -it, why he had jeopardized the Popeek program, his position—his life, -even—for the sake of one potentially tubercular baby.</p> - -<p>Well, the thing was done.</p> - -<p>No. Not quite. Later, when things had quieted down, he would have to -finish the job by transferring all the men in the clinic to distant -places and by obliterating the computer's memories of this morning's -activities.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed again. "Your brother is on the wire, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton trembled imperceptibly as he said, "Put him on." Somehow, Fred -never called unless he could say or do something unpleasant. And -Walton was very much afraid that his brother meant no good by this -call. No good at all.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="III" id="III">III</a></h2> - - -<p>Roy Walton watched his brother's head and shoulders take form out of -the swirl of colors on the screen. Fred Walton was more compact, built -closer to the ground than his rangy brother; he was a squat five-seven, -next to Roy's lean six-two. Fred had always threatened to "get even" -with his older brother as soon as they were the same size, but to -Fred's great dismay he had never managed to catch up with Roy in height.</p> - -<p>Even on the screen, Fred's neck and shoulders gave an impression of -tremendous solidity and force. Walton waited for his brother's image to -take shape, and when the time lag was over he said, "Well, Fred? What -goes?"</p> - -<p>His brother's eyes flickered sleepily. "They tell me you were down here -a little while ago, Roy. How come I didn't rate a visit?"</p> - -<p>"I wasn't in your section. It was official business, anyway. I didn't -have time."</p> - -<p>Walton fixed his eyes sharply on the caduceus emblem gleaming on Fred's -lapel, and refused to look anywhere else.</p> - -<p>Fred said slowly, "You had time to tinker with our computer, though."</p> - -<p>"Official business!"</p> - -<p>"Really, Roy?" His brother's tone was venomous. "I happened to -be using the computer shortly after you this morning. I was -curious—unpardonably so, dear brother. I requested a transcript of -your conversation with the machine."</p> - -<p>Sparks seemed to flow from the screen. Walton sat back, feeling numb. -He managed to pull his sagging mouth back into a stiff hard line and -say, "That's a criminal offense, Fred. Any use I make of a Popeek -computer outlet is confidential."</p> - -<p>"Criminal offence? Maybe so ... but that makes two of us, then. Eh, -Roy?"</p> - -<p>"How much do you know?"</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't want me to recite it over a public communications system, -would you? Your friend FitzMaugham might be listening to every word of -this, and I have too much fraternal feeling for that. Ole Doc Walton -doesn't want to get his bigwig big brother in trouble—oh, no!"</p> - -<p>"Thanks for small blessings," Roy said acidly.</p> - -<p>"You got me this job. You can take it away. Let's call it even for now, -shall we?"</p> - -<p>"Anything you like," Walton said. He was drenched in sweat, though -the ingenious executive filter in the sending apparatus of the screen -cloaked that fact and presented him as neat and fresh. "I have some -work to do now." His voice was barely audible.</p> - -<p>"I won't keep you any longer, then," Fred said.</p> - -<p>The screen went dead.</p> - -<p>Walton killed the contact at his end, got up, walked to the window. He -nudged the opaquer control and the frosty white haze over the glass -cleared away, revealing the fantastic beehive of the city outside.</p> - -<p><i>Idiot!</i> he thought. <i>Fool!</i></p> - -<p>He had risked everything to save one baby, one child probably doomed -to an early death anyway. And FitzMaugham knew—the old man could see -through Walton with ease—and Fred knew, too. His brother, and his -father-substitute.</p> - -<p>FitzMaugham might well choose to conceal Roy's defection this time, -but would surely place less trust in him in the future. And as for -Fred....</p> - -<p>There was no telling what Fred might do. They had never been -particularly close as brothers; they had lived with their parents (now -almost totally forgotten) until Roy was nine and Fred seven. Their -parents had gone down off Maracaibo in a jet crash; Roy and Fred had -been sent to the public crèche.</p> - -<p>After that it had been separate paths for the brothers. For Roy, an -education in the law, a short spell as Senator FitzMaugham's private -secretary, followed last month by his sudden elevation to assistant -administrator of the newly-created Popeek Bureau. For Fred, medicine, -unsuccessful private practice, finally a job in the Happysleep section -of Popeek, thanks to Roy.</p> - -<p><i>And now he has the upper hand for the first time</i>, Walton thought. <i>I -hope he's not thirsting for my scalp.</i></p> - -<p>He was being ground in a vise; he saw now the gulf between the -toughness needed for a Popeek man and the very real streak of softness -that was part of his character. Walton suddenly realized that he had -never merited his office. His only honorable move would be to offer his -resignation to FitzMaugham at once.</p> - -<p>He thought back, thought of the Senator saying, <i>This is a job for a -man with no heart. Popeek is the cruelest organization ever legislated -by man. You think you can handle it, Roy?</i></p> - -<p><i>I think so, sir. I hope so.</i></p> - -<p>He remembered going on to declare some fuzzy phrases about the need -for equalization, the immediate necessity for dealing with Earth's -population problem.</p> - -<p><i>Temporary cruelty is the price of eternal happiness</i>, FitzMaugham had -said.</p> - -<p>Walton remembered the day when the United Nations had finally -agreed, had turned the Population Equalization Bureau loose on a -stunned world. There had been the sharp flare of flash guns, the -clatter of reporters feeding the story to the world, the momentary -high-mindedness, the sense of the nobility of Popeek....</p> - -<p>And then the six weeks of gathering hatred. No one liked Popeek. No one -liked to put antiseptic on wounds, either, but it had to be done.</p> - -<p>Walton shook his head sorrowfully. He had made a serious mistake by -saving Philip Prior. But resigning his post was no way to atone for it.</p> - -<p>He opaqued the window again and returned to his desk. It was time to go -through the mail.</p> - -<p>The first letter on the stack was addressed to him by hand; he slit it -open and scanned it.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Dear Mr Walton</i>,</p> - -<p><i>Yesterday your men came and took away my mother to be kild. She -didn't do nothing and lived a good life for seventy years and I want -you to know I think you people are the biggest vermin since Hitler and -Stalin and when youre old and sick I hope your own men come for you -and stick you in the furnace where you belong. You stink and all of -you stink.</i></p> - -<p class="ph5">Signed, <i>Disgusted</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton shrugged and opened the next letter, typed in a crisp voicewrite -script on crinkly watermarked paper.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><i>Sir</i>:</p> - -<p><i>I see by the papers that the latest euthanasia figures are the -highest yet, and that you have successfully rid the world of many -of its weak sisters, those who are unable to stand the gaff, those -who, in the words of the immortal Darwin "are not fit to survive." My -heartiest congratulations, sir, upon the scope and ambition of your -bold and courageous program. Your Bureau offers mankind its first real -chance to enter that promised land, that Utopia, that has been our -hope and prayer for so long.</i></p> - -<p><i>I do sincerely hope, though, that your Bureau is devoting careful -thought to the type of citizen that should be spared. It seems obvious -that the myriad spawning Asiatics should be reduced tremendously, -since their unchecked proliferation has caused such great hardship to -humanity. The same might be said of the Europeans who refuse to obey -the demands of sanity; and, coming closer to home, I pray you reduce -the numbers of Jews, Catholics, Communists, anti-Herschelites, and -other freethinking rabble, in order to make the new reborn world purer -and cleaner and ...</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>With a sickly cough Walton put the letter down. Most of them were just -this sort: intelligent, rational, bigoted letters. There had been the -educated Alabamian, disturbed that Popeek did not plan to eliminate all -forms of second-class citizens; there had been the Michigan minister, -anxious that no left-wing relativistic atheists escape the gas chamber.</p> - -<p>And, of course, there were the other kind—the barely literate letters -from bereaved parents or relatives, accusing Popeek of nameless crimes -against humanity.</p> - -<p>Well, it was only to be expected, Walton thought. He scribbled his -initials on both the letters and dropped them into the chute that led -to files, where they would be put on microfilm and scrupulously stored -away. FitzMaugham insisted that every letter received be read and so -filed.</p> - -<p>Some day soon, Walton thought, population equalization would be -unnecessary. Oh, sure, euthanasia would stick; it was a sane and, in -the long run, merciful process. But this business of uprooting a few -thousand Belgians and shipping them to the open spaces in Patagonia -would cease.</p> - -<p>Lang and his experimenters were struggling to transform Venus into a -livable world. If it worked, the terraforming engineers could go on to -convert Mars, the bigger moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and perhaps even -distant Pluto, if some form of heating could be developed.</p> - -<p>There would be another transition then. Earth's multitudes would be -shipped wholesale to the new worlds. Perhaps there would be riots; none -but a few adventurers would go willingly. But some would go, and that -would be a partial solution.</p> - -<p>And then, the stars. The faster-than-light project was top secret, so -top secret that in Popeek only FitzMaugham knew what was being done on -it. But if it came through....</p> - -<p>Walton shrugged and turned back to his work. Reports had to be read, -filed, expedited.</p> - -<p>The thought of Fred and what Fred knew bothered him. If only there -were some way to relive this morning, to let the Prior baby go to the -chamber as it deserved....</p> - -<p>Tension pounded in him. He slipped a hand into his desk, fumbled, found -the green, diamond-shaped pellet he was searching for, and swallowed -the benzolurethrin almost unthinkingly. The tranquilizer was only -partly successful in relaxing him, but he was able to work steadily, -without a break, until noon.</p> - -<p>He was about to dial for lunch when the private screen he and -FitzMaugham used between their offices glowed into life.</p> - -<p>"Roy?"</p> - -<p>The director's face looked impossibly tranquil.</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going to have a visitor at 1300. Ludwig. He wants to know how -things are going."</p> - -<p>Walton nodded. Ludwig was the head American delegate to the United -Nations, a stubborn, dedicated man who had fought Popeek for years; -then he had seen the light and had fought just as strenuously for its -adoption. "Do you want me to prepare a report for him?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"No, Roy. I want you to be here. I don't want to face him alone."</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"Some of the UN people feel I'm running Popeek as a one-man show," -FitzMaugham explained. "Of course, that's not so, as that mountain of -work on your desk testifies. But I want you there as evidence of the -truth. I want him to see how much I have to rely on my assistants."</p> - -<p>"I get it. Very good, Mr. FitzMaugham."</p> - -<p>"And another thing," the Director went on. "It'll help appearances if -I show myself surrounded with loyal young lieutenants of impeccable -character. Like you, Roy."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir," Walton said weakly.</p> - -<p>"Thank <i>you</i>. See you at 1300 sharp, then?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, sir."</p> - -<p>The screen went dead. Walton stared at it blankly. He wondered if this -were some elaborate charade of the old man's; FitzMaugham was devious -enough. That last remark, about loyal young lieutenants of impeccable -character ... it had seemed to be in good faith, but was it? Was -FitzMaugham staging an intricate pretense before deposing his faithless -protégé?</p> - -<p>Maybe Fred had something to do with it, Walton thought. He decided -to have another session with the computer after his conference with -FitzMaugham and Ludwig. Perhaps it still wasn't too late to erase the -damning data and cover his mistake.</p> - -<p>Then it would be just his word against Fred's. He might yet be able to -brazen through, he thought dully.</p> - -<p>He ordered lunch with quivering fingers, and munched drearily on the -tasteless synthetics for awhile before dumping them down the disposal -chute.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h2> - - -<p>At precisely 1255 Walton tidied his desk, rose and for the second time -that day, left his office. He was apprehensive, but not unduly so; -behind his immediate surface fears and tensions lay a calm certainty -that FitzMaugham ultimately would stick by him.</p> - -<p>And there was little to fear from Fred, he realized now. It was next to -impossible for a mere lower-level medic to gain the ear of the director -himself; in the normal course of events, if Fred attempted to contact -FitzMaugham, he would automatically be referred to Roy.</p> - -<p>No; the danger in Fred's knowledge was potential, not actual, and there -might still be time to come to terms with him. It was almost with a -jaunty step that Walton left his office, made his way through the busy -outer office, and emerged in the outside corridor.</p> - -<p>Fred was waiting there.</p> - -<p>He was wearing his white medic's smock, stained yellow and red by -reagents and coagulants. He was lounging against the curving plastine -corridor wall, hands jammed deep into his pockets. His thick-featured, -broad face wore an expression of elaborate casualness.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Roy. Fancy finding <i>you</i> here!"</p> - -<p>"How did you know I'd be coming this way?"</p> - -<p>"I called your office. They told me you were on your way to the lift -tubes. Why so jumpy, brother? Have a tough morning?"</p> - -<p>"I've had worse," Walton said. He was tense, guarded. He pushed the -stud beckoning the lift tube.</p> - -<p>"Where you off to?" Fred asked.</p> - -<p>"Confidential. Top-level powwow with Fitz, if you have to know."</p> - -<p>Fred's eyes narrowed. "Strictly upper-echelon, aren't you? Do you have -a minute to talk to a mere mortal?"</p> - -<p>"Fred, don't make unnecessary trouble. You know—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Can it.</i> I've only got a minute or two left of my lunch hour. I want -to make myself perfectly plain with you. Are there any spy pickups in -this corridor?"</p> - -<p>Walton considered that. There were none that he knew of, and he knew of -most. Still, FitzMaugham might have found it advisable to plant a few -without advertising the fact. "I'm not sure," he said. "What's on your -mind?"</p> - -<p>Fred took a pad from his pocket and began to scrawl a note. Aloud he -said, "I'll take my chances and tell you about it anyway. One of the -men in the lab said another man told him you and FitzMaugham are both -secretly Herschelites." His brow furrowed with the effort of saying one -thing and writing another simultaneously. "Naturally, I won't give you -any names yet, but I want you to know I'm investigating his background -very carefully. He may just have been shooting his mouth off."</p> - -<p>"Is that why you didn't want this to go into a spy pickup?" Walton -asked.</p> - -<p>"Exactly. I prefer to investigate unofficially for the time being." -Fred finished the note, ripped the sheet from the pad and handed it to -his brother.</p> - -<p>Walton read it wordlessly. The handwriting was jagged and untidy, for -it was no easy feat to carry on a conversation for the benefit of any -concealed pickups while writing a message.</p> - -<p>It said, <i>I know all about the Prior baby. I'll keep my mouth shut -for now, so don't worry. But don't try anything foolish, because I've -deposited an account of the whole thing where you can't find it.</i></p> - -<p>Walton crumpled the note and tucked it into his pocket. He said, -"Thanks for the information, Fred. I'll keep it in mind."</p> - -<p>"Okay, pal."</p> - -<p>The lift tube arrived. Walton stepped inside and pressed <i>twenty-nine</i>.</p> - -<p>In the moment it took for the tube to rise the one floor, he thought, -<i>So Fred's playing a waiting game.... He'll hold the information over -my head until he can make good use of it.</i></p> - -<p>That was some relief, anyway. No matter what evidence Fred had already -salted away, Walton still had a chance to blot out some of the -computer's memory track and obscure the trail to that extent.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The lift tube opened; a gleaming sign listed the various activities of -the twenty-ninth floor, and at the bottom of the list it said <i>D. F. -FitzMaugham, Director</i>.</p> - -<p>FitzMaugham's office was at the back of a maze of small cubicles -housing Popeek functionaries of one sort or another. Walton had -made some attempt to familiarize himself with the organizational -stratification of Popeek, but his success thus far had been minimal. -FitzMaugham had conceived the plan half a century ago, and had lovingly -created and worked over the organization's structure through all the -long years it took before the law was finally passed.</p> - -<p>There were plenty of bugs in the system, but in general FitzMaugham's -blueprint had been sound—sound enough for Popeek to begin functioning -almost immediately after its UN approval. The manifold departments, the -tight network of inter-reporting agencies, the fantastically detailed -budget with its niggling appropriations for office supplies and its -massive expenditures for, say, the terraforming project—most of these -were fully understood only by FitzMaugham himself.</p> - -<p>Walton glanced at his watch. He was three minutes late; the -conversation with his brother had delayed him. But Ludwig of the UN -was not known to be a scrupulously punctual man, and there was a high -probability he hadn't arrived.</p> - -<p>The secretary in the office guarding FitzMaugham's looked up as Walton -approached. "The director is in urgent conference, sir, and—oh, I'm -sorry, Mr. Walton. Go right in; Mr. FitzMaugham is expecting you."</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Ludwig here yet?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. He arrived about ten minutes ago."</p> - -<p>Curious, Walton thought. From what he knew of Ludwig he wasn't the man -to arrive early for an appointment. Walton and FitzMaugham had had -plenty of dealings with him in the days before Popeek was approved, and -never once had Ludwig been on time.</p> - -<p>Walton shrugged. If Ludwig could switch his stand so decisively from an -emphatic anti-Popeek to an even more emphatic pro-Popeek, perhaps he -could change in other respects as well.</p> - -<p>Walton stepped within the field of the screener. His image, he knew, -was being relayed inside where FitzMaugham could scrutinize him -carefully before admitting him. The director was very touchy about -admitting people to his office.</p> - -<p>Five seconds passed; it usually took no more than that for FitzMaugham -to admit him. But there was no sign from within, and Walton coughed -discreetly.</p> - -<p>Still no answer. He turned away and walked over to the desk where the -secretary sat dictating into a voicewrite. He waited for her to finish -her sentence, then touched her arm lightly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Walton?"</p> - -<p>"The screen transmission seems to be out of order. Would you mind -calling Mr. FitzMaugham on the annunciator and telling him I'm here?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, sir."</p> - -<p>Her fingers deftly flipped the switches. He waited for her to announce -him, but she paused and looked back at Walton. "He doesn't acknowledge, -Mr. Walton. He must be awfully busy."</p> - -<p>"He <i>has</i> to acknowledge. Ring him again."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, sir, but—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Ring him again.</i>"</p> - -<p>She rang, reluctantly, without any response. FitzMaugham preferred the -sort of annunciator that had to be acknowledged; Walton allowed the -girl to break in on his privacy without the formality of a return buzz.</p> - -<p>"Still no answer, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton was growing impatient. "Okay, devil take the acknowledgment. -Break in on him and tell him I'm waiting out here. My presence is -important inside."</p> - -<p>"Sir, Mr. FitzMaugham absolutely forbids anyone to use the annunciator -without his acknowledgment," the girl protested.</p> - -<p>He felt his neck going red. "I'll take the responsibility."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, sir—"</p> - -<p>"All right. Get away from that machine and let <i>me</i> talk to him. If -there are repercussions, tell him I forced you at gunpoint."</p> - -<p>She backed away, horrified, and he slid in behind the desk. He made -contact; there was no acknowledgment. He said, "Mr. FitzMaugham, this -is Roy. I'm outside your office now. Should I come in, or not?"</p> - -<p>Silence. He stared thoughtfully at the apparatus.</p> - -<p>"I'm going in there," he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The door was of solid-paneled imitation wood, a couple of inches thick -and probably filled with a good sturdy sheet of beryllium steel. -FitzMaugham liked protection.</p> - -<p>Walton contemplated the door for a moment. Stepping into the screener -field, he said, "Mr. FitzMaugham? Can you hear me?" In the ensuing -silence he went on, "This is Walton. I'm outside with a blaster, and -unless I get any orders to the contrary, I'm going to break into your -office."</p> - -<p>Silence. This was very extraordinary indeed. He wondered if it were -part of some trap of FitzMaugham's. Well, he'd find out soon enough. He -adjusted the blaster aperture to short-range wide-beam, and turned it -on. A soft even flow of heat bathed the door.</p> - -<p>Quite a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered by now, at a respectful -distance. Walton maintained the steady heat. The synthetic wood was -sloughing away in dribbly blue masses as the radiation broke it down; -the sheet of metal in the heart of the door was gleaming bright red.</p> - -<p>The lock became visible now. Walton concentrated the flame there, and -the door creaked and groaned.</p> - -<p>He snapped the blaster off, pocketed it, and kicked the door soundly. -It swung open.</p> - -<p>He had a momentary glimpse of a blood-soaked white head slumped over a -broad desk—and then someone hit him amidships.</p> - -<p>He was a man about his own height, wearing a blue suit woven through -with glittering gold threads; Walton's mind caught the details with odd -clarity. The man's face was distorted with fear and shock, but Walton -recognized it clearly enough. The ruddy cheeks, the broad nose and -bushy eyebrows, belonged to Ludwig.</p> - -<p>The UN man. The man who had just assassinated Director FitzMaugham.</p> - -<p>He was battering his fists into Walton, struggling to get past him and -through the wrecked door, to escape somewhere, anywhere. Walton grunted -as a fist crashed into his stomach. He reeled backward, gagging and -gasping, but managed to keep his hand on the other's coat. Desperately -he pulled Ludwig to him. In the suddenness of the encounter he had no -time to evaluate what had happened, no time to react to FitzMaugham's -murder.</p> - -<p>His one thought was that Ludwig had to be subdued.</p> - -<p>His fist cracked into the other's mouth; sharp pain shot up through his -hand at the impact of knuckles against teeth. Ludwig sagged. Walton -realized that he was blocking the doorway; not only was he preventing -Ludwig from escaping, he was also making it impossible for anyone -outside to come to his own aid.</p> - -<p>Blindly he clubbed his fist down on Ludwig's neck, spun him around, -crashed another blow into the man's midsection. Suddenly Ludwig pulled -away from him and ran back behind the director's desk.</p> - -<p>Walton followed him ... and stopped short as he saw the UN man pause, -quiver tremulously, and topple to the floor. He sprawled grotesquely on -the deep beige carpet, shook for a moment, then was still.</p> - -<p>Walton gasped for breath. His clothes were torn, he was sticky with -sweat and blood, his heart was pounding from unaccustomed exertion.</p> - -<p><i>Ludwig's killed the director</i>, he thought leadenly. <i>And now Ludwig's -dead.</i></p> - -<p>He leaned against the doorpost. He was conscious of figures moving past -him, going into the room, examining FitzMaugham and the figure on the -floor.</p> - -<p>"Are you all right?" a crisp, familiar voice asked.</p> - -<p>"Pretty winded," Walton admitted.</p> - -<p>"Have some water."</p> - -<p>Walton accepted the drink, gulped it, looked up at the man who had -spoken. "Ludwig! How in hell's name—"</p> - -<p>"A double," the UN man said. "Come over here and look at him."</p> - -<p>Ludwig led him to the pseudo-Ludwig on the floor. It was an incredible -resemblance. Two or three of the office workers had rolled the body -over; the jaws were clenched stiffly, the face frozen in an agonized -mask.</p> - -<p>"He took poison," Ludwig said. "I don't imagine he expected to get out -of here alive. But he did his work well. God, I wish I'd been on time -for once in my life!"</p> - -<p>Walton glanced numbly from the dead Ludwig on the floor to the live -one standing opposite him. His shocked mind realized dimly what had -happened. The assassin, masked to look like Ludwig, had arrived at -1300, and had been admitted to the director's office. He had killed the -old man, and then had remained inside the office, either hoping to make -an escape later in the day, or perhaps simply waiting for the poison to -take effect.</p> - -<p>"It was bound to happen," Ludwig said. "They've been gunning for the -senator for years. And now that Popeek was passed...."</p> - -<p>Walton looked involuntarily at the desk, mirror bright and uncluttered -as always. Director FitzMaugham was sprawled forward, hands -half-clenched, arms spread. His impressive mane of white hair was -stained with his own blood. He had been clubbed—the simplest, crudest -sort of murder.</p> - -<p>Emotional reaction began. Walton wanted to break things, to cry, to let -off steam somehow. But there were too many people present; the office, -once sacrosanct, had miraculously become full of Popeek workers, -policemen, secretaries, possibly some telefax reporters.</p> - -<p>Walton recovered a shred of his authority. "All of you, <i>outside</i>!" he -said loudly. He recognized Sellors, the building's security chief, and -added, "Except you, Sellors. You can stay here."</p> - -<p>The crowd melted away magically. Now there were just five in the -office—Sellors, Ludwig, Walton, and the two corpses.</p> - -<p>Ludwig said, "Do you have any idea who might be behind this, Mr. -Walton?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," he said wearily. "There are thousands who'd have wanted -to kill the director. Maybe it was a Herschelite plot. There'll be a -full investigation."</p> - -<p>"Mind stepping out of the way, sir?" Sellors asked. "I'd like to take -some photos."</p> - -<p>Walton and Ludwig moved to one side as the security man went to work. -It was inevitable, Walton thought, that this would happen. FitzMaugham -had been the living symbol of Popeek.</p> - -<p>He walked to the battered door, reflecting that he would have it -repaired at once. That thought led naturally to a new one, but before -it was fully formed in his own mind, Ludwig voiced it.</p> - -<p>"This is a terrible tragedy," the UN man said. "But one mitigating -factor exists. I'm sure Mr. FitzMaugham's successor will be a fitting -one. I'm confident you'll be able to carry on FitzMaugham's great work -quite capably, Mr. Walton."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="V" id="V">V</a></h2> - - -<p>The new sign on the office door said:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>ROY WALTON</i><br /> -<i>Interim Director</i><br /> -<i>Bureau of Population Equalization</i></p> - -<p>He had argued against putting it up there, on the grounds that his -appointment was strictly temporary, pending a meeting of the General -Assembly to choose a new head for Popeek. But Ludwig had maintained it -might be weeks or months before such a meeting could be held and that -there was no harm in identifying his office.</p> - -<p>"Everything under control?" the UN man asked.</p> - -<p>Walton eyed him unhappily. "I guess so. Now all I have to do is start -figuring out how Mr. FitzMaugham's filing system worked, and I'll be -all set."</p> - -<p>"You mean you don't know?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. FitzMaugham took very few people into his confidence," Walton -said. "Popeek was his special brain-child. He had lived with it so long -he thought its workings were self-evident to everyone. There'll be a -period of adjustment."</p> - -<p>"Of course," Ludwig said.</p> - -<p>"This conference you were going to have with the director yesterday -when he—ah, what was it about?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>The UN man shrugged. "It's irrelevant now, I suppose. I wanted to find -out how Popeek's subsidiary research lines were coming along. But I -guess you'll have to go through Mr. FitzMaugham's files before you know -anything, eh?" Ludwig stared at him sharply.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, Walton did not like the cheerful UN man.</p> - -<p>"There'll be a certain period of adjustment," he repeated. "I'll let -you know when I'm ready to answer questions about Popeek."</p> - -<p>"Of course. I didn't mean to imply any criticism of you or of the late -director or of Popeek, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"Naturally. I understand, Mr. Ludwig."</p> - -<p>Ludwig took his leave at last, and Walton was alone in the late Mr. -FitzMaugham's office for the first time since the assassination. He -spread his hands on the highly polished desk and twisted his wrists -outward in a tense gesture. His fingers made squeaking sounds as they -rubbed the wood surface.</p> - -<p>It had been an uneasy afternoon yesterday, after the nightmare of the -assassination and the subsequent security inquisition. Walton, wrung -dry, had gone home early, leaving Popeek headless for two hours. The -newsblares in the jetbus had been programmed with nothing but talk of -the killing.</p> - -<p>"A brutal hand today struck down the revered D. F. FitzMaugham, -eighty-one, Director of Population Equalization. Security officials -report definite prospects of solution of the shocking crime, and...."</p> - -<p>The other riders in the bus had been vehemently outspoken.</p> - -<p>"It's about time they let him have it," a fat woman in sleazy old -clothes said. "That baby killer!"</p> - -<p>"I knew they'd get him sooner or later," offered a thin, wispy-haired -old man. "They <i>had</i> to."</p> - -<p>"Rumor going around he was really a Herschelite...."</p> - -<p>"Some new kid is taking over Popeek, they say. They'll get him too, -mark my words."</p> - -<p>Walton, huddling in his seat, pulled up his collar, and tried to shut -his ears. It didn't work.</p> - -<p><i>They'll get him too, mark my words.</i></p> - -<p>He hadn't forgotten that prophecy by the time he reached his cubicle in -upper Manhattan. The harsh words had drifted through his restless sleep -all night.</p> - -<p>Now, behind the safety of his office door, he thought of them again.</p> - -<p>He couldn't hide. It hadn't worked for FitzMaugham, and it wouldn't for -him.</p> - -<p>Hiding wasn't the answer. Walton smiled grimly. If martyrdom were -in store for him, let martyrdom come. The work of Popeek had to go -forward. He decided he would conduct as much of his official business -as possible by screen; but when personal contact was necessary, he -would make no attempt to avoid it.</p> - -<p>He glanced around FitzMaugham's office. The director had been a product -of the last century, and he had seen nothing ugly in the furnishings -of the Cullen Building. Unlike Walton, then, he had not had his office -remodeled.</p> - -<p>That would be one of the first tasks—to replace the clumsy battery of -tungsten-filament incandescents with a wall of electroluminescents, to -replace the creaking sash windows with some decent opaquers, to get rid -of the accursed gingerbread trimming that offended the eye in every -direction. The <i>thunkety-thunk</i> air-conditioner would have to go too; -he'd have a molecusorter installed in a day or two.</p> - -<p>The redecorating problems were the minor ones. It was the task of -filling FitzMaugham's giant shoes, even on an interim basis, that -staggered Walton.</p> - -<p>He fumbled in the desk for a pad and stylus. This was going to call for -an agenda. Hastily he wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>1. Cancel F's appointments</i><br /> -<i>2. Investigate setup in Files</i><br /> - <i>a) Lang terraforming project</i><br /> - <i>b) faster-than-light</i><br /> - <i>c) budget—stretchable?</i><br /> - <i>d) locate spy pickups in building</i><br /> -<i>3. Meeting with section chiefs</i><br /> -<i>4. Press conference with telefax services</i><br /> -<i>5. See Ludwig ... straighten things out</i><br /> -<i>6. Redecorate office</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>He thought for a moment, then erased a few of his numbers and changed -<i>Press conference</i> to <i>6.</i> and <i>Redecorate office</i> to <i>4.</i> He licked -the stylus and wrote in at the very top of the paper:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>0. Finish Prior affair.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>In a way, FitzMaugham's assassination had taken Walton off the hook -on the Prior case. Whatever FitzMaugham suspected about Walton's -activities yesterday morning no longer need trouble him. If the -director had jotted down a memorandum on the subject, Walton would be -able to find and destroy it when he went through FitzMaugham's files -later. And if the dead man had merely kept the matter in his head, -well, then it was safely at rest in the crematorium.</p> - -<p>Walton groped in his jacket pocket and found the note his brother had -slipped to him at lunchtime the day before. In the rush of events, -Walton had not had a chance to destroy it.</p> - -<p>Now, he read it once more, ripped it in half, ripped it again, and -fed one quarter of the note into the disposal chute. He would get rid -of the rest at fifteen-minute intervals, and he would defy anyone -monitoring the disposal units to locate all four fragments.</p> - -<p>Actually, he realized he was being overcautious. This was Director -FitzMaugham's office and FitzMaugham's disposal chute. The director -wouldn't have arranged to have his <i>own</i> chute monitored, would he?</p> - -<p>Or would he? There was never any telling, with FitzMaugham. The old man -had been terribly devious in every maneuver he made.</p> - -<p>The room had the dry, crisp smell of the detecting devices that had -been used—the close-to-the-ground, ugly metering-robots that had -crawled all over the floor, sniffing up footprints and stray dandruff -flakes for analysis, the chemical cleansers that had mopped the blood -out of the rug. Walton cursed at the air-conditioner that was so -inefficiently removing these smells from the air.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed. Walton waited impatiently for a voice, then -remembered that FitzMaugham had doggedly required an acknowledgment. -He opened the channel and said, "This is Walton. In the future no -acknowledgment will be necessary."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. There's a reporter from <i>Citizen</i> here, and one from Globe -Telefax."</p> - -<p>"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone today. Here, I'll give them a -statement. Tell them the Gargantuan task of picking up the reins where -the late, great Director FitzMaugham dropped them is one that will -require my full energy for the next several days. I'll be happy to hold -my first official press conference as soon as Popeek is once again -moving on an even keel. Got that?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Good. Make sure they print it. And—oh, listen. If anyone shows up -today or tomorrow who had an appointment with Director FitzMaugham, -tell him approximately the same thing. Not in those flowery words, of -course, but give him the gist of it. I've got a lot of catching up to -do before I can see people."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, Director Walton."</p> - -<p>He grinned at the sound of those words, <i>Director Walton</i>. Turning away -from the annunciator, he took out his agenda and checked off number -one, <i>Cancel FitzMaugham's appointments</i>.</p> - -<p>Frowning, he realized he had better add a seventh item to the list: -<i>Appoint new assistant administrator</i>. Someone would have to handle his -old job.</p> - -<p>But now, top priority went to the item ticketed zero on the list: -<i>Finish Prior affair</i>. He'd never be in a better position to erase the -evidence of yesterday's illegality than he was right now.</p> - -<p>"Connect me with euthanasia files, please."</p> - -<p>A moment later a dry voice said, "Files."</p> - -<p>"Files, this is Acting Director Walton. I'd like a complete transcript -of your computer's activities for yesterday morning between 0900 and -1200, with each separate activity itemized. How soon can I have it?"</p> - -<p>"Within minutes, Director Walton."</p> - -<p>"Good. Send it sealed, by closed circuit. There's some top-level stuff -on that transcript. If the seal's not intact when it gets here, I'll -shake up the whole department."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"</p> - -<p>"No, that'll be—on second thought, yes. Send up a list of all doctors -who were examining babies in the clinic yesterday morning."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He waited. While he waited, he went through the top layer of memoranda -in FitzMaugham's desk.</p> - -<p>There was a note on top which read, <i>Appointment with Lamarre, 11 -June—1215. Must be firm with him, and must handle with great delicacy. -Perhaps time to let Walton know.</i></p> - -<p>Hmm, that was interesting, Walton thought. He had no idea who Lamarre -might be, but FitzMaugham had drawn a spidery little star in the -upper-right-hand corner of the memo sheet, indicating crash priority.</p> - -<p>He flipped on the annunciator. "There's a Mr. Lamarre who had an -appointment with Director FitzMaugham for 1215 today. If he calls, tell -him I can't see him today but will honor the appointment tomorrow at -the same time. If he shows up, tell him the same thing."</p> - -<p>His watch said it was time to dispose of another fragment of Fred's -message. He stuffed it into the disposal chute.</p> - -<p>A moment later the green light flashed over the arrival bin; -FitzMaugham had not been subject, as Walton had been in his previous -office, to cascades of material arriving without warning.</p> - -<p>Walton drew a sealed packet from the bin. He examined the seal -and found it untampered, which was good; it meant the packet had -come straight from the computer, and had not even been read by the -technician in charge. With it was a typed list of five names—the -doctors who had been in the lab the day before.</p> - -<p>Breaking open the packet, Walton discovered seven closely-typed sheets -with a series of itemized actions on them. He ran through them quickly, -discarding sheets one, two, and three, which dealt with routine -activities of the computer in the early hours of the previous day.</p> - -<p>Item seventy-three was his request for Philip Prior's record card. He -checked that one off.</p> - -<p>Item seventy-four was his requisition for the key to the clinic's -gene-sorting code.</p> - -<p>Item seventy-five was his revision of Philip Prior's records, omitting -all reference to his tubercular condition and to the euthanasia -recommendation. Item seventy-six was the acknowledgment of this -revision.</p> - -<p>Item seventy-seven was his request for the boy's record card—this -time, the amended one. The five items were dated and timed; the -earliest was 1025, the latest 1037, all on June tenth.</p> - -<p>Walton bracketed the five items thoughtfully, and scanned the rest of -the page. Nothing of interest there, just more routine business. But -item ninety-two, timed at 1102, was an intriguing one:</p> - -<p><i>92: Full transcript of morning's transactions issued at request of Dr. -Frederic Walton, 932K104AZ.</i></p> - -<p>Fred hadn't been bluffing, then; he actually had possession of all the -damning evidence. But when one dealt with a computer and with Donnerson -micro-memory-tubes, the past was an extremely fluid entity.</p> - -<p>"I want a direct line to the computer on floor twenty," he said.</p> - -<p>After a brief lag a technician appeared on the screen. It was the same -one he had spoken to earlier.</p> - -<p>"There's been an error in the records," Walton said. "An error I -wouldn't want to perpetuate. Will you set me up so I can feed a direct -order into the machine?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, sir. Go ahead, sir."</p> - -<p>"This is top secret. Vanish."</p> - -<p>The technician vanished. Walton said, "Items seventy-three through -seventy-seven on yesterday morning's record tape are to be deleted, -and the information carried in those tubes is to be deleted as well. -Furthermore, there is to be no record made of this transaction."</p> - -<p>The voicewrite on floor twenty clattered briefly, and the order -funneled into the computer. Walton waited a moment, tensely. Then he -said, "All right, technician. Come back in where I can see you."</p> - -<p>The technician appeared. Walton said, "I'm running a check now. Have -the machine prepare another transcript of yesterday's activities -between 0900 and 1200, and also one of today's doings for the last -fifteen minutes."</p> - -<p>"Right away, sir."</p> - -<p>While he waited for the new transcripts to arrive, Walton studied the -list of names on his desk. Five doctors—Gunther, Raymond, Archer, Hsi, -Rein. He didn't know which one of them had examined the Prior baby, nor -did he care to find out. All five would have to be transferred.</p> - -<p>Meticulously, he took up his stylus and pad again, and plotted a -destination for each:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Gunther ... Zurich.</i><br /> -<i>Raymond ... Glasgow.</i><br /> -<i>Archer ... Tierra del Fuego.</i><br /> -<i>Hsi ... Leopoldville.</i><br /> -<i>Rein ... Bangkok.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>He nodded. That was optimum dissemination; he would put through notice -of the transfers later in the day, and by nightfall the men would be on -their way to their new scenes of operation. Perhaps they would never -understand why they had been uprooted and sent away from New York.</p> - -<p>The new transcripts arrived. Impatiently Walton checked through them.</p> - -<p>In the June tenth transcript, item seventy-one dealt with smallpox -statistics for North America 1822-68, and item seventy-two with the -tally of antihistamine supply for requisitions for Clinic Three. There -was no sign of any of Walton's requests. They had vanished from the -record as completely as if they had never been.</p> - -<p>Walton searched carefully through the June eleventh transcript for any -mention of his deletion order. No, that hadn't been recorded either.</p> - -<p>He smiled, his first honest smile since FitzMaugham's assassination. -Now, with the computer records erased, the director dead, and the -doctors on their way elsewhere, only Fred stood in the way of Roy's -chance of escaping punishment for the Prior business.</p> - -<p>He decided he'd have to take his chances with Fred. Perhaps brotherly -love would seal his lips after all.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI">VI</a></h2> - - -<p>The late Director FitzMaugham's files were spread over four floors of -the building, but for Walton's purposes the only ones that mattered -were those to which access was gained through the director's office -alone.</p> - -<p>A keyboard and screen were set into the wall to the left of the desk. -Walton let his fingers rest lightly on the gleaming keys.</p> - -<p>The main problem facing him, he thought, lay in not knowing where to -begin. Despite his careful agenda, despite the necessary marshaling -of his thoughts, he was still confused by the enormity of his job. -The seven billion people of the world were in his hands. He could -transfer fifty thousand New Yorkers to the bleak northern provinces of -underpopulated Canada with the same quick ease that he had shifted five -unsuspecting doctors half an hour before.</p> - -<p>After a few moments of uneasy thought he pecked out the short message, -<i>Request complete data file on terraforming project</i>.</p> - -<p>On the screen appeared the words, <i>Acknowledged and coded; prepare to -receive</i>.</p> - -<p>The arrival bin thrummed with activity. Walton hastily scooped out -a double handful of typed sheets to make room for more. He grinned -in anguish as the paper kept on coming. FitzMaugham's files on -terraforming, no doubt, covered reams and reams.</p> - -<p>Staggering, he carted it all over to his desk and began to skim through -it. The data began thirty years earlier, in 2202, with a photostat of -a letter from Dr. Herbert Lang to FitzMaugham, proposing a project -whereby the inner planets of the solar system could be made habitable -by human beings.</p> - -<p>Appended to that was FitzMaugham's skeptical, slightly mocking reply; -the old man had kept everything, it seemed, even letters which showed -him in a bad light.</p> - -<p>After that came more letters from Lang, urging FitzMaugham to plead -terraforming's case before the United States Senate, and FitzMaugham's -increasingly more enthusiastic answers. Finally, in 2212, a notation -that the Senate had voted a million-dollar appropriation to Lang—a -miniscule amount, in terms of the overall need, but it was enough to -cover preliminary research. Lang had been grateful.</p> - -<p>Walton skimmed through more-or-less familiar documents on the nature of -the terraforming project. He could study those in detail later, if time -permitted. What he wanted now was information on the current status of -the project; FitzMaugham had been remarkably silent about it, though -the public impression had been created that a team of engineers headed -by Lang was already at work on Venus.</p> - -<p>He shoved whole handfuls of letters to one side, looking for those of -recent date.</p> - -<p>Here was one dated 1 Feb 2232, FitzMaugham to Lang: it informed the -scientist that passage of the Equalization Act was imminent, and that -Lang stood to get a substantial appropriation from the UN in that -event. A jubilant reply from Lang was attached.</p> - -<p>Following that came another, 10 May 2232, FitzMaugham to Lang: -official authorization of Lang as an executive member of Popeek, and -appropriation of—Walton's eyes bugged—five billion dollars for -terraforming research.</p> - -<p>Note from Lang to FitzMaugham, 14 May: the terraforming crew was -leaving for Venus immediately.</p> - -<p>Note from FitzMaugham to Lang, 16 May: best wishes, and Lang was -instructed to contact FitzMaugham without fail at weekly intervals.</p> - -<p>Spacegram from Lang to FitzMaugham, 28 May: arrived at Venus safely, -preparing operation as scheduled.</p> - -<p>The file ended there. Walton rummaged through the huge heap, hoping to -discover a later communiqué; by FitzMaugham's own request, Lang should -have contacted Popeek about four days ago with his first report.</p> - -<p>Possibly it had gone astray in delivery, Walton thought. He spent -twenty minutes digging through the assorted material before remembering -that he could get a replacement within seconds from the filing computer.</p> - -<p>He typed out a requisition for any and all correspondence between -Director FitzMaugham and Dr. Herbert Lang that was dated after 28 May -2232.</p> - -<p>The machine acknowledged, and a moment later replied, <i>This material is -not included in memory banks</i>.</p> - -<p>Walton frowned, gathered up most of his superfluous terraforming data, -and deposited it in a file drawer. The status of the project, then, -was uncertain: the terraformers were on Venus and presumably at work, -but were yet to be heard from.</p> - -<p>The next Popeek project to track down would be the faster-than-light -spaceship drive. But after the mass of data Walton had just absorbed, -he found himself hesitant to wade through another collection so soon.</p> - -<p>He realized that he was hungry for the sight of another human being. He -had spent the whole morning alone, speaking to anonymous underlings via -screen or annunciator, and requisitioning material from an even more -impersonal computer. He wanted noise, life, people around him.</p> - -<p>He snapped on the annunciator. "I'm calling an immediate meeting of the -Popeek section chiefs," he said. "In my office, in half an hour—at -1230 sharp. Tell them to drop whatever they're doing and come."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Just before they started to arrive, Walton felt a sudden sick wave of -tension sweep dizzyingly over him. He pulled open the top drawer of -his new desk and reached for his tranquilizer tablets. He suffered a -moment of shock and disorientation before he realized that this was -FitzMaugham's desk, not his own, and that FitzMaugham forswore all -forms of sedation.</p> - -<p>Chuckling nervously, Walton drew out his wallet and extracted the extra -benzolurethrin he carried for just such emergencies. He popped the -lozenge into his mouth only a moment before the spare figure of Lee -Percy, first of the section chiefs to arrive, appeared in the screener -outside the door.</p> - -<p>"Roy? It's me—Percy."</p> - -<p>"I can see you. Come on in, Lee."</p> - -<p>Percy was in charge of public relations for Popeek. He was a tall, -angular man with thick corrugated features.</p> - -<p>After him came Teddy Schaunhaft, clinic coordinator; Pauline Medhurst, -personnel director; Olaf Eglin, director of field agents; and Sue -Llewellyn, Popeek's comptroller.</p> - -<p>These five had constituted the central council of Popeek. Walton, as -assistant administrator, had served as their coordinator, as well as -handling population transfer and serving as a funnel for red tape. -Above them all had been FitzMaugham, brooding over his charges like an -untroubled Wotan; FitzMaugham had reserved for himself, aside from the -task of general supervision, the special duties attendant on handling -the terraforming and faster-than-light wings of Popeek.</p> - -<p>"I should have called you together much earlier than this," Walton said -when they were settled. "The shock, though, and the general confusion—"</p> - -<p>"We understand, Roy," said Sue Llewellyn sympathetically. She -was a chubby little woman in her fifties, whose private life was -reported to be incredibly at variance with her pleasantly domestic -appearance. "It's been rough on all of us, but you were so close to Mr. -FitzMaugham...."</p> - -<p>There was sympathetic clucking from various corners of the room. Walton -said, "The period of mourning will have to be a brief one. What I'm -suggesting is that business continue as usual, without a hitch." He -glanced at Eglin, the director of field agents. "Olaf, is there a man -in your section capable of handling your job?"</p> - -<p>Eglin looked astonished for a moment, then mastered himself. "There -must be five, at least. Walters, Lassen, Dominic—"</p> - -<p>"Skip the catalogue," Walton told him. "Pick the man you think is best -suited to replace you, and send his dossier up to me for approval."</p> - -<p>"And where do <i>I</i> go?"</p> - -<p>"You take over my slot as assistant administrator. As director of field -agents, you're more familiar with the immediate problems of my old job -than anyone else here."</p> - -<p>Eglin preened himself smugly. Walton wondered if he had made an unwise -choice; Eglin was competent enough, and would give forth one hundred -percent effort at all times—but probably never the one hundred two -percent a really great administrator could put out when necessary.</p> - -<p>Still, the post had to be filled at once, and Eglin could pick up the -reins faster than any of the others.</p> - -<p>Walton looked around. "Otherwise, activities of Popeek will continue as -under Mr. FitzMaugham, without a hitch. Any questions?"</p> - -<p>Lee Percy raised an arm slowly. "Roy, I've got a problem I'd like to -bring up here, as long as we're all together. There's a growing public -sentiment that you and the late director were secretly Herschelites." -He chuckled apologetically. "I know it sounds silly, but I just report -what I hear."</p> - -<p>"I'm familiar with the rumor," Walton said. "And I don't like it much, -either. That's the sort of stuff riots are made of."</p> - -<p>The Herschelites were extremists who advocated wholesale sterilization -of defectives, mandatory birth control, and half a dozen other -stringent remedies for overpopulation.</p> - -<p>"What steps are you taking to counteract it?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Percy, "we're preparing a memorial program for FitzMaugham -which will intimate that he was murdered by the Herschelites, who hated -him."</p> - -<p>"Good. What's the slant?"</p> - -<p>"That he was too easygoing, too humane. We build up the Herschelites as -ultrareactionaries who intend to enforce their will on humanity if they -get the chance, and imply FitzMaugham was fighting them tooth and nail. -We close the show with some shots of you picking up the great man's -mantle, etcetera, etcetera. And a short speech from you affirming the -basically humanitarian aims of Popeek."</p> - -<p>Walton smiled approvingly and said, "I like it. When do you want me to -do the speech?"</p> - -<p>"We won't need you," Percy told him. "We've got plenty of stock -footage, and we can whip the speech out of some spare syllables you -left around."</p> - -<p>Walton frowned. Too many of the public speeches of the day were -synthetic, created by skilled engineers who split words into their -component phonemes and reassembled them in any shape they pleased. "Let -me check through my speech before you put it over, at least."</p> - -<p>"Will do. And we'll squash this Herschelite thing right off the bat."</p> - -<p>Pauline Medhurst squirmed uneasily in her chair. Walton caught the hint -and recognized her.</p> - -<p>"Uh, Roy, I don't know if this is the time or the place, but I got that -transfer order of yours, the five doctors...."</p> - -<p>"You did? Good," Walton said hurriedly. "Have you notified them yet?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. They seemed unhappy about it."</p> - -<p>"Refer them to FitzMaugham's book. Tell them they're cogs in a mighty -machine, working to save humanity. We can't let personal considerations -interefere, Pauline."</p> - -<p>"If you could only explain why—"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," interjected Schaunhaft, the clinic coordinator suddenly. "You -cleaned out my whole morning lab shift down there. I was wondering—"</p> - -<p>Walton felt like a stag at bay. "Look," he said firmly, cutting -through the hubbub, "<i>I</i> made the transfer. I had reasons for doing -it. It's your job to get the five men out where they've been assigned, -and to get five new men in here at once. You're not required to make -explanations to them—nor I to you."</p> - -<p>Sudden silence fell over the office. Walton hoped he had not been too -forceful, and cast suspicion on his actions by his stiffness.</p> - -<p>"Whew!" Sue Llewellyn said. "You really mean business!"</p> - -<p>"I said we were going to run Popeek without a hitch," Walton replied. -"Just because you know my first name, that doesn't mean I'm not going -to be as strong a director as FitzMaugham was."</p> - -<p><i>Until the UN picks my successor</i>, his mind added. Out loud he said, -"Unless you have any further questions, I'll ask you now to return to -your respective sections."</p> - -<p>He sat slumped at his desk after they were gone, trying to draw on some -inner reserve of energy for the strength to go on.</p> - -<p>One day at the job, and he was tired, terribly tired. And it would be -six weeks or more before the United Nations convened to choose the next -director of Popeek.</p> - -<p>He didn't know who that man would be. He expected they would offer the -job to him, provided he did competent work during the interim; but, -wearily, he saw he would have to turn the offer down.</p> - -<p>It was not only that his nerves couldn't handle the grinding daily -tension of the job; he saw now what Fred might be up to, and it stung.</p> - -<p>What if his brother were to hold off exposing him until the moment the -UN proffered its appointment ... and then took that moment to reveal -that the head of Popeek, far from being an iron-minded Herschelite, had -actually been guilty of an irregularity that transgressed against one -of Popeek's own operations? He'd be finished. He'd be laughed out of -public life for good—and probably prosecuted in the bargain—if Fred -exposed him.</p> - -<p>And Fred was perfectly capable of doing just that.</p> - -<p>Walton saw himself spinning dizzily between conflicting alternatives. -Keep the job and face his brother's exposé? Or resign, and vanish into -anonymity. Neither choice seemed too appealing.</p> - -<p>Shrugging, he dragged himself out of his chair, determined to shroud -his conflict behind the mask of work. He typed a request to Files, -requisitioning data on the faster-than-light project.</p> - -<p>Moments later, the torrent began—rising from somewhere in the depths -of the giant computer, rumbling upward through the conveyor system, -moving onward toward the twenty-ninth floor and the office of Interim -Director Walton.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h2> - - -<p>The next morning there was a crowd gathered before the Cullen Building -when Walton arrived.</p> - -<p>There must have been at least a hundred people, fanning outward from a -central focus. Walton stepped from the jetbus and, with collar pulled -up carefully to obscure as much of his face as possible, went to -investigate.</p> - -<p>A small red-faced man stood on a rickety chair against the side of the -building. He was flanked by a pair of brass flagpoles, one bearing the -American flag and the other the ensign of the United Nations. His voice -was a biting rasp—probably, thought Walton, intensified, sharpened, -and made more irritating by a harmonic modulator at his throat. An -irritating voice put its message across twice as fast as a pleasant one.</p> - -<p>He was shouting, "This is the place! Up here, in this building, that's -where they are! That's where Popeek wastes our money!"</p> - -<p>From the slant of the man's words Walton instantly thought: -<i>Herschelite!</i></p> - -<p>He repressed his anger and, for once, decided to stay and hear the -extremist out. He had never really paid much attention to Herschelite -propaganda—he had been exposed to little of it—and he realized -that now, as head of Popeek, he owed it to himself to become familiar -with the anti-Popeek arguments of both extremist factions—those who -insisted Popeek was a tyranny, and the Herschelites, who thought it was -too weak.</p> - -<p>"This Popeek," the little man said, accenting the awkwardness of the -word. "You know what it is? It's a stopgap. It's a silly, soft-minded, -half-hearted attempt at solving our problems. It's a fake, a fraud, a -phony!"</p> - -<p>There was real passion behind the words. Walton distrusted small men -with deep wells of passion; he no more enjoyed their company than he -did that of a dynamo or an atomic pile. They were always threatening to -explode.</p> - -<p>The crowd was stirring restlessly. The Herschelite was getting to them, -one way or another. Walton drew back nervously, not wanting to be -recognized, and stationed himself at the fringe of the crowd.</p> - -<p>"Some of you don't like Popeek for this reason or that reason. But let -me tell you something, friends ... you're wronger than they are! We've -got to get tough with ourselves! We have to face the truth! Popeek is -an unrealistic half-solution to man's problems. Until we limit birth, -establish rigid controls over who's going to live and who isn't, we—"</p> - -<p>It was straight Herschelite propaganda, undiluted. Walton wasn't -surprised when someone in the audience interrupted, growling, "And -who's going to set those controls? You?"</p> - -<p>"You trusted yourselves to Popeek, didn't you? Why hesitate, then, to -trust yourselves to Abel Herschel and his group of workers for the -betterment and purification of mankind?"</p> - -<p>Walton was almost limp with amazement. The Herschelite group was so -much more drastic in its approach than Popeek that he wondered how they -dared come out with these views in public. Animosity was high enough -against Popeek; would the public accept a group more stringent yet?</p> - -<p>The little man's voice rose high. "Onward with the Herschelites! -Mankind must move forward! The Equalization people represent the forces -of decay and sloth!"</p> - -<p>Walton turned to the man next to him and murmured, "But Herschel's a -fanatic. They'll kill all of us in the name of mankind."</p> - -<p>The man looked puzzled; then, accepting the idea, he nodded. "Yeah, -buddy. You know, you may have something there."</p> - -<p>That was all the spark needed. Walton edged away surreptitiously and -watched it spread through the crowd, while the little man's harangue -grew more and more inflammatory.</p> - -<p>Until a rock arced through the air from somewhere, whipped across the -billowing UN flag, and cracked into the side of the building. That was -the signal.</p> - -<p>A hundred men and women converged on the little man on the battered -chair. "<i>We have to face the truth!</i>" the harsh voice cried; then -the flags were swept down, trampled on. Flagpoles fell, ringing -metallically on the concrete; the chair toppled. The little man was -lost beneath a tide of remorseless feet and arms.</p> - -<p>A siren screamed.</p> - -<p>"Cops!" Walton yelled from his vantage point some thirty feet away, and -abruptly the crowd melted away in all directions, leaving Walton and -the little man alone on the street. A security wagon drew up. Four men -in gray uniforms sprang out.</p> - -<p>"What's been going on here? Who's this man?" Then, seeing Walton, "Hey! -Come over here!"</p> - -<p>"Of course, officer." Walton turned his collar down and drew near. He -spotted the glare of a ubiquitous video camera and faced it squarely. -"I'm Director Walton of Popeek," he said loudly, into the camera. "I -just arrived here a few minutes ago. I saw the whole thing."</p> - -<p>"Tell us about it, Mr. Walton," the security man said.</p> - -<p>"It was a Herschelite." Walton gestured at the broken body crumpled -against the ground. "He was delivering an inflammatory speech aimed -against Popeek, with special reference to the late Director FitzMaugham -and myself. I was about to summon you and end the disturbance, when -the listeners became aware that the man was a Herschelite. When they -understood what he was advocating, they—well, you see the result."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir. Terribly sorry we couldn't have prevented it. Must be -very unpleasant, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"The man was asking for trouble," Walton said. "Popeek represents -the minds and hearts of the world. Herschel and his people seek to -overthrow this order. I can't condone violence of any sort, naturally, -but"—he smiled into the camera—"Popeek is a sacred responsibility to -me. Its enemies I must regard as blind and misguided people."</p> - -<p>He turned and entered the building, feeling pleased with himself. That -sequence would be shown globally on the next news screenings; every -newsblare in the world would be reporting his words.</p> - -<p>Lee Percy would be proud of him. Without benefit either of rehearsal or -phonemic engineering, Walton had delivered a rousing speech and turned -a grisly incident into a major propaganda instrument.</p> - -<p>And more than that, Director FitzMaugham would have been proud of him.</p> - -<p>But beneath the glow of pride, he was trembling. Yesterday he had saved -a boy by a trifling alteration of his genetic record; today he had -killed a man by sending a whispered accusation rustling through a mob.</p> - -<p><i>Power.</i> Popeek represented power, perhaps the greatest power in the -world. That power would have to be channeled somehow, now that it had -been unleashed.</p> - -<p>The stack of papers relating to the superspeed space drive was still on -his desk when he entered the office. He had had time yesterday to read -through just some of the earliest; then, the pressure of routine had -dragged him off to other duties.</p> - -<p>Encouraged by FitzMaugham, the faster-than-light project had -originated about a decade or so before. It stemmed from the fact that -the ion-drive used for travel between planets had a top velocity, a -limiting factor of about ninety thousand miles per second. At that -rate, it would take some eighteen years for a scouting party to visit -the closest star and report back ... not very efficient for a planet in -a hurry to expand outward.</p> - -<p>A group of scientists had set to work developing a subspace warp drive, -one that would cut across the manifold of normal space and allow speeds -above light velocity.</p> - -<p>All the records were here: the preliminary trials, the budget -allocations, the sketches and plans, the names of the researchers. -Walton ploughed painstakingly through them, learning names, -assimilating scientific data. It seemed that, while it was still in its -early stages, FitzMaugham had nurtured the project along with money -from his personal fortune.</p> - -<p>For most of the morning Walton leafed through documents describing -projected generators, types of hull material, specifications, -speculations. It was nearly noon when he came across the neatly-typed -note from Colonel Leslie McLeod, one of the military scientists in -charge of the ultradrive project. Walton read it through once, gasped, -and read it again.</p> - -<p>It was dated 14 June 2231, almost one year ago. It read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>My dear Mr. FitzMaugham:</i></p> - -<p><i>I'm sure it will gladden you to learn that we have at last achieved -success in our endeavors. The X-72 passed its last tests splendidly, -and we are ready to leave on the preliminary scouting flight at once.</i></p> - -<p class="ph5">McLeod</p></blockquote> - -<p>It was followed by a note from FitzMaugham to McLeod, dated 15 June:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Dr. McLeod:</i></p> - -<p><i>All best wishes on your great adventure. I trust you'll be departing, -as usual, from the Nairobi base within the next few days. Please let -me hear from you before departure.</i></p> - -<p class="ph5"><i>FitzM.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>The file concluded with a final note from McLeod to the director, dated -19 June 2231:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>My dear Mr. FitzMaugham:</i></p> - -<p><i>The X-72 will leave Nairobi in eleven hours, bound outward, manned by -a crew of sixteen, including myself. The men are all impatient for the -departure. I must offer my hearty thanks for the help you have given -us over the past years, without which we would never have reached this -step.</i></p> - -<p><i>Flight plans include visiting several of the nearer stars, with -the intention of returning either as soon as we have discovered a -habitable extrasolar world, or one year after departure, whichever -first occurs.</i></p> - -<p><i>Sincere good wishes, and may you have as much success when you plead -your case before the United Nations as we have had here—though -you'll forgive me for hoping that our work might make any population -equalization program on Earth totally superfluous!</i></p> - -<p class="ph5"><i>McLeod</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton stared at the three notes for a moment, so shocked he was unable -to react. So a faster-than-light drive was not merely a hoped-for -dream, but an actuality—with the first scouting mission a year absent -already!</p> - -<p>He felt a new burst of admiration for FitzMaugham. What a marvelous old -scoundrel he had been!</p> - -<p>Faster-than-light achieved, and the terraforming group on Venus, and -neither fact released to the public ... or even specifically given to -FitzMaugham's own staff, his alleged confidants.</p> - -<p>It had been shrewd of him, all right. He had made sure nothing could -go wrong. If something happened to Lang and his crew on Venus—and it -was quite possible, since word from them was a week overdue—it would -be easy to say that the terraforming project was still in the planning -stage. In the event of success, the excuse was that word of their -progress had been withheld for "security reasons."</p> - -<p>And the same would apply to the space drive; if McLeod and his men -vanished into the nether regions of interstellar space and never -returned, FitzMaugham would not have had to answer for the failure of -a project which, as far as the public knew, was still in the planning -stage. It was a double-edged sword with the director controlling both -edges.</p> - -<p>And now Walton was in charge. He hoped he would be able to continue -manipulations with an aplomb worthy of the late Director FitzMaugham.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed. "Dr. Lamarre is here for his appointment with -you, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>Walton was caught off guard. His mind raced furiously. <i>Lamarre? Who -the dickens—oh, that left-over appointment of FitzMaugham's.</i></p> - -<p>"Tell Dr. Lamarre I'll be glad to see him in just a few minutes, -please. I'll buzz you when I'm ready."</p> - -<p>Hurriedly he gathered up the space-flight documents and jammed them in -a file drawer near the data on terraforming. He surveyed his office; -it looked neat, presentable. Glancing around, he made sure no stray -documents were visible, documents which might reveal the truth about -the space drive.</p> - -<p>"Send in Dr. Lamarre," he said.</p> - -<p>Dr. Lamarre was a short, thin, pale individual, with an uncertain wave -in his sandy hair and a slight stoop of his shoulders. He carried a -large, black leather portfolio which seemed on the point of exploding.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Walton?"</p> - -<p>"That's right. You're Dr. Lamarre?"</p> - -<p>The small man handed him an engraved business card.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="ph4"><i>T. ELLIOT LAMARRE</i><br /> -<i>Gerontologist</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton fingered the card uneasily and returned it to its owner. -"Gerontologist? One who studies ways of increasing the human life-span?"</p> - -<p>"Precisely."</p> - -<p>Walton frowned. "I presume you've had some previous dealings with the -late Director FitzMaugham?"</p> - -<p>Lamarre gaped. "You mean he didn't <i>tell</i> you?"</p> - -<p>"Director FitzMaugham shared very little information with his -assistants, Dr. Lamarre. The suddenness of my elevation to this post -gave me little time to explore his files. Would you mind filling me in -on the background?"</p> - -<p>"Of course." Lamarre crossed his legs and squinted myopically across -the desk at Walton. "To be brief, Mr. FitzMaugham first heard of my -work fourteen years ago. Since that time, he's supported my experiments -with private grants of his own, public appropriations whenever -possible, and lately with money supplied by Popeek. Naturally, because -of the nature of my work I've shunned publicity. I completed my final -tests last week, and was to have seen the director yesterday. But—"</p> - -<p>"I know. I was busy going through Mr. FitzMaugham's files when you -called yesterday. I didn't have time to see anyone." Walton wished he -had checked on this man Lamarre earlier. Apparently it was a private -project of FitzMaugham's and of some importance.</p> - -<p>"May I ask what this 'work' of yours consists of?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Mr. FitzMaugham expressed a hope that someday man's life -span might be infinitely extended. I'm happy to report that I have -developed a simple technique which will provide just that." The little -man smiled in self-satisfaction. "In short," he said, "what I have -developed, in everyday terms, is immortality, Mr. Walton."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII</a></h2> - - -<p>Walton was becoming hardened to astonishment; the further he excavated -into the late director's affairs, the less susceptible he was to the -visceral reaction of shock.</p> - -<p>Still, this stunned him for a moment.</p> - -<p>"Did you say you'd perfected this technique?" he asked slowly. "Or that -it was still in the planning stage?"</p> - -<p>Lamarre tapped the thick, glossy black portfolio. "In here. I've got it -all." He seemed ready to burst with self-satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Walton leaned back, spread his fingers against the surface of the desk, -and wrinkled his forehead. "I've had this job since 1300 on the tenth, -Mr. Lamarre. That's exactly two days ago, minus half an hour. And in -that time I don't think I've had less than ten major shocks and half a -dozen minor ones."</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"What I'm getting at is this: just why did Director FitzMaugham sponsor -this project of yours?"</p> - -<p>Lamarre looked blank. "Because the director was a great humanitarian, -of course. Because he felt that the human life was short, far too -short, and he wished his fellow men to enjoy long life. What other -reason should there be?"</p> - -<p>"I know FitzMaugham was a great man ... I was his secretary for -three years." (<i>Though he never said a word about you, Dr. Lamarre</i>, -Walton thought.) "But to develop immortality at this stage of man's -existence...." Walton shook his head. "Tell me about your work, Dr. -Lamarre."</p> - -<p>"It's difficult to sum up readily. I've fought degeneration of the -body on the cellular level, and my tests show a successful outcome. -Phagocyte stimulation combined with—the data's all here, Mr. Walton. I -needn't run through it for you."</p> - -<p>He began to hunt in the portfolio, fumbling for something. After a -moment he extracted a folded quarto sheet, spread it out, and nudged it -across the desk toward Walton.</p> - -<p>The director glanced at the sheet; it was covered with chemical -equations. "Spare me the technical details, Dr. Lamarre. Have you -tested your treatment yet?"</p> - -<p>"With the only test possible, the test of time. There are insects in my -laboratories that have lived five years or more—veritable Methuselahs -of their genera. Immortality is not something one can test in less -than infinite time. But beneath the microscope, one can see the cells -regenerating, one can see decay combated...."</p> - -<p>Walton took a deep breath. "Are you aware, Dr. Lamarre, that for the -benefit of humanity I really should have you shot at once?"</p> - -<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> - -<p>Walton nearly burst out laughing; the man looked outrageously funny -with that look of shocked incomprehension on his face. "Do you -understand what immortality would do to Earth?" he asked. "With no -other planet of the solar system habitable by man, and none of the -stars within reach? Within a generation we'd be living ten to the -square inch. We'd—"</p> - -<p>"Director FitzMaugham was aware of these things," Lamarre interrupted -sharply. "He had no intention of administering my discovery wholesale -to the populace. What's more, he was fully confident that a -faster-than-light space drive would soon let us reach the planets, and -that the terraforming engineers would succeed with their work on Venus."</p> - -<p>"Those two factors are still unknowns in the equation," Walton said. -"Neither has succeeded, as of now. And we can't possibly let word of -your discovery get out until there are avenues to handle the overflow -of population already on hand."</p> - -<p>"So you propose—"</p> - -<p>"To confiscate the notes you have with you, and to insist that you -remain silent about this serum of yours until I give you permission to -announce it."</p> - -<p>"And if I refuse?"</p> - -<p>Walton spread his hands. "Dr. Lamarre, I'm a reasonable man trying to -do a very hard job. You're a scientist—and a sane one, I hope. I'd -appreciate your cooperation. Bear with me a few weeks, and then perhaps -the situation will change."</p> - -<p>Awkward silence followed. Finally Lamarre said, "Very well. If you'll -return my notes, I promise to keep silent until you give me permission -to speak."</p> - -<p>"That won't be enough. I'll need to keep the notes."</p> - -<p>Lamarre sighed. "If you insist," he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When he was again alone, Walton stored the thick portfolio in a file -drawer and stared at it quizzically.</p> - -<p><i>FitzMaugham</i>, he thought, <i>you were incredible!</i></p> - -<p>Lamarre's immortality serum, or whatever it was, was deadly. Whether -it actually worked or not was irrelevant. If word ever escaped that an -immortality drug existed, there would be rioting and death on a vast -scale.</p> - -<p>FitzMaugham had certainly seen that, and yet he had sublimely -underwritten development of the serum, knowing that if terraforming and -the ultradrive project should fail, Lamarre's project represented a -major threat to civilization.</p> - -<p>Well, Lamarre had knuckled under to Walton willingly enough. The -problem now was to contact Lang on Venus and find out what was -happening up there....</p> - -<p>"Mr. Walton," said the annunciator. "There's a coded message arriving -for Director FitzMaugham."</p> - -<p>"Where from?"</p> - -<p>"From space, sir. They say they have news, but they won't give it to -anyone but Mr. FitzMaugham."</p> - -<p>Walton cursed. "Where is this message being received?"</p> - -<p>"Floor twenty-three, sir. Communications."</p> - -<p>"Tell them I'll be right down," Walton snapped.</p> - -<p>He caught a lift tube and arrived on the twenty-third floor moments -later. No sooner had the tube door opened than he sprang out, dodging -around a pair of startled technicians, and sprinted down the corridor -toward communications.</p> - -<p>Here throbbed the network that held the branches of Popeek together. -From here the screens were powered, the annunciators were linked, the -phones connected.</p> - -<p>Walton pushed open a door marked <i>Communications Central</i> and -confronted four busy engineers who were crowded around a complex -receiving mechanism.</p> - -<p>"Where's that space message?" he demanded of the sallow young engineer -who approached him.</p> - -<p>"Still coming in, sir. They're repeating it over and over. We're -triangulating their position now. Somewhere near the orbit of Pluto, -Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"Devil with that. Where's the message?"</p> - -<p>Someone handed him a slip of paper. It said, <i>Calling Earth. Urgent -call, top urgency, crash urgency. Will communicate only with D. F. -FitzMaugham.</i></p> - -<p>"This all it is?" Walton asked. "No signature, no ship name?"</p> - -<p>"That's right, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Find them in a hurry and send them a return message. Tell them -FitzMaugham's dead and I'm his successor. Mention me by name."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>He stamped impatiently around the lab while they set to work beaming -the message into the void. Space communication was a field that dazzled -and bewildered Walton, and he watched in awe as they swung into -operation.</p> - -<p>Time passed. "You know of any ships supposed to be in that sector?" he -asked someone.</p> - -<p>"No, sir. We weren't expecting any calls except from Lang on Venus—" -The technician gasped, realizing he had made a slip, and turned pale.</p> - -<p>"That's all right," Walton assured him. "I'm the director, remember? I -know all about Lang."</p> - -<p>"Of course, sir."</p> - -<p>"Here's a reply, sir," another of the nameless, faceless technicians -said. Walton scanned it.</p> - -<p>It read, <i>Hello Walton. Request further identification before we -report. McL.</i></p> - -<p>A little shudder of satisfaction shook Walton at the sight of the -initialed <i>McL.</i> at the end of the message. That could mean only -McLeod—and <i>that</i> could mean only one thing: the experimental starship -had returned!</p> - -<p>Walton realized depressedly that this probably implied that they -hadn't found any Earth-type worlds among the stars. McLeod's note to -FitzMaugham had said they would search for a year, and would return -home at the end of that time if they had no success. And just about a -year had elapsed.</p> - -<p>He said, "Send this return message: McLeod, Nairobi, X-72. -Congratulations! Walton."</p> - -<p>The technician vanished again, leaving Walton alone. He gazed moodily -at the complex maze of equipment all around him, listened to the steady -<i>tick-tick</i> of the communication devices, strained his ears to pick up -fragments of conversation from the men.</p> - -<p>After what seemed like an hour, the technician returned. "There's a -message coming through now, sir. We're decoding it as fast as we can."</p> - -<p>"Make it snappy," Walton said. His watch read 1429. Only twenty minutes -had passed since he had gone down there.</p> - -<p>A grimy sheet of paper was thrust under his nose. He read it:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Hello Walton, this is McLeod. Happy to report that experimental -ship X-72 is returning home with all hands in good shape, after -a remarkable one-year cruise of the galaxy. I feel like Ulysses -returning to Ithaca, except we didn't have such a hard time of it.</i></p> - -<p><i>I imagine you'll be interested in this: we found a perfectly lovely -and livable world in the Procyon system. No intelligent life at all, -and incredibly fine climate. Pity old FitzMaugham couldn't have lived -to hear about it. Be seeing you soon. McLeod.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton's hands were still shaking as he pressed the actuator that would -let him back into his office. He would have to call another meeting of -the section chiefs again, to discuss the best method of presenting this -exciting news to the world.</p> - -<p>For one thing, they would have to explain away FitzMaugham's failure -to reveal that the X-72 had been sent out over a year ago. That could -be easily handled.</p> - -<p>Then, there would have to be a careful build-up: descriptions of the -new world, profiles of the heroes who had found it, etcetera. Someone -was going to have to work out a plan for emigration ... unless the -resourceful FitzMaugham had already drawn up such a plan and stowed it -in Files for just this anticipated day.</p> - -<p>And then, perhaps Lamarre could be called back now, and allowed to -release his discovery. Plans buzzed in Walton's mind: in the event that -people proved reluctant to leave Earth and conquer an unknown world, -no matter how tempting the climate, it might be feasible to dangle -immortality before them—to restrict Lamarre's treatment to volunteer -colonists, or something along that line. There was plenty of time to -figure that out, Walton thought.</p> - -<p>He stepped into his office and locked the door behind him. A glow of -pleasure surrounded him; for once it seemed that things were heading in -the right direction. He was happy, in a way, that FitzMaugham was no -longer in charge. Now, with mankind on the threshold of—</p> - -<p>Walton blinked. <i>Did I leave that file drawer open when I left the -office?</i> he wondered. He was usually more cautious than that.</p> - -<p>The file was definitely open now, as were the two cabinets adjoining -it. Numbly he swung the cabinet doors wider, peered into the shadows, -groped inside.</p> - -<p>The drawers containing the documents pertaining to terraforming and to -McLeod's space drive seemed intact. But the cabinet in which Walton had -placed Lamarre's portfolio—that cabinet was totally empty!</p> - -<p><i>Someone's been in here</i>, he thought angrily. And then the anger -changed to agony as he remembered what had been in Lamarre's portfolio, -and what would happen if that formula were loosed indiscriminately in -the world.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX">IX</a></h2> - - -<p>The odd part of it, Walton thought, was that there was absolutely -nothing he could do.</p> - -<p>He could call Sellors and give him a roasting for not guarding his -office properly, but that wouldn't restore the missing portfolio.</p> - -<p>He could send out a general alarm, and thereby let the world know that -there was such a thing as Lamarre's formula. That would be catastrophic.</p> - -<p>Walton slammed the cabinet shut and spun the lock. Then, heavily, -he dropped into his chair and rested his head in his arms. All the -jubilation of a few moments before had suddenly melted into dull -apprehension.</p> - -<p>Suspects? Just two—Lamarre, and Fred. Lamarre because he was obvious; -Fred because he was likely to do anything to hurt his brother.</p> - -<p>"Give me Sellors in security," Walton said quietly.</p> - -<p>Sellors' bland face appeared on the screen. He blinked at the sight of -Walton, causing Walton to wonder just how ghastly his own appearance -was; even with the executive filter touching up the transmitted image, -sprucing him up and falsifying him for the public benefit, he probably -looked dreadful.</p> - -<p>"Sellors, I want you to send out a general order for a Dr. Lamarre. -You'll find his appearance recorded on the entrance tapes for today; -he came to see me earlier. The first name is—ah—Elliot. T. Elliot -Lamarre, gerontologist. I don't know where he lives."</p> - -<p>"What should I do when I find him, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Bring him here at once. And if you catch him at home, slap a seal -on his door. He may be in possession of some very important secret -documents."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"And get hold of the doorsmith who repaired my office door; I want the -lock calibration changed at once."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, sir."</p> - -<p>The screen faded. Walton turned back to his desk and busied himself in -meaningless paper work, trying to keep himself from thinking.</p> - -<p>A few moments later the screen brightened again. It was Fred.</p> - -<p>Walton stared coldly at his brother's image. "Well?"</p> - -<p>Fred chuckled. "Why so pale and wan, dear brother? Disappointed in -love?"</p> - -<p>"What do you want?"</p> - -<p>"An audience with His Highness the Interim Director, if it please His -Grace." Fred grinned unpleasantly. "A private, audience, if you please, -m'lord."</p> - -<p>"Very well. Come on up here."</p> - -<p>Fred shook his head. "Sorry, no go. There are too many tricky spy -pickups in that office of yours. Let's meet elsewhere, shall we?"</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"That club you belong to. The Bronze Room."</p> - -<p>Walton sputtered. "But I can't leave the building now! There's no one -who—"</p> - -<p>"Now," Fred interrupted. "The Bronze Room. It's in the San Isidro, -isn't it? Top of Neville Prospect?"</p> - -<p>"All right," said Walton resignedly. "There's a doorsmith coming up -here to do some work. Give me a minute to cancel the assignment and -I'll meet you downstairs."</p> - -<p>"You leave now," Fred said. "I'll arrive five minutes after you. And -you won't need to cancel anything. <i>I</i> was the doorsmith."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Neville Prospect was the most fashionable avenue in all of New York -City, a wide strip of ferroconcrete running up the West Side between -Eleventh Avenue and the West Side Drive from Fortieth to Fiftieth -Street. It was bordered on both sides by looming apartment buildings in -which a man of wealth might have as many as four or five rooms to his -suite; and at the very head of the Prospect, facing down-town, was the -mighty San Isidro, a buttressed fortress of gleaming metal and stone -whose mighty, beryllium-steel supports swept out in a massive arc five -hundred feet in either direction.</p> - -<p>On the hundred fiftieth floor of the San Isidro was the exclusive -Bronze Room, from whose quartz windows might be seen all the sprawling -busyness of Manhattan and the close-packed confusion of New Jersey just -across the river.</p> - -<p>The jetcopter delivered Walton to the landing-stage of the Bronze -Room; he tipped the man too much and stepped within. A door of dull -bronze confronted him. He touched his key to the signet plate; the door -pivoted noiselessly inward, admitting him.</p> - -<p>The color scheme today was gray: gray light streamed from the -luminescent walls, gray carpets lay underfoot, gray tables with gray -dishes were visible in the murky distance. A gray-clad waiter, hardly -more than four feet tall, sidled up to Walton.</p> - -<p>"Good to see you again, sir," he murmured. "You have not been here of -late."</p> - -<p>"No," Walton said. "I've been busy."</p> - -<p>"A terrible tragedy, the death of Mr. FitzMaugham. He was one of our -most esteemed members. Will you have your usual room today, sir?"</p> - -<p>Walton shook his head. "I'm entertaining a guest—my brother, Fred. -We'll need a compartment for two. He'll identify himself when he -arrives."</p> - -<p>"Of course. Come with me, please."</p> - -<p>The gnome led him through a gray haze to another bronze door, down a -corridor lined with antique works of art, through an interior room -decorated with glowing lumi-facts of remarkable quality, past a broad -quartz window so clean as to be dizzyingly invisible, and up to a -narrow door with a bright red signet plate in its center.</p> - -<p>"For you, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton touched his key to the signet plate; the door crumpled like a -fan. He stepped inside, gravely handed the gnome a bill, and closed the -door.</p> - -<p>The room was tastefully furnished, again in gray; the Bronze Room was -always uniformly monochromatic, though the hue varied with the day and -with the mood of the city. Walton had long speculated on what the club -precincts would be like were the electronic magic disconnected.</p> - -<p>Actually, he knew, none of the Bronze Room's appurtenances had any -color except when the hand in the control room threw the switch. The -club held many secrets. It was FitzMaugham who had brought about -Walton's admission to the club, and Walton had been deeply grateful.</p> - -<p>He was in a room just comfortably large enough for two, with a single -bright window facing the Hudson, a small onyx table, a tiny screen -tastefully set in the wall, and a bar. He dialed himself a filtered -rum, his favorite drink. The dark, cloudy liquid came pouring instantly -from the spigot.</p> - -<p>The screen suddenly flashed a wave of green, breaking the ubiquitous -grayness. The green gave way to the bald head and scowling face of -Kroll, the Bronze Room's door-man.</p> - -<p>"Sir, there is a man outside who claims to be your brother. He alleges -he has an appointment with you here."</p> - -<p>"That's right, Kroll; send him in. Fulks will bring him to my room."</p> - -<p>"Just one moment, sir. First it is needful to verify." Kroll's face -vanished and Fred's appeared.</p> - -<p>"Is this the man?" Kroll's voice asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," Walton said. "You can send my brother in."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Fred seemed a little dazed by the opulence. He sat gingerly on the -edge of the foamweb couch, obviously attempting to appear blasé and -painfully conscious of his failure to do so.</p> - -<p>"This is quite a place," he said finally.</p> - -<p>Walton smiled. "A little on the palatial side for my tastes. I don't -come here often. The transition hurts too much when I go back outside."</p> - -<p>"FitzMaugham got you in here, didn't he?"</p> - -<p>Walton nodded.</p> - -<p>"I thought so," Fred said. "Well, maybe someday soon I'll be a member -too. Then we can meet here more often. We don't see enough of each -other, you know."</p> - -<p>"Dial yourself a drink," Walton said. "Then tell me what's on your -mind—or were you just angling to get an invite up here?"</p> - -<p>"It was more than that. But let me get a drink before we begin."</p> - -<p>Fred dialed a Weesuer, heavy on the absinthe, and took a few sampling -sips before wheeling around to face Walton. He said, "One of the minor -talents I acquired in the course of my wanderings was doorsmithing. -It's really not very difficult to learn, for a man who applies himself."</p> - -<p>"You were the one who repaired my office door?"</p> - -<p>Fred smirked. "I was. I wore a mask, of course, and my uniform -was borrowed. Masks are very handy things. They make them most -convincingly, nowadays. As, for instance, the one worn by the man who -posed as Ludwig."</p> - -<p>"What do you know about—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Nothing.</i> And that's the flat truth, Roy. I didn't kill FitzMaugham, -and I don't know who did." He drained his drink and dialed another. -"No, the old man's death is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. -But I have to thank you for wrecking the door so completely when you -blasted your way in. It gave me a chance to make some repairs when I -most wanted to."</p> - -<p>Walton held himself very carefully in check. He knew exactly what Fred -was going to say in the next few minutes, but he refused to let himself -precipitate the conversation.</p> - -<p>With studied care he rose, dialed another filtered rum for himself, and -gently slid the initiator switch on the electroluminescent kaleidoscope -embedded in the rear wall.</p> - -<p>A pattern of lights sprang into being—yellow, pale rose, blue, soft -green. They wove together, intertwined, sprang apart into a sharp -hexagon, broke into a scatter-pattern, melted, seemed to fall to the -carpet in bright flakes.</p> - -<p>"Shut that thing off!" Fred snapped suddenly. "Come on! Shut it! <i>Shut -it!</i>"</p> - -<p>Walton swung around. His brother was leaning forward intently, eyes -clamped tight shut. "Is it off?" Fred asked. "Tell me!"</p> - -<p>Shrugging, Walton canceled the signal and the lights faded. "You can -open your eyes, now. It's off."</p> - -<p>Cautiously Fred opened his eyes. "None of your fancy tricks, Roy!"</p> - -<p>"Trick?" Walton asked innocently. "What trick? Simple decoration, -that's all—and quite lovely, too. Just like the kaleidowhirls you've -seen on video."</p> - -<p>Fred shook his head. "It's not the same thing. How do I know it's not -some sort of hypnoscreen? How do I know what those lights can do?"</p> - -<p>Walton realized his brother was unfamiliar with wall kaleidoscopes. -"It's perfectly harmless," he said. "But if you don't want it on, we -can do without it."</p> - -<p>"Good. That's the way I like it."</p> - -<p>Walton observed that Fred's cool confidence seemed somewhat shaken. -His brother had made a tactical error in insisting on holding their -interview here, where Walton had so much the upper hand.</p> - -<p>"May I ask again why you wanted to see me?" Walton said.</p> - -<p>"There are those people," Fred said slowly, "who oppose the entire -principle of population equalization."</p> - -<p>"I'm aware of that. Some of them are members of this very club."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. Some of them are. The ones I mean are the gentry, those still -lucky enough to cling to land and home. The squire with a hundred acres -in the Matto Grosso; the wealthy landowner of Liberia; the gentleman -who controls the rubber output of one of the lesser Indonesian islands. -These people, Roy, are unhappy over equalization. They know that sooner -or later you and your Bureau will find out about them and will equalize -them ... say, by installing a hundred Chinese on a private estate, or -by using a private river for a nuclear turbine. You'll have to admit -that their dislike of equalization is understandable."</p> - -<p>"Everyone's dislike of equalization is understandable," Walton said. "I -dislike it myself. You got your evidence of that two days ago. No one -likes to give up special privileges."</p> - -<p>"You see my point, then. There are perhaps a hundred of these men in -close contact with each other—"</p> - -<p>"<i>What!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes," Fred said. "A league. A conspiracy, it might almost be -called. Very, very shady doings."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"I work for them," Fred said.</p> - -<p>Walton let that soak in. "You're an employee of Popeek," he said. "Are -you inferring that you're both an employee of Popeek and an employee -of a group that seeks to undermine Popeek?"</p> - -<p>Fred grinned proudly. "That's the position on the nose. It calls for -remarkable compartmentalization of mind. I think I manage nicely."</p> - -<p>Incredulously Walton said, "How long has this been going on?"</p> - -<p>"Ever since I came to Popeek. This group is older than Popeek. They -fought equalization all the way, and lost. Now they're working from -the bottom up and trying to wreck things before you catch wise and -confiscate their estates, as you're now legally entitled to do."</p> - -<p>"And now that you've warned me they exist," Walton said, "you can be -assured that that's the first thing I'll do. The second thing I'll do -will be to have the security men track down their names and find out if -there was an actual conspiracy. If there was, it's jail for them. And -the third thing I'll do is discharge you from Popeek."</p> - -<p>Fred shook his head. "You won't do any of those things, Roy. You can't."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"I know something about you that wouldn't look good if it came out -in the open. Something that would get you bounced out of your high -position in a flash."</p> - -<p>"Not fast enough to stop me from setting the wheels going. My successor -would continue the job of rooting out your league of landed gentry."</p> - -<p>"I doubt that," Fred said calmly. "I doubt it very much—because <i>I'm</i> -going to be your successor."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="X" id="X">X</a></h2> - - -<p>Crosscurrents of fear ran through Walton. He said, "What are you -talking about?"</p> - -<p>Fred folded his arms complacently. "I don't think it comes as news to -you that I broke into your office this morning while you were out. It -was very simple: when I installed the lock, I built in a canceling -circuit that would let me walk in whenever I pleased. And this morning -I pleased. I was hoping to find something I could use as immediate -leverage against you, but I hadn't expected anything as explosive as -the portfolio in the left-hand cabinet.</p> - -<p>"Where is it?"</p> - -<p>Fred grinned sharply. "The contents of that portfolio are now in very -safe keeping, Roy. Don't bluster and don't threaten, because it won't -work. I took precautions."</p> - -<p>"And—"</p> - -<p>"And you know as well as I what would happen if that immortality serum -got distributed to the good old man in the street," Fred said. "For one -thing, there'd be a glorious panic. That would solve your population -problem for a while, with millions killed in the rush. But after -that—where would you equalize, with every man and woman on Earth -living forever, and producing immortal children?"</p> - -<p>"We don't know the long-range effects yet—"</p> - -<p>"Don't temporize. You damned well know it'd be the biggest upheaval the -world has ever seen." Fred paused. "My employers," he said, "are in -possession of the Lamarre formulas now."</p> - -<p>"And with great glee are busy making themselves immortals."</p> - -<p>"No. They don't trust the stuff, and won't use it until it's been -tried on two or three billion guinea pigs. Human ones."</p> - -<p>"They're not planning to release the serum, are they?" Walton gasped.</p> - -<p>"Not immediately," Fred said. "In exchange for certain concessions -on your part, they're prepared to return Lamarre's portfolio to you -without making use of it."</p> - -<p>"Concessions? Such as what?"</p> - -<p>"That you refrain from declaring their private lands open territory for -equalization. That you resign your post as interim director. That you -go before the General Assembly and recommend me as your successor."</p> - -<p>"<i>You?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Who else is best fitted to serve the interests I represent?"</p> - -<p>Walton leaned back, his face showing a mirth he scarcely felt. "Very -neat, Fred. But full of holes. First thing, what assurance have I that -your wealthy friends won't keep a copy of the Lamarre formula and use -it as a bludgeon in the future against anyone they don't agree with?"</p> - -<p>"None," Fred admitted.</p> - -<p>"Naturally. What's more, suppose I refuse to give in and your employers -release the serum to all and sundry. Who gets hurt? Not me; I live in a -one-room box myself. But they'll be filling the world with billions and -billions of people. Their beloved estates will be overrun by the hungry -multitudes, whether they like it or not. And no fence will keep out a -million hungry people."</p> - -<p>"This is a risk they recognize," Fred said.</p> - -<p>Walton smiled triumphantly. "You mean they're bluffing! They know they -don't dare release that serum, and they think they can get me out of -the way and you, their puppet, into office by making menacing noises. -All right. I'll call their bluff."</p> - -<p>"You mean you refuse?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Walton said. "I have no intention of resigning my interim -directorship, and when the Assembly convenes I'm going to ask for the -job on a permanent basis. They'll give it to me."</p> - -<p>"And my evidence against you? The Prior baby?"</p> - -<p>"Hearsay. Propaganda. I'll laugh it right out of sight."</p> - -<p>"Try laughing off the serum, Roy. It won't be so easy as all that."</p> - -<p>"I'll manage," Walton said tightly. He crossed the room and jabbed down -on the communicator stud. The screen lit; the wizened face of the tiny -servitor appeared.</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"Fulks, would you show this gentleman out of my chamber, please? He has -no further wish to remain with me."</p> - -<p>"Right away, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"Before you throw me out," Fred said, "let me tell you one more thing."</p> - -<p>"Go ahead."</p> - -<p>"You're acting stupidly—though that's nothing new for you, Roy. I'll -give you a week's grace to make up your mind. Then the serum goes into -production."</p> - -<p>"My mind is made up," Walton said stiffly. The door telescoped and -Fulks stood outside. He smiled obsequiously at Walton, bowed to Fred, -and said to him, "Would you come with me, please?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was like one of those dreams, Walton thought, in which you were a -butler bringing dishes to the table, and the tray becomes obstinately -stuck to your fingertips and refuses to be separated; or in which the -Cavendishes are dining in state and you come to the table nude; or in -which you float downward perpetually with never a sign of bottom.</p> - -<p>There never seemed to be any way out. Force opposed force and he seemed -doomed always to be caught in the middle.</p> - -<p>Angrily he snapped the kaleidoscope back on and let its everchanging -swirl of color distract him. But in the depth of the deepest violet he -kept seeing his brother's mocking face.</p> - -<p>He summoned Fulks.</p> - -<p>The gnome looked up at him expectantly. "Get me a jetcopter," Walton -ordered. "I'll be waiting on the west stage for it."</p> - -<p>"Very good, sir."</p> - -<p>Fulks never had any problems, Walton reflected sourly. The little man -had found his niche in life; he spent his days in the plush comfort of -the Bronze Room, seeing to the wants of the members. Never any choices -to make, never any of the agonizing decisions that complicated life.</p> - -<p>Decisions. Walton realized that one particular decision had been made -for him, that of seeking the directorship permanently. He had not been -planning to do that. Now he had no choice but to remain in office as -long as he could.</p> - -<p>He stepped out onto the landing stage and into the waiting jetcopter. -"Cullen Building," he told the robopilot abstractedly.</p> - -<p>He did not feel very cheerful.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The annunciator panel in Walton's office was bright as a Christmas -tree; the signal bulbs were all alight, each representing someone -anxious to speak to him. He flipped over the circuit-breaker, -indicating he was back in his office, and received the first call.</p> - -<p>It was from Lee Percy. Percy's thick features were wrinkled into a -smile. "Just heard that speech you made outside the building this -morning, Roy. It's getting a big blare on the newsscreens. Beautiful! -Simply beautiful! Couldn't have been better if we'd concocted it -ourselves."</p> - -<p>"Glad you like it," Walton said. "It really was off the cuff."</p> - -<p>"Even better, then. You're positively a genius. Say, I wanted to tell -you that we've got the FitzMaugham memorial all whipped up and ready to -go. Full channel blast tonight over all media at 2000 sharp ... a solid -hour block. Nifty. Neat."</p> - -<p>"Is my speech in the program?"</p> - -<p>"Sure is, Roy. A slick one, too. Makes two speeches of yours blasted in -a single day."</p> - -<p>"Send me a transcript of my speech before it goes on the air," Walton -said. "I want to read and approve that thing if it's supposed to be -coming out of my mouth."</p> - -<p>"It's a natural, Roy. You don't have to worry."</p> - -<p>"<i>I want to read it beforehand!</i>" Walton snapped.</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay. Don't chew my ears off. I'll ship it to you posthaste, -man. Ease up. Pop a pill. You aren't loose, Roy."</p> - -<p>"I can't afford to be," Walton said.</p> - -<p>He broke contact and almost instantly the next call blossomed on the -screen. Walton recognized the man as one of the technicians from -communications, floor twenty-three.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"We heard from McLeod again, sir. Message came in half an hour ago and -we've been trying to reach you ever since."</p> - -<p>"I wasn't in. Give me the message."</p> - -<p>The technician unfolded a slip of paper. "It says, 'Arriving Nairobi -tonight, will be in New York by morning. McLeod.'"</p> - -<p>"Good. Send him confirmation and tell him I'll keep the entire morning -free to see him."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Oh—anything from Venus?"</p> - -<p>The technician shook his head emphatically. "Not a peep. We can't make -contact with Dr. Lang at all."</p> - -<p>Walton frowned. He wondered what was happening to the terraforming -crew up there. "Keep trying, will you? Work a twenty-four-hour-a-day -schedule. Draw extra pay. But get in touch with Lang, dammit!"</p> - -<p>"Y-yes, sir. Anything else?"</p> - -<p>"No. Get off the line."</p> - -<p>As the contact snapped Walton smoothly broke connection again, leaving -ten more would-be callers sputtering. A row of lights a foot long -indicated their presence on the line. Walton ignored them and turned -instead to his newsscreen.</p> - -<p>The 1400 news was on. He fiddled with the controls and saw his own face -take form on the screen. He was standing outside the Cullen Building, -looking right out of the screen at himself, and in the background could -be seen a huddled form under a coat. The dead Herschelite.</p> - -<p>Walton of the screen was saying, "... The man was asking for trouble. -Popeek represents the minds and hearts of the world. Herschel and his -people seek to overthrow this order. I can't condone violence of any -sort, naturally, but Popeek is a sacred responsibility to me. Its -enemies I must regard as blind and misguided people."</p> - -<p>He was smiling into the camera, but there was something behind the -smile, something cold and steely, that astonished the watching Walton. -<i>My God</i>, he thought. <i>Is that genuine? Have I really grown so hard?</i></p> - -<p>Apparently he had. He watched himself turn majestically and stride -into the Cullen Building, stronghold of Popeek. There was definitely a -commanding air about him.</p> - -<p>The commentator was saying, "With those heartfelt words, Director -Walton goes to his desk in the Cullen Building to carry out his weighty -task. To bring life out of death, joy out of sadness—this is the -job facing Popeek, and this is the sort of man to whom it has been -entrusted. Roy Walton, we salute you!"</p> - -<p>The screen panned to a still of Director FitzMaugham. "Meanwhile," the -commentator went on, "Walton's predecessor, the late D. F. FitzMaugham, -went to his rest today. Police are still hoping to uncover the group -responsible for his brutal slaying, and report a good probability of -success. Tonight all channels will carry a memorial program for this -great leader of humanity. D. F. FitzMaugham, hail and farewell!"</p> - -<p>A little sickened, Walton snapped the set off. He had to admire Lee -Percy; the propaganda man had done his job well. With a minor assist -from Walton by way of a spontaneous speech, Percy had contrived to gain -vast quantities of precious air time for Popeek. All to the good.</p> - -<p>The annunciator was still blinking violently; it seemed about to -explode with the weight of pent-up, frustrated calls. Walton nudged a -red stud at the top and Security Chief Sellors entered the screen.</p> - -<p>"Sellors, sir. We've been looking for this Lamarre. Can't find him -anywhere."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"We checked him to his home. He got there, all right. Then he -disappeared. No sign of him anywhere in the city. What now, sir?"</p> - -<p>Walton felt his fingers quivering. "Order a tracer sent out through -all of Appalachia. No, cancel that—make it country-wide. Beam his -description everywhere. Got any snaps?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Get them on the air. Tell the country this man is vital to global -security. Find him, Sellors."</p> - -<p>"We'll give it a try."</p> - -<p>"Better than that. You'll <i>find</i> him. If he doesn't turn up within -eight hours, shift the tracer to world-wide. He might be anywhere—and -he has to be found!"</p> - -<p>Walton blanked the screen and avoided the next caller. He called his -secretary and said, "Will you instruct everyone now calling me to refer -their business downstairs to Assistant Administrator Eglin. If they -don't want to do that, tell them to put it in writing and send it to -me. I can't accept any more calls just now." Then he added, "Oh, put me -through to Eglin myself before you let any of those calls reach him."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Eglin's face appeared on the private screen that linked the two -offices. The small man looked dark-browed and harried. "This is a hell -of a job, Roy," he sighed.</p> - -<p>"So is mine," Walton said. "Look, I've got a ton of calls on the wire, -and I'm transferring them all down to you. Throw as many as you can -down to the subordinates. It's the only way to keep your sanity."</p> - -<p>"Thanks. Thanks loads, Roy. All I need now is some more calls."</p> - -<p>"Can't be helped. Who'd you pick for your replacement as director of -field agents?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Lassen. I sent his dossier to you hours ago."</p> - -<p>"Haven't read it yet. Is he on the job already?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. He's been there since I moved up here," Eglin said. "What—"</p> - -<p>"Never mind," said Walton. He hung up and called Lassen, the new -director of field agents.</p> - -<p>Lassen was a boyish-looking young man with stiff sandy hair and a -sternly efficient manner. Walton said, "Lassen, I want you to do a job -for me. Get one of your men to make up a list of the hundred biggest -private estates still unequalized. I want the names of their owners, -location of the estates, acreage, and things like that. Got it?"</p> - -<p>"Right. When will you want it, Mr. Walton?"</p> - -<p>"Immediately. But I don't want it to be a sloppy job. This is top -important, double."</p> - -<p>Lassen nodded. Walton grinned at him—the boy seemed to be in good -control of himself—and clicked off.</p> - -<p>He realized that he'd been engaged in half a dozen high-power -conversations without a break, over a span of perhaps twenty minutes. -His heart was pounding; his feet felt numb.</p> - -<p>He popped a benzolurethrin into his mouth and kept on going. He -would need to act fast, now that the wheels were turning. McLeod -arriving the next day to report the results of the faster-than-light -expedition, Lamarre missing, Fred at large and working for a conspiracy -of landowners—Walton foresaw that he would be on a steady diet of -tranquilizers for the next few days.</p> - -<p>He opened the arrival bin and pulled out a handful of paper. One thick -bundle was the dossier on Lassen; Walton initialed it and tossed -it unread into the Files chute. He would have to rely on Eglin's -judgement; Lassen seemed competent enough.</p> - -<p>Underneath that, he found the script of the FitzMaugham memorial -program to be shown that evening. Walton sat back and started to skim -through it.</p> - -<p>It was the usual sort of eulogy. He skipped rapidly past FitzMaugham's -life and great works, on to the part where Interim Director Walton -appeared on the screen to speak.</p> - -<p>This part he read more carefully. He was very much interested in the -words that Percy had placed in his mouth.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XI" id="XI">XI</a></h2> - - -<p>The speech that night went over well ... almost.</p> - -<p>Walton watched the program in the privacy of his home, sprawled out -on the foamweb sofa with a drink in one hand and the text of Percy's -shooting-script in the other. The giant screen that occupied nearly -half of his one unbroken wall glowed in lifelike colors.</p> - -<p>FitzMaugham's career was traced with pomp and circumstance, done -up in full glory: plenty of ringing trumpet flourishes, dozens of -eye-appealing color groupings, much high-pitched, tense narrative. -Percy had done his job skillfully. The show was punctuated by -quotations from FitzMaugham's classic book, <i>Breathing Space and -Sanity</i>. Key government figures drifted in and out of the narrative -webwork, orating sonorously. That pious fraud, M. Seymour Lanson, -President of the United States, delivered a flowery speech; the old -figurehead was an artist at his one function, speechmaking. Walton -watched, spellbound. Lee Percy was a genius in his field; there was no -denying that.</p> - -<p>Finally, toward the end of the hour, the narrator said, "The work -of Popeek goes on, though its lofty-minded creator lies dead at an -assassin's hand. Director FitzMaugham had chosen as his successor a -young man schooled in the ideals of Popeek. Roy Walton, we know, will -continue the noble task begun by D. F. FitzMaugham."</p> - -<p>For the second time that day Walton watched his own face appear on -a video screen. He glanced down at the script in his hand and back -up at the screen. Percy's technicians had done a brilliant job. The -Walton-image on the screen looked so real that the Walton on the couch -almost believed he had actually delivered this speech—although he -knew it had been cooked up out of some rearranged stills and a few -brokendown phonemes with his voice characteristics.</p> - -<p>It was a perfectly innocent speech. In humble tones he expressed his -veneration for the late director, his hopes that he would be able to -fill the void left by the death of FitzMaugham, his sense of Popeek as -a sacred trust. Half-listening, Walton began to skim the script.</p> - -<p>Startled, Walton looked down at the script. He didn't remember having -encountered any such lines on his first reading, and he couldn't find -them now. "This morning," the pseudo-Walton on the screen went on, "we -received <i>contact from outer space</i>! From a faster-than-light ship -sent out over a year ago to explore our neighboring stars.</p> - -<p>"News of this voyage has been withheld until now for security reasons. -But it is my great pleasure to tell you tonight that the stars have at -last been reached by man.... A new world waits for us out there, lush, -fertile, ready to be colonized by the brave pioneers of tomorrow!"</p> - -<p>Walton stared aghast at the screen. His simulacrum had returned now to -the script as prepared, but he barely listened.</p> - -<p>He was thinking that Percy had let the cat out for sure. It was a -totally unauthorized newsbreak. Numbly, Walton watched the program -come to its end, and wondered what the repercussions would be once the -public grasped all the implications.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He was awakened at 0600 by the chiming of his phone. Grumpily he -climbed from bed, snapped on the receiver, switched the cutoff on the -picture sender in order to hide his sleep-rumpled appearance, and said, -"This is Walton. Yes?"</p> - -<p>A picture formed on the screen: a heavily-tanned man in his late -forties, stocky, hair close cropped. "Sorry to roust you this way, old -man. I'm McLeod."</p> - -<p>Walton came fully awake in an instant. "McLeod? Where are you?"</p> - -<p>"Out on Long Island. I just pulled into the airport half a moment ago. -Traveled all night after dumping the ship at Nairobi."</p> - -<p>"You made a good landing, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"The best. The ship navigates like a bubble." McLeod frowned worriedly. -"They brought me the early-morning telefax while I was having -breakfast. I couldn't help reading all about the speech you made last -night."</p> - -<p>"Oh. I—"</p> - -<p>"Quite a crasher of a speech," McLeod went on evenly. "But don't you -think it was a little premature of you to release word of my flight. I -mean—"</p> - -<p>"It was quite premature," Walton said. "A member of my staff inserted -that statement into my talk without my knowledge. He'll be disciplined -for it."</p> - -<p>A puzzled frown appeared on McLeod's face. "But <i>you</i> made that speech -with your own lips! How can you blame it on a member of your staff?"</p> - -<p>"The science that can send a ship to Procyon and back within a year," -Walton said, "can also fake a speech. But I imagine we'll be able to -cover up the pre-release without too much trouble."</p> - -<p>"I'm not so sure of that," said McLeod. He shrugged apologetically. -"You see, that planet's there, all right. But it happens to be the -property of alien beings who live in the next world. And they're not so -happy about having Earth come crashing into their system to colonize!"</p> - -<p>Somehow Walton managed to hang onto his self-control, even with this -staggering news crashing about him. "You've been in contact with these -beings?" he asked.</p> - -<p>McLeod nodded. "They have a translating gadget. We met them, yes."</p> - -<p>Walton moistened his lips. "I think there's going to be trouble," he -said. "I think I may be out of a job, too."</p> - -<p>"What's that?"</p> - -<p>"Just thinking out loud," Walton said. "Finish your breakfast and meet -me at my office at 0900. We'll talk this thing out then."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Walton was in full command of himself by the time he reached the Cullen -Building.</p> - -<p>He had read the morning telefax and heard the newsblares: they all -screamed the sum and essence of Walton's speech of the previous night, -and a few of the braver telefax outfits went as far as printing a -resumé of the entire speech, boiled down to Basic, of course, for -benefit of that substantial segment of the reading public that was -most comfortable while moving its lips. The one telefax outfit most -outspokenly opposed to Popeek, <i>Citizen</i>, took great delight in giving -the speech full play, and editorializing on a subsequent sheet against -the "veil of security" hazing Popeek operations.</p> - -<p>Walton read the <i>Citizen</i> editorial twice, savoring its painstaking -simplicities of expression. Then he clipped it out neatly and shot it -down the chute to public relations, marked <i>Attention: Lee Percy</i>.</p> - -<p>"There's a Mr. McLeod waiting to see you," his secretary informed him. -"He says he has an appointment."</p> - -<p>"Send him in," Walton said. "And have Mr. Percy come up here also."</p> - -<p>While he waited for McLeod to arrive, Walton riffled through the -rest of the telefax sheets. Some of them praised Popeek for having -uncovered a new world; others damned them for having hidden news of the -faster-than-light drive so long. Walton stacked them neatly in a heap -at the edge of his desk.</p> - -<p>In the bleak, dark hours of the morning, he had expected to be -compelled to resign. Now, he realized, he could immeasurably strengthen -his own position if he could control the flow of events and channel -them properly.</p> - -<p>The square figure of McLeod appeared on the screen. Walton admitted him.</p> - -<p>"Sir. I'm McLeod."</p> - -<p>"Of course. Won't you sit down?"</p> - -<p>McLeod was tense, stiffly formal, very British in his reserve and -general bearing. Walton gestured uneasily, trying to cut through the -crackle of nervousness.</p> - -<p>"We seem to have a mess on our hands," he said. "But there's no mess so -messy we can't muddle through it, eh?"</p> - -<p>"If we have to, sir. But I can't help feeling this could all have been -avoided."</p> - -<p>"No. You're wrong, McLeod. If it <i>could</i> have been avoided, it would -have been avoided. The fact that some idiot in my public relations -department gained access to my wire and found out you were returning is -incontrovertible; it happened, despite precautions."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Percy to see you," the annunciator said.</p> - -<p>The angular figure of Lee Percy appeared on the screen. Walton told him -to come in.</p> - -<p>Percy looked frightened—terrified, Walton thought. He held a folded -slip of paper loosely in one hand.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, sir."</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Lee." Walton observed that the friendly <i>Roy</i> had -changed to the formal salutation, <i>sir</i>. "Did you get the clipping I -sent you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Glumly.</p> - -<p>"Lee, this is Leslie McLeod, chief of operations of our successful -faster-than-light project. Colonel McLeod, I want you to meet Lee -Percy. He's the man who masterminded our little newsbreak last night."</p> - -<p>Percy flinched visibly. He stepped forward and laid his slip of paper -on Walton's desk. "I m-made a m-mistake last night," he stammered. "I -should never have released that break."</p> - -<p>"Damned right you shouldn't have," Walton agreed, carefully keeping -any hint of severity from his voice. "You have us in considerable -hot water, Lee. That planet isn't ours for colonization, despite the -enthusiasm with which I allegedly announced it last night. And you -ought to be clever enough to realize it's impossible to withdraw and -deny good news once you've broken it."</p> - -<p>"The planet's not ours? But—?"</p> - -<p>"According to Colonel McLeod," Walton said, "the planet is the property -of intelligent alien beings who live on a neighboring world, and who -no more care to have their system overrun by a pack of Earthmen than we -would to have extrasolar aliens settle on Mars."</p> - -<p>"Sir, that sheet of paper ..." Percy said in a choked voice. -"It's—it's—"</p> - -<p>Walton unfolded it. It was Percy's resignation. He read the note -carefully twice, smiled, and laid it down. Now was his time to be -magnanimous.</p> - -<p>"Denied," he said. "We need you on our team, Lee. I'm authorizing a ten -percent pay-cut for one week, effective yesterday, but there'll be no -other penalty."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> - -<p><i>He's crawling to me</i>, Walton thought in amazement. He said, "Only -don't pull that stunt again, or I'll not only fire you but blacklist -you so hard you won't be able to find work between here and Procyon. -Understand?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Go back to your office and get to work. And no more publicity -on this faster-than-light thing until I authorize it. No—cancel that. -Get out a quick release, a followup on last night. A smoke screen, I -mean. Cook up so much cloudy verbiage about the conquest of space that -no one bothers to remember anything of what I said. And play down the -colonization angle!"</p> - -<p>"I get it, sir." Percy grinned feebly.</p> - -<p>"I doubt that," Walton snapped. "When you have the release prepared, -shoot it up here for my okay. And heaven help you if you deviate from -the text I see by as much as a single comma!"</p> - -<p>Percy practically backed out of the office.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Why did you do that?" McLeod asked, puzzled.</p> - -<p>"You mean, why did I let him off so lightly?"</p> - -<p>McLeod nodded. "In the military," he said, "we'd have a man shot for -doing a thing like that."</p> - -<p>"This isn't the military," Walton said. "And even though the man -behaved like a congenital idiot yesterday, that's not enough evidence -to push him into Happysleep. Besides, he knows his stuff. I can't -afford to discharge him."</p> - -<p>"Are public relations men that hard to come by?"</p> - -<p>"No. But he's a good one—and the prospect of having him desert to the -other side frightens me. He'll be forever grateful to me now. If I had -fired him, he would've had half a dozen anti-Popeek articles in the -<i>Citizen</i> before the week was out. And they'd ruin us."</p> - -<p>McLeod smiled appreciatively. "You handle your job well, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>"I have to," Walton said. "The director of Popeek is paid to produce -two or three miracles per hour. One gets used to it, after a while. -Tell me about these aliens, Colonel McLeod."</p> - -<p>McLeod swung a briefcase to Walton's desk and flipped the magneseal. He -handed Walton a thick sheaf of glossy color photos.</p> - -<p>"The first dozen or so are scenes of the planet," McLeod explained. -"It's Procyon VIII—number eight out of sixteen, unless we missed a -couple. We checked sixteen worlds in the system, anyway. Ten of 'em -were methane giants; we didn't even bother to land. Two were ammonia -supergiants, even less pleasant. Three small ones had no atmosphere -at all worth speaking about, and were no more livable looking than -Mercury. And the remaining one was the one we call New Earth. Take a -look, sir."</p> - -<p>Walton looked. The photos showed rolling hills covered with -close-packed shrubbery, flowing rivers, a lovely sunrise. Several of -the shots were of indigenous life—a wizened little four-handed monkey, -a six-legged doglike thing, a toothy bird.</p> - -<p>"Life runs to six limbs there," Walton observed. "But how livable can -this place be? Unless your photos are sour, that grass is <i>blue</i> ... -and the water's peculiar looking, too. What sort of tests did you run?"</p> - -<p>"It's the light, sir. Procyon's a double star; that faint companion -gets up in the sky and does tricky things to the camera. That grass may -look blue, but it's a chlorophyll-based photosynthesizer all the same. -And the water's nothing but H<sub>2</sub>O, even with that purple tinge."</p> - -<p>Walton nodded. "How about the atmosphere?"</p> - -<p>"We were breathing it for a week, and no trouble. It's pretty rich in -oxygen—twenty-four percent. Gives you a bouncy feeling—just right for -pioneers, I'd say."</p> - -<p>"You've prepared a full report on this place, haven't you?"</p> - -<p>"Of course. It's right here." McLeod started to reach for his briefcase.</p> - -<p>"Not just yet," Walton said. "I want to go through the rest of these -snapshots." He turned over one after another rapidly until he came to -a photo that showed a strange blocky figure, four-armed, bright green -in color. Its neckless head was encased in a sort of breathing mask -fashioned from some transparent plastic. Three cold, brooding eyes -peered outward.</p> - -<p>"What's this?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that." McLeod attempted a cheerful grin. "That's a Dirnan. They -live on Procyon IX, one of the ammonia-giant planets. They're the -aliens who don't want us there."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XII" id="XII">XII</a></h2> - - -<p>Walton stared at the photograph of the alien. There was intelligence -there ... yes, intelligence and understanding, and perhaps even a sort -of compassion.</p> - -<p>He sighed. There were always qualifications, never unalloyed successes.</p> - -<p>"Colonel McLeod, how long would it take your ship to return to the -Procyon system?" he asked thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>McLeod considered the question. "Hardly any time, sir. A few days, -maybe. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Just a wild idea. Tell me about your contact with these—ah—Dirnans."</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, they landed after we'd spent more than a week surveying New -Earth. There were six of them, and they had their translating widget -with them. They told us who they were, and wanted to know who we were. -We told them. They said they ran the Procyon system, and weren't of a -mind to let any alien beings come barging in."</p> - -<p>"Did they sound hostile?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. Just businesslike. We were trespassing, and they asked us to -get off. They were cold about it, but not angry."</p> - -<p>"Fine," Walton said. "Look here, now. Do you think you could go back -to their world as—well as an ambassador from Earth? Bring one of the -Dirnans here for treaty talks, and such?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," McLeod said hesitantly. "If it's necessary."</p> - -<p>"It looks as if it may be. You had no luck in any of the other nearby -systems?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Then Procyon VIII's our main hope. Tell your men we'll offer double -pay for this cruise. And make it as fast as you know how."</p> - -<p>"Hyperspace travel's practically instantaneous," McLeod said. "We spent -most of our time cruising on standard ion drive from planet to planet. -Maneuvering in the subspace manifold's a snap, though."</p> - -<p>"Good. Snap it up, then. Back to Nairobi and clear out of there as -soon as you're ready. Remember, it's urgent you bring one of the aliens -here for treaty talks."</p> - -<p>"I'll do my best," McLeod said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Walton stared at the empty seat where McLeod had been, and tried to -picture a green Dirnan sitting there, goggling at him with its three -eyes.</p> - -<p>He was beginning to feel like a juggler. Popeek activity proceeded on -so many fronts at once that it quite dazzled him. And every hour there -were new challenges to meet, new decisions to make.</p> - -<p>At the moment, there were too many eggs and not enough baskets. Walton -realized he was making the same mistake FitzMaugham had, that of -carrying too much of the Popeek workings inside his skull. If anything -happened to him, the operation would be fatally paralyzed, and it would -be some time before the gears were meshing again.</p> - -<p>He resolved to keep a journal, to record each day a full and -mercilessly honest account of each of the many maneuvers in which he -was engaged. He would begin with his private conflict with Fred and the -interests Fred represented, follow through with the Lamarre-immortality -episode, and include a detailed report on the problems of the -subsidiary projects, New Earth and Lang's terraforming group.</p> - -<p>That gave him another idea. Reaching for his voicewrite, he dictated -a concise confidential memorandum instructing Assistant Administrator -Eglin to outfit an investigatory mission immediately; purpose, to go -to Venus and make contact with Lang. The terraforming group was nearly -two weeks overdue in its scheduled report. He could not ignore them any -longer.</p> - -<p>The everlasting annunciator chimed, and Walton switched on the screen. -It was Sellors, and from the look of abject terror on the man's face, -Walton knew that something sticky had just transpired.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Sellors? Any luck in tracing Lamarre?"</p> - -<p>"None, sir," the security chief said. "But there's been another -development, Mr. Walton. A most serious one. <i>Most</i> serious."</p> - -<p>Walton was ready to expect anything—a bulletin announcing the end of -the universe, perhaps. "Well, tell me about it," he snapped impatiently.</p> - -<p>Sellors seemed about ready to collapse with shame. He said hesitantly, -"One of the communications technicians was making a routine check of -the building's circuits, Mr. Walton. He found one trunk-line that -didn't seem to belong where it was, so he checked up and found out that -it had been newly installed."</p> - -<p>"Well, what of it?"</p> - -<p>"It was a spy pickup with its outlet in your office, sir," Sellors -said, letting the words tumble out in one blur. "All the time you were -talking this morning, someone was spying on you."</p> - -<p>Walton grabbed the arms of his chair. "Are you telling me that your -department was blind enough to let someone pipe a spy pickup right into -this office?" he demanded. "Where did this outlet go? And is it cut -off?"</p> - -<p>"They cut it off as soon as they found it, sir. It went to a men's -lavatory on the twenty-sixth floor."</p> - -<p>"And how long was it in operation?"</p> - -<p>"At least since last night, sir. Communications assures me that it -couldn't possibly have been there before yesterday afternoon, since -they ran a general check then and didn't see it."</p> - -<p>Walton groaned. It was small comfort to know that he had had privacy -up till last evening; if the wrong people had listened in on his -conversation with McLeod, there would be serious trouble.</p> - -<p>"All right, Sellors. This thing can't be your fault, but keep your eyes -peeled in the future. And tell communications that my office is to be -checked for such things twice a day from now on, at 0900 and at 1300."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Sellors looked tremendously relieved.</p> - -<p>"And start interrogating the communications technicians. Find out who's -responsible for that spy circuit, and hold him on security charges. And -locate Lamarre!"</p> - -<p>"I'll do my best, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>While the screen was clearing, Walton jotted down a memorandum to -himself: <i>investigate Sellors</i>. So far, as security chief, Sellors had -allowed an assassin to reach FitzMaugham, allowed Prior to burst into -Walton's old office, permitted Fred to masquerade as a doorsmith long -enough to gain access to Walton's private files, and stood by blindly -while Lee Percy tapped into Walton's private wire and some unidentified -technician strung a spy pickup into the director's supposedly sacred -office.</p> - -<p>No security chief could have been as incompetent as all that. It had to -be a planned campaign, directed from the outside.</p> - -<p>He dialed Eglin.</p> - -<p>"Olaf, you get my message about the Venus rescue mission okay?"</p> - -<p>"Came through a few minutes ago. I'll have the specs drawn up by -tonight."</p> - -<p>"Devil with that," Walton said. "Drop everything and send that ship out -<i>now</i>. I've got to know what Lang and his crew are up to, and I have -to know right away. If we don't produce a livable Venus, or at least -the possibility of one, in a couple of days, we'll be in for it on all -sides."</p> - -<p>"Why? What's up?"</p> - -<p>"You'll see. Keep an eye on the telefax. I'll bet the next edition of -<i>Citizen</i> is going to be interesting."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was.</p> - -<p>The glossy sheets of the 1200 <i>Citizen</i> extruded themselves from a -million receivers in the New York area, but none of those million -copies was as avidly pounced on as was Director Walton's. He had been -hovering near the wall outlet for ten minutes, avidly awaiting the -sheet's arrival.</p> - -<p>And he was not disappointed.</p> - -<p>The streamer headline ran:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>THINGS FROM SPACE NIX BIG POPEEK PLAN</i></p> - -<p>And under it in smaller type:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>Greenskinned Uglies Put Feet In Director Walton's Big Mouth</i></p> - -<p>He smiled grimly and went on to the story itself. Written in the best -approved <i>Citizen</i> journalese, it read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Fellow human beings, we've been suckered again. The</i> Citizen <i>found -out for sure this morning that the big surprise Popeek's Interim -Director Walton yanked out of his hat last night has a hole in it.</i></p> - -<p><i>It's sure dope that there's a good planet up there in the sky for -grabs. The way we hear it, it's just like earth only prettier, with -trees and flowers (remember them?). Our man says the air there is nice -and clean. This world sounds okay.</i></p> - -<p><i>But what Walton didn't know last night came home to roost today. -Seems the folks on the next planet out there don't want any sloppy -old Earthmen messing up their pasture—and so we ain't going to have -any New Earth after all. Wish-washy Walton is a cinch to throw in the -towel now.</i></p> - -<p><i>More dope in later editions. And check the edit page for extra info.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>It was obvious, Walton thought, that the spy pickup which had been -planted in his office had been a direct pipe line to the <i>Citizen</i> news -desk. They had taken his conversation with McLeod and carefully ground -it down into the chatty, informal, colloquial style that made <i>Citizen</i> -the world's most heavily-subscribed telefax service.</p> - -<p>He shuddered at what might have happened if they'd had their spy -pickup installed a day earlier, and overheard Walton in the process of -suppressing Lamarre's immortality serum. There would have been a lynch -mob storming the Cullen Building ten minutes after the <i>Citizen</i> hit -the waves with its exposé.</p> - -<p>Not that he was much better off now. He no longer had the advantage of -secrecy to cloak his actions, and public officials who were compelled -to conduct business in the harsh light of public scrutiny generally -didn't hold their offices for long.</p> - -<p>He turned the sheet over and searched for the editorial column, merely -to confirm his expectations.</p> - -<p>It was captioned in bold black:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>ARE WE PATSIES FOR GREENSKINS?</i></p> - -<p>And went on to say:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Non-human beings have said "Whoa!" to our plans for opening up a new -world in space. These aliens have put thumbs down on colonization of -the New Earth discovered by Colonel Leslie McLeod.</i></p> - -<p><i>Aside from the question of why Popeek kept word of the McLeod -expedition from the public so long, there is this to consider—will we -take this lying down?</i></p> - -<p><i>We've got to find space for us to live. New Earth is a good place. -The answer to the trouble is easy: we take New Earth. If the -greenskins don't like it, bounce 'em!</i></p> - -<p><i>How about it? What do we do? Mr. Walton, we want to know. What goes?</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>It was an open exhortation to interstellar warfare. Dispiritedly, -Walton let the telefax sheets skitter to the floor, and made no move to -pick them up.</p> - -<p>War with the Dirnans? If <i>Citizen</i> had its way, there would be. The -telefax sheet would remorselessly stir the people up until the cry for -war was unanimous.</p> - -<p><i>Well</i>, thought Walton callously, <i>a good war would reduce the -population surplus. The idiots!</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He caught the afternoon newsblares. They were full of the <i>Citizen</i> -break, and one commentator made a point-blank demand that Walton either -advocate war with the Dirnans or resign.</p> - -<p>Not long afterward, UN delegate Ludwig called.</p> - -<p>"Some hot action over here today," he told Walton. "After that -<i>Citizen</i> thing got out, a few of the Oriental delegates started -howling for your scalp on sixteen different counts of bungling. What's -going on, Walton?"</p> - -<p>"Plenty of spy activity, for one thing. The main problem, though, is -the nucleus of incompetent assistants surrounding me. I think I'm going -to reduce the local population personally before the day is out. With a -blunt instrument, preferably."</p> - -<p>"Is there any truth in the <i>Citizen</i> story?"</p> - -<p>"Hell, yes!" Walton exclaimed. "For once, it's gospel! An enterprising -telefax man rigged a private pipe line into my office last night and -no one caught it until it was too late. Sure, those aliens are holding -out. They don't want us coming in there."</p> - -<p>Ludwig chewed at his lip. "You have any plans?"</p> - -<p>"Dozens of them. Want some, cheap?" He laughed, a brittle, unamused -laugh.</p> - -<p>"Seriously, Roy. You ought to go on the air again and smooth this thing -over. The people are yelling for war with these Dirnans, and half of -us over here at the UN aren't even sure the damned creatures exist. -Couldn't you fake it up a little?"</p> - -<p>"No," Walton said. "There's been enough faking. I'm going on the air -with the truth for a change! Better have all your delegates over there -listening in, because their ears are in for an opening."</p> - -<p>As soon as he was rid of Ludwig he called Lee Percy.</p> - -<p>"That program on the conquest of space is almost ready to go," the -public relations man informed him.</p> - -<p>"Kill it. Have you seen the noon <i>Citizen</i>?"</p> - -<p>"No; been too busy on the new program. Anything big?"</p> - -<p>Walton chuckled. "Fairly big. The <i>Citizen</i> just yanked the rug out -from under everything. We'll probably be at war with Procyon IX by -sundown. I want you to buy me air space on every medium for the 1900 -spot tonight."</p> - -<p>"Sure thing. What kind of speech you want us to cook up?"</p> - -<p>"None at all," Walton said. "I'm going to speak off the cuff for a -change. Just buy the time for me, and squeeze the budget for all it's -worth."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII">XIII</a></h2> - - -<p>The bright light of the video cameras flooded the room. Percy had -done a good job; there was a representative from every network, every -telefax, every blare of any sort at all. The media had been corralled. -Walton's words would echo round the world.</p> - -<p>He was seated behind his desk—seated, because he could shape his words -more forcefully that way, and also because he was terribly tired. He -smiled into the battery of cameras.</p> - -<p>"Good evening," he said. "I'm Roy Walton, speaking to you from the -offices of the Bureau of Population Equalization. I've been director -of Popeek for a little less than a week, now, and I'd like to make a -report—a progress report, so to speak.</p> - -<p>"We of Popeek regard ourselves as holding a mandate from you, the -people. After all, it was the world-wide referendum last year that -enabled the United Nations to put us into business. And I want to tell -you how the work of Popeek is going.</p> - -<p>"Our aim is to provide breathing space for human beings. The world is -vastly overcrowded, with its seven billion people. Popeek's job is to -ease that overcrowdedness, to equalize the population masses of the -world so that the empty portions of the globe are filled up and the -extremely overcrowded places thinned out a little. But this is only -part of our job—the short-range, temporary part. We're planning for -the future here. We know we can't keep shifting population from place -to place on Earth; it won't work forever. Eventually every square inch -is going to be covered, and then where do we go?</p> - -<p>"You know the answer. We go <i>out</i>. We reach for the stars. At present -we have spaceships that can take us to the planets, but the planets -aren't suitable for human life. All right, we'll <i>make</i> them suitable! -At this very moment a team of engineers is on Venus, in that hot, dry, -formaldehyde atmosphere, struggling to turn Venus into a world fit for -oxygen-breathing human beings. They'll do it, too—and when they're -done with Venus they'll move on to Mars, to the Moon, perhaps to the -big satellites of Jupiter and Saturn too. There'll be a day when the -solar system will be habitable from Mercury to Pluto—we hope."</p> - -<p>"But even that is short-range," Walton said pointedly. "There'll be -a day—it may be a hundred years from now, or a thousand, or ten -thousand—when the entire solar system will be as crowded with humanity -as Earth is today. We have to plan for that day, too. It's the <i>lack</i> -of planning on the part of our ancestors that's made things so hard for -us. We of Popeek don't want to repeat the tragic mistakes of the past.</p> - -<p>"My predecessor, the late Director FitzMaugham, was aware of this -problem. He succeeded in gathering a group of scientists and -technicians who developed a super space drive, a faster-than-light ship -that can travel to the stars virtually instantaneously, instead of -taking years to make the trip as our present ships would.</p> - -<p>"The ship was built and sent out on an exploratory mission. Director -FitzMaugham chose to keep this fact a secret. He was afraid of arousing -false hopes in case the expedition should be a failure.</p> - -<p>"The expedition was <i>not</i> a failure! Colonel Leslie McLeod and his men -discovered a planet similar to Earth in the system of the star Procyon. -I have seen photographs of New Earth, as they have named it, and I can -tell you that it is a lovely planet ... and one that will be receptive -to our pioneers."</p> - -<p>Walton paused a moment before launching into the main subject of his -talk.</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately, there is a race of intelligent beings living on a -neighboring planet of this world. Perhaps you have seen the misleading -and inaccurate reports blared today to the effect that these people -refuse to allow Earth to colonize in their system. Some of you have -cried out for immediate war against these people, the Dirnans.</p> - -<p>"I must confirm part of the story the telefax carried today: the -Dirnans are definitely not anxious to have Earth set up a colony on a -world adjoining theirs. We are strangers to them, and their reaction is -understandable. After all, suppose a race of strange-looking creatures -landed on Mars, and proceeded with wholesale colonization of our -neighboring world? We'd be uneasy, to say the least.</p> - -<p>"And so the Dirnans are uneasy. However, I've summoned a Dirnan -ambassador—our first diplomatic contact with intelligent alien -creatures!—and I hope he'll be on Earth shortly. I plan to convince -him that we're peaceful, neighborly people, and that it will be to our -mutual benefit to allow Earth colonization in the Procyon system.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to need your help. If, while our alien guest is here, he -discovers that some misguided Earthmen are demanding war with Dirna, -he's certainly not going to think of us as particularly desirable -neighbors to welcome with open arms. I want to stress the importance of -this. Sure, we can go to war with Dirna for possession of Procyon VIII. -But why spread wholesale destruction on two worlds when we can probably -achieve our goal peacefully?</p> - -<p>"That's all I have to say tonight, people of the world. I hope you'll -think about what I've told you. Popeek works twenty-four hours a day -in your behalf, but we need your full cooperation if we're going to -achieve our aims and bring humanity to its full maturity. Thank you."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The floodlights winked out suddenly, leaving Walton momentarily -blinded. When he opened his eyes again he saw the cameramen moving -their bulky apparatus out of the office quickly and efficiently. The -regular programs had returned to the channels—the vapid dancing and -joke-making, the terror shows, the kaleidowhirls.</p> - -<p>Now that it was over, now that the tension was broken, Walton -experienced a moment of bitter disillusionment. He had had high hopes -for his speech, but had he really put it over? He wasn't sure.</p> - -<p>He glanced up. Lee Percy stood over him.</p> - -<p>"Roy, can I say something?" Percy said diffidently.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"I don't know how many millions I forked over to put you on the media -tonight, but I know one thing—we threw a hell of a lot of money away."</p> - -<p>Walton sighed wearily. "Why do you say that?"</p> - -<p>"That speech of yours," Percy said, "was the speech of an amateur. You -ought to let pros handle the big spiels, Roy."</p> - -<p>"I thought you liked the impromptu thing I did when they mobbed that -Herschelite. How come no go tonight?"</p> - -<p>Percy shook his head. "The speech you made outside the building was -different. It had emotion; it had punch! But tonight you didn't come -across at all."</p> - -<p>"No?"</p> - -<p>"I'd put money behind it." Acidly Percy said, "You can't win the public -opinion by being reasonable. You gave a nice smooth speech. Bland ... -folksy. You laid everything on the line where they could see it."</p> - -<p>"And that's wrong, is it?" Walton closed his eyes for a moment. "<i>Why?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Because they won't listen! You gave them a sermon when you should have -been punching at them! Sweet reason! You can't be <i>sweet</i> if you want -to sell your product to seven billion morons!"</p> - -<p>"Is that all they are?" Walton asked. "Just morons?"</p> - -<p>Percy chuckled. "In the long run, yes. Give them their daily bread and -their one room to live in, and they won't give a damn what happens -to the world. FitzMaugham sold them Popeek the way you'd sell a car -without turbines. He hoodwinked them into buying something they hadn't -thought about or wanted."</p> - -<p>"They <i>needed</i> Popeek, whether they wanted it or not. No one needs a -car without turbines."</p> - -<p>"Bad analogy, then," Percy said. "But it's true. They don't care a -blast about Popeek, except where it affects them. If you'd told them -that these aliens would kill them all if they didn't act nice, you'd -have gotten across. But this sweetness and light business—oh, no, Roy. -It just doesn't work."</p> - -<p>"Is that all you have to tell me?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"I guess so. I just wanted to show you where you had a big chance and -muffed it. Where we could have helped you out if you'd let us. I don't -want you to think I'm being rude or critical, Roy; I'm just trying to -be helpful."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Lee. Get out."</p> - -<p>"Huh?"</p> - -<p>"Go away. Go sell ice to the Eskimos. Leave me alone, yes?"</p> - -<p>"If that's the way you want it. Hell, Roy, don't brood over it. We can -still fix things up before that alien gets here. We can put the content -of tonight's speech across so smoothly that they won't even know -we're—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Get out!</i>"</p> - -<p>Percy skittered for the door. He paused and said, "You're all wrought -up, Roy. You ought to take a pill or something for your nerves."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Well, he had his answer. An expert evaluation of the content and effect -of his speech.</p> - -<p>Dammit, he had <i>tried</i> to reach them. Percy said he hadn't, and Percy -probably was right, little as Walton cared to admit the fact to himself.</p> - -<p>But was Percy's approach the only one? Did you have to lie to them, -push them, treat them as seven billion morons?</p> - -<p>Maybe. Right now billions of human beings—the same human beings Walton -was expending so much energy to save—were staring at the kaleidowhirl -programs on their videos. Their eyes were getting fixed, glassy. Their -mouths were beginning to sag open, their cheeks to wobble, their lips -to droop pendulously, as the hypnosis of the color patterns took effect.</p> - -<p>This was humanity. They were busy forgetting all the things they had -just been forced to listen to. All the big words, like <i>mandate</i> and -<i>eventually</i> and <i>wholesale destruction</i>. Just so many harsh syllables -to be wiped away by the soothing swirl of the colors.</p> - -<p>And somewhere else, possibly, a poet named Prior was listening to his -baby's coughing and trying to write a poem—a poem that Walton and a -few others would read excitedly, while the billions would ignore it.</p> - -<p>Walton saw that Percy was dead right: Roy Walton could never have sold -Popeek to the world. But FitzMaugham, that cagy, devious genius, did -it. By waving his hands before the public and saying abracadabra, he -bamboozled them into approving Popeek before they knew what they were -being sold.</p> - -<p>It was a lousy trick, but FitzMaugham had realized that it had to be -done. Someone had killed him for it, but it was too late by then.</p> - -<p>And Walton saw that he had taken the wrong track by trying to be -reasonable. Percy's callous description of humanity as "seven billion -morons" was uncomfortably close to the truth. Walton would have to make -his appeal to a more subliminal level.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, he thought, at the level of the kaleidowhirls, those endless -patterns of colored light that were the main form of diversion for the -Great Unwashed.</p> - -<p><i>I'll get to them</i>, Walton promised himself. <i>There can't be any -dignity or nobility in human life with everyone crammed into one -sardine can. So I'll treat them like the sardines they are, and hope -I can turn them into the human beings they could be if they only had -room.</i></p> - -<p>He rose, turned out the light, prepared to leave. He wondered if the -late Director FitzMaugham had ever faced an internal crisis of this -sort, or whether FitzMaugham had known these truths innately from the -start.</p> - -<p>Probably, the latter was the case. FitzMaugham had been a genius, a -sort of superman. But FitzMaugham was dead, and the man who carried on -his work was no genius. He was only a mere man.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The reports started filtering in the next morning. It went much as -Percy had predicted.</p> - -<p><i>Citizen</i> was the most virulent. Under the sprawling headline, <i>WHO'S -KIDDING WHO?</i> the telefax sheet wanted to know what the "mealy-mouthed" -Popeek director was trying to tell the world on all media the night -before. They weren't sure, since Walton, according to <i>Citizen</i>, had -been talking in "hifalutin prose picked on purpose to befuddle John Q. -Public." But their general impression was that Walton had proposed some -sort of sellout to the Dirnans.</p> - -<p>The sellout idea prevailed in most of the cheap telefax sheets.</p> - -<p>"Behind a cloud of words, Popeek czar Walton is selling the world -downstream to the greenskins," said one paper. "His talk last night was -strictly bunk. His holy-holy words and grim face were supposed to put -over something, but we ain't fooled—and don't you be fooled either, -friend!"</p> - -<p>The video commentators were a little kinder, but not very. One called -for a full investigation of the Earth-Dirna situation. Another wanted -to know why Walton, an appointed official and not even a permanent -one at that, had taken it upon himself to handle such high-power -negotiations. The UN seemed a little worried about that, even though -Ludwig had made a passionate speech insisting that negotiations with -Dirna were part of Walton's allotted responsibilities.</p> - -<p>That touched off a new ruckus. "How much power does Walton have?" -<i>Citizen</i> demanded in a later edition. "Is he the boss of the world? -And if he is, who the devil is he anyway?"</p> - -<p>That struck Walton harder than all the other blows. He had been -gradually realizing that he did, in fact, control what amounted to -dictatorial powers over the world. But he had not yet fully admitted it -to himself, and it hurt to be accused of it publicly.</p> - -<p>One thing was clear: his attempt at sincerity and clarity had been -a total failure. The world was accustomed to subterfuge and verbal -pyrotechnics, and when it didn't get the expected commodity, it grew -suspicious. Sincerity had no market value. By going before the public -and making a direct appeal, Walton had aroused the suspicion that he -had something hidden up his sleeve.</p> - -<p>When <i>Citizen's</i> third edition of the day openly screamed for war with -Dirna, Walton realized the time had come to stop playing it clean. From -now on, he would chart his course and head there at any cost.</p> - -<p>He tore a sheet of paper from his memo pad and inscribed on it a brief -motto: <i>The ends justify the means!</i></p> - -<p>With that as his guide, he was ready to get down to work.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV">XIV</a></h2> - - -<p>Martinez, security head for the entire Appalachia district, was a -small, slight man with unruly hair and deep, piercing eyes. He stared -levelly at Walton and said, "Sellors has been with security for twenty -years. It's absurd to suggest that he's disloyal."</p> - -<p>"He's made a great many mistakes," Walton remarked. "I'm simply -suggesting that if he's not utterly incompetent he must be in someone -else's pay."</p> - -<p>"And you want us to break a man on your say-so, Director Walton?" -Martinez shook his head fussily. "I'm afraid I can't see that. Of -course, if you're willing to go through the usual channels, you could -conceivably request a change of personnel in this district. But I don't -see how else—"</p> - -<p>"Sellors will have to go," Walton said. "Our operation has sprung too -many leaks. We'll need a new man in here at once, and I want you to -double-check him personally."</p> - -<p>Martinez rose. The little man's nostrils flickered ominously. "I -refuse. Security is external to whims and fancies. If I remove Sellors, -it will undermine security self-confidence all throughout the country."</p> - -<p>"All right," sighed Walton. "Sellors stays. I'll file a request to have -him transferred, though."</p> - -<p>"I'll pigeonhole it. I can vouch for Sellors' competence myself," -Martinez snapped. "Popeek is in good hands, Mr. Walton. Please believe -that."</p> - -<p>Martinez left. Walton glowered at the retreating figure. He knew -Martinez was honest—but the security head was a stubborn man, and -rather than admit the existence of a flaw in the security structure he -had erected, Martinez would let a weak man continue in a vital position.</p> - -<p>Well, that blind spot in Martinez' makeup would have to be compensated -for, Walton thought. One way or another, he would have to get rid of -Sellors and replace him with a security man he could trust.</p> - -<p>He scribbled a hasty note and sent it down the chute to Lee Percy. As -Walton anticipated, the public relations man phoned minutes later.</p> - -<p>"Roy, what's this release you want me to get out? It's -fantastic—Sellors a spy? How? He hasn't even been arrested. I just saw -him in the building."</p> - -<p>Walton smirked. "Since when do you have such a high respect for -accuracy?" he asked. "Send out the release and we'll watch what -happens."</p> - -<p>The 1140 newsblares were the first to carry the news. Walton listened -cheerlessly as they revealed that Security Chief Sellors had been -arrested on charges of disloyalty. According to informed sources, said -the blares, Sellors was now in custody and had agreed to reveal the -nature of the secret conspiracy which had hired him.</p> - -<p>At 1210 came a later report: Security Chief Sellors had temporarily -been released from custody.</p> - -<p>And at 1230 came a still later report: Security Chief Sellors had been -assassinated by an unknown hand outside the Cullen Building.</p> - -<p>Walton listened to the reports with cold detachment. He had foreseen -the move: Sellors' panicky employers had silenced the man for good. -<i>The ends justify the means</i>, Walton told himself. There was no reason -to feel pity for Sellors; he had been a spy and death was the penalty. -It made no real difference whether death came in a federal gas chamber -or as the result of some carefully faked news releases.</p> - -<p>Martinez called almost immediately after word of Sellors' murder -reached the blares. The little man's face was deadly pale.</p> - -<p>"I owe you an apology," he said. "I acted like an idiot this morning."</p> - -<p>"Don't blame yourself," Walton said. "It was only natural that you'd -trust Sellors; you'd known him so long. But you can't trust anyone -these days, Martinez. Not even yourself."</p> - -<p>"I will have to resign," the security man said.</p> - -<p>"No. It wasn't your fault. Sellors was a spy and a bungler, and he paid -the price. His own men struck him down when that rumor escaped that he -was going to inform. Just send me a new man, as I asked—and make him a -good one!"</p> - -<p>Keeler, the new security attaché, was a crisp-looking man in his early -thirties. He reported directly to Walton as soon as he reached the -building.</p> - -<p>"You're Sellors' replacement, eh? Glad to see you, Keeler." Walton -studied him. He looked tough and hard and thoroughly incorruptible. -"I've a couple of jobs I'd like you to start on right away. First, you -know Sellors was looking for a man named Lamarre. Let me fill you in on -that, and—"</p> - -<p>"No need for that," Keeler said. "I was the man Sellors put on the -Lamarre chase. There isn't a trace of him anywhere. We've got feelers -out all over the planet now, and no luck."</p> - -<p>"Hmm." Walton was mildly annoyed; he had been wishfully hoping Sellors -had found Lamarre and had simply covered up the fact. But if Keeler had -been the one who handled the search, there was no hope of that.</p> - -<p>"All right," Walton said. "Keep on the hunt for Lamarre. At the moment -I want you to give this building a thorough scouring. There's no -telling how many spy pickups Sellors planted here. Top to bottom, and -report back to me when the job is done."</p> - -<p>Next on Walton's schedule was a call from communications. He received -it and a technician told him, "There's been a call from the Venus ship. -Do you want it, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Of course!"</p> - -<p>"It says, 'Arrived Venus June fifteen late, no sign of Lang outfit yet. -Well keep looking and will report daily.' It's signed, 'Spencer.'"</p> - -<p>"Okay," Walton said. "Thanks. And if any further word from them comes, -let me have it right away."</p> - -<p>The fate of the Lang expedition, Walton reflected, was not of immediate -importance. But he would like to know what had happened to the group. -He hoped Spencer and his rescue mission had something more concrete to -report tomorrow.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed. "Dr. Frederic Walton is on the line, sir. He -says it's urgent."</p> - -<p>"Okay," Walton said. He switched over and waited for his brother's face -to appear on the screen. A nervous current of anticipation throbbed in -him.</p> - -<p>"Well, Fred?" he asked at length.</p> - -<p>"You've been a busy little bee, haven't you?" Fred said. "I understand -you have a new security chief to watch over you."</p> - -<p>"I don't have time to make conversation now," Walton snapped.</p> - -<p>"Nor do I. You fooled us badly, with that newsbreak on Sellors. You -forced us into wiping out a useful contact prematurely."</p> - -<p>"Not so useful," Walton said. "I was on to him. If you hadn't killed -him, I would have had to handle the job myself. You saved me the -trouble."</p> - -<p>"My, my! Getting ruthless, aren't we!"</p> - -<p>"When the occasion demands," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"Fair enough. We'll play the same way." Fred's eyes narrowed. "You -recall our conversation in the Bronze Room the other day, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"Vividly."</p> - -<p>"I've called to ask for your decision," Fred said. "One way or the -other."</p> - -<p>Walton was caught off guard. "But you said I had a week's grace!"</p> - -<p>"The period has been halved," Fred said. "We now see it's necessary to -accelerate things."</p> - -<p>"Tell me what you want me to do. Then I'll give you my answer."</p> - -<p>"It's simple enough. You're to resign in my favor. If it's not done -by nightfall tomorrow, we'll find it necessary to release the Lamarre -serum. Those are our terms, and don't try to bargain with me."</p> - -<p>Walton was silent for a moment, contemplating his brother's cold face -on the screen. Finally he said, "It takes time to get such things done. -I can't just resign overnight."</p> - -<p>"FitzMaugham did."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes—if you call that a resignation. But unless you want to -inherit the same sort of chaos I did, you'd better give me a little -time to prepare things."</p> - -<p>Fred's eyes gleamed. "Does that mean you'll yield? You'll resign in my -favor?"</p> - -<p>"There's no guarantee the UN will accept you," Walton warned. "Even -with my recommendation, I can't promise a one hundred percent chance of -success."</p> - -<p>"We'll have to risk it," said Fred. "The important step is getting you -out of there. When can I have confirmation of all this?"</p> - -<p>Walton eyed his brother shrewdly. "Come up to my office tomorrow at -this time. I'll have everything set up for you by then, and I'll be -able to show you how the Popeek machinery works. That's one advantage -you'll have over me. FitzMaugham kept half the workings in his head."</p> - -<p>Fred grinned savagely. "I'll see you then, Roy." Chuckling, he added, -"I knew all that ruthlessness of yours was just skin deep. You never -were tough, Roy."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Walton glanced at his watch after Fred had left the screen. The time -was 1100. It had been a busy morning.</p> - -<p>But some of the vaguenesses were beginning to look sharper. He knew, -for instance, that Sellors had been in the pay of the same organization -that backed Fred. Presumably, this meant that FitzMaugham had been -assassinated by the landed gentry.</p> - -<p>But for what reason? Surely, not simply for the sake of assassination. -Had they cared to, they might have killed FitzMaugham whenever they -pleased.</p> - -<p>He saw now why the assassination had been timed as it had. By the time -the conspirators had realized that Walton was sure to be the old man's -successor, Fred had already joined their group. They had ready leverage -on the prospective director. They knew they could shove him out of -office almost as quickly as he got in, and supplant him with their -puppet, Fred.</p> - -<p>Well, they were in for a surprise. Fred was due to appear at Walton's -office at 1100 on the morning of the seventeenth to take over command. -Walton planned to be ready for them by then.</p> - -<p>There was the matter of Lamarre. Walton wanted the little scientist and -his formula badly. But by this time Fred had certainly made at least -one copy of Lamarre's documents; the threat would remain, whether or -not Popeek recovered the originals.</p> - -<p>Walton had twenty-four hours to act. He called up Sue Llewellyn, -Popeek's comptroller.</p> - -<p>"Sue, how's our budget looking?"</p> - -<p>"What's on your mind, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"Plenty. I want to know if I can make an expenditure of—say, a -billion, between now and nightfall."</p> - -<p>"A <i>billion</i>? You joking, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"Hardly." Walton's tone was grim. "I hope I won't need it all. But -there's a big purchase I want to make ... an investment. Can you -squeeze out the money? It doesn't matter where you squeeze it from, -either, because if we don't get it by nightfall there probably won't be -a Popeek by the day after tomorrow."</p> - -<p>"What <i>are</i> you talking about, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"Give me a yes or no answer. And if the answer's not the one I want to -hear, I'm afraid you can start looking for a new job, Sue."</p> - -<p>She uttered a little gasp. Then she said, "Okay, Roy. I'll play along -with you, even if it bankrupts us. There's a billion at your disposal -as of now, though Lord knows what I'll use for a payroll next week."</p> - -<p>"You'll have it back," Walton promised. "With compound interest."</p> - -<p>His next call was to a man he had once dealt with in his capacity of -secretary to Senator FitzMaugham. He was Noel Hervey, a registered -securities and exchange slyster.</p> - -<p>Hervey was a small, worried-looking little man, but his unflickering -eyes belied his ratty appearance. "What troubles you, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"I want you to make a stock purchase for me, pronto. Within an hour, -say?"</p> - -<p>Hervey shook his head instantly. "Sorry, Roy. I'm all tied up on a hefty -monorail deal. Won't be free until Wednesday or Thursday, if by then."</p> - -<p>Walton said, "What sort of money will you be making on this big deal of -yours, Noel?"</p> - -<p>"Confidential! You wouldn't invade a man's privacy on a delicate matter -like—"</p> - -<p>"Will it be worth five million dollars for you, Noel?"</p> - -<p>"Five million—hey, is this a gag?"</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully serious," Walton said. "I want you to swing a deal for me, -right away. You've heard my price."</p> - -<p>Hervey smiled warmly. "Well, start talking, friend. Consider me hired."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A few other matters remained to be tended to hurriedly. Walton spent -some moments talking to a communications technician, then sent out an -order for three or four technical books—<i>Basic Kaleidowhirl Theory</i> -and related works. He sent a note to Lee Percy requesting him to stop -by and see him in an hour, and told his annunciator that for no reason -whatsoever was he to be disturbed for the next sixty minutes.</p> - -<p>The hour passed rapidly; by its end, Walton's head was slightly -dizzy from too much skimming, but his mind was thrumming with new -possibilities, with communications potentials galore. Talk about -reaching people! He had a natural!</p> - -<p>He flipped on the annunciator. "Is Mr. Percy here yet?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. Should I send for him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. He's due here any minute to see me. Have there been any calls?"</p> - -<p>"Quite a few. I've relayed them down to Mr. Eglin's office, as -instructed."</p> - -<p>"Good girl," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Percy's here. And there's a call for you from communications."</p> - -<p>Walton frowned. "Tell Percy to wait outside a minute or two. Give me -the call."</p> - -<p>The communications tech on the screen was grinning excitedly. He said, -"Subspace message just came in for you, sir."</p> - -<p>"From Venus?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. From Colonel McLeod."</p> - -<p>"Let's have it," Walton said.</p> - -<p>The technician read, "'To Walton from McLeod, via subspace radio: Have -made successful voyage to Procyon system, and am on way back with -Dirnan ambassador on board. See you soon, and good luck—you'll need -it.'"</p> - -<p>"Good. That all?"</p> - -<p>"That's all, sir."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Keep me posted." He broke contact and turned to the annunciator. -Excitement put a faint quiver in his voice. "You can send in Mr. Percy -now," he said.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XV" id="XV">XV</a></h2> - - -<p>Walton looked up at the public relations man and said, "How much do you -know about kaleidowhirls, Lee?"</p> - -<p>"Not a hell of a lot. I never watch the things, myself. They're bad for -the eyes."</p> - -<p>Walton smiled. "That makes you a nonconformist, doesn't it? According -to the figures I have here, the nightly kaleidowhirl programs are -top-ranked on the rating charts."</p> - -<p>"Maybe so," Percy said cautiously. "I still don't like to watch them. -What goes, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"I've suddenly become very interested in kaleidowhirls myself," Walton -said. He leaned back and added casually, "I think they can be used as -propaganda devices. My brother's reaction to one gave me the idea, -couple days ago, at the Bronze Room. For the past hour or so, I've been -studying kaleidowhirls in terms of information theory. Did you know -that it's possible to get messages across via kaleidowhirl?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," Percy gasped. "But the Communications Commission would -never let you get away with it!"</p> - -<p>"By the time the Communications Commission found out what had been -done," Walton said calmly, "we wouldn't be doing it any more. They -won't be able to prove a thing." Sarcastically he added, "After -spending a lifetime in public relations, you're not suddenly getting a -rush of ethics, are you?"</p> - -<p>"Well ... let's have the details, then."</p> - -<p>"Simple enough," Walton said. "We feed through a verbal -message—something like <i>Hooray for Popeek</i> or <i>I Don't Want War With -Dirna</i>. We flash it on the screen for, say, a microsecond, then cover -it up with kaleidowhirl patterns. Wait two minutes, then flash it -again. Plenty of noise, but the signal will get through if we flash it -often enough."</p> - -<p>"And it'll get through deep down," Percy said. "Subliminally. They -won't even realize that they're being indoctrinated, but suddenly -they'll have a new set of opinions about Popeek and Dirna!" He -shuddered. "Roy, I hate to think what can happen if someone else gets -to thinking about this and puts on his own kaleidowhirl show."</p> - -<p>"I've thought of that. After the Dirna crisis is over—after we've put -over our point—I'm going to take steps to make sure no one can use -this sort of weapon again. I'm going to frame someone into putting on a -propaganda kaleidowhirl, and then catch him in the act. That ought to -be sufficient to wise up the Communications Commission."</p> - -<p>"In other words," Percy said, "you're willing to use this technique -<i>now</i>. But since you don't want anyone else to use it, you're willing -to give up future use of it yourself as soon as the Dirna trouble is -over."</p> - -<p>"Exactly." Walton shoved the stack of textbooks over to the PR man. -"Read these through first. Get yourself familiar with the setup. Then -buy a kaleidowhirl hour and get a bunch of our engineers in there to -handle the special inserts. Okay?"</p> - -<p>"It's nasty, but I like it. When do you want the program to begin?"</p> - -<p>"Tomorrow. Tonight, if you can work it. And set up a poll of some kind -to keep check on the program's effectiveness. I want two messages -kaleidowhirled alternately: one supporting Popeek, one demanding a -peaceful settlement with the aliens. Have your pulse takers feel out -the populace on those two propositions, and report any fluctuation to -me immediately."</p> - -<p>"Got it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, one more thing. I suspect you'll have some extra responsibilities -as of tomorrow, Lee."</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>"Your office will have one additional medium to deal with. Telefax. I'm -buying <i>Citizen</i> and we're going to turn it into a pro-Popeek rag."</p> - -<p>Percy's mouth dropped in astonishment; then he started to laugh. -"You're a wonder, Roy. A genuine wonder."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Moments after Percy departed, Noel Hervey, the security and exchange -slyster, called.</p> - -<p>"Well?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>Hervey looked preoccupied. "I've successfully spent a couple of hundred -million of Popeek's money in the last half-hour, Roy. You now own the -single biggest block of <i>Citizen</i> stock there is."</p> - -<p>"How much is that?"</p> - -<p>"One hundred fifty-two thousand shares. Approximately thirty-three -percent."</p> - -<p>"Thirty-three percent! What about the other eighteen percent?"</p> - -<p>"Patience, lad, patience. I know my job. I snapped up all the small -holdings there were, very quietly. It cost me a pretty penny to farm -out the purchases, too."</p> - -<p>"Why'd you do that?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Because this has to be handled very gingerly. You know the ownership -setup of <i>Citizen</i>?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Well, it goes like this: Amalgamated Telefax owns a twenty-six percent -chunk, and Horace Murlin owns twenty-five percent. Since Murlin also -owns Amalgamated, he votes fifty-one percent of the stock, even though -it isn't registered that way. The other forty-nine percent doesn't -matter, Murlin figures. So I'm busy gathering up as much of it as I -can for you—under half a dozen different brokerage names. I doubt -that I can get it all, but I figure on rounding up at least forty-nine -percent. Then I'll approach Murlin with a Big Deal and sucker him into -selling me six percent of his <i>Citizen</i> stock. He'll check around, find -out that the remaining stock is splintered ninety-seven different ways, -and he'll probably let go of a little of his, figuring he still has -control."</p> - -<p>"Suppose he doesn't?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Don't worry," Hervey said confidently. "He will. I've got a billion -smackers to play with, don't I? I'll cook up a deal so juicy he can't -resist it—and all he'll have to do to take a flyer will be to peel off -a little of his <i>Citizen</i> stock. The second he does that, I transfer -all the fragmented stock to you. With your controlling majority of -fifty-one percent, you boot Murlin off the Board, and the telefax sheet -is yours! Simple? Clear?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly," Walton said. "Okay. Keep in touch."</p> - -<p>He broke contact and walked to the window. The street was packed with -people scrambling in every direction, like so many ants moving at -random over the ground. Many of them clutched telefax sheets—and the -most popular one was the <i>Citizen</i>. Many of them would gape and goggle -at kaleidowhirl programs, come evening.</p> - -<p>Walton suddenly tightened his fist. In just that way, he thought, -Popeek was tightening its hold on the public by capturing the mass -media. If Hervey's confidence had any justification in truth, they -would own the leading anti-Popeek telefax sheet by tomorrow. With -subtle handling over the course of several days, they could swing -the slant of <i>Citizen</i> around to a pro-Popeek stand, and do it so -surreptitiously that it would seem as though the sheet had never had -any other policy.</p> - -<p>As for the kaleidowhirl subterfuge—that, Walton admitted, was hitting -below the belt. But he had resolved that all would be fair during the -current crisis. There would be time enough for morality after war had -been averted.</p> - -<p>At about 1430 that day, Walton took advantage of a lull in activities -to have a late lunch at the Bronze Room. He felt that he had to get -away from the confining walls of his office for at least some part of -the afternoon.</p> - -<p>The Bronze Room had adopted cerise as its color scheme for the day. -Walton selected a private room, lunched lightly on baked chlorella -steak and filtered rum, and dialed a twelve-minute nap. When the alarm -system in the foamweb couch stirred him to wakefulness, he stretched -happily, some of the choking tension having been washed out of him.</p> - -<p>Thoughtfully, he switched on the electroluminescent kaleidoscope and -stared at it. It worked on the same principle as the kaleidowhirl -programs beamed over the public video, except that the Bronze Room -provided closed-channel beaming of its own kaleidoscopic patterns; -tending more to soft greens and pale rose, they were on a higher -esthetic plane, certainly, than the jagged, melodramatic purples and -reds the video channels sent out for popular consumption.</p> - -<p>But it was with a certain new apprehension that Walton now studied the -kaleidoscopic pattern. Now that he knew what a dangerous weapon the -flashing colors could be, how could he be certain that the Bronze Room -proprietors were not flashing some scarcely seen subliminal command at -him this very moment?</p> - -<p>He turned the set off with a brusque gesture.</p> - -<p><i>The ends justify the means.</i> A nice homily, he thought, which allowed -him to do almost anything. It brought to mind the rationale of Ivan -Karamazov: without God, everything is permissible.</p> - -<p>But both God and Dostoevski seem to be obsolete these days, he reminded -himself. God is now a lean young man with an office on the twenty-ninth -floor of the Cullen Building—and as for Dostoevski, all he did was -write books, and therefore could not have been of any great importance.</p> - -<p>He felt a tremor of self-doubt. Maybe it had been unwise to let -kaleidowhirl propaganda loose on the world; once unleashed, it might -not be so easily caged again. He realized that as soon as the Popeek -campaign was over, he would have to make sure some method was devised -for pre-checking all public and closed-channel kaleidoscopic patterns.</p> - -<p>The most damnable part of such propaganda techniques, he knew, was that -you could put over almost any idea at all without arousing suspicion on -the part of the viewer. He wouldn't know he'd been tampered with; you -could tell him so, after the new idea had been planted, and by then he -wouldn't believe you.</p> - -<p>Walton dialed another filtered rum, and lifted it to his lips with a -slightly shaky hand.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Mr. Ludwig of the United Nations called while you were out, sir," -Walton was told upon returning to his office. "He'd like you to call -him back."</p> - -<p>"Very well. Make the connection for me."</p> - -<p>When Ludwig appeared, Walton said, "Sorry I missed your call. What's -happening?"</p> - -<p>"Special session of the Security Council just broke up. They passed -a resolution unanimously and shipped it on to the Assembly. There's -going to be an immediate hearing to determine the new permanent head of -Popeek."</p> - -<p>Walton clamped his lips together. After a moment he said, "How come?"</p> - -<p>"The Dirnan crisis. They don't want a mere interim director handling -things. They feel the man dealing with the aliens ought to have full UN -blessing."</p> - -<p>"Should I interpret that to mean I get the job automatically?"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't swear to it," said Ludwig. "General consensus certainly -favors you to continue. I'd advise that you show up at the hearing in -person and present your program in detail; otherwise they may stick -some smooth-talking politico in your place. The noise is slated to -start at 1100, day after tomorrow. The eighteenth."</p> - -<p>"I'll be there," Walton said. "Thanks for the tip."</p> - -<p>He chewed the end of his stylus for a moment, then hastily scribbled -down the appointment. As of now, he knew he couldn't worry too strongly -about events taking place the day after tomorrow—not with Fred -arriving for a show-down the next morning.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next day began busily enough. Hervey was the first to call.</p> - -<p>"The <i>Citizen's</i> sewed up, Roy! I had dinner with Murlin last night and -weaseled him out of four percent of <i>Citizen</i> stock in exchange for a -fancy tip on the new monorail project out Nevada way. He was grinning -all over the place—but I'll bet he's grinning out of the other side of -his mouth this morning."</p> - -<p>"Is it all arranged?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"In the bag. I was up by 0700 and consolidating my holdings—<i>your</i> -holdings, I mean. Forty-seven percent of the stock I had fragmented in -a dozen different outfits; the other two percent outstanding belonged -to rich widows who wouldn't sell. I lumped the forty-seven percent -together in your name, then completed the transfer on Murlin's four -percent and stuck that in there too. <i>Citizen</i> telefax is now the -property of Popeek, Roy!"</p> - -<p>"Fine work. How much did it cost?"</p> - -<p>Then he said, "Four hundred eighty-three million and some change. Plus -my usual five percent commission, which in this case comes to about two -and a quarter million."</p> - -<p>"But I offered you five million," Walton said. "That offer still goes."</p> - -<p>"You want me to lose my license? I spend years placing bribes to get a -slyster's license, and you want me to throw it away for an extra couple -million? Uh-uh. I'll settle for two and a quarter, and damn good doing -I call that for a day's work."</p> - -<p>Walton grinned. "You win. And Sue Llewellyn will be glad to know it -didn't cost the whole billion to grab <i>Citizen</i>. You'll be over with -the papers, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"About 1000," the slyster said. "I've gotta follow through for Murlin -on his monorail deal first. The poor sucker! See you in an hour."</p> - -<p>"Right."</p> - -<p>Rapidly Walton scribbled memos. As soon as the papers were in his -hands, he'd serve notice on Murlin that a stock-holders' meeting was -to be held at once. After that, he'd depose Murlin, fire the present -<i>Citizen</i> editors, and pack the telefax sheet with men loyal to Popeek.</p> - -<p>Fred was due at 1100. Walton buzzed Keeler, the new security chief, and -said, "Keeler, I have an appointment with someone at 1100. I want you -to station three men outside my door and frisk him for weapons as he -comes in."</p> - -<p>"We'd do that anyway, sir. It's standard procedure now."</p> - -<p>"Good. But I want you to be one of the three. And make sure the two who -come with you are tight-mouthed. I don't want <i>any</i> newsbreaks on this."</p> - -<p>"Right, sir."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Be there about 1050 or so. About 1115, I'm going to press -my door opener, and I want you and your men to break in, arrest my -visitor, and spirit him off to the deepest dungeon security has. And -leave him there. If Martinez wants to know what's going on, tell him -I'll take responsibility."</p> - -<p>Keeler looked vaguely puzzled, but merely nodded. "We frisk him first, -then let him talk to you for fifteen minutes. Then we come in on signal -and take him away. I've got it."</p> - -<p>"This man's a dangerous anti-Popeek conspirator. Make sure he's drugged -before he gets out of my office. I don't want him making noise."</p> - -<p>The annunciator sounded. "Man from communications has a message for -you, Mr. Walton."</p> - -<p>He switched over from Keeler to communications and said, "Go ahead."</p> - -<p>"From McLeod, Mr. Walton. We just got it. It says, 'Arriving Nairobi on -the 18th, will be in your office with Dirnan following morning if he -feels like making the trip. Otherwise will you come to Nairobi?'"</p> - -<p>"Tell him yes, if necessary," Walton said.</p> - -<p>He glanced at his watch. 0917. It looked like it was going to be hectic -all day.</p> - -<p>And Fred was due at 1100.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI">XVI</a></h2> - - -<p>Hervey showed up at 1003, grinning broadly. He unfolded a thick wad of -documents and thrust them at Walton.</p> - -<p>"I hold in my hand the world's most potent telefax sheet," Hervey said. -He flipped the documents casually onto Walton's desk and laughed. -"They're all yours. Fifty-one percent, every bit of it voting stock. -I told Murlin about it just before I left him this morning. He turned -purple."</p> - -<p>"What did he say?"</p> - -<p>"What <i>could</i> he say? I asked him offhandedly if he knew where all the -outstanding <i>Citizen</i> stock was, and he said yes, it was being held by -a lot of small holders. And then I told him that somebody was buying -out the small holders, and that I was selling my four percent to him. -That's when he started to change colors. When I left he was busy making -phone calls, but I don't think he'll like what he's going to find out."</p> - -<p>Walton riffled through the papers. "It's all here, eh? Fine work. I'll -put through your voucher in half an hour or so, unless you're in a -hurry."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't rush," Hervey said. He ran a finger inside his collar. -"Couple of security boys outside, y'know. They really gave me a -going-over."</p> - -<p>"I'm expecting an assassin at 1100," Walton said lightly. "They're on -the lookout."</p> - -<p>"Oh? A close friend?"</p> - -<p>"A relative," Walton said.</p> - -<p>Fred arrived promptly at 1100. By that time Walton had already set the -machinery in operation for the taking-over of <i>Citizen</i>.</p> - -<p>The first step had been to call Horace Murlin and confirm the fact that -Popeek now owned the telefax sheet. Murlin's fleshy face was a curious -shade of rose-purple; he sputtered at Walton for five minutes before -admitting he was beaten.</p> - -<p>With Murlin out of the way, Walton selected a new editorial staff for -the paper from a list Percy supplied. He intended to keep the reporting -crew of the old regime intact; <i>Citizen</i> had a fantastically efficient -newsgathering team, and there was no point in breaking it up. It was -the policy-making level Walton was interested in controlling.</p> - -<p>The 1000 edition of <i>Citizen</i> was the last under the old editors. They -had received word from Murlin about what had happened, and by 1030, -when Walton sent his dismissal notices over, they were already cleaning -out their desks.</p> - -<p>That 1000 edition was a beauty, though. The lead headline read:</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>ARE WE CHUMPS FOR THE GREENSKINS?</i></p> - -<p>And most of the issue was devoted to inflammatory pro-war anti-Popeek -journalism. A full page of "letters from the readers"—actually -transcribed phone calls, since few of <i>Citizen's</i> readers were -interested in writing letters—echoed the editorial stand. One "letter" -in particular caught Walton's attention.</p> - -<p>It was from a Mrs. P.F. of New York City Environ, which probably meant -Jersey or lower Connecticut, and it was short and to the point:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>To the Editor</i>—</p> - -<p><i>Horray for you. Popeek is a damned crime and that Walton criminal -ought to be put away and we ought to kill those greenskins up there -before they kill us. We gotta have room to live.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p><i>Kill them before they kill us.</i> Walton snickered. All the old -hysterias, the old panic reactions, come boiling up again in times of -stress.</p> - -<p>He looked at his hand. It was perfectly steady, even though his wrist -watch told him Fred would be here in just a few minutes. A week ago, a -situation like this would have had him gobbling benzolurethrin as fast -as he could unwrap the lozenges.</p> - -<p>The ghostly presence of FitzMaugham seemed to hover in the room. <i>The -ends justify the means</i>, Walton told himself grimly, as he waited for -his brother to arrive.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Fred was dressed completely in black, from his stylish neo-Victorian -waistcoat and the bit of ribbon at his throat to the mirror-bright -leather pumps on his feet. The splendor of his clothing was curiously -at odds with the coarseness of his features and the stockiness of his -body.</p> - -<p>He walked into Walton's office at the stroke of 1100 and sighed -deeply—the sigh of a man about to take permanent possession. "Good -morning, Roy. I'm on time, as always."</p> - -<p>"And looking radiant, my dear brother." Walton gestured appreciatively -at Fred's clothes. "It's been a long time since I've seen you in -anything but your lab smock."</p> - -<p>"I gave notice at the lab yesterday night after I spoke to you. I'm -no longer an employee of Popeek. And I felt I should dress with the -dignity suitable to my new rank." He grinned buoyantly. "Well, ready to -turn over the orb and scepter, Roy?"</p> - -<p>"Not exactly," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"But—"</p> - -<p>"But I promised you I'd resign in your favor today, Fred. I don't think -I ever used those words, but I certainly implied it, didn't I?"</p> - -<p>"Of course you did. You told me to come here at 1100 and you'd arrange -the transfer."</p> - -<p>Walton nodded. "Exactly so." He waited a long moment and then said -quietly, "I lied, Fred."</p> - -<p>He had chosen the words carefully, for maximum impact. He had not -chosen wrongly.</p> - -<p>For a brief instant Fred's face was very pale against the blackness of -his garb. Total disbelief flickered across his eyes and mouth.</p> - -<p>Walton had considered his brother's mental picture of him—the elder -brother, virtuous, devoted to hard work, kind to animals, and just a -little soft in the head. Also, extremely honest.</p> - -<p>Fred hadn't expected Walton to be lying. And the calm admission stunned -him.</p> - -<p>"You're not planning to go through with it, then?" Fred asked in a dead -voice.</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"You realize what this means in terms of the serum, don't you? The -moment I get out of here and transmit your refusal to my employers, -they'll begin wholesale manufacture and distribution of the Lamarre -serum. The publicity won't be good, Roy. Nor the result."</p> - -<p>"You won't get out of here," Walton said.</p> - -<p>Another shock wave rippled over Fred's face. "You can't be serious, -Roy. My employers know where I am; they know what I'm here for. If they -don't hear from me within twenty-four hours, they'll proceed with serum -distribution. You can't hope to—"</p> - -<p>"I'll risk it," Walton interrupted. "If nothing else, I'll have a -twenty-four extension. You didn't really think I could hand Popeek over -to you on a platter, Fred? Why, I don't even know how secure my <i>own</i> -position is here. So I'm afraid I'll have to back down on my offer. -You're under arrest, Fred!"</p> - -<p>"<i>Arrest!</i>" Fred sprang from his seat and circled around the desk -toward Walton. For a moment the two brothers stared at each other, -faces inches apart. Walton put one hand on his brother's shoulder and, -gripping tightly, forced him around to the front of the desk.</p> - -<p>"You had this all planned, didn't you?" Fred said bitterly. "Yesterday, -when you talked to me, you knew this was what you were going to do. -But you said you'd yield, and I believed you! I don't fool easy, but I -thought I had you pegged because you were my brother. I <i>knew</i> you. You -wouldn't do a sneaky thing like this."</p> - -<p>"But I did," Walton said.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, Fred jumped. He charged at Walton blindly, head down.</p> - -<p>In the same motion, Walton signaled for Keeler and his men to break -in, and met Fred's charge. He caught his brother in midstride with a -swinging punch that sent his head cracking back sharply.</p> - -<p>Fred's face twisted and writhed, more in astonishment than pain. He -stepped back, rubbing his chin. "You've changed," he said. "This job's -made you tough. A year ago you would never have done this to me."</p> - -<p>Walton shrugged. "Look behind you, Fred. And this time you can trust -me."</p> - -<p>Fred turned warily. Keeler and two other gray-clad security men stood -there.</p> - -<p>"Drug him and take him away," Walton said. "Have him held in custody -until I notify Martinez."</p> - -<p>Fred's eyes widened. "You're a <i>dictator</i>!" he said hoarsely. "You just -move people around like chessmen, Roy. Like chessmen."</p> - -<p>"Drug him," Walton repeated.</p> - -<p>Keeler stepped forward, a tiny hypodermic spray cupped in his hand. -He activated it with a twitch of his thumb and touched it to Fred's -forearm. A momentary hum droned in the office as the vibrating spray -forced the drug into Fred's arm.</p> - -<p>He slumped like an empty sack. "Pick him up," Keeler ordered. "Take him -and let's get going."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The story broke in the 1300 edition of <i>Citizen</i>, and from the general -tone of the piece Walton could see the fine hand of Lee Percy at work.</p> - -<p>The headline was:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="ph4"><i>GUY TRIES TO KNOCK OFF POPEEK HEAD</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>After the usual string of subheads, all in the cheerful, breezy, barely -literate <i>Citizen</i> style, came the body of the story:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>A guy tried to bump Popeek top number Roy Walton today. Security men -got there in time to keep Walton from getting the same finisher as -dead Popeek boss FitzMaugham got last week.</i></p> - -<p><i>Walton says he's all right; the assassin didn't even come close. He -also told our man that he expects good news on the New Earth bit soon. -We like the sound of those words. Popeek may be with the stream after -all. Who knows?</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>The voice was that of <i>Citizen</i>, but the man behind the voice was -thinking a little differently. Had the previous editors of <i>Citizen</i> -been handling the break, the prevailing tone would most likely have -been too-bad-he-missed.</p> - -<p>Walton called Percy after the edition came out. "Nice job you did on -our first <i>Citizen</i>," he said approvingly. "It's just what I want: same -illiterate style, but a slow swerving of editorial slant until it's -completely pro-Popeek."</p> - -<p>"Wait till you see tomorrow's paper. We're just getting the hang of -it! And we'll have our first kaleidowhirl show at 2000 tonight. Cost a -fortune to buy in, but we figured that's the best hour."</p> - -<p>"What's the buried message?"</p> - -<p>"As you said," Percy told him. "A pro-Popeek job and some pacifist -stuff. We've got a team of pollsters out now, and they say the -current's predominantly going the other way. We'll be able to tell if -the kaleidowhirl stuff works out, all right."</p> - -<p>"Keep up the good work," Walton said. "We'll get there yet. The alien -isn't due to arrive for another day or so—McLeod gets into Nairobi -tomorrow some time. I'm going to testify before the UN tomorrow, too. I -hope those UN boys are watching our pretty color patterns tonight."</p> - -<p>Percy grinned. "Boy, you bet!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Walton threw himself energetically into his work. It was taking shape, -now. There were still some loose ends, of course, but he was beginning -to feel that some end to the tangle of interlocking intrigues was in -sight.</p> - -<p>He checked with a public recreation director and discovered there would -be a block forum on West 382nd Street at 1830 that night. He made a -note to attend, and arranged to have a synthetic mask fashioned so he -wouldn't have to reveal his own identity.</p> - -<p>Twenty-four hours. In that time, Fred's employers would presumably -be readying themselves to loose Lamarre's serum on the world; an -extraterrestrial being would be landing on Earth—and, by then, Walton -would have been called to render an account of his stewardship before -the United Nations.</p> - -<p>The annunciator chimed again. "Yes?" Walton said.</p> - -<p>"Mr. O'Mealia of Mount Palomar Observatory, calling long distance to -talk to you, sir."</p> - -<p>"Put him on," Walton said puzzledly.</p> - -<p>O'Mealia was a red-faced individual with deep-set, compelling eyes. -He introduced himself as a member of the research staff at Mount -Palomar. "Glad I could finally reach you," he said, in a staccato burst -of words. "Been trying to call for an hour. Made some early-morning -observations of Venus a little while ago, and I thought you'd be -interested."</p> - -<p>"Venus? What?"</p> - -<p>"Cloud blanket looks awfully funny, Mr. Walton. Blazing away like -sixty. Got the whole staff down here to discuss it, and the way it -looks to us there's some sort of atomic chain-reaction going on in -Venus' atmosphere. I think it's those terraforming men you Popeek folk -have up there. I think they've blown the whole place up!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII">XVII</a></h2> - - -<p>Walton stepped off the jetbus at Broadway and West 382nd Street, paused -for a moment beneath a street lamp, and fingered his chin to see if his -mask were on properly. It was.</p> - -<p>Three youths stood leaning against a nearby building. "Could you tell -me where the block meeting's being held?" Walton asked.</p> - -<p>"Down the street and turn left. You a telefax man?"</p> - -<p>"Just an interested citizen," Walton said. "Thanks for the directions."</p> - -<p>It was easy to see where the block meeting was; Walton saw streams of -determined-looking men and women entering a bulky old building just off -382nd Street. He joined them and found himself carried along into the -auditorium.</p> - -<p>Nervously he found a seat. The auditorium was an old one, predominantly -dark brown and cavernous, with row after row of hard wooden folding -chairs. Someone was adjusting a microphone on stage. A sharp metallic -whine came over the public-address system.</p> - -<p>"Testing. Testing, one two three...."</p> - -<p>"It's all right, Max!" someone yelled from the rear. Walton didn't turn -around to look.</p> - -<p>A low undercurrent of murmuring was audible. It was only 1815; the -meeting was not due to start for another fifteen minutes, but the hall -was nearly full, with more than a thousand of the local residents -already on hand.</p> - -<p>The fifteen minutes passed slowly. Walton listened carefully to the -conversations around him; no one was discussing the Venus situation. -Apparently his cloud of censorship had been effective. He had -instructed Percy to keep all word of the disaster from the public -until the 2100 newsblares. By that time, the people would have been -exposed to the indoctrinating kaleidowhirl program at 2000, and their -reaction would be accordingly more temperate—he hoped.</p> - -<p>Also, releasing the news early would have further complicated the -survey Walton was trying to make by attending this public meeting. -The Index of Public Confusion increased factorially; one extra -consideration for discussion and Walton's task would be hopelessly -difficult.</p> - -<p>At exactly 1830, a tall, middle-aged man stepped out on the stage. He -seized the microphone as if it were a twig and said, "Hello, folks. -Glad to see you're all here tonight. This is an important meeting -for us all. In case some of you don't know me—and I do see some new -faces out there—I'm Dave Forman, president of the West 382nd Street -Association. I also run a little law business on the side, just to help -pay the rent." (Giggles.)</p> - -<p>"As usual in these meetings," Forman went on, "we'll have a brief -panel discussion, and then I'll throw the thing open to you folks for -floor discussion. The panelists tonight are people you all know—Sadie -Hargreave, Dominic Campobello, Rudi Steinfeld. Come on out here, folks."</p> - -<p>The panelists appeared on the stage diffidently. Sadie Hargreave was -a short, stout, fierce-looking little woman; Campobello was chunky, -balding, Steinfeld tall and ascetic. Walton was astonished that there -should be such camaraderie here. Was it all synthetic? It didn't seem -that way.</p> - -<p>He had always remained aloof, never mingling with his neighbors in -the gigantic project where he lived, never suspecting the existence -of community life on this scale. But, somehow, community life had -sprung up in this most Gargantuan of cities. Organizations within each -project, within each block perhaps, had arisen, converting New York -into an interlocking series of small towns. <i>I ought to investigate -the grass roots more often</i>, Walton thought. <i>Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid -having a night on the town.</i></p> - -<p>"Hello, folks," Sadie Hargreave said aggressively. "I'm glad I can -talk to you tonight. Gosh, I want to speak out. I think it's crazy to -let these thing-men from outer space push us around. I for one feel we -ought to take strong action against that space world."</p> - -<p>Cries of "Yeah! Yeah! Go to it, Sadie!" rose from the audience.</p> - -<p>Skillfully she presented three inflammatory arguments in favor of -war with Dirna, backing up each with a referent of high emotional -connotation. Walton watched her performance with growing admiration. -The woman was a born public relations technician. It was too bad she -was on the other side of the fence.</p> - -<p>He saw the effect she had: people were nodding in agreement, grimacing -vehemently, muttering to themselves. The mood of the meeting, he -gathered, was overwhelmingly in favor of war if Dirna did not yield New -Earth.</p> - -<p>Dominic Campobello began his address by inviting all and sundry to his -barber shop; this was greeted with laughter. Then he launched into a -discourse on Popeek as an enemy of mankind. A few catcalls, Walton -noted, but again chiefly approval. Campobello seemed sincere.</p> - -<p>The third man, Rudi Steinfeld, was a local music teacher. He, too, -spoke out against Popeek, though in a restrained, dryly intellectual -manner. People began yawning. Steinfeld cut his speech short.</p> - -<p>It was now 1900. In one hour Percy's kaleidowhirl program would be -screened.</p> - -<p>Walton stayed at the block meeting until 1930, listening to citizen -after citizen rise and heap curses upon Popeek, Dirna, or Walton, -depending on where his particular ire lay. At 1930 Walton rose and left -the hall.</p> - -<p>He phoned Percy. "I'm on West 382nd Street. Just attended a block -meeting. I'd say the prevailing sentiment runs about ninety percent -agin us. We don't have the people backing our program any more, Lee."</p> - -<p>"We never did. But I think we'll nail 'em now. The kaleidowhirl's ready -to go, and it's a honey. And I think <i>Citizen</i> will sell 'em too! We're -on our way, Roy."</p> - -<p>"I hope so," Walton said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He was unable to bring himself to watch Percy's program, even though he -reached his room in time that night. He knew there could be no harm in -watching—at least not for him—but the idea of voluntarily submitting -his mind to external tampering was too repugnant to accept.</p> - -<p>Instead he spent the hour dictating a report on the block meeting, for -benefit of his pollster staff. When he was done with that, he turned -to the 2100 edition of <i>Citizen</i>, which came clicking from the telefax -slot right on schedule.</p> - -<p>He had to look hard for the Venus story. Finally he found it tucked -away at the bottom of the sheet.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="ph4"><i>ACCIDENT ON VENUS</i></p> - -<p><i>A big blowup took place on the planet Venus earlier today. Sky-men -who watched the popoff say it was caused by an atomic explosion in the -planet's atmosphere.</i></p> - -<p><i>Meanwhile, attempts are being made to reach the team of Earth -engineers working on Venus. No word from them yet. They may be dead.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton chuckled. <i>They may be dead</i>, indeed! By now Lang and his team, -and the rescue mission as well, lay dead under showers of radioactive -formaldehyde, and Venus had been turned into a blazing hell ten times -less livable than it had been before.</p> - -<p>Percy had mishandled the news superbly. For one thing, he had -carefully neglected to link Lang with Popeek in any way. That was good -connotative thinking. It would be senseless to identify Popeek in the -public mind with disasters or fiascos of any kind.</p> - -<p>For another, the skimpy insignificance of the piece implied that it -had been some natural phenomenon that sent Venus up in flames, not the -fumbling attempts of the terraformers. Good handling there, too.</p> - -<p>Walton felt cheerful. He slept soundly, knowing that the public -consciousness was being properly shaped.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By 0900, when he arrived at his office, the pollsters had reported a -ten percent swing in public opinion, in the direction of Popeek and -Walton. At 1000, <i>Citizen</i> hit the slots with an extra announcing that -prospects for peaceful occupation of New Earth looked excellent. The -editorial praised Walton. The letters-to-the-editor column, carefully -fabricated by Lee Percy, showed a definite upswing of opinion.</p> - -<p>The trend continued, and it was contagious. By 1100, when Walton -left the Cullen Building and caught a jetcopter for United Nations -Headquarters, the pro-Popeek trend in public opinion was almost -overwhelming.</p> - -<p>The copter put down before the gleaming green-glass facade of UN -Headquarters; Walton handed the man a bill and went inside, where a -tense-faced Ludwig was waiting for him.</p> - -<p>"They started early," Ludwig said. "It's been going on since 1000."</p> - -<p>"How do things look?"</p> - -<p>"I'm puzzled, Roy. Couple of die-hards are screaming for your scalp, -but you're getting help from unexpected quarters. Old Mogens Snorreson -of Denmark suddenly got up and said it was necessary for the safety -of mankind that we give you a permanent appointment as director of -Popeek."</p> - -<p>"<i>Snorreson?</i> But hasn't he been the one who wanted me bounced?"</p> - -<p>Ludwig nodded. "That's what I mean. The climate is changing, definitely -changing. Ride the crest, Roy. The way things look now, you may end up -being swept into office for life."</p> - -<p>They entered the giant Assembly hall. At the dais, a black-faced man -with bright teeth was speaking.</p> - -<p>"Who's that?" Walton whispered.</p> - -<p>"Malcolm Nbono, the delegate from Ghana. He regards you as a sort of -saint for our times."</p> - -<p>Walton slipped into a seat in the gallery and said, "Let's listen from -here before we go down below. I want to catch my breath."</p> - -<p>The young man from Ghana was saying, "... Crisis points are common -to humanity. Many years ago, when my people came from their colonial -status and achieved independence, we learned that painstaking -negotiations and peaceful approaches are infinitely more efficacious -than frontal attack by violent means. In my eyes, Roy Walton is an -outstanding exponent of this philosophy. I urge his election as -director of the Bureau of Population Equalization."</p> - -<p>A heavy-bearded, ponderous man to Nbono's right shouted "Bravo!" at -that point, and added several thick Scandinavian expletives.</p> - -<p>"That's good old Mogens. The Dane really is on your side this morning," -Ludwig said.</p> - -<p>"Must have been watching the kaleidowhirl last night," Walton murmured.</p> - -<p>The delegate from Ghana concluded with a brief tremolo cadenza praising -Walton. Walton's eyes were a little moist; he hadn't realized he was a -saint. Nbono tacked on an abrupt coda and sat down.</p> - -<p>"All right," Walton said. "Let's go down there."</p> - -<p>They made a grand entrance. Ludwig took his seat behind the neon -<i>United States</i> sign, and Walton slid into the unoccupied seat to -Ludwig's right. A definite stir of interest was noticeable.</p> - -<p>The secretary-general was presiding—beady-eyed Lars Magnusson of -Sweden. "I see Mr. Walton of Popeek has arrived," he commented. "By a -resolution passed unanimously yesterday, we have invited Mr. Walton -this morning to address us briefly. Mr. Walton, would you care to speak -now?"</p> - -<p>"Thank you very much," Walton said. He rose.</p> - -<p>The delegates were staring at him with great interest ... and, -somewhere behind them, obscured by the bright lights of the cameras, -there were, he sensed, a vast multitude of onlookers peering at him -from the galleries.</p> - -<p>Onlookers who had seen Percy's kaleidowhirl last night, evidently. A -thunderous wave of applause swept down on him. <i>This is too easy</i>, he -thought. <i>That kaleidowhirl program seems to have hypnotized everybody.</i></p> - -<p>He moistened his lips.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Secretary-General, members of the Assembly, friends: I'm very -grateful for this chance to come before you on my own behalf. It's -my understanding that you are to choose a permanent successor to Mr. -FitzMaugham today. I offer myself as a candidate for that post."</p> - -<p>He had planned a long, impassioned, semantically loaded speech to sway -them, but the happenings thus far this morning convinced him it was -unnecessary. The kaleidowhirl had done the work for him.</p> - -<p>"My qualifications for the post should be apparent to all. I worked -with the late Director FitzMaugham during the formative days of -Popeek. Upon his death I succeeded to his post and have efficiently -maintained the operation of the Bureau during the eight days since his -assassination.</p> - -<p>"There are special circumstances which dictate my continuation -in office. Perhaps you know of the failure of our terraforming -experiments—the destruction of our outpost on Venus, and the permanent -damage done to that planet. The failure of this project makes it -imperative that we move outward to the stars to relieve our population -crisis."</p> - -<p>He took a deep breath. "In exactly four hours," he said, "a -representative of an alien race will land on Earth to confer with -the director of Popeek. I cannot stress too greatly the importance -of maintaining a continuity of thought and action within our Bureau. -Bluntly, it is essential that <i>I</i> be the one who deals with this alien. -I ask for your support. Thank you."</p> - -<p>He took his seat again. Ludwig was staring at him, aghast.</p> - -<p>"Roy! What kind of a speech was that? You can't just <i>demand</i> the job! -You've got to give reasons! You have to—"</p> - -<p>"Hush," Walton said. "Don't worry about it. Were you watching the -kaleidowhirls last night?"</p> - -<p>"Me? Of course not!"</p> - -<p>Walton grinned. "<i>They</i> were," he said, gesturing at the other -delegates. "I'm not worried."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII">XVIII</a></h2> - - -<p>Walton left the Assembly meeting about 1215, pleading urgent Popeek -business. The voting began at 1300, and half an hour later the result -was officially released.</p> - -<p>The 1400 <i>Citizen</i> was the first to carry the report.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="ph4"><i>WALTON ELECTED POPEEK HEAD</i></p> - -<p><i>The General Assembly of the United Nations gave Roy Walton a healthy -vote of confidence today. By a 95-0 vote, three abstaining, he was -picked to succeed the late D. F. FitzMaugham as Popeek czar. He has -held the post on a temporary basis for the past eight days.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton rang up Percy. "Who wrote that <i>Citizen</i> piece on me?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I did, chief. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Nicely done, but not enough sock. Get all those three-syllable words -out of it by the next edition. Get back to the old <i>Citizen</i> style of -jazzy writing."</p> - -<p>"We thought we'd brush it up a little now that you're in," Percy said.</p> - -<p>"No. That's dangerous. Keep to the old style, but revamp the content. -We're rolling along, now. What's new from the pollsters?"</p> - -<p>"Fifty percent swing to Popeek. You're the most popular man in the -country, as of noon. Churches are offering up prayers for you. There's -a move afoot to make you President of the United States in place of old -Lanson."</p> - -<p>"Let Lanson keep his job," Walton chuckled. "I'm not looking for any -figurehead jobs. I'm too young. When's the next <i>Citizen</i> due?"</p> - -<p>"At 1500. We're keeping up hourly editions until the crisis is over."</p> - -<p>Walton thought for a moment. "I think 1500's too early. The Dirnan -arrives in Nairobi at 1530 our time. I want a big splash in the 1600 -edition—but not a word before then!"</p> - -<p>"I'm with you," Percy said, and signed off.</p> - -<p>A moment later the annunciator said, "There's a closed-circuit call for -you from Batavia, sir."</p> - -<p>"From where?"</p> - -<p>"Batavia. Java."</p> - -<p>"Let's have it," Walton said.</p> - -<p>A fleshy face filled the screen, the face of a man who had lived a soft -life in a moist climate. A rumbling voice said, "You are Walton."</p> - -<p>"I am Walton."</p> - -<p>"I am Gaetano di Cassio. Pleased of making the acquaintance, Signor -Director Walton. I own rubber plantation in the area here."</p> - -<p>Walton's mind immediately clocked off the top name on the list of -landed proprietors Lassen had prepared for him:</p> - -<p><i>di Cassio, Gaetano. 57. Holdings estimated at better than a billion -and a quarter. Born Genoa 2175, settled in Amsterdam 2199. Purchased -large Java holding 2211.</i></p> - -<p>"What can I do for you, Mr. di Cassio?"</p> - -<p>The rubber magnate looked ill; his fleshy face was beaded with globules -of sweat. "Your brother," he grunted heavily. "Your brother worked for -me. I sent him to see you yesterday. He has not come back."</p> - -<p>"Indeed?" Walton shrugged. "There's a famous phrase I could use at this -point. I won't."</p> - -<p>"Make no flippancies," di Cassio said heavily. "Where is he?"</p> - -<p>Walton said, "In jail. Attempted coercion of a public official." He -realized di Cassio was twice as nervous and tense as he was.</p> - -<p>"You have jailed him," di Cassio repeated flatly. "Ah, I see. Jail." -The audio pickup brought in the sound of stertorous breathing. "Will -you not free him?" di Cassio asked.</p> - -<p>"I will not."</p> - -<p>"Did he not tell you what would happen if he would not be granted his -request?"</p> - -<p>"He told me," Walton said. "Well?"</p> - -<p>The fat man looked sick. Walton saw that the bluff was going to be -unsuccessful; that the conspirators would not dare put Lamarre's drug -into open production. It had been a weapon without weight, and Walton -had not let himself be cowed by it.</p> - -<p>"Well?" Walton repeated inflexibly.</p> - -<p>"You trouble me sorely," said di Cassio. "You give my heart pain, Mr. -Walton. Steps will have to be taken."</p> - -<p>"The Lamarre immortality serum—"</p> - -<p>The face on the screen turned a leaden gray. "The serum," di Cassio -said, "is not entered into this talking."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no? My brother Fred made a few remarks—"</p> - -<p>"Serum <i>non esiste</i>!"</p> - -<p>Walton smiled calmly. "A nonexistent serum," he said, "has, -unfortunately, nonexistent leverage against me. You don't scare me, di -Cassio. I've outbluffed you. Go take a walk around your plantation. -While you still have it, that is."</p> - -<p>"Steps will be taken," di Cassio said. But his malevolence was hollow. -Walton laughed and broke contact.</p> - -<p>He drew Lassen's list from his desk and inscribed a brief memo to Olaf -Eglin on it. These were the hundred biggest estates in the world. -Within a week, there would be equalized Japanese living on all of them.</p> - -<p>He called Martinez of security. "I've ordered my brother Fred remanded -to your care," he said.</p> - -<p>"I know." The security man sounded peeved. "We can't hold a man -indefinitely, not even on your say-so, Director Walton."</p> - -<p>"The charge is conspiracy," Walton said. "Conspiracy against the -successful operation of Popeek. I'll have a list of the ringleaders on -your desk in half an hour. I want them rounded up, given a thorough -psyching, and jailed."</p> - -<p>"There are times," Martinez said slowly, "when I suspect you exceed -your powers, Director Walton. But send me the list and I'll have the -arrests made."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The afternoon crawled. Walton proceeded with routine work on half -a dozen fronts, held screened conferences with each of his section -chiefs, read reports augmenting what he already knew of the Venus -disaster, and gobbled a few benzolurethrin tranquilizers.</p> - -<p>He called Keeler and learned that no sign of Lamarre had come to -light yet. From Percy he discovered that <i>Citizen</i> had added two -hundred thousand subscribers overnight. The 1500 edition had a lengthy -editorial praising Walton, and some letters that Percy swore were -genuine, doing the same.</p> - -<p>At 1515 Olaf Eglin called to announce that the big estates were in the -process of being dismembered. "You'll be able to hear the howls from -here to Batavia when we get going," Eglin warned.</p> - -<p>"We have to be tough," Walton told him firmly.</p> - -<p>At 1517 he devoted a few minutes to a scientific paper that proposed -terraforming Pluto by establishing synthetic hydrogen-fusion suns -on the icy planet. Walton skimmed through the specifications, which -involved passing a current of several million amperes through a tube -containing a mixture of tritium and deuterium. The general idea, he -gathered, was to create electromagnetic forces of near-solar intensity; -a pulsed-reaction engine would supply a hundred megawatts of power -continuously at 10,000,000 degrees centigrade.</p> - -<p><i>Has possibilities</i>, Walton noted, and forwarded the plan on to Eglin. -It sounded plausible enough, but Walton was personally skeptical of -undertaking any more terraforming experiments after the Venus fiasco. -There were, after all, limits to the public relations miracles Lee -Percy could create.</p> - -<p>At 1535 the annunciator chimed again. "Call from Nairobi, Africa, Mr. -Walton."</p> - -<p>"Okay."</p> - -<p>McLeod appeared on the screen.</p> - -<p>"We're here," he said. "Arrived safely half a microsecond ago, and -all's well."</p> - -<p>"How about the alien?"</p> - -<p>"We have him in a specially constructed cabin. Breathes hydrogen and -ammonia, you know. He's very anxious to see you. When can you come?"</p> - -<p>Walton thought for a moment. "I guess there's no way of transporting -him here, is there?"</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't advise it. The Dirnans are very sensitive about traveling -in such a low gravitational field. Makes their stomachs queasy, you -know. Do you think you could come out here?"</p> - -<p>"When's the earliest?"</p> - -<p>"Oh—half an hour?" McLeod suggested.</p> - -<p>"I'm on my way," said Walton.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The sprawling metropolis of Nairobi, capital of the Republic of Kenya, -lay at the foot of the Kikuyu Hills, and magnificent Mount Kilimanjaro -towered above it. Four million people inhabited Nairobi, finest of the -many fine cities along Africa's western coast. Africa's Negro republics -had built soundly and well after achieving their liberation from -colonial status.</p> - -<p>The city was calm as Walton's special jet decelerated for landing -at the vast Nairobi airport. He had left at 1547 New York time; the -transatlantic trip had taken two hours and some minutes, and there was -an eight-hour time zone differential between Kenya and New York. It -was now 0313 in Nairobi; the early-morning rain was falling right on -schedule as the jet taxied to a halt.</p> - -<p>McLeod was there to meet him. "The ship's in the hills, five miles out -of town. There's a copter waiting for you here."</p> - -<p>Moments after leaving the jetliner, Walton was shepherded aboard the -'copter. Rotors whirred; the 'copter rose perpendicularly until it hung -just above the cloud-seeders at 13,000 feet, then fired its jets and -streaked toward the hills.</p> - -<p>It was not raining when they landed; according to McLeod, the night -rain was scheduled for 0200 in this sector, and the seeders had already -been here and moved on to bring rain to the city proper. A groundcar -waited for them at the airstrip in the hills. McLeod drove, handling -the turboelectric job with skill.</p> - -<p>"There's the ship," he said proudly, pointing.</p> - -<p>Walton felt a sudden throat lump.</p> - -<p>The ship stood on its tail in the midst of a wide, flat swath of -jet-blackened concrete. It was at least five hundred feet high, a -towering pale needle shimmering brightly in the moonlight. Wideswept -tailjets supported it like arching buttresses. Men moved busily about -in the floodlighted area at its base.</p> - -<p>McLeod drove up to the ship and around it. The flawless symmetry of the -foreside was not duplicated behind; there, a spidery catwalk ran some -eighty feet up the side of the ship to a gaping lock, and by its side a -crude elevator shaft rose to the same hatch.</p> - -<p>McLeod drew efficient salutes from the men as he left the car; Walton, -only puzzled glares.</p> - -<p>"We'd better take the elevator," McLeod said. "The men are working on -the catwalk."</p> - -<p>Silently they rode up into the ship. They stepped through the open -airlock into a paneled lounge, then into narrow companionways. McLeod -paused and pressed down a stud in an alcove along the way.</p> - -<p>"I'm back," he announced. "Tell Thogran Klayrn that I've brought -Walton. Find out whether he'll come out to talk to him."</p> - -<p>"I thought he had to breathe special atmosphere," Walton said. "How can -he come out?"</p> - -<p>"They've got breathing masks. Usually they don't like to use them." -McLeod listened at the earpiece for a moment, then nodded. To Walton -he said, "The alien will see you in the lounge."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Walton had barely time to fortify himself with a slug of filtered rum -when a crewman appeared at the entrance to the lounge and declared -ostentatiously, "His Excellency, Thogran Klayrn of Dirna."</p> - -<p>The alien entered.</p> - -<p>Walton had seen the photographs, and so he was partially prepared. But -only partially.</p> - -<p>The photos had not given him any idea of size. The alien stood eight -feet high, and gave an appearance of astonishing mass. It must have -weighed four or five hundred pounds, but it stood on two thick legs -barely three feet long. Somewhere near the middle of the columnar -body, four sturdy arms jutted forth strangely. A neckless head topped -the ponderous creature—a head covered entirely with the transparent -breathing mask. One of the hands held a mechanical device of some sort; -the translating machine, Walton surmised.</p> - -<p>The alien's hide was bright-green, and leathery in texture. A faint -pungent odor drifted through the room, as of an object long immersed in -ammonia.</p> - -<p>"I am Thogran Klayrn," a booming voice said. "Diplomasiarch of Dirna. I -have been sent to talk with Roy Walton. Are you Roy Walton?"</p> - -<p>"I am." Walton's voice sounded cold and dry to his own ears. He knew he -was too tense, pressing too hard. "I'm very glad to meet you, Thogran -Klayrn."</p> - -<p>"Please sit. I do not. My body is not made that way."</p> - -<p>Walton sat. It made him feel uncomfortable to have to crane his neck -upward at the alien, but that could not be helped. "Did you have a -pleasant trip?" Walton asked, temporizing desperately.</p> - -<p>A half-grunt came from Thogran Klayrn. "Indeed it was so. But I do not -indulge in little talk. A problem we have, and it must be discussed."</p> - -<p>"Agreed." Whatever a diplomasiarch might be on Dirna, it was <i>not</i> a -typical diplomat. Walton was relieved that it would not be necessary to -spend hours in formalities before they reached the main problem.</p> - -<p>"A ship sent out by your people," the alien said, "invaded our system -some time ago. In command was your Colonel McLeod, whom I have come to -know well. What was the purpose of this ship?"</p> - -<p>"To explore the worlds of the universe and to discover a planet where -we of Earth could settle. Our world is very overcrowded now."</p> - -<p>"So I have been given to know. You have chosen Labura—or, in your -terms, Procyon VIII—as your colony. Is this so?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Walton said. "It's a perfect world for our purposes. But Colonel -McLeod has informed me that you object to our settling there."</p> - -<p>"We do so object." The Dirnan's voice was cold. "You are a young and -active race. We do not know what danger you may bring to us. To have -you as our neighbors—"</p> - -<p>"We could swear a treaty of eternal peace," Walton said.</p> - -<p>"Words. Mere words."</p> - -<p>"But don't you see that we can't even <i>land</i> on that planet of yours! -It's too big, too heavy for us. What possible harm could we do?"</p> - -<p>"There are races," said the Dirnan heavily, "which believe in violence -as a sacred act. You have long-range missiles. How might we trust you?"</p> - -<p>Walton squirmed; then sudden inspiration struck him. "There's a planet -in this system that's as suitable for your people as Labura is for -ours. I mean Jupiter. We could offer you colonial rights to Jupiter in -exchange for the privilege of colonizing Labura!"</p> - -<p>The alien was silent for a moment. Considering? There was no way of -telling what emotions passed across that face. At length the alien -said, "Not satisfactory. Our people have long since reached stability -of population. We have no need of colonies. It has been many thousands -of your years since we have ventured into space."</p> - -<p>Walton felt chilled. <i>Many thousands of years!</i> He realized he was up -against a formidable life form.</p> - -<p>"We have learned to stabilize births and deaths," the Dirnan went on -sonorously. "It is a fundamental law of the universe, and one that you -Earthfolk must learn sooner or later. How you choose to do it is your -own business. But we have no need of planets in your system, and we -fear allowing you to enter ours. The matter is simple of statement, -difficult of resolution. But we are open to suggestions from you."</p> - -<p>Walton's mind blanked. Suggestions? What possible suggestion could he -make?</p> - -<p>He gasped. "We have something to offer," he said. "It might be of value -to a race that has achieved population stability. We would give it to -you in exchange for colonization rights."</p> - -<p>"What is this commodity?" the Dirnan asked.</p> - -<p>"Immortality," Walton said.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX">XIX</a></h2> - - -<p>He returned to New York alone, later that night, too tired to sleep -and too wide awake to relax. He felt like a poker player who had -triumphantly topped four kings with four aces, and now was fumbling -in his hand trying to locate some of those aces for his skeptical -opponents.</p> - -<p>The alien had accepted his offer. That was the one solid fact he was -able to cling to, on the lonely night ride back from Nairobi. The rest -was a quicksand of ifs and maybes.</p> - -<p><i>If</i> Lamarre could be found....</p> - -<p><i>If</i> the serum actually had any value....</p> - -<p><i>If</i> it was equally effective on Earthmen and Dirnans....</p> - -<p>Walton tried to dismiss the alternatives. He had made a desperately -wild offer, and it had been accepted. New Earth was open for -colonization, <i>if</i>....</p> - -<p>The world outside the jet was a dark blur. He had left Nairobi at 0518 -Nairobi time; jetting back across the eight intervening time zones, he -would arrive in New York around midnight. Ultrarapid jet transit made -such things possible; he would live twice through the early hours of -June nineteenth.</p> - -<p>New York had a fifteen minute rain scheduled at 0100 that night. Walton -reached the housing project where he lived just as the rain was turned -on. The night was otherwise a little muggy; he paused outside the main -entrance, letting the drops fall on him. After a few minutes, feeling -faintly foolish and very tired, he went inside, shook himself dry, and -went to bed. He did not sleep.</p> - -<p>Four caffeine tablets helped him get off to a running start in the -morning. He arrived at the Cullen Building early, about 0835, and spent -some time bringing his private journal up to date, explaining in detail -the burden of his interview with the alien ambassador. Some day, Walton -thought, a historian of the future would discover his journal and find -that for a short period in 2232 a man named Roy Walton had acted as -absolute dictator of humanity. The odd thing, Walton reflected, was -that he had absolutely no power drive: he had been pitchforked into the -role, and each of his successive extra-legal steps had been taken quite -genuinely in the name of humanity.</p> - -<p>Rationalization? Perhaps. But a necessary one.</p> - -<p>At 0900 Walton took a deep breath and called Keeler of security. The -security man smiled oddly and said, "I was just about to call you, sir. -We have some news, at last."</p> - -<p>"News? What?"</p> - -<p>"Lamarre. We found his body this morning, just about an hour ago. -Murdered. It turned up in Marseilles, pretty badly decomposed, but we -ran a full check and the retinal's absolutely Lamarre's."</p> - -<p>"Oh," Walton said leadenly. His head swam. "Definitely Lamarre," he -repeated. "Thanks, Keeler. Fine work. Fine."</p> - -<p>"Something wrong, sir? You look—"</p> - -<p>"I'm very tired," Walton said. "That's all. Tired. Thanks, Keeler."</p> - -<p>"You called me about something, sir," Keeler reminded him gently.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I was calling about Lamarre. I guess there's no point in—thanks, -Keeler." He broke the contact.</p> - -<p>For the first time Walton felt total despair, and, out of despair, -came a sort of deathlike calmness. With Lamarre dead, his only hope of -obtaining the serum was to free Fred and wangle the notes from him. But -Fred's price for the notes would be Walton's job. Full circle, and a -dead end.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Fred could be induced to reveal the whereabouts of the notes. -It wasn't likely, but it was possible. And if not? Walton shrugged. -A man could do only so much. Terraforming had proved a failure, -equalization was a stopgap of limited value, and the one extrasolar -planet worth colonizing was held by aliens. Dead end.</p> - -<p><i>I tried</i>, Walton thought. <i>Now let someone else try.</i></p> - -<p>He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of negation that suddenly -surrounded him. His thinking was all wrong; he had to keep trying, had -to investigate every possible avenue before giving up.</p> - -<p>His fingers hovered lightly over a benzolurethrin tablet, then drew -back. Stiffly he rose from his chair and switched on the annunciator.</p> - -<p>"I'm leaving the office for a while," he said hoarsely. "Send all calls -to Mr. Eglin."</p> - -<p>He had to see Fred.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Security Keep was a big, blocky building beyond the city limits proper, -a windowless tower near Nyack, New York. Walton's private jetcopter -dropped noiselessly to the landing stage on the wide parapet of the -building. He contemplated its dull-bronze metallic exterior for a -moment.</p> - -<p>"Should I wait here?" the pilot asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," Walton said. With accession to the permanent directorship he -rated a private ship and a live pilot. "I won't be here long."</p> - -<p>He left the landing stage and stepped within an indicated screener -field. There was a long pause. The air up here, Walton thought, is -fresh and clean, not like city air.</p> - -<p>A voice said, "What is your business here?"</p> - -<p>"I'm Walton, director of Popeek. I have an appointment with Security -Head Martinez."</p> - -<p>"Wait a moment, Director Walton."</p> - -<p>None of the obsequious <i>sirring</i> and <i>pleasing</i> Walton had grown -accustomed to. In its way, the bluntness of address was as refreshing -as the unpolluted air.</p> - -<p>Walton's keen ears detected a gentle electronic whirr; he was being -thoroughly scanned. After a moment the metal door before him rose -silently into a hidden slot, and he found himself facing an inner door -of burnished copper.</p> - -<p>A screen was set in the inner door.</p> - -<p>Martinez' face confronted him.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Director Walton. You're here for our interview?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>The inner door closed. This time, two chunky atomic cannons came -barreling down to face him snout first. Walton flinched involuntarily, -but a smiling Martinez stepped before them and greeted him. "Well, why -are you here?"</p> - -<p>"To see a prisoner of yours. My brother, Fred."</p> - -<p>Martinez frowned and passed a delicate hand through his rumpled hair. -"Seeing prisoners is positively forbidden, Mr. Walton. Seeing them in -person, that is. I could arrange a closed-circuit video screening for -you."</p> - -<p>"Forbidden? But the man's here on my word alone. I—"</p> - -<p>"Your powers, Mr. Walton, are still somewhat less than infinite. This -is one rule we never have relaxed, and never will. The prisoners in the -Keep are under constant security surveillance, and your presence in the -cell block would undermine our entire system. Will video do?"</p> - -<p>"I guess it'll have to," Walton said. He was not of a mind to argue now.</p> - -<p>"Come with me, then," said Martinez.</p> - -<p>The little man led him down a dim corridor into a side room, one entire -wall of which was an unlit video screen. "You'll have total privacy -in here," Martinez assured him. He did things to a dial set in the -right-hand wall, and murmured a few words. The screen began to glow.</p> - -<p>"You can call me when you're through," Martinez said. He seemed to -glide out of the room, leaving Walton alone with Fred.</p> - -<p>The huge screen was like a window directly into Fred's cell. Walton met -his brother's bitter gaze head on.</p> - -<p>Fred looked demonic. His eyes were ringed by black shadows; his hair -was uncombed, his heavy-featured face unwashed. He said, "Welcome to my -palatial abode, dearest brother."</p> - -<p>"Fred, don't make it hard for me. I came here to try to clarify things. -I didn't <i>want</i> to stick you away here. I <i>had</i> to."</p> - -<p>Fred smiled balefully. "You don't need to apologize. It was entirely -my fault. I underestimated you; I didn't realize you had changed. I -thought you were the same old soft-hearted dope I grew up with. You -aren't."</p> - -<p>"Possibly." Walton wished he had taken that benzolurethrin after all. -Every nerve in his body seemed to be jumping. He said, "I found out -today that Lamarre's dead."</p> - -<p>"So?"</p> - -<p>"So there's no possible way for Popeek to obtain the immortality serum -except through you. Fred, I need that serum. I've promised it to the -alien in exchange for colonization rights on Procyon VIII."</p> - -<p>"A neat little package deal," Fred said harshly. "<i>Quid pro quo.</i> Well, -I hate to spoil it, but I'm not going to tell where the <i>quo</i> lies -hidden. You're not getting that serum out of me."</p> - -<p>"I can have you mind blasted," Walton said. "They'll pick your mind -apart and strip it away layer by layer until they find what they want. -There won't be much of <i>you</i> left by then, but we'll have the serum."</p> - -<p>"No go. Not even you can swing that deal," Fred said. "You can't get a -mind-pick permit on your lonesome: you need the President's okay. It -takes at least a day to go through channels—half a day, if you pull -rank. And by that time, Roy, I'll be out of here."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"You heard me clear enough. <i>Out.</i> Seems you're holding me here on -pretty tenuous grounds. Habeas corpus hasn't been suspended yet, Roy, -and Popeek isn't big enough to do it. I've got a writ. I'll be sprung -at 1500 today."</p> - -<p>"I'll have you back in by 1530," Walton said angrily. "We're picking up -di Cassio and that whole bunch. That'll be sufficient grounds to quash -your habeas corpus."</p> - -<p>"Ah! Maybe so," Fred said. "But I'll be out of here for half an hour. -That's long enough to let the world know how you exercised an illegal -special privilege and spared Philip Prior from Happysleep. Wiggle out -of that one, then."</p> - -<p>Walton began to sweat.</p> - -<p>Fred had him neatly nailed this time.</p> - -<p>Someone in security evidently had let him sneak his plea out of the -Keep. Martinez? Well, it didn't matter. By 1500 Fred would be free, -and the long-suppressed Prior incident would be smeared all over the -telefax system. That would finish Walton; affairs were at too delicate -an impasse for him to risk having to defend himself now. Fred might not -be able to save himself, but he could certainly topple his brother.</p> - -<p>There was no possible way to get a mind-pick request through before -1500; President Lanson himself would have to sign the authorization, -and the old dodderer would take his time about it.</p> - -<p>Mind picking was out, but there was still one weapon left to the head -of Popeek, if he cared to use it. Walton moistened his lips.</p> - -<p>"It sounds very neat," he said. "I'll ask you one more time: will you -yield Lamarre's serum to me for use in my negotiations with the Dirnan?"</p> - -<p>"Are you kidding? No!" Fred said positively. "Not to save your life or -mine. I've got you exactly where I want you, Roy. Where I've wanted you -all my life. And you can't wriggle out of it."</p> - -<p>"I think you've underestimated me again," Walton said in a quiet voice. -"And for the last time."</p> - -<p>He stood up and opened the door of the room. A gray-clad security man -hovered outside.</p> - -<p>"Will you tell Mr. Martinez I'm ready to leave?" Walton said.</p> - -<p>The jetcopter pilot was dozing when Walton reached the landing stage. -Walton woke him and said, "Let's get back to the Cullen Building, fast."</p> - -<p>The trip took about ten minutes. Walton entered his office, signaling -his return but indicating he wanted no calls just yet. Carefully, -thoughtfully, he arranged the various strands of circumstance in his -mind, building them into a symmetrical structure.</p> - -<p>Di Cassio and the other conspirators would be rounded up by nightfall, -certainly. But no time element operated there; Walton knew he could -get mind-pick authorizations in a day or so, and go through one after -another of them until the whereabouts of Lamarre's formula turned up. -It was brutal, but necessary.</p> - -<p>Fred was a different problem. Unless Walton prevented it, he'd be freed -on his writ within hours—and when he revealed the Prior incident, it -would smash Walton's whole fragile construct to flinders.</p> - -<p>He couldn't fight habeas corpus. But the director of Popeek did have -one weapon that legally superseded all others. Fred had gambled on his -brother's softness, and Fred had lost.</p> - -<p>Walton reached for his voicewrite and, in a calm, controlled voice, -began to dictate an order for the immediate removal of Frederic Walton -from Security Keep, and for his prompt transference to the Euthanasia -Clinic on grounds of criminal insanity.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="XX" id="XX">XX</a></h2> - - -<p>Even after that—for which he felt no guilt, only relief—Walton felt -oppressive foreboding hanging over him. Martinez phoned, late that day, -to inform him that the hundred landowners had been duly corralled and -were being held in the lower reaches of Security Keep.</p> - -<p>"They're yelling and squalling," Martinez said, "and they'll have -plenty of high-power legal authority down here soon enough. You'd -better have a case against them."</p> - -<p>"I'm obtaining an authorization to mind blast the one named di Cassio. -He's the ringleader, I think." Walton paused for a moment, then asked, -"Did a Popeek copter arrive to pick up Frederic Walton?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Martinez said. "At 1406. A lawyer showed up here waving a writ, -a little while later, but naturally we had no further jurisdiction." -The security man's eyes were cold and accusing, but Walton did not -flinch.</p> - -<p>"1406?" he repeated. "All right, Martinez. Thanks for your cooperation."</p> - -<p>He blanked the screen. He was moving coolly, crisply now. In order to -get a mind-pick authorization, he would have to see President Lanson -personally. Very well; he would see President Lanson.</p> - -<p>The shrunken old man in the White House was openly deferential to -the Popeek head. Walton stated his case quickly, bluntly. Lanson's -watery, mild eyes blinked a few times at the many complexities of the -situation. He rocked uneasily up and down.</p> - -<p>Finally he said, "This mind picking—it's absolutely necessary?"</p> - -<p>"Absolutely. We must know where that serum is hidden."</p> - -<p>Lanson sighed heavily. "I'll authorize it," he said. He looked beaten.</p> - -<p>Washington to New York was a matter of some few minutes. The precious -authorization in his hands, Walton spoke to di Cassio via the screener -setup at Security Keep, informed him of what was going to be done with -him. Then, despite the fat man's hysterical protests, he turned the -authorization over to Martinez with instructions to proceed with the -mind pick.</p> - -<p>It took fifty-eight minutes. Walton waited in a bare, austere office -somewhere in the Keep while the mind-picking technicians peeled away -the cortex of di Cassio's mind. By now Walton was past all ambivalence, -all self-doubt. He thought of himself as a mere robot fulfilling a -preset pattern of action.</p> - -<p>At 1950 Martinez presented himself before Walton. The little security -head looked bleak.</p> - -<p>"It's done. Di Cassio's been reduced to blubber and bone. I wouldn't -want to watch another mind picking too soon."</p> - -<p>"You may have to," Walton said. "If di Cassio wasn't the right one, I -intend to go straight down the line on all hundred-odd of them. One of -them dealt with Fred. One of them must know where the Lamarre papers -are."</p> - -<p>Martinez shook his head wearily. "No. There won't need to be any more -mind-picking. We got it all out of di Cassio. The transcript ought to -be along any moment."</p> - -<p>As the security man spoke, an arrival bin in the office flashed and -a packet arrived. Walton broke impatiently for the bin, but Martinez -waved him away. "This is my domain, Mr. Walton. Please be patient."</p> - -<p>With infuriating slowness, Martinez opened the packet, removed some -closely-typed sheets, nodded over them. He handed them to Walton.</p> - -<p>"Here. Read for yourself. Here's the record of the conversation between -your brother and di Cassio. I think it's what you're looking for."</p> - -<p>Walton accepted the sheets tensely and began to read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Di Cassio: <i>You have a what?</i></p> - -<p>Fred Walton: <i>An immortality serum. Eternal life. You know. Some -Popeek scientist invented it, and I stole his notebook from my -brother's office. It's all here.</i></p> - -<p>Di Cassio: <i>Buono! Excellent work. Excellent. Immortality, you say?</i></p> - -<p>Fred Walton: <i>Damned right. And it's the weapon we can use to pry Roy -out of office. All I have to do is tell him he'd better get out of the -way or we'll turn the serum loose on humanity, and he'll move. He's an -idealist—stars in his eyes and all that. He won't dare resist.</i></p> - -<p>Di Cassio: <i>This is marvelous. You will, of course, send the serum -formula to us for safe keeping?</i></p> - -<p>Fred Walton: <i>Like hell I will. I'm keeping those notes right where -they belong—inside my head. I've destroyed the notebooks and had the -scientist killed. The only one who knows the secret is yours truly. -This is just to prevent double-crossing on your part, di Cassio. Not -that I don't trust you, you understand.</i></p> - -<p>Di Cassio: <i>Fred, my boy—</i></p> - -<p>Fred Walton: <i>None of that stuff. You gave me a free hand. Don't try -to interfere now.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>Walton let the transcript slip from his numb hands to the floor.</p> - -<p>"My God," he said softly. "My God!"</p> - -<p>Martinez' bright eyes flicked from Walton to the scattered papers -on the floor. "What's the trouble? You've got Fred in your custody, -haven't you?"</p> - -<p>"Didn't you read the order I sent you?"</p> - -<p>Martinez chuckled hollowly. "Well, yes—it was a Happysleep -authorization. But I thought it was just a way of avoiding that -writ ... I mean ... your own <i>brother</i>, man?"</p> - -<p>"That was no dodge," Walton said. "That was a Happysleep order, and I -meant it. Really. Unless there was a slip-up, Fred went to the chamber -four hours ago. And," said Walton, "he took the Lamarre formula along -with him."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alone in his office in the night-shadowed Cullen Building, Walton -stared at his own distorted reflection mirrored in the opaqued windows. -On his desk lay the slip of paper bearing the names of those who had -gone to Happysleep in the 1500 gassing.</p> - -<p>Frederic Walton was the fourth name on the list. For once, there had -been no slip-ups.</p> - -<p>Walton thought back over the events of the last nine days. One of his -earliest realizations during that time had been that the head of Popeek -held powers of life and death over humanity.</p> - -<p>Godlike, he had assumed both responsibilities. He had granted life to -Philip Prior; that had been the start of this chain of events, and the -first of his many mistakes. Now, he had given death to Frederic Walton, -an act in itself justifiable, but in consequence the most massive of -his errors.</p> - -<p>All his scheming had come to naught. Any help now would have to come -from without.</p> - -<p>Wearily, he snapped on the phone and asked for a connection to Nairobi. -The interstellar swap would have to be canceled; Walton was unable to -deliver the goods. Fred would have the final smirk yet.</p> - -<p>Some minutes later, he got through to McLeod.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you called," McLeod said immediately. "I've been trying to -reach you all day. The Dirnan's getting rather impatient; this low -gravity is making him sick, and he wants to get going back to his home -world."</p> - -<p>"Let me talk to him. He'll be able to leave right away."</p> - -<p>McLeod nodded and vanished from the screen. The alien visage of Thogran -Klayrn appeared.</p> - -<p>"I have been waiting for you," the Dirnan said. "You promised to call -earlier today. You did not."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry about that," Walton told him. "I was trying to locate the -papers to turn over to you."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes. Has it been done?"</p> - -<p>"No," Walton said. "The serum doesn't exist any more. The man who -invented it is dead, and so is the only other man who knew the formula."</p> - -<p>There was a moment of startled silence. Then the Dirnan said, "You -assured me delivery of the information."</p> - -<p>"I know. But it can't be delivered." Walton was silent a long while, -brooding. "The deal's off. There was a mix-up and the man who had the -data was—was inadvertently executed today."</p> - -<p>"<i>Today</i>, you say?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. It was an error on my part. A foolish blunder."</p> - -<p>"That is irrelevant," the alien interrupted peevishly. "Is the man's -body still intact?"</p> - -<p>"Why, yes," Walton said, taken off guard. He wondered what plan the -alien had. "It's in our morgue right now. But—"</p> - -<p>The alien turned away from the screen, and Walton heard him conferring -with someone beyond the field of vision. Then the Dirnan returned.</p> - -<p>"There are techniques for recovering information from newly dead -persons," Thogran Klayrn said. "You have none of these on Earth?"</p> - -<p>"Recovering information?" Walton stammered. "No, we don't."</p> - -<p>"These techniques exist. Have you such a device as an -electroencephalograph on Earth?"</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>"Then it is still possible to extract the data from this dead man's -brain." The alien uttered a wistful wheeze. "See that the body comes -to no harm. I will be at your city shortly."</p> - -<p>For a moment Walton did not understand.</p> - -<p>Then he thought, <i>Of course. It had to happen this way.</i></p> - -<p>He realized the rent in the fabric had been bound up, his mistakes -undone, his conscience granted a reprieve. He felt absurdly grateful. -That all his striving should have been ruined at the last moment would -have been intolerable. Now, all was made whole.</p> - -<p>"Thanks," he said with sudden fervor. "Thanks!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>14 May 2233....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Roy Walton, director of the Bureau of Population Equalization, stood -sweltering in the sun at Nairobi Spaceport, watching the smiling people -file past him into the towering, golden-hulled ship.</p> - -<p>A powerful-looking man holding a small child in his arms came up to him.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Walton," he said in a majestic basso.</p> - -<p>Walton turned, startled. "Prior!" he exclaimed, after a moment's -fumbling.</p> - -<p>"And this is my son, Philip," said Prior. "We'll both be going as -colonists. My wife's already aboard, but I just wanted to thank you—"</p> - -<p>Walton looked at the happy, red-cheeked boy. "There was a medical exam -for all volunteer colonists. How did you get the boy through <i>this</i> -time?"</p> - -<p>"Legitimately," Prior said, grinning. "He's a perfectly healthy, normal -boy. That potential TB condition was just that—potential. Philip got -an A-one health clearance, so it's New Earth and the wide ranges for -the Prior family!"</p> - -<p>"I'm glad for you," Walton said absently. "I wish I could go."</p> - -<p>"Why can't you?"</p> - -<p>"Too much work here," Walton said. "If you turn out any poetry up -there, I'd like to see it."</p> - -<p>Prior shook his head. "I have a feeling I'll be too busy. Poetry's -really just a substitute for living, I'm getting to think. I'll be too -busy <i>living</i> up there to write anything."</p> - -<p>"Maybe," said Walton. "I suppose you're right. But you'd better move -along. That ship's due to blast pretty soon."</p> - -<p>"Right. Thanks again for everything," Prior said, and he and the child -moved on.</p> - -<p>Walton watched them go. He thought back over the past year. <i>At least</i>, -he thought, <i>I made one right guess. The boy deserved to live.</i></p> - -<p>The loading continued. One thousand colonists would go this first trip, -and a thousand more the next day, and a thousand and a thousand more -until a billion of Earth's multitudes were on the new world. There was -a great deal of paperwork involved in transporting a billion people -through space. Walton's desk groaned with a backlog of work.</p> - -<p>He glanced up. No stars were visible, of course, in the midday sky, but -he knew that New Earth was out there somewhere. And near it, Dirna.</p> - -<p><i>Some day</i>, he thought, <i>we'll have learned to control our growth. And -that will be the day the Dirnans give us back our immortality formula.</i></p> - -<p>A warning siren sounded suddenly, and ship number one sprang up -from Earth, hovered for a few instants on a red pillar of fire, and -vanished. Director Walton looked blankly at the place where the ship -had been, and, after a moment, turned away. Plenty of work waited for -him back in New York.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Master of Life and Death, by Robert Silverberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER OF LIFE AND DEATH *** - -***** This file should be named 50441-h.htm or 50441-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/4/4/50441/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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