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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: King of the Hill - -Author: James Blish - -Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67317] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING OF THE HILL *** - - - - - - KING OF THE HILL - - by JAMES BLISH - - Illustrated by GRIFFITH - - _A madman can be prevented from - bomb-throwing--but a mad world?_ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -It did Col. Hal Gascoigne no good whatsoever to know that he was the -only man aboard Satellite Vehicle 1. No good at all. He had stopped -reminding himself of the fact some time back. - -And now, as he sat sweating in the perfectly balanced air in front of -the bombardier board, one of the men spoke to him again: - -"Colonel, sir--" - -Gascoigne swung around in the seat, and the sergeant--Gascoigne could -almost remember the man's name--threw him a snappy Air Force salute. - -"Well?" - -"Bomb one is primed, sir. Your orders?" - -"My orders?" Gascoigne said wonderingly. But the man was already -gone. Gascoigne couldn't actually _see_ the sergeant leave the control -cabin, but he was no longer in it. - -While he tried to remember, another voice rang in the cabin, as flat -and razzy as all voices sound on an intercom. - -"Radar room. On target." - -A regular, meaningless peeping. The timing circuit had cut in. - -Or had it? There was nobody in the radar room. There was nobody in -the bomb hold, either. There had never been anybody on board SV-1 but -Gascoigne, not since he had relieved Grinnell--and Grinnell had flown -the station up here in the first place. - -Then who had that sergeant been? His name was--It was-- - -The hammering of the teletype blanked it out. The noise was as loud as -a pom-pom in the echoing metal cave. He got up and coasted across the -deck to the machine, gliding in the gravity-free cabin with the ease of -a man to whom free fall is almost second nature. - -The teletype was silent by the time he reached it, and at first the -tape looked blank. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. There was the -message. - - MNBVCXZ LKJ HGFDS PYTR AOIU EUIO QPALZM - -He got out his copy of "The Well-Tempered Pogo" and checked the -speeches of Grundoon the Beaver-Chile for the key letter-sequence on -which the code was based. There weren't very many choices. He had the -clear in ten minutes. - - BOMB ONE WASHINGTON 1700 HRS TAMMANANY - -There it was. That was what he had been priming the bomb for. But there -should have been earlier orders, giving him the go-ahead to prime. He -began to rewind the paper. - -It was all blank. - -And--_Washington_? Why would the Joint Chiefs of Staff order him-- - -"Col. Gascoigne, sir--" - -Gascoigne jerked around and returned the salute. "What's your name?" he -snapped. - -"Sweeney, sir," the corporal said. Actually it didn't sound very much -like Sweeney, or like anything else; it was just a noise. Yet the man's -face looked familiar. "Ready with bomb two, sir." - -The corporal saluted, turned, took two steps, and faded. He did not -vanish, but he did not go out the door, either. He simply receded, -became darker and harder to distinguish, and was no longer there. It -was as though he and Gascoigne had disagreed about the effects of -perspective in the glowing Earthlight, and Gascoigne had turned out to -be wrong. - -Numbly, he finished rewinding the paper. There was no doubt about it. -There the order stood, black on yellow, as plain as plain. Bomb the -capital of your own country at 1700 hours. Just incidentally, bomb -your own home in the process, but don't give that a second thought. Be -thorough, drop two bombs; don't worry about missing by a few seconds of -arc and hitting Baltimore instead, or Silver Spring, or Milford, Del. -CIG will give you the coordinates, but plaster the area anyhow. That's -S.O.P. - -With rubbery fingers, Gascoigne began to work the keys of the teletype. -Sending on the frequency of Civilian Intelligence Group, he typed: - - HELP SHOUT SERIOUS REPEAT SERIOUS PERSONNEL TROUBLE HERE STOP DON'T - KNOW HOW LONG I CAN KEEP IT DOWN STOP URGENT GASCOIGNE SV ONE STOP - -Behind him, the oscillator peeped rhythmically, timing the drive on the -launching rack trunnion. - -"Radar room. On target." - -Gascoigne did not turn. He sat before the bombardier board and sweated -in the perfectly balanced air. Inside his skull, his own voice was -shouting: - -STOP STOP STOP - - * * * * * - -That, as we reconstructed it afterwards, is how the SV-1 affair began. -It was pure luck, I suppose, that Gascoigne sent his message direct -to us. Civilian Intelligence Group is rarely called into an emergency -when the emergency is just being born. Usually Washington tries to do -the bailing job first. Then, when Washington discovers that the boat is -still sinking, it passes the bailing can to us--usually with a demand -that we transform it into a centrifugal pump, on the double. - -We don't mind. Washington's failure to develop a government department -similar in function to CIG is the reason why we're in business. The -profits, of course, go to Affiliated Enterprises, Inc., the loose -corporation of universities and industries which put up the money to -build ULTIMAC--and ULTIMAC is, in turn, the reason why Washington comes -running to CIG so often. - -This time, however, it did not look like the big computer was going -to be of much use to us. I said as much to Joan Hadamard, our social -sciences division chief, when I handed her the message. - -"Um," she said. "_Personnel_ trouble? What does he mean? He hasn't got -any personnel on that station." - -This was no news to me. CIG provided the figures that got the SV-1 into -its orbit in the first place, and it was on our advice that it carried -only one man. The crew of a space vessel either has to be large or it -has to be a lone man; there is no intermediate choice. And SV-1 wasn't -big enough to carry a large crew--not to carry them and keep the men -from flying at each other's throats sooner or later, that is. - -"He means himself," I said. "That's why I don't think this is a job -for the computer. It's going to have to be played person-to-person. -It's my bet that the man's responsibility-happy; that danger was always -implicit in the one-man recommendation." - -"The only decent solution is a full complement," Joan agreed. "Once the -Pentagon can get enough money from Congress to build a big station." - -"What puzzles me is, why did he call us instead of his superiors?" - -"That's easy. We process his figures. He trusts us. The Pentagon thinks -we're infallible, and he's caught the disease from them." - -"That's bad," I said. - -"I've never denied it." - -"No, what I mean is that it's bad that he called us instead of going -through channels. It means that the emergency is at least as bad as he -says it is." - -I thought about it another precious moment longer while Joan did some -quick dialing. As everybody on Earth--with the possible exception of -a few Tibetans--already knew, the man who rode SV-1 rode with three -hydrogen bombs immediately under his feet--bombs which he could drop -with great precision on any spot on the Earth. Gascoigne was, in -effect, the sum total of American foreign policy; he might as well have -had "Spatial Supremacy" stamped on his forehead. - -"What does the Air Force say?" I asked Joan as she hung up. - -"They say they're a little worried about Gascoigne. He's a very stable -man, but they had to let him run a month over his normal replacement -time--why, they don't explain. He's been turning in badly garbled -reports over the last week. They're thinking about giving him a -dressing down." - -"Thinking! They'd better be careful with that stuff, or they'll hurt -themselves. Joan, somebody's going to have to go up there. I'll arrange -fast transportation, and tell Gascoigne that help is coming. Who should -go?" - -"I don't have a recommendation," Joan said. "Better ask the computer." - -I did so--on the double. - -ULTIMAC said: _Harris_. - -"Good luck, Peter," Joan said calmly. Too calmly. - -"Yeah," I said. "Or good night." - - * * * * * - -Exactly what I expected to happen as the ferry rocket approached SV-1, -I don't now recall. I had decided that I couldn't carry a squad with -me. If Gascoigne was really far gone, he wouldn't allow a group of men -to disembark; one man, on the other hand, he might pass. But I suppose -I did expect him to put up an argument first. - -Nothing happened. He did not challenge the ferry, and he didn't answer -hails. Contact with the station was made through the radar automatics, -and I was put off on board as routinely as though I was being let into -a movie--but a lot more rapidly. - -The control room was dark and confusing, and at first I didn't see -Gascoigne anywhere. The Earthlight coming through the observation port -was brilliant, but beyond the edges of its path the darkness was almost -absolute, broken only by the little stars of indicator lenses. - -A faint snicking sound turned my eyes in the right direction. There was -Gascoigne. He was hunched over the bombardier board, his back to me. In -one hand he held a small tool resembling a ticket-punch. Its jaws were -nibbling steadily at a taut line of tape running between two spools; -that had been the sound I'd heard. I recognized the device without any -trouble; it was a programmer. - -But why hadn't Gascoigne heard me come in? I hadn't tried to sneak up -on him, there is no quiet way to come through an airlock anyway. But -the punch went on snicking steadily. - -"Col. Gascoigne," I said. There was no answer. I took a step forward. -"Col. Gascoigne, I'm Harris of CIG. What are you doing?" - -The additional step did the trick. "Stay away from me," Gascoigne -growled, from somewhere way down in his chest. "I'm programming the -bomb. Punching in the orders myself. Can't depend on my crew. Stay -away." - -"Give over for a minute, I want to talk to you." - -"That's a new one," said Gascoigne, not moving. "Most of you guys -were rushing to set up launchings before you even reported to me. Who -the hell are you, anyhow? There's nobody on board, I know _that_ well -enough." - -"I'm Peter Harris," I said. "From CIG--you called us, remember? You -asked us to send help." - -"Doesn't prove a thing. Tell me something I _don't_ know. Then maybe -I'll believe you exist. Otherwise--beat it." - -"Nothing doing. Put down that punch." - -Gascoigne straightened slowly and turned to look at me. "Well, you -don't vanish, I'll give you that," he said. "What did you say your name -was?" - -"Harris. Here's my ID card." - -Gascoigne took the plastic-coated card tentatively, and then removed -his glasses and polished them. The gesture itself was perfectly -ordinary, and wouldn't have surprised me--except that Gascoigne was not -wearing glasses. - -"It's hard to see in here," he complained. "Everything gets so steamed -up. Hm. All right, you're real. What do you want?" - -His finger touched a journal. Silently, the tape began to roll from one -spool to another. - -"Gascoigne, stop that thing. If you drop any bombs there'll be hell to -pay. It's tense enough down below as it is. And there's no reason to -bomb anybody." - -"Plenty of reason," Gascoigne muttered. He turned toward the teletype, -exposing to me for the first time a hip holster cradling a large, black -automatic. I didn't doubt that he could draw it with fabulous rapidity, -and put the bullets just where he wanted them to go. "I've got orders. -There they are. See for yourself." - -Cautiously, I sidled over to the teletype and looked. Except for -Gascoigne's own message to CIG, and one from Joan Hadamard announcing -that I was on my way, the paper was totally blank. There had been no -other messages that day unless Gascoigne had changed the roll, and -there was no reason why he should have. Those rolls last close to -forever. - -"When did this order come in?" - -"This morning some time. I don't know. Sweeney!" he bawled suddenly, so -loud that the paper tore in my hands. "When did that drop order come -through?" - -Nobody answered. But Gascoigne said almost at once, "There, you heard -him." - -"I didn't hear anything but you," I said, "and I'm going to stop that -tape. Stand aside." - -"Not a chance, Mister," Gascoigne said grimly. "The tape rides." - -"Who's getting hit?" - -"Washington," Gascoigne said, and passed his hand over his face. He -appeared to have forgotten the imaginary spectacles. - -"That's where your home is, isn't it?" - -"It sure is," Gascoigne said. "It sure as hell is, Mister. Cute, isn't -it?" - -It was cute, all right. The Air Force boys at the Pentagon were going -to be given about ten milliseconds to be sorry they'd refused to send -a replacement for Gascoigne along with me. _Replace him with who? We -can't send his second alternate in anything short of a week. The man -has to have retraining, and the first alternate's in the hospital with -a ruptured spleen. Besides, Gascoigne's the best man for the job; he's -got to be bailed out somehow._ - -Sure. With a psychological centrifugal pump, no doubt. In the meantime -the tape kept right on running. - - * * * * * - -"You might as well stop wiping your face, and turn down the humidity -instead," I said. "You've already smudged your glasses again." - -"Glasses?" Gascoigne muttered. He moved slowly across the cabin, -sailing upright like a sea-horse, to the blank glass of a closed port. -I seriously doubted that he could see his reflection in it, but maybe -he didn't really want to see it. "I messed them up, all right. Thanks." -He went through the polishing routine again. - -A man who thinks he is wearing glasses also thinks he can't see without -them. I slid to the programmer and turned off the tape. I was between -the spools and Gascoigne now--but I couldn't stay there forever. - -"Let's talk a minute, Colonel," I said. "Surely it can't do any harm." - -Gascoigne smiled, with a sort of childish craft. "I'll talk," he said. -"Just as soon as you start that tape again. I was watching you in the -mirror, _before_ I took my glasses off." - -The liar. I hadn't made a move while he'd been looking into that -porthole. His poor pitiful weak old rheumy eyes had seen every move I -made while he was polishing his "glasses." I shrugged and stepped away -from the programmer. - -"You start it," I said. "I won't take the responsibility." - -"It's orders," Gascoigne said woodenly. He started the tape running -again. "It's their responsibility. What did you want to talk to me -about, anyhow?" - -"Col. Gascoigne, have you ever killed anybody?" - -He looked startled. "Yes, once I did," he said, almost eagerly. "I -crashed a plane into a house. Killed the whole family. Walked away with -nothing worse than a burned leg--good as new after a couple of muscle -stabilizations. That's what made me shift from piloting to weapons; -that leg's not quite good enough to fly with any more." - -"Tough." - -He snickered suddenly, explosively. "And now look at me," he said. "I'm -going to kill my _own_ family in a little while. And millions of other -people. Maybe the whole world." - -How long was "a little while"? - -"What have you got against it?" I said. - -"Against what--the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Look at me: I'm -king of the hill up here. I can't complain." - -He paused and licked his lips. "It was different when I was a kid," -he said. "Not so dull, then. In those days you could get a real -newspaper, that you could unfold for the first time yourself, and pick -out what you wanted to read. Not like now, when the news comes to you -predigested on a piece of paper out of your radio. That's what's the -matter with it, if you ask me." - -"What's the matter with what?" - -"With the news--that's why it's always bad these days. Everything's had -something done to it. The milk is homogenized, the bread is sliced, the -cars steer themselves, the phonographs will produce sounds no musical -instrument could make. Too much meddling, too many people who can't -keep their hands off things. Ever fire a kiln?" - -"Me?" I said, startled. - -"No, I didn't think so. Nobody makes pottery these days. Not by hand. -And if they did, who'd buy it? They don't want something that's been -made. They want something that's been Done To." - -The tape kept on traveling. Down below, there was a heavy rumble, -difficult to identify specifically: something heavy being shifted on -tracks, or maybe a freight lock opening. - -"So now you're going to Do Something to the Earth," I said slowly. - -"Not me. It's orders." - -"Orders from inside, Col. Gascoigne. There's nothing on the spools." -What else could I do? I didn't have time to take him through two years -of psychoanalysis and bring him to his own insight. Besides, I'm not -licensed to practice medicine--not on Earth. "I didn't want to say so, -but I have to now." - -"Say what?" Gascoigne said suspiciously. "That I'm crazy or something?" - -"No. I didn't say that. You did," I pointed out. "But I will tell you -that that stuff about not liking the world these days is baloney. Or -rationalization, if you want a nicer word. You're carrying a screaming -load of guilt, Colonel, whether you're aware of it or not." - -"I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you just beat it?" - -"No. And you know well enough. You fell all over yourself to tell me -about the family you killed in your flying accident." I gave him ten -seconds of silence, and then shot the question at him as hard as I -could. "_What was their name?_" - -"How do I know? Sweeney or something. Anything. I don't remember." - -"Sure you do. Do you think that killing your own family is going to -bring the Sweeneys back to life?" - -Gascoigne's mouth twisted, but he seemed to be entirely unaware of the -grimace. "That's all hogwash," he said. "I never did hold with that -psychological claptrap. It's you that's handing out the baloney, not -me." - -"Then why are you being so vituperative about it? Hogwash, claptrap, -baloney--you are working awfully hard to knock it down, for a man who -doesn't believe in it." - -"Go away," he said sullenly. "I've got my orders. I'm obeying them." - -Stalemate. But there was no such thing as stalemate up here. Defeat was -the word. - - * * * * * - -The tape traveled. I did not know what to do. The last bomb problem CIG -had tackled had been one we had set up ourselves; we had arranged for a -dud to be dropped in New York harbor, to test our own facilities for -speed in determining the nature of the missile. The situation on board -SV-1 was completely different-- - -Whoa. Was it? Maybe I'd hit something there. - -"Col. Gascoigne," I said slowly, "you might as well know now that it -isn't going to work. Not even if you do get that bomb off." - -"Yes, I can. What's to stop me?" He hooked one thumb in his belt, just -above the holster, so that his fingertips rested on the breech of the -automatic. - -"Your bombs. They aren't alive." - -Gascoigne laughed harshly and waved at the controls. "Tell that to the -counter in the bomb hold. Go ahead. There's a meter you can read, right -there on the bombardier board." - -"Sure," I said. "The bombs are radioactive, all right. Have you ever -checked their half-life?" - -It was a long shot. Gascoigne was a weapons man; if it were possible -to check half-life on board the SV-1, he would have checked it. But I -didn't think it was possible. - -"What would I do that for?" - -"You wouldn't, being a loyal airman. You believe what your superiors -tell you. But I'm a civilian, Colonel. There's no element in those -bombs that will either fuse or fission. The half-life is too long for -tritium or for lithium^6, and it's too short for uranium^{235} or -radio-thorium. The stuff is probably strontium^{90}--in short, nothing -but a bluff." - -"By the time I finished checking that," Gascoigne said, "the bomb would -be launched anyhow. And you haven't checked it, either. Try another -tack." - -"I don't need to. You don't have to believe me. We'll just sit here and -wait for the bomb drop, and then the point will prove itself. After -that, of course, you'll be court-martialed for firing a wild shot -without orders. But since you're prepared to wipe out your own family, -you won't mind a little thing like twenty years in the guardhouse." - -Gascoigne looked at the silently rolling tape. "Sure," he said. "I've -got the orders, anyhow. The same thing would happen if I didn't obey -them. If nobody gets hurt, so much the better." - -A sudden spasm of emotion--I took it to be grief, but I could have been -wrong--shook his whole frame for a moment. Again, he did not seem to -notice it. I said: - -"That's right. Not even your family. Of course the whole world will -know the station's a bluff, but if those are the orders--" - -"I don't know," Gascoigne said harshly. "I don't know whether I even -got any orders. I don't remember where I put them. Maybe they're not -real." He looked at me confusedly, and his expression was frighteningly -like that of a small boy making a confession. - -"You know something?" he said. "I don't know what's real any more. I -haven't been able to tell, ever since yesterday. I don't even know if -you are real, or your ID card either. What do you think of that?" - -"Nothing," I said. - -"Nothing? Nothing! That's my trouble. Nothing! I can't tell what's -nothing and what's something. You say the bombs are duds. All right. -But what if _you're_ the dud, and the bombs are real? Answer me that!" - -His expression was almost triumphant now. - -"The bombs are duds," I said. "And you've gone and steamed up your -glasses again. Why don't you turn down the humidity, so you can see for -three minutes and running?" - -Gascoigne leaned far forward, so far that he was perilously close to -toppling, and peered directly into my face. - -"Don't give me that," he said hoarsely. "Don't--give--me--that--stuff." - -I froze right where I was. Gascoigne watched my eyes for a while. Then, -slowly, he put his hand on his forehead and began to wipe it downward. -He smeared it over his face, in slow motion, all the way down to his -chin. - -Then he took the hand away and looked at it, as though it had just -strangled him and he couldn't understand why. And finally he spoke. - -"It--isn't true," he said dully. "I'm not wearing any glasses. Haven't -worn glasses since I was ten. Not since I broke my last pair--playing -King of the Hill." - -He sat down before the bombardier board and put his head in his hands. - -"You win," he said hoarsely. "I must be crazy as a loon. I don't know -what I'm seeing and what I'm not. You better take this gun away. If I -fired it I might even hit something." - -"You're all right," I said. And I meant it; but I didn't waste any time -all the same. The automatic first; then the tape. In that order, the -sequence couldn't be reversed afterwards. - -But the sound of the programmer's journal clicking to "Off" was as loud -in that cabin as any gunshot. - - * * * * * - -"He'll be all right," I told Joan afterwards. "He pulled himself -through. I wouldn't have dared to throw it at any other man that -fast--but he's got guts." - -"Just the same," Joan said, "they'd better start rotating the station -captains faster. The next man may not be so tough--and what if _he's_ a -sleepwalker?" - -I didn't say anything. I'd had my share of worries for that week. - -"You did a whale of a job yourself, Peter," Joan said. "I just wish we -could bank it in the machine. We might need the data later." - -"Well, why can't we?" - -"The Joint Chiefs of Staff say no. They don't say why. But they don't -want any part of it recorded in ULTIMAC--or anywhere else." - -I stared at her. At first it didn't seem to make sense. And then it -did--and that was worse. - -"Wait a minute," I said. "Joan--does that mean what I think it means? -Is 'Spatial Supremacy' just as bankrupt as 'Massive Retaliation' was? -Is it possible that the satellite--and the bombs.... Is it possible -that I was telling Gascoigne the truth about the bombs being duds?" - -Joan shrugged. - -"He that darkeneth counsel without wisdom," she said, "isn't earning -his salary." - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING OF THE HILL *** - -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/67317-0.zip b/old/67317-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index defd406..0000000 --- a/old/67317-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67317-h.zip b/old/67317-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 115f05e..0000000 --- a/old/67317-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67317-h/67317-h.htm b/old/67317-h/67317-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9915de6..0000000 --- a/old/67317-h/67317-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1145 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of King of the Hill, by James Blish. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -.ph1 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of King of the Hill, by James Blish</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: King of the Hill</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James Blish</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67317]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING OF THE HILL ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>KING OF THE HILL</h1> - -<h2>by JAMES BLISH</h2> - -<p>Illustrated by GRIFFITH</p> - -<p><i>A madman can be prevented from<br /> -bomb-throwing—but a mad world?</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>It did Col. Hal Gascoigne no good whatsoever to know that he was the -only man aboard Satellite Vehicle 1. No good at all. He had stopped -reminding himself of the fact some time back.</p> - -<p>And now, as he sat sweating in the perfectly balanced air in front of -the bombardier board, one of the men spoke to him again:</p> - -<p>"Colonel, sir—"</p> - -<p>Gascoigne swung around in the seat, and the sergeant—Gascoigne could -almost remember the man's name—threw him a snappy Air Force salute.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Bomb one is primed, sir. Your orders?"</p> - -<p>"My orders?" Gascoigne said wonderingly. But the man was already -gone. Gascoigne couldn't actually <i>see</i> the sergeant leave the control -cabin, but he was no longer in it.</p> - -<p>While he tried to remember, another voice rang in the cabin, as flat -and razzy as all voices sound on an intercom.</p> - -<p>"Radar room. On target."</p> - -<p>A regular, meaningless peeping. The timing circuit had cut in.</p> - -<p>Or had it? There was nobody in the radar room. There was nobody in -the bomb hold, either. There had never been anybody on board SV-1 but -Gascoigne, not since he had relieved Grinnell—and Grinnell had flown -the station up here in the first place.</p> - -<p>Then who had that sergeant been? His name was—It was—</p> - -<p>The hammering of the teletype blanked it out. The noise was as loud as -a pom-pom in the echoing metal cave. He got up and coasted across the -deck to the machine, gliding in the gravity-free cabin with the ease of -a man to whom free fall is almost second nature.</p> - -<p>The teletype was silent by the time he reached it, and at first the -tape looked blank. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. There was the -message.</p> - -<p class="ph1">MNBVCXZ LKJ HGFDS PYTR AOIU EUIO QPALZM</p> - -<p>He got out his copy of "The Well-Tempered Pogo" and checked the -speeches of Grundoon the Beaver-Chile for the key letter-sequence on -which the code was based. There weren't very many choices. He had the -clear in ten minutes.</p> - -<p class="ph1">BOMB ONE WASHINGTON -1700 HRS TAMMANANY</p> - -<p>There it was. That was what he had been priming the bomb for. But there -should have been earlier orders, giving him the go-ahead to prime. He -began to rewind the paper.</p> - -<p>It was all blank.</p> - -<p>And—<i>Washington</i>? Why would the Joint Chiefs of Staff order him—</p> - -<p>"Col. Gascoigne, sir—"</p> - -<p>Gascoigne jerked around and returned the salute. "What's your name?" he -snapped.</p> - -<p>"Sweeney, sir," the corporal said. Actually it didn't sound very much -like Sweeney, or like anything else; it was just a noise. Yet the man's -face looked familiar. "Ready with bomb two, sir."</p> - -<p>The corporal saluted, turned, took two steps, and faded. He did not -vanish, but he did not go out the door, either. He simply receded, -became darker and harder to distinguish, and was no longer there. It -was as though he and Gascoigne had disagreed about the effects of -perspective in the glowing Earthlight, and Gascoigne had turned out to -be wrong.</p> - -<p>Numbly, he finished rewinding the paper. There was no doubt about it. -There the order stood, black on yellow, as plain as plain. Bomb the -capital of your own country at 1700 hours. Just incidentally, bomb -your own home in the process, but don't give that a second thought. Be -thorough, drop two bombs; don't worry about missing by a few seconds of -arc and hitting Baltimore instead, or Silver Spring, or Milford, Del. -CIG will give you the coordinates, but plaster the area anyhow. That's -S.O.P.</p> - -<p>With rubbery fingers, Gascoigne began to work the keys of the teletype. -Sending on the frequency of Civilian Intelligence Group, he typed:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>HELP SHOUT SERIOUS REPEAT SERIOUS PERSONNEL TROUBLE HERE STOP DON'T -KNOW HOW LONG I CAN KEEP IT DOWN STOP URGENT GASCOIGNE SV ONE STOP</p></div> - -<p>Behind him, the oscillator peeped rhythmically, timing the drive on the -launching rack trunnion.</p> - -<p>"Radar room. On target."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne did not turn. He sat before the bombardier board and sweated -in the perfectly balanced air. Inside his skull, his own voice was -shouting:</p> - -<p>STOP STOP STOP</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That, as we reconstructed it afterwards, is how the SV-1 affair began. -It was pure luck, I suppose, that Gascoigne sent his message direct -to us. Civilian Intelligence Group is rarely called into an emergency -when the emergency is just being born. Usually Washington tries to do -the bailing job first. Then, when Washington discovers that the boat is -still sinking, it passes the bailing can to us—usually with a demand -that we transform it into a centrifugal pump, on the double.</p> - -<p>We don't mind. Washington's failure to develop a government department -similar in function to CIG is the reason why we're in business. The -profits, of course, go to Affiliated Enterprises, Inc., the loose -corporation of universities and industries which put up the money to -build ULTIMAC—and ULTIMAC is, in turn, the reason why Washington comes -running to CIG so often.</p> - -<p>This time, however, it did not look like the big computer was going -to be of much use to us. I said as much to Joan Hadamard, our social -sciences division chief, when I handed her the message.</p> - -<p>"Um," she said. "<i>Personnel</i> trouble? What does he mean? He hasn't got -any personnel on that station."</p> - -<p>This was no news to me. CIG provided the figures that got the SV-1 into -its orbit in the first place, and it was on our advice that it carried -only one man. The crew of a space vessel either has to be large or it -has to be a lone man; there is no intermediate choice. And SV-1 wasn't -big enough to carry a large crew—not to carry them and keep the men -from flying at each other's throats sooner or later, that is.</p> - -<p>"He means himself," I said. "That's why I don't think this is a job -for the computer. It's going to have to be played person-to-person. -It's my bet that the man's responsibility-happy; that danger was always -implicit in the one-man recommendation."</p> - -<p>"The only decent solution is a full complement," Joan agreed. "Once the -Pentagon can get enough money from Congress to build a big station."</p> - -<p>"What puzzles me is, why did he call us instead of his superiors?"</p> - -<p>"That's easy. We process his figures. He trusts us. The Pentagon thinks -we're infallible, and he's caught the disease from them."</p> - -<p>"That's bad," I said.</p> - -<p>"I've never denied it."</p> - -<p>"No, what I mean is that it's bad that he called us instead of going -through channels. It means that the emergency is at least as bad as he -says it is."</p> - -<p>I thought about it another precious moment longer while Joan did some -quick dialing. As everybody on Earth—with the possible exception of -a few Tibetans—already knew, the man who rode SV-1 rode with three -hydrogen bombs immediately under his feet—bombs which he could drop -with great precision on any spot on the Earth. Gascoigne was, in -effect, the sum total of American foreign policy; he might as well have -had "Spatial Supremacy" stamped on his forehead.</p> - -<p>"What does the Air Force say?" I asked Joan as she hung up.</p> - -<p>"They say they're a little worried about Gascoigne. He's a very stable -man, but they had to let him run a month over his normal replacement -time—why, they don't explain. He's been turning in badly garbled -reports over the last week. They're thinking about giving him a -dressing down."</p> - -<p>"Thinking! They'd better be careful with that stuff, or they'll hurt -themselves. Joan, somebody's going to have to go up there. I'll arrange -fast transportation, and tell Gascoigne that help is coming. Who should -go?"</p> - -<p>"I don't have a recommendation," Joan said. "Better ask the computer."</p> - -<p>I did so—on the double.</p> - -<p>ULTIMAC said: <i>Harris</i>.</p> - -<p>"Good luck, Peter," Joan said calmly. Too calmly.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "Or good night."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Exactly what I expected to happen as the ferry rocket approached SV-1, -I don't now recall. I had decided that I couldn't carry a squad with -me. If Gascoigne was really far gone, he wouldn't allow a group of men -to disembark; one man, on the other hand, he might pass. But I suppose -I did expect him to put up an argument first.</p> - -<p>Nothing happened. He did not challenge the ferry, and he didn't answer -hails. Contact with the station was made through the radar automatics, -and I was put off on board as routinely as though I was being let into -a movie—but a lot more rapidly.</p> - -<p>The control room was dark and confusing, and at first I didn't see -Gascoigne anywhere. The Earthlight coming through the observation port -was brilliant, but beyond the edges of its path the darkness was almost -absolute, broken only by the little stars of indicator lenses.</p> - -<p>A faint snicking sound turned my eyes in the right direction. There was -Gascoigne. He was hunched over the bombardier board, his back to me. In -one hand he held a small tool resembling a ticket-punch. Its jaws were -nibbling steadily at a taut line of tape running between two spools; -that had been the sound I'd heard. I recognized the device without any -trouble; it was a programmer.</p> - -<p>But why hadn't Gascoigne heard me come in? I hadn't tried to sneak up -on him, there is no quiet way to come through an airlock anyway. But -the punch went on snicking steadily.</p> - -<p>"Col. Gascoigne," I said. There was no answer. I took a step forward. -"Col. Gascoigne, I'm Harris of CIG. What are you doing?"</p> - -<p>The additional step did the trick. "Stay away from me," Gascoigne -growled, from somewhere way down in his chest. "I'm programming the -bomb. Punching in the orders myself. Can't depend on my crew. Stay -away."</p> - -<p>"Give over for a minute, I want to talk to you."</p> - -<p>"That's a new one," said Gascoigne, not moving. "Most of you guys -were rushing to set up launchings before you even reported to me. Who -the hell are you, anyhow? There's nobody on board, I know <i>that</i> well -enough."</p> - -<p>"I'm Peter Harris," I said. "From CIG—you called us, remember? You -asked us to send help."</p> - -<p>"Doesn't prove a thing. Tell me something I <i>don't</i> know. Then maybe -I'll believe you exist. Otherwise—beat it."</p> - -<p>"Nothing doing. Put down that punch."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne straightened slowly and turned to look at me. "Well, you -don't vanish, I'll give you that," he said. "What did you say your name -was?"</p> - -<p>"Harris. Here's my ID card."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne took the plastic-coated card tentatively, and then removed -his glasses and polished them. The gesture itself was perfectly -ordinary, and wouldn't have surprised me—except that Gascoigne was not -wearing glasses.</p> - -<p>"It's hard to see in here," he complained. "Everything gets so steamed -up. Hm. All right, you're real. What do you want?"</p> - -<p>His finger touched a journal. Silently, the tape began to roll from one -spool to another.</p> - -<p>"Gascoigne, stop that thing. If you drop any bombs there'll be hell to -pay. It's tense enough down below as it is. And there's no reason to -bomb anybody."</p> - -<p>"Plenty of reason," Gascoigne muttered. He turned toward the teletype, -exposing to me for the first time a hip holster cradling a large, black -automatic. I didn't doubt that he could draw it with fabulous rapidity, -and put the bullets just where he wanted them to go. "I've got orders. -There they are. See for yourself."</p> - -<p>Cautiously, I sidled over to the teletype and looked. Except for -Gascoigne's own message to CIG, and one from Joan Hadamard announcing -that I was on my way, the paper was totally blank. There had been no -other messages that day unless Gascoigne had changed the roll, and -there was no reason why he should have. Those rolls last close to -forever.</p> - -<p>"When did this order come in?"</p> - -<p>"This morning some time. I don't know. Sweeney!" he bawled suddenly, so -loud that the paper tore in my hands. "When did that drop order come -through?"</p> - -<p>Nobody answered. But Gascoigne said almost at once, "There, you heard -him."</p> - -<p>"I didn't hear anything but you," I said, "and I'm going to stop that -tape. Stand aside."</p> - -<p>"Not a chance, Mister," Gascoigne said grimly. "The tape rides."</p> - -<p>"Who's getting hit?"</p> - -<p>"Washington," Gascoigne said, and passed his hand over his face. He -appeared to have forgotten the imaginary spectacles.</p> - -<p>"That's where your home is, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"It sure is," Gascoigne said. "It sure as hell is, Mister. Cute, isn't -it?"</p> - -<p>It was cute, all right. The Air Force boys at the Pentagon were going -to be given about ten milliseconds to be sorry they'd refused to send -a replacement for Gascoigne along with me. <i>Replace him with who? We -can't send his second alternate in anything short of a week. The man -has to have retraining, and the first alternate's in the hospital with -a ruptured spleen. Besides, Gascoigne's the best man for the job; he's -got to be bailed out somehow.</i></p> - -<p>Sure. With a psychological centrifugal pump, no doubt. In the meantime -the tape kept right on running.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You might as well stop wiping your face, and turn down the humidity -instead," I said. "You've already smudged your glasses again."</p> - -<p>"Glasses?" Gascoigne muttered. He moved slowly across the cabin, -sailing upright like a sea-horse, to the blank glass of a closed port. -I seriously doubted that he could see his reflection in it, but maybe -he didn't really want to see it. "I messed them up, all right. Thanks." -He went through the polishing routine again.</p> - -<p>A man who thinks he is wearing glasses also thinks he can't see without -them. I slid to the programmer and turned off the tape. I was between -the spools and Gascoigne now—but I couldn't stay there forever.</p> - -<p>"Let's talk a minute, Colonel," I said. "Surely it can't do any harm."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne smiled, with a sort of childish craft. "I'll talk," he said. -"Just as soon as you start that tape again. I was watching you in the -mirror, <i>before</i> I took my glasses off."</p> - -<p>The liar. I hadn't made a move while he'd been looking into that -porthole. His poor pitiful weak old rheumy eyes had seen every move I -made while he was polishing his "glasses." I shrugged and stepped away -from the programmer.</p> - -<p>"You start it," I said. "I won't take the responsibility."</p> - -<p>"It's orders," Gascoigne said woodenly. He started the tape running -again. "It's their responsibility. What did you want to talk to me -about, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"Col. Gascoigne, have you ever killed anybody?"</p> - -<p>He looked startled. "Yes, once I did," he said, almost eagerly. "I -crashed a plane into a house. Killed the whole family. Walked away with -nothing worse than a burned leg—good as new after a couple of muscle -stabilizations. That's what made me shift from piloting to weapons; -that leg's not quite good enough to fly with any more."</p> - -<p>"Tough."</p> - -<p>He snickered suddenly, explosively. "And now look at me," he said. "I'm -going to kill my <i>own</i> family in a little while. And millions of other -people. Maybe the whole world."</p> - -<p>How long was "a little while"?</p> - -<p>"What have you got against it?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Against what—the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Look at me: I'm -king of the hill up here. I can't complain."</p> - -<p>He paused and licked his lips. "It was different when I was a kid," -he said. "Not so dull, then. In those days you could get a real -newspaper, that you could unfold for the first time yourself, and pick -out what you wanted to read. Not like now, when the news comes to you -predigested on a piece of paper out of your radio. That's what's the -matter with it, if you ask me."</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with what?"</p> - -<p>"With the news—that's why it's always bad these days. Everything's had -something done to it. The milk is homogenized, the bread is sliced, the -cars steer themselves, the phonographs will produce sounds no musical -instrument could make. Too much meddling, too many people who can't -keep their hands off things. Ever fire a kiln?"</p> - -<p>"Me?" I said, startled.</p> - -<p>"No, I didn't think so. Nobody makes pottery these days. Not by hand. -And if they did, who'd buy it? They don't want something that's been -made. They want something that's been Done To."</p> - -<p>The tape kept on traveling. Down below, there was a heavy rumble, -difficult to identify specifically: something heavy being shifted on -tracks, or maybe a freight lock opening.</p> - -<p>"So now you're going to Do Something to the Earth," I said slowly.</p> - -<p>"Not me. It's orders."</p> - -<p>"Orders from inside, Col. Gascoigne. There's nothing on the spools." -What else could I do? I didn't have time to take him through two years -of psychoanalysis and bring him to his own insight. Besides, I'm not -licensed to practice medicine—not on Earth. "I didn't want to say so, -but I have to now."</p> - -<p>"Say what?" Gascoigne said suspiciously. "That I'm crazy or something?"</p> - -<p>"No. I didn't say that. You did," I pointed out. "But I will tell you -that that stuff about not liking the world these days is baloney. Or -rationalization, if you want a nicer word. You're carrying a screaming -load of guilt, Colonel, whether you're aware of it or not."</p> - -<p>"I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you just beat it?"</p> - -<p>"No. And you know well enough. You fell all over yourself to tell me -about the family you killed in your flying accident." I gave him ten -seconds of silence, and then shot the question at him as hard as I -could. "<i>What was their name?</i>"</p> - -<p>"How do I know? Sweeney or something. Anything. I don't remember."</p> - -<p>"Sure you do. Do you think that killing your own family is going to -bring the Sweeneys back to life?"</p> - -<p>Gascoigne's mouth twisted, but he seemed to be entirely unaware of the -grimace. "That's all hogwash," he said. "I never did hold with that -psychological claptrap. It's you that's handing out the baloney, not -me."</p> - -<p>"Then why are you being so vituperative about it? Hogwash, claptrap, -baloney—you are working awfully hard to knock it down, for a man who -doesn't believe in it."</p> - -<p>"Go away," he said sullenly. "I've got my orders. I'm obeying them."</p> - -<p>Stalemate. But there was no such thing as stalemate up here. Defeat was -the word.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The tape traveled. I did not know what to do. The last bomb problem CIG -had tackled had been one we had set up ourselves; we had arranged for a -dud to be dropped in New York harbor, to test our own facilities for -speed in determining the nature of the missile. The situation on board -SV-1 was completely different—</p> - -<p>Whoa. Was it? Maybe I'd hit something there.</p> - -<p>"Col. Gascoigne," I said slowly, "you might as well know now that it -isn't going to work. Not even if you do get that bomb off."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I can. What's to stop me?" He hooked one thumb in his belt, just -above the holster, so that his fingertips rested on the breech of the -automatic.</p> - -<p>"Your bombs. They aren't alive."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne laughed harshly and waved at the controls. "Tell that to the -counter in the bomb hold. Go ahead. There's a meter you can read, right -there on the bombardier board."</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said. "The bombs are radioactive, all right. Have you ever -checked their half-life?"</p> - -<p>It was a long shot. Gascoigne was a weapons man; if it were possible -to check half-life on board the SV-1, he would have checked it. But I -didn't think it was possible.</p> - -<p>"What would I do that for?"</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't, being a loyal airman. You believe what your superiors -tell you. But I'm a civilian, Colonel. There's no element in those -bombs that will either fuse or fission. The half-life is too long for -tritium or for lithium<sup>6</sup>, and it's too short for uranium<sup>235</sup> or -radio-thorium. The stuff is probably strontium<sup>90</sup>—in short, nothing -but a bluff."</p> - -<p>"By the time I finished checking that," Gascoigne said, "the bomb would -be launched anyhow. And you haven't checked it, either. Try another -tack."</p> - -<p>"I don't need to. You don't have to believe me. We'll just sit here and -wait for the bomb drop, and then the point will prove itself. After -that, of course, you'll be court-martialed for firing a wild shot -without orders. But since you're prepared to wipe out your own family, -you won't mind a little thing like twenty years in the guardhouse."</p> - -<p>Gascoigne looked at the silently rolling tape. "Sure," he said. "I've -got the orders, anyhow. The same thing would happen if I didn't obey -them. If nobody gets hurt, so much the better."</p> - -<p>A sudden spasm of emotion—I took it to be grief, but I could have been -wrong—shook his whole frame for a moment. Again, he did not seem to -notice it. I said:</p> - -<p>"That's right. Not even your family. Of course the whole world will -know the station's a bluff, but if those are the orders—"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," Gascoigne said harshly. "I don't know whether I even -got any orders. I don't remember where I put them. Maybe they're not -real." He looked at me confusedly, and his expression was frighteningly -like that of a small boy making a confession.</p> - -<p>"You know something?" he said. "I don't know what's real any more. I -haven't been able to tell, ever since yesterday. I don't even know if -you are real, or your ID card either. What do you think of that?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," I said.</p> - -<p>"Nothing? Nothing! That's my trouble. Nothing! I can't tell what's -nothing and what's something. You say the bombs are duds. All right. -But what if <i>you're</i> the dud, and the bombs are real? Answer me that!"</p> - -<p>His expression was almost triumphant now.</p> - -<p>"The bombs are duds," I said. "And you've gone and steamed up your -glasses again. Why don't you turn down the humidity, so you can see for -three minutes and running?"</p> - -<p>Gascoigne leaned far forward, so far that he was perilously close to -toppling, and peered directly into my face.</p> - -<p>"Don't give me that," he said hoarsely. "Don't—give—me—that—stuff."</p> - -<p>I froze right where I was. Gascoigne watched my eyes for a while. Then, -slowly, he put his hand on his forehead and began to wipe it downward. -He smeared it over his face, in slow motion, all the way down to his -chin.</p> - -<p>Then he took the hand away and looked at it, as though it had just -strangled him and he couldn't understand why. And finally he spoke.</p> - -<p>"It—isn't true," he said dully. "I'm not wearing any glasses. Haven't -worn glasses since I was ten. Not since I broke my last pair—playing -King of the Hill."</p> - -<p>He sat down before the bombardier board and put his head in his hands.</p> - -<p>"You win," he said hoarsely. "I must be crazy as a loon. I don't know -what I'm seeing and what I'm not. You better take this gun away. If I -fired it I might even hit something."</p> - -<p>"You're all right," I said. And I meant it; but I didn't waste any time -all the same. The automatic first; then the tape. In that order, the -sequence couldn't be reversed afterwards.</p> - -<p>But the sound of the programmer's journal clicking to "Off" was as loud -in that cabin as any gunshot.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"He'll be all right," I told Joan afterwards. "He pulled himself -through. I wouldn't have dared to throw it at any other man that -fast—but he's got guts."</p> - -<p>"Just the same," Joan said, "they'd better start rotating the station -captains faster. The next man may not be so tough—and what if <i>he's</i> a -sleepwalker?"</p> - -<p>I didn't say anything. I'd had my share of worries for that week.</p> - -<p>"You did a whale of a job yourself, Peter," Joan said. "I just wish we -could bank it in the machine. We might need the data later."</p> - -<p>"Well, why can't we?"</p> - -<p>"The Joint Chiefs of Staff say no. They don't say why. But they don't -want any part of it recorded in ULTIMAC—or anywhere else."</p> - -<p>I stared at her. At first it didn't seem to make sense. And then it -did—and that was worse.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute," I said. "Joan—does that mean what I think it means? -Is 'Spatial Supremacy' just as bankrupt as 'Massive Retaliation' was? -Is it possible that the satellite—and the bombs.... Is it possible -that I was telling Gascoigne the truth about the bombs being duds?"</p> - -<p>Joan shrugged.</p> - -<p>"He that darkeneth counsel without wisdom," she said, "isn't earning -his salary."</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING OF THE HILL ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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