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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79008 ***
+
+
+
+
+                                 Wheels
+
+                            by Michael Zuroy
+
+                          Illustrated by Freas
+
+
+
+
+  =Ker Kermit plotted better than he realized when he entered his
+  superior’s name, along with his own, in the Fly-Wheels exhibition in
+  honor of visiting aliens. For if Alph Agar lost, he would lose his
+  life!=
+
+
+
+
+Alone in his office, Alph Agar, Director of the Ossining Unit of
+Budd-Jarvis Fly-Wheels, was crouching over his desk, clenched hands
+rotating alternately clock-wise and counterclockwise. Thus occupied, he
+did not hear his secretary come in. “What--what’s the matter?” gasped
+Jean-Jean.
+
+Agar straightened slowly, feeling a complete fool. A man should not
+allow his secretary to catch him in such a ridiculous position. What
+was he to tell Jean-Jean? Not the truth, certainly.
+
+“Torgian calisthenics,” explained Agar. “No need to be alarmed,
+Jean-Jean. Simply a new variation; very relaxing.”
+
+Jean-Jean gave him a long look and went to her desk. He grew absorbed
+in the back of her neck, the coppery hair, and the clean-limbed figure
+in the iridescent green tunic. Why, thought Agar, must he always be
+remembering his dignity as a Director? Why couldn’t he just stride over
+to her, and....
+
+And what? When had he ever known how to handle a woman? Preparation for
+the Director of a Fly-Wheel unit had not included instruction on the
+opposite sex. From his boyhood there had been long years of scientific,
+mathematical, engineering, statistical, financial, economic and legal
+schooling; there had been single-minded dedication to his job as he
+struggled up wards through man-killing competition. There had been no
+time for women.
+
+So that here he was at thirty-six, holder of one of the world’s more
+responsible positions, director and coordinator of a complex plant
+covering more than five square miles and employing over eight thousand
+people, and without the slightest notion as to how to approach a girl
+like Jean-Jean.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He hadn’t minded too much, up to now. But Jean-Jean... well, it was a
+warming, if far-fetched, thought that someday she might call him by the
+intimate, Alph, instead of the formal, Alph Agar. Close friends and
+relatives, wives and sweethearts used the intimate; nobody, except his
+immediate family, had ever called him Alph....
+
+Ker Kermit, Assistant Director of the Fly-Wheel unit, stepped into the
+office, crackling, “Good-morning, good-morning, good-morning.” He threw
+his wiry frame into a zilxitron chair and ran a hand over his crisp
+black hair, watching Agar with an alert expression.
+
+Agar passed a hand over his eyes. The man made him weary. It wasn’t so
+much that he knew Kermit was after his job; that was to be expected,
+he supposed. It was that boundless, efficient energy. He, himself, was
+exhausted at the end of a day; where did Kermit get that eternal drive?
+
+“What can I do for you, Ker Kermit?”
+
+“Old fellow,” said Kermit. When Kermit said, ‘old fellow’, thought
+Agar, it did not sound idiomatic; it sounded as if it meant, old
+fellow. “I knew you’d be pleased,” said Kermit, a combination of
+mockery and triumph glinting in his eyes. “I took the liberty of
+entering your name together with my own. I know you must be a crack
+Fly-Wheel pilot. Of course, the Board will contact you for personal
+confirmation, and if you’d like to back out, I’m sure they’ll
+understand.”
+
+Agar noticed Jean-Jean’s ears assume a listening look. “Wait a minute,”
+he said slowly. “Are you talking about the exhibitions in honor of the
+visiting Betelgeusians? You entered my name, as a participant?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Kermit looked at him with a show of anxiety. “You are pleased, I hope,
+Alph Agar? I’m in it myself, you know. The notice from the Board
+expressed a desire for volunteers from the executive level, and so
+I thought the least we could do.... Like most executives, you are a
+crack pilot--I’m sure of that, even though I can’t recall ever seeing
+you pilot a Fly-Wheel. You seem to prefer a personal chauffeur at all
+times, don’t you, Alph Agar? Some narrow minds might deduce from that,
+that... but that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? I am positive that
+you are an expert pilot, Alph Agar.”
+
+“Yes, yes, of course,” said Agar. “Well, thank you Ker Kermit.”
+
+“You’re entirely welcome.” The glint of mockery showed once more in
+Kermit’s eyes and he left.
+
+Jean-Jean swung around in her chair. “That Ker Kermit!” she burst out,
+her pretty face tight with anger. “Of all the insufferable....”
+
+“Jean-Jean,” said Agar dully. “I may as well tell you. I can’t operate
+a Fly-Wheel.”
+
+“You mean... at all?”
+
+“At all.”
+
+“But that’s impossible, Alph Agar! _Everybody_ operates Fly-Wheels
+nowadays! Old ladies, invalids, children, everybody! Even dogs have
+been trained to pilot Fly-Wheels. Do you expect me to believe that you,
+Director of a Fly-Wheel Manufacturing Unit, can’t pilot one?”
+
+“No, I can’t,” said Agar.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jean-Jean stared at him, adjusting herself to the idea. Once adjusted,
+she became decisive. “All right then, you’ll simply tell the Board that
+Ker Kermit submitted your name without your knowledge or permission,
+and that you don’t wish to participate in the exhibition.”
+
+“No,” said Agar, miserably. “I can’t do that either. In the first
+place, they wouldn’t like my backing out; but more important than
+that, in their thorough-going way they would investigate further, and
+discover that I don’t hold a Fly-Wheel operator’s license.”
+
+Jean-Jean looked impatient. “So what? A Director is not required to
+operate Fly-Wheels.”
+
+“That’s where you’re wrong.” Agar extracted an old, green-bound book
+from his desk drawer, and flipped it open. “I ran across this recently.
+Listen.”
+
+He read aloud: “Article 1382 of Budd-Jarvis Regulations of 2124; ‘_No
+person may hold an office higher than that of Sub-chief unless he is
+the holder of a license to drive a Fly-Wheel, and furthermore possesses
+such skill in operation of said vehicle as to warrant a rating of .85-L
+Wullen or better from a competent board of examiners_’.”
+
+Jean-Jean’s clear grey eyes met Agar’s, and hastily he tried to tune
+out something that went beat-beat-beat under his ribs. “They made you
+Director anyway, didn’t they?” said Jean-Jean. “Doesn’t that mean that
+this old regulation no longer applies? After all, it’s dated 2124,
+sixty years ago.”
+
+“No,” said Agar. “It simply means that they’ve lost track of the
+regulation, and so didn’t bother to check me for a Fly-Wheel license.
+I suppose that after Fly-Wheel operation became so easy and universal
+that everybody satisfied the requirement, the Board dropped examination
+on this point and the regulation passed into obscurity. However,
+I’ve looked into it, and it’s still a legitimate company rule. An
+investigation would dredge it up, and you know how the Board abides by
+rules, and how nosey they are. That’s why I can’t back out now and risk
+arousing their disapproval and curiosity.”
+
+“All right, I see that. But they’ll find you out at the exhibition
+anyway.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“No, they won’t,” said Agar grimly. “The exhibition is a few weeks off,
+and by that time I intend to have my license. I’m taking lessons from
+my chauffeur; been doing so since I discovered Article 1382. Practice
+all the time. That’s what I was doing when you walked in before;
+practicing parking.”
+
+“Oh! I wondered. I’m glad it was only that. How are you doing?”
+
+“Well, I admit I’m having a little trouble. Can’t seem to get the feel
+of it exactly. Never had any time for that kind of thing before. But
+I’ll get it, Jean-Jean, see if I don’t.”
+
+“Yes, but what about Ker Kermit? How much does he know?”
+
+“Ker Kermit suspects that I am not a good pilot, and so is trying to
+embarrass me; but you may be sure he knows nothing about Article 1382.
+If he did, in the time it takes to buzz a Talkasee the Prime Executive
+Board would have had the information, and....”
+
+The Talkasee buzzed. Jean-Jean answered, and switched the call to Agar.
+The slight frame of Pawl Pastin, Secretary of the Prime Executive Board
+appeared on the screen. “Good day,” said Pastin in his dry, precise
+tones. “I understand that you wish to volunteer for the Betelgeusian
+exhibition. I hope this is correct?”
+
+“Well... yes, it’s correct.”
+
+“Good!” said Pastin, rubbing his hands together. “The Board is pleased.
+Although, we’ve put this on a voluntary basis, we’re extremely desirous
+that our top executives participate. You understand that this is
+meant to secure the approval of the Betelgeusians, among whom it is a
+tradition that those who are highly placed should risk their lives in
+competition. But you’ve read about all this in the notice. Brave man,
+Alph Agar, brave man! Good luck!” Pastin clicked off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Agar sat appalled. Brave man? What was this about risk of life? He
+hadn’t read the notice, only glanced at the first couple of lines.
+“Jean-Jean!” he yelled; “hand me that notice!”
+
+He read, with Jean-Jean following over his shoulder:
+
+“..._competitive races and exhibitions of skill in the operation of
+Fly-Wheels to be held in honor of the Betelgeusians, since they are
+considering importing Fly-Wheels for use as their principal mode of
+transportation ... would mean largest mass-order in Budd-Jarvis history
+... also top diplomatic importance to Earth Government in view of
+pending trade agreements ... in accordance with Betelgeusian tradition,
+participant who makes poorest rating will be killed. BY ORDER OF THE
+PRIME EXECUTIVE BOARD_...”
+
+“Killed?” Jean-Jean’s face looked worried.
+
+“Must be a typographical error. What could they mean?” speculated Agar.
+“Spilled? Chilled? Billed? Filled? Get me Pawl Pastin again.”
+
+“Killed,” said Pastin dryly, after they were connected. “Put to death.
+Executed. Deprived of life. I thought you understood that.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Agar. “Budd-Jarvis has no legal right to
+put anyone to death, nor has the Government. This is the Twenty-Second
+century, you know. Execution is not legal.”
+
+“Incorrect. Quote: Article 101,379, Budd-Jarvis Code: ‘_Any person
+in the employ of Budd-Jarvis holding office higher than that of
+Sub-Chief having signed the standard acceptance of the Budd-Jarvis
+Code, is subject to deprivation of life when continuance of said life
+constitutes a threat of .798 Bakli rating or better to the interests
+of the Company. Said rating to be verified by a board of Government
+Raters, and said deprivation to be performed with the permission of and
+under the supervision of the Government. Compensation to beneficiaries
+of the deceased to be made in the amount of fifty-thousand munits.
+Precedents: Dool Dooling case, 2085. Zeno Zerkel Case, 2096._’ Unquote.”
+
+“The continuance of the life of the loser of the forth-coming
+competition would cause disapproval among the Betelgeusians, and
+therefore constitute a threat to the interests of the Company. Is that
+clear?”
+
+“The Government will never approve this!”
+
+“The Government,” said Pastin drily, “has rated the threat at .839
+Bakli, and has therefore already approved it.”
+
+“In that case, I withdraw from the exhibition.”
+
+“I am sorry; you have volunteered of your own free will and been
+accepted. We cannot change that any more. The only way you can withdraw
+is to resign your Directorship.”
+
+“We’ll see about that!” yelled Agar, and clicked off. “Get me Unit
+C4439 of the Information Bank of the Master Law and Policy Machine,” he
+directed Jean-Jean.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Through its fixed smile, C4439 said in its pleasantly human voice.
+“Data, please.”
+
+Agar gave the data.
+
+“Point,” said C4439. “B-J Code, Article 101,379 does so state.
+Point: Employee who has signed standard acceptance agreement of Code
+is legally bound by 101,379. Point: Government, however, rarely
+grants permission to execute. Point: Exception: Where execution is
+sufficiently to the public interest, Government grants permission.
+Point: This is now the case. Point: All agreements being binding,
+only way to withdraw from competition is to exercise the one right
+remaining: resignation of Directorship. End of points. Further data,
+please?”
+
+“No further data!” Agar shouted.
+
+“Thank you,” smiled Unit C4439. “I am disconnecting. May you dwell in
+happiness.” The screen went blank.
+
+“Now what fool put that expression into that robot!” raged Agar.
+
+Jean-Jean was standing before him, worried. “Alph Agar, you must
+resign.”
+
+Alph Agar went to the window. The panorama spreading below him was the
+Unit: the huge, low buildings, the landscaped parks, the testing fields
+stretching to the horizon, the web of roads, the Fly-Wheels of all
+classes, rolling across the skies, rising and landing, spinning along
+the roads.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Agar watched the Fly-Wheels that had been all of his life up to
+now: the tremendous flat-rimmed wheel rotating about the stationery
+cylindrical cabin; the all-purpose vehicle that was equally at home in
+the air, on land, on water or under water. He knew every last detail of
+its construction, every principle and theory upon which it was founded.
+He knew, down to the ninth decimal place, the critical angular velocity
+which would take it off the vanes along its periphery on lift and
+velocity; the intricacies of its sealed atomic power plant that never
+needed attention and would outlast the vehicle itself.
+
+He knew these things, he thought, but he couldn’t operate a Fly-Wheel.
+Because of this; and because of Ker Kermit, who wanted his job; and
+because of a quirk of circumstance, was he to relinquish everything
+that had given his existence meaning? No, thought Agar, not this
+easily, not without a struggle.
+
+“I will not resign,” he said to Jean-Jean. “I will acquire a license
+and enter that exhibition and do my best.”
+
+“And lose. Honestly, Alph Agar, you’re the most stubborn....” She
+was beginning to look angry. “How can you compete with people who
+are born pilots? You’re not the pilot type, you know. You’re stiff,
+you’re methodical, you’re deliberate. You don’t know how to relax. In a
+Fly-Wheel, you have to let yourself go; you have to become part of it,
+move with it, feel with it, not sit in it like a passenger.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Stiff, thought Alph Agar. Methodical. Deliberate. So this was
+Jean-Jean’s picture of him. Hardly a romantic conception. Well, he
+supposed he was a fool to imagine she might someday come tenderly into
+his arms, her brisk manner turned soft for him, her ripe lips waiting
+for his, her body that was both girl’s and woman’s yielding for him,
+her.... “Hrrrmph!” He cleared his throat and shook his head.
+
+What was the matter with him? Where was his mental discipline? For a
+fleeting moment, he wondered what would happen if he simply followed
+his impulse and walked up to Jean-Jean and grasped her firmly; then the
+discipline took rigid hold. Impulses, he knew, should not be trusted.
+What, after all, would Jean-Jean want with a man like him?
+
+“Alph Agar,” said Jean-Jean again, “is the Directorship more important
+than your life?”
+
+“The Directorship is my life.”
+
+She stared at him, her hazel eyes seeming to moisten and then narrow.
+“Yes. I suppose it is. I suppose it is. Oh, you boob!”
+
+“Boob?”
+
+“Archaic, twentieth century. Look it up.”
+
+“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
+
+“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” said Jean-Jean tightly. “I’m
+going to see my boy-friend.”
+
+“Jean-Jean....” But she was gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From several thousand feet above the ground, Alph Agar surveyed the
+view. Beautiful, he supposed, but frightening. Once he got up here, he
+could never quite escape the notion that man’s natural place was on the
+ground. However, he thought, he wasn’t doing too badly lately. His grip
+on the controls was firm. The Fly-Wheel was coursing along smoothly,
+maintaining a consistent level. He glanced at the man sitting beside
+him, his chauffeur, Kim Koom. “All right?”
+
+Kim Koom licked his lips nervously. “All right, Alph Agar, but please
+don’t look at me; don’t let your attention wander from your piloting.”
+
+“Come, come, I’ve made some improvement, Koom. I might be allowed a
+little more freedom don’t you think?”
+
+“The controls,” said Koom. “Watch the controls.”
+
+Agar focused on his piloting again. Any way, he thought, he was feeling
+a shade more confident. He had handled things pretty well, lately.
+Take the matter of that weasel, Ker Kermit. He had been icily distant
+to Kermit, but polite, not allowing the man to suspect that he was
+worried. And Jean-Jean; he had been pleasant but impersonal with her,
+restraining any hint of his feelings.
+
+“All right,” said Koom. “Land.”
+
+Absently, Agar headed the Fly-Wheel towards the secluded field behind
+his house. “No!” yelled Koom abruptly. “Not like that!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The clouds above them began speeding down towards them, then receding
+even faster. The big wheel started a drunken wobble about the sky
+which changed into a wild, tilted dance. Spinning like a top, it went
+plummeting into the woods, levelling off at the tree tops, sending
+down showers of leaves and branches, frightening small animals into
+scurrying panic; it scraped over a high, rocky ledge, hopped high one
+last time, and plowed deep furrows, finally rolling to a trembling halt.
+
+Koom seemed shaken. He opened his mouth several times, producing only a
+gulp. Agar helped him out of the cabin, noticing that a young man who
+had been standing at the edge of the field was heading their way. “Alph
+Agar,” said Koom weakly. “I have had enough. I cannot instruct you any
+longer. My nerve is gone. I’m sorry.”
+
+“Look here, Kim Koom, I admit that landing wasn’t perfect, but....”
+
+“No,” said Koom with finality, staggering off.
+
+What was the use, thought Agar? If even Koom was giving him up.... The
+young man was close now. With surprise, Agar recognized Lar Lerry, one
+of the Unit’s crack pilots. What was he doing here?
+
+“Zoops!” said Lerry. “What a landing!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Agar eyed him sternly. “Why aren’t you at work?”
+
+“Zoops!” repeated Lerry. “What a landing.” He grinned. “Look, Alph
+Agar, I know all about it. Don’t ask me how I know; I’m not supposed
+to tell, but I’m here to help you. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe
+with me. Now let’s take her up again; I can teach you how to handle a
+Fly-Wheel if anybody can.”
+
+In the days that followed, Agar had to admit that Lerry was helping
+him. For the first time, his awkwardness at the controls seemed to be
+lessening. The Fly-Wheel was actually obeying him for more than five
+minutes at a time. When he wanted to soar, he soared. When he wanted to
+tilt, he tilted. When he wanted to roll along the ground, he rolled.
+He began to feel hope, real hope. Perhaps he might fool Ker Kermit and
+Jean-Jean and come out of that exhibition alive, after all.
+
+“You’ll be taking your license qual pretty soon,” Lerry told him. “Just
+a few more lessons. Then I’ll show you how to make this rolly-polly sit
+up and beg.”
+
+But getting any other type of information out of Lerry was impossible.
+He wouldn’t explain why he was helping Agar, or who might have put
+him up to it, or how he had discovered Agar’s predicament. Agar spent
+hours in surmise, and always returned to the suspicion that this was
+Jean-Jean’s doing. Was Lerry the boy-friend she kept mentioning? Was
+Jean-Jean doing this because she felt sorry for him? Pity wasn’t what
+he wanted from her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Don’t be silly, Alph Agar,” Jean-Jean said, tossing her shining,
+coppery hair back, when he asked her point-blank. “Why should I try to
+help a man as stubborn as you are? In my opinion, you ought to resign
+right now. That’s the only way to save your life. Suppose I call the
+Board?” She looked eager.
+
+“Never mind.” Jean-Jean turned away and began furiously talking at the
+Speak-a-Type, which rattled and stuttered as the type keys tried to
+keep up with her.
+
+Still, Agar’s confidence was rising, despite frequent periods of
+disquiet, as for example whenever he spoke to Ker Kermit. Kermit
+seemed a mine of unsettling information lately. “Old fellow,” he would
+say, “have you heard how they intend to conduct the execution of the
+unfortunate loser? Not in decent privacy, but according to Betelgeusian
+custom, out on the field before all the spectators. They’re going to
+chop the poor chap’s head quite off with an axe. Barbarous, don’t you
+think? Fortunately, I don’t suppose either of us has anything to worry
+about.” He would look at Agar blandly.
+
+As the date of the exhibition drew nearer, Agar found it difficult to
+avoid thinking of that axe, but his increasing proficiency with the
+Fly-Wheel helped a lot. He was a long way from the effortless control
+that a good pilot had, but still he felt that he had a chance.
+
+“One more hop,” Lar Lerry said, “and then you’ll take the license qual.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The take-off was good. Agar sent the Wheel rolling up towards the
+clouds as though it were climbing an easy hill. Levelling, he cruised
+for a while, approaching the Unit. It was a warming feeling, doing his
+own flying near the Unit instead of being chauffeured.
+
+A line of Fly-Wheels from the Unit appeared dead ahead, crossing in
+front of him. Plenty of time to clear, thought Agar. Deliberately,
+he selected what he believed to be the elevation control and pulled
+it. The Wheel did not elevate, but tilted to a forty-five degree
+angle, still closing in fast on the other Fly-Wheels. Hastily, Agar
+did several other things, none of which he was entirely clear about
+afterwards.
+
+[Illustration: The Fly-Wheel zoomed into the shop....]
+
+The sound of the air stream changed into a hideous scream, and
+end-over-end, the Fly-Wheel flipped over the other vehicles; spun
+wildly; dropped earthwards and skimmed the ground, scattering a group
+of Unit employees. It headed for one of the buildings; swerved through
+the huge open window into the shop, paralyzing the workers in there,
+and shot out the opposite window taking the glass with it. It traced
+a perfect series of sine curves in the air; sheared off a flag pole;
+neatly clipped a line of hedges, darted about the testing fields like
+an insane horse fly; mounted towards the stratosphere until it was a
+scarcely-visible dot, and came whistling down at a fearful velocity,
+causing a nearby meteorological observatory to suspect the presence
+of a small meteorite. It levelled off just before smashing into the
+ground, chased itself around the field and came to a teetering halt. A
+moment of shocked silence held the entire Unit motionless; then from
+all directions people began streaming towards the Fly-Wheel. Lar Lerry
+sat motionless in his seat, a dreamy look in his eyes, nodding his head
+slowly as though he had discovered some age-old secret.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A husky foreman pounded on the door. “Come out of there, you miserable
+idiots. What kind of stuff are you... oh, it’s you, Alph Agar. I beg
+your pardon, Alph Agar.”
+
+Agar descended from the Wheel, leading Lar Lerry, and found himself
+in the midst of a buzzing crowd. “It’s quite all right,” he said, and
+looked about at the curious, startled faces. “I... er... that is, well
+I was flying, merely flying. What is all the disturbance about?” Ker
+Kermit pushed through the mob, smiling. “Oh, Director! A trifle wild,
+wouldn’t you say? You aren’t hurt, I hope?”
+
+Jean-Jean appeared. “Alph Agar, for goodness sake!”
+
+Lar Lerry came awake. He eyed Agar skittishly. “No,” he said. “No more.
+I’m through.” He spotted Jean-Jean. “Honey, I’m sorry, but I’ve had
+enough. I’d like to finish this job for you, but it’s too risky. I give
+up.”
+
+Agar stared at Jean-Jean and the world slowly grew dreary. Pity!
+Jean-Jean _had_ influenced her boy-friend, Lar Lerry, to help him
+because she felt sorry for him. Pity! He didn’t want it.
+
+Well, he thought, it didn’t matter anyway. He was through. He couldn’t
+operate a Fly-Wheel and he’d never learn. He could feel the sharp edge
+of that axe slicing through his neck now. Unless he resigned.
+
+“Alph Agar,” said Jean-Jean. “Pawl Pastin called. He wants you to call
+him back.” She didn’t meet his eyes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Glad to escape the crowd, Agar returned to the office, accompanied by a
+silent Jean-Jean, and part of the way by a lively Ker Kermit. He’d been
+deluding himself, Agar thought. He didn’t have a chance. Should he give
+up the Directorship? To save his life, could he throw away everything
+he had worked for?
+
+Frankly, thought Agar, he could. When the chips were down, he would
+react the same as anybody else to save his life, he realized. Life,
+after all, was worth more than a Directorship, it came to him. Whatever
+Pastin had in mind, he would hand in his resignation now.
+
+But when Pastin appeared on the Talkassee screen, his first words
+staggered Agar. His dry, precise voice had a suggestion of asperity
+in it. “Good day. It has come to the attention of the board that in
+violation of Article 1382 you do not hold a Fly-Wheel operator’s
+license. Is this correct?”
+
+How had Pastin found out? Well, the decision was out of his hands now.
+In a way, it was a relief that it was over. “Yes, that is correct.”
+
+“Therefore it is necessary that you be dismissed from your
+Directorship, after the exhibition.”
+
+“Yes, of course, Pawl Pastin ... did you say _after_ the exhibition?”
+
+“After the exhibition.”
+
+“But that’s ridiculous! Why should I risk my life when I’m to be
+dismissed? I resign now!”
+
+“Sorry. Whether you resign or are dismissed, it is now too late to
+withdraw. The list of participants has already been presented to the
+Betelgeusian delegation and cannot be altered. You must participate in
+the exhibition. If you wished to resign, you should have done so when
+you had the chance. Rules are rules, Alph Agar. This organization has
+become great through its policy of rigid adherence to rules. You should
+know that.”
+
+“I refuse to participate!” snapped Agar.
+
+“In that case you will automatically receive low rating and will be
+executed.”
+
+“We’ll see about that! Good day!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Agar called Unit C4439 of the Information Bank of the Master Law and
+Policy Machine and described the situation.
+
+“Point,” intoned Unit C4439, “it is true that list has been submitted.
+Point: Betelgeusian custom requires that low rating be given to any who
+withdraw. Execution must follow. Point: To be consistent with previous
+policy, Budd-Jarvis and Government must go along with Betelgeusian
+custom. Point: Your violation of Article 1382 now gives Budd-Jarvis
+option of dismissal date, as per Company Article 589,624.3. Point:
+Therefore Budd-Jarvis attitude in this matter is legal and correct. No
+appeal possible. End of points. Further data, please?”
+
+“No further data.”
+
+“Thank you,” smiled Unit C4439. “I am disconnecting. May you dwell in
+happiness.”
+
+“May you--oh, well, what’s the use. Betelgeusian custom! Who’s running
+this world anyway, the Terrans or the Betelgeusians?”
+
+Heavily, Agar dropped into a chair. He was finished. Jean-Jean came to
+him. Her voice was throaty. “Oh, Alph....”
+
+“What did you say?”
+
+“I mean, oh Alph Agar, what are you going to do?”
+
+“Never mind,” said Agar dully. “Never mind. We have work to do. Let’s
+get at it.”
+
+“But....”
+
+“Never mind, I said.” They worked.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a while, Agar said through his teeth, “That Ker Kermit. He got me
+into this. Probably he informed on me too, although I don’t know how he
+found out. If I weren’t a civilized man....”
+
+“Alph Agar,” broke in Jean-Jean in a small voice, “it was I who
+informed the board that you were in violation of Article 1382.”
+
+“You?”
+
+A tear escaped from under an eye-lash and trickled down her lovely
+cheek. “I... I thought he would fire you and you wouldn’t have to
+compete. I really didn’t think you had a chance, even with Lar Lerry
+teaching you.”
+
+“Yes,” said Agar. “Lar Lerry. And now this. If by some wild chance
+I should escape with my life, I’d lose the Directorship anyway.
+Jean-Jean, why can’t you mind your own business?”
+
+She stiffened. “I was only trying to....”
+
+“Yes,” he said morosely. “I know. Take a letter.”
+
+“Why, oh why,” muttered Jean-Jean, “did I have to fall in love with
+a jerk?” There, thought Agar, was a woman for you. Despite all the
+trouble he was in now, she had to talk about her personal affairs. So
+easily, so lightly, she changed the subject. Was it Lar Lerry she was
+talking about? Severely, he repressed a pang.
+
+“In love?” he questioned. “Who might you be in love with, Jean-Jean?
+And what is a jerk?”
+
+She glared at him. “Who, never mind. ‘Jerk’, archaic, twentieth
+century, ‘damn fool’, ‘jackass’. Let’s have that letter.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The whole thing got out pretty fast, and the news travelled all over
+the Unit. Agar found himself treated with the respect and deference
+that might be accorded a corpse. His every order was followed with
+alacrity. He heard a rumor that the employees were taking up a
+collection for a tombstone. Whispers trailed him as he walked around
+the plant. “Poor guy ... good Director ... shame to lose him....” He
+began to wish for opposition, hostility, even disrespect, some sign
+that he was still alive and lusty. He acted high handed and arrogant at
+times. “Nerves are shot,” he would overhear.
+
+Ker Kermit’s actions became increasingly obnoxious; his ever-present
+smile looked more and more like a laugh. He began to assume Agar’s
+duties. Agar found that many of his executive directives were
+superfluous; Kermit had already taken care of them. His orders were
+countermanded by Kermit. Kermit’s signature appeared on papers before
+he had a chance to look at them. Kermit began snooping around his
+private records. “After all, old fellow,” Kermit would say, “you may as
+well acquaint me with things. One never knows what might happen, does
+one?”
+
+The worst of it was that the Unit seemed to be accepting Kermit as the
+new Director. Alph Agar felt that he was already dead.
+
+The day before the exhibition, Kermit walked into Agar’s office with
+an interior decorator. “We’ll move all this stuff out,” he explained
+to the decorator. “Start from scratch. I’d like the walls a sort of
+aquamarine. I think in that corner we might have a kidney shaped
+lounge. As to the desks....”
+
+Agar rose. About three steps, he thought. Three steps, and he could
+reach Kermit and wreck that alert, mocking face. He looked down at
+the white knuckles of his clenched fists. Why not? This man had
+deliberately planned to ruin and destroy him, although he couldn’t
+prove that. A blind, animal rage began rising within him and Kermit’s
+face seemed to enlarge and waver.
+
+Horrified, he let his arms relax. What had he been thinking? What
+uncivilized passions were threatening to take charge? Where were the
+dignity and mental discipline that a Director should have?
+
+“If you gentlemen don’t mind,” Agar said, “I’m very busy....”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fifteen Fly-Wheels waited before the crowded stands, pilots at the
+controls. In a special, roped off section sat the Betelgeusian
+Delegation, Budd-Jarvis officials and Government representatives.
+Elsewhere, the Board of Government Raters checked their instruments and
+sounded the warning chimes. The beehive drone of the crowd hushed.
+
+Alph Agar desperately studied the printed instruction sheet that had
+been handed to each contestant.
+
+The first instruction read: “At seven point nine miles per hour, roll
+between the yellow ground markers. Upset the last two markers by
+flipping the rear of your vehicle. Points will be deducted for failing
+to do so, or for upsetting any other markers.”
+
+The signal sounded. The competition was on.
+
+Agar headed his Fly-Wheel between the markers. Nervously, he realized
+that he had barely an inch of clearance on each side. He slowed almost
+to a standstill as he entered the first two markers, noting that most
+of the other Fly-Wheels were already gliding smoothly through the
+course. Feeling that he was about to stall, he accelerated.
+
+His Fly-Wheel shot ahead, knocked over all the markers except the
+last two, weaved through the other Fly-Wheels, skimmed the stands
+causing the crowds to duck and thudded to earth just in time to avoid
+annihilating the Betelgeusian Delegation, leaving the eight-eyed
+Betelgeusians blinking all their eyes and chirping hysterically.
+
+“At six point eight feet altitude, traverse the field four times at 223
+miles per hour, with Fly-Wheel vertical. Repeat, with Wheel horizontal.
+Repeat at twenty-two degree six minute angle in quadrant one, and two
+hundred degree angle in quadrant three.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Grimly, but hopelessly Agar essayed the next trial, and stared in
+amazement at his altimeter as he achieved six point eight in one smooth
+motion. He accelerated to exactly 223 miles per hour. Four times, he
+traversed the field, noting that he finished first.
+
+Well! Perhaps he was getting the hang of this.
+
+With a flourish, he set the control for horizontal position, and the
+Fly-Wheel went into a sickening spin, at such high velocity that it was
+almost invisible to the spectators. Agar blacked out.
+
+He came to, to find his Fly-Wheel balanced on the topmost beam of the
+grand-stand, while thousands of faces stared up at him.
+
+His attempt at the quadrant one test failed utterly.
+
+His failure in quadrant three was spectacular.
+
+Grimly and doggedly, he plowed through the next two hours, aware that
+as the tests grew more difficult, his showing grew poorer; aware that
+the spectators were acquiring the habit of ducking nervously as he went
+into each test and that the eight-eyed Betelgeusians were focusing most
+of their eyes upon him.
+
+When he reached the last test, he knew that it was all up. No use
+trying anymore. Indifferently, he manipulated the controls. The
+Fly-Wheel shuddered and skidded, dropped to the ground, digging a large
+crater, jumped into the stands, causing a hasty exodus, took off and
+circled the stands at incredible speed with the sound of a titanic
+buzz-saw, dove at the Betelgeusian Delegation, hovering just above the
+flooring, forcing them to drop and crawl away, fled across the field in
+blurry sweeps and finally dug another crater in which it laid itself
+gently to rest.
+
+Dismally, Agar plodded towards the benches and sat down to wait. Ker
+Kermit joined him. “Too bad, old fellow,” he said, smiling. Agar
+watched the Board of Raters checking their results. He waited through
+the endless speeches. The pit of his stomach felt very empty.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Knowing that hope was futile, he hoped anyway as Pawl Pastin finally
+approached, but when he saw the look in Pastin’s eyes, he straightened.
+“All right,” he said, his voice firm. Must maintain the dignity of a
+Director to the last. “I’ll go. Just don’t touch me.”
+
+The axe-man was waiting, nervously swinging the polished axe.
+Incongruously, Agar felt sorry for him; the man had never done this
+before, he knew. He knelt, feeling the wooden block hard against
+his forehead. He closed his eyes, waiting in darkness for the blow,
+thinking now only of Jean-Jean, regretting that she would never know
+how much he cared.
+
+There was a stir in the stands, and the blow did not come. Agar opened
+his eyes and saw that the axe-man had lowered his axe, and officials
+were rushing towards him. They led him before the roped off section of
+the stands, where the Betelgeusians were chirping excitedly and waving
+their ropy limbs.
+
+Pawl Pastin appeared. “The Betelgeusians seem to disagree with the
+Government Raters,” he informed Agar.
+
+The Betelgeusians fell silent and the official interpreter began to
+speak. “The Betelgeusians say,” he explained in the loud tones of an
+announcer, “that they are shocked at our decision. They consider Alph
+Agar’s performance the most remarkable and daring of the day. They
+consider him the winner, not the loser. They say that they cannot
+understand our method of rating and that it is their own custom to
+value highly the type of courage, audacity and imagination that Alph
+Agar has shown here to-day. They demand his release.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An annoyed look appeared on Pawl Pastin’s face. “Highly irregular,”
+he said. “That would be against the rules. The rules have already
+been laid down, and we must abide by them. We cannot make last minute
+changes. Tell the Betelgeusians that Alph Agar must be executed.”
+
+“Just a moment,” interrupted a Government representative. “That would
+be defeating our purpose; both the Government and Budd-Jarvis want to
+please the Betelgeusians. I recommend that we go along with them.”
+
+“I fully understand that!” snapped Pawl Pastin. “And personally, I
+would prefer to free Alph Agar. Rules, however, take precedence over
+all other considerations. I have no authority to violate the rules.”
+
+“All right,” said the Government man. “As Minister of Diplomacy, Sector
+Thirty-Six, empowered to represent the Government, I proclaim that
+Government sanction to this execution is withdrawn. You are directed to
+free Alph Agar.”
+
+“You are overlooking something. Your directive is in violation until
+confirmed by the Minister of Interior Policy, Sector Thirty-Seven,
+ratified by the Board of Industrial Relations, and recorded by the
+Office of Diplomatic Records. The execution must proceed!”
+
+A fierce rebellion took hold of Agar. He had been resigned before, but
+now! ... to be so close to life again and cheated by red tape! He opened
+his mouth.
+
+A clear, feminine voice rang out from the edge of the knot of
+officials. It was Jean-Jean’s. “As secretary and representative
+of Director Alph Agar, I have something to say! This situation is
+ridiculous. Since it is the Prime Executive Board that makes the rules,
+and all the members are present at this exhibition, why don’t you
+simply call a meeting now, and reconsider the rules?”
+
+Pawl Pastin looked startled. “Why yes,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of
+that. We can call an emergency meeting.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The vote was immediately taken. “Because of a unanimous desire to
+satisfy the Betelgeusians,” Pawl Pastin announced when the results were
+in, “the Board orders the release of Director Alph Agar.”
+
+Alph Agar felt soft, yielding curves hit him with a sweet pressure.
+Coppery hair was silky on his cheek and arms were around his neck. “Oh,
+Alph, Alph,” Jean-Jean was whispering in his ear.
+
+“Alph,” said Agar indistinctly. “You’re calling me Alph.” She drew back
+and looked at him with moist eyes. “Because I love you, you jerk. Since
+you won’t tell me, I’ll have to tell you. Do you love me?”
+
+“Oh, Jean,” said Alph. “Jean.”
+
+The interpreter’s loud voice rapped out, “The Betelgeusians say that
+they are waiting to witness the execution!”
+
+Heads jerked up. “What execution?” crackled Pastin.
+
+“The execution of the loser. They say that now that Alph Agar has been
+released, a loser must be chosen.”
+
+Pastin frowned. It was clear that he was losing his patience. “Tell
+them,” he said “that the Board of Government Raters has already turned
+in their tally. Agar was considered the loser. No alternative was
+provided. Ask them whom they believe to be the loser.”
+
+A chorus of chirping broke out among the Betelgeusians.
+
+“They regard Assistant Director Ker Kermit as the loser. They consider
+his performance dull and routine. They found no imagination in it, only
+precision.”
+
+“Very well,” said Pastin grimly. “We’ll take a vote on it.”
+
+The Board was in conference longer this time, but finally Pastin
+announced: “Again we will yield to their wishes. Tell them that Ker
+Kermit shall be executed at once. Guards, lead him away!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Kermit’s face had turned sick. His confidence and drive had been
+shocked out of him. Spiritlessly, he allowed himself to be led toward
+the axe-man.
+
+Getting what he deserved, thought Agar, but he felt no elation. Neither
+was he sorry for Kermit. There was something else.... Anger. Something
+had been bothering him about this whole thing for a long time, and now
+a terrible rage was beginning to gather within him. At what? He wasn’t
+sure exactly, but something was rotten here.
+
+He started forward. He knew.
+
+Mental discipline. He checked himself. Discipline. Dignity. Restraint.
+It was not fitting to give way to uncivilized emotion.
+
+Hell! he thought with a final irritation. Oh, the hell with discipline
+and the hell with dignity!
+
+He planted himself squarely before the Betelgeusian Delegation, hands
+on hips. “Tell them,” he roared at the interpreter in a voice that he
+was unfamiliar with, “that we are a proud and peaceful people. Tell
+them that now, because they have been bending us to their will, we are
+about to deny our own hearts and do something shameful ... the taking
+of human life for hope of gain. Tell them that up to now we have been
+weak!” He raised his clenched fist and shook it at them. “And tell them
+this!” he shouted. “There will be no execution, and if they insist upon
+it, I will personally come up there and pound some respect into them,
+one at a time, or all at once!”
+
+Tumult. Mad chirping. Pawl Pastin’s white face stared at Agar. “What
+have you done, man?”
+
+The interpreter’s voice rose again: “The Betelgeusians say,” he
+announced, “that once again they are impressed by the reckless audacity
+of Alph Agar. They say that they cannot resist arguments presented with
+such courage. They say that they admire a people that can produce a man
+like Alph Agar, that they will not insist upon the execution, and that
+they are ready to do business with both Budd-Jarvis and the Government.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alph Agar sat in his office, holding Jean-Jean in his lap. He kissed
+her again.
+
+There was a discreet tap at the door. After Jean-Jean straightened
+herself out, Agar called, “Come in.”
+
+Ker Kermit entered. “Pawl Pastin to see you,” he announced respectfully.
+“Will you see him now, boss?”
+
+“Certainly.” Kermit left and Pastin entered and took a chair. His
+voice and manner were as dry as ever. “First, allow me to convey the
+gratitude of both Budd-Jarvis and the Government for your part in the
+Betelgeusian affair. Without the necessity of an execution, we’ve
+gained our ends, thanks to you. You will receive official recognition
+of this, very soon.”
+
+“Why,” said Agar, “that’s fine.”
+
+“However,” continued Pastin, “the main purpose of this visit is to
+discharge you from the Directorship.”
+
+“What!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pastin spread his hands. “But naturally. Rules are rules, you know. You
+are still in violation of Article 1382. I informed you that you would
+have to lose the Directorship after the exhibition.”
+
+“We’ll see about that!” But it was without much hope that he put the
+call through to Unit C4439 and gave the data.
+
+“Point,” smiled Unit C4439. “Since you were allowed to compete in the
+exhibition, it must be considered that Government sanction to operate a
+Fly-Wheel existed. Point: Government sanction under such circumstances
+is by License Division Article 14986.39 equivalent to a permanent
+license of rating .90-L Wullen. End of points. Further data, please?”
+
+“No further data.”
+
+“Thank you,” smiled Unit C4439. “I am disconnecting. May you dwell in
+happiness.”
+
+“I was wrong,” admitted Pastin, rising to go. “By the rules, you retain
+your Directorship.” At the door he turned and permitted himself a
+microscopic smile. “However, I am not quite so obtuse as you may think
+me. May you dwell in happiness.”
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+
+  This etext was produced from Future Science Fiction, February 1958
+  (#35). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+  copyright on this publication was renewed.
+
+  Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version.
+
+  The illustration has been moved to better fit the story.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79008 ***