Carl Grayson lit a cigarette. Senior Quadrate Blair watched him
closely as he went over the last of his notes. The man was obviously
disturbed, but only about the interview itself. There had not been an
instant's suspicion; Blair was certain of it. The greatest danger was
over. It had been a danger ever-present with first meetings but with
each, it had become progressively easier with which to cope, yet with
the man Grayson, there had been unexpected pitfalls. These strange
people indulged in a peculiar relationship called friendship, he had
discovered--in essence it was a psychological thing, a thing from
which to derive a satisfying personal pleasure. In actuality, it had
become a rather distorted relationship, forged as it had been into a
many-ratcheted tool. Between the Congressman and Grayson, however,
the relationship was genuine and--the subtle thing which he had
missed until it had been almost too late--of a partial nature. The
thing called friendship was a thing of varying degree. And Grayson was
a "best" friend. He had almost missed that. It was so different to
stabilize things here....
"Doug, I want to get this straight for sure, and then I think I'll have
the works. What do you mean by 'new sources of military manpower yet
waiting to be tapped'? You mean simply the next UMT draft in July don't
you--all the new 17-year-olds?"
"For broadcast--immediate broadcast, Carl, I shall explain the
phrase by simply saying, uh--a new program of draft-age analysis and
evaluation is soon expected to be under study by the Blair Defense
Preparedness Committee...."
"Yes, but--Doug that's just a mess of words. It doesn't tell beans
about.... Oh. I get it--OK." He pushed the hat further back on his
head, made a marginal clarification. It was comfortable in the small
office, but there was perspiration on Grayson's wide forehead.
"You don't sound too satisfied, Carl."
"Who, me? Hell, I'm satisfied. I keep getting the exclusives, so I
can't holler. I just thought somehow you'd never get around to using
that method, that's all, Doug. If you want to tell 'em, you can--and I
guess you always have. But I supposes if you don't want to, but want
'em to think you have, it's as legitimate as ever to just confuse
'em. Get me. Philosopher." He completed the marginal note. "Now let's
see.... OK, OK, OK."
"Carl, how busy are you this afternoon?"
"Not, especially. Got to get this ready for my seven o'clock stint
tonight and knock out the rest of next Monday's column, and then
there's some of the routine junk but that can wait. Why?"
"I think I need your personal reaction to--well, to be frank about it,
to a new angle the committee's got in its sights on this UMT business.
I want to know what you think the radio--and the press, of course--will
do with it."
"I guess I better put the pencil away?"
"Afraid so. But you'll get it first when the time comes. And perhaps
you can help me decide when that should be, too."
"Shoot. All ears and no memory." He folded the uneven sheets of
newsprint, crammed them in an inner pocket.
"The story I've just given you, Carl, is a lot more important than
it looks. At first glance it's just Sunday feature stuff--that's the
way you'll play it in your column, and you'll probably just give it
a tag-end spot on your program. And that's the way I want it played.
But--it is important. I think you could call it a sort of--of a
corner-stone story."
"Thinking of a series, you mean? Hell, Doug, you've got the next elec--"
"Not as a series, that's the point. Not so direct. More like a good
propag--public relations campaign I mean. The development will be
gradual, and not too regular--that part of it I'm going to leave up to
you to some extent, I think--until it automatically becomes the top
news."
"Don't get it, Doug. I've told you before what's page one and what
isn't. This thing you've just given me hasn't any big names in it,
anything about money, taxes, or things to make anybody good and sick
at heart. This is just--well, just opinion. Thoughtful analysis. The
thoughtful stuff never makes the front pages, you know that."
* * * * *
The Quadrate smiled. "Precisely. I feel it should be pretty casually
introduced. But don't worry--I won't ruin its news value. I think
you'll agree with me when I'm ready for the top spot on your broadcast
and for the front pages, I'll have something that will--how do you
put it?--make people suddenly sick. Point is, I want them to be
unconsciously thinking along the right lines first, so that when they
get through being sick and stop to think about it, it will make sense."
He was careful. It was difficult to maintain the curious bantering
way of speech these people continually employed. An end-product, of
course, of their emotional degeneration, and therefore as difficult to
perfectly imitate as a provincial misuse of the language. But it was
not as difficult as at first....
"Sure Doug--what you're talking about is done all the time, every day
of the week. That part's easy enough--too damn easy. But--you keep
saying 'it.' 'It' will make sense. What are you gunning at?"
"Suppose I give you an example. The final development of that statement
you weren't clear on. 'New sources of military manpower yet waiting to
be tapped.' What it will mean, when the time comes, is the UMT drafting
of children ten years old. Thirteen at first."
"_The what?_" The man Grayson looked almost ludicrous. His mouth hung
foolishly open, and there was no sound coming from it.
"I'm afraid you not only heard correctly, Carl, but that I had better
tell you that if you're thinking of sending for the booby-wagon for
me, you'll have to send for about thirty others for the rest of the
committee. Next week, the Blair Defense Preparedness Committee will
introduce a bill for unlimited lowering of the draft age, for either
war or peacetime use. Within a month after its passage--and I can
guarantee you that it will be passed--the committee will give you what
you'll need for your first big story on it. It will urge, and then it
will demand that all male youths from the present draft age of 17 down
to the age of thirteen be immediately registered for selective service."
"Good Lord, Doug--"
"The committee is strong, Carl. It is strong because I knew how to pick
it. I did not pick it, I assure you, on the basis of intelligence or
learning or capability. I picked it in terms of personal political and
financial influence, and in terms of my capability in persuading its
members to my way of thinking. That was not too difficult--they're all
band-wagon men.
"But to the point. On the heels of the new Blair Law's invocation, the
committee will again make a demand--registration of all youngsters
down to and including the age of ten years."
"Doug for God's sake--"
"Sit down, Carl!"
"Sure...."
"I'm quite sane. Worried?"
"Hell yes I'm worried."
"Take it easy. They thought a man called Litvinov was deranged
once--around 1913 I think it was, when he predicted World War One, and
the fall of the House of Czars."
* * * * *
"But you can't be serious about this--this kid business. Why my God
if I think you've been--overworking, let's say, what d'you think the
reaction of the man in the street'll be?"
"That, Carl, hasn't mattered for quite some time. You know it, and I
know it. He's already swallowed UMT itself, don't forget."
"But--hell, the Blair Committee isn't the only bunch of politicians
around here. And they--"
"I told you, Carl, my committee is strong. I picked it that way. Others
can yell all they want. But no amount of yelling--even by the most
widely-heard commentators and widely-published columnists--has ever
really accomplished much when a particularly strong political faction
has decided how things are going to be. It's the things that make you
sick that have always made the front pages, remember?"
"I--you're crazy, Doug. Crazy as a 1951 tax program. You've gotten
bitter about things in the past, sometimes a little cynical. Hell, who
doesn't. But you've always been the one man the people knew they could
count on--and your fellow-workers, I can even add. If you try to come
out with a thing like this--"
"A moment. Just a minute, Carl. I want to ask an easy one. It is really
easy. How long before the next world war breaks out?"
"Easy, what d'you mean, easy? Tomorrow, next month, next year maybe.
Maybe not until 1960. Nobody knows that--"
"I still say, easy. There's certainty it will be at least by 1960,
and probably sooner. That's terrifyingly close enough, isn't it, when
you're speaking in terms of the inevitable?"
"I see."
"The world is a pretty desperate place right now, wouldn't you say?
Worse even than five or six years ago."
"Desperate, desperate--yes of course it's desperate. And you--you're
going to make something of it, is that it? Doug, you're not being very
original. I never thought--I never honestly thought the day would come
when I'd hear you--"
"Give me a chance, Carl."
"If I do I don't think I'll ever broadcast another word of what you
have to say."
"I'll take that chance. But first I'd better clear some things up.
First of all, I'll tell you how much I've explained to the committee.
I've pointed out to them that there is but one way open--and one way
only--of offsetting the Soviets' superiority in arms production, and
that's to shock the living daylights out of them. Shock them so that
they'll be convinced we're--we're a nation gone mad, perhaps. As you
think I've gone mad, this moment. But--what stomach would any foreign
enemy have for fighting a madman, armed to the teeth with atomic
weapons? They say a lunatic with a gun is a great deal more deadly than
a sane man similarly armed.
"So--we shall shock them, Carl. We shall, perhaps before the year
is out, not only double our own production regardless of cost, but
register every kid in the country down to the ten-year age level. And
have a gun ready for each one, too. As I explained to the committee,
it won't be even their tremendous numbers that will be frightening.
It will be the seemingly crazed desperation of the country that would
consider calling them to arms that would throw the scare. And then, of
course, we'll take advantage of the scare. We'll produce A-weapons as
we never have before. Hell, every parent in the nation will be breaking
his back at a defense plant--not just for the ridiculously high wages
that a riveter gets, but to insure the safety of their kids' skins."
"Doug, you're either really nuts or--or--"
"So much the committee knows, as of now. And, I've sold it to them.
I sold it to them by simply asking them which was less desirable, my
plan, or the end of civilization in a few short years. And, by asking
them what other solution they had."
"Any straw--any straw at all." The reporter was not speaking to be
heard, but Blair heard him.
"You've hit it precisely, Carl. It's come finally to that. Any straw at
all."
* * * * *
For a few moments there was silence in the small office, and Carl
Grayson just sat, staring at the floor. At length he put a fresh
cigarette between his lips, lit it, and smoked automatically. It was
half consumed before Doug said, "Now, I want to discuss the rest of the
plan with you. The part I've not broached to the committee as yet."
"The--rest? Doug, what are you talking about?"
"The rest of it. You see, sooner or later the initial shock is going to
wear off, Carl. Then, perhaps if we're lucky, we'll be evenly matched
in armament and personnel under arms, but that will be all. A balance
of peace is no good. You convince no one that peace is desired. You
simply convince them that for awhile, there's no way they dare break
it. But again, sooner or later, the dare is taken and then--"
"I want to go, Doug."
"Not yet. I want you to hear me out. And, I'm going to ask a rather
special favor, Carl. Judge the plans on the merits of its logic alone.
For the moment, imagine you have no emotion."
"I can, but it won't do any good. Afraid I have emotion, Douglas."
"I see. Tell me, if it is so valuable a thing as to be allowed to cloud
your reasoning, why would you instantly throw it away if something
called patriotic duty were suddenly thrust upon you?"
"It would shake me up a little of course--"
"Yes, but you'd chuck it. You'd perform the duty."
"All right. I don't know the tricks of debate, you do. Go ahead, I'm
listening."
"I'll begin this way. If, we'll say, an infantry captain realized that
by sacrificing the lives of three of his men and possibly his own, he
could save the lives of his entire company, what would he do, if he
were what is termed a 'good' officer?"
"Why, if that were his only alternative--"
"I assure you, it would be, for the purposes of my analogy."
"He'd--he'd save the company. That's happened."
"Even to men with emotions."
"Why--yes of course. Damn you Doug--"
"Even when one of the three to be sacrificed might be a kid who was
still in high school when he enlisted--"
"Yes. Yes I guess so."
"Now remember what you've just told me, and switch to this.... What,
actually, is the basis for armed conflict between nations? Generally
speaking, with the long view of history?"
"I--I suppose covetousness. Materially translated that would mean
just plain wanting the grain fields, the ore mines, the sea ports,
the wealth someone else has and that you no longer have, doesn't it?
Land, then. Hitler called it _Lebensraum_. One outfit thinks another is
stepping on its toes over this chunk of real estate or that. Etcetera,
ad nauseum, ad politics."
"Good. And what's the real root of this material covetousness do you
think?"
"Grass is always greener, I guess."
"That is motive enough for the small-scale wars, yes. But I'm speaking
of the kind nations fight in desperation, not merely for the sake of
warring."
"Then, well--they run out of what they've got. Want more. Is that the
answer you want?"
"Almost. What makes them run out, Carl?"
"Not enough stuff to take care of their population, not enough work to
supply the money to buy what little there is to buy. Too many people,
not enough resources to keep 'em happy."
"Now, essentially, you have it. Now, if you'll remember those
two things--the captain's sacrifice and Mr. Hitler's fight for
_Lebensraum_--we'll switch again. If I owed you a dollar, Carl, and
gave you a bill, you'd accept it. What would it be worth?"
"Why, about--let's see--"
"No, I mean in terms of the metal backing it."
"Well--actually, it could be worthless. But as long as I don't think it
is--"
* * * * *
"Correct. As long as you, and everybody else of course, has faith in
it, it is of value, and is working currency. Now one more thing.
Did you ever have anything really bad happen to you when you were a
youngster--say about ten years old, Carl?"
"I don't get this, Doug. You're way over me--"
"No, answer me. Think of something unpleasant that happened--"
"Don't have to think. I still get goose-pimples when I hear a near-by
train whistle. Almost got killed once when my father's car got stalled
on a railroad crossing. Sort of a--I guess they call it conditioning.
Pretty strong with me, I guess."
"Yes. Now--we'll put the four things together, Carl. First of all,
according to my plan, the world must somehow be given implicit faith in
a method for the elimination of warfare. A method in which they will so
strongly believe that, although the supposed reason for such belief may
be scientifically quite fallacious, they will practice it nonetheless.
To do this, they must be shown a method which, by one means or another,
actually works. And, that is possible. There is such a method, based on
the sacrifice of the few for the ultimate preservation of the many...."
"Go on. So far you've brought in the dollar-bill idea; the business
about conditioning, the captain and his company.... What method?"
"Taking the drafted ten-year-olds--first of just this nation, then of
the entire world--placing them once each year in four divisions in the
Sahara desert, and setting them at one another with manual weapons."
Carl turned white. He sat, unmoving, silent.
"The accepted theory will be that the horror of death by arms will
create so deep a mental scar on the young plastic minds that in
adulthood they will never again be able to kill. In actuality, the
theory is in many respects fallacious, granted. But it will be
accepted, because the practice--the desert fighting--will reduce the
basic cause of warfare to flat zero, and there will eventually be
no war. How? Through such a plan, many male children of course will
die yearly. The number killed will be subject to strict control of
course, in exact proportion to annual world birth-rate, and potential
multiplication. Such, Carl, that the population of the world will,
in terms of future generations as well as those almost immediate, be
always stabilized. Of course, since a period of from twenty to fifty
years may be needed for practice of the method before the first
tangible stabilization results are shown, the 'conditioning' angle
must be heavily stressed, before as well as during the actual desert
fighting. Backing by the press will greatly help toward this end--you
yourself know how terribly potent it can be--and I'm certain, once the
method is explained to them in terms of survival, we will also be able
to count on the 'corroboration' of the world's most popular scientists.
"However, as absolutely necessary insurance, an influence infinitely
more powerful than those combined will be employed to positively insure
unquestioning belief in the validity of the plan, not only before and
during the first few years, but for all time!
"I have, therefore, already taken steps to bring it into play. I have
already issued invitations to one hundred of the world's highest
ranking ecclesiastical leaders for a conference here next week. By
then, the committee should be rolling with quite a bit of momentum. As
we said, these are desperate times...."
* * * * *
Carl remained silent. His question was in his eyes, but he would not
give it speech. But Blair saw it.
"The clergy? Their assistance will be essential. I just told you
why, didn't I? You see, once they realize that they can materially
contribute to lasting peace, I am sure they will cooperate. If
necessary, they--all of them--would consent to a merger of church and
state. History bears me out."
"The mer--"
"Naturally. How else can I make _sure_ the people are made to believe
implicitly in the plan until they can at least see its tangible
results? And how better to maintain that belief? Government and
politics and all they imply are already worshipped more than God, Carl!
So let's put it on a paying basis!"
"And you think--you actually think you'll get the support of the
world's clergy in this revolting scheme--"
"I told you that history bears me out, Carl. For instance--from the
fourth to the fourteenth centuries, one of the world's most powerful
sects was heavily involved in temporal government--because, it said,
of necessity to preserve itself. And surely you must remember the
cooperation of the church with Constantine and Charlemagne when their
empires were in danger of disintegrating, when unity was so sorely
needed, and they knew there was but one that could help them? Often the
church--the sect to which I referred before--actually took over the
powers of government during Charlemagne's rule--not, perhaps, because
it wanted involvement in those things which were Caesar's--but because
it realized the grave perils which would face it if whole empires were
to break apart, and their peoples reduced to pagan savagery as a result.
"I think you see my point. And--I imagine the simile about the captain
and his platoon will also be appealing, don't you? The idea of
sacrifice that others might live...?"
"You--you son of a bitch!"
"I'm sorry you said that, Carl. Because the plan will work, you know.
From telling it to you, I see that its shock-value is valid. From
seeing your final reaction, I realize that you are inwardly as sure
as I that it will succeed. It is actually all I wanted, to get your
immediate reaction."
"Doug, I'm going. But there's just one thing I want to ask you before I
smear you from here to damnation. Just what, Congressman, is _your_ cut
in this?"
"None. I have not once mentioned money."
"You're a madman, Blair."
"When you've convinced yourself of that, Carl, you may try to smear me
if you wish. But first--_first, convince yourself!_"