_Keep this in mind in teaching
apprentices: They are future
journeymen--and even masters!_
October 10, 2119
New San Francisco
Today, at precisely 9:50 a.m., Kyle became First Imperator of Terra. His
coup was so fantastically direct and facile that I am almost tempted to
believe that old cliche "the time was right."
Well, however badly it can be expressed, I suppose the world _was_ ripe
for this sort of thing. I can remember when much the same used to
happen in elections. One man would win over another by a tremendous
majority, and historians would then set about to show how "the time was
right."
Why do I persist in tormenting myself with that phrase! Analytically, I
might say I resent this new aristocracy of politics. Specifically, I
might say I resent Kyle.
And both are true, both are true.
This swing, though, to absolute monarchy, complete with the installation
of the Kyle Dynasty--damn him! This is something which psychologists,
not historians, must explain. Has the age of the Common Man, so bravely
flaunted for over one hundred years, truly come to nothing? Would people
really prefer a figurehead and a symbol of undisputed authority?
In this instance, one may again conclude that "the time was right."
Contact with planets like Mars and Venus undoubtedly had its influence.
I must confess that the televised audiences with the Mrit of Venus and
the Znam of Mars _did_ make Terra's President--I should say, late
President--look a bit seedy. I daresay there is such a thing as a too
common Common Man.
Kyle was such, twenty years ago. His name wasn't Kyle then, although it
was something very like that. I must see if any of the old ledgers are
about! I'd like to see what the Imperator's name was when His Most
Imperial Majesty was an apprenticed nobody!
* * * * *
October 12, 2119
New San Francisco
I found it! Buried in stacks of dust behind the old printing press that
was once the heart of my _Beacon-Sentinel_. There were others there too.
Spent a delightful morning with them, reading back through those old
account books.
I wonder whatever happened to Hastings? And Drew? Best linotype men I
ever had. They became pilots, or something, as I recall. Too bad, too
bad. They could have had such brilliant futures, both of them. Why they
felt they must ally themselves with the non-thinking, muscle-flexing
variety of mankind--of which our Ruler is an excellent example--I'll
never know.
Ah, yes, Kyle! In those days he was Kilmer Jones. I don't remember him
too well, actually, except for the day I fired him.
I suppose he was right in changing his name. We couldn't very well have
an Imperator named Kilmer the First, or Jones the First. Much too
common, not at all in keeping.
Gawky fellow--that Kilmer. When Bard brought me a sample of his work--I
guess I'll have to call it that--we both had a good laugh over it!
Atrocious spelling! Couldn't follow the proofreader's marks. Indeed, I
wonder if the fellow could even read! The punctuation! And the grammar!
I called the boy to the office that morning--or was it the next day? No
matter. I called him in and told him, as kindly as possible, that I
thought there were other vocations to which he might be better suited.
The irony of it! Kilmer Jones--Kyle I!
And he stood there, I remember, with those seventeen-year-old hands that
were all knuckles and bone and chapped skin, twisting those hands and
shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Please, Mr. Booth," he said, his voice cracking. "I ain't got no other
job in mind. I wanna be a noospaper man. I ain't got no--"
If not for that "ain't got no," I think I might have relented. But no
one is going to ruin the English language as he did! Not in my offices!
I took him to task severely for his offensive usage, outlined a correct
example of what he had attempted to say, gave him a brief lesson in the
history of the tongue, and explained why it had been chosen as the
official Terran speech. I think my conclusion was, "You'll be much
better off in a position which requires you to quote neither Milton nor
Shakespeare nor any author save possibly those who write the comic
strips."
"Got no training," he said softly. (I supposed it was to keep his voice
from exhibiting its usual adolescent gymnastics.)