A. ENTIRELY
Q. HOW
A. IMPOSSIBLE TO EXPLAIN WITH THESE
Q. WHERE IS SUPERIOR GOING
A. EAST FOR NOW
Q. AND LATER
A. NO SPECIFIC COMMENT
Q. 3000 LIVES ARE IN YOUR HANDS
A. GIZLS HAVE NO MALEVOLENT DESIGNS
Q. THANKS. YOU SAID FRIENDSHIP BROUGHT YOU. WHAT ELSE.
A. TRADE. CULTURAL EXCHANGE
Q. WHAT HAVE YOU TO TRADE
A. WILL DISCUSS THIS LATER WITH DULY CONSTITUTED AUTHORITY
Q. WHO. KING HECTOR
A. TERMINATING INTERVIEW WITH GOOD WILL ASSURANCES
"Wait," Alis said. "I haven't had a chance to talk to him." She formed
letters into words. "I don't think he's being very frank with us but I
have a few random questions."
Q. HOW MANY SEXES HAVE GIZLS
A. THREE
Q. MALE FEMALE AND
A. NEUTER
Q. ARE THERE BABIES AMONG YOU
A. BABIES ARE NEUTER AND DEVELOP ACCORDING TO NEED
Q. CONFIDENTIALLY WHAT DO YOU THINK OF FATHERS SCIENCE
A. UNFATHOMABLE OUR MEAGER KNOWLEDGE
Q. FLATTERER
A. ENDING CONVERSATION WITH PLEASANT REGARD
Q. LIKEWISE
Gizl slid back his chair and got up. King Hector stood and bowed as
Gizl, who had nodded politely to each in turn, walked manlike, without
hopping, to a corner of the room which then sank out of sight.
"He's quite a guy, that Gizl," Hector said, taking off his crown and
putting it on the table. "Makes me sweat," he said, wiping his forehead.
"Are you the duly constituted authority?" Bendy asked him.
"Who else? Somebody's got to be in charge till we get Superior back to
Earth."
"Sure," Bendy said, "but you don't have to rig yourself up in ermine. I
also have a sneaking suspicion that you aren't exactly anxious to get
Superior down in a hurry."
"I'll overlook that remark for old time's sake. But I defend the
kingship. A show of force was necessary to prevent crime from running
rampant."
"Maybe," Bendy said. "Anyhow I appreciate your frankness in introducing
us to Gizl and what he modestly describes as his meager knowledge. Since
you've already admitted that he's the one who provided the big feed,
will you ease Alis's mind now and assure her that what she was eating
wasn't Negusburger?"
"Negusburger?" The king laughed. "Is that what you thought, Alis?"
"Not really," she said. "But I couldn't help wondering where all the
food came from all of a sudden."
"Over here." The king led them to the corner where Gizl had sunk from
sight. The top of the elevator, now level with the floor, blended
exactly with the linoleum tile. "I don't know how it works, but Gizl
and his people have their headquarters down there somewhere. All I have
to do is place the order and up comes food or whatever I need. Would you
like to try it?"
"Love to," Bendy said. "What shall I ask for?"
"Anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything at all."
"Well." Bendy looked impressed. "This will take a moment of thought. How
about a gallon--no, as long as I'm asking I might as well ask for a
keg--of rum, 151 proof."
Up it came, complete with spigot and tankard.
"Fabulous!" Bendy said. He rolled it out of the elevator and the
elevator went down again.
"Let me try!" Alis said. "If Doc can get a keg, I ought to be able to
have--oh, say a pint of Channel No. 5. Would that be too extravagant?"
"A simple variation in formula, I should think," the king said.
What came up for Alis didn't look in the least like an expensive Paris
perfume. In fact, it looked like a lard pail with a quantity of liquid
sloshing lazily in it. But its aroma belied its looks.
"Oh, heaven!" Alis said. "Smell it!" She lifted it by its handle, stuck
a finger in it and rubbed behind each ear.
"It's a bit overpowering by the pint," Bendy said. He'd drained off part
of a tankard of rum and looked quite at peace with the world. "You'd
better get yourself a chaperone, Alis, if you're going to carry that
around with you."
"I'll admit they're not very good in the packaging department, but
that's just a quibble. Could I have--how many ounces in a pint?--sixteen
one-ounce stoppered bottles? And a little funnel?"
"Easiest thing in the world," the king said. "Don? Anything you'd like
at the same time? Save it a trip."
"I've got an idea, Your Majesty, but I don't know whether you'd
approve. Even though I work in a bank, I've never seen a ten thousand
dollar bill. Do you think they could whip one up?"
"I really don't know," Hector said. "It could upset the economy if we
let the money get out of hand. But we can always send it right back.
Let's see what happens."
The elevator came up with the bottles, the funnel and a green and gold
bill.
It was, on the face of it, a ten thousand dollar bill. But the portrait
was that of Hector Civek, crowned and ermined. And the legend on it was:
"_Payable to Bearer on Demand, Ten Thousand Dollars. This Note is
Legal Tender for all Debts, Public and Private, and is Redeemable in
Lawful Money at the Treasury of the Kingdom of Superior._ (Signed)
_Gizl, Secretary of the Treasury._"
X
Don didn't know what he might learn by skulking around the freezing
grounds of Hector's palace in the faint moonlight. He hoped for a
glimpse of the kangaroo-Gizl to see if he were as sincere off-guard as
he had been during their interview.
But his peering into basement windows had revealed nothing, and he was
about to head back to the campus for a night's sleep when someone called
his name.
It was a girl's voice, from above. He looked up. Red-headed Geneva
Jervis was leaning out of one of the second-story windows.
"Well, hello," he said. "What are you doing up there?"
"I've sworn fealty," she said. "Come on up."
"What?" he said. "How?"
She disappeared from his sight, then reappeared. "Here." She dropped a
rope ladder.
Don climbed it, feeling Like Romeo. "Where'd you get this?"
"They've got them in all the rooms. Fire escapes. Old McFerson was a
precautious man, evidently." She pulled the rope back in.
Jen Jervis had a spacious bedroom. She wore a dressing gown.
"What do you mean, you swore fealty?" Don asked. "To Hector?"
"Sure. What better way to find out what he's up to? Besides, I was
getting fed up with that dormitory at Cavalier. No privacy. House
mothers creeping around all the time. Want a drink?"
Don saw that she had a half-full glass on the dresser. Next to the glass
stood a bottle of bourbon with quite a bit gone from it.
"Why not?" he said. "Let's drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may
freeze to death."
"Or be shot down by Reds." She poured him a stiff one. "Here's to happy
endings."
He sipped his drink and she swallowed half of hers.
"I didn't picture you as the drinking type, Jen."
"Revise the picture. Come sit down." She backed to the big double bed
and relaxed into it, lying on one elbow.
Don sat next to her, but upright. "Tell me about this fealty deal. What
did you have to do?"
"Oh, renounce my American citizenship and swear to protect Superior
against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The usual thing."
"Have you got a title yet? Are you Dame Jervis?"
"Not yet." She smiled. "I think I'm on probation. They know I'm close to
Bobby and they'd like to have him on their side, for all their avowed
independence. They're not so terribly convinced that Superior's going to
stay up forever. They're hedging their bets, it looks to me."
"It looks to me that maybe Bobby Thebold might not understand. He's the
kind of man who demands absolute fealty, from what I've seen of him."
"Oh, to hell with Bobby Thebold." Jen took another swallow. "He's not
here. He's had plenty of time to come, if he was going to, and he
hasn't. To hell with him. Let me get you another drink."
"No, thanks. This will do me fine." He drank it and set the empty glass
on the floor. Jen drank off the last of hers and put her glass next to
his.
"Relax," she said. "I'm not going to bite you." She lay back and her
dressing gown opened in a V as far as the belt. She obviously wasn't
wearing anything under the gown.
Don looked away self-consciously.
Jen laughed. "What's the matter, boy? No red blood?" She rolled herself
off the end of the bed and went to the dresser. "Another drink?"
"Don't you think you've had enough?"
She shook her red hair violently. "Drinking is as drinking does. Trouble
is, nobody's doing anything."
"Exactly. Everybody's acting as if Superior's one big pleasure dome.
Civek's on the throne and all's well with his little world. Even you've
joined the parade. Why? I don't buy that double-agent explanation."
She was looking in the bureau mirror at the reflection of the top of her
head, peering up from under her eyebrows. "I'm going to have to touch up
the tresses pretty soon or I won't be a redhead any more." She looked at
his reflection. "You don't like me, do you, Donny-boy?"
"I never said that."
"You don't have to say it. But I don't blame you. I don't like myself
sometimes. I'm a cold fish. A cold, dedicated fish. Or I was. I've
decided to change my ways."
"I can see that."
"Can you?" She turned around and leaned against the bureau, holding her
glass. "How do you see me now?"
"As an attractive woman with a glass in her hand. I wonder which is
doing the talking."
"Rhetorical questions at this time of night, Donny? I think it's me
talking, not the whisky. We'll know better in the sober light of
morning, won't we?"
"If that's an invitation," Don began, "I'm afraid--"
Her eyes blazed at him. "I think you're the rudest man I ever met. _And_
the most boorish." She tossed off the rest of her drink, then began to
cry.
"Now, Jen--" He went to her and patted her shoulder awkwardly.
"Oh, Don." She put her head against his chest and wept. His arms
automatically went around her, comfortingly.
Then he realized that Jen's muffled sobs were going direct to the
Pentagon through his transceiver. That piece of electronics equipment
taped to his skin, he told himself, was the least of the reasons why he
could not have accepted Jen's invitation--if it had been an invitation.
He lifted her chin from his chest to spare the man in the Pentagon any
further sobs, which must have been reaching him in crescendo. Jen's face
was tear-stained. She looked into his eyes for a second, then fastened
her mouth firmly on his.
There was nothing a gentleman could do, Don thought, except return the
kiss. Rude, was he?
Jen broke away first. "What's that?" she said.
Don opened his eyes and his glance went automatically to the door. It
would not have surprised him to see King Hector coming through it in his
royal night clothes. But Jen was staring out the window. He turned.
The sky was bright as day over in the direction of the golf course. Don
made out a pinpoint of brighter light.
"It's a star shell," he said. "A flare."
They went to the window and leaned out, looking past a corner of the
bubble gum factory.
"What's it for?" Jen asked.
Don pointed. "There. That's what for."
"A blimp!" she said. "It's landing!"
"Is it an Air Force job? I can't make out the markings."
"I think I can," Jen said. "They're--PP."
"Private Pilots! Senator Bobby the Bold!"
Jen Jervis clutched his arm. "S.O.B.!" she whispered fiercely.
* * * * *
Don Cort was down the rope fire escape and away from the mansion before
it woke up to the invasion. As he crossed the railroad spur he had a
glimpse of Jen Jervis hauling up the rope and of lights going on
elsewhere in the building. There was a lot of whistle-blowing and
shouting and a lone shot which didn't seem to be aimed at him.
Don waited at the spur, behind a boxcar, to see how the Hectorites would
react to the landing of the blimp, A few men gathered at the front gate
and looked nervously into the sky and toward the golf course. Others
joined them, armed with shotguns, pistols, and a rifle or two, but not
with King Hector's paralysis gadget.
It was clear that Hector had no intention of starting a battle. His men
apparently were under orders only to guard the mansion and the bubble
gum factory. No one even went to see what the blimp was up to.
Don found as he neared the golf course that the people from the blimp
apparently had no immediate plan to attack, either. He found a sand trap
to lie down in. From it he could watch without being seen. The star
shell had died out but he could see the blimp silhouetted against the
sky. Men in battle dress were establishing a perimeter around the
clubhouse. Each carried a weapon of some kind. It was all very dim.
Don remembered his communicator. "Cort here," he said softly. "Do you
read me?"
"Affirmative," a voice said. Don didn't recognize it. He described the
landing and asked, "Is this an authorized landing or is it Senator
Thebold's private party?"
"Negative," said the voice from the Pentagon, irritatingly GI.
"Negative _what_?" Don said. "You mean Thebold _is_ leading it?"
"Affirmative," said the voice.
"What's he up to?" Don asked.
"Negative," the voice said.
Don blew up. "If you mean you don't know, why the hell don't you say so?
Who is this, anyhow?"
"This happens to be Major Johns, the O.O.D., Sergeant, and if you know
what's good for you--"
Don stopped listening because a man in battle dress, apparently
attracted by his voice, was standing on the green, looking down into the
bunker where Don lay, pointing a carbine at him.
"I'll have to hang up now, Major," Don said quietly. "Something negative
has just happened to me. I've been captured."
The man with the carbine shouted down to Don, "Okay, come out with your
hands over your head."
Don did so. He hoped he was doing it affirmatively enough. He had no
wish to be shot by one of the Senator's men, regardless of whether that
man was authorized or unauthorized.
* * * * *
Senator Thebold sat at a desk in the manager's office of the Raleigh
Country Club. He wore a leather trench coat and a fur hat. Wing
commander's insignia glittered on his shoulders and a cartridge belt was
buckled around his waist. A holster hung from it but Thebold had the
heavy .45 on the desk in front of it. He motioned to Don to sit down.
Two guards stood at the door.
"Name?" Thebold snapped.
Don decided to use his own name but pretend to be a local yokel.
"Donald Cort."
"What were you doing out there?"
"I saw the lights."
"Who were you talking to in the sand trap?"
"Nobody. I sometimes talk to myself."
"Oh, you do. Do you ever talk to yourself about a man named Osbert Garet
or Hector Civek?" Thebold looked at a big map of Superior that had been
pinned to the wall, thus giving Don the benefit of his strong profile.
"Hector's the king now," Don said. "Things got pretty bad before that
but we got enough to eat now."
"Where did the food come from?"
Don shrugged.
Thebold drummed his fingers on the desk. "You're not exactly a fount of
information, are you? What do you do for a living?"
"I used to work in the gum factory but I got laid off."
"Do you know Geneva Jervis?"
"Who's he?" Don said innocently.
Thebold stood up in irritation. "Take this man to O. & I.," he said to
one of the guards. "We've got to make a start some place. Are there any
others?"
"Four or five," the guard said.
"Send me the brightest-looking one. Give this one and the rest a meal
and a lecture and turn them loose. It doesn't look as if Civek is going
to give us any trouble right away and there isn't too much we can do
before daylight."
The guard led Don out of the room and pinned a button on his lapel. It
said: _Bobby the Bold in Peace and War_.
"What's O. & I.?" Don asked him.
"Orientation and Integration. Nobody's going to hurt you. We're here to
end partition, that's all."
"End partition?"
"Like in Ireland. Keep Superior in the U. S. A. They'll tell you all
about it at O. & I. Then you tell your friends. Want some more buttons?"
* * * * *
Don was fed, lectured, and released, as promised.
Early the next morning, after a cup of coffee with Alis Garet at
Cavalier's cafeteria, he started back for the golf course. Alis, in a
class-cutting mood, went with him.
The glimpses of the Thebold Plan which Don had had from O. & I. were
being put into practice. Reilly Street, which provided a boundary line
between Raleigh Country Club and the gum-factory property, had been
transformed into a midway.
The Thebold forces had strung bunting and set up booths along the south
side of the street. Hector's men, apparently relieved to find that the
battle was to be psychological rather than physical, rushed to prepare
rival attractions on their side. A growing crowd thronged the center of
Reilly Street. Some wore Thebold buttons. Some wore other buttons, twice
as big, with a smiling picture of Hector I on them. Some wore both.
The sun was bright but the air was bitingly cold. As a result one of the
most popular booths was on Hector's side of the street where Cheeky
McFerson was giving away an apparently inexhaustible supply of
hand-warmers. Cheeky urged everybody to take two, one for each pocket,
and threw in handfuls of bubble gum.
Two of Hector's men set up ladders and strung a banner across two
store-fronts. It said in foot-high letters: KINGDOM OF SUPERIOR, LAND OF
PLENTY.
A group of Thebold troubleshooters watched, then rushed away and
reappeared with brushes and paint. They transformed an advertising sign
to read, in letters two feet high: SUPERIOR, U.S.A., HOME OF THE FREE.
Hawkers on opposite sides of the midway vied to give away hot dogs,
boiled ears of corn, steaming coffee, hot chocolate, candy bars, and
popcorn.
"There's a smart one." Alis pointed to a sign in Thebold territory. _The
Gripe Room_ it said over a vacant store. The Senator's men had set up
desks and chairs inside and long lines had already formed.
Apparently a powerful complaint had been among the first to be
registered because a Thebold man was galvanized into action. He ran out
of the store and within minutes the sign painters were at work again.
Their new banner, hoisted to dry in the sun, proclaimed: BLIMP MAIL.
Underneath, in smaller letters, it said: _How long since you've heard
from your loved ones on Earth? The Thebold Blimp will carry your letters
and small packages. Direct daily connections with U. S. Mail._
"You have to admire them," Alis said. "They're really organized."
"One's as bad as the other," Don said. Impartially, he was eating a
Hector hot dog and drinking Thebold coffee. "Have you noticed the guns
in the upstairs windows?"
"No. You mean on the Senator's side?"
"Both sides. Don't stare."
"I see them now. Do you see any Gizl-sticks? The thing Hector used on
Negus?"
"No. Just conventional old rifles and shotguns. Let's hope nobody starts
anything."
"Look," Alis said, grabbing Don by the arm. "Isn't that Ed Clark going
into the Gripe Room?"
"It sure is. Gathering material for another powerful editorial, I
guess."
But within minutes Clark's visit had provoked another bustle of
activity. Two of Thebold's men dashed out of the renovated store and off
toward the country club. They came back with the Senator himself, making
his first public appearance.
Thebold strode down the center of the midway, wearing his soft aviator's
helmet with the goggles pushed up on his forehead and his silk scarf
fluttering behind him. A group of small boys followed him, imitating
his self-confident walk and scrambling occasionally for the Thebold
buttons he threw to them. The Senator went into the Gripe Room.
"Looks as if Ed has wangled an interview with the great man himself,"
Alis said.
"You didn't say anything to Clark about our talk with the Gizl, did
you?"
"I did mention it to him," Alis said. "Was that bad?"
"Half an hour ago I would have said no. Now I'm not so sure."
* * * * *
A speaker's platform had been erected on the Senator's side of Reilly
Street, and now canned but stirring band music was blaring out of a
loudspeaker. Thebold came out of the Gripe Room and mounted the
platform. A fair-sized crowd was waiting to hear him.
Thebold raised his arms as if he were stilling a tumult. The music died
away and Thebold spoke.
"My good friends and fellow Americans," the Senator began.
Then a Hectorite sound-apparatus started to blare directly across the
street. The sound of hammering added to the disruption as workmen began
to set up a rival speaker's platform. Then the music on the north side
of Reilly Street became a triumphal march and Hector I made his
entrance.
Thebold spoke on doggedly. Don heard an occasional phrase through the
din. "... reunion with the U. S. A. ... end this un-American, this
literal partition ..."
But many in the crowd had turned to watch Hector, who was magnificent
and warm-looking in his ermine robe.
"Loyal subjects of Superior, I exhort you not to listen to this outsider
who has come to meddle in our affairs," Hector said. "What can he offer
that your king has not provided? You have security, inexhaustible food
supplies and, above all, independence!"
Thebold increased his volume and boomed:
"Ah, but _do_ you have independence, my friends? Ask your puppet king
who provides this food--and for what price? And how secure _do_ you feel
as you whip through the atmosphere like an unguided missile? You're over
the Atlantic now. Who knows at what second the controls may break down
and dump us all into the freezing water?"
Hector pushed his crown back on his head as if it were a derby hat. "Who
asked the Senator here? Let me remind you that he does not even
represent our former--and I emphasize _former_--State of Ohio. We all
know him as a political adventurer, but never before has he attempted to
meddle in the affairs of another country!"
"And you know what lies beyond Western Europe," Thebold said. "Eastern
Europe and Russia. Atheistic, communistic Red Russia. Is that where
you'd like to come down? For that's where you're heading under Hector
Civek's so-called leadership. King Hector, he calls himself. Let me
remind you, friends, that if there is anything the Soviet Russians hate
more than a democracy, it's a _monarchy_! I don't like to think what
your chances would be if you came down in Kremlinland. Remember what
they did to the Czars."
Then Senator Bobby Thebold played his ace:
"But there's an even worse possibility, my poor misguided friends. And
that's for the creatures behind Hector Civek to decide to go back
home--and take off into outer space. Has Hector told you about the
creatures? He has not. Has he told you they're aliens from another
planet? He has not. Some of you have seen them--these kangaroo-like
creatures who, for their own nefarious purposes, made Hector what he is
today.
"But, my friends, these are not the cute and harmless kangaroos that
abound in the land of our friendly ally, Australia. No. These are
intelligent alien beings who have no use for us at all, and who have
brazenly stolen a piece of American territory and are now in the process
of making off with it."
A murmur came from the crowd and they looked over their shoulders at
Hector, whose oratory had run down and who seemed unsure how to answer.
"Yes, my friends," Thebold went on, "you may well wonder what your fate
will be in the hands of that power-mad ex-mayor of yours. A few thousand
feet more of altitude and Superior will run out of air. Then you'll
really be free of the good old U.S.A. because you'll be dead of
suffocation. That, my friends--"
At that point somebody took a shot at Senator Bobby Thebold. It missed
him, breaking a second-story window behind him.
Immediately a Thebold man behind that window smashed the rest of the
glass and fired back across Reilly Street, over the heads of the crowd.
People screamed and ran. Don grabbed Alis and pulled her away from the
immediate zone of fire. They looked back from behind a truck which,
until a minute ago, had been dispensing hot buttered popcorn.
"Hostilities seem to have commenced," Alis said. She gave a nervous
laugh. "I guess it's my fault for blabbing to Ed Clark."
"It was bound to happen, sooner or later," Don said. "I hope nobody gets
hurt."
Evidently neither Thebold nor Hector personally had any such intention.
Both had clambered down from the platforms and disappeared. Most of the
crowd had fled too, heading east toward the center of town, but a few,
like Alis and Don, had merely taken cover and were waiting to see what
would happen next.
Sporadic firing continued. Then there was a concentration of shooting
from the Senator's side, and a dozen or more of Thebold's men made a
quick rush across the street and into the stores and buildings on the
north side. In a few minutes they returned, under another protective
burst, with prisoners.
"Slick," Don said. "Hector's being outmaneuvered."
"I wonder why the Gizls aren't helping him."