"Never. They're a completely cooperative society. Or were, before they
started reading those warfare books."
"But they wouldn't start a war just because they've got some books on
it, and know that Earth people do it, and--yeah, I guess they would."
Quickly he set the dials. "You're right, buddy. We have an absolute
moral obligation to return and straighten out that mess."
"I knew you'd see it that way," Beliakoff said approvingly. "And
there is the additional fact that the Galactic Council could hold
us responsible for any deaths traceable to the books. It could mean
Ran-hachi Prison for a hundred years or so."
"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Kelly flipped the kissoff
switch. The ship came out in normal space. Fortunately, there was no
sun or planet in its path.
"Hang on," Kelly said, "we're going where we're going in a great big
rush!"
"I just hope we'll be in time to salvage something," Beliakoff said,
watching as their freighter plowed its way through the sea of space
toward the unchanging stars.
* * * * *
With evident nervousness, Nob walked down a long, dim corridor toward
the imperial chambers, carrying a small package in both hands. The
Prime Minister of the Dictatorship was a small bald man with a great
bulging forehead and small, glittering black eyes, made smaller by
steel-rimmed spectacles. He looked the very incarnation of an evil
genius, which was why he had been chosen as the Power Behind the Throne.
In point of fact, however, Nob was a mild, near-sighted, well-meaning
little man, a lawyer by occupation, known throughout Mala for his
prize rose gardens and his collection of Earth stamps. In spite of a
temperamental handicap, he didn't find his new job too difficult. The
Earth books were there and Nob simply interpreted them as literally as
possible. Whenever a problem came up, Nob thought: how would they solve
it on Earth? Then he would do the same, or as near the same as possible.
But dealing with the Empress presented problems of a unique nature.
Nob couldn't find a book entitled _Ways and Means of Placating
Royalty_. If such a book were obtainable, Nob would have paid any price
for it.
He took a deep breath, knocked and opened the door into the Royal
Chambers.
Instantly he ducked. A vase shattered against the wall behind him. Not
so good, he thought, calculating the distance by which it had missed
him. The Empress Jusa's aim was improving.
"Nob, you dirty swine!" the Empress shrieked.
"At your service, Majesty," Nob answered, bowing low.
"Where are the pearls, you insolent dolt?"
"Here, Majesty," Nob said, handing over the package. "It strained the
exchequer, buying them for you. The Minister of the Treasury threatened
to desert to the enemy. He may still. The people are muttering about
extravagance in high places. But the pearls are yours, Majesty."
"Of course." Jusa opened the package and looked at the lustrous gems.
"Can I keep them?" she asked, in a very small voice.
"Of course not."
"I didn't think so," Jusa said sadly. She had been just another Malan
girl, but had been chosen as Empress on the basis of her looks, which
were heartbreakingly lovely. It was axiomatic that an Empress should be
heartbreakingly lovely. The Malans had seen enough Earth films to know
that.
But an Empress should also be cold, calculating, cruel, as well as
gracious, headstrong and generous to a fault. She should care nothing
for her people, while, simultaneously, all she cared for was the
people. She should act in a manner calculated to make her subjects love
her in spite of and because of herself.
* * * * *
Jusa was a girl of considerable intelligence and she wanted to be as
Earthly as the next. But the contradictions in her role baffled her.
"Can't I keep them just for a little while?" she pleaded, holding a
single pearl up to the light.
"It isn't possible," Nob said. "We need guns, tanks, planes. Therefore
you sell your jewelry. There are many Terran precedents."
"But why did I have to insist upon the pearls in the first place?" Jusa
asked.
"I explained! As Empress, you must be flighty, must possess a whim of
iron, must have no regard for anyone else's feelings, must lust for
expensive baubles."
"All right," Jusa said.
"All right, what?"
"All right, swine."
"That's better," Nob said. "You're learning, Jusa, you really are. If
you could just fluctuate your moods more consistently--"
"I really will try," promised the Empress. "I'll learn, Nob. You'll be
proud of me yet."
"Good. Now there are some problems of state which you must decide upon.
Prisoners of war, for one thing. We have several possible means for
disposing of them. First, we could--"
"You take care of it."
"Now, now," Nob chided. "Mustn't shirk your duty."
"I'm not. I am simply being arbitrary and dictatorial. _You_ solve it,
pig. And bring me diamonds."
"Yes, Excellency," Nob said, bowing low. "Diamonds. But the people--"
"I love the people. But to hell with them!" she cried, fire in her eyes.
"Fine, fine," Nob said, and bowed his way out of the room.
Jusa stood for a few moments in thought, then picked up a vase and
shattered it on the floor. She made a mental note to order several
dozen more.
Then she flung herself upon the royal couch and began to weep bitterly.
She was quite a young Empress and she had the feeling of being in
beyond her depth. The problems of the war and of royalty had completely
ended her social life.
She resented it; any girl would.
* * * * *
Nob, meanwhile, left the palace and went home in his armored car.
The car had been ordered to protect him against assassins, who,
according to the Earth books, aimed a good deal of their plots at
Prime Ministers. Nob could see no reason for this, since if he weren't
Prime Minister, any one of a thousand men could do the job with equal
efficiency. But he supposed it had a certain symbolic meaning.
He reached his home and his wife kissed him on the cheek. "Hard day at
the palace, dear?" she asked.
"Quite hard," Nob said. "Lots of work for after supper."
"It just isn't fair," complained his wife. She was a plump, pleasant
little person and she worried continually about her husband's health.
"They shouldn't make you work so hard."
"But of course they should!" said Nob, a little astonished. "Don't
you remember what I told you? All the books say that during a war, a
Prime Minister is a harried, harassed individual, weighed down by the
enormous burden of state, unable to relax, tense with the numerous
strains of high office."
"It isn't fair," his wife repeated.
"No one said it was. But it's extremely Earthlike."
His wife shrugged her shoulders. "Well, of course, if it's Earthlike,
it must be right. Come eat supper, dear."
* * * * *
After eating, Nob attacked his mounds of paperwork. But soon he was
yawning and his eyes burned. He turned to his wife, who was just
finishing the dishes.
"My dear," he said, "do you suppose you could help me?"
"Is it proper?" she asked.
"Oh, absolutely. The books state that the Prime Minister's wife tries
in every way possible to relieve her husband of the burden of power."
"In that case, I'll be happy to try." She sat down in front of the
great pile of papers. "But, dear, I don't know anything about these
matters."
"Rely on instinct," Nob answered, yawning. "That's what I do."
Flattered by the importance of her task, she set to work with a will.
Several hours later, she awakened her husband, who was slumbering on
the couch.
"I've got them all finished except these," she said. "In this one, I'm
afraid I don't understand that word."
Nob glanced at the paper. "Oh, propaganda. That means giving the people
the facts, whether true or false. It's very important in any war."
"I don't see why."
"It's obvious. To have a genuine Earth-style war, you need ideological
differences. That's why we chose a dictatorship and the other continent
chose a democracy. The job of propaganda is to keep us different."
"I see," she said dubiously. "Well, this other paper is from General
Heglm of Security. He asks what you are doing about the spy situation.
He says it's very serious."
"I had forgotten about that. He's right, it's reached a crisis point."
He put the paper in his pocket. "I'm going to take care of that
personally, first thing in the morning."
In the last few hours, his wife had made no less than eight Major
Policy Decisions, twenty Codifications, eight Unifications, and three
Clarifications. Nob didn't bother to read them over. He trusted his
wife's good judgment and common sense.
He went to bed that night with the feeling of a job well done. And
before he fell asleep, he figured out exactly what he would do about
the spy situation.
* * * * *
The next morning, Nob's orders went out by all means of communication.
The results were gratifyingly swift, since the people of the
dictatorship were completely behind the war and dutifully loved and
hated their Empress, in whose name the order was signed.
A typical scene took place in the clubcar of the Char-Xil express. The
occupants of the car, twenty-three commuting businessmen, sealed the
doors as soon as they received Nob's order. The best-read among them, a
salesman by the name of Thrang, was elected spokesman for the group.
"Boys," said Thrang, "I guess I don't have to tell you anything about
the importance of this order. We all know what war is by now, don't we?"
"We sure do!"
"War is hell!"
"The war that the enemy thrust on us!"
"The war to start all wars!"
"That's right," Thrang said. "And I guess we've all felt the pinch
since the war started. Eh, boys?"
"I've done my part," said a man named Draxil. "When the Prime Minister
called for a cigarette shortage, I dumped twenty carloads of tobacco in
the Hunto River. Now we got cigarette rationing!"
"That's the spirit," Thrang said. "I know for a fact that others among
you have done the same with sugar, canned goods, butter, meat and a
hundred items. Everything's rationed now; everyone feels the pinch.
But, boys, there's still more we have to do. Now a spy situation has
come up and it calls for quick action."
"Haven't we done enough?" groaned a clothing-store owner.
"It's never enough! In time of war, Earth people give till it
hurts--then give some more! They know that no sacrifice is too much,
that nothing counts but the proper prosecution of the war."
The clothing-store owner nodded vehemently. "If it's Earthly, it's good
enough for me. So what can we do about this spy situation?"
"That is for us to decide here and now," Thrang said. "According to the
Prime Minister, our dictatorship cannot boast a single act of espionage
or sabotage done to it since the beginning of the war. The Chief of
Security is alarmed. It's his job to keep all spies under surveillance.
Since there are none, his department has lost all morale, which, in
turn, affects the other departments."
"Do we really need spies?"
"They serve a vital purpose," Thrang explained. "All the books agree
on this. Spies keep a country alert, on its toes, eternally vigilant.
Through sabotage, they cut down on arms production, which otherwise
would grow absurdly large, since it has priority over everything else.
They supply Security with subjects for Interrogation, Confession,
Brainwashing and Re-indoctrination. This in turn supplies data for
the enemy propaganda machine, which in turn supplies material for our
counter-propaganda machine."
* * * * *