“Ain’t that a mess?” Robbins demanded. “Where do you hide your cigarettes?”
“It does seem a rather lavish waste of paper,” Kiku agreed. “In the arm of the visitor’s chair.”
“Well, how do we handle it? I was caught flat-footed. Why doesn’t somebody tell me these things?”
“Just a moment.” Mr. Kiku leaned to his desk. “Security? Ah, O’Neill…place more special police around the Hroshii landing craft…”
“You’ve got ’em, boss. But why doesn’t somebody tell us these things?”
“A fair question. Whatever guard you are using, use more. There must not only be no riot; there must be no incidents. Station as many trained tension-dispersal technicians in the crowd as you can scrape up, then borrow more from other agencies. Then give special attention to lunatic-fringe organizations…xenophobic ones, I mean. Any trouble yet?”
“Nothing we couldn’t snuff out. But I’m making no promises. I still think somebody ought to tell…”
“No doubt. Keep in touch with me.” Kiku turned to Robbins. “Do you know how the interview happened to be granted?”
“Do I act like it? He was going to the ‘Tri Con’ citation dinner, safe as houses. I got his approval on his speech, gave him his copy and passed the others around to the boys, with suggestions on how to play it. Everybody happy. I get up this morning feeling ninety and before I’ve had my coffee I feel a hundred and fifty. Know anybody wants my job? I’m going to study how to be a beachcomber.”
“A reasonable thought. Wes, let me bring you up to date. Nothing was to be released about this matter until it was concluded, but now…” He quickly outlined the latest Hroshii crisis.
Robbins nodded, “I see. And Number One jerked the rug out from under you. A fine playmate.”
“Well, we had better see him. Is he here?”
“Yes. I was waiting for you, pal. Will you hold him while I hit him? Or the other way around?”
“Whichever you wish. Shall we get it over with?”
The Secretary was in; they were admitted and MacClure got up to seat them. After which they just sat. Robbins waited for Mr. Kiku to speak, but Kiku held still, face expressionless, a statue carved of ebony.
MacClure began to fidget. “Well, Henry? This is a busy morning… I’ve already been tied up with the S.G.”
“I had thought that you would want to instruct us, Mr. Secretary.”
“What for?”
“Have you seen the morning papers, sir?”
“Well…yes.”
“There has been a change in policy. Assistant Secretary Robbins and I would like to be briefed on the new policy.”
“What new policy?”
“Your new policy concerning the Hroshii, Mr. Secretary. Or are the newspapers in error?”
“Eh? Well, no, not precisely. Exaggerated of course. But no change in policy. I simply told the people what they were entitled to know.”
“The people are entitled to know.” Mr. Kiku fitted his fingers together. “Ah, yes. In a government based on free consent of free men the people are always entitled to know. An old bureaucrat, such as myself, sometimes loses track of that fundamental. Thank you for reminding me.” He seemed lost in cosmic thought for a moment, then added, “I suppose the thing now is to repair my failure and tell the people everything.”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“Why, the whole story, Mr. Secretary. How through our own ignorance and disregard for the rights of others, both now and in the past, we kidnapped a member of a civilized race. How blind luck alone kept that xenian alive. How as a result of this we now find our own planet threatened with destruction—and how a highly intelligent citizen of a friendly power (I refer to Dr. Ftaeml) assures us that these Hroshii can indeed destroy us. It would be necessary to tell them also that yesterday we were within minutes of ordering an attack on these xenians—but that we lost our nerve and decided to negotiate, since we had no knowledge of our strength relative to theirs, but only the very sobering opinion of Dr. Ftaeml to guide us. Yes, we must tell them that”
Secretary MacClure’s mouth was as wide as his eyes. “Heavenly days, Henry! Are you trying to set off riots?”
“Sir? I have taken countermeasures to prevent riots…xenophobia is always ready to flare up and that…” He gestured at the newspaper. “…will have an inflammatory effect on some. But you must not be deterred. We bureaucrats become paternalistic; it is so much simpler to do what seems best and let the people know it afterwards…negotiate, or blast a ship out of the sky, or whatever. Mr. Secretary, you have kept in mind, of course, that this Secretariat of which you are a member is responsible not to the North American Union, nor even to the peoples of Earth, but to all sovereignties of the Federation, both on Terra and elsewhere?”
“What’s that got to do with it? We’re the leading power.”
“Whom do you mean by ‘we’? Not my little country certainly. No, I was thinking that this will now be settled by vote of the Council and I was wondering whether the Council might possibly vote to surrender one unimportant citizen of North America rather than risk an interstellar war? I wonder how Mars will vote?”
The Secretary got up and strode up and down his office. It was a large room, much larger than Mr. Kiku’s. He stopped at the far end and stared out at the Tower of Three Planets and the Hall of Civilizations, while Kiku sat quietly. Wes Robbins slumped in a chair, his bony legs stretched in front of him. He was trimming his nails with a pocket knife; they were long and black and needed the attention.
MacClure turned suddenly to Kiku. “See here, Henry, you confounded word splitter, I won’t be bullied.”
“Bullied, Mr. Secretary?”
“Yes, bullied. Oh, you dressed it up in your usual double-talk, but I wasn’t born yesterday. You know perfectly well that if we give the press these unnecessary details…that nonsense this Dr. Fatima or whatever his name is, this Rargyllian monster, filled you with…yes, and you threatening to tell the press that I got cold feet about an attack…that’s a threat if I ever heard one!…you give ’em all that junk and we’d have a row in the Council that would be heard from here to Pluto! With the home governments sending special instructions to their delegates and maybe the Terran bloc getting outvoted. Right on top of this ticklish Triangular Conference it could be disastrous. Yes, that’s the word…disastrous.” MacClure stopped and struggled for breath. “Well, you won’t get away with it. You’re fired!…understand me? Fired! I’ll take care of having you removed for cause, or transferring you to the retired list, or whatever the red tape calls for, but you are done, right now. I’m relieving you. You can go home.”
“Very well, Mr. Secretary,” Mr. Kiku said evenly and started for the door to his office.
In the silence Wes Robbins knife clicked shut loudly. He stood up. “Hold it, Henry! Mac…”
Mr. MacClure looked around. “Huh? What’s the matter with you? And don’t call me ‘Mac’; this is official business. I’m still Secretary around here, as I just told Kiku.”
“Yes, you are still Secretary—for about two hours, maybe.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Wes, you will force me to fire you too if you talk that way. Mr. Kiku, you are excused.”
“Don’t go away, Henry. And quit shoving that stuff, Mac. You can’t fire me, I quit ten minutes ago. Mac, are you a complete stuffed shirt? Remember, I knew you when you were a shorthorned Senator, anxious to get a two-inch squib in a gossip column. I liked you then. You seemed to have horse sense, which is scarce in this business. Now you are ready to dump me and I don’t like you either. But tell me, for old times’ sake: why are you anxious to cut your own throat?”
“What? Not my throat. I’m not the Charlie to let a subordinate cut my throat. I’ve seen it done…but Kiku picked the wrong man.”
Robbins shook his head slowly. “Mac, you are dead set on scuttling yourself. Hadn’t you better cut Henry’s tongue out before the newsboys reach him? Here, you can borrow
my knife.”
“What?” MacClure looked stunned. He swung around and snapped, “Mr. Kiku! You are not to speak to the press. That’s an order.”
Robbins bit off some cuticle, spat it out, and said, “Mac, for Pete’s sake! You can’t both fire him and keep him from talking.”
“Departmental secrets…”
“‘Departmental secrets’ my bald spot! Maybe you could fine him severance pay under the official-secrets rule but do you think that will stop him? Henry is a man with no fears, no hopes, and no illusions; you can’t scare him. What he can tell the reporters will do you more harm if you classify it ‘secret’ than it would if you didn’t try to gag him.”
“May I say something?” asked the center of the storm.
“Eh? Go ahead, Mr. Kiku.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I had no intention of telling the press about the messier aspects of this affair. I was simply trying to show, by reductio ad absurdum, that the rule of keeping the public informed can…like any rule…lead to disaster if applied blindly. I felt that you had been indiscreet, sir. I hoped to keep you from further indiscretions while we sought means to repair the damage.”
MacClure studied him. “You mean that, Henry?”
“I always mean what I say, sir. It saves time.”
MacClure turned to Robbins. “You see, Wes? You were barking up the wrong tree. Henry is an honorable man, even if we do have our differences. See here, Henry, I was too hasty. I honestly thought you were threatening me. Let’s forget what I said about asking for your resignation and get on with our jobs. Eh?”
“No, sir.”
“What? Come, man, don’t be small. I was angry, I was hurt, I made a mistake. I apologize. After all, we have public welfare to consider.”
Robbins made a rude noise; Mr. Kiku answered gently, “No, Mr. Secretary, it wouldn’t work. Once having been fired by you, I would not again be able to act with confidence under your delegated authority. A diplomat must always act with confidence; it is often his only weapon.”
“Um… Well, all I can say is I’m sorry. I really am.”
“I believe you, sir. May I make a last and quite unofficial suggestion?”
“Why, certainly, Henry.”
“Kampf would be a good man to keep routine moving until you work out your new team.”
“Why, surely. If you say he is the man for it, I’m sure he must be. But Henry…we’ll keep him there on a temporary basis and you think it over. We’ll call it sick leave or something.”
“No,” Mr. Kiku answered coldly and turned again toward his own office.
Before he could reach it Robbins spoke up loudly. “Take it easy, you two. We aren’t through.” He spoke to MacClure: “You said that Henry was an honorable man. But you forgot something.”
“Eh? What?”
“I ain’t.”
Robbins went on, “Henry wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t cricket. Me, I was raised in a river ward and I’m not bothered by niceties. I’m going to gather the boys together and give ’em the word. I’m going to tell them where the body is buried, how the apple cart was upset, and who put the overalls in the chowder.”
MacClure said angrily, “You hand out an unauthorized interview and you’ll never hold another job with the administration!”
“Don’t threaten me, you over-ripe melon. I’m not a career man; I’m an appointee. After I sing my song I’ll get a job on the Capital Upside Down column and let the public in on the facts about life among the supermen.”
MacClure stared at him. “You don’t have any sense of loyalty at all.”
“From you, Mac, that sounds real sweet. What are you loyal to? Aside from your political skin?”
Mr. Kiku interposed mildly, “That’s not exactly fair, Wes. The Secretary has been quite firm that the Stuart boy must not be sacrificed to expediency.”
Robbins nodded. “Okay, Mac, we’ll give you that. But you were willing to sacrifice Henry’s forty years of service to save your own ugly face. Not to mention shooting off that face without checking with me, just to grab a front-page story. Mac, there is nothing a newspaper man despises more than headline hunger. There is something lascivious and disgusting about a man overanxious to see his name in headlines. I can’t reform you and don’t want to, but be sure that you are going to see your name in headlines, big ones…but for the last time. Unless…”
“What do you mean?…‘unless’?”
“Unless we put Humpty-Dumpty together again.”
“Uh, how? Now look, Wes, I’ll do anything within reason.”
“You sure will.” Robbins frowned. “There’s the obvious way. We can serve Henry’s head up on a platter. Blame that interview yesterday on him. He gave you bad advice. He’s been fired and all is sweetness and light.”
Mr. Kiku nodded. “That’s how I had envisioned it. I’d be happy to cooperate…provided my advice is taken on how to conclude the Hroshii affair.”
“Don’t look relieved, Mac!” Robbins growled. “That’s the obvious solution and it would work…because Henry is loyal to something bigger than he is. But that is not what we are going to do.”
“But, if Henry is willing, then in the best interests—”
“Stow it. It won’t be Henry’s head on the platter; it will be yours.”
Their eyes locked. At last MacClure said, “If that is your scheme, Robbins, forget it and get out. If you are looking for a fight, you’ll get one. The first story to break will be about how I had to fire you two for disloyalty and incompetence.”
Robbins grinned savagely. “I hope you play it that way. I’ll have fun. But do you want to hear how it could be worked?”
“Well…go ahead.”
“You can make it easy or hard. Either way, you are through. Now keep quiet and let me tell it! You’re done, Mac. I don’t claim to be a scholar of xenic affairs, but even I can see that civilization can’t afford your county-courthouse approach to delicate relations with non-human races… So you’re through. The question is: do you do it the hard way? Or do you go easy on yourself and get a nice puff in the history books?”
MacClure glowered but did not interrupt. “Force me to spill what I know, and one of two things happens. Either the Secretary General throws you to the wolves, or he decides to back you up and risk a vote of ‘no confidence’ from the Council. Which is what he would get. The Martian Commonwealth would gleefully lead the stampede, Venus would follow, the outer colonies and the associated xenic cultures would join in. At the end you would have most of the Terran nations demanding that the North American Union surrender this one individual to avert a bust-up of the Federation.
“All you have to do is to shove the first domino; all the others would fall…and you would be buried under the pile. You couldn’t be elected dogcatcher. But the easy way runs like this. You resign…but we don’t publish the fact, not for a couple of weeks… Henry, do you think two weeks will be long enough?”
“It should be ample,” Mr. Kiku agreed gravely.
“During that time you don’t wipe your nose without Henry’s permission. You don’t say a word unless I okay it. Then you resign in a blaze of glory, with the conclusion of the Hroshian Affair to crown your career. Possibly some way can be found to kick you upstairs to a gaudier job…if you are a good boy. Eh, Henry?”
Mr. Kiku nodded.
MacClure looked around from Kiku’s expressionless face to Robbins’ contemptuous one. “You two have it neatly plotted,” he said bitterly. “Suppose I told you both to go to the devil?”
Robbins yawned. “It won’t matter in the long run, believe me. After the administration falls, the new Secretary General will call Henry out of retirement, a safe man will be stuck in your place, and Henry will get on with outmaneuvering the Hroshii. Probably lose three days maybe less. Whitewashing you is harder, but we meant to give you a break. Right, Henry?”
“It would be better so. Dirty linen is best kept in a cupboard.”
MacClure chewed
his lip. “I’ll think it over.”
“Good! And I’ll wait while you do. Henry, why don’t you get back to work? I’ll bet that trick desk is lighted up like a Christmas tree.”
“Very well.” Mr. Kiku left the room.
His desk did look like a fireworks celebration, with three blinking red lights and a dozen amber ones. He disposed of urgent matters, brushed off lesser ones, and began to reduce the stack in his basket, signing without bothering to consider whether his signature continued to carry authority.
He was just sustaining a veto on a passport for a very prominent lecturer—the last time the idiot had been off Earth, he had broken into a temple and taken pictures—when Robbins walked in and chucked a paper on his desk. “Here’s his resignation. Better see the Secretary General at once.”
Mr. Kiku took it. “I shall.”
“I didn’t want you there when I twisted his arm. It’s harder for a man to say ‘Uncle’ with a witness. You understood?”
“Yes.”
“I had to bring up the time we covered up for him about the convention with Kondor.”
“Regrettable.”
“Don’t waste tears. Enough is enough. Now I am going to write the speech he will make before the Council. After that I’ll look up the boys he talked to last night and beg them, for the sake of their dear old home planet, to take the proper line on the follow-up story. They won’t like it.”
“I suppose not.”
“But they’ll go along. Us humans have got to stick together; we are badly outnumbered.”
“So I have always felt. Thanks, Wes.”
“A pleasure. Just one thing I didn’t mention to him…”
“So?”
“I didn’t remind him that the boy’s name was John Thomas Stuart. I’m not sure the Martian Commonwealth would have bolted, in view of that one fact. The Council might have sustained Mac, after all…and we might have found out whether the Hroshian laddies can do what they say they can.”
Kiku nodded. “I thought of that, too. It didn’t seem time to mention it.”
“No. There are so many swell places for a man to keep his mouth shut. What are you smiling at?”