Expediter

"You fool! Our steelprogress is the astonishment of the world! Why, not only are ourultramodern plants, built largely with foreign assistance, working ona twenty-four hour a day basis, but thousands of secondary smelters,some so small as to be operated by a handful of comrade citizens, inbackyard establishments, by schoolchildren, working smelters of but afew tons monthly capacity in the schoolyard, by--"

  * * * * *

  The newly created State Expediter held up a hand dispiritedly. "Iknow. I know. Thousands of these backyard smelters exist ... uh ...especially in parts of the country where there is neither ore nor fuelavailable."

  The commissar looked at him.

  The younger man said, his voice seemingly deprecating his words, "Theschoolchildren, taking time off from their studies, of course, bringscrap iron to be smelted. And they bring whatever fuel they can find,often pilfered from railway yards. And the more scrap and fuel theybring, the more praise they get. Unfortunately, the so-called scrapoften turns out to be kitchen utensils, farm tools, even, on at leaston occasion, some railroad tracks, from a narrow gauge line running upto a lumbering project, not in use that time of the year. Sooner orlater, Comrade Broz, the nation is going to have to replace thosekitchen utensils and farm tools and all the rest of the scrap thatisn't really quite scrap."

  The commissar began to protest heatedly, but Josip Pekic shook hishead and tried to firm his less than dominating voice. "But eventhat's not the worst of it. Taking citizens away from their realoccupations, or studies, and putting them to smelting steel where noore exists. The worst of it is, so my young engineer friends tell me,that while the steel thus produced might have been a marvel back inthe days of the Hittites, it hardly reaches specifications today.Perhaps it might be used ultimately to make simple farm tools such ashoes and rakes; if so, it would make quite an endless circle, becausethat is largely the source of the so-called steel to beginwith--tools, utensils and such. But it hardly seems usable in modernindustry."

  The commissar had gone pale with anger by now. He put his two fists onhis desk and leaned upon them, staring down at his seated visitor."Comrade," he bit out, "I warn you. Comrade Jankez is enthusiasticabout my successes. Beyond that, not only is he an old comrade, but mybrother-in-law as well."

  Josip Pekic nodded, unenthusiastically, and his voice continued toquiver. "So the trained engineers under you, have already warned me.However, Comrade Broz, you are ... well, no longer Commissar of theSteel Complex. My report has already gone in to Comrades Jankez andKardelj."

  * * * * *

  The knock came at the door in the middle of the night as AleksanderKardelj had always thought it would.

  From those early days of his Party career, when his ambitions hadsent him climbing, pushing, tripping up others, on his way to the top,he had expected it eventually.

  Oh, his had been a different approach, on the surface, an easygoing,laughing, gentler approach than one usually connected with members ofthe Secretariat of the Executive Committee of the Party, but it madevery little difference in the very long view. When one fell from theheights, he fell just as hard, whether or not he was noted for hissympathetic easy humor.

  The fact was, Aleksander Kardelj was not asleep when the fist poundedat his door shortly after midnight. He had but recently turned off,with a shaking hand, the Telly-Phone, after a less than pleasantconversation with President of the United Balkan Soviet Republics,Zoran Jankez.

  For the past ten years, Kardelj had been able to placate Zoran Jankez,even though Number One be at the peak of one of his surly rages, rageswhich seemed to be coming with increasing frequency of late. As thesocio-economic system of the People's Democratic Dictatorship becameincreasingly complicated, as industrialization with its modernautomation mushroomed in a geometric progression, the comparativesimplicity of governing which applied in the past, was strictly ofyesteryear. It had been one thing, rifle and grenades in hand, toseize the government, after a devastating war in which the nation hadbeen leveled, and even to maintain it for a time, over illiteratepeasants and unskilled proletarians. But industrialization calls for ahighly educated element of scientists and technicians, nor does itstop there. One of sub-mentality can operate a shovel in a field, oreven do a simple operation on an endless assembly line in a factory.But practically all workers must be highly skilled workers in the ageof automation, and there is little room for the illiterate. Thepopulace of the People's Dictatorship was no longer a dumb, drivenherd, and their problems were no longer simple ones.

  Yes, Number One was increasingly subject to his rages these days. Itwas Aleksander Kardelj's deepest belief that Jankez was findinghimself out of his depth. He no longer was capable of understandingthe problems which his planning bodies brought to his attention. Andhe who is confused, be he ditchdigger or dictator, is a manemotionally upset.

  Zoran Jankez's face had come onto the Telly-Phone screen alreadyenraged. He had snapped to his right-hand man, "Kardelj! Do yourealize what that ... that idiot of yours has been up to now?"

  Inwardly, Kardelj had winced. His superior had been mountinglydifficult of late, and particularly these past few days. He said now,cajolingly, "Zoran, I--"

  "Don't call me Zoran, Kardelj! And please preserve me from yoursickening attempts to fawn, in view of your treacherousrecommendations of recent months." He was so infuriated that his heavyjowls shook.

  Kardelj had never seen him this furious. He said placatingly, "ComradeJankez, I had already come to the conclusion that I should consult youon the desirability of revoking this young troublemaker's credentialsand removing him from the--"

  "I am not interested in what you were _going_ to do, Kardelj. I amalready in the process of ending this traitor's activities. I shouldhave known, when you revealed he was the son of Ljubo Pekic, that hewas an enemy of the State, deep within. I know the Pekic blood. It wasI who put Ljubo to the question. Stubborn, wrong headed, a vicious foeof the revolution. And his son takes after him."

  Kardelj had enough courage left to say, "Comrade, it would seem to methat young Pekic is a tanglefoot, but not a conscious traitor. I--"

  "Don't call me comrade, Kardelj!" Number One roared. "I know yourinner motivation. The reason you brought this agent provocateur, thisTrotskyite wrecker, to this position of ridiculous power. The two ofyou are in conspiracy to undermine my authority. This will be broughtbefore the Secretariat of the Executive Committee, Kardelj. You'vegone too far, this time!"

  Aleksander Kardelj had his shortcomings but he was no coward. He said,wryly, "Very well, sir. But would you tell me what Josip Pekic hasdone now? My office has had no report on him for some time."

  "What he has done! You fool, you traitorous fool, have you kept norecord at all? He has been in the Macedonian area where my virginlands program has been in full swing."

  Kardelj cleared his throat at this point.

  Jankez continued roaring. "The past three years, admittedly, theweather has been such, the confounded rains failing to arrive onschedule, that we have had our troubles. But this fool! Thisblundering traitorous idiot!"

  "What has he done?" Kardelj asked, intrigued in spite of his positionof danger.

  "For all practical purposes he's ordered the whole program reversed.Something about a sandbowl developing, whatever that is supposed tomean. Something about introducing contour plowing, whatever nonsensethat is. And even reforesting some areas. Some nonsense aboutwatersheds. He evidently has blinded and misled the very men I had incharge. They are supporting him, openly."

  Jankez, Kardelj knew, had been a miner as a youth, with no experiencewhatsoever on the soil. However, the virgin lands project had been hispet. He envisioned hundreds upon thousands of square miles of maize,corn as the Americans called it. This in turn would feed vast herds ofcattle and swine so that ultimately the United Balkan Soviet Republicswould have the highest meat consumption in the world.

  Number One was raging on. Something about a conspiracy on the part ofthose who surrounded hi
m. A conspiracy to overthrow him, Zoran Jankez,and betray the revolution to the Western powers, but he, Zoran Jankez,had been through this sort of plot before. He, Zoran Jankez, knew theanswers to such situations.

  Aleksander Kardelj grinned humorously, wryly, and reached to flick offthe screen. He twisted a cigarette into the small pipelike holder, litit and waited for the inevitable.

  It was shortly after that the knock came on his door.

  * * * * *

  Zoran Jankez sat at his desk in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, aheavy military revolver close to his right hand, a half empty liter ofsljivovica and a water tumbler, to his left. Red of eye, he pored overendless reports from his agents, occasionally taking time out to growla command into his desk mike. Tired he was, from the long sleeplesshours he was putting