Collected Fiction

by Kris Neville

  “What Rosy is saying,” said the president, “is that we have some very serious problems. Unless Raleigh proves himself a reasonable man, sympathetic to our aims, I’m afraid we’re not going to have the ten or fifteen years we desperately need to stabilize this economy and put it on a sound, businesslike, and predictable basis.”

  Mr. Strickland stood up and turned his back on the two seated officials. He ran his hand through his hair and began to pace. “I don’t need you to tell me these things,” he said. “The credit is going to go through. It’s got to. There’s no point in thinking about what will happen if it doesn’t go through. We’re damned well going to need those guns, and you know it. We’re dead . . . dead! . . . without them. I can’t even consider that possibility. I have to take a practical view. Either you, Mr. President, slap on food rationing and roll these prices back, or my membership is going to demand, in no uncertain terms, that their wages go up. And there’s nothing I can do about it. They’ll tie the whole damned city of York in knots. Nothing will move. I’ll have to go along with them. If I don’t go along, they’ll find someone who will, and I’ll be on the outside of the Union looking in. These are the facts I’m talking about—the bread and butter facts of the here and now.”

  “Mr. Strickland, I need time right now, I desperately need time,” said the president.

  “Time’s run out on me,” Strickland said. “My membership is ready to move. We have an emergency meeting of the membership tomorrow night. I’ve got to have something more than promises for them. They can’t eat promises. I’ve got to have some sort of firm commitment from the president.”

  “Please sit down, Mr. Strickland,” MacDonald said. “We can work something out. I think the president would be willing, as a temporary, noninflationary measure, to allow an increase pegged to the cost of living index.”

  “My people,” Strickland said, “are worried about food prices. Do you know, or do you care, that thirty-seven percent of the average Transportation Worker’s weekly budget goes to the purchase of food? Food’s up twenty percent: their cost of living is up seven percent.”

  “Well,” said the president, “You don’t have to tell them that! Now, damn it, you know, Strickland, and I know you know, that you can sell the package Rosy proposed. You’ve got me in a bind, but I’ve got to have a little cooperation from you. You’re trying to pull down the whole economy. What do you hope to gain from that?”

  Strickland stopped pacing and turned. “What if I do sell that package? I’m sticking out my own neck. You don’t know the mood of my members.”

  “You sell it,” the president said. “I’ll guarantee . . . and my word is good, you know that . . . I’ll guarantee to slap on controls, with the necessary roll-back, if the announcement of new interstellar credit doesn’t, of its own accord, put the break on. But I can’t, just now. I don’t want Raleigh to learn what a real bind we’re in. How’s that?”

  Strickland considered for perhaps ten seconds. “All right. I’ll try to sell the package.” He returned to his seat.

  “How deeply did Raleigh go into these matters with you?” asked MacDonald.

  “That’s the funny part,” said Strickland. “He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Hell, he wasn’t interested in the economy. I don’t think he even said ten words about it. We chatted for maybe a couple of hours, socially, like, about family, kids—that sort of thing. The only thing he asked me about that’s remotely connected with his mission here was the Coelanths.”

  “Coelanths?” said MacDonald.

  “He asked me if I’d heard that we had found some sort of fertility drug, while we were developing the Simeryl, that worked on them to make them multiply to the point where their normal food supply was no longer enough for them, so that they’ve now turned hungry, mean, and wild.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked the president, leaning forward intently.

  “I told him hell yes, I’d heard it. All lies spread by a few warped malcontents. I told him we have a lot of nuts running around loose trying to undermine our whole society with lies like that, and worse; and that people like that should be taken out and shot. He was glad to have me clear that point up for him.”

  VI

  Friday morning, after a very poor night’s sleep, the president prepared himself for the forthcoming conference. He examined his collection of hats, selecting one carefully, and descended to breakfast. MacDonald came, punctually to the minute, as the president poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’ve cut cream out,” he explained to the secretary, “to economize a little. You don’t mind milk?”

  “Use it all the time,” said MacDonald. “Helps keep the weight down, too.”

  The two ate.

  At issue, in the conversation, was whether or not protocol would dictate that MacDonald accompany the president to pick up Secretary Raleigh, or whether he should be introduced upon return from The Harrison.

  “I’d rather you come along, Rosy.” The president knew MacDonald would save him from possible mistakes. And if MacDonald were present from the start, it would be difficult for Raleigh to reject him.

  “Won’t it look rather unusual, us calling together to pick him up?”

  “He hasn’t met you yet,” said the president. “I think it would be a nice touch, for you to come along. I want to be sure, too, that you’re in on it all the way.”

  MacDonald shrugged up his sleeve to expose the watch. “If your security people are ready, I guess we ought to go then.”

  As they were riding in the car to The Harrison, the president asked, “Rosy, one of my people reports that someone from your department shot a Coelanth yesterday. I’m not trying to check up or anything, I just accidentally got the report. I hope that’s not true. We can’t afford to waste ammunition.”

  “It took only one shot, Mr. President. I had one of my best men on the gun. Our last requisition, if you remember, claimed an expenditure of two hundred and four rounds of ammunition on Coelanths. If they accept that figure, we’ll have”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“two thousand seventy-three rounds off the books.”

  “I hoped it was more,” said the president. “It was almost eighteen hundred a month ago.”

  “They audit us too carefully. I’m afraid to try for more. I tried to get a replacement on a single gun; I had to send in the damaged article. The Federation doesn’t kid around on arms control.”

  The president said, “If they found out about the ammunition off the books, I’m afraid they’d at least slap a total blockade on us. We sure can’t afford anything like that right now. Are you absolutely sure we’re safe? That’s the one thing that really worries me, gives me fits at night. If Raleigh found out about that, things could blow up in all our faces.”

  “That’s why I had the Coelanth shot yesterday. I wanted to have a film for you, with a dummy track that carries the sound of eight shots being fired. I screened it last night at midnight, and I didn’t like the cutting. It looked phony. They reprocessed it for me and this morning it looked better, but I think a practiced eye might still spot the sound dubbing. We can’t afford to take a chance on something like that. I have my best man on it. If he can get it down to the point where it looks right, all around, I’ll be able to screen it for Raleigh this afternoon. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I was sure I could deliver.”

  “Very good, Rosy. Very good indeed.”

  An hour later, the three men occupied the Gold Conference Room of the Presidential Mansion. Coffee was sent for. They were seated around a huge, polished table, both the president and MacDonald with stacks of documents.

  “I’m very impressed by what I’ve heard so far,” Raleigh said. “It has made quite an impression on me. The State dinner will be at eight, tonight? If we hold the lunch break down, we can clean up business well before that, I’m sure. I think there are really two matters before us. The first is the Simeryl debt and the requested additional credits. We can handle this as one matter.”

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bsp; “That’s fine,” said the president. “It’s the equivalent of three hundred million dollars, I believe. Is that not correct, Secretary MacDonald?”

  “Yes, sir,” said MacDonald. “That would be the total requested figure. Of which, including transportation fees and research costs, the Simeryl debt stands at exactly one hundred nineteen million, three hundred thousand. That doesn’t take into account interest, the loan being interest only for the first twenty years. It’s a standard Area Development Loan in that respect.”

  “The total amount, then, is about twelve hundred dollars per capita?”

  “On maturity,” said MacDonald. “When we negotiate principal repayment terms, the total amount will probably be less than six hundred dollars per capita, depending, of course, somewhat on how effective the immigration policy is. A figure that’s quite manageable.”

  “I don’t think that it should really overextend you. Now, I should wish to make my own position clear. As you know, I am merely a third secretary. From this, you can see what kind of weight my own recommendations will carry.”

  “I’m sure they will count very heavily, if not decisively,” said the president.

  Secretary Raleigh massaged the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly a second. He shook his head. “Forgive me. I seem to have a little headache this morning. You have to do a lot of reading on a job like this. It’s a little eyestrain.”

  Standing, MacDonald said, “Let me hurry them up with the coffee. Can I get you a pill for the headache?”

  “That won’t be necessary; I have something. I’ll take it with the coffee.”

  MacDonald departed.

  “My most efficient man,” the president said.

  “I’m genuinely sorry I had to cancel his briefing,” said Raleigh. “I can see he’s a very good man; you should do all you can to keep him. Well, back to the credit matter. Let us suppose that my superiors want to make the loan but they feel the additional, let’s see, one hundred eighty million seven hundred thousand dollars is stretching you a bit thin. Particularly if you have to come back to us in the next few years. Candidly, now, how much can you shave it when you sharpen your pencil? This is a question I have to be prepared to answer, if they give the loan the go-ahead. I don’t want to say they won’t necessarily go the full amount. It’s merely an outside contingency I have to cover. You understand that?”

  The president said, “I have a detailed breakdown. It’s a rather thick volume.”

  “You may find this hard to believe,” Raleigh said, “but these little details are a part of the job I really enjoy. I got my start as an accountant, which may explain it. I’d like a copy of this breakdown; if you could send it over tonight. Meanwhile, let’s go over all the figures, just so I can dot the i’s and cross the t’s. You can never be absolutely sure what your superiors will decide, and you have to be prepared for all sorts of questions, whether they actually come up or not.”

  “I can see you are a very efficient man,” said the president.

  “I’ve been around government quite a few years,” said Raleigh.

  “Well. If you ever are looking for a job,” said the president, “be sure to keep us in mind. I think we could find a very responsible job for a man like you.”

  MacDonald returned with the coffee. His solicitous inquiry was met with reassurance: “The headache’s about gone, now. I’ll hold off on the pill. I don’t like to use medication unless I need it.”

  The three men, until lunch, dissected the figures for the loan.

  After lunch, discussion turned to the request for weapons.

  Raleigh sat back, folded his hands across his stomach in appreciation of the meal. “This gets us into a little different matter, now. One, frankly, which is not quite as straightforward as it might be. The Federation takes its responsibility on arms control very seriously, and there’re quite a few million in your proposal for buying these things from us on Coueril. This may require some pretty convincing documentation. Let’s see if we can get it. As I understand, these additional weapons and ammunition are required for Coelanth control. Secretary MacDonald, do you have figures on the Coelanth population and on the percentage increase in that population for the last few years? Professor Johnson didn’t seem to have them with him yesterday. Have you considered alternate control methods?”

  “I have some figures,” said the Secretary of Domestic Affairs. “I’m not entirely sure they are completely accurate, but they are accurate enough to be quite alarming. As to alternate methods, my people tell me they present unusual difficulties. The basic ecology prevents us from using the so-called biological controls. It would be too damaging to the Elanthians, who fundamentally coexist with the Coelanths. Now, there’s always an outside possibility our people have overlooked something, but the way we’ve been working on the problem, I honestly don’t think so.”

  Raleigh leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. So far he had taken no notes. “Well, let’s see what you have to give me.”

  For the next two hours, Secretary MacDonald and Secretary Raleigh went into details on the Coelanths. The president, largely ignored, offered an occasional comment in support of his secretary. As always, he was astounded at the wealth of facts and statistics that came from the computerlike mind of MacDonald. No objection by Raleigh went unanswered.

  At the conclusion, MacDonald said, “With your permission, sir, we have prepared a film especially for you of a typical Coelanth hunt. It’s only just under twelve minutes long. I think you’ll get a much better feel for the problem if you actually see what sort of savage beasts we’re up against.”

  “I think that’s an excellent suggestion,” said Raleigh.

  The film showed a Coelanth from a distance, looking up toward the camera. Its mouth opened to expose rows of blue teeth. The sound of the Coelanth came from the track. A close-up put the viewer virtually into the opened mouth. The front teeth, needle-sharp, gleamed dully; the back teeth, for crushing and grinding, contained food particles. The camera held. Then: a few frames of blackness, flickering, and the camera was looking down into the wilderness of northern Elanth.

  “Elanthians and Coelanths,” said MacDonald, “live in this forest area. All the other land masses, islands, really, have less developed fauna. Notice how dense the vegetation is. You will see occasional movement, and we’ll show you several herds of animals.”

  Looking down into the multicolored reality of the jungle, the camera showed the great beasts ranging in their natural habitat. But for the absence of wings, the Coelanths generally resembled the mythical dragons of Motherearth. Many were from thirty to forty feet long. The camera caught a single herd which contained perhaps twenty of the animals. Flickering blackness came again.

  “Here’s a kill,” said MacDonald.

  The camera was at ground level, peering into the grasslands. The Coelanth, having scented human presence, came forward. It was still at a distance, when a rifle barrel bounced, close up. Snap! came the sound. The Coelanth came on, gaining speed for the charge. Its sounds of anger came to the screen. Snap! Snap! Snap! three off-camera shots. The Coelanth hesitated, throwing its head about, as if sensing new danger.

  “One of those shots,” MacDonald said, “gave him something to think about.”

  The camera went to a close-up of the Coelanth’s feet. The feet were in motion. Snap! Snap! The feet stumbled. The film jumped to the rifleman, standing from a crouch. A smile came to his face.

  “They slowed him down,” said MacDonald, “but he came back.”

  Patterns of blackness on the screen. The Coelanth, nearer now, was snarling, trampling grass, eyes blazing fury.

  “Hard to drop them,” said MacDonald.

  A wide view, now: showing both the Coelanth and the rifleman. Snap! went the rifle. The Coelanth stumbled, staggered, and sprawled forward. The camera caught the fall in a close-up, the huge animal plunging heavily into the ground. Snap! went the sound track for the final shot. The Coelanth lay writhing.
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  “Eight shots,” said the president. “How many hits?”

  “Five,” said MacDonald.

  The Coelanth was still. The projector clicked off.

  “Good film,” said Raleigh. “Very, very good coverage. You must have had at least five cameras in on the charge sequence.” He arose and glanced at his watch. “We’ve been at it for some six and a half hours pretty steadily. I’ve about had it. How about you gentlemen? Have we overlooked anything? I think most everything got covered pretty well.”

  “It’s been a very rewarding meeting for me,” said MacDonald. “For our part, I hope we’ve answered all your questions.” Standing, he began to put the papers before him in order.