The Doomed Planet

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “Now you’ve lost me,” said Mortiiy, giving a cross gesture of dismissal. “You had better take this up—”

  Seeing he was losing, Noble Stuffy wailed, “But, Your Majesty, it was PR that caused the riots!”

  “WHAT? Is it some kind of anger bomb?”

  “Oh, worse. Far, far worse—”

  There was a battering clatter at the main entrance and voices raised. All heads turned toward it.

  “I don’t care!” the Fleet Marine captain was shouting. “Pick up those lights and get out and stay out! This hall is JAMMED! There’s one Homeview crew here already!”

  “That’s the point, you idiot!” a man in aqua-green was shouting. “Men, shove right on in!”

  The tan of Fleet Marines and aqua-green of the newcomers went into a boil at the entrance door.

  In a high-pitched, reaching voice, Heller shouted, “Stand!” The Fleet Marines instantly froze. One of the men in aqua-green stepped forward. “What’s all this?” shouted Heller.

  “I’m a Homeview crew director,” the man yelled back across the hall. “The manager in Joy City sent us out here posthaste, spare no air-trucks, to get some stupid idiot off the commentator channel and take over!”

  “Can’t you settle internal squabbles,” shouted Heller, “without interrupting a conference?”

  “This is no internal squabble!” the man at the door yelled back. He looked around the room and then walked up to a roustabout who had been in the hall and suddenly raised his visor. “Just as I thought!” he yelled. He faced the dais, “The manager has been going crazy thinking he’d misplaced a Homeview team. This isn’t a Homeview team you’ve got in here. This is Madison and his crew!”

  “WHAT?” cried Heller. “Captain, GRAB THAT TEAM!”

  “ATTACK!” screamed Flick.

  Madison’s crew acted instantly. They dropped equipment, snatched out knives and charged the Fleet Marines.

  The Fleet Marines acted instantly. They charged the crew.

  People in the hall recoiled with piercing screams.

  Tan and aqua-green boiled in furious tumult. Equipment and lights were falling.

  “PARALYZE! PARALYZE!” the Fleet Marine captain was shouting above the din.

  The electric daggers of the Fleet Marines were throwing sparks as they fended and dueled. Because they were accustomed to operating on spaceships of the Fleet where gunshots could bring catastrophe to all, they were never armed with blasters. And their electric daggers could be set at intensities lower than killing. It was an unfair advantage and Madison’s crew took any profit from it they could.

  Knives and daggers were crossing with streams of sparking flame. Pairs were circling.

  At a command from Flick, Madison’s crew tried a rush for the door!

  It was their undoing. A Marine platoon had remained there, expecting just that.

  There was a flurry of flame and sparks. Outnumbered two to one, Madison’s crew, with howls of pain, one after another were stretched out, temporarily paralyzed.

  The real Homeview crew in the door had been smugly taking pictures. They marched now in triumph fully into the hall and began to set up.

  The Fleet Marines had suffered only minor casualties. They began to drag their late assailants over into a pile along the wall.

  “Captain,” Heller called. “Look through those casualties and see if you can identify a man called J. Walter Madison if he’s there.”

  From behind a glaring light which was still standing in the corner, pouring its rays into the room, a man stepped out, gradually becoming visible.

  “If you’re looking for J. Walter Madison,” he said, “I’m right here. And,” he said, walking forward, his visor lifted, “you are completely wrong about PR.”

  He came to the table edge, stared at incredulously by all eyes. He looked up at Mortiiy and said, “I refuse, Your Majesty, to stand idle and see the noble profession of PR maligned.”

  Mortiiy stared at him.

  “PR,” said Madison, “means, in your language, public relations. It is, Your Majesty, of infinite use to a government.” His voice took on a crooning lilt. “You can mold, sculpt and create in wondrous forms the opinions of the multitude. It is not necessary even to be sensible in your government decisions when you utilize PR. You can do anything you please and, by the beautiful techniques of imagery, bring about any public opinion that you might require. You do not even have to be fair or just in trials. If you, as a governing sovereign, do not like someone, he does not even have to be guilty of a single crime: you simply manufacture news stories and try him in the press. You do not even have to bring him to court.”

  “WHAT?” said Mortiiy, scandalized.

  “Indeed,” said Madison, “you may well stare in astonishment. But it is true. By manipulating public opinion, you can drive the mobs and riffraff any direction you want. In fact, it was by the skilled use of the Gris trial that I was able, with PR, to bring these wonderful riots to a positive boil!”

  “WHAT IS THIS?” cried Mortiiy.

  “PR,” said Madison. “The whole planet of Blito-P3 is run on it.” His voice took on an almost singing tone. “PR is the gift of Earth to a waiting universe.”

  Heller could see the embers begin to kindle behind the eyes of Mortiiy. In a low voice, Heller said, “Watch it, Madison. You’d better shut up!”

  Madison turned to him with an attitude of disdain.

  “Shut up? It’s a very good thing I did NOT shut up. Heller-Wister, I made you what you are today! Without PR and my genius at using it, you would be shivering, unknown in some dark, dank cave. What are you really? A nobody, a nothing!”

  Mortiiy was on his feet. His face was contorted with rage. “Why, you infernal snot!” he stormed at Madison. “How dare you insult one of the bravest officers that ever lived! You’re a sniveling coward in the bargain! You know very well an officer is forbidden to duel in his monarch’s presence. Well, I will take care of that!” And he drew his hand blastgun to shoot!

  Madison looked at the gun and went white. He had not known anything about any such custom. He had been carried away. Now it appeared he would be carried away feet first. With horror he watched the thumb throwing off the safety lever!

  Mortiiy suddenly checked himself. “No,” he said. “Those days are over. I am Emperor now. I must reform.” Although he put the handgun back in his belt holster, he did not look very reformed. He was still blazing angry. He was still standing.

  Mortiiy glared at Madison. His space-deck voice roared out. “At LAST we’ve gotten to the bottom of it!”

  The snarling rage struck fear into the tense hall. “A thing called PR mangles a million people in the streets, with tens of billions of property damage! A P. T. Barnum gives us abominable freaks! A CIA/KGB gives us a rotten, foul organization called the Apparatus! Two insane fake ‘sciences’ named psychology and psychiatry lying to the entire population! Drugs shatter the lives of whole cities and subvert the government! My two poor brothers dead, my father ruined in health and myself consigned to five years of hells! And where did all this come from?”

  He brought his fist down on the board. “A planet called Blito-P3, Earth! WE HAVE BEEN INVADED!”

  Mortiiy straightened up. His face was very grim. But he had regained his self-control. He spoke now with kingly determination. “I know now why things went wrong with Voltar and I know where the disease came from. Primitive, decadent or decayed civilizations can be very dangerous to associate with. It can be like putting a patient with a contagious illness into a roomful of healthy people. A higher strata of culture can be pulled down and fouled by such association. We have seen these before in our history and we are far from perfect.

  “But never in my whole career, which has contained extensive travels, have I ever in my life heard of such a putrid and degenerate society as that of Blito-P3, Earth!”

  He stood for a moment. His eyes wandered to the armorial bearings and portrait of his father which still hung against the far
wall. Inset below it were paintings of his two brothers, now dead. His eyes misted for a moment and then he turned suddenly to Heller.

  “I never want to hear of Blito-P3 again! NEVER!” He drew a long breath. “You are permanent Viceregal Chairman, Lord Heller. As Emperor, I am not, by custom, supposed to be here.” Heller could see that Mortiiy was actually crying and seeking to hide it as best he could. “As Crown,” he continued, controlling his voice with difficulty, “complete this conference. I will compose, at my leisure, lists of potential new Lords and we can use them to form a government.” He was bending over to mask the emotional stress he was under. He took six blank sheets of proclamation paper. He rapidly signed his name across the bottoms. He took the Royal seal from his pocket and pressed it over the signatures. He sent the six sheets skidding sideways to Heller.

  “Use one of those blank orders,” said Mortiiy, “to dispose of Blito-P3, Earth, any way you see fit!”

  He turned away to the back of the dais. He was obviously leaving and the whole hall was taken by surprise. They stood suddenly in a belated effort to bow.

  But Mortiiy wasn’t looking at them. He walked down the back steps of the dais. When he was out of their sight he brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

  The Countess Krak slipped down to his side and took his arm and led him away, for it was obvious to her that he was now blinded with tears and couldn’t see where he was going. He had loved his brothers very dearly. And knowing now, at last, what really had caused their deaths had brought the fact home.

  PART EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Chapter 2

  The Grand Council hall was buzzing. The senior officers at the huge table were still standing but they had begun to talk to one another. These people were upset because the Emperor had looked upset.

  Heller fingered the six blank proclamations. He knew the difficulties of getting staffs to agree on disposition of forces, zones of combat, appropriations and all such intricacies attendant upon invasions: this was certainly not the operating climate in which to begin it.

  Madison was still standing there, sort of collapsed, the dagger of a Fleet Marine lieutenant about an inch from his throat. Madison’s crew were piled up along the wall, beginning now to twitch back to life.

  Suddenly Heller spotted a small wizened face: he recognized, from other times of long ago, the Master of Palace City.

  Heller hit the table with the butt of his gun. “Gentlemen,” he shouted, “we have urgent work ahead of us tonight. But I think we all will be better for a little REFRESHMENT! The Master of Palace City has just signaled me that he is going to serve you some choice drinks and viands, the best he can dig up, in fact.”

  The Master of Palace City stared. His mind raced. Where could he find some staff to open up cellars and pantries? The Palace City guards and the servants of this building had been dismissed by the Apparatus. Then he suddenly realized that, by inference, the existing Palace City Lords had been removed. He had all their palaces to draw from. He nodded brightly.

  A buzz had welcomed Heller’s news. He now said, “This conference will be resumed in two hours’ time. Be here, for we will then have very important business to transact.”

  He stepped down from the dais. He pointed at Madison. “Bring him along,” said Heller to the Marine lieutenant.

  Heller made his way through the throng over to the wall and looked down at the recumbent figures in aqua-green. He turned to Madison. “I suppose you trained this crew in PR,” said Heller.

  “Oh, yes,” said Madison. “They are very valuable people!”

  “Good,” said Heller and beckoned to the Marine captain. “Get that whole crew put in electric shackles, kick them awake and chain this Madison at the head of it.”

  “At once, Your Lordship,” the Marine captain said. “Can I raise the voltage a bit above the usual? They wounded some of my men.”

  “No torture,” said Heller, “although I must agree with you, it’s tempting.”

  Madison suddenly got brave. “You can’t do this to me. There is no crime on any statute book for practicing PR. There is no charge of any kind you can bring against me. PR is just a profession like anything else.”

  “Well,” said Heller, “that might be true of Earth. There you can start whole wars and ruin reputations and lives, and PRs just strut and laugh about it. But here a million casualties aren’t looked upon so lightly.”

  “I put Mortiiy on the throne, if you want to know,” said Madison. “If I had not crowned Hisst, the population never would have risen—”

  “Madison, I hate to have to tell you this, but if you’d kept your nose out of it, Cling would simply have gotten well, declared Mortiiy his successor and there wouldn’t have been a single shot fired. You were just a stupid, destructive sideshow! But that’s typical of your breed everywhere I encountered it. You just made trouble where none need ever have been.”

  Madison looked at him doubtfully. Then he shrugged. “I can see you have an awful lot to learn, Heller-Wister. Mr. Bury will believe me if I tell him I worked hard to make you immortal. When I get back to Earth—”

  “Madison,” said Heller in English, “I’ve got news for you. Mr. Bury works for me now.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Fact,” said Heller. “And as far as your going back to Earth is concerned, I don’t even have to wonder if I’d inflict you on that planet again. Your stupid last caper was a real peach, angering Mortiiy. Your public relations was so good that he just ordered the planet disposed of. A true triumph for PR.”

  Madison looked at him and might have spoken but the Countess Krak had returned from the Imperial Palace and she ran up to them. “Jettero,” she said, “earlier when you asked me to call Lord Turn for you . . .” She broke off, staring at Madison.

  She turned to Jettero. “The last time we saw this man he was supposed to be driving off a dock in the East River!”

  “PRs,” said Heller, “unfortunately can’t even execute factual death notices.”

  The criminal crew were being gathered up and chained. The woman Flip was standing near, eyeing the Countess Krak.

  Krak turned to Madison. “I just remembered. Two days after your death notice appeared in the papers, I saw another one that mentioned you. Your mother.”

  “My mother?” said Madison, suddenly ashen. “She died of grief over that death report?”

  “No,” said Krak. “She got married in one of the happiest weddings I’ve ever seen photographs of!”

  “Oh, my God!” said Madison and began to crumple.

  The woman Flip, despite her manacles, grabbed him to keep him from falling. She knelt and put his head on her lap.

  “What’s the matter with him?” said the Countess Krak to Heller. “I just told him so he wouldn’t feel guilty that he’d ruined his mother’s life with grief. It was a kind gesture!”

  The woman Flip kissed Madison. He stirred. His eyelids flickered open. He looked up at her. She kissed him again.

  “I’ve got you,” said Flip with greedy eyes.

  “Oh, my God,” he wept, “there goes my genius!”

  PART EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Chapter 3

  Outside, a cold desert wind was moaning around the naked palaces, blowing in dust to spin in swirls before the lights which Army units were setting up on a temporary basis.

  Rebel troops and Fleet Marines were patrolling the darkened boulevards.

  The Countess Krak directed Heller down the vast staircase toward a nearby park. They were followed by a squad of Fleet Marines who kept the manacled crew of Madison bunched up.

  The new Homeview crew director came racing down the steps and fell into pace with Heller. “Crown, Your Lordship, sir,” he said. “Don’t be angry with Homeview, please.” He glanced over his shoulder at Madison a few feet behind them. “The crud that idiot was putting on the commentary channel was caught by the monitor editor at Joy City. It never went on the air.”

  Madison, far gone already, would have collapsed
once more if Flip and a Marine had not caught him by the chains.

  “Since when did Homeview get so solicitous?” said Heller.

  “Well, sir, you’re a public figure now.”

  “Fine,” said Heller, sarcastically. “That explains everything. Go back and get yourself some refreshments.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said the Homeview director. “But you see, one of my men noticed a Royal prison air-wagon landing a few minutes ago and saw Lord Turn get out. I’ve got an idea this has to do with your prisoner Soltan Gris. I want to cover it. It’s hot-spot news.”