“I suggest that we repel an attack by the Canphor Twins on Deluros VIII,” said Hill. “You would have no objection to fighting them under those conditions, would you?” “None at all,” said Bellows. “However, I don't think they're any likelier to attack than we are.” “It's a pity that I wasn't born with your looks and that deep, thoughtful, resonant voice of yours, Josh,” said Hill with a little smile. “I could have achieved godhood within my own lifetime.” “I assume you're telling me how stupid I am,” said Bellows dryly. “Correct,” said Hill. “Not that I hold it against you. That's what you've gotme for.” “I'm not exactly surewhat you're here for, but it's not to start wars for me,” said Bellows with finality. “Consider the subject closed until such time as I personally reopen it.” Hill left the Governor's office and returned to his own, where two of his aides were waiting for him. “Any luck?” asked one.
Hill shook his head. “He just doesn't realize how much trouble he's in, and he's basically too humane to do anything to alleviate the situation.” He closed his eyes. “God save us from decent and moral leaders!” he added fervently.
“What's next?'’ asked the other.
“I'm not sure,” said Hill, scratching what little remained of his once-bushy head of hair. “For Man's sake and for his, we ought to do something. The problem is that he can countermand anything I do.” “If he does, they'll kick him out and make you Governor,” said the first aide. “What's so wrong with that?”
“You're going to find this hard to believe,” said Hill, staring at him, “but I'm not totally unidealistic myself. I know what Man has to do, and a lot of it isn't going to be very pretty. We need a Governor like Josh Bellows, one who can convince us that everything we're trying to accomplish, and the means we're using, is not only acceptable but basically moral. If Josh told us to wipe out twenty sentient races tomorrow, we'd be absolutely sure it was the proper thing to do; if I ordered it, everybody would think I was a power-mad dictator with delusions of grandeur. The people need a leader they can love, respect and damned near worship. Josh fills the bill, so we've got to see to it that he's the one who actually gets the ball rolling.”
“Did it ever occur to you'” asked one of the aides, “that the reason Josh commands so much respect is
that most of what has to be done is unthinkable to him?” “The thought has crossed my mind on occasion.” Hill grimaced. “You know, it's low-down bastards like me who change history; but it's people like Josh who get the public to like it.” “I repeat: What's next?” said the second aide. “Well,” said Hill, “there's not a hell of a lot of sense trying to get Josh to knowingly take anactive role in all this. He may have some pretty outmoded scruples, but he's not dumb, and he won't willingly let himself be pushed into anything. We'll simply have to work around him at first.” “How?”
“I am not totally without power in this Administration,” Hill said softly. “Who's in command of our fleet in the Canphor system?”
“Greeley.”
“Fine.” He walked over to a recording device, picked up the microphone, and sat down. “To Admiral Greeley, 11th Fleet,” he began. “For your ears only.” He waited the customary five seconds it would take for Greeley's thumbprint to unlock the protective clacking and scrambling mechanisms. “Greetings, Admiral. This is Melvyn Hill, Communications Code...” He paused, turning to his code book. “Code 47A3T98S. In view of what I'm about to say, I'd like you to check my code and voiceprint against your computer banks so there will be no doubt in your mind as to my identity.” He waited long enough for such a check to have been run, then continued. “It has come to our attention, Admiral, that a number of pirate vessels which have been harassing our trade routes may well be doing so under the unwitting protection of Canphor VI. As a result, we have made a secret agreement with the government of Canphor VI to the effect that all nonmilitary vessels flying that world's colors will also have a special insignia prominently displayed on their starboard sides, the form of which is"—he looked down at some of his scribbling on a scratch pad and randomly chose a design—"an octagon within a circle. Any nonmilitary ship not carrying such an emblem is likely to be a pirate vessel. Your duty will be to demolish the first three such ships you encounter, then report directly to me. Under no circumstance is this to be discussed over subspace radio waves of any length, as we fear some of our communications may be monitored. Also, no more than three vessels are to be destroyed, as this preliminary act is merely to show any and all concerned parties that our vessels are no longer to be considered fair game. An all-out campaign will be mapped later. Good luck.” He turned off the device and tossed the recording to one of his aides.
“Take this to Greeley personally,” he said. “Don't leave until he's got it in his hands.” He turned to his remaining aide. “From this point forward, all alien correspondence to leave this office will be in Terran.” “What if the boss says no?”
“He's got a pretty big planet to run,” said Hill. “I don't think he'll bother reading anything that comes out of here. If he does, just play dumb and refer him to me.” This done, Hill settled down, went about his business, and waited for a report from Canphor VI. In less than a week it came in:
Mission accomplished. Any further instructions?
Greeley
And, moments later, he was once again in the Governor's, sumptuous office. “Suppose you tell me just what the hell is going on?” demanded Bellows. “Sir?”
“Don't ‘sir’ me, Mel! The Canphor VI government is screaming bloody murder that we've blown away three of their cargo ships, and I can't get a straight answer out of Greeley. He keeps telling me to ask you about it.”
“All I told Greeley was to keep his eyes peeled for pirate vessels,” said Hill. “There hasn't been a pirate ship within fifty parsecs of the Canphor system in a century, and you know it!” snapped Bellows. “I want an explanation and I want it quick!” “I have none to make until I look into the matter,” said Hill. “For the present, I'd suggest that we write a profusely apologetic note to Canphor VI immediately. I'll do it if you like, and send you a draft for your personal approval.”
Bellows stared across the budge desk at his adviser. “I don't know what you're up to, Mel, but you're on very shaky ground at this moment. Past friendship aside, I won't hesitate to dump you if I find it necessary—and I'll find it necessary if there's one more incident like this.” Hill returned to his office, dictated the note of apology, and sent it to Bellows. It came back with the Governor's approval.
“Okay,” he said to his secretary. “Send it off.” “In Galactic, sir?” she asked.
“In Terran,” said Hill calmly.
Within hours the government of Canphor VI sent back a message that the apology was unacceptable. “What will the Governor say to that one?” said one of Hill's aides, looking at the transcribed reply. “I haven't the slightest idea,” said Hill. “However, I don't think he'll say too much.” “Oh? Why?”
“Because I've released copies of our apology and Canphor VI's answer to the media.” The intercom lit up, and Hill pressed a button. “Hill here.” “Mel, this is Josh. I don't know why Canphor VI turned your note down, but I've got a pretty good suspicion. Did you send it in Galactic?” “I can't recall,” said Hill.