So there was time. Time to think and plan.
So Delilah sat at the back of the Council chamber and listened to the debates and went out to implement them when police action was needed—prophylactic only, of course. The masses were interested, but a long way from uprising. She got her son attached to the security forces at the administrative section so he could be near her— and had a word to see that he was put on night duty so he would be far. And she watched.
They were cowards, the high party cadres, she thought judiciously. They were afraid for almighty China, when all the ship was known to be able to do was boil off one tiny island. China had survived the all-out Soviet-American exchange. It would surely survive any hit one ship could deliver from space. What damage could be delivered to the ground Delilah knew quite well. In her youth, doing her national service, she piloted aircraft that sprayed five-year sterility drugs on African villages. That was in the airborne MPs; that was what decided her to continue police work when she was discharged, though no longer in an airplane. The sterility drugs killed no one, of course, but the job made her want to know more, and so she had read and studied: Airborne warfare could annihilate, yes, and it could damage and kill, certainly. But it could never win.
Manyface knew that. Of all the comrades in the green-and-gilt room, he was the only one who consistently said, "This is not a cause for fear alone, it is also an opportunity if we know how to seize it." The old man was recovering from his last implant—the spur of urgency no doubt helped his recovery along. Manyface was a committee—thought of himself as a committee—but in times of crisis the committee spoke with a single voice.
Manyface was, for instance, a great deal more sensible than Tchai Howard, the director of Taxation and Enforcement, a tiny man with a mean disposition whose favorite refrain was: "Prevent local trouble! Disarm the Yanks. Open camps."
"And who," asked Manyface, "will feed us then, if we put them all in camps? They are in camps, Tchai; they live in camps in their communes."
"But Comrade Tchai is right," the district commandant squeaked, moving restlessly in her silk-brocade chair. And so the wrangling went on. Delilah watched Castor's face turning from one to another and wondered what he was making of it.
And then Manyface said, "All we need is a president, comrades. A president whom we can trust, who has demonstrated his loyalty to the Han Chinese, who knows enough about space to talk sensibly to the aliens. Whom we can control."
And Tsoong Delilah glanced at Castor, slipped silently around the rows of armchairs, bent down to Manyface's great, bulging head, and whispered in his ear.
Manyface looked startled. For a moment the icy control wavered, and others of his voices tried to speak, then he got back his chairmanship. "Pettyman Castor," he called, "go back to my home and get my briefcase. The red one. Do it now."
That afternoon a message went out to every village, collective, farm, and factory in what had once been the United States. It said,
It is necessary to elect a president of the United States to deal with the bandit spacecraft. Poll your people. Report immediately the total of the voting in three categories, as follows:
a. Total voters in your community.
b. Total of votes for the candidate.
c. Total number of voters who failed to understand instructions.
Categories b and c should equal a.
While it was on its way Castor hurried back to Many-face's house, found the briefcase, started to return—and was interrupted by a message: "Don't bother to come back. The Council is recessing." A few hours later Many-face returned, uncommunicative, retiring to his room with instructions not to be bothered; and Delilah followed not long after. She was communicative enough, but only on the level of biology. "We will eat, my young friend," she announced jovially, "and then we will have a few drinks. My son? He is on duty tonight. All night. He will be kept on duty until the Council resumes, and so I will remain here with you tonight."
Castor would have preferred to talk, but he could not talk with his mouth full of food, or full of wine, or later full of Delilah. He fell asleep with all his curiosity unsatisfied—intellectual curiosity, at least.
At 6:00 a.m. the phone rang in his room.
He reached for it, but Delilah scrambled over him to take it. She identified herself, listened, hung up, then turned to Castor, grinning. "Mr. President," she said, "good morning."
III
When the Council resumed its deliberations later that morning there was no stool at Manyface's feet for Castor. A high-backed gilt chair occupied the middle of the room with all the brocaded armchairs surrounding it; and Tsoong Delilah managed not to smile as she conducted Castor to his new place. Back at the wall of the room she saw with amusement how ill-at-ease the boy was. It was a place of honor, but not a comfortable one; he could see only the upper portion of the Council and craned his neck uncomfortably now and then to peer at what was going on behind him.
But it was the front of the room that had taken over. The chairman was Wa Fohtsi, head of the delegation from Home, the power figure in the room. He peered nearsightedly at Castor and said:
"Do not worry, Mr. President. No one will hurt you." Castor stared at him—almost impudently. Delilah thought: Please, don't let the boy get himself into trouble now! But Wa went on ponderously: "As president of the United States, there will be only some very simple things for you to do. Your main job, if not your only one, will be to communicate with these bandits and persuade them of the realities of the situation."
"What—" Castor began eagerly, and the old Buddha raised his hand.
"What those realities are," he said, "will be explained to you before you begin communicating. There will be no 'conversation,' Pettyman Castor. You will have a prepared script to tape for transmission to them. Basically, you will convince them that we Han have done no evil thing. That we are, indeed, America's benefactors, if the situation is understood properly. Your ultimate objective will be not only to cause them to withdraw any threat against China, but indeed to lend support in convincing the Indians that they must abandon certain outrageous and damaging practices, such as transmitting propaganda broadcasts to Han areas. However, all that will be explained to you. Meanwhile there will be some delay until the bandit spacecraft is in position to communicate again. There will be plenty of time for your reeducation."
"I see," Castor said, dampened.
Then his spirits rose again as Wa said, "Inspector Tsoong will remain with you to aid in your reeducation, and you will give her an official title." ("I, Castor? Give Tsoong Delilah a title?") "You will be provided with suitable quarters and staff." ("Quarters? Staff?") "It will be useful as well for you to put together some sort of mock government apparatus," Wa went on thoughtfully. "At least a cabinet. In that way, when we prepare your transmission to the outlaw ship we can have you appear with your cabinet around you to show that it is official."
"Of course," Castor cried and then, "What's a cabinet?"
Wa glanced humorously at Delilah, who frowned, though her heart was suddenly melting. The poor, innocent, uninformed kid! "A cabinet, Citizen Pettyman," she said severely, "is a group of high officials. The most important one at this time is what is called secretary of state, and Comrade Wa has been generous enough to propose that I assume that post."