Percy had mishandled the news superbly. For one thing, he had carefully neglected to link Lang with Popeek in any way. That was good connotative thinking. It would be senseless to identify Popeek in the public mind with disasters or fiascos of any kind.
For another, the skimpy insignificance of the piece implied that it had been some natural phenomenon that sent Venus up in flames, not the fumbling attempts of the terraformers. Good handling there, too.
Walton felt cheerful. He slept soundly, knowing that the public consciousness was being properly shaped.
By 0900, when he arrived at his office, the pollsters had reported a ten percent swing in public opinion, in the direction of Popeek and Walton. At 1000, Citizen hit the slots with an extra announcing that prospects for peaceful occupation of New Earth looked excellent. The editorial praised Walton. The letters-to-the-editor column, carefully fabricated by Lee Percy, showed a definite upswing of opinion.
The trend continued, and it was contagious. By 1100, when Walton left theCullenBuilding and caught a jet-copter for United Nations Headquarters, the pro-Popeek trend in public opinion was almost overwhelming.
The copter put down before the gleaming green-glass facade of UN Headquarters; Walton handed the man a bill and went inside, where a tense-faced Ludwig was waiting for him.
“They started early,” Ludwig said. “It’s been going on since 1000.”
“How do things look?”
“I’m puzzled, Roy. Couple of die-hards are screaming for your scalp, but you’re getting help from unexpected quarters. Old Mogens Snorresen ofDenmark suddenly got up and said it was necessary for the safety of mankind that we give you a permanent appointment as director of Popeek.”
“Snorresen?But hasn’t he been the one who wanted me bounced?”
Ludwig nodded. “That’s what I mean. The climate is changing, definitely changing. Ride the crest, Roy. The way things look now, you may end up being swept into office for life.”
They entered the giant Assembly hall. At the dais, a black-faced man with bright teeth was speaking.
“Who’s that?” Walton whispered.
“Malcolm Nbono, the delegate from Ghana. He regards you as a sort of saint for our times.”
Walton slipped into a seat in the gallery and said, “Let’s listen from here before we go down below. I want to catch my breath.”
The young man from Ghana was saying, “…Crisis points are common to humanity. Many years ago, when my people came from their colonial status and achieved independence, we learned that painstaking negotiations and peaceful approaches are infinitely more efficacious than frontal attack by violent means. In my eyes, Roy Walton is an outstanding exponent of this philosophy. I urge his election as director of the Bureau of Population Equalization.”
A heavy-bearded, ponderous man to Nbono’s right shouted “Bravo!” at that point, and added several thick Scandinavian expletives.
“That’s good old Mogens. The Dane really is on your side this morning,” Ludwig said.
“Must have been watching the kaleidowhirl last night,” Walton murmured.
The delegate from Ghana concluded with a brief tremolo cadenza praising Walton. Walton’s eyes were a little moist; he hadn’t realized he was a saint. Nbono tacked on an abrupt coda and sat down.
“All right,” Walton said. “Let’s go down there.”
They made a grand entrance. Ludwig took his seat behind the neon United States sign, and Walton slid into the unoccupied seat to Ludwig’s right. A definite stir of interest was noticeable.
The secretary-general was presiding—beady-eyed Lars Magnusson of Sweden. “I see Mr. Walton of Popeek has arrived,” he commented. “By a resolution passed unanimously yesterday, we have invited Mr. Walton this morning to address us briefly. Mr. Walton, would you care to speak now?”
“Thank you very much,” Walton said. He rose.
The delegates were staring at him with great interest… and, somewhere behind them, obscured by the bright lights of the cameras, there were, he sensed, a vast multitude of onlookers peering at him from the galleries.
Onlookers who had seen Percy’s kaleidowhirl last night, evidently. A thunderous wave of applause swept down on him. This is too easy, he thought. That kaleidowhirl program seems to have hypnotized everybody.
He moistened his lips.
“Mr. Secretary-General, members of the Assembly, friends: I’m very grateful for this chance to come before you on my own behalf. It’s my understanding that you are to choose a permanent successor to Mr. FitzMaugham today. I offer myself as a candidate for that post.”
He had planned a long, impassioned, semantically loaded speech to sway them, but the happenings thus far this morning convinced him it was unnecessary. The kaleidowhirl had done the work for him.
“My qualifications for the post should be apparent to all. I worked with the late Director FitzMaugham during the formative days of Popeek. Upon his death I succeeded to his post and have efficiently maintained the operation of the Bureau during the eight days since his assassination.
“There are special circumstances which dictate my continuation in office. Perhaps you know of the failure of our terraforming experiments—the destruction of our outpost on Venus, and the permanent damage done to that planet. The failure of this project makes it imperative that we move outward to the stars to relieve our population crisis.”
He took a deep breath. “In exactly four hours,” he said, “a representative of an alien race will land on Earth to confer with the director of Popeek. I cannot stress too greatly the importance of maintaining a continuity of thought and action within our Bureau. Bluntly, it is essential that I be the one who deals with this alien. I ask for your support. Thank you.”
He took his seat again. Ludwig was staring at him, aghast.
“Roy! What kind of a speech was that? You can’t just demand the job! You’ve got to give reasons! You have to—”
“Hush,” Walton said. “Don’t worry about it. Were you watching the kaleidowhirls last night?”
“Me? Of course not!”
Walton grinned. “They were,” he said, gesturing at the other delegates. “I’m not worried.”
XVIII
Walton left the Assembly meeting about 1215, pleading urgent Popeek business. The voting began at 1300, and half an hour later the result was officially released.
The. 1400 Citizen was the first to carry the report.
WALTON ELECTED POPEEK HEAD
The General Assembly of the United Nations gave Roy Walton a healthy vote of confidence today. By a 95-0 vote, three abstaining, he was picked to succeed the late D. F. FitzMaugham as Popeek czar. He has held the post on a temporary basis for the past eight days.
Walton rang up Percy. “Who wrote that Citizen piece on me?” he asked.
“I did, chief. Why?”
“Nicely done, but not enough sock. Get all those three-syllable words out of it by the next edition. Get back to the old Citizen style of jazzy writing.”
“We thought we’d brush it up a little now that you’re in,” Percy said.
“No. That’s dangerous. Keep to the old style, but revamp the content. We’re rolling along, now. What’s new from the pollsters?”
“Fifty percent swing to Popeek. You’re the most popular man in the country, as of noon. Churches are offering up prayers for you. There’s a move afoot to make you President of the United States in place of old Lanson.”