Without preliminary, Hisst said, "Is Rockecenter all right?"
Madison weighed up the situation. There was concern and worry, not hostility, in Hisst's voice. "Well," said Madison, "he was the last time I talked to him."
"You were close to him, then?" said Hisst.
Any unease Madison felt, he did not show. He was asking himself how good Voltar intelligence was: Did they know the true situation? That Rockecenter would have Madison's head for failing and running away? He saw what appeared to be a TV screen flickering away: How fast were communications between this place and Earth? He decided he would take a chance. He would name-drop. "Oh, yes," he said, careful to sound bored. "I handled delicate things for him: telling the prime minister of England or the president of the United States what to think, things like that. My account was several million dollars a year."
"What a salary!" said Hisst. "You must have been very valuable to him."
"Well, he often said there were a lot of things only I could handle. I was his top PR man."
Hisst frowned. This is what the investigators had run into and hadn't solved. "What is this thing you call PR?"
"Well," said Madison, "I noticed, talking around, you don't have a very good image."
Hisst looked angry. "Nothing wrong with my image! I'm six foot three inches tall. I weigh 271 pounds – "
"No, no," said Madison. "The way people think of you. The image of you other people carry in their minds."
"Huh!" snorted Hisst. "Is it important how I am thought of by the riffraff?"
"Well, yes, it is," said Madison. "I have heard that you are the virtual ruler of Voltar."
"Well, of course I am! I can see that what these (bleeped) Lords think of me could matter. But what does the riffraff have to do with it?"
"Well, you see, PR means 'public relations,' though the letters don't add up to that in Voltarian. The Lords and the riffraff are different publics. But if you don't have the right image, they could rise up and kill you."
Hisst frowned. He was thinking that could very well happen anyway. They were all against him.
Madison saw the frown. "You know, Mr. Hisst, I was very close to Rockecenter. I call him 'Rockie' and he calls me 'Mad.' Many a time, late at night, he used to slip his shoes off and put his feet on his desk and, over a companionable Scotch and soda, he'd confide in me. He trusted me when he really wanted something. I was, so to speak, his most intimate confidence man. I think it's time we opened our coats. Is there something you desire more than anything else in the world?"
Lombar's eyes got a bit crazy. The sheen on his face was more pronounced. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "It isn't that I want it so much. It's that I have an order about it. In spite of my being a commoner and the fact that all the Lords hate me, I am destined to become Emperor."
Madison was instantly alert. Ah, he could deal with this. He had heard of it before about Rockecenter. "A call from...?" He left it hanging in the air.
Lombar whispered, "The angels."
Mad knew he had it made. "Did you know they called Rockecenter to rule Earth?"
"NO!"
"Fact," said Madison. "Heard them myself. That's why I became his PR man."
Hisst instantly frowned. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Well," said Madison, "when somebody doesn't have a good PR man, the riffraff rises up and kills him. BUT if he DOES have a GOOD PR man, the Lords, the public, the riffraff rise as one man and proclaim him Emperor by acclamation."
Lombar blinked. This was a brand-new idea. Usually, he didn't bother to listen to people or even answer them. But this Earthman sitting here had been close to Rockecenter. Rockecenter, a commoner, had risen to become the ruler of Earth, and this alone had given Lombar hope that it could be done. Now he was alert to the possibility that some secret technology, heretofore unknown to him, had been employed. He mused on it. It came to him that what this man was saying might get around not having a dead Cling to display. Emperor by proclamation of the public! How novel! But then his suspicious nature began to tell him that it might be too good to be true. He started to sag.
Madison, noting it: "Do you have any other little problems?"
Lombar stiffened. He was instantly wary. He was not going to tell anyone that there was no emperor in that room behind him and no regalia either. Instead, he clutched at another worry. He said, "This (bleeped) Sol-tan Gris!"
That startled Madison. "Soltan Gris? Is HE here?"
"You know him?"
Madison had detected the fury. "Oh, I should say so. On Earth he went by the names of Smith, Inkswitch and Sultan Bey. Got in the road all over the place. Knew NOTHING of PR. Wrecked things. An idiot!"
"He's down at the Royal Prison and I can't get to him and can't execute him the way he deserves."
"Well," said Madison, "that's a PR problem, too. There are ways. Any other problem?"
"Heller! That (bleeped) Royal officer!"
Madison felt like somebody was giving him candy on a silver platter. The whole room went brighter. But he said calmly, "On Earth he went by the name of Wister."
Lombar, who had never bothered to listen to anyone before, seized upon the information like a starved hound! THAT was the missing piece of the puzzle of why his strategy had failed. "Aha!" he cried. "Gris didn't carry out my idea with the birth certificate! It went wrong because that (bleeped) Gris didn't follow my plans for Heller!"
Madison's hopes soared to seventh heaven. Oh, what a chance was opening up in front of him! He could finish the job he had been hired to do! He could go home to plaudits and glory! But he made himself look very calm. "Well, Wister-Heller is a PR problem, too. If you really want these things handled, just give me the account and let me get to work. Just give me an office and a budget – "
Lombar cut in. "Not so fast, Madison. Things are pretty delicate around here. I don't know a thing about PR."
Madison's hopes fell. But he pointed to the Home-view screen. "Is that a TV? May I turn on the sound?"
Lombar shrugged. Madison found a button and upped the volume. The picture was a battle scene on Calabar. Apparatus troops were firing at an enormous snowcapped mountain. The announcer was simply saying that Prince Mortiiy's troops were being blasted out of caves. Mad turned the sound off.
"Now, a good PR," he said, "would have that announcer stating that those Apparatus troops were fighting at your orders to make the Empire safe. And it would have a shot of you leading them to victory even though you weren't even there."
Lombar frowned.
Madison pulled out the newssheet he had been given. He showed Lombar the front page. "If you had a good PR, your name would be all over this, building up the image that YOU were the one to rule. Pound, pound, day after day, week after week, you'd eventually get the message through that YOU and ONLY you should be Emperor."
"They wouldn't print it," said Lombar.
"You would ORDER them to print it," said Madison.
"Hmm," said Lombar.
"With a good PR," Madison said, "not just the riffraff but every Lord in the land would be bowing down to you."
"Lords bowing to ME? Those stiff-necked (bleeps)? I'm just a commoner! They'd rather die!"
"But if the Lords DID bow down to you," said Madison, "and day after day such things appeared on Home-view, the people would have to assume that you WERE their master and you'd be Emperor by acclaim!"