“Yes, yes. We’re all taught about what great pals you AnMen are.” Hamilton was growing impatient. “What does this have to do with George Gustaf?”
The android paused. “Mr. Hamilton, we have gone over the legal situation carefully. You presented the historical record quite well in your recent book, particularly in regard to how the royal families of Earth first withdrew from politics and then slowly merged into one line.
“What you did not, and could not, discuss was the precise fashion in which the kings and queens and emperors withdrew from public life.
“It appears that a close study shows no total abrogation of power. In almost every case, the final act, approved by the elected assemblies of the people of each nation, had lines such as, ‘by most gracious permission of His Majesty’ and ‘by the trust Her Majesty now invests in us,’ all semantically powerful. No doubt when such phrases were included they were thought mere courtesies.”
“You don’t mean…” Hamilton felt a sinking sensation.
“But I do, Mr. Smith. Oh, there are substantial limitations to royal authority that do have the force of law. But in essence, that man is ‘king’ of the greater part of the globe. It is the intention of Android Legal Control to inform him of this, as soon as his game is completed, and to offer him our protection.”
“At which point,” Ing growled, “the pros in sociology, politics, and the police—along with a healthy number of our amateurs—will rebel! Some of us still remember the ideals that led to the World State. We have no intention of allowing an imposition of rampant feudalism!”
Through the window came the sounds of ecstatic cheering.
Hamilton felt dazed. “But… what do you want from me? I can’t un-publish my work, or take him out of the spotlight!”
The woman held up her hand. “Okay, you see the problem. Now, are you sure you don’t see a possible solution?” She looked at Hamilton archly. The three androids also stared. Hamilton felt certain they were testing him, somehow. He thought furiously.
“Uh… maybe we can work out some sort of compromise?”
Ing sighed. The androids buzzed happily.
“You’re the man for the job, then. You’ll talk to him, help mediate the sides. If he’s as reasonable a fellow as you say, we can work out some sort of constitutional arrangement that will satisfy the people, the AnMen, and the social pros.”
“But why me?”
“Because you brought it all up! You opened the door for him! Besides, he seems to like you.”
Ing swallowed as she visibly made an effort to adapt her habits of speech. She paused, then resumed, “I mean, it seems you are in favor with His Majesty.”
Outside, one hundred and fifty thousand cheering voices shook the stadium.
Epilogue
Dr. George Gustaf sat back behind his desk, after the last negotiators had left and Farrell Cooper had shut the door.
“Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?” Cooper smiled.
“What more could there be, Farrell? I’m now constitutional monarch of the world. They’ve thrown in the rest of the solar system too, in exchange for my giving up any unilateral right to declare war when we discover aliens… if ever.”
“Quite an accomplishment, Your Majesty. We’ll all be very busy, getting ready for the coronation.”
“Yah.” Gustaf grimaced. “It’s going to be a hard five years before the experiment’s over, and we can publish the results.”
“They won’t like it if you do as you plan and suddenly abdicate then—especially if you’ve been a good king.”
“Oh, I’ll be a good king, for five years. But maybe you’re right. We should figure out a way to go incognito when we publish and let the world know that a bunch of pro actors, amateur historians and artists pulled off the biggest sociological experiment in history… and right under the professionals’ noses!”
Cooper grinned. “Whatever Your Majesty says.”
Gustaf sighed. “There’s only one thing that bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the AnMen. My whole procedure depended on a careful manipulation of android psychology, making them believe that my experiment would benefit mankind in the long run, even if it results in a little short-term disruption. Their help was necessary, to clean up my pedigree a bit and make me seem totally legitimate as heir.”
“Well, it worked, didn’t it? You’re the expert robo-psychiatrist. Doesn’t this justify your confidence?”
“I suppose so.” Gustaf frowned. “But it’s those damned triple-A androids that have me worried. They’re totally committed to human welfare and growth, and I was sure at least a few of them would have balked at the demoralizing effect it could have when I publish. After all, I’m doing this simply to win another honorary profession in experimental sociology… a rather selfish motive from their point of view.
“I wonder why they all went so far out of their way to help me on this?”
Cooper finished polishing a fine crystal snifter and placed it and a silver tray on the desk by Gustaf’s arm.
“Maybe they think they know you better than you know them… or perhaps even yourself,” he said.
Gustaf swiveled around to stare at Cooper. The tall, sallow old man lifted a decanter of brandy from the cabinet against the wall. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Cooper looked through the ancient crystal decanter at the fine old cognac. “When the five years are up, what proof will you have, that this was all just part of an experiment?”
Gustaf laughed.
“You mean I might be stuck as king? And never get my honorary vocation? They wouldn’t…!” he began. Then, seeing the expression on Cooper’s face, he frowned, and whispered.
“You wouldn’t!”
Cooper smiled.
“No, of course not… Your Majesty.”
Cooper poured, with quiet precision, exactly the right amount of brandy into the glass at Gustaf’s side. He bowed. But as he turned to go he noticed that the first worry line had begun to buckle in the young man’s brow.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
Have you ever known someone who seemed to be a mixture of both fine and despicable traits? Did you wish there was a way at the same time to reward the good qualities and punish the bad?
In George Gustaf we have a man of great talents, a natural leader who knows how to bring out the best in people. Unfortunately, he is also a selfish person. His contempt for his contemporaries—for their “archaic” wish for a king to love—is the flaw spoiling an otherwise worthy picture.
His objective is to pull off a coup and win a fourth profession, whatever the cost. Ah, but what if he never gets away with his experiment? What if he finds that he has been outmaneuvered, trapped as king?
Then the side we admire is rewarded, and the side that merits punishment gets what it deserves also, in spades.
As I said, I wrote this one just for fun. So much for destiny.