10: THE POLITICIANS

...Thus it was that, toward the end of the Democracy's first millennium, a wave of sentiment swept across the human worlds and colonies of the galaxy. Long had they waited for Man to reestablish what they considered to be his rightful position of primacy among the sentient races, and the prevailing mood was almost akin to that ancient credo of “Manifest Destiny.” And, indeed, it was fast becoming manifest that Man had served his galactic apprenticeship and would no longer be content to play a secondary role in the scheme of things.

It was at the height of this crisis of conflicting philosophies and overviews that Joshua Bellows (2943-3009 G.E.) began his meteoric rise to power. Immensely popular with the masses, he was originally opposed and later lauded by certain elements within his own party. For if it is true that great events summon forth great leaders, then...

—Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement

...That Bellows had considerable charm and charisma as a politician cannot be denied. However, those writings and tapes of his that still exist would seem to imply that he had neither the capacity nor, originally, the motivation to have accomplished what he did without some powerful behind-the-throne assistance...

...Although the Democracy survived him by more than twelve centuries, there can be no doubt that Bellows was responsible for...

—Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8

Josh Bellows sat behind a huge desk, its shining surface dotted here and there with papers and documents, a score of intercom buttons by his right arm. Immaculately tailored and groomed, he presented the ultimate picture of dignity, with his heavy shock of gray-black hair, the firm, hard line of his jaw, and the tiny smile wrinkles at the corners of his clear blue eyes. He looked every inch a leader of men, which was in fact what he was.

“So how's it going?” he asked.

The figure approaching his desk was almost his antithesis in every respect. Clad in wrinkled, crumpled clothes, squinting through lenses so thick that one couldn't see his eyes behind them, what hair he still possessed in total disarray, he seemed as out of place in these majestic surroundings as anyone could be.

“The natives are getting restless,” said Melvyn Hill, pulling up a beautifully carved chair of Doradusian wood and unceremoniously putting his feet on the desk.

“The natives always look restless when you're staring down at them from the top,” commented Bellows. “When I was one of them I was restless too. That's how I got here.”

“That was a little different, Josh. You were restless for power. They're restless for you to exercise that power.”

“I know.” Bellows frowned. “But what the hell do they expect me to do? Declare war?”

“No,” said Hill. “Although,” he added thoughtfully, “not one out of five would be adverse to it.”

“I won the Governorship of Deluros VIII with sixty-four percent of the vote,” said Bellows. “I think that shows a mandate of some sort for my judgment.”

“I'll agree with the first half of it, Josh,” said Hill. “It shows a mandate of some sort.”

“You know,” said Bellows, “you are the one member of my staff who continually makes me wonder about the wisdom of not surrounding myself with yes-men and sycophants.”

“You're paying me too much to simper and suck my thumb and tell you that everything you do is right,” said Hill, swinging his feet back to the floor with a grunt. “Someone in this damned Administration ought to tell you the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that you are in considerably more danger of impeachment than you realize.”

Bellows just stared at him for a minute, his face expressionless. “Nonsense,” he said at last.

Hill got to his feet. “Let me know if and when you want the rest of my report.” He turned to leave.

“Hold on a minute!” snapped Bellows. “Get back in your chair and let's have this out.'’ Hill returned and took his seat again. “Shall I begin?” he asked.

Bellows nodded.

“All right, then. You ran for the Governor's chair based on a campaign of human primacy. So did your opponent, but it was you who began proclaiming that it was manifest destiny that Man once again rule the galaxy.”

“Just politics,” said Bellows.

“No, sir, it wasn't just politics. Just politics would have been promising to exterminate the Lemm, or some other race who's been a thorn in our sides. A quick little battle like the one we fought a couple of centuries ago against Pnath; it had no business taking place, but we won pretty easily and everyone felt pretty cocky about it.That's politics. You've done something more. You've given them a dream, a promise that our race will return to its former position of supremacy. You hammered away at it for almost a year. Now, I'll admit that you were forced into it or else you'd never have won, but your constituency put you here, and they're getting a little restless waiting for you to lead them to the promised land. You've been in office almost three years now; that's sixty percent of your term, and you haven't produced yet.

“So,” he continued, “they're taking matters into their own hands. There have been pogroms on a number of worlds which we cohabit with other races, there have been some minor skirmishes in space between ships from our outworlds and those of various aliens, and your legislature has been dragging its feet on every recommendation you've sent them. The human race has a standing battle force of some sixty million ships and ten billion men throughout the galaxy, and they're getting restless.

“As for your impeachment, the media is just now starting to talk about it, but I've done a head count, and they're only about a dozen votes short.”

“Twenty-eight votes,” said Bellows.

“That waslast month,” persisted Hill. “Josh, you just can't sit on your hands. You've got todo something.”

“Like what?” said Bellows softly. “What the hell do they want me to do—launch a sneak attack on Lodin XI and the Canphor Twins? Am I supposed to kill off every alien in the galaxy just to make them happy? I'm not the President of the human race, you know. I'm just the Governor of one world.”

“Deluros VIII is more than one world, and we both know it,” said Hill. “Since we moved our bureaucracy here from Earth, we've been the social, political, and moral headquarters of the race of Man. For centuries the Governor of Deluros VIII has been the most powerful human in the galaxy; for all practical purposes, the job is identical to being President of the human race. If you give an order, every military unit from here to the Rim will obey it without question; if our economy goes up or down, every other human world follows suit in a year or so. We set the fashion, physically and philosophically, for every human everywhere. So don't hand me any of that crap about being the leader of one small, insignificant little world.”

“All I ever promised was to give Man back his dignity,” said Bellows. “I said it was our destiny to rise to the top of the heap, and it is—but not by pulling the other fellows off. We'll do it by working harder, producing more, being smarter—”

“Bunk! You couldn't deliver on that promise if your term of office was ten thousand years and you lived to the last day of it. Look,” said Hill, clasping and unclasping his hands. “You were born handsome, articulate, and likable. I mean it. I've always liked you, and I like you even now, when you're throwing both our careers down the drain. You come on like a forceful but benevolent father that everyone automatically trusts. Just give the mess to Josh; he'll take care of it. The problem is that you've never had to use that thing you call a brain a day of your life. Everything comes easy to Godlike father images, and when you needed some dirty work done, someone like me has always been around to do it. Not that we've minded. But now you're Governor of Deluros VIII, and there's no higher office a human can aspire to the way the Democracy's set up. Now you've finally got to deliver instead of going after the job of the guy who's next in line above you. And if you can't make the decision and take the kind of action that's required, then let me or someone else do it in your name, or that handsome, noble face and lordly demeanor are going to get expurgated from the history book faster than you can imagine.”

“Well, I'm sure as hell not going to go down in history as the man who started the first galactic-scale war!” said Bellows. “I don't plan to be remembered as the greatest genocidal maniac of all time.”

“It's not a matter of genocide,” said Hill. “It's simply a matter of testing the opposition, pushing and probing until you find a weak spot, then plugging the gap and looking for more. No one's advocating cutting off our noses to spite our faces; we need the other races as much as we ever did, perhaps more. But we need them on our terms, not theirs.”

“We've been through all this before,” said Bellows, glancing down at his appointments calendar.

“Evidently it hasn't done much good up to now,” said Hill. “Dammit, Josh, I know that you've got reservations about it, but the Governorship is no place for vacillation. Sooner or later it's got to come, and it might as well be sooner.”

“If it could be bloodless, I'd have no hesitation,” said Bellows. “But these are sentient beings, Mel, not so many pieces on a gameboard.”

“Begging your pardon, but we areall just pieces on a gameboard. A politician is successful or unsuccessful by virtue of how well or poorly he manipulates the pieces.”

“Mel, if Man is to rule the galaxy—and I'm convinced he is—he's got to do so by exhibiting leadership in those areas that truly show his worth: industry, dignity, intellect. No simple show of force will make us fit to rule; if anything, it goes to prove the point that we're not yet capable of doing so.”

“That's beautiful rhetoric, Josh, and I hope you put it in your memoirs,” said Hill, “but it's a bunch of ivory-tower gobbledegook. Religion, morality, and Joshua Bellows to the contrary, Man is neither good nor bad, pure nor impure. He is simply Man, and his destiny, if he has one, is to make the most of all of his gifts, without attempting to place values upon them. If he has a notion to grasp at the stars, then it's his duty to do so in the best and most efficient way he can; and if he fails, well, at least he did his damnedest. But Man can't just spout pretty platitudes while there's anything in his universe lacking accomplishment. I've heard it said that Man is a social animal. Some deeper thinkers have concluded that he's a political animal. I've known women who swore he was a sexual animal. None of them are totally wrong, but they haven't quite got around to the truth of it. Man is acompetitive animal. Philosophers dream of utopias in which every need is cared for, and there is an inordinate amount of time for contemplation. Utopia, hell—that's madness! Man's living in utopia right now, a time filled with as many challenges as he can handle. But he can't start meeting those challenges until you give the word.”

“And you say they're preparing to throw me out of office if I don't give it.”

“They don't want to do that, Josh,” said Hill. “With the magnetism you've got, they'd back any action you took. The legislature would be much happier with you than without you but you've got to play ball with them.”

“I'm still as popular as ever in the polls,” said Bellows. “What if I force them into a showdown, make them put up or shut up?”

“You'd lose,” said Hill promptly. “Your popularity is due, in large part, to stories I've leaked to the media about how are forces are massing and how we're ready to begin reasserting ourselves. The day they find out that those are phony, you won't have to wait for the legislature; the voters'll throw you out on your ear.”

Bellows excused Hill for an hour while he attended another meeting, then summoned the gnarly adviser back to his office.

“Where would you begin?” asked the Governor bluntly.

“Ah,” said Hill, smiling. “Someone else told you the same thing.”

“What they told me is my business,” said Bellows. “Your business is to make suggestions.”

Hill chuckled. “They must really have spelled it out for you, huh? Okay, Josh, how's this for a bloodless starter: Convert every T-pack so that it'll just translate Terran, rather than Galactic-O.”

“You're crazy!” exploded Bellows. “Do you know what that would do to our commerce and trade, to say nothing of our Diplomatic Corps? No one would be able to understand a word we said!”

“They'd learn,” said Hill softly. “Or better still, get rid of T-packs altogether, and make it illegal for any Man to speak Galactic. Force the other races to start playing in our ball park. We're still the most potent single military and economic entity in the galaxy; sooner or later it'll become essential to their self-interest to give in.”

“But in the intervening time we speak to nobody except Men, is that it?” said Bellows.

“How much time do you think will elapse?” countered Hill. “More than two thousand worlds depend on us for medical supplies, and almost ten thousand more require produce from our agricultural planets. Now, maybe some of the others will drag their feet, but that's a hard twelve thousand worlds that will learn Terran within a month. And don't forget, this is just symbolic, simply a means of asserting our identity.”

“Consider it vetoed,” said Bellows. “It would cause too much confusion, kill half the methane-breathers we tried to communicate with, and I'll be damned if I'm going to cut off vital medical supplies to millions of beings just for the sake of making a gesture.”

Hill took a deep breath. “All right, then. Instead of taking them all on at once, take on the biggest.”

“Meaning?”

“Canphor VI and VII.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I start a war with the Canphor Twins?” demanded Bellows. “That we blow them all to hell just to get the legislature off my back?”

“I am,” said Hill. “But with reservations.”

“That's a comfort. I didn't know you had reservations about anything.”

“Where it concerns physical or political survival, I'm the most reserved person you know,” said Hill. “I do not suggest that we launch an attack on the Canphor Twins or any other worlds. We have our image to consider.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“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.

“That's it!” bellowed the Governor. “You've got two days to put your affairs in order and clear out. You're fired!”

“I wouldn't release that to the press for a few hours yet, Josh,” said Hill.

“And why not?”

“It won't make the headlines until they're through running the story about Canphor VI turning down our apology.”

The intercom flicked off without another comment from Bellows.

“We haven't got much time,” said Hill to his aides. “Three hours from now every human in the Deluros system will be screaming for war, and by tomorrow morning the rest of the human worlds will be out for blood too. If Josh wants to keep his political scalp, he'll have to attack—and if I know Josh, he'll procrastinate until it's too late.”

“I don't see that you can do anything about it,” volunteered one of the aides.

“That's why I'm your boss instead of the other way around,” said Hill. “Send the following message to Greeley, unscrambled.'’ He paused, trying to get the words straight in his mind, and then began dictating.

Admiral:

The content of this message is of such import I that we've no time for code. The planned attack on the Canphor system will take place in five days’ time. The delay is regrettable, but the bulk of our fleet is engaged in maneuvers on the Rim. Do not—repeat, do not—move in until that time, as you can expect no assistance from Deluros VIII prior to the return of the fleet. Should there be any doubt whatsoever concerning your orders, return immediately to base at Deluros V.

Melvyn Hill,

Assistant to the Governor

Hill looked up. “What's the latest frequency that Canphor VI has cracked?”

“H57, about a week ago.”

“Good. Send it on H57, but in Terran. We don't want to make it look too easy for them.”

“What if Greeley attacks?” asked an aide.

“He won't,” said Hill. “He doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, so he'll come racing back to base, just in time to help fend off the Canphor fleet.”

Hill walked out his door and strolled casually over to Bellows's office. He smoked a cigar, checked his watch, decided that the message would have been sent and intercepted by now, and walked in. The security agents had already been instructed that he was no longer a member of the staff, and they barred his way. After sending through his formal request to see the Governor, he was kept cooling his heels in the outer office for another hour before he was finally ushered in.

“I don't know why I'm wasting time like this,” began Bellows. “I've got nothing to say to you.”

“But I've got a lot to say to you, Josh,” said Hill. “Especially since this is probably the last time we'll ever speak together. May I sit down?”

Bellows stared hard at him, then nodded. “Why did you do it, Mel?”

“I suppose I should say I did it for you,” said Hill, “and in a way I did. But mostly, I did it for Man,'’ He paused. “Josh, I don't want to startle you, but you're going to have a war on your hands in less than a day, and there's no way in hell you can get out of it, so you'd better make up your mind to win it.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Bellows.

“Canphor VI,” said Hill. “And possibly Canphor VII too. They'll be attacking Deluros VIII very shortly. It'll take very little effort to beat them back, and not much more to defeat them. They're operating on the assumption that we're unprotected.” Bellows reached for his intercom panel, but Hill laid a hand on his arm. “No hurry, Josh. Greeley will be back ahead of them, and has probably got everybody in an uproar already. Let's talk for a few minutes first; then you can do anything you want to me.”

Bellows sat back in his chair, glaring.

“Josh, I'm not going to tell you how this came about. It's so simple you wouldn't believe me anyhow, and besides, you'll be able to speak with a little more forcefulness and moral outrage on the video if you don't know. But the thing is, it's started. Man's about to make his first move back up the ladder, and you're going to go down in history as the guy that did it. It won't be completed in your term, or your lifetime, or even in a millennium, but it's started now and nothing's going to stop it.

“You've got the people behind you,” Hill continued, “plus the unswerving loyalty of the military. This battle won't amount to anything more than a minor skirmish, and knowing you, I'm sure you'll offer very generous terms to Canphor when it's over. But the very least the legislature will demand is that the Canphor system become a human protectorate. They'll want more than that, but I imagine you'll get them to compromise there. Whatever the result, the Canphor worlds will contribute their taxes to Deluros VIII, and our tariffs will reflect their change in status.

“And once you find out just how easy this is, it'll occur again and again in some form or another. You're going to be riding a tidal wave of sentiment, and you're either going to steer it where it wants to go or get thrown out of the saddle within a month You'll be very careful and meticulous, and you'll always pay lip service to the Democracy. Perhaps it will even remain as a figurehead of galactic power, but the handwriting will be on the wall. Man's going to wind up calling the shots again.”

“I don't know what you think you've done,” said Bellows, “but whatever it is, it can be undone. If there really is an alien attack force on the way from Canphor, I'll see to it that it's called back.”

“Uh-uh, Josh,” said Hill. “They've heard what they've been expecting to hear, and they're not going to believe anythingyou tell them.”

“They'll believe me when I tell them we're standing ready to repulse any attack.”

“I'm afraid not,” said Hill. “There's no way you can turn it off, Josh. You'd better start thinking about how you're going to tell the people that you're the leader they've always wanted you to be.”

Hill stood up and slowly walked out of the office.

Bellows spent the next two hours confirming the truth of what he'd been told, and two more hours after that frantically but fruitlessly trying to avert the coming conflict.

As night fell, the Governor of Deluros VIII sat alone in his semi-darkened office, his hands clasped in front of him, staring intently at his fingers. He considered resigning, but realized that it wouldn't have any effect on the tide of events. He even considered having Hill make a full public confession, but knew even as the thought crossed his mind that the populace would approve of Hill's actions.

Bellows was an essentially decent man. He didn't want to destroy anyone. At heart he believed that Man would emerge triumphant in the galactic scheme of things by virtue of his own endeavors. Furthermore, Man was still immensely outnumbered by the other races. The course Hill had charted would be so perilous, so fraught with danger at any misstep ... Man would have to divide and conquer on a scale never before imagined. He'd have to be quiet about it, too; would have to accomplish most of his plan before the galaxy awoke to what was happening, or everything would come down on his head, hard.

And yet, if Man was capable of pulling it off, didn't he deserve to? After all, this wasn't exactly survival of the fittest so much as ascendancy of the fittest. The races of the galaxy would continue to function, and under Man's leadership they would very likely function all the more efficiently.

Or was he just rationalizing? Man was capable of such splendid achievements, such generosity to other races, why did he have to have this aggressive, darker side of his nature? Or was it a dark side at all? Was Man, as Hill had said, merely making the most of every single one of his attributes, including this one?

Bellows reached for the intercom button that would summon the press. As they filed into his office, he made his decision—or rather, he thought with a bemused detachment, he acknowledged the decision that had long since been made for him. For while he had many other qualities—goodness, judgment, integrity—all had failed him in this crisis, and he was left with the foremost quality that any politician possesses: survival.

“Gentlemen,” he began, staring unblinking at them with his clear blue eyes, “it has come to my attention that a fleet of military ships has just left Canphor VI for the purpose of perpetrating a heinous sneak attack on Deluros VIII. Neither we nor any other world housing members of the race of Man will tolerate or yield to such an unprovoked action. Therefore, I have instructed the 7th, 9th, 11th, and 18th fleets to take the following steps...”

SIXTH MILLENNIUM: OLIGARCHY