Chapter 13

“First, about Murgatroyd.” In his office in The Hill Roderick Kinnison spoke aloud to the First Lensman. “What do you think should be done about him?”

“Murgatroyd. Hm ... m ... m.” Samms inhaled a mouthful of smoke and exhaled it slowly; watched it dissipate in the air. “Ah, yes, Murgatroyd.” He repeated the performance. “My thought, at the moment, is to let him alone.”

“Check,” Kinnison said. If Samms was surprised at his friend’s concurrence he did not show it. “Why? Let’s see if we check on that.”

“Because he does not seem to be of fundamental importance. Even if we could find him ... and by the way, what do you think the chance is of our spies finding him?”

“Just about the same chance that theirs have of finding out about the Samms-Olmstead switch or our planet Bennett. Vanishingly small. Zero.”

“Right. And even if we could find him--even find their secret base, which is certainly as well hidden as ours is--it would do us no present good, because we could take no positive action. We have, I think, learned the prime fact; that Towne is actually Murgatroyd’s superior.”

“That’s the way I see it. We can almost draw an organization chart now.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘almost’.” Samms smiled half-ruefully. “There are gaping holes, and Isaacson is as yet a highly unknown quantity. I’ve tried to draw one a dozen times, but we haven’t got enough information. An incorrect chart, you know, would be worse than none at all. As soon as I can draw a correct one, I’ll show it to you. But in the meantime, the position of our friend James F. Towne is now clear. He is actually a Big Shot in both piracy and politics. That fact surprised me, even though it did clarify the picture tremendously.”

“Me, too. One good thing, we won’t have to hunt for him. You’ve been working on him right along, though, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but this new relationship throws light on a good many details which have been obscure. It also tends to strengthen our working hypothesis as to Isaacson--which we can’t prove yet, of course--that he is the actual working head of the drug syndicate. Vice-President in charge of Drugs, so to speak.”

“Huh? That’s a new one on me. I don’t see it.”

“There is very little doubt that at the top there is Morgan. He is, and has been for some time, the real boss of North America. Under him, probably taking orders direct, is President Witherspoon.”

“Undoubtedly. The Nationalist party is strictly a la machine, and Witherspoon is one of the world’s slimiest skinkers. Morgan is Chief Engineer of the Machine. Take it from there.”

“We know that Boss Jim is also in the top echelon--quite possibly the Commander-in-Chief--of the enemy’s Armed Forces. By analogy, and since Isaacson is apparently on the same level as Towne, immediately below Morgan...”

“Wouldn’t there be three? Witherspoon?”

“I doubt it. My present idea is that Witherspoon is at least one level lower. Comparatively small fry.”

“Could be--I’ll buy it. A nice picture, Virge; and beautifully symmetrical. His Mightiness Morgan. Secretary of War Towne and Secretary of Drugs Isaacson; and each of them putting a heavy shoulder behind the political bandwagon. Very nice. That makes Operation Mateese tougher than ever--a triple-distilled toughie. Glad I told you it wasn’t my dish--saves me the trouble of backing out now.”

“Yes, I have noticed how prone you are to duck tough jobs.” Samms smiled quietly. “However, unless I am even more mistaken than usual, you will be in it up to your not-so-small ears, my friend, before it is over.”

“Huh? How?” Kinnison demanded.

“That will, I hope, become clear very shortly.” Samms stubbed out the butt of his cigarette and lit another. “The basic problem can be stated very simply. How are we going to persuade the sovereign countries of Earth--particularly the North American Continent--to grant the Galactic Patrol the tremendous power and authority it will have to have?”

“Nice phrasing, Virge, and studied. Not off the cuff. But aren’t you over-drawing a bit? Little if any conflict. The Patrol would be pretty largely inter-systemic in scope ... with of course the necessary inter-planetary and inter-continental ... and ... um ... m...”

“Exactly.”

“But it’s logical enough, Virge, even at that, and has plenty of precedents, clear back to ancient history. ‘Way back, before space-travel, when they first started to use atomic energy, and the only drugs they had to worry about were cocaine, morphine, heroin, and other purely Tellurian products. I was reading about it just the other day.”

Kinnison swung around, fingered a book out of a matched set, and riffled its leaves. “Russia was the world’s problem child then--put up what they called an iron curtain--wouldn’t play with the neighbors’ children, but picked up her marbles and went home. But yet--here it is. Original source unknown--some indications point to a report of somebody named Hoover, sometime in the nineteen forties or fifties, Gregorian calendar. Listen:

“‘This protocol’--he’s talking about the agreement on world-wide Narcotics Control--’was signed by fifty-two nations, including the U.S.S.R.’--that was Russia--’and its satellite states. It was the only international agreement to which the Communist countries’--you know more about what Communism was, I suppose, than I do.”

“Just that it was another form of dictatorship that didn’t work out.”

“‘ ... to which the Communist countries ever gave more than lip service. This adherence is all the more surprising, in view of the political situation then obtaining, in that all signatory nations obligated themselves to surrender national sovereignty in five highly significant respects, as follows:

“‘First, to permit Narcotics agents of all other signatory nations free, secret, and unregistered entry into, unrestricted travel throughout, and exit from, all their lands and waters, wherever situate:

“‘Second, upon request, to allow known criminals and known contraband to enter and to leave their territories without interference:

“‘Third, to cooperate fully, and as a secondary and not as a prime mover, in any Narcotics Patrol program set up by any other signatory nation:

“‘Fourth, upon request, to maintain complete secrecy concerning any Narcotics operation: and

“‘Fifth, to keep the Central Narcotics Authority fully and continuously informed upon all matters hereinbefore specified.’

“And apparently, Virge, it worked. If they could do that, ‘way back then, we certainly should be able to make the Patrol work now.”

“You talk as though the situations were comparable. They aren’t. Instead of giving up an insignificant fraction of their national sovereignty, all nations will have to give up practically all of it. They will have to change their thinking from a National to a Galactic viewpoint; will have to become units in a Galactic Civilization, just as counties used to be units of states, and states are units of the continents. The Galactic Patrol will not be able to stop at being the supreme and only authority in inter-systemic affairs. It is bound to become intra-systemic, intra-planetary, and intra-continental. Eventually, it must and it shall be the sole authority, except for such purely local organizations as city police.”

“What a program!” Kinnison thought silently for minutes. “But I’m still betting that you can bring it off.”

“We’ll keep on driving until we do. What gives us our chance is that the all-Lensman Solarian Council is already in existence and is functioning smoothly; and that the government of North America has no jurisdiction beyond the boundaries of its continent. Thus, and even though Morgan has extra-legal powers both as Boss of North America and as the head of an organization which is in fact inter-systemic in scope, he can do nothing whatever about the fact that the Solarian Council has been enlarged into the Galactic Council. As a matter of fact, he was and is very much in favor of that particular move--just as much so as we are.”

“You’re going too fast for me. How do you figure that?”

“Unlike our idea of the Patrol as a coordinator of free and independent races, Morgan sees it as the perfect instrument of a Galactic dictatorship, thus: North America is the most powerful continent of Earth. The other continents will follow her lead--or else. Tellus can very easily dominate the other Solarian planets, and the Solar System can maintain dominance over all other systems as they are discovered and colonized. Therefore, whoever controls the North American Continent controls all space.”

“I see. Could be, at that. Throw the Lensmen out, put his own stooges in. Wonder how he’ll go about it? A tour de force? No. The next election, would be my guess. If so, that will be the most important election in history.”

“If they decide to wait for the election, yes. I’m not as sure as you seem to be that they will not act sooner.”

“They can’t,” Kinnison declared. “Name me one thing they think they can do, and I’ll shoot it fuller of holes than a target.”

“They can, and I am very much afraid that they will,” Samms replied, soberly. “At any time he cares to do so, Morgan--through the North American Government, of course--can abrogate the treaty and name his own Council.”

“Without my boys--the backbone and the guts of North America, as well as of the Patrol? Don’t be stupid, Virge. They’re loyal.”

“Admitted--but at the same time they are being paid in North American currency. Of course, we will soon have our own Galactic credit system worked out, but...”

“What the hell difference would that make?” Kinnison wanted savagely to know. “You think they’d last until the next pay-day if they start playing that kind of ball? What in hell do you think I’d be doing? And Clayton and Schweikert and the rest of the gang? Sitting on our fat rumps and crying into our beers?”

“You would do nothing. I could not permit any illegal...”

“Permit!” Kinnison blazed, leaping to his feet. “Permit--hell! Are you loose-screwed enough to actually think I would ask or need your permission? Listen, Samms!” The Port Admiral’s voice took on a quality like nothing his friend had ever before heard. “The first thing I would do would be to take off your Lens, wrap you up--especially your mouth--in seventeen yards of three-inch adhesive tape, and heave you into the brig. The second would be to call out everything we’ve got, including every half-built ship on Bennett able to fly, and declare martial law. The third would be a series of summary executions, starting with Morgan and working down. And if he’s got any fraction of the brain I credit him with, Morgan knows damned well exactly what would happen.”

“Oh.” Samms, while very much taken aback, was thrilled to the center of his being. “I had not considered anything so drastic, but you probably would...”

“Not ‘probably’,” Kinnison corrected him grimly. “‘Certainly’.”

“ ... and Morgan does know ... except about Bennett, of course ... and he would not, for obvious reasons, bring in his secret armed forces. You’re right, Rod, it will be the election.”

“Definitely; and it’s plain enough what their basic strategy will be.” Kinnison, completely mollified, sat down and lit another cigar. “His Nationalist party is now in power, but it was our Cosmocrats of the previous administration who so basely slipped one over on the dear pee-pul--who betrayed the entire North American Continent into the claws of rapacious wealth, no less--by ratifying that unlawful, unhallowed, unconstitutional, and so on, treaty. Scoundrels! Bribe-takers! Betrayers of a sacred trust! How Rabble-Rouser Morgan will thump the tub on that theme--he’ll make the welkin ring as it never rang before.”

Kinnison mimicked savagely the demagogue’s round and purple tones as he went on: “‘Since they had no mandate from the pee-pul to trade their birthright for a mess of pottage that nefarious and underhanded treaty is, a prima vista and ipso facto and a priori, completely and necessarily and positively null and void. People of Earth, arouse! Arise! Rise in your might and throw off this stultifying and degrading, this paralyzing yoke of the Monied Powers--throw out this dictatorial, autocratic, wealth-directed, illegal, monstrous Council of so-called Lensmen! Rise in your might at the polls! Elect a Council of your own choosing--not of Lensmen, but of ordinary folks like you and me. Throw off this hellish yoke, I say!’--and here he begins to positively froth at the mouth--’so that government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the Earth!’

“He has used that exact peroration, ancient as it is, so many times that practically everybody thinks he originated it; and it’s always good for so many decibels of applause that he’ll keep on using it forever.”

“Your analysis is vivid, cogent, and factual, Rod--but the situation is not at all funny.”

“Did I act as though I thought it was? If so, I’m a damned poor actor. I’d like to kick the bloodsucking leech all the way from here to the Great Nebula in Andromeda, and if I ever get the chance I’m going to!”

“An interesting, but somewhat irrelevant idea.” Samms smiled at his friend’s passionate outburst. “But go on. I agree with you in principle so far, and your viewpoint is--to say the least--refreshing.”

“Well, Morgan will have so hypnotized most of the dear pee-pul that they will think it their own idea when he re-nominates this spineless nincompoop Witherspoon for another term as President of North America, with a solid machine-made slate of hatchet-men behind him. They win the election. Then the government of the North American Continent--not the Morgan-Towne-Isaacson machine, but all nice and legal and by mandate and in strict accordance with the party platform--abrogates the treaty and names its own Council. And right then, my friend, the boys and I will do our stuff.”

“Except that, in such a case, you wouldn’t. Think it over, Rod.”

“Why not?” Kinnison demanded, in a voice which, however, did not carry much conviction.

“Because we would be in the wrong; and we are even less able to go against united public opinion than is the Morgan crowd.”

“We’d do something--I’ve got it!” Kinnison banged the desk with his fist. “That would be a strictly unilateral action. North America would be standing alone.”

“Of course.”

“So we’ll pull all the Cosmocrats and all of our friends out of North America--move them to Bennett or somewhere--and make Morgan and Company a present of it. We won’t declare martial law or kill anybody, unless they decide to call in their reserves. We’ll merely isolate the whole damned continent--throw a screen around it and over it that a microbe won’t be able to get through--one that would make that iron curtain I read about look like a bride’s veil--and we’ll keep them isolated until they beg to join up on our terms. Strictly legal, and the perfect solution. How about me giving the boys a briefing on it, right now?”

“Not yet.” Samms’ mien, however, lightened markedly. “I never thought of that way out ... It could be done, and it would probably work, but I would not recommend it except as an ultimately last resort. It has at least two tremendous drawbacks.”

“I know it, but...”

“It would wreck North America as no nation has ever been wrecked; quite possibly beyond recovery. Furthermore, how many people, including yourself and your children, would like to renounce their North American citizenship and remove themselves, permanently and irrevocably, from North American soil?”

“Um ... m ... m. Put that away, it doesn’t sound so good, does it? But what the hell else can we do?”

“Just what we have been planning on doing. We must win the election.”

“Huh?” Kinnison’s mouth almost fell open. “You say it easy. How? With whom? By what stretch of the imagination do you figure that you can find anybody with a loose enough mouth to out-lie and out-promise Morgan? And can you duplicate his machine?”

“We can not only duplicate his machine; we can better it. The truth, presented to the people in language they can understand and appreciate, by a man whom they like, admire, and respect, will be more attractive than Morgan’s promises. The same truth will dispose of Morgan’s lies.”

“Well, go on. You’ve answered my questions, after a fashion, except the stinger. Does the Council think it’s got a man with enough dynage to lift the load?”

“Unanimously. They also agreed unanimously that we have only one. Haven’t you any idea who he is?”

“Not a glimmering of one.” Kinnison frowned in thought, then his face cleared into a broad grin and he yelled: “What a damn fool I am--you, of course!”

“Wrong. I was not even seriously considered. It was the concensus that I could not possibly win. My work has been such as to keep me out of the public eye. If the man in the street thinks of me at all, he thinks that I hold myself apart and above him--the ivory tower concept.”

“Could be, at that; but you’ve got my curiosity aroused. How can a man of that caliber have been kicking around so long without me knowing anything about him?”

“You do. That’s what I’ve been working around to all afternoon. You.”

“Huh?” Kinnison gasped as though he had received a blow in the solar plexus. “Me? ME? Hell’s--Brazen--Hinges!”

“Exactly. You.” Silencing Kinnison’s inarticulate protests, Samms went on: “First, you’ll have no difficulty in talking to an audience as you’ve just talked to me.”

“Of course not--but did I use any language that would burn out the transmitters? I don’t remember whether I did or not.”

“I don’t, either. You probably did, but that would be nothing new. Telenews has never yet cut you off the ether because of it. The point is this: while you do not realize it, you are a better tub-thumper and welkin-ringer than Morgan is, when something--such as just now--really gets you going. And as for a machine, what finer one is possible than the Patrol? Everybody in it or connected with it will support you to the hilt--you know that.”

“Why, I ... I suppose so ... probably they would, yes.”