The Problem Makers Read online

it, lest I makeyou a gift of you to my torturer. He can remove anything--includingstubborn vocal cords!”

  ”You do me undeserved honor, graciousness,” said Sam.

  ”Undoubtedly. And you begin to weary me.”

  ”Very well.” Sam sighed. ”I must admit that my tongue is too loose formy own general welfare. It is true that I once thought of somethingmildly amusing while passing long evening hours with one of yourministers. But it was mere idle dreaming, no more.”

  ”You prattle long, southerner.” Kahl's eyelids lowered suspiciously.He picked up a silver knife and began paring his nails, scattering theshavings suggestively in Sam's direction. ”Perhaps you do not want tosee me king?”

  ”There is none so deserving of the honor as you,” said Sam. ”But whileyou laugh at the utter childishness of my ideas, please remember thatyou insisted....”

  * * * * *

  The Ehrlan delegate to the Central Worlds Conference was well past theentrance to the Park when the pudgy little man caught up with him,sides heaving from the unaccustomed strain of running.

  ”Citizen Lund!” he cried, panting. ”Please wait!”

  Lund turned and eyed the little man suspiciously. The fellow was astranger, and therefore automatically under suspicion. ”Yes?”

  ”A moment of your valuable time, Citizen. Please? I assure you, youhave nothing to fear from _me_. I am not a Yanoian.” The name spatteredout acidly.

  ”Indeed?” said Lund. ”And just who, then, are you?” There was avague sensation of familiarity troubling the back of his mind. Theomnipresent watchdog in his subconscious pounced instantly on thefeeling, magnifying it, turning it inside out and shaking it around,but drawing no satisfaction from the act.

  ”A friend, Citizen. You must believe that. I can't explain furtherright now--time is too precious.” He grabbed Lund's arm and startedtugging him back towards the Park entrance. ”Please? I beg you, come.”

  ”Oh--very well.” He gave in ungraciously, following the man until theywere just inside the Park. Then Lund stopped, digging his heels intothe gravel of the walk. The man looked back at him.

  ”Please, Citizen!” he urged. ”We don't have much time!”

  ”So far as I'm concerned, you don't have any time at all, unless youtell me right now who you are and what this is all about.”

  ”Not here!” he cried, aghast, as he glanced nervously around at themany people entering and leaving the Park. A pair of Conferencemonitors stopped just outside the gate, fingering their stun-beamersas they eyed the actions of the two men. They started to move into theviolable hundred-foot circle this side of the gate. The little manmoved quickly, grabbing Lund again and forcibly pulling him beyond theprotection of the monitors. Their skins tingled as they went throughthe shimmering haze of the force screen. The monitors stopped justin time to avoid touching the screen, while Lund and the little manhurried down a path that wound into a copse of widdy trees from Lund'sown homeworld, Ehrla.

  The widdy tendrils stopped their aimless flowing through the trees andcurved down and around the two men, tips melting into the ground andtendrils broadening into wide blades that sheltered and shielded thepair from possible watchers.

  ”Now!” said Lund, shaking the other man's hand from his angrily.”Perhaps you will do me the honor of telling me who you are and justwhat in the name of the Seven Holy Suns this idiocy is all about?”

  ”A matter of the gravest urgency, Citizen! You must not present yourplans for redistribution of Sector protectorates to this Conference!”

  ”What?” Lund stared at him in disbelief. ”And just how did you learn ofthe plans I intend to present to the Conference--I _will_ present, atthis afternoon session? Something smacks of treachery!”

  ”Never mind how I learned, Citizen. The important thing is the Yanodelegation also knows! They plan to scuttle you before you have achance to speak. After that, they'll cut you into little pieces anddevour you!”

  ”You're insane, man!” Lund started to reach for the widdy tendrils.

  ”Don't! You must not present your plans to the Conference, Citizen.”

  A new tone had crept into the man's voice: a strength that belied thepudginess and general clownishness of the figure. Lund turned slowly,and found himself staring at a stunner, the winking red of the telltaleshowing that it was set to lethal bands.

  ”Wha....” He gulped his adam's apple back down into his throat. ”Howdid you get that into the Park? The force screens aren't supposed topass weapons.”

  ”There are ways, Citizen,” the man said, grinning. No longer did heseem clownish. ”Many so-called impossible things are quite simple, ifonly you have access to the proper people and controls.”

  ”What do you really want?” Lund tried to hide his fright, but he wasuncomfortably certain that it was radiating out from him, broadcastingto the entire world that Citizen Lund was scared silly.

  ”I told you, Citizen. You must not present your plans to theConference.”

  ”But why?” he wailed, in frustration. ”Give me a logical reason!”

  ”The greater good, Citizen.” With those cryptic words, the man pressedthe stud of the beamer. Lund gasped, as a giant hand closed around hisheart, then collapsed to the ground in a strange dying parody of slowmotion. Just before the clouds of eternity shut away his vision, he atlast recognized the man.

  Himself!

  II

  John Reilly was tired, intensely tired, beyond any feeling ofexhaustion he had ever known.

  The clock in his desk chimed once. He sighed and picked up his lecturenotes, stuffing them into a scarred and battered case that he hadbeen carrying since his student days at the Academy. He cast oneweary glance around the cluttered office, then steeled himself into apassable imitation of military carriage as he left for the lecture hall.

  The Cadet Sergeant-Major outside his door leaped to attention onlya little less quickly than his regular service counterpart. Reillyreturned their salutes and fell in behind them.

  The lecture hall--gymnasium, really; the Academy was perenniallyovercrowded--was crowded, as usual. The eager young cadets filled thefifty rows of backless benches, while the overflow squatted and stoodat the rear until it was impossible for a midget to find room to threadhis way through the crowd. Reilly's class was well-tended for itshonest popularity, not just because it was compulsory. There were many”compulsory” lectures in the curriculum that counted themselves proudto find half their audience in attendance.

  Reilly stopped in the wings of the stage, listening for a moment to thecomfortable discordances of the student band tuning their instruments.The regular service non-com peered through the hangings, catching thebandmaster's eye. The tuning stopped, and the band swung into a medleyof old Academy drinking songs. Reilly smiled, as he remembered happierdays when he had participated lustily in the drinking that went alongwith such music.

  From the drinking songs, the band struck up the National Anthem. Thenoise the cadets made in rising nearly drowned out the music. After thelast strains had been permitted to fade away, the bandmaster raisedhis baton once more and the opening bars of _Hail to the Chief!_filled the hall. The Sergeants-Major stepped out onto the stage, Reillyfollowing, case clasped loosely between elbow and side.

  They passed in front of the half-dozen visitors and moved to eitherside of the podium, turning until they were facing each other, theregular service man on the right. They snapped into a salute, followedby the entire audience. Reilly lay his case on the podium, turned andbowed to the visitors, then faced the audience again and returned thesalute.

  Immediately two thousand arms dropped to their owners' sides and thecadets resumed their seats.

  Reilly unzipped his case and drew out his notes.

  He arranged them carefully on the podium, although he knew that at notime during the next hour would he so much as glance at them again. Thecase stowed away under the podium, he took a deep breath and placedhis hands flat on the podium's surfac
e. Technicians in the controlbooth over the far end of the hall trained parabolic mikes on his lips,waiting for him to begin the lecture as he had begun hundreds of otherpreceding lectures, before audiences much like this. The faces mightchange; the uniforms were the same, and so were the underlying feelingsof the wearers of the uniforms, year in and year out.

  ”The greater good for the greater number!”

  The cadets let out a mutual sigh, none aware that breath had been held.

  ”A motto, gentlemen: merely a motto. Like _Ad Astra per Aspera_, _EPluribus Unum_ or _Through These Portals Pass the Most WonderfulCustomers in the Galaxy_.” An appreciative titter ran through theaudience.

  ”But what is a motto?” continued Reilly, warming to his subject,overly familiar though it was. ”It's more than just a snappy way ofstringing words together. It has a meaning. Often the meaning, suchas in the commercial example I just gave, is on the frivolous side.But more often there is something intently serious behind a motto. _AdAstra_--'To the Stars.' For centuries this has been almost a religionfor men, as our ancestors broke the bonds of a single planet and spreadout into the galaxy. Libraries have been written of the heartbreaksand joys, the sorrows and jubilations that have been found in the farreaches of space.

  ”_E Pluribus Unum_--'United We Stand.' Even older and, if possible,dearer to the hearts of men. Our very government is based on