PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 1

In the Grand Council hall, the treaty was taking its time getting back to Heller: this was due mainly to arguments occurring at every seat around the hundred-foot-diameter table, arguments which were not concerned with the treaty but with the seniority of members of each division now that there was no Lord for it. Two or three were represented only by a chief clerk and, unlike the military and police, had never had a precise chain of command below the level of nobility.

But Heller, sitting on the dais, was not impatient as he watched the paper slowly coming back. It only had two signatures left to be signed.

“Well, this will be one down and five to go,” he said to the Countess Krak in a low voice without turning to look down at her. “I still can’t understand why Mortiiy picked me for Viceregal Chairman. He’s got lots of friends and far more experienced men for the job.”

“He was smart,” whispered the Countess Krak. “The military didn’t jump in until the last moment and so their loyalty to him is not proven. All his friends are rebels and that wouldn’t go down well with the whole population. You were never other than loyal to Cling. Furthermore, you’re very popular with the population. Mortiiy thinks of you as a brother officer he can trust and, if you look at it head on, he really owes his throne to you. He’s a very clever man, really. And, of course, my Jettero is brilliant, handsome, charming. . . .”

“And has a bad sense of humor,” laughed Heller. “Well, anyway, I didn’t start his reign with the slaughter of a bunch of little boys. Reigns that begin by ordering blood baths are pretty unlucky. Maybe,” he added, looking suddenly bright, “maybe there is some hope for government. Maybe it can be run right!”

“Then you’d better start thinking pretty fast,” said the Countess Krak. “You just said one down and five to go and, according to the notes you’ve got scribbled there, disposing of Earth is the last item on your agenda. Are you really going to be able to face up to ordering and arranging the deaths of five billion people?”

Heller frowned and looked down at the table before him.

“I know you, Jettero. You’re thinking of Izzy and Bang-Bang and all your friends there. You’ve got a heart as soft as mush, for all of your tough exterior. You’re probably even feeling sorry for Miss Simmons! Some of those five billion were your personal friends.”

“Maybe, in spite of all those flattering reasons you just gave,” said Heller, “Mortiiy was dead wrong to put me in this job.” He brightened. “I know. I was just handy. He only intended it as a temporary appointment. It’s very simple. All I have to do is stall this meeting on the subject of Earth and as soon as he gets a real Crown appointed, I’ll simply hand it over to him as unfinished business and happily go back to the Fleet.” He sighed. “That’s a relief.”

“I’ve got news for you,” said the Countess Krak, and pushed into his hand a sheet of Royal proclamation paper. “When he left this conference tonight, he was so pleased with the way you had gotten things going, he wrote this. He asked me if I’d bring it back for the clerk to record.”

Heller was staring at a signed and sealed sheet that appointed him first Lord of the land and Viceregal Chairman of the Grand Council. It was permanent.

He groaned. “This puts me in a bad dilemma, really. I spend a year putting a planet back together and now I have orders to blow it up.”

“And you can’t weasel out of it,” said the Countess Krak. “The reason I am handing you this is so you don’t do something silly and defy orders and get yourself in trouble.”

“You had something to do with this,” said Heller.

“No. Factually now, I didn’t. He thought of it all on his own. But I will admit that it gives me great satisfaction. You are a factor of three beyond the expected life of a combat engineer. You now have a nice, safe post.”

“In which all I have to do is say ‘Blow up this planet,’ ‘Slaughter that one.’ I’m going to put this conference on delay and go see Mortiiy and resign!”

“No, you won’t,” said the Countess Krak. “Because if you do, I’ll tear up this.” And she showed him another signed, sealed Royal order. It gave her back her title and citizenship and restored to her the vast Krak estates on Manco.

He hastily put his hand on hers to stop the tearing gesture. “But this is wonderful!” he said. “I am so happy for you!”

“I meant to tell you after this conference,” she said, “to celebrate, I have even commandeered a palace for us.” Tears were in her eyes. “Don’t ruin it, Jettero.”

He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

He was conscious of the Homeview cameras that were suddenly on them.

The treaty was now being handed up by a violet-uniformed usher who laid it before him on the raised split-level of the vast table.

Heller thought fast. He had to hide her tears from the camera. He bent down and kissed her.

The backfeed monitors across the room brought him the sudden cheer from crowds watching him.

But he whispered, “Go get Hightee and the Master of Palace City and tell them I want to see them right away. And get out of here. You win. I will do my job.”

A trifle uncertain, feeling a little bit like Nepogat the Damnable who had betrayed Prince Caucalsia in the legend, the Countess Krak hastily vanished down the back steps of the dais.

She was telling herself that nobody could prevent the destruction of Earth anyway and there was no reason to let it commit another crime and shatter her coming marriage. Besides, even though Jettero liked the place, she had always been horrified at the primitive decadence of that culture, never able to understand how a planet so potentially beautiful could be so rottenly mauled by an uncaring power elite.

As she walked away on her errand, she said to herself, “It is totally beyond salvation: all Voltar is thirsting for its blood, no thanks to Madison. To blazes with Earth. I have saved Jettero.”

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 2

Heller picked up the signed treaty and made a small gesture to the man on the balcony. Four trumpets and a crash of cymbals blasted through the vast hall.

Heller ranged his gaze across the throng. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I wish to thank you for these concurring signatures on this treaty. I take it as a vote of confidence in the Emperor Mortiiy and regard it as an auspicious beginning to what even the most pessimistic must now begin to regard as a happy, prosperous and powerful reign auguring peace, tranquility and triumph for all the Voltar Confederation. All hail Mortiiy the Brilliant!”

The trumpets blared and the cymbals clashed in a Royal salute. Everyone in the room stood and shouted, “Long Live His Majesty!” The crowds in the streets, despite the hour, went mad with cheering.

Heller wished Vantagio, the political science major from the Gracious Palms, were there to give him some tips. This was all new to him. Poor Vantagio.

He handed the treaty to the clerk to record. He signaled for another cymbal clash.

“And now, as I am charged by His Majesty to do so faithfully, I here take up the second of the six actions to end past turmoils of this realm. To truly begin a new era, one must truly end the old.”

He had thought to cheer the hall and crowds a bit and get them out of their thirst for blood. He had no liking for Lombar Hisst but neither did he want to see a man ripped to pieces physically by the two thousand or more people in this room. There had, in his opinion, been quite enough blood.

“We will now take up the case of one of the principal instigators of Royal murder and governmental decay.”

The crowds on the monitors were suddenly silent. The room was still. Heller was about to bring in the product of his horse trade. “CAPTAIN! PRODUCE THE PRISONER LOMBAR HISST!”

Heller had ordered that Hisst be cleaned up and that he be ushered in without too much degradation. But common caution had modified his orders a bit.

A side door opened. Lombar Hisst was yanked forward. He was in a red general’s uniform of the Apparatus. The only one they had evidently been able to find, since his own was scorched, had been taken off a corpse. The red was blackened by the darker, unmistakable stains of blood.

They had gotten somewhere, probably from Teenie’s palace, an electric collar. It was around his neck. At the end of the chain was a burly Fleet Marine. He gave a yank and Hisst stumbled forward into the glaring lights of Homeview. He looked for all the world like some ape being led on a leash.

Heller’s hopes of calming the crowd down were all vanished in a puff.

The room screamed with sudden, savage hate!

The backfeed on the monitors sizzled with ferocity.

Then Heller saw that something was definitely wrong. Hisst was being tugged forward to be made to stand by the conference table, but there was something wrong with his eyes. They were always an animal yellow and a bit spooky but now they were flaring and strange.

Hisst came to a stop. He did not seem to be the least bit aware of the din that was damning him. He seemed to be speaking.

Heller called for silence and the cymbals had to sound five times before the shouts in the room ceased.

“Lombar Hisst,” said Heller, “you have been brought before this Officers’ Conference that you may be charged and may plead any justification for your acts. I have here a Royal proclamation on which we may write your fate which, I must advise you, is being left in the hands of this conference. I can, however, relegate you to a full trial if you have any statement which might persuade us to do so. Some mitigating circumstance . . .”

Heller paused, for during the whole time he had been speaking, Hisst had been mouthing words. He was not talking very loudly. Heller made a gesture to the captain of Marines and the man produced a small electronic speaker and held it close to Hisst’s mouth.

Hisst’s voice was very strange. He was saying, “The angels are calling. Please give me a fix. Oh, hear what the angels say. Give me a fix. The angels are calling. Please give me a fix. Oh, hear what the angels say. Give me a fix. . . .”

LOMBAR HISST WAS INSANE!

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 3

The Grand Council hall was quiet with a strange hush.

Here and in the streets, over Homeview, people heard that eerie, babbling voice.

But there was no definable response. Heller breathed a sigh of relief, thinking this would come off all right after all. The people seemed distracted from the subject of Earth. Maybe, as they did not seem to be displaying ferocity toward Hisst, they had exhausted much of their frenzy. Now, if he could just keep them calm. . . .

“Gentlemen,” he said to the vast table, “I do not think the prisoner is in any condition to answer charges and, as we all know the record, there is no point in another public trial. We know he sought to ascend the throne illegally and donned the robes of a monarch, so let us dispense with further formalities and find him guilty of that. Are you agreed?”

Heads nodded at the table. No voice was lifted in dissent. Heller took heart.

“I propose,” and he turned to a clerk who was now on duty, signaling him to be very careful to inscribe what he was going to say, “that the proclamation cancels all his posts—assigned, assumed or otherwise. We shall cancel, as well, all orders, appointments, assumptions, manifestoes, proclamations, ordinances, instructions or regulations of whatever kind issued by him in writing, verbally or by others for him in their own names. We hereby cancel as well any and all pay, pay arrangements made by, for or on behalf of said subject, including all pledges and debts and any claim that could be made by him or on him. Agreed so far?”

The heads at the table nodded. Heller was simply amplifying a form common in courts-martial where an officer, found guilty of a felony of magnitude, was being dismissed from service.

Then, to this, Heller added the civil declaration used when a person was reprieved from execution without being found innocent. It was a nice touch, for Hisst had used this countless times on people for his own ends and, in fact, had used it on the Countess Krak. “He is hereby declared a nonperson. Anything he does may be declared or deemed illegal. Anything done to him is not actionable under law.”

The clerk was writing busily. Heller thought with some elation that he was going to get away with this without another riot: the wrath against Earth seemed to have cooled off.

He said, “He would seem to be incapable of responding to routine communication. It seems obvious that he is not sane. Do you gentlemen agree?”

The officials at the board looked at Hisst. The Marine captain had stepped away with the small voice amplifier: Hisst was just mouthing the same words as before. His eyes were weird, a sort of overbright yellow. The officials looked back at Heller and nodded.

“Therefore,” said Heller, “the prisoner is relegated to the Confederacy Insane Asylum and is to remain there in custody for the remainder of his li—”

Suddenly Hisst whipped around. He roared in a deafening voice, “DOWN ON YOUR KNEES! DOWN ON YOUR KNEES, YOU RIFFRAFF! I AM THE GOD OF ALL THE HEAVENS!”

He had yanked the chain out of the hands of the Marine! He held it in the air before him. “I WILL STRIKE YOU ALL DOWN! WORSHIP ME! WORSHIP ME!”

Any hope Heller might have had that the population would be less emotional about Earth suddenly went up in smoke.

The first whisper ran through the hall, “The man is mad!”

Then a louder voice: “Use of Earth material has driven him insane!”

Then, “Look what Earth can do!”

Then a screaming shout, “We’ve been in the hands of a man driven crazy by Earth!”

It all came in a building rush of sound. And it was capped by the howling shout from a thousand throats, “KILL HIM!”

The captain thought he had been ready. He was not. He had had five Marines surrounding Hisst.

The crowd hit them!

Daggers out, they stumbled back, trying to bar the surge.

Twenty more Marines charged in a phalanx, plowing people away. They got to the crumbling circle.

Screaming people fought to get at Hisst to tear him to bits.

The Marines, blades held horizontally, fought to establish a ring.

People were going down, people were being trampled, people howling with ferocity and rage still tried to fight inward.

The trumpets and cymbals were blaring and clashing for order.

A whistle in the mouth of the Marine captain was shrieking for reinforcements.

Fifty Domestic Police who had been stationed outside blasted through the door, stingers flashing.

Sparklewater bottles were being thrown.

Three hundred Fleet spacers armed with coils of safety line rushed through the door swinging!

SHAMBLES!

Heller stood up. He got out his hand blastgun and set it to maximum noise. He fired repeatedly into the air! No result!

Then he saw through the hedge of tan uniforms that still sought to defend the prisoner that Hisst was crawling toward this end of the room.

Heller went over the raised table in a headlong vault.

He used his arms as though he was parting waves.

The backs of the defending Marines were to him.

He grabbed down and got Hisst by the collar.

He towed him free.

He crawled under the table, dragging his burden behind him.

Heller emerged back up on the dais.

Hisst swung at him.

Heller grabbed the man again in a paralyzing grip. He held him by the back of the collar.

“I GOT HIM!” shouted Heller in that piercing Fleet voice. “HE DIDN’T GET AWAY!”

A Homeview lighting man in a balcony hit him with a spot. The red uniform of Hisst was glaring bright.

Eyes in the room turned from battle and swung to the dais.

The twenty Marines suddenly strung out in front of the split-level of the table, preventing further rush.

“THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE!” shouted Heller. “BUT HE CAN’T ESCAPE AGAIN! I’VE GOT HIM!”

A sigh of relief came from the embattled throats.

The riot was over.

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 4

A Marine major wound Hisst round and round with chains and then, at Heller’s whispered direction, wound them around some more. He carted Hisst off to an upper balcony and put him there with electric daggers pointed at his throat, on display and out of the reach of the crowd.

Army casualty teams were going through the hall, handling the injured and picking people up.

Heller sat back down in his chair. A voice sounded just behind him. “You just got a sample of what will happen if you try to give Earth an easy ride.” It was the Countess Krak.

He turned. She had brought Hightee and the Master of Palace City. Heller went down the rear steps to them. He pulled their heads close to his and whispered some urgent instructions.

The Master said, “That’s awfully short notice!”

“You better learn to open up your throttles, Master,” said Hightee. “You’re dealing with Jettero Heller. My brother wants it, he’ll get it!”

“I did NOT say I would not do it!” said the wizened old man. “Crown and I have already got a good working arrangement going. I love it.”

“That’s better!” said Hightee. “We haven’t got much time. COME ON!”

They rushed off, the Countess with them.

Heller sat back down in his chair and spent the next five minutes cursing Madison. These people were at overheat on the subject of planet Earth: “Mob hysteria” did not even begin to describe it.

He had six proclamations to issue: he had not even completed two of them.

The mop-up was still going on. It was all right. He needed the time. He became aware of somebody standing down below the raised end of the table.

It was Bis. He was laughing. “That’s the first time I knew athletics went with that post,” he said. “Giving a reason for the riot and then solving it to stop it is the funniest gag I think I’ve ever seen. You’re a wonder, Jet!”

“You want this job, Bis?”

“Good heavens! What could possibly be wrong with it?”

“Being expected to kill five billion people including friends is what’s wrong with it. Here, I’ll give you my tunic.”

“Oh, no! But I suddenly see what you mean. Can I help?”

“Yes. Go up to that balcony and help that Marine major prevent Hisst from doing anything else foolish. We’re not through with him yet.”

A medical Army general approached Heller and gave him the casualty figures as though this were a battle, not a conference. Because electric daggers had been set to paralyze, only knockouts and minor injuries had resulted. The general went back to the table. Heller glanced up to where they had Hisst in chains on the balcony, then he surveyed the room. He trusted passions were spent enough for him to finish this second proclamation.

He signaled for the cymbals and, when they clashed, he said in a rush, “If you will vote now on the Hisst proclamation as outlined so far, we can conclude this second—”

A violent waving of hands from the rear of the hall was accompanied by a protesting blast of shouts from there. Heller peered, then he sighed.

“Yes, Noble Stuffy,” he called. “What now?”

Noble Arthrite Stuffy, a white bandage across his forehead now, surged once again up to a blank space at the conference table. “Crown, Your Lordship, sir,” he said, “just half an hour ago, during the treatment of casualties, we received wonderful news. It greatly influences the sentence of Lombar Hisst.”

“Oh, no,” thought Heller. But he said, “Tell me so we can get on with this.”

“By use of our reporters and our newssheet-building security guards, we have had the great good luck to run down and apprehend the so-called Doctor Crobe! We have him right outside. With your permission we will bring him in.”

“What,” said Heller, “does this have to do with Hisst?”

Noble Stuffy took that for assent and, at his signal, six watchmen brought in Crobe. He was no less a funny-looking creature than he had always been: his too-long arms, his too-long legs, his too-long nose as always made him look like a weird bird. But there was something even stranger now: instead of a crumpled captive, he was striding around like he owned the place. Before he could be stopped, he seized a chair at the table, sat down, crossed his arms and announced, “I am in charge! Take off your clothes!”

The audience gasped.

Heller looked more closely. Those weird eyes! Crobe was either high on some drug or insane—probably both!

“We have traced this man,” said Noble Stuffy. “He was once employed by the government as a cellologist and was arrested for criminal misuse of cellology. He was condemned to death. He is a nonperson. Hisst used him to manufacture abominable freaks as was earlier revealed. But this was not the end of his career. He was shipped to the planet Blito-P3 and there studied psychology and psychiatry. He became an expert practitioner of these subjects and then was used by Madison for his unspeakable projects in the field of PR. It is our understanding that on the planet Earth, psychology, psychiatry and PR are inseparable.”

“That is all very interesting,” said Heller. “But please, Noble Stuffy, I wish to complete this second proclamation.”

“And so do I,” said Stuffy. “With the indulgence of this conference, as an influential member of the publishing world, I wish to propose that Crobe also be assigned to the Confederacy Asylum. And as he is a psychiatrist, supposedly expert in the treatment of the insane, I propose that Lombar Hisst be given to Crobe as a patient.”

The audience gasped. Then it began to please them.

Heller unexpectedly blew up. Always an opponent of inhuman measures, he stood up and pointed a finger straight at Stuffy. “You have no idea of what you are proposing! Psychiatrists use tortures you have never even heard of! They drug their patients and send huge jolts of electricity through their brains to destroy nerve responses! And that isn’t all! At a whim, they take a steel probe, push it under the eyelids and scramble the prefrontal lobes! They have no intention of curing anyone: they are simply making it impossible for the victim to get well. Ever! AND THEY KNOW IT!

“Psychiatrists say they do not believe in the soul but they work to destroy any soul a man may have. AND THEY KNOW THEY ARE DOING IT!

“I will not tolerate such an inhuman practice on anyone! Not even Hisst!”

Then he realized suddenly that he was worsening the cause of Earth. Abruptly he stopped speaking.

At the lower level of the table near him, he heard a Domestic Police general whisper to his aide, “See, Earth is so horrible even a seasoned officer cannot abide it!”

Heller stared at the backfeed monitors. He had also horrified the crowds.

Silently, he cursed. He had, without intending to, injured his chances of creating a better atmosphere for Earth.

But he was stubborn and he had his own principles. He sat down. “I will only tolerate this proposal if you modify it. Lombar Hisst will be sent to the asylum and so will Crobe. But they are to be placed in adjacent cells. They are to be held incommunicado: no one may speak to either of them, ever. I will NOT let psychiatry loose in the Confederacy Asylum!”

“But Crobe can talk to Hisst?” Stuffy persisted.

“Yes, but not touch him,” said Heller.

“I get Your Lordship’s point about not loosing psychiatry in the Confederacy Asylum,” said Stuffy. “It would be a disaster. But so long as Crobe is permitted to ‘treat’ Hisst verbally, I am satisfied. I cannot possibly imagine a worse fate. Thank you.”

Heller asked the table for assent and received it. He turned to the clerk and helped him complete the second proclamation. Then he sent it on its voyage for the additional signatures above the Emperor’s.

At his signal, a group of Domestic Police took charge of Crobe. The man stood. He shouted, “You are all suffering from penis envy!” He was still shouting it as he was led away.

Another group of “bluebottles” approached the balcony.

Lombar Hisst was on his knees there. He was vomiting. The bluebottles gave the Marine major a receipt. They slid Hisst into a black sack, put him on a stretcher and bore him away.

The proclamation, this time, since who should sign had been sorted out, made the round of the table quite quickly.

Heller got it back. He looked at it.

Two down, four to go.

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 5

Heller said, “The conference has already passed a measure to abolish the Apparatus and the intelligence practices of Earth. However, the matter was not placed in proclamation form and finalized.

“His Majesty has stated that he does not wish to hear of the planet Earth again, ever. Therefore I propose, in concurrence with his wishes and requirements, that we word the proclamation as follows: ‘The Coordinated Information Apparatus is abolished. Never in the future may there be a state organization, independent, devoted to the subject of intelligence.’ But at this point, gentlemen, we could very easily get involved in the endless details of what Earth intelligence organizations are comprised of so that we could forbid them. And we would find ourselves mentioning the planet Earth in connection with them.

“As you know, the Army and the Fleet both have intelligence services, vital to the prosecution of a war. We do not know and have no time to untangle the various technologies of intelligence. I, for one, want to get these proclamations completed.”

He got nods from the table.

“The abuses of the Apparatus were twofold. The first was recruiting criminals from the prisons to act as their personnel, and the second was to turn those vicious people loose on the population.”

The instant he got it out, he knew he had made a mistake. He had been trying to smooth out the wrath of the conference and the crowds. This analysis, while quite correct and succinct, pleasing enough to an engineer, was like throwing burning brands. It brought to vivid view all the horrors the population had been made to suffer.

Snarls in the hall and screams of rage in the streets seemed to indicate that the favored course of action right this minute would be to go find and kill any remaining Apparatus personnel. It looked like the riots were going to surge up all over again!

Vantagio, he mourned, I wish you were here instead of a target. He felt he was too green to cope with this sort of thing.

In mathematics, if you got an unexpected result, you sometimes had to use it. Maybe math would work. He would use the wrath.

He pulled out his gun and pantomimed shooting. He shouted, “WE WANT THE APPARATUS DEAD AND THIS IS HOW WE ARE GOING TO DO IT!”

It got attention.

They were listening eagerly.

“We word the proclamation that it is forbidden to use FOREIGN intelligence techniques upon the citizens of the Voltar Confederacy! And that the penalty for doing so shall be DEATH!”

It caught their fancy.

“And so that there won’t be any question as to what is meant, I propose that in the proclamation we form a committee with a member from Army Intelligence, a member from Fleet Intelligence and a member from the Domestic Police, that we call it the Anti-Foreign Intelligence Committee with the duty of preventing such techniques from being used against the citizens of Voltar, that the committee have the duty of defining these, that it be placed at Grand Council level and that it be chaired by one who knows this scene and investigated it, namely Royal Officer Bis, suitably promoted. He HATES the Apparatus!”

There was a storm of applause in the hall and on the streets.

Heller bowed and sat down. He got his assent and he got the proclamation written and sent on its rounds.

He mopped at his forehead with his redstar engineer’s rag.

There was a lot to this statecraft stuff. Intelligence services, no matter where, had a lot of things in common. If he had let the original proposal stand, forbidding anything known on Earth to be used by Voltar, it could have crippled Army and Fleet intelligence services, for they did many things similar to those of Earth. An intelligence service was an intelligence service. The thing wrong with the Apparatus—and the way they used the subject on Earth—was that it employed intelligence to repress their own domestic scene instead of enemies in war. And the result was that the government began to wage war on the citizens!

Three down and three to go. The next one would be tougher and the last one the worst of all!

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 6

Heller called for a cymbal clash for silence.

“I know,” he said, “that His Majesty wishes to begin his reign in an atmosphere of peace. It is his dearest wish that his subjects be happy and content and no longer disrupted by oppression and turmoil.

“Therefore, I propose, for this fourth proclamation, an amnesty. First, I think we should include all the peoples of Calabar and anyone connected with the recent revolt. This rescinds all rebel proclamations en masse and also amnesties all persons on Calabar or connected to the revolt for any crime of whatever kind as of Universal Star Time, two hours ago.”

This seemed agreeable. Nobody was mad at Calabar now. It also got General Whip off the hook without mentioning it.

Heller thought for a bit. This was going to get tricky now. He was going to have to try to amnesty the Apparatus troops: otherwise, in bands here and there and, within the population, incidents would continue to take toll. He knew even proposing it could start another wave of ferocity, maybe even killing.

He looked at a Domestic Police general at the conference table. “How long do you think it would take to round up and try any and all persons who might have damaged property or persons in these recent riots? I am speaking now of the rioting citizens.”

He could see the instant reaction on the monitors of the crowds. It had not occurred to anyone that their actions might be charged as crimes.

The Domestic Police general scrubbed at his face with a beefy hand. “Well, Crown, Your Lordship, sir, I am ashamed to say that it will take years. You see, we have to reorganize the Domestic Police. Many units joined the rioters. That will require a vast number of arrests and trials in itself. We were hoping to discuss getting some help from the Army.”

“But at the same time,” said Heller with a frown, “didn’t you plan on a general roundup, using what units you had intact? You know, herding citizens into stockades and holding them for weeks, maybe trying them en masse? But I was worried about how you were going to manage a house-to-house search through all the cities to round up everyone who had been actively rioting.”

The crowds on the monitors were ominously silent.

“Well,” said the Domestic Police general, scrubbing his face some more, “if we had help from the Army we could begin that right away.”

The crowds were starting to growl. This conference was talking about THEM!

“General,” said Heller, “I am assured by His Majesty that his love for his subjects is boundless. I think, to celebrate his ascension, a Confederacy-wide amnesty should be extended to all persons, regardless of crime, as of two hours ago, Universal Star Time.”

The yell began very slowly and then in the streets it swelled, “Long Live Mortiiy!”

Heller felt he had it made. He was just turning to dictate the fourth proclamation when this (bleeped) bluebottle general spoiled it. He said, aghast, “You mean all the persons in jails and prisons, too?”

“Except persons already handled, such as Gris, Madison and his crew, Crobe and Hisst. It must also include a clause so that His Majesty is not constricted in removing any Lords, officials or officers he might have to, to form a new government. We should also forbid further punishment of these people, as the last thing we want is a civil war on our hands.”

The bluebottle was stuck with his prisons. “But good heavens, that would empty everything we’ve got!”

“They’re too full anyway,” said Heller.

“But some of those people committed terrible crimes!”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Heller. “For any already condemned criminal, we could make the condition that he must accept the amnesty with a promise to commit no more crimes, and he must be told and it must be part of the amnesty that if he or she does commit one more felony, the immediate sentence is death. I assure you that many will reform. The amnesty does not include insane asylums, as they wouldn’t even understand.”

The bluebottle was still goggle-eyed about it and Heller would have pushed on further except that another police general at the table spoke up.

“That amnesties all the Apparatus personnel!”

That did it. The table began to snarl. The crowds, all pleased a moment ago, starting shrieking “Death to the Apparatus.”

Heller felt like telling him, you fool, there are still two or three million Apparatus people on the loose: you’re going to tie up your whole police force running them down for years! We’re going to have more riots, more burning buildings. . . .

He gave a signal and the trumpets and cymbals went. It took a while before he could speak again.

“Then I propose,” he said, “that any ex-Apparatus personnel found engaged in any criminal act after the amnesty may be shot down in situ.”

“I never heard of that. It sounds bad!”

“Oh, it is bad!” said Heller. “It’s an ancient custom of Flisten. We’ll put it right in the proclamation. Worse, we’ll also add in flagrante delicto! That’s terrible.”

“But I don’t know what those words mean!” cried the general.

“You can look it up later,” said Heller. “There are ladies in the crowds to which Homeview is bringing this conference. Take my word for it, it’s terrible. I know this is very harsh, gentlemen.”

The Domestic Police people were frowning. One of them said, “But—”

“And I was going to add, ‘And to protect people’s homes, the Army is to assist the police until they are reorganized and public calm prevails,’” Heller said quickly.

The Army looked surprised, then purposeful. The Domestic Police, all too aware of their shattered condition, looked suddenly pleased.

Heller knew he had the table now: that left the people in the streets and homes that were watching.

He lifted his head. The cameras were upon him. “His Majesty was very unwilling to begin his reign with any of his subjects in trouble. There will be plenty of work for everyone rebuilding buildings and parks that have been damaged. Why, I should think Calabar alone could absorb any person unemployed or newly released into the world: every city there needs to be rebuilt, quite in addition to all the construction that will be needed on every other planet in the Confederacy. His Majesty, I know, wishes to lift his whole domain of one hundred and ten planets to a grandeur never before known.

“Every person who accepts this amnesty must be told that he owes this chance to Mortiiy and that all he requires from them in return is their loyalty and their help to make this a better nation.”

The crowds in the streets began to cheer.

The cameras were not now on him. He wiped his face with his redstar engineer’s rag.

It had been close. He’d tell the police and Army later that in situ simply meant “on the spot” and in flagrante delicto only meant “caught in the act,” if he remembered rightly.

At least he had now prevented further riots. Beneficial in its own right and necessary, it happened to be vital, if his luck held, that the name of Earth did not crop up again because of continued battling with the Apparatus: they would be utterly desperate if they thought they would be going back to prison.

Four down. Two to go. The next one would have to be quite clever. The last one, if things went wrong, would be awful.

PART EIGHTY-EIGHT

Chapter 7

Heller heard someone back of his chair. It was the Countess Krak. She whispered, “Hightee says to tell you to stall all you can. They are in short time.”

He nodded. The fourth proclamation wasn’t back to him yet. He wondered how he could stall further.

Krak said, “I heard that measure. Why did you let all the criminals loose?”

“Gris wasn’t the only person with a blackmail hoard. It prevents Apparatus officers from starting up in the crime business.”

She didn’t make too much sense out of his reply; she also detected an evasion. “You must have had another reason than that.”

“Be quiet.”

“But you released several million criminals on the society. Why?”

“The state has been corrupt and justice slipshod.” He turned and looked at her steadily. “All right. Remember, you asked for it. You might not be the only Lissus Moam.”

She caught her breath. He was alluding to herself having been a falsely condemned nonperson until just today. Tears started into her eyes. “You did it for me. To celebrate my regaining citizenship.”

“Go away. You don’t like softhearted people.”

“I am ashamed. I love you, Jettero!”

“Well, don’t hang around here being mushy. Go help Hightee and maybe we can save our friends. A forlorn hope, but maybe.”

She suddenly kissed him. “May the Gods bless you, Jettero.”

The crowds cheered. The kiss had been camera’d on Homeview. The Countess Krak was gone.

Heller muttered, to the monitors across the room, “You wouldn’t be cheering if you knew I was trying to save your favorite enemy, Earth. Well, it’s all up to mathematics now.”

The fourth proclamation had been handed to the clerk for recording. He had stalled all he could. He stood up and signaled for a cymbal clash.

“Gentlemen, we earlier passed an informal resolution to outlaw psychology and psychiatry. I wish to incorporate that in the fifth formal proclamation which we are now about to take up. His Majesty has stated that he does not wish to hear of Earth again. If we put these subjects in a public proclamation, we will have to mention Earth and it could come to his attention. Furthermore, the names have already appeared in newssheets.

“It would seem to me that this is best covered by acceding to a demand made by the publishers who wish to be protected against things such as lying stories and that other Earth development, PR.”

There was a snarl from the conference table. They were avid to suppress anything connected with that planet.

“I therefore propose,” said Heller, “that we create the post of Censor. Such a post, appended to the staff here at Palace City, could prevent psychiatry and psychology texts from being published. It could also prevent abuses under the heading of PR.

“Actually, I should think that the post really combines with that of Royal Historian.” He got table nods in assent. “Could someone please advise me, since the Palace City staff has been so displaced, who occupies that post now?”

He already knew the answer. He was laying a trap. The clique of publishers over there was nodding, all agreeable.

A clerk stood. “Crown, Your Lordship, sir. The post of Royal Historian was held by one who, unfortunately, resisted the demands of Lombar Hisst. He is dead. The post is vacant.”

“Oh, woe!” said Heller. “A martyr! Well, that leaves us with no other choice!”

They stared at him.

“One man is a public-spirited citizen. He knows all the angles of this. He has already proven his zeal by bringing the matter to our attention. For the post of Royal Historian and Censor and Chairman of any Board of Censors, I propose Noble Arthrite Stuffy!”

Noble Stuffy, far across the room in the group of publishers, recoiled. “But . . . but . . . my publishing empire!”

“Oh, well,” said Heller, “we all have to make our little sacrifices for the good of the people. I am sure you can find somebody to run your paper for you.” He drew himself up. “The state needs your services, Noble Arthrite Stuffy! And think how you can set an example with your paper! Think how you can uplift and uphold the purity of ethics in journalism!” He lowered his voice, “And think how thoroughly you can suppress all efforts to corrupt the population with psychiatry and psychology.”

Several other publishers grinned. The Daily Speaker had run the most columns lauding those subjects. They were pushing Stuffy toward the table.

Noble Stuffy finally stood in a vacant place. “Crown, Your Lordship, sir, even at great financial sacrifice, I cannot let the people down. I accept the appointment.”

“There is one proviso,” said Heller, severely, “I do not much hold with censorship to hide state errors or oppress dissident voices just because the state has been stupid. Where censorship is really needed is to protect the individual person against a river of manufactured lies and to protect the public from being stampeded by unprincipled villains such as Madison and Hisst. Your duty must never include the suppression of the truth. So DO NOT ABUSE THIS POST!”

There were cheers.

“I take it, then, the appointment is ratified?” said Heller.

The officers at the table gave their assent.

“Now, if you gentlemen will make room at the table for our new Royal Historian and Censor, I can have this proclamation drawn up and we can complete the signatures.”

Number five. He had gotten number five! It was the key in his equation.

He offered up a prayer. Now to set the stage for number six, the fatal one, the one which would determine whether five billion people, including his friends, would live or die. Number six would deal with the fate of Earth!