So success is not a mystery, just brush up on your history, and borrow day by day. Take an Empire that was Roman and you"ll find it is at home in all the starry Milky Way. With a drive that"s hyperspatial, through the pa.r.s.ecs you will race, you"ll find that plotting is a breeze, Copyright 1954 by Fantasy House, inc.
With a tiny bit of cribbin" from the works of Edward Gibbon and that Greek, Thucydides.
And all the fans will say, As you walk your thoughtful way, If that young man involves himself in authentic history, Why, what a very learned kind of high IQ, his high IQ must be.
Then eschew all thoughts of pa.s.sion of a man-and-woman fashion from your hero"s thoughtful mind. He must spend his time on politics, and thinking up his shady tricks, and outside that he"s blind. It"s enough he"s had a mother, other females are a bother, though they"re jeweled and glistery. They will just distract his dreaming and his necessary scheming with that psychohistory.
And all the fans will say As you walk your narrow way, If all his yarns restrict themselves to masculinity, Why, what a most particularly pure young man that pure young man must be.
Franchise
Linda, age ten, was the only one of the family who seemed to enjoy being awake.
Norman Muller could hear her now through his own drugged, unhealthy coma. (He had finally managed to fall asleep an hour earlier but even then it was more like exhaustion than sleep.) She was at his bedside now, shaking him. "Daddy, Daddy, wake up. Wake up!"
He suppressed a groan. "All right, Linda."
"But, Daddy, there"s more policemen around than any time! Police cars and everything!"
Norman Muller gave up and rose Wearily to his elbows. The day was beginning. It was faintly stirring toward dawn outside, the germ of a miserable gray that looked about as miserably gray as he felt. He could hear Sarah, his wife, shuffling about breakfast duties in the kitchen. His father-in-law, Matthew, was hawking strenuously in the bathroom. No doubt Agent Handley was ready and waiting for him.
This was the day.
Election Day!
To begin with, it had been like every other year. Maybe a little worse, because it was a presidential year, but no worse than other presidential years if it came to that.
The politicians spoke about the guh-reat electorate and the vast electuh- Copyright 1955 by Quinn Publishing Co., inc.
ronic intelligence that was its servant. The press a.n.a.lyzed the situation with industrial computers (the New York Times and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch had their own computers) and were full of little hints as to what would be forthcoming. Commentators and columnists pinpointed the crucial state and county in happy contradiction to one another.
The first hint that it would not be like every other year was when Sarah Muller said to her husband on the evening of October 4 (with Election Day exactly a month off), "Cantwell Johnson says that Indiana will be the state this year. He"s the fourth one. Just think, our state this time."
Matthew Hortenweiler took his fleshy face from behind the paper, stared dourly at his daughter and growled, "Those fellows are paid to tell lies. Don"t listen to them."
"Four of them, Father," said Sarah mildly. "They all say Indiana."
"Indiana is a key state, Matthew," said Norman, just as mildly, "on account of the Hawkins-Smith Act and this mess in Indianapolis. It-"
Matthew twisted his old face akrmingly and rasped out, "No one says Bloomington or Monroe County, do they?"
"Well-" said Norman.
Linda, whose little pointed-chinned face had been shifting from one speaker to the next, said pipingly, "You going to be voting this year, Daddy?"
Norman smiled gently and said, "I don"t think so, dear."
But this was in the gradually growing excitement of an October in a presidential election year and Sarah had led a quiet life with dreams for her companions. She said longingly, "Wouldn"t that be wonderful, though?"
"If I voted?" Norman Muller had a small blond mustache that had given him a debonair quality in the young Sarah"s eyes, but which, with gradual graying, had declined merely to lack of distinction. His forehead bore deepening lines born of uncertainty and, in general, he had never seduced his clerkly soul with the thought that he was either born great or would under any circ.u.mstances achieve greatness. He had a wife, a job and a little girl, and except under extraordinary conditions of elation or depression was inclined to consider that to be an adequate bargain struck with life.
So he was a little embarra.s.sed and more than a little uneasy at the direction his wife"s thoughts were taking. "Actually, my dear," he said, "there are two hundred million people in the country, and, with odds like that, I don"t think we ought to waste our time wondering about it."
His wife said, "Why, Norman, it"s no such thing like two hundred million and you know it. In the first place, only people between twenty and sixty are eligible and it"s always men, so that puts it down to maybe fifty million to one. Then, if it"s really Indiana-"
"Then it"s about one and a quarter million to one. You wouldn"t want me to bet in a horse race against those odds, now, would you? Let"s have supper."
i Matthew muttered from behind his newspaper, "d.a.m.ned foolishness."
Linda asked again, "You going to be voting this year, Daddy?" jj, Norman shook his head and they all adjourned to the dining room.
By October 20, Sarah"s excitement was rising rapidly. Over the coffee, she announced that Mrs. Schultz, having a cousin who was the secretary of an a.s.semblyman, said that all the "smart money" was on Indiana.
"She says President Villers is even going to make a speech at Indianapolis."
Norman Muller, who had had a hard day at the store, nudged the statement with a raising of eyebrows and let it go at that.
Matthew Hortenweiler, who was chronically dissatisfied with Washington, said, "If Villers makes a speech in Indiana, that means he thinks Mul-tivac will pick Arizona. He wouldn"t have the guts to go closer, the mush-head."
Sarah, who ignored her father whenever she could decently do so, said, "I don"t know why they don"t announce the state as soon as they can, and then the county and so on. Then the people who were eliminated could relax."
"If they did anything like that," pointed out Norman, "the politicians would follow the announcements like vultures. By the time it was narrowed down to a township, you"d have a Congressman or two at every street corner."
Matthew narrowed his eyes and brushed angrily at his spa.r.s.e, gray hair. "They"re vultures, anyhow. Listen-"
Sarah murmured, "Now, Father-"
Matthew"s voice rumbled over her protest without as much as a stumble or hitch. "Listen, I was around when they set up Multivac. It would end partisan politics, they said. No more voters" money wasted on campaigns. No more grinning n.o.bodies high-pressured and advertising-campaigned into Congress or the White House. So what happens. More campaigning than ever, only now they do it blind. They"ll send guys to Indiana on account of the Hawkins-Smith Act and other guys to California in case it"s the Joe Hammer situation that turns out crucial. I say, wipe out all that nonsense. Back to the good old-"
Linda asked suddenly, "Don"t you want Daddy to vote this year, Grandpa?"
Matthew glared at the young girl. "Never you mind, now." He turned back to Norman and Sarah. "There was a time I voted. Marched right up to the polling booth, stuck my fist on the levers and voted. There was nothing to it. I just said: This fellow"s my man and I"m voting for him. That"s the way it should be."
Linda said excitedly, "You voted, Grandpa? You really did?"
Sarah leaned forward quickly to quiet what might easily become an incongruous story drifting about the neighborhood, "It"s nothing, Linda. Grandpa doesn"t really mean voted. Everyone did that kind of voting, your grandpa, too, but it wasn"t really voting."
Matthew roared, "It wasn"t when I was a little boy. I was twenty-two and I voted for Langley and it was real voting. My vote didn"t count for much, maybe, but it was as good as anyone else"s. Anyone else"s. And no Multivac to-"
Norman interposed, "All right, Linda, time for bed. And stop asking questions about voting. When you grow up, you"ll understand all about it."
He kissed her with antiseptic gentleness and she moved reluctantly out of range under maternal prodding and a promise that she might watch the bedside video till 9:15, if she was prompt about the bathing ritual.
Linda said, "Grandpa," and stood with her chin down and her hands behind her back until his newspaper lowered itself to the point where s.h.a.ggy eyebrows and eyes, nested in fine wrinkles, showed themselves. It was Friday, October 31.
He said, "Yes?"
Linda came closer and put both her forearms on one of the old man"s knees so that he had to discard his newspaper altogether.
She said, "Grandpa, did you really once vote?"
He said, "You heard me say I did, didn"t you? Do you think I tell fibs?"
"N-no, but Mamma says everybody voted then."
"So they did."
"But how could they? How could everybody vote?"
Matthew stared at her solemnly, then lifted her and put her on his knee.
He even moderated the tonal qualities of his voice. He said, "You see, Linda, till about forty years ago, everybody always voted. Say we wanted to decide who was to be the new President of the United States. The Democrats and Republicans would both nominate someone, and everybody would say who they wanted. When Election Day was over, they would count how many people wanted the Democrat and how many wanted the Republican. Whoever had more votes was elected. You see?"
Linda nodded and said, "How did all the people know who to vote for? Did Multivac tell them?"
Matthew"s eyebrows hunched down and he looked severe. "They just used their own judgment, girl."
She edged away from him, and he lowered his voice again, "I"m not angry at you, Linda. But, you see, sometimes it took all night to count what everyone said and people were impatient. So they invented special machines which could look at the first few votes and compare them with the votes from the same places in previous years. That way the machine could compute how the total vote would be and who would be elected. You see?"
She nodded. "Like Multivac."
"The first computers were much smaller than Multivac. But the machines grew bigger and they could tell how the election would go from fewer and fewer votes. Then, at last, they built Multivac and it can tell from just I one voter." ,-fj Linda smiled at having reached a familiar part of the story and said, ("That"s nice."
Matthew frowned and said, "No, it"s not nice. I don"t want a machine telling me how I would have voted just because some joker in Milwaukee says he"s against higher tariffs. Maybe I want to vote c.o.c.keyed just for the i pleasure of it. Maybe I don"t want to vote. Maybe-"
( But Linda had wriggled from his knee and was beating a retreat.
She met her mother at the door. Her mother, who was still wearing her coat and had not even had time to remove her hat, said breathlessly, "Run , along, Linda. Don"t get in Mother"s way."
Then she said to Matthew, as she lifted her hat from her head and patted her hair back into place, "I"ve been at Agatha"s."
Matthew stared at her censoriously and did not even dignify that piece of information with a grunt as he groped for his newspaper. Sarah said, as she unb.u.t.toned her coat, "Guess what she said?"
. Matthew flattened out his newspaper for reading purposes with a sharp crackle and said, "Don"t much care."
Sarah said, "Now, Father-" But she had no time for anger. The news i had to be told and Matthew was the only recipient handy, so she went on, "Agatha"s Joe is a policeman, you know, and he says a whole truckload of secret service men came into Bloomington last night."
"They"re not after me."
"Don"t you see, Father? Secret service agents, and it"s almost election (time. In Bloomington."
"Maybe they"re after a bank robber."
"There hasn"t been a bank robbery in town in ages. . . . Father, you"re hopeless."
She stalked away.
Nor did Norman Muller receive the news with noticeably greater excitement.
"Now, Sarah, how did Agatha"s Joe know they were secret service agents?" he asked calmly. "They wouldn"t go around with identification cards pasted on their foreheads."
But by next evening, with November a day old, she could say triumphantly, "It"s just everyone in Bloomington that"s waiting for someone local to be the voter. The Bloomington News as much as said so on video."
Norman stirred uneasily. He couldn"t deny it, and his heart was sinking. If Bloomington was really to be hit by Multivac"s lightning, it would mean newspapermen, video shows, tourists, all sorts of-strange upsets. Norman liked the quiet routine of his life, and the distant stir of politics was getting uncomfortably close.
He said, "It"s all rumor. Nothing more."
"You wait and see, then. You just wait and see."
As things turned out, there was very little time to wait, for the doorbell rang insistently, and when Norman Muller opened it and said, "Yes?" a tall, grave-faced man said, "Are you Norman Muller?"
Norman said, "Yes," again, but in a strange dying voice. It was not difficult to see from the stranger"s bearing that he was one carrying authority, and the nature of his errand suddenly became as inevitably obvious as it had, until the moment before, been unthinkably impossible.
The man presented credentials, stepped into the house, closed the door behind him and said ritualistically, "Mr. Norman Muller, it is necessary for me to inform you on the behalf of the President of the United States that you have been chosen to represent the American electorate on Tuesday, November 4, 2008."
Norman Muller managed, with difficulty, to walk unaided to his chair. He sat there, white-faced and almost insensible, while Sarah brought water, slapped his hands in panic and moaned to her husband between clenched teeth, "Don"t be sick, Norman. Don"t be sick. They"ll pick someone else."
When Norman could manage to talk, he whispered, "I"m sorry, sir."
The secret service agent had removed his coat, unb.u.t.toned his jacket and was sitting at ease on the couch.
"It"s all right," he said, and the mark of officialdom seemed to have vanished with the formal announcement and leave him simply a large and rather friendly man. "This is the sixth time I"ve made the announcement and I"ve seen all kinds of reactions. Not one of them was the kind you see on the video. You know what I mean? A holy, dedicated look, and a character who says, "It will be a great privilege to serve my country." That sort of stuff." The agent laughed comfortingly.
Sarah"s accompanying laugh held a trace of shrill hysteria.
The agent said, "Now you"re going to have me with you for a while. My name is Phil Handley. I"d appreciate it if you call me Phil. Mr. Muller can"t leave the house any more till Election Day. You"ll have to inform the department store that he"s sick, Mrs. Muller. You can go about your business for a while, but you"ll have to agree not to say a word about this. Right, Mrs. Muller?"
Sarah nodded vigorously. "No, sir. Not a word."
"All right. But, Mrs. Muller," Handley looked grave, "we"re not kidding now. Go out only if you must and you"ll be followed when you do. I"m sorry but that"s the way we must operate."
"Followed?"
"It won"t be obvious. Don"t worry. And it"s only for two days till the formal announcement to the nation is made. Your daughter-"
"She"s in bed," said Sarah hastily.
"Good. She"ll have to be told I"m a relative or friend staying with the family. If she does find out the truth, she"ll have to be kept in the house. Your father had better stay in the house in any case."
"He won"t like that," said Sarah.
"Can"t be helped. Now, since you have no others living with you-"
"You know all about us apparently," whispered Norman.