Natural State by Damon Knight

Author:Damon Knight [Knight, Damon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-2150-4
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 1981-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

V

Manager Wytak had his feet on the glossy desktop. So did the Comptroller, narrow-faced old Mr. Creedy; the Director of Information, plump Mr. Kling; the Commissioner of Supply, blotched and pimpled Mr. Jackson; and the porcine Mr. McArdle, Commissioner of War. With chairs tilted back, they stared through a haze of cigar smoke at each others’ stolid faces mirrored on the ceiling.

Wytak’s voice was as confident as ever, if a trifle muted, and when the others spoke, he listened. These were not the hired nonentities Alvah had seen; these were the men who had made Wytak, the electorate with whose consent he governed.

“Jack,” said Wytak, “I want you to look at it my way and see if you don’t think I’m right. It isn’t a question of how long we can hold out—when you get right down and look at it, it’s a question of can we do anything.”

“In time,” said Jackson expressionlessly.

“In time. But if we can do anything, there’ll be time enough. You say we’ve got troubles now and you’re right, but I tell you we can pull through a situation a thousand times worse than this—if we’ve got an answer. And have we got an answer? We have.”

Creedy grunted. “Like to see some results, Boley.”

“You’ll see them. You can’t skim a yeast tank the first day, Will.”

“You can see the bubbles, though,” said Jackson sourly. “Any report from this Gustad today, while we’re talking about it?”

“Not yet. He was getting some response yesterday. He’s following it up. I trust that boy—the analyzers picked his card out of five million. Wait and see. He’ll deliver.”

“If you say so, Boley.”

“I say so.”

Jackson nodded. “That’s good enough. Gentlemen?”

In another soundproof, spy-proof office in Over Manhattan, Kling and McArdle met again twenty minutes later.

“What do you think?” asked Kling with his meaningless smile.

“Moderately good. I was hoping he would lie about Gustad’s report, but of course there was very little chance of that. Wytak is an old hand.”

“You admire him?” Kling suggested.

“As a specimen of his type.

Wytak pulled us out of a very bad spot in ’39.”

“Agreed.”

“And he has had his uses since then. There are times when brilliant improvisation is better than sound principles—and times when it is not. Wytak is an incurable romantic.”

“And you?”

“We,” said McArdle grimly, “are realists.”

“Oh, yes. But perhaps we are not anything just yet. Creedy is interested, but not convinced—and until he moves, Jackson will do nothing.”

“Wytak’s project is a failure. You can’t do business with the Muckfeet. But the fool was so confident that he didn’t even interfere with Gustad’s briefing.”

Kling leaned forward with interest. “You didn’t…?”

“No. It wasn’t necessary. But it means that Gustad has no instructions to fake successful reports—and that means Wytak can’t stall until he gets back. There was no report today. Suppose there’s none tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.”

“In that case, of course… However, it’s always as well to offer something positive. You said you might have something to show me today.”

“Yes. Follow me.”

In a sealed room at the end of a guarded corridor, five young men were sitting.

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