Edmund Cooper - Kronk

“People like other people!” snorted the Minister. “You are out of your tree, laddie. Or blind. Or both… So you don’t think Jewish Negroes are fit to hold positions of responsibility?”

By this time, Sir Joshua was trembling. “No sir. That is, I think Jewish Negroes are The Right Honourable Theodore Flower leaned forward dramatically, and banged the desk with his fist. “But not good enough to be Ministers of the Crown, eh? Is that it?” he barked.

Then without giving the head of MicroWar any time to reply, he went on: “I’ve been thinking about you, Quartz. I’ve been thinking about you for some time. I’ve felt you resented me. I’ve felt you didn’t want to co-operate fully. I’ve felt you were keeping things back… And there’s another aspect, Quartz. How do I know you and maybe some others haven’t set this whole goddam box of tricks up just to discredit me?” Again he banged the desk. “No matter. I’m big enough to handle it, Quartz. Big enough to handle it. But I’ll just remind you of one thing: while I sit here, I’ll have no white trash in my ministry stirring up any racism at all! Is that clear?”

The Minister was gratified to see that his speech had had some small effect. Sir Joshua Quartz was now not only sweating profusely and shaking, he was also silently weeping. The Minister allowed him to suffer for a while, then he said almost gently: “So long as you are really sorry, Quartz. That is the main thing, laddie. Repentance… Don’t take it too hard, now.

It may not be necessary to lose you after all.”

“Thank you, Minister,” sniffed Sir Joshua. “Thank you very much, sir… There — there remains this matter of the tranquillity drug. Please, sir, would you advise me? I — I feel it is now a matter beyond my competence.”

“That’s better, old son. Sensible to admit when you are out of your depth. We’re friends and colleagues, remember that. We confide in each other. We rely on each other. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“And no hard feelings against Jewish Negroes, eh?”

“No, Minister… I — I think that Jewish Negroes are sometimes gifted with exceptional abilities.”

“So are Romaprot whites,” observed the Minister generously. “Hell, they are people, too.

Why, some of my best friends are — but let’s get down to business. What would you do, laddie?”

“About what, Minister?”

“About your pet rapist and the tranquillity drug,” snapped the Minister, irritably. “That’s what we’ve been talking about, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Minister. I’m sorry… It — it was in my mind to demand Perrywit’s resignation and institute a full scale security hunt. Do you approve, sir?”

“No, Quartz, I do not approve. Put Perrywit out to grass, and there will be further leaks.

He’ll flog the story to NaTel or InterNews or something like that. Also, a full security investigation will trigger every foreign agent in the country. Then we stand to lose not only the drug but half a dozen other projects as well. Also there will be questions in the House, protests about MicroWar research, speeches at U.N. and quite possibly a new freeze between East and West. Quartz, you have a natural flair for disaster.”

“I am sorry, Minister.” Sir Joshua looked as if he was about to weep again.

“No ask me what I propose to do,” said the Minister.

“Yes, sir. Thank you. What do you propose to do, sir?”

“I propose to fire the woman — Kink, or whatever she is called — for indecent behaviour during office hours, thus smashing the value of whatever revelations she cares to make. My guess is she’ll keep very quiet. Then I propose to have that fool rapist certified insane — which he probably is. Thus we avoid any risk of habeas corpus and attendant publicity. Finally, I propose that all records of the project be removed from MicroWar files and that Security be told nothing about anything, except to call off the dogs… Do you approve, Quartz?”

“Yes, of course, Minister.” Sir Joshua swallowed. “But why, sir?”

The Right Honourable Theodore Flower smiled benignly. “Ill tell you why, Quartz. Case one, the Americans lifted the animals. Case two, the Russians lifted them. In either case, they will have to finance the research that isolates the tranquillizer. Or maybe they have already done that. It doesn’t matter. The point is, there are enough double agents in both organizations to enable us to get the whole thing back at the right time at the right price. That way, no scandal, no protests, no anything… What do you think of that, Quartz?”

“Sir,” said Joshua, “it is masterly.”

The Minister shook his head. “No, Quartz, just plain statesmanship… Now, laddie, before you go, let us get one thing straight. We live in a democracy, and I personally am proud to be an English Jewish Negro. But what I want you to remember is this: Insect Race in particular has to be, as the Italians say, sans peur et sans reproche. So if you ever suspect any white staff of racist sentiments, whatever their rank or seniority, I want you to come straight to me. Got that, Quartz?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“You are really sure you don’t object to Jewish Negroes in positions of authority?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Good. That will be all, Quartz. Have your man Perrywit certified as soon as possible.”

Camilla was now in phase two of the P 939 cycle — though, curiously, the promiscuous phase did not appear to have waned much — and was now eating a great deal. She was also putting on weight, but at the present rate of increase it would be quite a long time before she need have any worries.

On the day when Gabriel struck a blow for tranquillity with Messalina, Camilla decided to kick off with Señor Manuel Labore, chargé d’affaires to the Republic of Tierra del Fuego. It occurred to her that infiltration of the Diplomatic Corps could have far-reaching consequences. Besides, as a neighbour he was a very convenient target. So, having fortified herself with an avocado pear, three lamb cutlets and two cream cakes, she put on a flimsy house tunic, a slight misting of Je Reviens and, armed with one InSex tablet in case of emergency, went next door — ostensibly to borrow some coffee.

The InSex proved unnecessary. Señor Manuel Labore was a man of some talent where ladies were concerned. From the preliminary gin and tonic to an energetic if brief exercise on black silk sheets and pillows took less than forty-five minutes. At this rate, thought Camilla, when pulse and respiration had returned to normal, allowing for rest and travelling time, she could probably cope with six similar engagements a day.

Manuel was a darkly handsome young man, who puzzled Camilla by doing his Spanish language thing rather badly. When she asked him about it, he disarmingly confessed all. As it turned out, he was British by birth and had only recently become a Tierra del Fuegan, chiefly because as a chargé d’affaires he enjoyed a generous expense allowance, and largely as a result of his frequent connections with the daughter of the Argentine Ambassador to the Court of St. James.

Camilla liked him. She even liked his real name, which was Christopher Crumpet.

As she departed, taking the packet of coffee she did not really need, she said: “Thank you for the coffee, Christopher — and, of course, the hospitality. Perhaps there will be an opportunity to continue our conversation some time.”

He pulled a face. “Pliz, señorita,” he said atrociously. “I am theenking Manuel. I am theenking Spanish weech I may hef to spik if I ever go to Tierra del Fuego — Madre de Dios and heaven forbid!” A thought seemed suddenly to strike him, and he dropped the Spanish thing. “I say, Camilla, is your husband — disgusting word — waiting for you?”