Mack Reynolds - Earth Unaware

It wasn’t shortly. It wasn’t until the next morning. Meanwhile their guard system had been perfected and their needs met. They had spent several hours checking with each other, but it was largely a rehashing. Buzz De Kemp on the whole had had a similar experience to that of Ed Wonder. He’d been picked up by two agents and whisked to the New Woolworth Building. They had picked him up as the writer of the articles on Tubber. When he stuck to his guns, his priority rose from ‘C to ‘AA’ and then, when Ed Wonder’s story corroborated his, to crash.

They came for Ed and Buzz in the morning. Not Oppenheimer and Major Davis. Evidently, they were being dealt with by higher echelons now. It was a colonel with two aides who showed up to escort them to their next interview. Colonel Fredric Williams of Air Force Intelligence.

Buzz stuck his paperback in his jacket pocket, saying, “Just in case we run into the usual bureaucratic redtape. You know, hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait—I’ll take along something to read.”

The colonel glared at him. Buzz leered back, scooped up a handful of the stogies he had ordered the night before and jammed them into a jacket breast pocket. “I’ll need fuel, too.”

They followed the colonel and his aides, and the guards brought up the rear, coats still brushed back so that guns were readily handy. Ed wondered what they thought the potential danger might be, tucked away here on the top floors of Ultra-New York’s tallest skyscraper and surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of security men.

Their destination was up still another floor, and this time there were two reception rooms, rather than one. The first was king-size, with a dozen busy desks and as many offices beyond. The second was small and presided over by a single middle-aged, less than matronly looking efficiency machine.

She said crisply, “Mr. Hopkins is waiting for you, Colonel. The others have arrived.”

“Thank you, Miss Presley.”

The colonel himself opened the inner door.

Whoever the architect who had designed the New Woolworth Building might have been, he had surely realized that the ultimate floor was meant for ultimate authority of one sort or another. This office bore that fact out.

Ed Wonder had never been in such an establishment in his life. Only Hollywood had prepared him for it. Even then, he looked about in amazement.

There was but one desk, which seemed to be suspended by one thin rod from the ceiling, rather than being supported on the floor. Behind it obviously sat Mr. Hopkins. The reality of who Mr. Hopkins was came immediately home to both Ed Wonder and Buzz De Kemp, the latter of whom reacted by whistling softly between his teeth.

Dwight Hopkins, the Great Compromiser. Dwight Hopkins, the power behind the throne. Dwight Hopkins who dominated western politics like a colossus.

Dwight Hopkins avoided publicity. He had no need of it. However, the right hand man, the one man brain trust, some said the alter ego, of President Everett MacFerson could not remain completely unknown to the knowledgeable citizen. President MacFerson might be, and was, a figurehead, a symbol, a public image whose actual efforts so far as governing the nation was concerned, went little beyond those of the ruling monarch of Great Britain. But while the MacFerson glamour type politicians might possess whatever it is which draws the votes of the populace, there still must be the Dwight Hopkinses behind the scenes. He had survived three administrations, having been handed down from the Democratic Republicans to the Liberal Conservatives and then back again, without change in either their policies—or his. There were seldom issues between the two parties under the Welfare State; it wasn’t considered the thing to attempt to influence the voters by raising issues. You voted for the man you liked best , not for principles.

Dwight Hopkins sat behind the small desk. To one side of him, in an easy chair, legs crossed, was a major general To the other, a tall, gray civilian. Across from him, in a row, were Jensen Fontaine, Helen Fontaine and Matthew Mulligan.

Ed shot his eyes around the room again. No mistake. The Tubbers were conspicuously absent.

Hopkins nodded to the newcomers. “You must be Buzz De Kemp, you look like a newspaperman. And you’re Edward Wonder. Why do they call you Little Ed?” The Hopkins voice was firm but the urgency in it had a strange easygoing quality, as though there wasn’t really any great hurry, now that Hopkins had taken over.

“I don’t know,” Ed said.

Mulligan blurted, “See here, Wonder, if all this is your…”

The major general rumbled, “That will be enough, Mr. Mulligan. Mr. Wonder is in the same position as you are. You’ve been brought here to help us clear up a matter that is of first importance to the nation.”

“To the world,” the tall gray civilian said mildly.

Jensen Fontaine said hotly, “I demand to know if those Communists down in Greater Washington think they can pick up citizens of good repute and…”

Dwight Hopkins was looking at the small town magnate expressionlessly. He interrupted to say, “Mr. Fontaine. In your belief, what is the cause of the disruption of radio and TV and, further, of motion picture projectors?”

Jensen Fontaine bent a beady eye on the politician and said, leadingly, “My country, may she always be right…”

Hopkins said easily, “I agree with you, sir. But to answer my question.”

Fontaine snapped, “I’ll tell you the cause. Soviet Complex sabotage. Subversion of American industry. Underground…”

“And how would they have accomplished this?”

“That’s not my job. You birds down in Greater Washington have been infiltrated. Even the Department of Justice. I suspect the C.I.A. could turn up the culprits soon enough if they weren’t honeycombed with Commie agents. Furthermore…”

Dwight Hopkins said, “You are free to go, Mr. Fontaine. Our thanks for your cooperation.”

Fontaine was just getting into stride. He raised an arm to wave in emphasis, and it was taken firmly by Colonel Williams. “I’ll show you to the door, sir.”

Mulligan’s eyes went from Hopkins to the semi-struggling Fontaine. “See here, you can’t treat Mr. Fontaine that way!” he blatted.

The white Hopkins’ eyebrows went up. “Do your own opinions coincide with his, Mr. Mulligan?”

Mulligan was the second to be ushered out.

Dwight Hopkins looked at Helen, Buzz and Ed Wonder. “I have read the reports. You three were the ones I really wished to talk to anyway. I am sorry, Miss Fontaine, if my handling of your father seemed cavalier.”

“Bounce it,” Helen said, making a moue. “Daddy can use a little cavalier treatment.”

The president’s right hand man leaned back in his chair and regarded them solemnly.

He said, “A week ago Friday, TV and radio became inoperative. For several hours the government took no action. It was assumed that the industry would soon discover the cause and remedy it. However, when it became known that the phenomenon was worldwide, an emergency committee was named. The following day, the president released special funds to increase the size of the committee and give it more arbitrary powers. The following day the committee became a commission. And the day after, in secret session, the Congress voted unlimited resources and I was named head of this project and responsible only to the president. General Crew and Professor Braithgale here, are my assistants.”

Buzz De Kemp was evidently awed not even by such as Dwight Hopkins. He had brought one of his inevitable stogies from his pocket and as he searched for matches, said around it, “You people sure seem to be in a tizzy over moron level entertainment. The major was telling us, last night, it’s as important as a war. And…”