Mack Reynolds - Earth Unaware

“Kindly old gent,” Ed muttered bitterly.

“…to have some powers we simply don’t understand. He isn’t seem to understand them either. Very well. I think Little Ed should go and confront him. There’s nothing to suggest he has anything against Ed personally. Besides, he dotes on that daughter of his and she has a crush on Little Ed.”

Silence dropped. All eyes went to Ed Wonder.

Ed lowered his lids in utter suffering. “That’s a lie!” he wailed.

“Buzz?” Helen said.

Buzz De Kemp had been trying to get his stogie to burn straight. Now he nodded and said with a twang, “Yep, right as rain. Nice curvy little wench, blue eyeballs, cheeks shiny as red apples, set up real nice. Any sapsucker can see there’s nothing better she’d like to do than spoon with Little Ed Wonder.”

“Oh, great,” Ed moaned. “Funnies.”

Dwight Hopkins said, “Wonder, I’ll have an office and staff assigned to you.”

“No,” Ed said.

Dwight Hopkins looked at him deliberately. “I can pick up this phone, Mr. Wonder and in moments have a presidential order drafting you into the armed forces. In which case you will be under the orders of General Crew, here, and will do as you are told.”

Ed muttered, “The old army volunteer system. You, you, and you.”

The general beamed at him.

Ed surrendered. “All right,” he said. “How about another drink?”

For approximately thirty of his thirty-three years, Edward Wonder had wanted to be a big executive. He had wanted it so badly he could taste it distinctly. To the extent possible in a stratified, stagnant society he had worked to that end. He had been raised in the folklore of his people including that wheeze about any citizen of the welfare state being just as good as any other citizen of the United Welfare States and with an equal chance of working his way up to the presidency, or wherever. Unfortunately, he discovered that it’s hard working one’s way up, when there is precious little work to do, and the overwhelming majority displaced by automation. Those who did still maintain jobs, and hence had higher incomes than those on the unemployment lists, clung to them. Cherished them with a bitter jealousy, and to the extent possible passed them on to progeny, relatives, or at least friends.

No. As he had grown older, it had become increasingly obvious just how small a chance Ed Wonder had of ever becoming a big executive with underlings to do his bidding, telephones and intercoms in which to snap his profound orders. In fact, at the time of his first confronting of Ezekiel Joshua Tubber, he had about decided that his sole chance was going to be through marriage with Helen Fontaine.

But now he was a big executive.

And Helen Fontaine was one of his assistants.

So was Buzz De Kemp, and Ed was acquiring more assistants by the minute. In fact, he was swamped with them and couldn’t remember the names of a fraction.

Dwight Hopkins’ promise of resources couldn’t have been more highly fulfilled. Within a quarter hour, Ed Wonder had been assigned a suite of offices. Within the hour, his staff was moving in. Among others were Mr. Yardborough, whose first name turned out to be Cecil, and Bill Oppenheimer and Major Leonard Davis. Two of the leg men were Johnson and Stevens, and Ed’s liaison man with Dwight Hopkins was Colonel Fredric Williams. Hopkins had decided that Project Tubber should be on the ultra-hush side, in view of its nature, and assigned to it anyone who had already anything to do with Wonder’s investigation. Had the story broken in the newspapers, Hopkins suspected even his gilt-edge reputation wouldn’t have been done any good.

Ed stared gloomily at his desk screen.

He hadn’t the vaguest idea where to begin. In his files were nothing more than his own report on Tubber, Buzz’s report and that of Helen Fontaine. It was no use looking at them. He knew everything covered. Which was precious little.

He flicked the screen to life and cleared his throat. “Miss… ah—” He had forgotten his receptionist’s name.

“Randy, sir. Randy Everett.”

Ed looked at her and sighed. “Randy, on you the Homespun Look is unfortunate.”

“Well, yes sir. But to tell you the truth, if I wear cosmetics…”

“You itch.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I’m a crystal gazer,” Ed told her. “Look, send in Mr. De Kemp.” He flicked off the intercom. It was his first act as head of Project Tubber.

Buzz came shambling in, stogie at the tilt. He looked about the office appreciatively and whistled softly between his teeth. “So, at long last Little Ed Wonder is a big shot. Work hard, save your money, and vote straight Democratic Republican and you too can get to the top. Shucks, you didn’t even have to marry the boss’ daughter.”

“Shut up,” Ed told him, “or I’ll get General Crew to draft you into the service.” He grunted at the picture. “Buzzo De Kemp, the sloppiest yardbird in the army.”

“Jollies we get,” Buzz said, dropping into a chair.

“Listen, Buzzo,” Ed said. “What do I do first?”

Buzz looked at the tip of his stogie critically, then let his eyes go around the office in thought. “We might go about finding out what a curse is. The next time we—you, that is, I’m going to be A.W.O.L. at that point—the next time you go up against Tubber, it’d be better if you had some ammunition.”

“A curse? Everybody knows what a curse is.”

“So fine. What?”

Ed thought about it. He flicked his desk switch. “Major Davis, please.” Lenny Davis’ face appeared in the screen.

“Yes, sir.” The major wasn’t yet quite used to having as his chief the man he’d been interrogating and considering throwing out of the office but a day previously.

Ed said, “We want to find out just what a curse is. Send in some scientists who know what curses are.”

The major looked at him blankly. “What kind of scientists know what a curse is, sir?”

“How would I know?” Ed told him curtly. He flicked off the set.

Buzz De Kemp was impressed.

Ed said, “What do we do now?”

“Have lunch,” Buzz told him. “We ought to pick up Helen. What’s Helen doing?”

“She’s in charge of the Homespun Look department,” Ed said. “She’s going to find out everything possible about the Homespun Look.”

Buzz looked at the end of his stogie. “That’s a good idea. You got some scientists working with her?”

Ed Wonder pursed his lips. “No. You’re right. If we’ve got unlimited resources, we better use them. The devil only knows how much time we’ve got before Tubber goes into his act again.” He flicked on his desk switch. “Major Davis.”

The major’s face was even slightly more harassed than it had been the evening before, Ed decided. The major said, “Yes, sir.”

“Lenny,” Ed told him, “send up a few scientists to Miss Fontaine’s office. We want to know what it is that makes women itch.”

The major opened his mouth, shook his head, and closed it again. “Yes, sir.”

When the army man’s face had faded from the screen, Buzz looked at it thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think the major is going to last very long. He’s already getting sort of a greenish look around the gills.”

Ed Wonder stood up. “There’s more where he came from,” he said.

When they got back from lunch and crossed the outer offices of Ed Wonder’s suite, he could only notice that they’d moved in another score or so of staff, and a selection of I.B.M. machines complete with operators and files of punched cards. Ed wondered vaguely what they were going to use them for. Possibly nothing. Dwight Hopkins probably just wanted them to be handy and ready, just in case a use for them did come up.