Mack Reynolds - Earth Unaware

Jim Westbrook laughed suddenly. “For my books, friend, you can keep the hex on radio and TV.”

Dwight Hopkins glared at them. “That will be all of this nonsense, gentlemen.”

The elderly prophet took a deep breath.

“Now verily do I say…”

Ed Wonder, assistant producer of WAN-TV, came bustling into the general offices of the station. He tipped a wink to Dolly. “Nice hairdo you’ve got there.”

“Thanks, Lit… uh, that is Mr. Wonder.”

Ed grinned at her. “That reminds me. You might take a cold cloth back to Jerry in the control room of Studio Three. He’s got a bloody nose. That boy’ll never learn my name.”

Dolly began to come to her feet. “Mrs. Wonder is in your office,” she said.

“Fine,” Ed told her. He headed for his private office.

Nefertiti was standing at the window when he came in. She turned around.

Ed took her hands and held back from her, pretending to consider the new dress critically. “Shopping again, eh? Darling, you were meant to be a clotheshorse.”

“Isn’t it wonderful! Oh, Ed, I almost forgot. There’s a cable from Buzz and Helen. They’re in Bermuda.”

“The honeymooners, eh?”

The intercom on the desk lit and Dolly said, “Mr. Fontaine is in Mr. Mulligan’s office, Mr. Wonder. He wants to see you.”

Ed kissed his bride. “Hold on, honey. I’ll be back shortly and take you to lunch. I want to show you off.”

He headed for Mulligan’s office, wondering what Fontaine wanted now. Every time the station owner entered the place, WAN-TV lost money. He’d be better off if he stayed home and let the pros run the business.

Jensen Fontaine glared up at him from the desk. Fatso Mulligan wasn’t present.

“What’s the crisis, sir?” Ed said, sitting down and reaching for a cigarette.

“It’s that blasted Communist, Tubber!”

“My father-in-law isn’t a Communist, Mr. Fontaine. Get Buzzo to fill you in on that some time. Among the other proof is the fact that it took a lot of arm-twisting on the part of the Reunited Nations to get the Soviet Complex to agree to allow him time on their stations.”

“I say he’s subversive! Why I ever let you talk me into using our station as the origin of his worldwide broadcasts, I’ll never know!”

Ed said easily, lighting his smoke and flicking the match to the ashtray on the desk, “Gives us a lot of prestige, for one thing. And the time immediately before and after Josh’s hour is worth its weight in emeralds. Business is booming. Everybody’s happy.”

Fontaine’s baleful glare hadn’t let up an iota.

“But he’s spreading that confounded blasted subversive message of his to every man, woman and child who can get to a TV or radio set.”

“That was the deal,” Ed said reasonably. “Dwight Hopkins had his work cut out getting everyone to agree. But it was the only way to call off the crisis.”

Jensen Fontaine pounded a scrawny hand on the desk. “You still don’t understand,” he cried. He pointed dramatically to a pile of mailbags stacked in one corner. “Letters. Letters from every country on earth. It’s bad enough that this ultra-radical spews out his underground…”

“Hardly underground,” Ed murmered.

“…subversion in English, but they translate it in every country in the world.”

“Part of the agreement,” Ed said reasonably. He looked at the mail sacks appreciatively. “The fan mail continues to grow, eh? Holy smokes, what a rating.”

Fontaine looked as though he were about to blow a gasket. “Is it impossible to get through to you, Ed Wonder! Don’t you realize what that idiot Dwight Hopkins and those Communists down in Greater Washington have done in making that agreement with Tubber?”

Ed’s eyebrows went up. “I thought I did,” he said. “They’ve given my father-in-law the chance to put his message on the air.”

“Yes! But didn’t they consider the possible results?”

Ed looked at him questioningly.

The station owner dramatically pointed to the mail sacks. “Those letters are running ten to one in favor of Tubber’s program. Don’t you understand? They’re beginning to believe in him.”

“Holy smokes,” Ed said.

“Have you seen the public opinion polls? People are beginning to follow this… this… madman. At the rate we’re going, by next election he could vote in this Elysium nonsense of his!”

“Holy smokes,” Ed said.