Robert Heinlein - Time Enough For Love

"Uh...Ishtar, is this wise? We might sneeze on him."

"Do you think I set this policy? Dear, this message was straight from the Palace. Besides that, females are specifically ordered to look as pretty and be as attractively dressed as possible-so I must think about what I can wear that can go through sterilization. Nudity is not acceptable; that was specified, too. But don't worry about sneezing. Have you never taken full body decontamination? When that crew gets through with you, you can't sneeze; no matter how much you need to. But don't tell the Senior that you've had decontam; the assumption is that we simply walk in off the street-no special precautions."

"How can I tell him when I don't speak his language? Does he have some fetish against nudity?"

"I don't know, I am just conveying the order, one that went out to everyone on the watch list."

He looked thoughtful. "It's probably not a fetish. All fetishes are contra-survival, that's elementary. You told me that the principal problem was to break him out of his apathy. You were pleased that he was bad-tempered, even though you said it was a hyperreaction."

"Certainly I was pleased; it showed that he was responding. Galahad, never mind that now; I don't have a thing to wear, you'll have to help me."

"I'm talking about what you should wear. I think it was the Chairman Pro Tem's idea, not the Senior's."

"Dear man, I don't try to read his mind; I just carry out his orders. I don't have any taste in clothes, never did have. Do you think a lab assistant's coverall would be suitable? It will take sterilization and never show it-and I look quite neat in one."

"I am trying to read the mind of the Chairman Pro Tem, Ishtar-guess his intentions, at least. No, I don't think a lab uniform would do; you would not look as if you had 'simply walked in off the street.' If we stipulate that a fetish syndrome is not involved, then the only advantage of clothing over nudity in this situation is to lend variety. Contrast. Change. Help shake him loose from that apathy."

She stared at him with thoughtful interest. "Galahad, up to now, based on my own experience, I've always thought that a man's only interest in a woman's clothes was to get them off her. I may have to put you in for promotion."

"I'm not ready to be promoted; I've been in the Vocation less than ten years. As I'm sure you know. Let's take a look at your wardrobe."

"What are you going to wear, dear?"

"Doesn't matter what I wear; the Senior is male and all the stories and myths about him indicate that he has remained canalized by the primitive culture he was born in. Not sensually polymorphous."

"How can you be sure? Myths, dear."

"Ishtar, all myths tell the truth if you know how to read them. I'm guessing, but it is a reasoned guess, as this is something I used to be somewhat expert in. Until I was rejuvenated-until you rejuvenated me-then I went into something more active."

"What, dear?"

"Some other time. I was simply saying that I don't think it matters what I wear. A chiton. Shorts and singlet. Kilt. Even the underwear I had on under isolation gear. Oh, I'll wear lively colors and something different each watch-but he won't look at me, he'll look at you. So let's pick out something he would like to see you in."

"How will you know, Galahad?"

"Very simple. I'll choose something I would like to see a long-legged beautiful blonde wear."

He was surprised to see how little Ishtar had in her wardrobe. In all his varied experience with women she was the only one he could remember who seemed to lack the vanity needed to buy unnecessary clothes. As he searched, mind preoccupied, he hummed and then sang a snatch of doggerel.

Ishtar said, "You speak his milk language!"

"Eh? What? Whose? The Senior's? I certainly don't. But I must learn it, I suppose."

"But you were singing in it. A little song he always sings when he's busy with something."

"You mean this? 'Therza poolyawl...Bytha paunshot-' I have a phonographic ear, that's all; I don't understand the words. What do they mean?"

"I'm not sure they mean anything. Most of them are not in the vocabulary I've learned so far. I suspect that it is just amphigoric rhythm, a self-tranquilizer. Semantically null."

"On the other hand, it might be a key to understanding him. Have you tried asking a computer?" -

"Galahad, I haven't been given access to the computer that records what goes on in his suite. But I doubt if anyone can understand him, in depth. He's a primitive, dear-a living fossil."

"I would certainly like to try to understand him. This language he uses- Is it difficult?"

"Very. Irrational, complicated syntax, and so loaded with idioms and multivalues that I trip even on words I think I know. I wish I had your recording ear."

"The Chairman Pro Tem seemed to have no difficulty."

"I think he has a special talent for languages. But if you want to try, dear, I have the instructional programs here."

"Accepted! What is this? A party dress?"

"That? That's not clothing. I bought it as a throw cover for a couch-then got it home and saw that it did not fit my lounging room."

"It's a dress. Stand there and hold still."

"Don't tickle!"

Affairs of State

Despite what I told the Senior, my ancestor Grandfather Lazarus, I work hard in governing Secundus. But only in thinking about policy and in judging the work of others. I don't do donkey work; I leave that to professional administrators. Even so, the problems of a planet with more than a billion people can keep a man busy, especially if his intention is to govern as little as possible-as that means he must keep a sharp eye out and his ear tuned for signs that subordinates are doing unnecessary governing. Half my time is used in the negative work of plucking such officious officials and ordering that they never again serve in any public capacity.

Then I usually abolish their jobs, and all jobs subordinate to them.

I have never noticed any harm from such pruning save that parasites whose jobs are eliminated must find some other way to avoid starvation. (They are welcome to starve-better if they do. But they don't.)

The important thing is to spot these malignant growths and remove them while they are small. The more skill a Chairman Pro Tem acquires in this, the more emerging ones he finds, which keeps him busier than ever. Anyone can see a forest fire; skill lies in sniffing the first smoke.

This leaves me too little time for my prime work: thinking about policy. The purpose of my government is never to do good, but simply to refrain from doing evil. This sounds simple but is not. For example, although prevention of armed revolution is obviously part of my main duty, i.e., to keep order, I began to have doubts about the wisdom of transporting potential revolutionary leaders years before Grandfather Lazarus called my attention to it. But the symptom that roused my worry was so null that it took ten years for me to notice it:

During those ten years there was not one attempt to assassinate me.

By the time Lazarus Long returned to Secundus for the purpose of dying this disturbing symptom had continued twenty years.

This was ominous, and I realized it. A population of one billion-plus so contented, so uniform, so smug that not one determined assassin shows up in a double decade is seriously ill no matter how healthy it looks. In the ten years that elapsed after I noticed this lack I worried about it every hour I could spare-and found myself asking myself over and over again: What would Lazarus Long do?

I knew in broad outline what he had done-and that was why I decided to migrate-either lead my people off planet or go alone if none would follow. (In rereading this, it sounds as if I sought to be assassinated in some mystic The King Must Die sense. Not at all! I am surrounded at all times by powerful and subtle safeguards the nature of which I will not divulge. But there is no harm in mentioning three negative precautions; my facial appearance is not known to the public, I almost never appear in public anyhow, and when I do, it is never announced. The job of ruler is dangerous-or should be-but I don't intend to die from it. The "disturbing symptom" was not that I am alive but that there are no dead assassins. No one seems to hate me enough to try. Frightening. Where have I failed them?)