Starburst

5

THERE WAS NO HELICOPTER FOR DR. DIETER VON KNEFHAUSEN this time, no, not even a car! He had to take, can one believe such things?, the subway! And then to scut­tle like some hunted rodent from the station to the White House perimeter; and then to mingle with those rabble along the fence, actually pretending to be one of them, until the captain of the mortar squad at the gate recognized him and tipped him a wink. And then he had to run, actually run like a fugitive criminal, all the way up the driveway, with the catcalls and the imprecations and even the thrown rocks and bits of offal following him all the way! Disgraceful! To be more exact, he corrected himself, dis­gracing; it was no accident that he was treated so shabbily, he was meant to feel humiliation.

Well . . . Inside the White House he settled himself and asked politely for the use of a washroom. What could one do? For every rise there was always some fall; he had known this, he had merely not expected it would be so quick. It made nothing! There could yet be still another rise, a rise that would astonish them all!

He combed his pale hair meticulously before the mirror. Knefhausen was a realist. He knew that for someone to be taken seriously it was valuable to have the appearance of someone who deserved to be taken seriously. The broad forehead and wide-set eyes, the strong bones of his face were of great value. Mature Polish men sometimes looked like this, and once the First Lady had asked if some drop of Polish blood explained that look of serene authority. "My family, it is true, came originally from Stettin," he acknowl­edged, "and that is now the Polish city of Sczeczin. But from what I know of my grandfather, if there was any flow of genes, Madam, it was quite in the opposite direction!"

He was breathing normally and in full possession of himself when he emerged from the washroom, and reconciled in advance to the fact that he would be told to cool his heels for a time before the President was ready. So he was. He sat, alert and upright but quite relaxed under the eyes of the guards with the Uzis, and opened his briefcase with the air of a man who is grateful for this unexpected chance to perform certain very necessary duties. And by and by, rereading the communique from the spaceship, he no longer had to pretend to be cheerful, he was so in fact. He even chuckled to himself a time or two at certain passages. "Happy in the service." "Like wow." "Kneflie would be proud of himself" —indeed Kneflie was! And proud of them as well, those little wonders out there! So brave, so strong!

He put down the crisp blue typescript from the NASA Mission Control and gazed unseeingly past the Marine guard, his expression pleased and proud. Knefhausen took as much pride in his eight little goslings as though they had been his own flesh and blood—no, more, even! Everybody knew that the Alpha-Aleph project was Knefhausen's baby. Not everyone knew, because he did not advertise it, that in his own mind they were his children. They were the pick of the western world, without question! And he had picked them, he had put them where they were.

His eyes focused as something fluttered past the window— good heavens, a kite, with something quite disgusting painted on it! What a difference between those clean, true spacefarers and Herr Omnesl He could hear the distant chanting; such people, they had nothing better to do than to harass the people who were making the world go, such great lumps! Dirty hair, dirtier morals. But the heavens belonged only to angels, and it was Dieter von Knefhausen who had chosen who the angels should be!

He snorted loudly, startling the Marine lieutenant, whose attention had been drifting. The chopper in his hand swerved toward Knefhausen, but he did not notice. Yes, he had done it! He had established the selection procedures. (And if he had done some things that could perhaps be criticized to make sure the procedures worked, then what of it?) It was he who had conceived and adapted the very recreation schedule, and above all he who had persuaded the President to make the entire project come true! That was what really counted. The hardware? It was nothing, only money. The basic scientific concepts were known. Most of the components were even on the shelves already, it took only will to put them together. That will would not have existed if it had not been for Knefhausen's own will. It was Knefhausen who created the program; Knefhausen who announced Hauptmann's discovery of the planet Alpha-Aleph from his radio-observatory on Farside—Knefhausen even who named the observatory that, although as everyone realized he could have called it by any name he chose, even his own. It was Knefhausen who carried on the fight for the project by every means available until the President bought it.

It had been a hard, bitter struggle. He reminded himself with courage that the worst was still ahead. No matter! Whatever it cost, it was now begun. And it was worthwhile. These reports from the Constitution already proved it. Everything was going as planned—

He paused and corrected himself justly. Not everything. No. It was yet possible for all to go awry. But he would not let it, be sure of that!

"Excuse me, Dr. Knefhausen."

He looked up, snatched back from almost half a light- year away.

"I said the President will see you now, Dr. Knefhausen," the usher repeated.

"Ah," said Knefhausen. "Oh, yes, to be sure. I was deep in thought."

"Yes, sir. This way, sir."

She led the way, and as Knefhausen rose to follow the lieutenant and two Marine privates fell in behind. This was new! To be marched along with guards fore and aft, like a condemned felon on his way to the headsman! And they did not take him at once to the President. The usher conducted him to a small, bare room and remained outside while the Marines crowded in behind. They ordered him to strip. Down to bare skin, while the privates handed each garment to the lieutenant and the lieutenant turned out every pocket and investigated every seam, and then they searched the bare skin! Yes, like a mother checking a child's armpits, or a doctor looking for hemorrhoids!

This, now. Yes, this was really new.

And when they were through he was allowed to dress and invited to sit in a straight-backed wooden chair, in that same room, while the Marines waited for some signal from outside, and the weapons were openly in their hands.

In spite of that silly young woman's use of the word "now," the signal did not come at once. Through a little window Knefhausen had time to observe what there was to see in the White House grounds. This was not much. The action was beyond the fence, where the demonstrators seemed to be increasing in numbers and in vigor.

Perhaps, Knefhausen thought wryly, he had chosen a poor time to join the councils of the mighty. Power was seeping away from the organs of government, and erupting in places which were worrisome and distasteful. Such goings-on! A black riot in Atlanta, Georgia, with twenty-two dead and some of the handsomest new buildings torched to the ground. A power failure in Chicago, and the whole Loop in the hands of looters and muggers for six long, frightful nights.

The police were barely in control. Perhaps they were not in control at all, except where there survived still some consensus of obedience to law, and those places were more rare each day. If one took the Washington subway, as Knefhausen had just done, one could see the spectrum of police authority. In downtown, governmental Washington there was no smoking on the subway, no spitting, no loud playing of radios, and the transit cops wrote out summonses for offenders. Between D Street and Georgetown police eyes were closed against minor violations, but still the person and property of the riders was safe. From Georgetown on the smoking was widespread. And not only of tobacco. And not only smoking. The works came out at Georgetown, and the eager addicts sought their needles, and the cops rode two in a car, and only in one car of a train. In the rest of the train King Mob made his own rules, and what any transit cop sought in that section was not glory. It was only survival.

It was quite a shame. Even one's well-earned perquisites were devalued. Sometimes abolished entirely. His lecture tour had been interrupted, and finally terminated, by ridiculous demonstrators. In Pittsburgh it was illegal aliens demanding an end to deportation to Mexico. In Cleveland, Detroit, and two universities in Ohio, it was protest against the President's decision to assist friendly African governments against their Moslem revolutionaries. In every city, everywhere, there was a constant outcry from the unemployed and the welfare clients. And such terrible injustice! For none of these things, not one of them, was in any sense the proper responsibility of Dieter von Knefhausen! In the fabric of society the seams were pulling loose!

But, of course, Knefhausen had not chosen this time. It was simply the time he had been born in. The prudent man wasted no tears in bemoaning the absence of what simply no longer existed. The prudent man used his strength on achieving what was possible, and Dieter von Knefhausen had achieved very, very much!

The door opened, and the usher looked in. Knefhausen shook himself and focused on what had been before his unseeing eyes all along: new turmoil at the outside gates, a thin blue cloud of tear gas, distant, furious shouting. "Ah, King Mob is busy," he observed.

The woman glanced at him incuriously. "There's no danger, sir. Through here, please."

The President was in his private study, but to Knefhausen's surprise he was not alone. There was yet another Marine corporal with a weapon, which one could understand. But there were four other men in the room. Knefhausen recognized them as Murray Amos, the President's personal secretary; the Secretary of State; the Speaker of the House; and, of all people, the Vice President. How extraordinary, Knefhausen thought, for what was described as a confidential briefing for the President alone! But he rallied quickly.

"Excuse me, Mr. President," he said cheerfully. "I thought you were ready for our little talk, but perhaps that silly girl has brought me in too soon."

"No, I'm ready, Knefhausen," said the President. The cares of his years in the White House rested heavily on him today. He looked very old and tired, and the famous overbite was very clear. "You will tell these gentlemen what you would have told me."

"Ah, yes, I see," said Knefhausen, to conceal the fact that he did not see at all. Surely the President did not mean what his words said; therefore it was necessary to try to understand what was in his thoughts. "Yes, to be sure. Here is something, Mr. President. A new report from the Constitution! Very gratifying! It was received by burst transmission from the Lunar Orbiter via Goldstone just an hour ago, and has just come from the decoding room. Let me read it to you. Our brave astronauts are proceeding splendidly, just as we planned. They say—"

"Don't read it to us just now," said the President harshly. "We'll no doubt want to hear it, but first there's something else. I want you to tell this group the full story of the Alpha- Aleph project."

"Ah, yes, Mr. President, the full story." Knefhausen hung on gamely. "Of course. You wish me to begin with the very beginning, when first we realized at the lunar observatory that we had located a planet—"

"No, Knefhausen. Not the cover story. The truth." "Mr. President!" cried Knefhausen in sudden agony. "I must inform you that I protest this premature disclosure of vital data!"

"The truth, Knefhausen!" shouted the President. It was the first time Knefhausen had ever heard him raise his voice. "It won't go out of this room, but you must tell them everything. Tell them why it is that the Russians are right and we are lying to the world! Tell them why we sent those human beings on a suicide mission, with orders to land on a planet that we have always known does not exist!"