called Harbor Island, and it was famous for two miles of pink beaches and a “decency of people rare anywhere in the world.”
“Good,” said Beatrice. “We can push them around.”
“Or buy them,” said Rubin.
“Why buy what you can bully?” said Beatrice.
“It's easier on my nerves,” said Rubin.
“Try another Percodan.”
“I'm running low.”
At Harbor Island the first part of the plan went into effect immediately. They purchased all the available hotel rooms. Then the call went out by phone, along the squeaky radiophone system, to all the Warriors of Zor.
“We are safe. We are here. Join us.”
And the call went out to all the franchises.
“Send us Powies. The moment of truth is at hand. Profits about to go through the roof. We have all been in the wrong business. About to make you all rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
Of course the reply was: what level Powies did the Dolomos want from their franchises? No one was going to give up the big spenders.
“I don't want money. I want believers. We'll pay the way down. Believers.”
“Believers mean money,” was the general answer.
“Then poor believers,” said Rubin.
“You mean the kids, the ones who want the future and try to sell Poweressence on the street corners?”
“Yes. Them. Anyone. We are ready to strike back. Beatrice says we're not taking it anymore.”
“That's why you had to leave the country in the first place, isn't it?” asked one of the franchise owners.
“We're going to have a place very shortly that we'll never have to leave. Have you ever wondered why Presidents don't go to jail and citizens do?”
“No,” said the franchise owner, who was more interested in a “Be Free from Eyeglasses” promotion Rubin had mentioned as an aside.
“Then,” said Rubin, “you will be bound by your pettiness forever. Do you want to play with sight enhancers all your life?”
“Rubin, if we can sell 'see without glasses' we can devastate the eyeglass market and put contacts out of business forever. Forever. Millions. I'm talking millions.
How many people are embarrassed to wear eyeglasses? We will own the geriatric market.”
“I don't know if it will work,” said Rubin.
“Doesn't matter. We just need people to believe it will work. Lots of diets don't work, Rubin, but people still belong to clubs and buy books.”
“Small change,” said Rubin. “You don't know how big we're going to be. As Beatrice says, we're not taking it anymore.”
Within two days the Warriors of Zor had arrived at Harbor Island, and Rubin, with his suitcases of cash, was able to put them all in a fine little resort that straddled the island in the middle, each with small bungalow cottages and central dining room.
“It's like a vacation,” said one man who sold insurance. To him Rubin entrusted the mission to the banking commission of the Bahamas.
“I want to open a bank,” said Rubin. He gave the man twelve inches of hundred-dollar bills to establish the proper credentials. Rubin Dolomo had his bank before sunset. But there were other things he was doing.
The Warriors of Zor would lead other Powies. With his own bank he could receive or give loans. The first thing he did was put the paper into it, and through a tangle of financial maneuvering got himself credit around the world.
The native population being open, honest, and friendly, he immediately established himself as ruler, with Beatrice as queen. Those who went along received a large, friendly stipend. Those who did not were threatened successfully.
Within three days of landing, the Dolomos had turned Harbor Island into their own preserve and announced independence from the Bahamas.
The Prime Minister of the Bahamas was quite rightly infuriated. Since the Bahamians had the good sense to avoid enemies and even the better luck to have an ocean between them and any neighbor, they had never needed an army. They sent their police force, a finely trained, disciplined, and polite constabulary, still retaining many British officers as well as equally competent natives, to subdue the rebellion.
The first wave got to the beach and were met with smiling, friendly people wearing rubber gloves and carrying cotton swabs. The first wave never reported back. The second wave went in with orders to let no one near. But by this time the Powies had the guns of the first waves. There was a slaughter on the beach.
And here Rubin showed his true skills. Instead of hunkering down, Rubin prepared an announcement for his new Secretary of State, a pleasant man who ran a souvenir shop featuring tall cups with bug eyes that stared back at the drinker.
“We are the Revolutionary People's Army of Harbor Island seeking to redress age-old oppression by Nassau, Eleuthera, and Great Britain, which made all these islands colonies. Our struggle will not stop until total freedom, total liberty, and total independence are achieved.”
Since Rubin had carefully kept himself and Beatrice out of sight and since it seemed as though these were truly natives conducting the rebellion, fourteen Third World countries offered them recognition immediately, and Russia sent a trade delegation to give them arms.
Just off the pink beach Rubin enlarged a crude factory into an underground bunker that could produce the memory formula. The Warriors of Zor trained the Powies who made it. Men of the Bahamian constabulary were allowed to play in the sand. No more tourists were allowed.
Rubin felt so good he was down to one Percodan an hour, and it was then that he told Beatrice:
“Your Majesty, we are ready.”
Beatrice chortled. She confided to her new minister, Oscar, the souvenir man:
“We're not taking it anymore.”
And then on a phone system as mysterious as the far reaches of the planet Neptune and sometimes just as inaccessible, she telephoned the State Department of the United States of America and told them she wanted to speak to the President on a matter of utmost urgency.
“And who is this?”
“This is Beatrice of Alarkin. We are a newly independent state and we can go either way. There already is a Russian delegation here willing to sell us all the weapons we might need.”
The President was on the phone in a half-hour.
“We certainly wish to extend the greetings of the American people to your new nation. However, we also have relations with the Bahamas and with Great Britain and I do believe that to be recognized, you must clear up the question of your legitimacy first.”
Thus spoke the President of the United States from his new office, with the State Department brief in front of him. Intelligence had reported a takeover of the small Bahamian island.
Under the new setup he touched nothing. No paper came to him, rather all material came through a computer screen. He was a healthy man for his seventy-odd years, and his mind was sharp. He didn't want to get America entangled in a revolution, especially one against nations that were friends. On the other hand, he wanted to keep communications open.
The name Alarkin struck a bell with him. But his two aides, now restricted to only entering the outer edge of the office, just shook their heads when he asked them what Alarkin reminded them of.
“Nothing, sir,” said the aides.
A door opened and a lemony-faced man in a gray three-piece suit stood in the doorway.
“I'm fine,” said the President.
And Smith left, shutting the door.
The aides had seen the man in the gray suit do that several times. One of them thought the man might be a personal physician but the other had been told he was a new private secretary. There were even rumors about an old Oriental who seemed to vanish when anyone saw him.
