'A pouch from Venus. We decoded it, and we think it deserves your immediate attention. We didn't phone the contents because of tappers on the wires.' Weems handed over the decodings, marked very prominently in red: CONFIDENTIAL—MAKE NO COPIES.
Osgood scanned them and heaved himself to his feet. 'Gad!' he grunted. 'We must brook no delay—arm to 'the teeth!' He turned on his dictaphone. 'Henry!' he snorted. 'Listen to this! To Bureau of Protocol—' Dr. Carewe snapped off the dictaphone and shoved him back into his well-padded chair.
'This,' she said between her teeth, 'is entirely up to you. Take it from us, immediate action is demanded to smooth over this incident. You won't be able to pass the buck on to some other department; this is right in your lap. And you won't be able to delay the affair until you've forgotten it; even you can see that. Now, what are you going to do?'
Osgood considered the matter with great dignity for two full minutes.
Finally he announced, 'I don't know.'
'My suggestion is that you appoint Mr. Weems here a sort of goodwill ambassador for special, but very vague, work. And give him an unlimited expense account. This thing mustn't get any further. Keep it between us three that the message arrived officially on Earth. The fiction will be that it was lost in space and that nobody has received official confirmation of the Aristotle. Any unofficial reports will be considered as sensational tales concocted by newscasters. That's the only way to keep Earth off the spot. And what a spot it is!'
'I see,' said Osgood. 'Be advised that I shall follow your suggestions—
as closely as is compatible with the dignity of this Office.'
Outside, she informed Weems, 'That last was face-saving and nothing else. From here we go to Venus— spreading sweetness and light. Always remember, young man, that our interceptor rockets are pretty good, but that the Venus bombers are pretty damned good.'
'War,' mused Weems. 'Nobody wins, really—it wouldn't be nice to see New York blown to pieces, even though we could do exactly the same thing to Venusport. Sweetness and light it is.'
Venus politics are no joke. The fish-faced little people have at least two parties per acre and the dizziest system of alliances and superalliances that ever bewildered a struggling young diplomat. Typically, there were absolutely no points of agreement among any of the parties as to foreign policy, and yet the Venusian embassies spoke with authority that was backed up by a united planet. Their military forces were likewise held in common by all the countries, but there were 'state militias' engaged in intramural activities and constant border fighting.
Weems knew the language, and that was one very great advantage; also, he spent the long rocket trip to the foggy planet in learning what he could of the political setup. He arrived with a fanfare of trumpets; at the pier he was greeted by a score of minor officials. This was a deliberate insult from the Venusian army, for not a single high-ranking officer was present. He glossed it over for the sake of a splendid ovation from the population of Venusport, who were thoroughly hopped up with esteem for him. He was the shining young man who would assure peace and prosperity for the two inner planets, and the populace was all for him.
But, he knew very well, if one nasty word came from Earth, officially recognizing the Aristotle, their mood would change suddenly and savagely. And that was what he had to be ready for. He didn't trust the fat-headed Osgood.
From city to city he made a grand tour, speaking with very little accent before huge audiences of the little people and meeting few really high-up officials. Everywhere he went he met with disapproval from the public officials.
'How,' he complained to Dr. Carewe, 'they get together on a complicated issue like disliking me, I don't understand.'
With a grim look about the hotel room, she explained, 'It's the army.
They must be partly in the pay of Mars. You're the finest thing that's happened in the way of friendly relations between Earth and Venus. If you take root long enough to get your message over, they won't be able to pounce on Earth, to the benefit of nobody except the red planet. So they're trying to cool things off.' Again the nervous glance around the room.
'What's that for?'
'Dictaphones. But I don't think there are any. So at the risk of getting mushy I'm going to tell you what I think of your job. I think you're working like a madman, with some of the finest, single-hearted devotion to the cause of peace that I've ever seen. If you keep this up and handle the rest of your life the way you're handling this part you won't be immortal—not the way Osgood is going to be, with a bust in the rotunda of the capitol and a chapter in the history books.
'No, you're going to be something different. There are going to be Venusians—and Martians and Earthmen— who'll talk about you many, many years from now. About how their fathers and grandfathers stood in the rain to hear you talk.' She looked over her spectacles. 'Which reminds me—get out on that balcony and don't make any slips.'
He pressed the very old, very great lady's hand silently, then, mopping his brow, stepped out to the ledge beyond his window. It was in the twilight zone of perpetual rain, and the crowd of white pates and faces before him was hardly visible through the wisps of steam. He looked about uneasily as he turned on the fog-piercing lights that flooded him with a golden glow, so that the Venusians could see their superman. As he began to speak into the mike at his lips, there was a hoot of reproof from the crowd. And then there were others. Something was going the rounds; he could feel it.
Very distinctly there was a shrill cry from the sea of faces, 'Liar!' And others echoed it, again and again. He tried to speak, but was howled down. A firm hand snapped off the lights and closed the window; Dr.
Carewe dropped him into a chair, limp and shocked. She handed him a slip of paper that had just been delivered.
With her lips tightly compressed she said, 'They knew before we did.
Osgood spilled it—all.'
They shot to Mars before assassins could take any tries at them. Weems was completely washed up and discredited on Venus; knew it and felt like it. What had his fine words been in the face of a stern, righteous declaration from the Foreign Office on Earth to the Foreign Office on Venus—gleefully published far and wide by the Mars-bribed officers in the latter—hurling the most frightful accusations of violating diplomatic immunity?
God only knew, brooded Weems, why Osgood had chosen precisely that moment to sound off. He had said fighting words, too: '—back up our determination to shield the weak with deeds as well as—' Ugh! What was the matter with Osgood? The Martians couldn't touch Earth's Foreign Office; they bred them dumb but honest there. Why had Osgood—? Did he want to be an Iron Man? Did he think he could get further faster in time of war? Or did he actually, honestly believe that by this halfwitted note insulting a friendly planet on account of a mere violation of etiquette he was striking a blow for justice and equality?
It probably was just that, Weems decided. And Dr. Carewe agreed.
When they landed on the red planet Weems felt very low, and was scarcely given a new lease on life by the warm reception he received from Martian notables. He was welcomed Earth fashion, with a band and speeches from a platform to twenty thousand cheering Martians.
They could afford to treat him kindly; he'd failed utterly and miserably to block a new, magnificent source of income to Mars—the onrushing Earth-Venus war.
Mars wouldn't get into it. Oh, no! Mars didn't need colonies or prestige.
When you have a navy like the Martian Matriarchal Fleet you don't need colonies or prestige. You just sit tight and sell the scrappers your second-rate equipment at premium prices.
At his first official reception he stood nervously among the ladies of the court. He had just received news from the Earth diplomatic colony that Venus had replied to Earth with a note just as stiff, charging that Earth was impeaching the authority of the Venusian Foreign Office with respect to its planetary jurisdiction. In plain language that meant: 'Our army is bigger and better than yours. Knock this chip off—if you dare!'
One of the elegant ladies of the Matriarchal court sidled up to him. 'We were presented to each other when you landed,' she said, in French.
'Of course!' he said delightedly. 'I remember you perfectly!' But all Martians looked alike to him.
'I was wondering, Mr. Weems, whether you would care to attend a party I'm giving tomorrow evening. I feel there would be features extremely entertaining to you.'
'Delighted, madame!' He beckoned over Dr. Carewe.
