Costigan strolled on until he met Jack Kinnison, who had a rapidly-developing mouse under his left eye.
“How did that happen, Jack?” he demanded sharply. “Something slip?”
“Not exactly.” Kinnison grinned ruefully. “I have the damndest luck! A woman—an old lady at that—thought I was staging a holdup and swung on me with her handbag—southpaw and from the rear. And if you laugh, you untuneful harp, I’ll hang one right on the end of your chin, so help me!”
“Far be it from such,” Costigan assured him, and did not—quite—laugh. “Wonder how we came out? They should have reported before this—p-s-s-t! Here it comes!”
Decontamination was complete; Operation Zunk had been a one-hundred-percent success; there had been no casualties.
“Except for one black eye,” Costigan could not help adding; but his Lens and his Service Specials were off. Jack would have brained him if any of them had been on.
Linking arms, the two young Lensmen strode away toward Ramp Four, which was to be their station.
This was the largest crowd Earth had ever known. Everybody, particularly the Nationalists, had wondered why this climactic political rally had been set for three full weeks ahead of the election, but their curiosity had not been satisfied. Furthermore, this meeting had been advertised as no previous one had ever been; neither pains nor cash had been spared in giving it the greatest buildup ever known. Not only had every channel of communication been loaded for weeks, but also Samms’ workers had been very busily engaged in starting rumors; which grew, as rumors do, into things which their own fathers and mothers could not recognize. And the baffled Nationalists, trying to play the whole thing down, made matters worse. Interest spread from North America to the other continents, to the other planets, and to the other solar systems.
Thus, to say that everybody was interested in, and was listening to, the Cosmocrats’ Grand Rally would not be too serious an exaggeration.
Roderick Kinnison stepped up to the battery of microphones; certain screens were cut.
“Fellow entities of Civilization and others: while it may seem strange to broadcast a political rally to other continents and to beam it to other worlds, it was necessary in this case. The message to be given, while it will go into the political affairs of the North American Continent of Tellus, will deal primarily with a far larger thing; a matter which will be of paramount importance to all intelligent beings of every inhabited world. You know how to attune your minds to mine. Do it now.”
He staggered mentally under the shock of encountering practically simultaneously so many minds, but rallied strongly and went on, via Lens:
“My first message is not to you, my fellow Cosmocrats, nor to you, my fellow dwellers on Earth, nor even to you, my fellow adherents to Civilization; but to the enemy. I do not mean my political opponents, the Nationalists, who are almost all loyal fellow North Americans. I mean the entities who are using the leaders of that Nationalist party as pawns in a vastly larger game.
“I know, enemy, that you are listening. I know that you had goon squads in this audience, to kill me and my superior officer. Know now that they are impotent. I know that you had atomic bombs, with which to obliterate this assemblage and this entire area. They have been disassembled and stored. I know that you had large supplies of radioactive dusts. They now lie in the Patrol vaults near Weehauken. All the devices which you intended to employ are known, and all save one have been either nullified or confiscated.
“That one exception is your war-fleet, a force sufficient in your opinion to wipe out all the Armed Forces of the Galactic Patrol. You intended to use it in case we Cosmocrats win this forthcoming election; you may decide to use it now. Do so if you like; you can do nothing to interrupt or to affect this meeting. This is all I have to say to you, Enemy of Civilization.
“Now to you, my legitimate audience. I am not here to deliver the address promised you, but merely to introduce the real speaker—First Lensman Virgil Samms. …”
A mental gasp, millions strong, made itself tellingly felt.
“… Yes—First Lensman Samms, of whom you all know. He has not been attending political meetings because we, his advisers, would not let him. Why? Here are the facts. Through Archibald Isaacson, of Interstellar Spaceways, he was offered a bribe which would in a few years have amounted to some fifty billion credits; more wealth than any individual entity has ever possessed. Then there was an attempt at murder, which we were able—just barely—to block. Knowing there was no other place on Earth where he would be safe, we took him to the Hill. You know what happened; you know what condition the Hill is in now. This warfare was ascribed to pirates.
“The whole stupendous operation, however, was made in a vain attempt to kill one man—Virgil Samms. The Enemy knew, and we learned, that Samms is the greatest man who has ever lived. His name will last as long as Civilization endures, for it is he, and only he, who can make it possible for Civilization to endure.
“Why was I not killed? Why was I allowed to keep on making campaign speeches? Because I do not count. I am of no more importance to the cause of Civilization than is my opponent Witherspoon to that of the Enemy.
“I am a wheel-horse, a plugger. You all know me—‘Rocky Rod’ Kinnison, the hard-boiled egg. I’ve got guts enough to stand up and fight for what I know is right. I’ve got the guts and the inclination to stand up and slug it out, toe to toe, with man, beast, or devil. I would make and will make a good president; I’ve got the guts and inclination to keep on slugging after you elect me; before God I promise to smash down every machine-made crook who tries to hold any part
