"Killed five people," Melith stated.
"But — damn it, man, this isn't fair! You didn't arrest him, give him a trial, the benefit of counsel —"
"How could I?" Melith asked, slightly annoyed. "We don't have any police to arrest people with and we don't have any legal system. Good Lord, you didn't expect me to just let him go on, did you? Our definition of a murderer is a killer of ten and he was well on his way. I couldn't just sit idly by. It's my duty to protect the people. I can assure you, I made careful inquiries."
"It isn't just!" Goodman shouted.
"Who ever said it was?" Melith shouted back. "What has justice got to do with Utopia?"
"Everything!" Goodman had calmed himself with an effort. "Justice is the basis of human dignity, human desire —"
"Now you're just using words," Melith said, with his usual good-natured smile. "Try to be realistic. We have created a Utopia for human beings, not for saints who don't need one.
We must accept the deficiencies of the human character, not pretend they don't exist. To our way of thinking, a police apparatus and a legal-judicial system all tend to create an atmosphere for crime and an acceptance of crime. It's better, believe me, not to accept the possibility of crime at all. The vast majority of the people will go along with you."
"But when crime does turn up as it inevitably does —"
"Only the potentiality turns up," Melith insisted stubbornly. "And even that is much rarer than you would think. When it shows up, we deal with it, quickly and simply."
"Suppose you get the wrong man?"
"We can't get the wrong man. Not a chance of it."
"Why not?"
"Because," Melith said, "anyone disposed of by a government official is, by definition and by unwritten law, a potential criminal."
Marvin Goodman was silent for a while. Then he said, "I see that the government has more power than I thought at first."
"It does," Melith said. "But not as much as you now imagine."
Goodman smiled ironically. "And is the Supreme Presidency still mine for the asking?"
"Of course. And with no strings attached. Do you want it?"
Goodman thought deeply for a moment. Did he really want it? Well, someone had to rule. Someone had to protect the people. Someone had to make a few reforms in this Utopian madhouse.
"Yes, I want it," Goodman said.
The door burst open and Supreme President Borg rushed in. "Wonderful! Perfectly wonderful! You can move into the National Mansion today. I've been packed for a week, waiting for you to make up your mind."
"There must be certain formalities to go through —"
"No formalities," Borg said, his face shining with perspiration. "None whatsoever. All we do is hand over the Presidential Seal; then I'll go down and take my name off the rolls and put yours on."
Goodman looked at Melith. The immigration minister's round face was expressionless.
"All right," Goodman said.
Borg reached for the Presidential Seal, started to remove it from his neck —
It exploded suddenly and violently.
Goodman found himself staring in horror at Borg's red, ruined head. The Supreme President tottered for a moment, then slid to the floor.
Melith took off his jacket and threw it over Borg's head. Goodman backed to a chair and fell into it. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"It's really a pity," Melith said. "He was so near the end of his term. I warned him against licensing that new spaceport. The citizens won't approve, I told him. But he was sure they would like to have two spaceports. Well, he was wrong."
"Do you mean — I mean — how — what —"
"All government officials," Melith explained, "wear the badge of office, which contains a traditional amount of tessium, an explosive you may have heard of. The charge is radio-controlled from the Citizens Booth. Any citizen has access to the Booth, for the purpose of expressing his disapproval of the government." Melith sighed. "This will go down as a permanent black mark against poor Borg's record."
"You let the people express their disapproval by blowing up officials?" Goodman croaked, appalled.
"It's the only way that means anything," said Melith "Check and balance. Just as the people are in our hands, so we are in the people's hands.".
"And that's why he wanted me to take over his term. Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"You didn't ask," Melith said, with the suspicion of a smile, "Don't look so horrified. Assassination is always possible, you know, on any planet, under any government. We try to make it a constructive thing. Under this system, the people never lose touch with the government, and the government never tries to assume dictatorial powers. And, since everyone knows he can turn to the Citizens Booth, you'd be surprised how sparingly it's used. Of course, there are always hotheads —"
Goodman got to his feet and started to the door, not looking at Borg's body.
"Don't you still want the Presidency?" asked Melith.
"No!
"That's so like you Terrans," Melith remarked sadly. "You want responsibility only if it doesn't incur risk. That's the wrong attitude for running a government."
"You may be right," Goodman said. "I'm just glad I found out in time."
He hurried home.
His mind was in a complete turmoil when he entered his house. Was Tranai a Utopia or a planetwide insane asylum? Was there much difference? For the first time in his life, Goodman was wondering if Utopia was worth having. Wasn't it better to strive for perfection than to possess it? To have ideals rather than to live by them? If justice was a fallacy, wasn't the fallacy better than the truth?
Or was it? Goodman was a sadly confused young man when he shuffled into his house and found his wife in the arms of another man.
The scene had a terrible slow-motion clarity in his eyes. It seemed to take Janna forever to rise to her feet, straighten her disarranged clothing and stare at him open-mouthed. The man — a tall, good-looking fellow whom Goodman had never before seen — appeared too startled to speak. He made small, aimless gestures, brushing the lapel of his jacket, pulling down, his cuffs.
Then, tentatively, the man smiled.
"Well!" Goodman said. It was feeble enough, under the circumstances, but it had its effect. Janna started to cry.
"Terribly sorry," the man murmured. "Didn't expect you home for hours. This must come as a shock to you. I'm terribly sorry."
The one thing Goodman hadn't expected or wanted was sympathy from his wife's lover. He ignored the man and stared at the weeping Janna.
"Well, what did you expect?" Janna screamed at him suddenly. "I had to! You didn't love me!"
"Didn't love you! How can you say that?"
"Because of the way you treated me."
"I loved you very much, Janna," he said softly.
"You didn't!" she shrilled, throwing back her head. "Just look at the way you treated me. You kept me around all day, every day, doing housework, cooking, sitting. Marvin, I could feel myself aging. Day after day, the same weary, stupid routine. And most of the time, when you came home, you were too tired to even notice me. All you could talk about was your stupid robots! I was being wasted, Marvin, wasted!"
It suddenly occurred to Goodman that his wife was unhinged. Very gently he said, "But, Janna, that's how life is. A husband and wife settle into a companionable situation. They age together side by side. It can't all be high spots —"
"But of course it can! Try to understand, Marvin. It can, on Tranai — for a woman!"
"It's impossible," Goodman said.
"On Tranai, a woman expects a life of enjoyment and pleasure. It's her right, just as men have their rights. She expects to come out of stasis and find a little party prepared, or a walk in the moonlight, or a swim, or a movie." She began to cry again. "But you were so smart. You had to change it. I should have known better than to trust a Terran."