Keilin curved the corners of his lips down and made a tiny gesture with one hand, deprecating the whole business
“And now,” continued Cellioni, “I presume you would like an explanation of all this.”
“I wouldn’t refuse one,” said Keilin.
“Unfortunately, it is difficult to know exactly how to explain. As Secretary of Information, my position is difficult. I must safeguard the security and well-being of Earth and, at the same time, observe our traditional freedom of the press. Naturally, and fortunately, we have no censorship, but just as naturally, there are times when we could almost wish we did have.”
“Is this,” asked Keilin, “with reference to me? About censorship, I mean?”
Cellioni did not answer directly. Instead, he smiled again, slowly, and with a remarkable absence of joviality.
He said: “You, Mr. Keilin, have one of the most widely heard and influential talecasts on the video. Therefore, you are of peculiar interest to the government.”
“The time is mine,” said Keilin, stubbornly. “I pay for it I pay taxes on the income I derive from it I adhere to all the common-law rulings on taboos. So I don’t quite see of what interest I can be to the government.”
“Oh, you misunderstand me. It’s my fault, I suppose, for not being clearer. You have committed no crime, broken no laws. I have only admiration for your journalistic ability. What I refer to is your editorial attitude at times.”
“With respect to what?”
“With respect,” said Cellioni, with a sudden harshness about his thin lips, “to our policy toward the Outer Worlds.”
“My editorial attitude represents what I feel and think, Mr. Secretary.”
“I allow this. You have your right to your feelings and your thoughts. Yet it is injudicious to spread them about nightly to an audience of half a billion.”
“Injudicious, according to you, perhaps. But legal, according to anybody.”
“It is sometimes necessary to place good of Country above a strict and selfish interpretation of legality.”
Keilin tapped his foot twice and frowned blackly.
“Look,” he said, “put this frankly. What is it you want?”
The Secretary of Information spread his hands out before him. “In a word-co-operation! Really, Mr. Keilin, we can’t have you weakening the will of the people. Do you appreciate the position of Earth? Six billions, and a declining food supply! It is insupportable! And emigration is the only solution. No patriotic Earthman can fail to see the justice of our position. No reasonable human being anywhere can fail to see the justice of it.”
Keilin said: “I agree with your premise that the population problem is serious, but emigration is not the only solution. In fact, emigration is the one sure way of hastening destruction.”
“Really? And why do you say that?”
“Because the Outer Worlds will not permit emigration, and you can force their hand by war only. And we cannot win a war. ”
“Tell me,” said Cellioni softly, “have you ever tried emigrating? It seems to me you could qualify. You are quite tall, rather light-haired, intelligent-”
The video-man Hushed. He said, curtly: “I have hay fever.”
“Well,” and the secretary smiled, “then you must have good reason for disapproving their arbitrary genetic and racist policies.”
Keilin replied with heat: “I won’t be influenced by personal motives. I would disapprove their policies, if I qualified perfectly for emigration. But my disapproval would alter nothing. Their policies are their policies, and they can enforce them. Moreover, their policies have some reason even if wrong. Mankind is starting again on the Outer Worlds, and they-the ones who got there first-would like to eliminate some of the Haws of the human mechanism that have become obvious with time. A hay fever sufferer is a bad egg-genetically. A cancer prone even more so. Their prejudices against skin and hair colors are, of course, senseless, but I can grant that they are interested in uniformity and homogeneity. And as for Earth, we can do much even without the help of the Outer Worlds.”
“For instance, what?”
“Positronic robots and hydroponic farming should be introduced, and-most of all-birth control must be instituted. An intelligent birth control, that is, based on firm psychiatric principles intended to eliminate the psychotic trends, congenital infirmities-”
“As they do in the Outer Worlds-”
“Not at all. I have mentioned no racist principles. I talk only of mental and physical infirmities that are held in common by all ethnic and racial groups. And most of all, births must be held below deaths until a healthful equilibrium is reached.”
Cellioni said, grimly: “We lack the industrial techniques and the resources to introduce a robot-hydroponic technology in anything less than five centuries. Furthermore, the traditions of Earth, as well as current ethical beliefs, forbid robot labor and false foods. Most of all, they forbid the slaughter of unborn children. Now, come, Keilin, we can’t have you pouring this out over video. It won’t work; it distracts the attention; it weakens the will.”
Keilin broke in, impatiently: “Mr. Secretary, do you want war?”
“Do I want war? That is an impudent question.”
“Then, who are the policy-makers in the government who do want war? For instance, who is responsible for the calculated rumor of the Pacific Project?”
“The Pacific Project? And where did you hear of that?”
“My sources are my secret.”
“Then, I’ll tell you. You heard of this Pacific Project from Moreanu of Aurora on his recent trip to Earth. We know more about you than you suppose, Mr. Keilin.”
“I believe that, but I do not admit that I received information from Moreanu. Why do you think I could get information from him? Is it because he was deliberately allowed to learn of this piece of trumpery?”
“Trumpery?”
“Yes. I think Pacific Project is a fake. A fake meant to inspire confidence. I think the government plans to let the so-called secret leak out in order to strengthen its war policy. It is part of a war of nerves on Earth’s own people, and it will be the ruin of Earth in the end.”
“And I will take this theory of mine to the people.”
“You will not, Mr. Keilin,” said Cellioni, quietly.
“I will.”
“Mr. Keilin, your friend, Ion Moreanu is having his troubles on Aurora, perhaps for being too friendly with you. Take care that you do not have equal trouble for being too friendly with him.”
“I’m not worried.” The video man laughed shortly, lunged to his feet and strode to the door.
Keilin smiled very gently when he found the door blocked by two large men: “You mean, I am under arrest right now.”
“Exactly,” said Cellioni.
“On what charge?”
“We’ll think of some later.”
Keilin left-under escort.
On Aurora, the mirror image of the afore-described events was taking place, and on a larger scale.
The Foreign Agents Committee of the Gathering had been meeting now for days-ever since the session of the Gathering in which Ion Moreanu and his Conservative Party made their great bid to force a vote of no confidence. That it had failed was in part due to the superior political generalship of the Independents, and in some part due to the activity of this same Foreign Agents Committee.
For months now, the evidence had been accumulating, and when the vote of confidence turned out to be sizably in favor of the Independents, the Committee was able to strike in its own way.
Moreanu was subpoenaed in his own home, and placed under house arrest. Although this procedure of house arrest was not, under the circumstances, legal-a fact emphatically pointed out by Moreanu-it was nevertheless successfully accomplished.
For three days Moreanu was cross-examined thoroughly, in polite, even tones that scarcely ever veered from unemotional curiosity. The seven inquisitors of the Committee took turns in questioning, but Moreanu had respite only for ten-minute intervals during the hours in which the Committee sat.