The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 463
Over the next few days Stanisland waited with secret pleasure for a call from Taylor. It never came. Unknown to him, Taylor had phoned Keith to find out what had happened, if anything. Taylor then realized that an interview with Stanisland would permit that worthy a moment of petty triumph. It was unthinkable that a senior should permit a subordinate to gloat. He would summon Stanisland into his presence when and only when he had some pretext for throwing him to the crocodiles. So Stanisland went on waiting, first with growing disappointment, then with dull resignation, finally with forgetfulness.
The weeks rolled on while the wad of papers crawled through various offices and gained in mass at each desk. Then one day it reached the Documents (Final Checking) Department. It now weighed five pounds and was solid with words, figures, stamps, names and signatures.
From this mountain of evidence some assiduous toiler dug out the strange word Nemo. His nose started twitching. He made a few discreet inquiries and satisfied himself that (a) someone had blundered and (b) the cretin was not located within his own office. Then he steered the wad toward the Spatial Statistics Department.
FAR AWAY on Alipan a copy of the Starfire's manifest landed on Hancock's desk. He scanned it carefully. Most of the stuff had been demanded three to four years ago. But he had a very good memory and the moment his eyes found an irradiator the alarm-bells rang in his brain. He was swift to give the list to Purcell.
"You'd better deal with this."
"Me? Why? You got writer's cramp or something?"
"The ship is bringing an expensive present for a planet that doesn't exist. I don't handle consignments for imaginary worlds."
"Windy, eh?" said Purcell.
"Sane," said Hancock.
Examining the manifest, Purcell grumbled, "It's taken them long enough. Nobody broke his neck to get it here. If scout-pilots moved at the same pace, Lewis and Clarke would still be pounding their dogs along the Oregon Trail."
"I am," announced Hancock, "sick and tired of the subject of scout-pilots."
"And where would you have been without them?"
"On Terra."
"Doing what?"
"Earning an honest living," said Hancock.
"Yeah—filling forms;" said Purcell.
Hancock let it slide and pretended to be busy.
"Now this is where our right to determine priorities reaches its peak of usefulness," Purcell went on, flourishing the manifest as if it were the flag of freedom. "We issue an overriding priority in favor of our bugologist, his need being greater than Nemo's. The fly-killer will then be transferred to him without argument because nobody questions a proper form, properly filled, properly stamped and properly signed. Thus we shall have served humanity faithfully and well."
"You can cut out every 'we' and 'our'," ordered Hancock. "I am having nothing to do with it." He put on another brief imitation of overwork, added as an afterthought, "I told you before, you can't buck the system."
"I have bucked it."
"Not yet," said Hancock positively.
Taking no notice, Purcell made out the priority, stamped it, signed it, studied it right way up and upside-down, signed it again.
"I've forged your signature. Do you mind?"
"Yes," yelled Hancock.
"I am receiving you loud and clear." Purcell examined the forgery with unashamed satisfaction. "Too bad. It's done now. What's done can't be undone."
"I'd like you to know, Purcell, that in the event of that document being challenged I shall not hesitate to declare my signature false."
"Quite a good idea," enthused Purcell. "I'll swear mine is false also."
"You wouldn't dare," said Hancock, appalled.
"It'll take 'em at least ten years to figure who's the liar and even then they couldn't bet on it," continued Purcell with indecent gusto. "In the meantime I'll suggest that maybe every document of Alipan's and half of Terra's have phony signatures attributable to subordinates by-passing their seniors in order to avoid criticisms and conceal mistakes. The resulting chaos ought to create work for ten thousand checkers."
"You're off your head," declared Hancock.
"Well, you can keep me company," Purcell suggested. He exhibited the manifest at distance too far for the other to read. "I've got news for you."
"What is it?"
"No gin."
Hancock sat breathing heavily for quite a time, then said, "You're to blame for that."
"Nuts! I've no say in what Terra loads on or leaves off."
"But—"
"If you've told me once," Purcell went on remorselessly, "you've told me a hundred times that in no circumstances whatever will any department on Alipan accept responsibility for decisions made on Terra. Correct?"
"Correct," agreed Hancock as though surrendering a back tooth.
"All right. You ordered the gin and can prove it. You gave it high priority and can prove it. You're armor-plated front and back. All you need do is go see Letheren and say, 'Sorry, no gin.' When he zooms and rotates you say, 'Terra!' and spit. It's so easy a talking poodle could do it."
"I can hardly wait to watch you get rid of Nemo the same way," said Hancock, making it sound sadistic.
"Nobody has said a word about Nemo. Nobody is the least bit curious about Nemo. Finally I, James Walter Armitage Purcell, could not care less about Nemo."
"You will," Hancock promised.
IN DUE time—which on Alipan attained the magnitude of about three months—the intercom speaker squawked on the wall and a voice harshed, "Mr. Purcell of Requisitioning (Priorities) Department will present himself at Mr. Vogel's office at eleven hours."
Hancock glanced at his desk clock, smirked and said, "You've got exactly thirty-seven minutes."
"For what?"
"To prepare for death."
"Huh?"
"Vogel is a high-ranker with ninety-two subordinates. He controls four departments comprising the Terran Co-ordination Wing."
"What of it?"
"He makes a hobby of personally handling all gripes from Terra. Anyone summoned by Vogel is a gone goose unless he happens to be holding the actual documentary proof of his innocence in his hot little hands."
"Sounds quite a nice guy," Purcell commented, unperturbed.
"Vogel," informed Hancock, "is a former advertising man who got flat-footed toting his billboard around the block. But he's a natural for routine rigmarole. He's climbed high on the shoulders of a growing army of underlings and he's still climbing." He paused, added emphatically, "I don't like him."
"So it seems," said Purcell dryly.
"A lot of people don't like him. Letheren hates the sight of him."
"That so? I don't suppose he's choked with esteem for Letheren either, eh?"
"Vogel loves nothing but power—which in this racket means seniority."
"Hm-m-m!" Purcell thought a bit, went out, came back after twenty minutes, thought some more.
"Where've you been?" asked Hancock.
"Accounts Department."
"Getting your pay while the going is good?"
"No. I have merely satisfied myself that one hundred and five equals seventeen hundred."
"It wouldn't save you even if it made sense." Hancock continued to busy himself with nothing and kept one eye on the clock. When the moment arrived he said, "On your way. I hope you suffer."
"Thanks."
Opening his desk Purcell extracted an enormous roll of paper, tucked it under one arm. He tramped out, found his way to the rendezvous, entered the office. Vogel, dark-eyed, dark-haired and swarthy, studied him without expression.
"Sit down, Purcell." He bared long, sharp teeth and somehow managed to look like Red Riding Hood's grandmother. "Terra has brought to my attention a demand originating from a planet named Nemo."
"That, sir, is—"
Vogel waved an imperious hand. "Please be silent, Purcell, until I have finished. Your own remarks can come afterward." Again the teeth. "A lot of very valuable time has been spent checking on this. I like to have all the facts before interviewing the person concerned."
"Yes, sir," said Purcell, nursing his roll of paper and looking suitably impressed.
"I have found firstly that Terra's statement is quite correct; such a demand was in fact made and you processed it. Secondly, that the subject of the demand, an irradiator, was transferred by you to an address upon this planet. Thirdly, that no planet discovered before or since the date of this demand has been officially given the name of Nemo." He put hands together in an attitude of prayer. "One can well imagine the trouble and exasperation caused on Terra. I trust, Purcell, that you have a thoroughly satisfactory explanation to offer."
"I think I have, sir," assured Purcell glibly.
"I'll be glad to hear it."
"The whole bother is due to someone on Terra jumping to the erroneous and unjustifiable conclusion that Nemo is the name of a planet when in fact it is a code word used by my department to indicate a tentative priority as distinct from a definite one."
"A tentative priority?" echoed Vogel, raising sardonic eyebrows. "What nonsense is this? Don't you realize, Purcell, that all demands must be rated strictly in order of importance or urgency and that there is no room for indecision? How can anything have a tentative priority?"
"I find it rather difficult to tell you, sir," said Purcell, radiating self-righteousness.
"I insist upon an explanation," Vogel gave back.
ASSUMING just the right touch of pain and embarrassment, Purcell informed, "Since cargo-space is severely limited the problem of granting priorities is a tough one. And when a senior official practically orders my department to assign to his demand a priority higher than it deserves it follows that, if we obey, something, else of similar weight or bulk must accept lower priority than it deserves. But regulations do not permit me to reduce the status of a high-priority demand. Therefore I am compelled to give it a tentative priority, meaning that it will gain its proper loading-preference providing nobody chips in to stop it."
A gleam came into Vogel's eyes. "That is what happened in this case?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
"In other words, you claim that you are suffering unwarranted interference with the work of your department?"
"That," said Purcell with becoming reluctance, "is putting it a little stronger than I'd care to do."
"Purcell, we must get to the bottom of this and now is not the time to mince words. Exactly what were you ordered to ship at high priority?"
"Gin, sir."
"Gin?" A mixture of horror and incredulity came into Vogel's face. But it swiftly faded to be replaced by a look of suppressed triumph, "Who ordered you to bring in gin?"
"I'd rather not say, sir."
"Was it Letheren?"
Purcell said nothing but assumed the expression of one who sorrows for Letheren's soul.
Gratified by this, Vogel purred. He rubbed his hands together, became positively amiable. "Well, Purcell, it appears to me that you have been guilty of no more than a small oversight. Should you find it necessary to employ code-words as a matter of administrative convenience it is obvious that Terra should be notified through the proper channels. Without regular notification Terra would eventually find itself trying to cope with incomprehensible jargon. An impossible situation as doubtless you now appreciate, eh, Purcell?"
"Yes, sir," said Purcell, humble and grateful.
"But in the present circumstances it would not be wise to advise Terra of the true meaning of Nemo. To do so would be tantamount to admitting that our priority system is being messed up at anybody's whim. I hope you see my point, Purcell."
"I do, sir."
"Therefore I propose to inform Terra that the inclusion of this word was due to a departmental error born of overwork and lack of sufficient manpower." He exposed the teeth. "That will give them something to think about."
"I'm sure it will, sir."
"Purcell, I wish you to drop the use of all code-words except with my knowledge and approval. Meanwhile I shall take the steps necessary to put a stop to any further interference with your department."
"Thank you, sir." Purcell stood up, fumbled with his roll of paper, looked hesitant.
"Is there something else?" asked Vogel.
"Yes, sir." Purcell registered doubt, reluctance, then let the words come out in a rush. "I thought this might be an opportune moment to bring to your attention a new form I have devised."
"A form?"
"Yes, sir." He unrolled it, put one end in Vogel's hands. The other end reached almost to the wall. "This, sir, is a master-form to be filled up with the origin, purpose, details, progress and destination of every other form that has to be filled in. It is, so to speak, a form of forms."
"Really?" said Vogel, frowning.
"By means of this," continued Purcell greasily, "it will be possible to trace every form step by step, to identify omissions or contradictions and to name the individual responsible. Should a form get lost it will be equally possible to find at what point it disappeared and who lost it." He let that sink in, added, "From what I know of interdepartmental confusions, many of which are hidden from senior officials, I estimate that this form will save about twenty thousand man-hours per annum."
"Is that so?" said Vogel, little interested.
"There is one snag," Purcell went on. "In order to save all that work it will be necessary to employ more people. Since their work would be wholly co-ordinatory they would come under your jurisdiction, thus adding to your responsibilities."
"Ah!" said Vogel, perking up.
"In fact we'd have to create a new department to reduce the total of work done. However, I have studied the subject most carefully and I am confident that we could cope with a minimum of thirteen men."
"Thirteen?" echoed Vogel, counting on his fingers. He sat staring at the form while into his face crept a look of ill-concealed joy. "Purcell, I believe you have something here. Yes, I really do."
"Thank you, sir. I felt sure you would appreciate the potentialities. May I leave the form for your consideration?"
"By all means, Purcell." Vogel was now well-nigh jovial. Fondly he stroked the form, his fingers caressing it. "Yes, you must certainly leave it with me." He glanced up, beaming. "If anything is done about this, Purcell, I shall need someone to take charge of this new department. Someone who knows his job and in whom I have the fullest confidence. I cannot imagine a better candidate than yourself."
"It is kind of you to say so, sir," said Purcell with grave dignity.
He took his departure but as he left he turned in the doorway and for a moment their eyes met. A glance of mutual understanding sparked between them.
BACK IN his own office Purcell plonked himself in a chair and recited, "Whenever two soothsayers meet in the street they invariably smile at each other."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Hancock.
"I was quoting an ancient saying." He held up two fingers, tight together. "Vogel and I are just like that."
"You don't fool me," Hancock scoffed. "Your ears are still red."
"Vogel loves me and I love Vogel. I hit him right in his weak spot."
"He hasn't any weak spots, see?"
"All I did," said Purcell, "was point out to him that if the number of his subordinates should be increased from ninety-two to one hundred and five he'd be automatically jacked up from a Class 9 to a Class 8 official. That would gain him another seventeen hundred smackers per year plus extra privileges and, of course, a higher pension."
"Nobody has to tell Vogel that—he knows it better than anyone."
"All right. Let's say I merely reminded him. In return he was good enough to remind me that a disabled hero bossing twelve underlings is far better off than one sharing an office with a surly bum."
"I neither ask nor expect the true story of your humiliation," growled Hancock. "So you don't have to cover up with a lot of crazy double-talk."
"Some day," offered Purcell, grinning, "it may dawn upon you that it is possible to buck a system, any system. All you need do is turn the handle the way it goes—only more so!"
"Shut up," said Hancock, "and talk when you can talk sense."
The End
Now Inhale
Astounding – April 1959
HIS LEG irons clanked and his wrist chains jingled as they led him into the room. The bonds on his ankles compelled him to move at an awkward shuffle and the guards delighted in urging him onward faster than he could go. Somebody pointed to a chair facing the long table. Somebody else shoved him into it with such force that he lost balance and sat down hard.
The black brush of his hair jerked as his scalp twitched and that was his only visible reaction. Then he gazed across the desk with light gray eyes so pale that the pupils seemed set in ice. The look in them was neither friendly nor hostile, submissive nor angry; it was just impassively and impartially cold, cold.
On the other side of the desk seven Gombarians surveyed him with various expressions: triumph, disdain, satisfaction, boredom, curiosity, glee and arrogance. They were a humanoid bunch in the same sense that gorillas are humanoid. At that point the resemblance ended.
"Now," began the one in the middle, making every third syllable a grunt, "your name is Wayne Taylor?"
No answer.
"You have come from a planet called Terra?"
No response.
"Let us not waste any more time, Palamin," suggested the one on the left. "If he will not talk by invitation, let him talk by compulsion."
"You are right, Eckster." Putting a hand under the desk Palamin came up with a hammer. It had a pear-shaped head with flattened base. "How would you like every bone in your hands cracked finger by finger, joint by joint?"
"I wouldn't," admitted Wayne Taylor.
"A very sensible reply," approved Palamin. He placed the hammer in the middle of the desk, positioning it significantly. "Already many days have been spent teaching you our language. By this time a child could have learned it sufficiently well to understand and answer questions." He favored the prisoner with a hard stare. "You have pretended to be abnormally slow to learn. But you can deceive us no longer. You will now provide all the information for which we ask."
