The Irritated People
By RAY BRADBURY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Charles Crossley, President of American Jet-Propelled Ships, felthimself spread-eagled in his favorite living room chair. The voiceon the televisor moaned. Europe. Crossley twitched. Secret atomicfactories. Crossley jerked. Semi-dictatorships. Crossley sweated.Political pressures. War. Crossley writhed.
His wife shut the televisor off indignantly. "Nonsense!" She staredat her limp husband. "Tri-Union hasn't any weapons, we haven't any,neither has Russia, Britain or anyone else. That was all settled andforbidden ages ago. When was it? 1960?"
Crossley stroked his receding hairline, sighing. "They're making atombombs in secret," he said. He littered the rug with cigar ash.
"Stop that!" cried his wife. "My nice rug!"
"The rug, oh, the confounded rug," he said, and muttered away, closinghis eyes for a long minute. Then he opened one eye. He looked at hiswife. He looked at the rug, the cigar in his hand, the fallen ashes.
"The rug?" He shut his eyes again. Five minutes later he leaped up withan explosion of sound. "The rug! I've got it! I've got it!" Heseized his wife, kissed her. "You are brilliant! I love you!That's it, that is it!"
He rushed madly off in the general direction of Europe!
Thus began the Tri-Union-American war of the year 1989.
The small jet-propelled ship crossed the Atlantic in fiery gusts. Init was Charles Crossley, a man with an idea. Behind it three thousandother ships tore along, putting space behind. They were his ships. Theybelonged to his company. He employed the men. This was his own privatewar.
"Ha!" Mr. Crossley laughed quite obviously.
The radio cut in on him. "Crossley?"
Crossley answered. "Speaking."
"This is the President, Crossley." The voice was sharp, and it fairlyheated the interior of the ship. "Turn back, in the name of commonsense. What are you up to! I'll seize your company!"
"This can't wait, Mr. President. We've been sweating it out for months.The Tri-Union won't admit it's setting up a fascistic skeleton inEurope, we can't find any proof they are, but there are rumors. We'vegot to get it out in the open. We can't wait. I'm sorry I have to actalone. Bombardiers?"
"Ready!" Three thousand voices.
"Crossley!" shouted the President, far away.
"Here comes Vienna!" Crossley jerked his hand down. "Bombloads,release!"
"Release!" Three thousand voices.
"Crossley!" The President.
"Bang!" said Crossley.
Pink confetti tumbled down through the clear cool summer air. Tonsand tons of pink, whirling confetti! Confetti by the bombload, threethousand cargoes of very pink, very fine confetti!
"And to think," mused Crossley happily, as he turned his ship homeward,"to think the entire idea came from spilling ashes on the rug! Hi-ho!"
The President of the United States shook his fist.
"You bombed them!"
Crossley yawned. "There is no law against dropping waste paper," hesaid, quietly.
"You at