MISRULE
by ROBERT SCOTT
Glen Wheatley thanked his lucky stars
for his good fortune every day of his
life ... every day, that is, but one!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The brick smashed through the window and skittered across the top ofGlen Wheatley's desk. He had already removed most of the breakables,but it caught a large plastic ash tray and sent it caroming off hischeekbone. A thin trickle of blood crept down his face.
"Good God, aren't they starting a little early this year?" BertHillary, who shared Wheatley's office, was obviously not expecting ananswer. He had been making it clear for the past hour (they had all gotto their desks an hour earlier for this day) that he was an old hand,while this was Glen's first experience of People's Day.
Glen knew that Hillary had been in the Civil Service only five or sixyears. He himself could hardly be accused of being an expert on theevery-four-years Day. Still, he waited for the older man to make thefirst move.
Hillary got up and peered cautiously out the shattered window. "Yeah,they're already boiling around the outer wall like yeast in a vat. Thatguy with the brick must have quite a pitching arm." Sweat stood out onhis forehead. He was clearly much more frightened than he pretended tobe.
Glen noticed this with some satisfaction. At least, he wasn't the onlyone. "Come on, Wheatley. Us lower-level boys have got to be on thehop. You'd be surprised how fast that mob can get up here."
Glen unfolded the map of Government House that had been placed on hisdesk that morning. He stared grimly at it, dabbing at his cheek witha rather grubby handkerchief meanwhile. The bleeding did not show anysigns of stopping.
Hillary hurried to the door. "Come on!" He was openly nervous now."It's no good studying that map for safety-holes now. You should havebeen doing that ever since we got here this morning."
As a matter of fact, Glen had been doing just that, whenever Hillary'sflow of words had momentarily run dry. But he had not yet got thelocation of all the nearby hidden cubbies clearly in his mind."Government House is such a maze," he said defensively.
"And we're damned lucky it is," Hillary said from the doorway. "Anyway,how do you know that map you've got there isn't just what they've beenhawking in People's Square all this past week?" He gave a slightly sickleer.
"You know those maps are inaccurate. They're just a sop, just togive the mob an extra thrill. Government House plants most of them."He could sound like an old hand, too, Glen thought with a certainsmugness.
"Nuts to that. Some of them are amazingly accurate. There are a hellof a lot of non-Government people in here from year to year, and someof them aren't here just on business. Let's get going." Hillary pulledGlen through the door, and then locked it. Glen raised his eyebrows atthis. "Oh, sure," his co-worker said wryly. "Gives the People somethingto work off steam on." He patted the flimsy door. "This will cave inunder a few hard shoulders. Not like the safety-hole panels. We hope."
"But they don't unlock for another half hour in this area."
"Thirty-eight minutes, to be exact," Hillary said, glancing at hiswatch. "And of course the ones deeper in and higher up open even later.We're supposed to give them a run for their taxes."
The corridor