(Editor's note: When we had read through
this in-a-class-by-itself story, we exclaimed,
"Here's PLANET'S scoop on the world!" What do
you think? Does Mr. Loomis answer the
questions: "How will future wars be fought?
Will civilization be destroyed?")
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Supreme General Hoshawk, chief of staff, watched with piercinggray eyes while the President of the United States of the WesternHemisphere, Jeffrey Wadsworth, lay relaxed under a cosmic-ray lamp,with no covering but a towel over his loins.
The surgeon-general of the Hemispheric Armies raised his hand, and thelamp receded.
"Is that enough?" Hoshawk asked dryly.
"It's the maximum, even for him," said the surgeon-general. "Hisreflexes will be faster than light itself."
Hoshawk grunted, his eyes narrow. As far as he could see, the speed ofa man's reflexes, even of a man who was about to champion seven hundredmillion persons, wasn't as important as the man's loyalty or his senseof personal responsibility. And Hoshawk did not have much use forWadsworth.
Augusto Iraola of Brazil, deputy president for South America, steppedforward from the group of forty men. He asked the President anxiously,"How do you feel?" Iraola was old and bearded.
"Not bad," said the President, and his voice squeaked a little as itchanged pitch.
The Minister of State, with a big portfolio under his arm, said,"Shouldn't we prepare the vice president?"
Morrison, vice president for Canada, spoke pedantically, "It would bea tragedy to lose President Wadsworth. Last month his I.Q. was 340,nearly twenty points above any other member of the Mutant College."
Hoshawk barely caught himself in time to repress a snort. A boy ofsixteen, no matter what his I.Q., was just a kid. You couldn't expecthim to exhibit initiative or even to take things seriously. That waswhy Hoshawk had almost broken with the Hemispheric Congress thirtyyears before—almost two of President Jeffrey's lifetimes, Hoshawkreflected wryly.
The voice of the President, slightly amused, came to them. "I'm allright now," he said. "I think I ate too much ice cream last night. Ninedishes."
There were gasps. Hoshawk held back his sarcasm, but he could notrefrain from a triumphant glance at the ancient Minister of State, whoavoided his eyes.
Iraola was volatile. "Sabotage!" he said.
President Wadsworth licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. "No,the new pineapple-avocado. Very good, gentlemen. I recommend it."
The neuro-analyst whipped a graph from his machine. Hoshawk barelylooked at the graph. "Speed of reaction down to zero, point, ninezeros, three, four—three times normal speed. Let's get on with thewar."
The President's eyes had been fixed hopefully on Hoshawk's grizzledface, and at Hoshawk's words he relaxed. His muscles rippled aninstant, and then he was standing.
It was always a little shock to Hoshawk to see him move. It wasn'tright that any man, even a Superior Mutant, should be able to movefaster than light-speed. You didn't dare to trust a man like that.
Forty august heads—all but Hoshawk's—inclined as the President stoodthere, but the President just smiled at them and yawned and stretchedluxuriously.
Hoshawk was annoyed, but there was nothing he could do about it. TheHemispheric Congress had set up the Mutant College two hundred yearsago, and every child with I.Q. above 200 and physique to match, becamea member, for the sole purpose of selecting a President