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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29195-8.txt b/29195-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfd3c9c --- /dev/null +++ b/29195-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,837 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of It's All Yours, by Sam Merwin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: It's All Yours + +Author: Sam Merwin + +Release Date: June 21, 2009 [EBook #29195] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _It was a strange and bitter Earth over which the Chancellor + ruled--a strange and deformed world. There were times when the + Chancellor suspected that he really was a humanistic old fool, but + this seemed to be his destiny and it was difficult to be anything + else. Human, like all other organic life on Earth, was dying. Where + it spawned, it spawned monsters. What was to be the answer?_ + + + it's + all + yours + + _by ... Sam Merwin, Jr._ + + + It was a lonely thing to rule over a dying world--a + world that had become sick, so terribly sick.... + + +The Chancellor's private washroom, discreetly off the innermost of his +official suite of offices, was a dream of gleaming black porcelain and +solid gold. Each spout, each faucet, was a gracefully stylized mermaid, +the combination stall shower-steam room a marvel of hydraulic comfort +and decor with variable lighting plotted to give the user every sort of +beneficial ray, from ultraviolet to black heat. + +But Bliss was used to it. At the moment, as he washed his hands, he was +far more concerned with the reflection of his face in the mirror above +the dolphin-shaped bowl. With a sort of wry resignation, he accepted the +red rims of fatigue around his eyes, the batch of white at his left +temple that was spreading toward the top of his dark, well-groomed head. +He noted that the lines rising from the corners of his mouth to the +curves of his nostrils seemed to have deepened noticeably during the +past few days. + +As he dried his hands in the air-stream, he told himself that he was +letting his imagination run away with him--imagination had always been +his weakness, and a grave failing for a head of state. And while he drew +on his special, featherweight gloves, he reminded himself that, if he +was aging prematurely, it was nobody's fault but his own. No other man +or woman approaching qualification for the job would have taken it--only +a sentimental, humanistic fool like himself. + +He took a quick sip from the benzedral fountain, waited for the +restorative to do its work. Then, feeling moderately refreshed, he +returned to his office, sank into the plastifoam cushions of the chair +behind his tabletop mountain of a desk and pressed the button that +informed Myra, his confidential secretary, he was ready. + +There were five in the delegation--by their collars or robes, a priest, +a rabbi, a lama, a dark-skinned Watusi witchman and a white robed abbess +draped in chaste, flowing white. Automatically, he surveyed them, +checking. The priest's right shoe was twice as broad as his left, the +rabbi's head, beneath the black cap that covered it, was long and thin +as a zucchini squash. The witchman, defiantly bare and black as ebony +from the waist up, had a tiny duplicate of his own handsome head +sprouting from the base of his sternum. The visible deformities of the +lama and abbess were concealed beneath their flowing robes. But they +were there--they had to be there. + +Bliss rose as they entered and said, waving a gloved hand at the chairs +on their side of the desk, "Greetings, sirs and madam--please be +seated." And, when they were comfortable, "Now, to what do I owe the +honor of this visit?" + +He knew, of course--sometimes he thought he knew more than any man +should be allowed or able to know--but courtesy and custom demanded the +question. It was the witchman who answered. Apparently he was spokesman +for the group. + +He said, speaking beautiful Cantabrigian English, "Honorable sir, we +have come as representatives of the religions of the world, not to +protest but in a spirit of enquiry. Our flocks grow increasingly +restive, when they are not leaving us altogether, our influence grows +less. We wish to know what steps, if any, are being taken toward +modification or abrogation of the sterility program. Without hope of +posterity, mankind is lost." + +While the others murmured their agreement, Bliss focused his gaze on the +sealed lids of the tiny face sprouting from the Watusi's breastbone. He +wondered if there were eyes behind them, if there were a tongue behind +those tiny clamped lips, and what words such a tongue would utter if it +could speak. + +"We are waiting, honorable sir," the spokesman said. + +Shaking himself free of the absorption, Bliss glanced at the +teleprompter on his desk. Efficient as ever, Myra had their names there +before him. He said, "Gentle R'hau-chi, I believe a simple exposition +of our situation, and of what programs we are seeking to meet and +mitigate it with, will give you the answers. Not, perhaps, the answers +you seek, but the answers we must accept ..." + +Although the reports from World Laboratories changed from day to day, he +knew the speech by heart. For the problem remained. Humanity, like +virtually all other organic life on Earth, was dying. Where it spawned, +it spawned monsters. On three-dimensional vidar rolls, he showed them +live shots of what the laboratories were doing, what they were trying to +do--in the insemination groups, the incubators, the ray-bombardment +chambers, the parthenogenesis bureau. + +Studying them, he could see by their expressions, hear by the prayers +they muttered, how shocking these revelations were. It was one thing to +know what was going on--another for them to see for themselves. It was +neither pretty--nor hopeful. + +When it was over, the rabbi spoke. He said, in deep, slightly guttural, +vastly impressive intonations, "What about Mars, honorable sir? Have you +reached communication with our brothers and sisters on the red planet?" + +Bliss shook his head. He glanced at the alma-calendar at his elbow and +told them, "Mars continues to maintain silence--as it has for two +hundred and thirty-one years. Ever since the final war." + +They knew it, but they had to hear it from him to accept it even +briefly. There was silence, long wretched silence. Then the abbess +spoke. She said, "Couldn't we send out a ship to study conditions first +hand, honorable sir?" + +Bliss sighed. He said, "The last four spaceships on Earth were sent to +Mars at two-year intervals during the last perihelions. Not one of them +came back. That was more than a half century ago. Since I accepted this +office, I have had some of our ablest remaining scientific brains +working on the problem of building a new ship. They have not been +successful." He laid his gloved hands, palms upward, on the desk, added, +"It appears that we have lost the knack for such projects." + +When they were gone, he walked to the broad window and looked out over +the World Capital buildings at the verdant Sahara that stretched +hundreds of miles to the foot of the faintly purple Atlas Mountains on +the northwestern horizon. A blanket of brilliant green, covering what +had once been the greatest of all Earthly deserts--but a poisonous +blanket of strange plant mutations, some of them poisonous beyond +belief. + +Truly, Bliss thought, he belonged to a remarkable species. Man had +conquered his environment, he had even, within the limits of the Solar +System, conquered space. He had planted, and successfully, his own kind +on a neighboring planet and made it grow. But man had never, at least +on his home planet, conquered himself. + +Overpopulation had long since ceased to be a problem--the atomic wars +had seen to that. But, thanks to the miracles of science--atomics and +automation--man had quickly rebuilt the world into a Garden of Eden with +up-to-date plumbing. He might have won two planets, but he had turned +his Eden into an arbor of deadly nightshade. + +Oddly, it had not been the dreadful detonations of thermo-nuclear bombs +that had poisoned his paradise--though, of course, they had helped. It +had been the constant spillage of atomic waste into the upper atmosphere +that had spelled ruin. Now, where four billion people had once lived in +war and want, forty million lived in poisoned plenty. He was chancellor +of a planet whose ruling species could not longer breed without +disaster. + +His was the last generation. It should have been a peaceful generation. +But it was not. + +For, as population decreased, so did the habitable areas of Earth. The +formerly overpopulated temperate regions were now ghastly jungles of +self-choking mutant plant growth. Only what had been the waste +areas--Antarctica, the Gobi, Australia, Patagonia and the Sahara-Arabia +districts--could still support even the strange sorts of human life that +remained. + +And the forty millions still alive were restless, frightened, paranoiac. +Each believed his own group was being systematically exterminated in +favor of some other. None had yet faced the fact that humanity, for all +practical purposes, was already dead on Earth. + +He sensed another presence in the room. It was Myra, his secretary, +bearing a sheaf of messages in one hand, a sheaf of correspondence for +him to sign in the other. She said, "You look beat, chancellor. Sit +down." + +Bliss sat down. Myra, as his faithful and efficient amanuensis for more +than fifteen years, had her rights. One of them was taking care of him +during working hours. She was still rather pretty, he noted with +surprise. An Afro-Asian with skin like dark honey and smooth, pleasant, +rather flat features. It was, he thought, a pity she had that third eye +in her forehead. + +She stood beside him while he ran through the letters and signed them. +"Meeting of the regional vice-chancellors tomorrow, eh?" he said as he +handed them back to her. + +"Right, chancellor," she said crisply. "Ten o'clock. You may have to +take another whirlwind trip to tell them the situation is well in hand." + +He grunted and glanced at the messages, scanned them quickly, tossed +them into the disposal vent beside his desk. Myra looked moderately +disapproving. "What about that possible ship from Mars?" she asked. +"Shouldn't you look into it?" + +He grunted again, looked up at her, said, "If I'd looked into every +'ship from Mars' astronomy has come up with in the nine years I've held +this office, I'd never have had time for anything else. You can lay odds +it's a wild asteroid or something like that." + +"They sound pretty sure this time," Myra said doubtfully. + +"Don't they always?" he countered. "Come on, Myra, wrap it up. Time to +go home." + +"Roger, boss," she said, blinking all three eyes at him. + +Bliss turned on the autopi and napped while the gyrojet carried him to +his villa outside Dakar. Safely down on the roof of the comfortable, +automatic white house, he took the lift down to his second-floor suite, +where he showered and changed into evening sandals and clout. He +redonned his gloves, then rode down another two flights to the terrace, +where Elise was waiting for him in a gossamer-thin iridescent eggshell +sari. They kissed and she patted the place on the love-seat beside her. +She had a book--an old-fashioned book of colored reproductions of +long-since-destroyed old masters on her lap. The artist was a man named +Peter Paul Rubens. + +Eyeing the opulent nudes, she giggled and said, "Don't they look +awfully--plain? I mean, women with only two breasts!" + +"Well--yes," he said. "If you want to take that angle." + +"Idiot!" she said. "Honestly, darling, you're the strangest sort of man +to be a World Chancellor." + +"These are strange times," he told her, smiling without mirth, though +with genuine affection. + +"Suppose--just suppose," she said, turning the pages slowly, "biology +should be successful in stabilizing the species again. Would they _have_ +to set it back that far? I mean, either we or _they_ would feel awfully +out of style." + +"What would you suggest?" he asked her solemnly. + +"Don't be nasty," she said loftily. Then she giggled again and ruffled +his hair. "I wish you'd have it dyed one color," she told him. "Either +black or gray--or why not a bright puce?" + +"What's for dinner?" he asked, adding, "If I can still eat after that." + + * * * * * + +The regional vice-chancellors were awaiting him in the +next-to-the-innermost office when Bliss arrived at World +Capital the next morning. Australia, Antarctica, Patagonia, Gobi, +Sahara-Arabia--they followed him inside like so many penguins in the +black-and-white official robes. All were deathly serious as they stated +their problems. + +Gobi wanted annual rainfall cut from 60 to 45 centimeters. + +Sahara-Arabia was not receiving satisfactory food synthetics--there had +been Moslem riots because of pork flavor in the meat. + +Patagonia was suffering through a species of sport-worm that was +threatening to turn it into a desert if biology didn't come up with a +remedy fast. + +Antarctica wanted temperature lowered from a nighttime norm of 62° +Fahrenheit to 57.6°. It seemed that the ice in the skating rinks, which +were the chief source of exercise and entertainment for the populace, +got mushy after ten p.m. + +Australia wanted the heavy uranium deposits under the Great Central +Desert neutralized against its causing further mutations. + +For a moment, Bliss was tempted to remind his viceroys that it was not +going to make one bit of difference whether they made their spoiled +citizens happy or not. The last man on Earth would be dead within fifty +years or so, anyway. But that would have been an unpardonable breach of +taste. Everyone _knew_, of course, but it was never mentioned. To state +the truth was to deny hope. And without hope, there was no life. + +Bliss promised to see that these matters were tended to at once, taking +each in turn. This done, they discussed his making another whirlwind +trip through the remaining major dominions of the planet to bolster +morale. He was relieved when at last, the amenities concluded, the +penguins filed solemnly out. He didn't know which he found more +unattractive--Gobi's atrophied third leg, strapped tightly to the inside +of his left thigh and calf, or Australia's jackass ears. Then, sternly, +he reminded himself that it was not their fault they weren't as lucky as +himself. + +Myra came in, her three eyes aglow, and said, "Boss, you were wrong for +once in your life." + +"What is it this time?" he asked. + +"About that Martian ship," she repeated. "It just landed on the old +spaceport. You can see it from the window." + +"For God's sake!" Bliss was on his feet, moving swiftly to the window. +It was there--needle-nosed, slim as one of the mermaids in his private +washroom, graceful as a vidar dancer. The entire length of it gleamed +like silver in the sunlight. + +Bliss felt the premature old age that had been crowding upon him of late +fall away like the wool of a sheep at shearing. Here, at last, was +hope--real hope. After almost two and a half centuries of +non-communication, the men of the infant planet had returned to the aid +of the aging planet. For, once they saw the condition of Earth, and +understood it, there could be no question of anything else. + +Mars, during the years of space-flight from Earth, had been the outlet +for the mother planet's ablest, toughest, brightest, most aggressive +young men and women. They had gone out to lick a hostile environment, +they had been hand-picked for the job--and they had done it. The ship, +out there in the poisonous Sahara, was living proof of their success. + +He turned from the window and went back to his desk. He said, "Myra, +have their leader brought here to see me as soon as possible." + +"_Roger!_" she said, leaving him swiftly, gracefully. Again he thought +it was too bad about her third eye. It had made it awfully hard for her +to find a husband. He supposed he should be grateful, since it had made +him an incomparably efficient secretary. + +The young man was space-burned and silver-blond of hair. He was broad +and fair of feature and his body was tall and lean and perfect in his +black, skin-tight uniform with the silver rocket-burst on the left +breast. He stood at attention, lifted a gauntleted hand in salute and +said, "Your excellency, Chancellor Bliss--Space-Captain Hon Yaelstrom of +Syrtis City, Mars, bearing official rank of Inter-planetary legate +plenipotentiary. My papers, sir." + +He stood stiff as a ramrod and laid a set of imposing-looking documents +on the vast desk before Bliss. His accent was stiff as his spinal +column. Bliss glanced casually at the papers, nodded and handed them +back. So this, he thought, was how a "normal," a pre-atomic, a +non-mutated human, looked. Impressive. + +Catching himself wandering, he pushed a box of costly smokes toward the +ambassador. + +"_Nein_--no thank you, sir," was the reply. + +"Suppose you sit down and tell me what we can do for you," said Bliss, +motioning toward a chair. + +"Thank you, sir, I prefer to stand," was the reply. And, when Bliss +motioned that it was all right, "My mission is not a happy one, +excellency. Due to overpopulation on Mars, I have been sent to inform +the government of Earth that room must be made to take care of our +overpopulation." + +"I see," Bliss leaned back in his chair, trying to read the situation +correctly. "That may take a little doing. You see, we aren't exactly +awash with real estate here." + +The reply was rigid and harsh. Captain Yaelstrom said, "I regret to +remind your excellency that I have circled this planet before landing. +It is incredibly rich in plant growth, incredibly underpopulated. And I +assure your excellency that my superiors have not sent me here with any +idle request. Mars must have room to emigrate." + +"And if we find ourselves unable to give it to you?" + +"I fear we shall have to take it, your excellency." + +Bliss studied the visitor from space, then said, "This is rather sudden, +you know. I fear it will take time. You must have prospered amazingly on +Mars to have overpopulated the planet so soon." + +"Conditions have not been wholly favorable," was the cryptic reply. "But +as to time, we are scarcely in condition to move our surplus population +overnight. It will take years--perhaps decades--twenty-five years at a +minimum." + +Twenty-five years! That was too soon. If Captain Yaelstrom were a +typical Martian, there was going to be trouble. Bliss recalled again +that Earth had sent only its most aggressive young folk out to the red +planet. He made up his mind then and there that he was somehow going to +salvage for Earth its final half-century of peace. + +He said, "How many people do you plan to send here, Captain?" + +The ambassador hesitated. Then he said, "According to the computations +of our experts, taking the population curve during the next twenty-five +years into account, there will be seventeen million, three hundred +thirty-two thousand five hundred--approximately." + +The figure was too large to be surplus, Bliss decided. It sounded to him +as if humanity were about to abandon Mars completely. He wondered what +the devil had gone wrong, decided this was hardly the time to ask. He +offered Captain Yaelstrom a drink, which was refused, then asked him if +he wouldn't like to wash up. + +To his mild surprise, the ambassador nodded eagerly. "I shall be +grateful," he said. "You have no idea how cramped spaceship quarters can +be." + +"I can imagine," said Bliss dryly. He led the way into the +black-and-gold washroom, was amused at the slight but definite popping +of ambassadorial eyes. Earth might be dying, he thought, but at least +her destroyers would leave a heritage. He motioned toward the basin with +its mermaid taps and Captain Yaelstrom hesitated, then began pulling off +his black gauntlets. + +Bliss thought of something. "You mentioned twenty-five years," he said. +"Is that Martian time or Earth time?" + +"Martian time," said the ambassador, letting the water run over his +hands. + +Twenty-five years, Martian time--a Martian year was 1.88 Earth years. +Bliss exhaled and said, "I think perhaps we shall be able to come to an +agreement. It will take a little time, of course--channels, and all +that." + +The Martian held his hands in front of the air-drier. They were strong, +brown hands with long, muscular fingers. Bliss looked at them and knew +the whole story. For, like himself, Captain Yaelstrom had seven fingers +on each. Man had done no better on Mars than he had at home. The reason +for such a desperate move as emigration was all too clear. + +Captain Yaelstrom stood back from the bowl, then noticed the stall +shower. He said, "What is this? We have nothing like it on Mars." + +Bliss explained its several therapeutic uses, then said, "Perhaps you'd +like to try it yourself while I order us luncheon." + +"May I, excellency?" the Martian legate asked eagerly. + +"Go right ahead," said Bliss magnanimously. "It's all yours." + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of It's All Yours, by Sam Merwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + +***** This file should be named 29195-8.txt or 29195-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/9/29195/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: It's All Yours + +Author: Sam Merwin + +Release Date: June 21, 2009 [EBook #29195] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><p><i><small>It was a strange and bitter Earth over which the Chancellor ruled—a strange +and deformed world. There were times when the Chancellor suspected that he +really was a humanistic old fool, but this seemed to be his destiny and it was +difficult to be anything else. Human, like all other organic life on Earth, was +dying. Where it spawned, it spawned monsters. What was to be the answer?</small></i></p></div> + +<div class="bk2"><h1><b>it's<br /> +all<br /> +yours</b></h1> + +<h2><small><i>by ... Sam Merwin, Jr.</i></small></h2> + +<p class="pr1"><big><b>It was a lonely thing to rule over a dying world—a +world that had become sick, so terribly sick....</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="smcap">The</span> Chancellor's private washroom, +discreetly off the innermost +of his official suite of offices, was a +dream of gleaming black porcelain +and solid gold. Each spout, each +faucet, was a gracefully stylized +mermaid, the combination stall +shower-steam room a marvel of +hydraulic comfort and decor with +variable lighting plotted to give the +user every sort of beneficial ray, +from ultraviolet to black heat.</p> + +<p>But Bliss was used to it. At the +moment, as he washed his hands, +he was far more concerned with +the reflection of his face in the +mirror above the dolphin-shaped +bowl. With a sort of wry resignation, +he accepted the red rims of +fatigue around his eyes, the batch +of white at his left temple that was +spreading toward the top of his +dark, well-groomed head. He noted +that the lines rising from the corners +of his mouth to the curves of +his nostrils seemed to have deepened +noticeably during the past few +days.</p> + +<p>As he dried his hands in the air-stream, +he told himself that he was +letting his imagination run away +with him—imagination had always +been his weakness, and a grave +failing for a head of state. And +while he drew on his special, featherweight +gloves, he reminded himself +that, if he was aging prematurely, +it was nobody's fault but his +own. No other man or woman approaching +qualification for the job +would have taken it—only a sentimental, +humanistic fool like himself.</p> + +<p>He took a quick sip from the +benzedral fountain, waited for the +restorative to do its work. Then, +feeling moderately refreshed, he +returned to his office, sank into the +plastifoam cushions of the chair +behind his tabletop mountain of a +desk and pressed the button that +informed Myra, his confidential +secretary, he was ready.</p> + +<p>There were five in the delegation—by +their collars or robes, a +priest, a rabbi, a lama, a dark-skinned +Watusi witchman and a +white robed abbess draped in +chaste, flowing white. Automatically, +he surveyed them, checking. The +priest's right shoe was twice as +broad as his left, the rabbi's head, +beneath the black cap that covered +it, was long and thin as a zucchini +squash. The witchman, defiantly +bare and black as ebony from the +waist up, had a tiny duplicate of his +own handsome head sprouting from +the base of his sternum. The visible +deformities of the lama and abbess +were concealed beneath their flowing +robes. But they were there—they +had to be there.</p> + +<p>Bliss rose as they entered and +said, waving a gloved hand at the +chairs on their side of the desk, +"Greetings, sirs and madam—please +be seated." And, when they +were comfortable, "Now, to what +do I owe the honor of this visit?"</p> + +<p>He knew, of course—sometimes +he thought he knew more than any +man should be allowed or able to +know—but courtesy and custom demanded +the question. It was the +witchman who answered. Apparently +he was spokesman for the group.</p> + +<p>He said, speaking beautiful +Cantabrigian English, "Honorable +sir, we have come as representatives +of the religions of the world, not +to protest but in a spirit of enquiry. +Our flocks grow increasingly restive, +when they are not leaving us +altogether, our influence grows less. +We wish to know what steps, if +any, are being taken toward modification +or abrogation of the sterility +program. Without hope of posterity, +mankind is lost."</p> + +<p>While the others murmured their +agreement, Bliss focused his gaze +on the sealed lids of the tiny face +sprouting from the Watusi's breastbone. +He wondered if there were +eyes behind them, if there were a +tongue behind those tiny clamped +lips, and what words such a tongue +would utter if it could speak.</p> + +<p>"We are waiting, honorable sir," +the spokesman said.</p> + +<p>Shaking himself free of the absorption, +Bliss glanced at the teleprompter +on his desk. Efficient as +ever, Myra had their names there +before him. He said, "Gentle +R'hau-chi, I believe a simple exposition +of our situation, and of +what programs we are seeking to +meet and mitigate it with, will +give you the answers. Not, perhaps, +the answers you seek, but the answers +we must accept ..."</p> + +<p>Although the reports from +World Laboratories changed from +day to day, he knew the speech by +heart. For the problem remained. +Humanity, like virtually all other +organic life on Earth, was dying. +Where it spawned, it spawned monsters. +On three-dimensional vidar +rolls, he showed them live shots of +what the laboratories were doing, +what they were trying to do—in +the insemination groups, the incubators, +the ray-bombardment chambers, +the parthenogenesis bureau.</p> + +<p>Studying them, he could see by +their expressions, hear by the prayers +they muttered, how shocking +these revelations were. It was one +thing to know what was going on—another +for them to see for themselves. +It was neither pretty—nor +hopeful.</p> + +<p>When it was over, the rabbi +spoke. He said, in deep, slightly +guttural, vastly impressive intonations, +"What about Mars, honorable +sir? Have you reached communication +with our brothers and +sisters on the red planet?"</p> + +<p>Bliss shook his head. He glanced +at the alma-calendar at his elbow +and told them, "Mars continues to +maintain silence—as it has for two +hundred and thirty-one years. Ever +since the final war."</p> + +<p>They knew it, but they had to +hear it from him to accept it even +briefly. There was silence, long +wretched silence. Then the abbess +spoke. She said, "Couldn't we send +out a ship to study conditions first +hand, honorable sir?"</p> + +<p>Bliss sighed. He said, "The last +four spaceships on Earth were sent +to Mars at two-year intervals during +the last perihelions. Not one of +them came back. That was more +than a half century ago. Since I +accepted this office, I have had some +of our ablest remaining scientific +brains working on the problem of +building a new ship. They have +not been successful." He laid his +gloved hands, palms upward, on +the desk, added, "It appears that +we have lost the knack for such +projects."</p> + +<p>When they were gone, he walked +to the broad window and looked +out over the World Capital buildings +at the verdant Sahara that +stretched hundreds of miles to the +foot of the faintly purple Atlas +Mountains on the northwestern +horizon. A blanket of brilliant +green, covering what had once been +the greatest of all Earthly deserts—but +a poisonous blanket of strange +plant mutations, some of them +poisonous beyond belief.</p> + +<p>Truly, Bliss thought, he belonged +to a remarkable species. Man +had conquered his environment, he +had even, within the limits of the +Solar System, conquered space. He +had planted, and successfully, his +own kind on a neighboring planet +and made it grow. But man had +never, at least on his home planet, +conquered himself.</p> + +<p>Overpopulation had long since +ceased to be a problem—the atomic +wars had seen to that. But, thanks +to the miracles of science—atomics +and automation—man had quickly +rebuilt the world into a Garden of +Eden with up-to-date plumbing. +He might have won two planets, +but he had turned his Eden into +an arbor of deadly nightshade.</p> + +<p>Oddly, it had not been the dreadful +detonations of thermo-nuclear +bombs that had poisoned his paradise—though, +of course, they had +helped. It had been the constant +spillage of atomic waste into the +upper atmosphere that had spelled +ruin. Now, where four billion people +had once lived in war and +want, forty million lived in poisoned +plenty. He was chancellor of a +planet whose ruling species could +not longer breed without disaster.</p> + +<p>His was the last generation. It +should have been a peaceful generation. +But it was not.</p> + +<p>For, as population decreased, so +did the habitable areas of Earth. +The formerly overpopulated temperate +regions were now ghastly +jungles of self-choking mutant +plant growth. Only what had been +the waste areas—Antarctica, the +Gobi, Australia, Patagonia and the +Sahara-Arabia districts—could still +support even the strange sorts of +human life that remained.</p> + +<p>And the forty millions still alive +were restless, frightened, paranoiac. +Each believed his own group was +being systematically exterminated +in favor of some other. None had +yet faced the fact that humanity, +for all practical purposes, was already +dead on Earth.</p> + +<p>He sensed another presence in +the room. It was Myra, his secretary, +bearing a sheaf of messages +in one hand, a sheaf of correspondence +for him to sign in the other. +She said, "You look beat, chancellor. +Sit down."</p> + +<p>Bliss sat down. Myra, as his +faithful and efficient amanuensis +for more than fifteen years, had her +rights. One of them was taking +care of him during working hours. +She was still rather pretty, he noted +with surprise. An Afro-Asian with +skin like dark honey and smooth, +pleasant, rather flat features. It was, +he thought, a pity she had that third +eye in her forehead.</p> + +<p>She stood beside him while he +ran through the letters and signed +them. "Meeting of the regional +vice-chancellors tomorrow, eh?" he +said as he handed them back to her.</p> + +<p>"Right, chancellor," she said +crisply. "Ten o'clock. You may +have to take another whirlwind +trip to tell them the situation is +well in hand."</p> + +<p>He grunted and glanced at the +messages, scanned them quickly, +tossed them into the disposal vent +beside his desk. Myra looked moderately +disapproving. "What about +that possible ship from Mars?" she +asked. "Shouldn't you look into +it?"</p> + +<p>He grunted again, looked up at +her, said, "If I'd looked into every +'ship from Mars' astronomy has +come up with in the nine years +I've held this office, I'd never have +had time for anything else. You +can lay odds it's a wild asteroid or +something like that."</p> + +<p>"They sound pretty sure this +time," Myra said doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Don't they always?" he countered. +"Come on, Myra, wrap it up. +Time to go home."</p> + +<p>"Roger, boss," she said, blinking +all three eyes at him.</p> + +<p>Bliss turned on the autopi and +napped while the gyrojet carried +him to his villa outside Dakar. +Safely down on the roof of the +comfortable, automatic white house, +he took the lift down to his second-floor +suite, where he showered and +changed into evening sandals and +clout. He redonned his gloves, then +rode down another two flights to +the terrace, where Elise was waiting +for him in a gossamer-thin iridescent +eggshell sari. They kissed +and she patted the place on the +love-seat beside her. She had a +book—an old-fashioned book of +colored reproductions of long-since-destroyed +old masters on her lap. +The artist was a man named Peter +Paul Rubens.</p> + +<p>Eyeing the opulent nudes, she +giggled and said, "Don't they look +awfully—plain? I mean, women +with only two breasts!"</p> + +<p>"Well—yes," he said. "If you +want to take that angle."</p> + +<p>"Idiot!" she said. "Honestly, +darling, you're the strangest sort of +man to be a World Chancellor."</p> + +<p>"These are strange times," he +told her, smiling without mirth, +though with genuine affection.</p> + +<p>"Suppose—just suppose," she +said, turning the pages slowly, +"biology should be successful in +stabilizing the species again. Would +they <i>have</i> to set it back that far? +I mean, either we or <i>they</i> would +feel awfully out of style."</p> + +<p>"What would you suggest?" he +asked her solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Don't be nasty," she said loftily. +Then she giggled again and +ruffled his hair. "I wish you'd have +it dyed one color," she told him. +"Either black or gray—or why not +a bright puce?"</p> + +<p>"What's for dinner?" he asked, +adding, "If I can still eat after that."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The regional vice-chancellors +were awaiting him in the next-to-the-innermost +office when Bliss arrived +at World Capital the next +morning. Australia, Antarctica, +Patagonia, Gobi, Sahara-Arabia—they +followed him inside like so +many penguins in the black-and-white +official robes. All were deathly +serious as they stated their problems.</p> + +<p>Gobi wanted annual rainfall cut +from 60 to 45 centimeters.</p> + +<p>Sahara-Arabia was not receiving +satisfactory food synthetics—there +had been Moslem riots because of +pork flavor in the meat.</p> + +<p>Patagonia was suffering through +a species of sport-worm that was +threatening to turn it into a desert +if biology didn't come up with a +remedy fast.</p> + +<p>Antarctica wanted temperature +lowered from a nighttime norm of +62° Fahrenheit to 57.6°. It seemed +that the ice in the skating rinks, +which were the chief source of +exercise and entertainment for the +populace, got mushy after ten p.m.</p> + +<p>Australia wanted the heavy uranium +deposits under the Great +Central Desert neutralized against +its causing further mutations.</p> + +<p>For a moment, Bliss was tempted +to remind his viceroys that it was +not going to make one bit of difference +whether they made their +spoiled citizens happy or not. The +last man on Earth would be dead +within fifty years or so, anyway. +But that would have been an unpardonable +breach of taste. Everyone +<i>knew</i>, of course, but it was +never mentioned. To state the truth +was to deny hope. And without +hope, there was no life.</p> + +<p>Bliss promised to see that these +matters were tended to at once, taking +each in turn. This done, they +discussed his making another whirlwind +trip through the remaining +major dominions of the planet to +bolster morale. He was relieved +when at last, the amenities concluded, +the penguins filed solemnly +out. He didn't know which he +found more unattractive—Gobi's +atrophied third leg, strapped tightly +to the inside of his left thigh +and calf, or Australia's jackass ears. +Then, sternly, he reminded himself +that it was not their fault they +weren't as lucky as himself.</p> + +<p>Myra came in, her three eyes +aglow, and said, "Boss, you were +wrong for once in your life."</p> + +<p>"What is it this time?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"About that Martian ship," she +repeated. "It just landed on the +old spaceport. You can see it from +the window."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake!" Bliss was on +his feet, moving swiftly to the window. +It was there—needle-nosed, +slim as one of the mermaids in his +private washroom, graceful as a +vidar dancer. The entire length of +it gleamed like silver in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Bliss felt the premature old age +that had been crowding upon him +of late fall away like the wool of +a sheep at shearing. Here, at last, +was hope—real hope. After almost +two and a half centuries of non-communication, +the men of the infant +planet had returned to the aid +of the aging planet. For, once they +saw the condition of Earth, and +understood it, there could be no +question of anything else.</p> + +<p>Mars, during the years of space-flight +from Earth, had been the +outlet for the mother planet's +ablest, toughest, brightest, most +aggressive young men and women. +They had gone out to lick a hostile +environment, they had been hand-picked +for the job—and they had +done it. The ship, out there in the +poisonous Sahara, was living proof +of their success.</p> + +<p>He turned from the window and +went back to his desk. He said, +"Myra, have their leader brought +here to see me as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"<i>Roger!</i>" she said, leaving him +swiftly, gracefully. Again he +thought it was too bad about her +third eye. It had made it awfully +hard for her to find a husband. He +supposed he should be grateful, +since it had made him an incomparably +efficient secretary.</p> + +<p>The young man was space-burned +and silver-blond of hair. He was +broad and fair of feature and his +body was tall and lean and perfect +in his black, skin-tight uniform +with the silver rocket-burst on the +left breast. He stood at attention, +lifted a gauntleted hand in salute +and said, "Your excellency, Chancellor +Bliss—Space-Captain Hon +Yaelstrom of Syrtis City, Mars, +bearing official rank of Inter-planetary +legate plenipotentiary. My +papers, sir."</p> + +<p>He stood stiff as a ramrod and +laid a set of imposing-looking documents +on the vast desk before Bliss. +His accent was stiff as his spinal +column. Bliss glanced casually at +the papers, nodded and handed +them back. So this, he thought, was +how a "normal," a pre-atomic, a +non-mutated human, looked. Impressive.</p> + +<p>Catching himself wandering, he +pushed a box of costly smokes toward +the ambassador.</p> + +<p>"<i>Nein</i>—no thank you, sir," was +the reply.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you sit down and tell +me what we can do for you," said +Bliss, motioning toward a chair.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, I prefer to +stand," was the reply. And, when +Bliss motioned that it was all right, +"My mission is not a happy one, +excellency. Due to overpopulation +on Mars, I have been sent to inform +the government of Earth that +room must be made to take care of +our overpopulation."</p> + +<p>"I see," Bliss leaned back in his +chair, trying to read the situation +correctly. "That may take a little +doing. You see, we aren't exactly +awash with real estate here."</p> + +<p>The reply was rigid and harsh. +Captain Yaelstrom said, "I regret +to remind your excellency that I +have circled this planet before landing. +It is incredibly rich in plant +growth, incredibly underpopulated. +And I assure your excellency that +my superiors have not sent me here +with any idle request. Mars must +have room to emigrate."</p> + +<p>"And if we find ourselves unable +to give it to you?"</p> + +<p>"I fear we shall have to take it, +your excellency."</p> + +<p>Bliss studied the visitor from +space, then said, "This is rather +sudden, you know. I fear it will +take time. You must have prospered +amazingly on Mars to have +overpopulated the planet so soon."</p> + +<p>"Conditions have not been +wholly favorable," was the cryptic +reply. "But as to time, we are +scarcely in condition to move our +surplus population overnight. It +will take years—perhaps decades—twenty-five +years at a minimum."</p> + +<p>Twenty-five years! That was too +soon. If Captain Yaelstrom were +a typical Martian, there was going +to be trouble. Bliss recalled again +that Earth had sent only its most +aggressive young folk out to the +red planet. He made up his mind +then and there that he was somehow +going to salvage for Earth its +final half-century of peace.</p> + +<p>He said, "How many people do +you plan to send here, Captain?"</p> + +<p>The ambassador hesitated. Then +he said, "According to the computations +of our experts, taking the +population curve during the next +twenty-five years into account, there +will be seventeen million, three +hundred thirty-two thousand five +hundred—approximately."</p> + +<p>The figure was too large to be +surplus, Bliss decided. It sounded +to him as if humanity were about +to abandon Mars completely. He +wondered what the devil had gone +wrong, decided this was hardly the +time to ask. He offered Captain +Yaelstrom a drink, which was refused, +then asked him if he wouldn't +like to wash up.</p> + +<p>To his mild surprise, the ambassador +nodded eagerly. "I shall be +grateful," he said. "You have no +idea how cramped spaceship quarters +can be."</p> + +<p>"I can imagine," said Bliss dryly. +He led the way into the black-and-gold +washroom, was amused +at the slight but definite popping +of ambassadorial eyes. Earth might +be dying, he thought, but at least +her destroyers would leave a heritage. +He motioned toward the basin +with its mermaid taps and Captain +Yaelstrom hesitated, then began +pulling off his black gauntlets.</p> + +<p>Bliss thought of something. +"You mentioned twenty-five years," +he said. "Is that Martian time or +Earth time?"</p> + +<p>"Martian time," said the ambassador, +letting the water run over +his hands.</p> + +<p>Twenty-five years, Martian time—a +Martian year was 1.88 Earth +years. Bliss exhaled and said, "I +think perhaps we shall be able to +come to an agreement. It will take +a little time, of course—channels, +and all that."</p> + +<p>The Martian held his hands in +front of the air-drier. They were +strong, brown hands with long, +muscular fingers. Bliss looked at +them and knew the whole story. +For, like himself, Captain Yaelstrom +had seven fingers on each. +Man had done no better on Mars +than he had at home. The reason +for such a desperate move as emigration +was all too clear.</p> + +<p>Captain Yaelstrom stood back +from the bowl, then noticed the +stall shower. He said, "What is +this? We have nothing like it on +Mars."</p> + +<p>Bliss explained its several therapeutic +uses, then said, "Perhaps +you'd like to try it yourself while +I order us luncheon."</p> + +<p>"May I, excellency?" the Martian +legate asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Go right ahead," said Bliss +magnanimously. "It's all yours."</p> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Fantastic Universe</i> November 1956. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of It's All Yours, by Sam Merwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + +***** This file should be named 29195-h.htm or 29195-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/9/29195/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: It's All Yours + +Author: Sam Merwin + +Release Date: June 21, 2009 [EBook #29195] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _It was a strange and bitter Earth over which the Chancellor + ruled--a strange and deformed world. There were times when the + Chancellor suspected that he really was a humanistic old fool, but + this seemed to be his destiny and it was difficult to be anything + else. Human, like all other organic life on Earth, was dying. Where + it spawned, it spawned monsters. What was to be the answer?_ + + + it's + all + yours + + _by ... Sam Merwin, Jr._ + + + It was a lonely thing to rule over a dying world--a + world that had become sick, so terribly sick.... + + +The Chancellor's private washroom, discreetly off the innermost of his +official suite of offices, was a dream of gleaming black porcelain and +solid gold. Each spout, each faucet, was a gracefully stylized mermaid, +the combination stall shower-steam room a marvel of hydraulic comfort +and decor with variable lighting plotted to give the user every sort of +beneficial ray, from ultraviolet to black heat. + +But Bliss was used to it. At the moment, as he washed his hands, he was +far more concerned with the reflection of his face in the mirror above +the dolphin-shaped bowl. With a sort of wry resignation, he accepted the +red rims of fatigue around his eyes, the batch of white at his left +temple that was spreading toward the top of his dark, well-groomed head. +He noted that the lines rising from the corners of his mouth to the +curves of his nostrils seemed to have deepened noticeably during the +past few days. + +As he dried his hands in the air-stream, he told himself that he was +letting his imagination run away with him--imagination had always been +his weakness, and a grave failing for a head of state. And while he drew +on his special, featherweight gloves, he reminded himself that, if he +was aging prematurely, it was nobody's fault but his own. No other man +or woman approaching qualification for the job would have taken it--only +a sentimental, humanistic fool like himself. + +He took a quick sip from the benzedral fountain, waited for the +restorative to do its work. Then, feeling moderately refreshed, he +returned to his office, sank into the plastifoam cushions of the chair +behind his tabletop mountain of a desk and pressed the button that +informed Myra, his confidential secretary, he was ready. + +There were five in the delegation--by their collars or robes, a priest, +a rabbi, a lama, a dark-skinned Watusi witchman and a white robed abbess +draped in chaste, flowing white. Automatically, he surveyed them, +checking. The priest's right shoe was twice as broad as his left, the +rabbi's head, beneath the black cap that covered it, was long and thin +as a zucchini squash. The witchman, defiantly bare and black as ebony +from the waist up, had a tiny duplicate of his own handsome head +sprouting from the base of his sternum. The visible deformities of the +lama and abbess were concealed beneath their flowing robes. But they +were there--they had to be there. + +Bliss rose as they entered and said, waving a gloved hand at the chairs +on their side of the desk, "Greetings, sirs and madam--please be +seated." And, when they were comfortable, "Now, to what do I owe the +honor of this visit?" + +He knew, of course--sometimes he thought he knew more than any man +should be allowed or able to know--but courtesy and custom demanded the +question. It was the witchman who answered. Apparently he was spokesman +for the group. + +He said, speaking beautiful Cantabrigian English, "Honorable sir, we +have come as representatives of the religions of the world, not to +protest but in a spirit of enquiry. Our flocks grow increasingly +restive, when they are not leaving us altogether, our influence grows +less. We wish to know what steps, if any, are being taken toward +modification or abrogation of the sterility program. Without hope of +posterity, mankind is lost." + +While the others murmured their agreement, Bliss focused his gaze on the +sealed lids of the tiny face sprouting from the Watusi's breastbone. He +wondered if there were eyes behind them, if there were a tongue behind +those tiny clamped lips, and what words such a tongue would utter if it +could speak. + +"We are waiting, honorable sir," the spokesman said. + +Shaking himself free of the absorption, Bliss glanced at the +teleprompter on his desk. Efficient as ever, Myra had their names there +before him. He said, "Gentle R'hau-chi, I believe a simple exposition +of our situation, and of what programs we are seeking to meet and +mitigate it with, will give you the answers. Not, perhaps, the answers +you seek, but the answers we must accept ..." + +Although the reports from World Laboratories changed from day to day, he +knew the speech by heart. For the problem remained. Humanity, like +virtually all other organic life on Earth, was dying. Where it spawned, +it spawned monsters. On three-dimensional vidar rolls, he showed them +live shots of what the laboratories were doing, what they were trying to +do--in the insemination groups, the incubators, the ray-bombardment +chambers, the parthenogenesis bureau. + +Studying them, he could see by their expressions, hear by the prayers +they muttered, how shocking these revelations were. It was one thing to +know what was going on--another for them to see for themselves. It was +neither pretty--nor hopeful. + +When it was over, the rabbi spoke. He said, in deep, slightly guttural, +vastly impressive intonations, "What about Mars, honorable sir? Have you +reached communication with our brothers and sisters on the red planet?" + +Bliss shook his head. He glanced at the alma-calendar at his elbow and +told them, "Mars continues to maintain silence--as it has for two +hundred and thirty-one years. Ever since the final war." + +They knew it, but they had to hear it from him to accept it even +briefly. There was silence, long wretched silence. Then the abbess +spoke. She said, "Couldn't we send out a ship to study conditions first +hand, honorable sir?" + +Bliss sighed. He said, "The last four spaceships on Earth were sent to +Mars at two-year intervals during the last perihelions. Not one of them +came back. That was more than a half century ago. Since I accepted this +office, I have had some of our ablest remaining scientific brains +working on the problem of building a new ship. They have not been +successful." He laid his gloved hands, palms upward, on the desk, added, +"It appears that we have lost the knack for such projects." + +When they were gone, he walked to the broad window and looked out over +the World Capital buildings at the verdant Sahara that stretched +hundreds of miles to the foot of the faintly purple Atlas Mountains on +the northwestern horizon. A blanket of brilliant green, covering what +had once been the greatest of all Earthly deserts--but a poisonous +blanket of strange plant mutations, some of them poisonous beyond +belief. + +Truly, Bliss thought, he belonged to a remarkable species. Man had +conquered his environment, he had even, within the limits of the Solar +System, conquered space. He had planted, and successfully, his own kind +on a neighboring planet and made it grow. But man had never, at least +on his home planet, conquered himself. + +Overpopulation had long since ceased to be a problem--the atomic wars +had seen to that. But, thanks to the miracles of science--atomics and +automation--man had quickly rebuilt the world into a Garden of Eden with +up-to-date plumbing. He might have won two planets, but he had turned +his Eden into an arbor of deadly nightshade. + +Oddly, it had not been the dreadful detonations of thermo-nuclear bombs +that had poisoned his paradise--though, of course, they had helped. It +had been the constant spillage of atomic waste into the upper atmosphere +that had spelled ruin. Now, where four billion people had once lived in +war and want, forty million lived in poisoned plenty. He was chancellor +of a planet whose ruling species could not longer breed without +disaster. + +His was the last generation. It should have been a peaceful generation. +But it was not. + +For, as population decreased, so did the habitable areas of Earth. The +formerly overpopulated temperate regions were now ghastly jungles of +self-choking mutant plant growth. Only what had been the waste +areas--Antarctica, the Gobi, Australia, Patagonia and the Sahara-Arabia +districts--could still support even the strange sorts of human life that +remained. + +And the forty millions still alive were restless, frightened, paranoiac. +Each believed his own group was being systematically exterminated in +favor of some other. None had yet faced the fact that humanity, for all +practical purposes, was already dead on Earth. + +He sensed another presence in the room. It was Myra, his secretary, +bearing a sheaf of messages in one hand, a sheaf of correspondence for +him to sign in the other. She said, "You look beat, chancellor. Sit +down." + +Bliss sat down. Myra, as his faithful and efficient amanuensis for more +than fifteen years, had her rights. One of them was taking care of him +during working hours. She was still rather pretty, he noted with +surprise. An Afro-Asian with skin like dark honey and smooth, pleasant, +rather flat features. It was, he thought, a pity she had that third eye +in her forehead. + +She stood beside him while he ran through the letters and signed them. +"Meeting of the regional vice-chancellors tomorrow, eh?" he said as he +handed them back to her. + +"Right, chancellor," she said crisply. "Ten o'clock. You may have to +take another whirlwind trip to tell them the situation is well in hand." + +He grunted and glanced at the messages, scanned them quickly, tossed +them into the disposal vent beside his desk. Myra looked moderately +disapproving. "What about that possible ship from Mars?" she asked. +"Shouldn't you look into it?" + +He grunted again, looked up at her, said, "If I'd looked into every +'ship from Mars' astronomy has come up with in the nine years I've held +this office, I'd never have had time for anything else. You can lay odds +it's a wild asteroid or something like that." + +"They sound pretty sure this time," Myra said doubtfully. + +"Don't they always?" he countered. "Come on, Myra, wrap it up. Time to +go home." + +"Roger, boss," she said, blinking all three eyes at him. + +Bliss turned on the autopi and napped while the gyrojet carried him to +his villa outside Dakar. Safely down on the roof of the comfortable, +automatic white house, he took the lift down to his second-floor suite, +where he showered and changed into evening sandals and clout. He +redonned his gloves, then rode down another two flights to the terrace, +where Elise was waiting for him in a gossamer-thin iridescent eggshell +sari. They kissed and she patted the place on the love-seat beside her. +She had a book--an old-fashioned book of colored reproductions of +long-since-destroyed old masters on her lap. The artist was a man named +Peter Paul Rubens. + +Eyeing the opulent nudes, she giggled and said, "Don't they look +awfully--plain? I mean, women with only two breasts!" + +"Well--yes," he said. "If you want to take that angle." + +"Idiot!" she said. "Honestly, darling, you're the strangest sort of man +to be a World Chancellor." + +"These are strange times," he told her, smiling without mirth, though +with genuine affection. + +"Suppose--just suppose," she said, turning the pages slowly, "biology +should be successful in stabilizing the species again. Would they _have_ +to set it back that far? I mean, either we or _they_ would feel awfully +out of style." + +"What would you suggest?" he asked her solemnly. + +"Don't be nasty," she said loftily. Then she giggled again and ruffled +his hair. "I wish you'd have it dyed one color," she told him. "Either +black or gray--or why not a bright puce?" + +"What's for dinner?" he asked, adding, "If I can still eat after that." + + * * * * * + +The regional vice-chancellors were awaiting him in the +next-to-the-innermost office when Bliss arrived at World +Capital the next morning. Australia, Antarctica, Patagonia, Gobi, +Sahara-Arabia--they followed him inside like so many penguins in the +black-and-white official robes. All were deathly serious as they stated +their problems. + +Gobi wanted annual rainfall cut from 60 to 45 centimeters. + +Sahara-Arabia was not receiving satisfactory food synthetics--there had +been Moslem riots because of pork flavor in the meat. + +Patagonia was suffering through a species of sport-worm that was +threatening to turn it into a desert if biology didn't come up with a +remedy fast. + +Antarctica wanted temperature lowered from a nighttime norm of 62 deg. +Fahrenheit to 57.6 deg. It seemed that the ice in the skating rinks, +which were the chief source of exercise and entertainment for the +populace, got mushy after ten p.m. + +Australia wanted the heavy uranium deposits under the Great Central +Desert neutralized against its causing further mutations. + +For a moment, Bliss was tempted to remind his viceroys that it was not +going to make one bit of difference whether they made their spoiled +citizens happy or not. The last man on Earth would be dead within fifty +years or so, anyway. But that would have been an unpardonable breach of +taste. Everyone _knew_, of course, but it was never mentioned. To state +the truth was to deny hope. And without hope, there was no life. + +Bliss promised to see that these matters were tended to at once, taking +each in turn. This done, they discussed his making another whirlwind +trip through the remaining major dominions of the planet to bolster +morale. He was relieved when at last, the amenities concluded, the +penguins filed solemnly out. He didn't know which he found more +unattractive--Gobi's atrophied third leg, strapped tightly to the inside +of his left thigh and calf, or Australia's jackass ears. Then, sternly, +he reminded himself that it was not their fault they weren't as lucky as +himself. + +Myra came in, her three eyes aglow, and said, "Boss, you were wrong for +once in your life." + +"What is it this time?" he asked. + +"About that Martian ship," she repeated. "It just landed on the old +spaceport. You can see it from the window." + +"For God's sake!" Bliss was on his feet, moving swiftly to the window. +It was there--needle-nosed, slim as one of the mermaids in his private +washroom, graceful as a vidar dancer. The entire length of it gleamed +like silver in the sunlight. + +Bliss felt the premature old age that had been crowding upon him of late +fall away like the wool of a sheep at shearing. Here, at last, was +hope--real hope. After almost two and a half centuries of +non-communication, the men of the infant planet had returned to the aid +of the aging planet. For, once they saw the condition of Earth, and +understood it, there could be no question of anything else. + +Mars, during the years of space-flight from Earth, had been the outlet +for the mother planet's ablest, toughest, brightest, most aggressive +young men and women. They had gone out to lick a hostile environment, +they had been hand-picked for the job--and they had done it. The ship, +out there in the poisonous Sahara, was living proof of their success. + +He turned from the window and went back to his desk. He said, "Myra, +have their leader brought here to see me as soon as possible." + +"_Roger!_" she said, leaving him swiftly, gracefully. Again he thought +it was too bad about her third eye. It had made it awfully hard for her +to find a husband. He supposed he should be grateful, since it had made +him an incomparably efficient secretary. + +The young man was space-burned and silver-blond of hair. He was broad +and fair of feature and his body was tall and lean and perfect in his +black, skin-tight uniform with the silver rocket-burst on the left +breast. He stood at attention, lifted a gauntleted hand in salute and +said, "Your excellency, Chancellor Bliss--Space-Captain Hon Yaelstrom of +Syrtis City, Mars, bearing official rank of Inter-planetary legate +plenipotentiary. My papers, sir." + +He stood stiff as a ramrod and laid a set of imposing-looking documents +on the vast desk before Bliss. His accent was stiff as his spinal +column. Bliss glanced casually at the papers, nodded and handed them +back. So this, he thought, was how a "normal," a pre-atomic, a +non-mutated human, looked. Impressive. + +Catching himself wandering, he pushed a box of costly smokes toward the +ambassador. + +"_Nein_--no thank you, sir," was the reply. + +"Suppose you sit down and tell me what we can do for you," said Bliss, +motioning toward a chair. + +"Thank you, sir, I prefer to stand," was the reply. And, when Bliss +motioned that it was all right, "My mission is not a happy one, +excellency. Due to overpopulation on Mars, I have been sent to inform +the government of Earth that room must be made to take care of our +overpopulation." + +"I see," Bliss leaned back in his chair, trying to read the situation +correctly. "That may take a little doing. You see, we aren't exactly +awash with real estate here." + +The reply was rigid and harsh. Captain Yaelstrom said, "I regret to +remind your excellency that I have circled this planet before landing. +It is incredibly rich in plant growth, incredibly underpopulated. And I +assure your excellency that my superiors have not sent me here with any +idle request. Mars must have room to emigrate." + +"And if we find ourselves unable to give it to you?" + +"I fear we shall have to take it, your excellency." + +Bliss studied the visitor from space, then said, "This is rather sudden, +you know. I fear it will take time. You must have prospered amazingly on +Mars to have overpopulated the planet so soon." + +"Conditions have not been wholly favorable," was the cryptic reply. "But +as to time, we are scarcely in condition to move our surplus population +overnight. It will take years--perhaps decades--twenty-five years at a +minimum." + +Twenty-five years! That was too soon. If Captain Yaelstrom were a +typical Martian, there was going to be trouble. Bliss recalled again +that Earth had sent only its most aggressive young folk out to the red +planet. He made up his mind then and there that he was somehow going to +salvage for Earth its final half-century of peace. + +He said, "How many people do you plan to send here, Captain?" + +The ambassador hesitated. Then he said, "According to the computations +of our experts, taking the population curve during the next twenty-five +years into account, there will be seventeen million, three hundred +thirty-two thousand five hundred--approximately." + +The figure was too large to be surplus, Bliss decided. It sounded to him +as if humanity were about to abandon Mars completely. He wondered what +the devil had gone wrong, decided this was hardly the time to ask. He +offered Captain Yaelstrom a drink, which was refused, then asked him if +he wouldn't like to wash up. + +To his mild surprise, the ambassador nodded eagerly. "I shall be +grateful," he said. "You have no idea how cramped spaceship quarters can +be." + +"I can imagine," said Bliss dryly. He led the way into the +black-and-gold washroom, was amused at the slight but definite popping +of ambassadorial eyes. Earth might be dying, he thought, but at least +her destroyers would leave a heritage. He motioned toward the basin with +its mermaid taps and Captain Yaelstrom hesitated, then began pulling off +his black gauntlets. + +Bliss thought of something. "You mentioned twenty-five years," he said. +"Is that Martian time or Earth time?" + +"Martian time," said the ambassador, letting the water run over his +hands. + +Twenty-five years, Martian time--a Martian year was 1.88 Earth years. +Bliss exhaled and said, "I think perhaps we shall be able to come to an +agreement. It will take a little time, of course--channels, and all +that." + +The Martian held his hands in front of the air-drier. They were strong, +brown hands with long, muscular fingers. Bliss looked at them and knew +the whole story. For, like himself, Captain Yaelstrom had seven fingers +on each. Man had done no better on Mars than he had at home. The reason +for such a desperate move as emigration was all too clear. + +Captain Yaelstrom stood back from the bowl, then noticed the stall +shower. He said, "What is this? We have nothing like it on Mars." + +Bliss explained its several therapeutic uses, then said, "Perhaps you'd +like to try it yourself while I order us luncheon." + +"May I, excellency?" the Martian legate asked eagerly. + +"Go right ahead," said Bliss magnanimously. "It's all yours." + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of It's All Yours, by Sam Merwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT'S ALL YOURS *** + +***** This file should be named 29195.txt or 29195.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/9/29195/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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