It's All Yours Read online

through the letters and signed them."Meeting of the regional vice-chancellors tomorrow, eh?" he said as hehanded them back to her.

  "Right, chancellor," she said crisply. "Ten o'clock. You may have totake another whirlwind trip to tell them the situation is well in hand."

  He grunted and glanced at the messages, scanned them quickly, tossedthem into the disposal vent beside his desk. Myra looked moderatelydisapproving. "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 heldthis office, I'd never have had time for anything else. You can lay oddsit'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 togo home."

  "Roger, boss," she said, blinking all three eyes at him.

  Bliss turned on the autopi and napped while the gyrojet carried him tohis 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. Heredonned his gloves, then rode down another two flights to the terrace,where Elise was waiting for him in a gossamer-thin iridescent eggshellsari. They kissed and she patted the place on the love-seat beside her.She had a book--an old-fashioned book of colored reproductions oflong-since-destroyed old masters on her lap. The artist was a man namedPeter Paul Rubens.

  Eyeing the opulent nudes, she giggled and said, "Don't they lookawfully--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 manto be a World Chancellor."

  "These are strange times," he told her, smiling without mirth, thoughwith genuine affection.

  "Suppose--just suppose," she said, turning the pages slowly, "biologyshould be successful in stabilizing the species again. Would they _have_to set it back that far? I mean, either we or _they_ would feel awfullyout of style."

  "What would you suggest?" he asked her solemnly.

  "Don't be nasty," she said loftily. Then she giggled again and ruffledhis hair. "I wish you'd have it dyed one color," she told him. "Eitherblack 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 thenext-to-the-innermost office when Bliss arrived at WorldCapital the next morning. Australia, Antarctica, Patagonia, Gobi,Sahara-Arabia--they followed him inside like so many penguins in theblack-and-white official robes. All were deathly serious as they statedtheir problems.

  Gobi wanted annual rainfall cut from 60 to 45 centimeters.

  Sahara-Arabia was not receiving satisfactory food synthetics--there hadbeen Moslem riots because of pork flavor in the meat.

  Patagonia was suffering through a species of sport-worm that wasthreatening to turn it into a desert if biology didn't come up with aremedy 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 thepopulace, got mushy after ten p.m.

  Australia wanted the heavy uranium deposits under the Great CentralDesert neutralized against its causing further mutations.

  For a moment, Bliss was tempted to remind his viceroys that it was notgoing to make one bit of difference whether they made their spoiledcitizens happy or not. The last man on Earth would be dead within fiftyyears or so, anyway. But that would have been an unpardonable breach oftaste. Everyone _knew_, of course, but it was never mentioned. To statethe truth was to deny hope. And without hope, there was no life.

  Bliss promised to see that these matters were tended to at once, takingeach in turn. This done, they discussed his making another whirlwindtrip through the remaining major dominions of the planet to bolstermorale. He was relieved when at last, the amenities concluded, thepenguins filed solemnly out. He didn't know which he found moreunattractive--Gobi's atrophied third leg, strapped tightly to the insideof 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 ashimself.

  Myra came in, her three eyes aglow, and said, "Boss, you were wrong foronce in your life."

  "What is it this time?" he asked.

  "About that Martian ship," she repeated. "It just landed on the oldspaceport. 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 privatewashroom, graceful as a vidar dancer. The entire length of it gleamedlike silver in the sunlight.

  Bliss felt the premature old age that had been crowding upon him of latefall away like the wool of a sheep at shearing. Here, at last, washope--real hope. After almost two and a half centuries ofnon-communication, the men of the infant planet had returned to the aidof the aging planet. For, once they saw the condition of Earth, andunderstood it, there could be no question of anything else.

  Mars, during the years of space-flight from Earth, had been the outletfor the mother planet's ablest, toughest, brightest, most aggressiveyoung 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 thoughtit was too bad about her third eye. It had made it awfully hard for herto find a husband. He supposed he should be grateful, since it had madehim an incomparably efficient secretary.

  The young man was space-burned and silver-blond of hair. He was broadand fair of feature and his body was tall and lean and perfect in hisblack, skin-tight uniform with the silver rocket-burst on the leftbreast. He stood at attention, lifted a gauntleted hand in salute andsaid, "Your excellency, Chancellor Bliss--Space-Captain Hon Yaelstrom ofSyrtis City, Mars, bearing official rank of Inter-planetary legateplenipotentiary. My papers, sir."

  He stood stiff as a ramrod and laid a set of imposing-looking documentson the vast desk before Bliss. His accent was stiff as his spinalcolumn. Bliss glanced casually at the papers, nodded and handed themback. So this, he thought, was how a "normal," a pre-atomic, anon-mutated human, looked. Impressive.

  Catching himself wandering, he pushed a box of costly smokes toward theambassador.

  "_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 Blissmotioned that it was all right, "My mission is not a happy one,excellency. Due to overpopulation on Mars, I have been sent to informthe government of Earth that room must be made to take care of ouroverpopulation."

  "I see," Bliss leaned back in his chair, trying to read the situationcorrectly. "That may take a little doing. You see, we aren't exactlyawash with real estate here."

  The reply was rigid and harsh. Captain Yaelstrom said, "I regret toremind your excellency that I have circled this planet before landing.It is incredibly rich in plant growth, incredibly underpopulated. And Iassure your excellency that my superiors have not sent me here with anyidle 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 onMars to have overpopulated the planet so soon."


  "Conditions have not been wholly favorable," was the cryptic reply. "Butas to time, we are scarcely in condition to move our surplus populationovernight. It will take years--perhaps decades--twenty-five years at aminimum."

  Twenty-five years! That was too soon. If Captain Yaelstrom were atypical Martian, there was going to be trouble. Bliss recalled againthat Earth had sent only its most aggressive young folk out to the redplanet. He made up his mind then and there that he was somehow going tosalvage 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