Heinlein, Robert A - SS - Beyond Doubt.pdf

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BEYOND DOUBT
By Robert A. Heinlein
SAVANT SOLVES SECRET OF EASTER ISLAND IMAGES According to Professor J. Howard
Erlenmeyer, Sc.D., Ph.D., F.R.S., director of the Archeological Society's Easter Island Expedition.
Professor Erlenmeyer was quoted as saying, "There can no longer be any possible doubt as to the
significance of the giant monolithic images which are found in Easter Island. When one considers the
primary place held by religious matters in all primitive cultures, and compares the design of these images
with artifacts used in the rites of present day Polynesian tribes, the conclusion is inescapable that these
images have a deep esoteric religious significance. Beyond doubt, their large size, their grotesque
exaggeration of human form, and the seemingly aimless, but actually systematic, distribution gives
evidence of the use for which they were carved, to wit; the worship of..."
WARM, and incredibly golden, the late afternoon sun flooded the white-and-green city of Nuria, gilding
its maze of circular criss-crossed streets. The Towers of the Guardians, rising high above the lushly
verdant hills gleamed like translucent ivory. The hum from the domed buildings of the business district
was muted while merchants rested in the cool shade of luxuriant, moistly green trees, drank refreshing
okrada, and gazed out at the great hook-prowed green-and-crimson ships riding at anchor in the
harbor-ships from Hindos, from Cathay, and from the far-flung colonies of Atlantis.
In all the broad continent of Mu there was no city more richly beautiful than Muria, capitol of the
province of Lac.
But despite the smiling radiance of sun, and sea, and sky, there was an undercurrent of atmospheric
tenseness -- as though the air itself were a tight coil about to be sprung, as though a small spark would
set off a cosmic explosion.
Through the city moved the sibilant whispering of a name-the name was everywhere, uttered in loathing
and fear, or in high hope, according to the affiliations of the utterer-but in any mouth the name had the
potency of thunder.
The name was Talus.
Talus, apostle of the common herd; Talus, on whose throbbing words hung the hopes of a million eager
citizens; Talus, candidate for governor of the province of Lac.
In the heart of the tenement district, near the smelly waterfront, between a narrow side street and a
garbage alley was the editorial office of Mu Regenerate, campaign organ of the Talus-for-Governor
organization. The office was as quiet as the rest of Nuria, but with the quiet of a spent cyclone. The floor
was littered with twisted scraps of parchment, overturned furniture, and empty beer flagons. Three young
men were seated about a great, round, battered table in attitudes that spoke their gloom. One of them
was staring cynically at an enormous poster which dominated one wall of the room. It was a portrait of a
tall, majestic man with a long, curling white beard. He wore a green toga. One hand was raised in a
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gesture of benediction. Over the poster, under the crimson-and-purple of crossed Murian banners, was
the legend:
TALUS FOR GOVERNOR!
The one who stared at the poster let go an unconscious sigh. One of his companions looked up from
scratching at a sheet of parchment with a stubby stylus. "What's eating on you, Robar?"
THE one addressed waved a hand at the wall. "I was just looking at our white hope. Ain't he beautiful?
Tell me, Dolph, how can anyone look so noble, and be so dumb?"
"God knows. It beats me."
"That's not quite fair, fellows/' put in the third, "the old boy ain't really dumb; he's just unworldly. You've
got to admit that the Plan is the most constructive piece of statesmanship this country has seen in a
generation."
Robar turned weary eyes on him. "Sure. Sure. And he'd make a good governor, too. I won't dispute
that; if I didn't think the Plan would work, would I be here, living from hand to mouth and breaking my
heart on this bloody campaign? Oh, he's noble all right. Sometimes he's so noble it gags me. What I mean
is: Did you ever work for a candidate that was so bull-headed stupid about how to get votes and win an
election?"
"Well...no."
"What gets me, Clevum," Robar went on, "is that he could be elected so easily. He's got everything; a
good sound platform that you can stir people up with, the correct background, a grand way of speaking,
and the most beautiful appearance that a candidate ever had. Compared with Old Bat Ears, he's a
natural. It ought to be just one-two-three. But Bat Ears will be re-elected, sure as shootin'."
"I'm afraid you're right," mourned Clevum. "We're going to take such a shellacking as nobody ever saw.
1 thought for a while that we would make the grade, but now -- Did you see what the King's Men said
about him this morning?"
"That dirty little sheet -- What was it?"
"Besides some nasty cracks about Atlantis gold, they accused him of planning to destroy the Murian
home and defile the sanctity of Murian womanhood. They called upon every red-blooded one hundred
per cent Murian to send this subversive monster back where he came from. Oh, it stank! But the yokels
were eating it up."
"Sure they do. That's just what I mean. The governor's gang slings mud all the time, but if we sling any
mud about governor Vortus, Talus throws a fit. His idea of a news story is a nifty little number about
comparative statistics of farm taxes in the provinces of Mu...What are you drawing now, Dolph?"
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"This." He held up a ghoulish caricature of Governor Vortus himself, with his long face, thin lips, and high
brow, atop of which rested the tall crimson governor's cap. Enormous ears gave this sinister face the
appearance of a vulture about to take flight. Beneath the cartoon was the simple caption:
BAT EARS FOR GOVERNOR
"There!" exclaimed Robar, "that's what this campaign needs. Humor! If we could plaster that cartoon on
the front page of Mu Regenerate and stick one under the door of every voter in the province, it 'ud be a
landslide. One look at that mug and they'd laugh themselves sick-and vote for our boy Talus!"
HE held the sketch at arm's length and studied it, frowning: Presently he locked up. "Listen, dopes --
Why not do it? Give me one last edition with some guts in it. Are you game?"
Clevum looked worried. "Well...I don't know...What are you going to use for money? Besides, even if
Oric would crack loose from the dough, how would we get an edition of that size distributed thai; well?
And even if we did get it done, it might boomerang on us-the opposition would have the time and money
to answer it."
Robar looked disgusted. "That's what a guy gets for having ideas in this campaign-nothing but
objections, objections!"
"Wait a minute, Robar," Dolph interposed. "Clevum's kicks have some sense to them, but maybe you
got something. The idea is to make Joe Citizen laugh at Vortus, isn't it? Well, why not fix up some
dodgers of my cartoon and hand 'em out at the polling places on election day?"
Robar drummed on the table as he considered this. "Umm, no, it wouldn't do. Vortus' goon squads
would beat the hell out of our workers and high jack our literature."
"Well, then how about painting some big banners with old Bat Ears on them? We could stick them up
near each polling place where the voters couldn't fail to see them."
"Same trouble. The goon squads would have them down before the polls open."
"Do you know what, fellows," put in Clevum, "what we need is something big enough to be seen and too
solid for Governor's plug-uglies to wreck. Big stone statues about two stories high would be about right."
Robar looked more pained than ever. "Clevum, il you can't be helpful, why not keep quiet? Sure, statues
would be fine-if we had forty years and ten million simoleons."
"Just think, Robar." Dolph jibed, with an irritating smile, "if your mother had entered you for the
priesthood, you could integrate all the statues you want-no worry, no trouble, no expense."
"Yeah, wise guy, but in that case I wouldn't be in politics -- Say!"
" 'S trouble?"
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"Integration! Suppose we could integrate enough statues of old Picklepuss -- "
"How?"
"Do you know Kondor?"
"The moth-eaten old duck that hangs around the Whirling Whale?"
"That's him. I'll bet he could do it!"
"That old stumblebum? Why, he's no adept; he's just a cheap unlicensed sorcerer. Reading palms in
saloons and a little jackleg horoscopy is about all he's good for. He can't even mix a potent love philter. I
know; I've tried him."
"Don't be too damn certain you know all about him. He got all tanked up one night and told me the story
of his life. He used to be a priest back in Egypt."
"Then why isn't he now?"
"That's the point. He didn't get along with the high priest. One night he got drunk and integrated a statue
of the high priest right where it would show up best and too big to be missed-only he stuck the head of
the high priest on the body of an animal."
"Whew!"
"Naturally when he sobered up the next morning and saw what he had done all he could do was to run
for it. He shipped on a freighter in the Red Sea and that's how come he's here."
Clevum's face had been growing longer and longer all during the discussion. He finally managed to get in
an objection. "I don't suppose you two red hots have stopped to think about the penalty for unlawful use
of priestly secrets?"
"Oh, shut up, Clevum. If we win the election, Talus'11 square it. If we lose the election -- Well, if we
lose, Mu won't be big enough to hold us whether we pull this stunt or not."
ORIC was hard to convince. As a politician he was always affable; as campaign manager for Talus, and
consequently employer of Robar, Dolph, and Clevum, the boys had sometimes found him elusive, even
though chummy.
"Ummm, well, I don't know -- " He had said, "I'm afraid Talus wouldn't like it."
"Would he need to know until it's all done?"
"Now, boys, really, ah, you wouldn't want me to keep him in ignorance..."
"But Oric, you know perfectly well that we are going to lose unless we do something, and do it quick."
"Now, Robar, you are too pessimistic." Oric's pop eyes radiated synthetic confidence.
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"How about that straw poll? We didn't look so good; we were losing two to one in the back country."
"Well...perhaps you are right, my boy." Oric laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "But suppose
we do lose this election; Mu wasn't built in a day. And I want you to know that we appreciate the hard,
unsparing work that you boys have done, regardless of the outcome. Talus won't forget it, and neither
shall, uh, I...It's young men like you three who give me confidence in the future of Mu -- "
"We don't want appreciation; we want to win this election."
"Oh, to be sure! To be sure! So do we all-none more than myself. Uh-how much did you say this
scheme of yours would cast?"
"The integration won't cost much. We can offer Kon-dor a contingent fee and cut him in on a spot of
patronage. Mostly we'll need to keep him supplied with wine. The big item will be getting the statues to
the polling places. We had planned on straight commercial appor-tation."
"Well, now, that will be expensive."
"Dolph called the temple and got a price -- "
"Good heavens, you haven't told the priests what you plan to do?"
"No, sir. He just specified tonnage and distances."
"What was the bid?"
Robar told him. Oric looked as if his first born were being ravaged by wolves. "Out of the question, out
of the question entirely," he protested.
But Robar pressed the matter. "Sure it's expensive -- but it's not half as expensive as a campaign that is
just good enough to lose. Besides-I know the priesthood isn't supposed to be political, but isn't it
possible with your connections for you to find one who would do it on the side for a smaller price, or
even on credit? It's a safe thing for him; if we go through with this we'll win-it's a cinch."
Oric looked really interested for the first time. "You might be right. Mmmm-yes." He fitted the tips of his
fingers carefully together. "You boys go ahead with this. Get the statues made. Let me worry about the
arrangements for apportation." He started to leave, a preoccupied look on his face.
"Just a minute," Robar called out, "we'll need some money to oil up old Kondor."
Oric paused. "Oh, yes, yes. How stupid of me." He pulled out three silver pieces arid handed them to
Robar. "Cash, and no records, eh?" He winked.
"While you're about it, sir," added Clevum, "how about my salary? My landlady's getting awful
temperamental."
Oric seemed surprised. "Oh, haven't I paid you yet?" He fumbled at his robes. "You've been very
patient; most patriotic. You know how it is-so many details on my mind, and some of our sponsors
haven't been prompt about meeting their pledges." He handed Clevum one piece of silver. "See me the
first of the week, my boy. Don't let me forget it." He hurried out.
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