was still on duty. I first heard about it from my secretary when I returned
to my office, and at once hurried into Manning's office.
There was a curious unreality to that meeting. It seemed to me that we had
slipped back to that day when I returned from England, the day that Estelle
Karst died. He looked up. "Hello John," he said.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Don't take it so hard, chief," was all I
could think of to say.
Forty-eight hours later came the message from the newly sworn-in President
for Manning to report to him. I took it in to him, an official dispatch
which I decoded. Manning read it, face impassive.
"Are you going, chief?" I asked.
"Eh? Why, certainly."
I went back into my office, and got my topcoat, gloves, and brief case.
Manning looked up when I came back in. "Never mind, John," he said. "You're
not going." I guess I must have looked stubborn, for he added, "You're not
to go because there is work to do here. Wait a minute."
He went to his safe, twiddled the dials, opened it and removed a sealed
envelope which he threw on the desk between us. "Here are your orders. Get
busy."
He went out as I was opening them. I read them through and got busy. There
was little enough time.
The new president received Manning standing and in the company of several
of his bodyguard and intimates. Manning recognized the senator who had led
the movement to use the Patrol to recover expropriated holdings in South
America and Rhodesia, as well as the chairman of the committee on aviation
with whom he had had several unsatisfactory conferences in an attempt to
work out a modus operandi for reinstituting commercial airlines.
"You're prompt, I see," said the President. "Good."
Manning bowed.
"We might as well come straight to the point," the Chief Executive went on.
"There are going to be some changes of policy in the administration. I want
your resignation."
"I am sorry to have to refuse, sir."
'Well see about that. In the meantime, Colonel Manning, your are relieved
from duty."
"Mr. Commissioner Manning, if you please."
The new President shrugged. "One or the other, as you please. You are
relieved, either way."
'1 am sorry to disagree again. My appointment is for life."
"That's enough," was the answer. "This is the United States of America.
There can be no higher authority. You are under arrest"
I can visualize Manning staring steadily at him for a long moment, then
answering slowly, "You are physically able to arrest me, I will concede,
but I advise you to wait a few minutes." He stepped to the window. "Look up
into the sky."
Six bombers of the Peace Commission patrolled over the Capitol. "None of
those pilots are American born," Manning added slowly. "If you confine me,
none of us here in this room will live out the day."
There were incidents thereafter, such as the unfortunate affair at Fort
Benning three days later, and the outbreak in the wing of the Patrol based
in Lisbon and its resultant wholesale dismissals, but for practical
purposes, that was all there was to the coup d' etat.
Manning was the undisputed military dictator of the world.
Whether or not any man as universally hated as Manning can perfect the
Patrol he envisioned, make it self-perpetuating and trustworthy, I don't
know, and�because of that week of waiting in a buried English hangar�I
won't be here to find out. Manning's heart disease makes the outcome even
more uncertain�he may last another twenty years; he may keel over dead
tomorrow�and there is no one to take his place. I've set this down partly
to occupy the short time I have left and partly to show there is another
side to any story, even world dominion.
Not that I would like the outcome, either way. If there is anything to this
survival-after-death business, I am going to look up the man who invented
the bow and arrow and take him apart with my bare hands. For myself, I
can't be happy in a world where any man, or group of men, has the power of
death over you and me, our neighbors, every human, every animal, every
living thing. I don't like anyone to have that kind of power.
And neither does Manning.
The Worlds Of Robert A Heinlein Page 20
