THE INCREDIBLE INVASION

                          BY GEORGE O. SMITH

                         Illustrated by Ayers

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                Astounding Science-Fiction, March 1948.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Jim Franklen paused a moment before he opened the door of the office.
He stopped to read the black lettering with a surface of pride--he was
a part of it.

The sign read:

                            UNITED NATIONS
                            WEAPON SECURITY
                                COUNCIL

                       Thomas Winter, President

Then Franklen opened the door and went in, confidently. He greeted the
man behind the desk, who looked up worriedly from a maze of paper work
and bade Franklen to sit down.

Winter said: "Trouble, Franklen. Bad trouble."

Franklen nodded. "I know," he said. "I've been following it. I gather
that the fools are getting worse?"

Winter agreed with a slight nod of the head and replied: "I can't
imagine what they're up to. Yet they continue to rattle the saber and
make demands. The Central Power is not ignorant of the ramifications
of their acts. Not after we've made point-blank statements. But they
continue to get rougher and bolder, just as though they had the world
in the palm of their hands."

"They know that they can't win, don't they?" asked Franklen.

"They should--they've been told, and they have been shown exactly what
will happen, how, and why. The proof is irrevocable, undeniable. Still
they continue."

"I understand we've been watching them closely."

Winter smiled bitterly. "I've got so many men watching their separation
plants and their atomic stockpile that even the janitors must find UN
Representatives looking up out of their coffee cups in the morning.
There's no activity there that can be construed as dangerous, even
admitting that we're leaning way over backwards and would be suspicious
of a single gram of missing fissionable matter. Of course, they have
the standard United Nations stockpile; the safety value that all
nations hold against possible aggression. They're also aware that this
quantity is also a fraction of what the rest hold all together."

Franklen looked at the big flag on the back wall of the office.
"The United Nations," he said bitterly. "With one member slightly
disunited." He turned back to the president of the Weapon Council.
"Have they, by any chance, made secret pacts with other nations?"

"Not that we can tell," said Winter. "Now don't say that this is
negative evidence and therefore inconclusive. It is admittedly
negative evidence, but so definitely negative that it is conclusive.
The Central Power has been told that if they make a move, they'll be
counter-attacked within the hour."

Franklen paused in his walking and said: "Look, sir, there's one thing
about the atomic weapon that is seldom considered. I've been thinking
about this for a long time. Frankly, the atomic weapon is a fine
instrument for any country to use--providing it has no intention of
invading for territorial aggrandization."

"What do you mean?"

"Cities are where they are because it is economically sound that they
should be there. New York is the largest city in North America only
because it is situated on the one spot where most goods funnel out of
the country. It grew because of that fact--the fact did not follow the
city's growth. In all the world, perhaps Washington, D. C., is the
only city that is where it is because someone said 'we shall place
our city here!' and Washington could function very well if it were
lifted in toto and dropped on the center of Ohio, providing it landed
on some big railroad junction. Boston is a second rate city despite
all the efforts of the city planners only because its harbor is less
efficient than New York's harbor and because Boston is not handily
located geographically for the rest of the country. Even though Boston
is closer to Europe than New York, it is cheaper to ship the goods a
little farther by water, for they've got to be transshipped anyway,
somewhere. For inland cities, both Detroit and Chicago are great
because of their location; if their locations were not good, Chicago
might still be a little tank town called Fort Dearborn, situated on the
South Bank of the Chicago River--which would still be emptying into
Lake Michigan."

"Granted, but what are you getting at?" asked Winter.

"Mankind has dropped two bombs in anger so far," said Franklen. "Both
were dropped at the close of a war, to end it. Japan was not invaded
for aggrandization. Therefore, no Americans were required to enter
Hiroshima and try to rebuild it. We don't care too much whether
Nagasaki ever gets rebuilt, though it will, eventually, because of the
necessity of having a city right there."

"Yes, go on."

       *       *       *       *       *

"The next time we have atomic trouble," said Franklen, "it'll not be
exploded high in the air. It's more likely to emerge right out of the
walls of one of those buildings. That will mean radioactivity in the
area that will render it dangerous to life for some time. In any case,
a totally destroyed New York is not an economic asset."

"Yes?"

"And the Central Power knows that we will not use the atomic weapons
until they are used in aggression."

"No, you're wrong," said Winter. "We have promised them--and
everybody--that at the first outbreak of hostility, the United Nations
Weapon Council will see to it that one of their cities is reduced each
day until the aggression ceases and reparations are made." He banged
a hand into his fist. "It's a harsh promise, my boy, but it must be.
For a border fist fight leads to knives, and knives lead to revolvers,
and they lead to rifles, which lead to artillery. The next step in the
scene is the works, complete and whole."

Franklen shook his head. "The first step is words," he said positively.
"Then come the fists. We should let 'em have a sample on the first
angry words."

"Can't. It's entirely possible that a party can be so nasty and quiet
that steps are necessary on the part of the other. The truth must be
investigated."

"Is that what's been happening?" asked Jim Franklen.

"At first it looked so," said Winter. "They started by upping tariffs
and getting too rigorous with people coming in. They were told, and
they replied that their country was at present overcrowded. Why, Jim,
the entire pattern is familiar. They've been holding elections and all
the trimmings for years, now, and every election they hold brings more
territory into their hands."

"That's something that can't be easily judged," admitted Franklen
grudgingly.

"No, it can't; you're right. In any election there are plenty of
unsatisfied people. We assume that the Central Power is padding the
elections, but we cannot be sure. Well, again they have overrun most
of Europe and now they're looking outward. We've got to do something,
Jim. But we've got to be absolutely right before we move. That's what
makes being right so hard, sometimes. He who is wrong can move without
conscience. Well, it's now being tossed into your hands. See what you
can do, take a carte blanche and see what you can find out."

Franklen nodded glumly. "I know what you mean," he said. "I'd hate to
be the cause of fifty thousand killed, unless I was dead certain that
my actions would save a million later."

Winter shook the younger man's hand. "Well, you've been brought into
it," he said, "and you're trained to handle hypothetical problems of
this nature anyway. So, my boy, go out and stop that incipient war for
me!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Jim Franklen remembered that ringing order many times in the following
days. "Go out and stop that war!" was his order, and he was hoping he
could. There was little real saber-rattling, but only a slow spread of
the Central Power's influence that was conducted in a quiet fashion.

He read the previous reports several times, and analyzed them
carefully. There was one more thing, a direct, personal, man-to-man
warning that could be tried and must be tried before he moved. This act
must also be publicized so that his following moves would be greeted
with the proper attitude. The public must know that his course met with
their approval.

This brought him to the government of the Central Power, where he was
first stopped by an undersecretary.

"You may state your business," said the underling with all the
authority of bureaucracy.

"I'm special representative of the United Nations Weapon Council," said
Franklen, "and request audience with your state head, the Commissario
Hohmann."

"You may state your business to me," said the underling.

"I'll state it to Hohmann himself," snapped Franklen quickly. "And
he'll right well see me, too!"

"I'll inquire," said the undersecretary.

"You'd better."

"You understand that the Commissario speaks personally only with
officials of his own rank."

"That's rank enough," grunted Franklen. "And I can be just as rank as
he is. Now stop caging and make that appointment for me--no later than
tomorrow morning! Rank? Spinach! Where I come from, we elect our rulers
and they'd better do as we want them to, or they don't stay rulers! And
Hohmann can put you in his pipe and smoke it! Or," he added softly,
"shall I order a cordon of United Nations marines out to see that I am
properly escorted into his presence?"

"That would create an international incident," replied the
undersecretary.

"Uh-huh," snorted Franklen. "It sure would, wouldn't it?"

Both he and the underling knew at that point just who would be deemed
responsible for the international incident, and so there was no point
in further argument. The phone was used three times, and ultimately it
was reported that James Franklen would be most welcome in the morning
at eight-thirty--and would he partake of breakfast with Commissario
Hohmann?

He nodded. After all, Hohmann might not spoil his digestion--Franklen
had a stomach installed by a copper company and felt safe.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was pomp and ceremony as Franklen entered the swanky apartments
of the Commissario Hohmann. He was escorted in by an honor-guard, and
once in the ornate dining room, Franklen came face to face with the
commissario himself.

Hohmann bowed genially and Franklen returned the pleasantry. He was
seated across a small table from the dictator of the Central Power, and
as he settled in the chair, silver service with a half grapefruit came
from a servitor for each man simultaneously. Hohmann tasted his, smiled
and nodded at it. "Excellent," he said to Franklen. Jim tried his and
was forced to agree.

"Now," said Hohmann easily, "I've been told that the United Nations do
not approve of certain happenings?"

"We do not," said Franklen. "We do not intend to interfere with the
usual run of events, but we dislike to see the same pattern coming up
again."

"Pattern?" asked Hohmann in surprise. His spoon paused in mid-flight as
surprise caught him unawares, but then it continued on, upwards.

Franklen nodded, and then swallowed. "The pattern should be familiar,"
he said. "Small districts lying between larger countries suddenly vote
alliance with your Central Power. A couple of years pass, and another
district still farther out allies itself with you. Commissario Hohmann,
your Central Power has increased its geographic size by a factor of two
to one during the past five years."

"That I know--and I am also gratified to know that my government has
something to offer these outlying districts."

"The trouble is," said Franklen pointedly, "that all of these districts
have--or had--a system of voting that lends itself very well to a
long-term carpetbagging system. The residence required before voting in
the maximum case is one year."

"You accuse me of padding ballot boxes?" demanded Hohmann angrily.

"Not at all," said Franklen. "Padding a ballot box is illegal, which
you would not condone. No, Commissario Hohmann, you are proceeding
quite legally, but you are, nevertheless, twisting the law to suit your
needs."

"Nonsense!"

"We know differently. There was the Phalz District that voted into your
Power two years ago. Its voting population rose markedly for two years
before the election, and dropped shortly afterwards. Strangely, its
drop coincided with the rise of voting population in the Rhehl District
a year later."

"You approach me with the accusation that people of mine are traveling
from district to district and voting them into my government for
them--and against their wishes?" demanded Hohmann.

"I wouldn't state whether it was the same people that moved," said
Franklen, "but there is definitely some exchange."

"My dear young fellow," said Hohmann consolingly, "please do not be
alarmed by some of the problems of the floating population of Central
Europe. That is what happens when cities are decentralized, you know.
And may I remind you that the United Nations were instrumental in
decentralizing the cities of my country some twenty years ago?"

"You have all the rationalization of the last ruler of Central Europe.
He proceeded legally at first."

"He proceeded legally until he was forced to move illegally. He was
attacked first, you know."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Look, Hohmann, he who eludes the legal statement by twisting the law
to suit his own illegal end is illegal."

"That's sophistry."

"No, it is not. It is a statement of the fact that you are legally
right and morally wrong and you know it. Frankly, you are expanding at
a rate that will bring on a state of war and you know it. Regardless
of your spoken intent, you are expanding illegally and it must cease!"

"And I assure you that if people decide to join my government, I can
but be gratified and accept them."

"Even though the populace disagrees?"

"They voted, didn't they?" asked Hohmann. And seeing Jim Franklen's
answer, even though skeptical, Hohmann added: "And if they want to,
they can as easily vote out again."

"Oh certainly," snorted Franklen angrily. "The district of one quarter
of a million people vote in all by themselves, but in voting out again
they must submit to a national election. One quarter million versus
some seventy million."

"Well, the welfare of my country is a national problem, and the welfare
of any part of it is equally a national concern. To secede, any part,
therefore, should convince the entire nation that this course is best.
That is, naturally, very difficult."

"Impossible," snapped Franklen.

"Almost impossible," agreed Hohmann, nodding his head slowly in
complete agreement. "Yet for all your distrust of my government and its
supposed aggressive attitude, I assure you that we are humanitarian
to the core, and will go to any lengths to make our people happy.
Unlike the former ruler, who insisted that the individual is second to
the State, I know that the State is the property of the individual.
Unfortunately--or fortunately--there are always differences of opinion.
That makes it difficult to please everybody with any single act. We
try, however, to make the bulk of the people satisfied. I--"

He was interrupted by the arrival of an aide, who brought him a sheet
of teletyped copy. "Commissario Hohmann," said the aide, "I am sorry to
disturb your breakfast, but this is an important message."

"Quite all right, Jenks," smiled Hohmann. "Pardon me?" he asked of
Franklen. Then he read, first quietly and then aloud:

"International News Service representatives in Paris, France, today
told of a serious pandemic sweeping the country. This illness seems to
be some strange combination of mild dysentery complicated with very
mild influenza. It is quite contagious; isolated cases were first noted
three days ago, but the epidemic has been spreading into dangerous
proportions. It is believed that if this pandemic gets worse, the
government may close all places of business and public works."

When he finished, Hohmann looked up across the table at Jim Franklen.
"Unfortunate," he said sincerely. "Yet one man's meat is another man's
poison. This distressing affair may give me a chance to prove to you
that the Central Power is still a member of the United Nations, and
concerned about the common lot of all mankind."

"Meaning?" asked Franklen.

"Meaning that I must leave you for a bit. I intend to muster all forces
that the Central Power owns that can, in any way, be used to combat the
common enemy that is striking at France. I invite you officially to
join and observe."

"I may take that invitation," said Jim.

"The Central Power will enter that plague area to take relief and
aid--even though we may ourselves suffer greatly. It is things like
this, James Franklen, that endears us to our immediate neighbors. You
may watch one half of the population of my country turn from their
own problems, and bravely enter France to aid the stricken. Jenks! A
message to Le Presidente Jacques La Croix. 'We stand ready to aid in
every way if your need increases. You have but to request, and we will
answer in the name of humanity! Signed Edvard Hohmann, Commissario of
the Central Power.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

Jim Franklen faced Winter wearily in the latter's office. It was two
weeks later, and Jim was glad to be back, even though his mission was
but half accomplished.

"I don't know how to stop him," he told the president of the Weapon
Council. "He's like a stock market operator that doles out quarters
to the beggar on the corner and then enters the Curb to squeeze some
small operator out of his life savings. It is admitted--almost--that he
is running a carpetbagging program over there. Then comes this plague
in France. Like a first-class humanitarian, he musters his forces and
they go into that area and take control for two solid weeks while
practically every person in France is flat on his back with this
devil's disease. It would have been easy for him to take over, Winter.
But he sent in doctors and aides, and the like, and the only armed men
he sent were merely small-arm troops. He sent just barely enough of
them to maintain order, which they did and no more. I doubt if there
was a store-window broken or a bottle of milk stolen over and above any
normal interval. Then as the people of France recovered, he gracefully
turned everything back, gave them a written report on his actions,
apologized for whatever minor expenses his aid might have cost--his men
did live off of the country, and that costs, you know--and then marched
out with the bands playing and the people cheering.

"It gives me to wonder," continued Franklen. "Remember the 'Union--Now'
cries between the United States and Great Britain during the last
fracas? Well, solidarity between France and the Central Power was
never so great before. Hohmann could ask them for the moon, and they'd
present him with a gold tablet, suitably engraved, giving him clear and
unrestricted title. Watch for a first-class alliance, Winter."

Winter nodded. "I've been watching," he said. "Regardless of how he
does it, and he is a supreme opportunist, it is oppression."

Franklen grunted. "Even anarchy is oppression for some classes of
people."

"But you and I both know that he rode into his office initially
on a program of oppressing the minority groups. He's made no great
mass-murder of them as his predecessor did, nor has he collected them
in concentration camps. Yet they are oppressed, for they have little
free life. They are permitted to work only as their superiors dictate,
and for a subsistence wage. They do the rough jobs; they work in
Hohmann's separation plants, do the mining, and the dirty work. Each
is given a card entitling him to secure employment in certain lines.
All of these lines are poorly paid and quite dangerous or dirty.
The wage is so low that the children are forced to forgo schooling
in order to help pay for the family. Regardless of his outward act
of humanitarianism, Hohmann is none the less a tyrant with ideas of
aggrandization. That he is able to take a catastrophe and turn it into
a blessing for himself is deplorable, but it seems to be one of those
unfair tricks of fate to favor the ill-minded, for some unknown reason.
I never knew a stinker that didn't get everything his own way for far
too long for the other's comfort. Eventually, of course, the deal evens
out, but the waiting is often maddeningly long."

"And we sit here helpless," growled Franklen, "all clutching our atomic
weapons that could wipe out Hohmann and most of his country. And as we
hang on to them, and rub their rounded noses angrily, we watch Hohmann
walk in and take over--we are unsure of our grounds. Bah! Why not
claim it for what it is--aggressive acquisition of territory? Then
let's bomb him and let the world judge for itself."

Winter shook his head slowly. "And if we do, La Belle Francaise will
rise up and scream 'Oppression'! For France is probably an operating
country today because of Edvard Hohmann. There was once a first-class
criminal, Public Enemy Number One, who, during a period of economic
depression, used some of his ill-gotten gains to set up soup kitchens
for the underfed. You'd hardly convince any one of them that he was
entirely worthy of the electric chair and not much better. That was
when his crimes were known to all. And people said: 'O.K., so he's
killed a bunch of people. They were all criminals, too, and so he saved
the country some expense. And besides, he set up soup kitchens, and so
he's not a bad sort of fellow!' No, Jim, we've got to get evidence of
definite acts of belligerency."

"Sort of like trying to get evidence against a confidence-man who sells
his victims something that they believe valuable."

Winter nodded at the simile.

"More like a druggist who sells opiates indiscriminately. The people
who buy them do so because they find them useful even though they are
dangerous in the long run. But you keep on trying, Jim. The rest of us
will see to it that Hohmann isn't running himself up a stockpile of
atomics all the time that his underground warfare is going on."

       *       *       *       *       *

Jim Franklen left the office and wandered down the hall to the Chief
Physician's office. Shield greeted Franklen cheerfully and asked what
was on the younger man's mind.

"Nothing much," said Jim. "I was just wondering if you'd isolated the
bug or whatever it was that hit France."

"We believe so," said Dr. Shield. "We'll know in another couple of
weeks. It seems to be some sort of filterable virus, air-borne for
contagion, and very rugged. Intelligent, too. It apparently knows
enough not to touch diparasulfathiazole."

"How do these rare illnesses get going?" questioned Jim.

"In several ways. The Law of Simple Reactions also applies, you
know." And seeing the blank look on Franklen's face, he added: "When
a number of reactions are possible, the one that requires the least
energy will happen first. That's saying that the most likely will
happen first. A few hundred years ago, so many people died of typhoid,
yellow fever, and smallpox that a more complex disease like meningitis
or polio seldom got beyond the normal case frequency. When the more
prevalent--the more likely diseases--were stopped, we could have polio
plagues. It's probably been here for a long time, killing its quota
every year, but never noticed because of other, more devastating
affairs."

"I think I understand."

"Why did you ask?" asked the doctor.

"Well, I was there, you know. It was rather devastating, though it
didn't kill off very many."

"It isn't that type," said Shield. "Which is another factor in its
not being noticed. The early symptoms are dysentery, not violent, but
definitely weakening. The secondary symptoms are similar to influenza
in a mild form. The whole thing just takes all the energy out of the
system and leaves you weaker than a kitten for about twenty days. After
which you can get up and go again, though somewhat rockily. It's a
one-shot affair, luckily. The body builds up an immunity to the bug,
and once you go through with it, you're safe from then on--though upon
re-exposure, you can act as a carrier."

"O.K., doctor. I was just wondering because I was rather close to it."

"You didn't catch it?"

"Nope. Not yet, anyway."

"And you were in the plague area?" demanded Dr. Shield.

"For several days with Commissario Hohmann."

"Then I'd like a sample of your blood," said the doctor, reaching for
his sterile cabinet. "Maybe you are carrying the normal antibody in
quantity already. I'd like to check it."

Franklen bared his arm and the doctor extracted thirty or forty CC of
Jim's venous blood. "Thanks," said Dr. Shield. "We'll also see if you
have any other bugs running around loose in here," he smiled, holding
up the vial.

"O.K., doctor," returned Franklen. "And if you do, just drop 'em a shot
or something to pacify 'em until I get back and can take care of 'em
again."

They parted on a laugh. And once outside of the doctor's door, Jim
Franklen was met by an official messenger.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a personally written note from Edvard Hohmann:

    Dear Mr. Franklen:

    This is informal, because I believe that formality between friends
    is both stuffy and unreal. Also I count you among my friends
    despite the fact that our political beliefs differ.

    However, in an effort to convince you of my sincerity, I am inviting
    you to be present as a guest of my party when the Central Power
    meets the French Chamber of Deputies. This will occur on August 8th,
    which is but a week hence.

    It is to be an auspicious occasion, this meeting. Plans and forms
    have been drawn up, a compromise between the democratic government
    of France and the autocratic Central Power. We shall show the world
    and humanity that a meeting of minds is always possible between men
    of high purpose. True, both France and the Central Power must part
    with certain factors, but we both believe that departing slightly
    from our previous course by will and agreement is far better than
    going on as we have, and ultimately arriving at antipodal types of
    rule.

    Will you attend? Will you come, even to scoff? For you will remain
    to wonder, and the approval of your Council will mean much to all
    of us. Be a witness to History in the Making!

                                                             Sincerely,
                                                        Edvard Hohmann,
                                            Your friend and Commissario
                                                  of the Central Power.

He stared at the letter, wondering. Hohmann's actions seemed logical
enough; doubtless if he, Jim Franklen, were in Hohmann's shoes,
he'd accept whatever the fates offered and reject whatever trouble
he could. Hohmann's ambitions were normal for any ruler of Central
Europe, and he was not, at least, killing millions. Yet--

Franklen smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. He turned into
Winter's office again and said: "I've got it!"

Winter looked up, wondering.

"Hohmann is using biological warfare," said Franklen. "It's logical,
it's sensible, and it gets him what he wants, intact. He's soon to be
running France, and not a shot has been fired nor a building damaged.
Were he to strike an unfriendly country--or when he makes his final
break, Hohmann can take over without resistance. No soldier can serve
a weapon when he's prostrate with that combination of dysentery and
influenza."

"But biological warfare is not considered practical."

"No?" snorted Franklen. "Well, if used properly, it can be better than
atomics. Why blast a city you hope to add to your list? Why bother?
You have to rebuild it. But if you just move in, you're in and you can
use the same paper and pencils and desks and even the same clerks."

"May I point out the difficulty of proving such a thing?" asked Winter.

"In the first place, Dr. Shield told me that the ailment was a
single-time illness. Your own troops can have it in a mild form before
the invasion. Thereafter they are immune. But they are also vicious
carriers, and while they're working among the stricken people, they're
spreading it among those few who haven't caught it yet."

Winter sighed deeply. "Yes, and even better for Hohmann is the fact
that we can prove nothing. You can make enough germ culture in an
apartment house to innoculate a city--contrasting, the separation
plants of the atomic era. And, Franklen, can you or anybody else make
Hohmann admit that his latest acquisitions happened by any other means
than an Act of God? A pandemic is considered such."

"I'll get the proof," said Franklen.

"Just stop Hohmann," said Winter. "Then we can all rest!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Franklen never went to Hohmann's great historic meeting. Three days
before it opened, the same plague struck Mexico, and the United
States sent its doctors and its nurses and its aids to the stricken
neighbor. A good many of them came down with it themselves, but just
as it had run in France, it ran itself out in three long, hot, Mexican
weeks. American wealth was poured in, and American effort and American
efficiency, and Mexico rallied and was grateful. Franklen was a busy
man, during those days, and he spent another week in the area after
the plague was stopped and the populace well on the road to recovery.

Then he returned to his office, to see Thomas Winter.

"Warfare--or happenstance?" asked Winter.

"I'll never know," said Franklen wearily. "Why would they--Winter! You
know something!"

Winter nodded slowly. He handed Franklen a teletyped page, which
Franklen read aloud:

"The State of Sonora, Mexico, today voted to secede from Mexico in
favor of joining the United States by a vote of almost three to one.
If this is accepted, Sonora would become the fifty-first State of the
Union. There is some doubt--"

"Winter--what is this?"

"A fragment of the International News Service report," replied Winter.
"And here is a text of President Halstead's reply:

"The United States of America feels gratified that she is deemed so
high by the residents of Sonora, Mexico. An act of this sort, however,
must be made with the full consent of the Mexican Government."

"So we've got ourselves a Border Incident?" muttered Franklen.

Winter shook his head. "Worse than that. Here's the topper-offer," and
he handed Franklen a sheet of paper. Franklen read it silently and
then whistled explosively.

"So the Government of Mexico offers complete annexation of all the
states of Mexico to the United States of America in exchange for
certain provisos and considerations in the way of civil government of
the new territory?"

Winter nodded. "And from what they tell me of the Mexican demands, the
United States would be imbecilic not to accede to their request."

Franklen shook his head widely and slowly. "Madness!" he said quietly.
"If we do, we're legally guilty of the same offense as Hohmann. If we
do not, we're fools. How can the pot call the kettle black and still
retain a moral sense of values?"

"Can't," grumbled Winter. "And we've got ourselves another twenty
million citizens, three quarters of a million square miles, and
something like a total of eighty United States of America!"

Winter stood up, his face bitter. "United Nations Weapon Council," he
growled. "Preserve the future peace. Stop aggression and territorial
expansion. Hell!"

He picked up a brass inkwell and hurled it through the door glass. His
secretary peered in, wondering.

       *       *       *       *       *

That was only the beginning. Just the start of a long series of
similar events that came crowding in on one another so fast that it
made one's head spin. Five years passed in this same mad whirl. Five
years of the same crazy pattern.

And then the Central Power, which was now calling itself the European
Power, faced the United States of The Americas across the Atlantic
Ocean. From Ellsmere Island to Cape Horn lay the United States of
The Americas, and from Spitzbergen to the Cape of Good Hope lay the
European Power, all and both combined.

And as before, Jim Franklen, now an older but still struggling
Franklen, was still working on the same question; and Thomas Winter,
also older and more resigned, urged Franklen on.

"Hindsight," said Franklen sourly, "is infinitely superior to
foresight, or at least it is better accomplished."

Winter nodded. "This is what we might have expected," he said. "Years
and years ago when Hohmann started this last war. Now we're all in
a position where strife might well break out at any moment. And the
question is whether to break out in open strife at once, or wait it
out and hope for the best. We can no longer move leisurely. Hohmann
has seen to it that for every advance he has made, we've made a
greater one. But now he is fresh out of available land to spread out
across, and he's looking at us. We've been dragged and dragged by
his indirectness into this situation, where the United States as it
was is no longer just we folks, but encompasses a myriad of peoples,
types, and governmental ideas. True, Washington is still the seat of
government, but that makes it seem as though we were to blame for our
own expansion."

"I may be able to help," said Franklen at last. "I think I've got the
answer, finally."

       *       *       *       *       *

He said no more about it, but he was gone, somewhere for three months,
after which he returned long enough to pick up Dr. Shield and fly with
him to Europe. He gained audience with Edvard Hohmann within a few
hours.

"My American friend," exclaimed Hohmann, taking Franklen's hand. "And
this?"

"This is Dr. Shield," said Jim. "He's been instrumental in tracking
down some of the many plagues that have hit the world."

"Perhaps he can tell us where so many different illnesses come from,"
said Hohmann, interestedly. "A kind Providence, that offers both
myself and your government the chance, to become great--it is kind,
and I say right that we have prospered--seldom seems in existence at
the proper time."

"Sometimes illnesses emerge from the common welter of human frailties
only because they have been eclipsed by more common ailments," said
Shield. "There is one other way in which an illness can suddenly
break out. Mutations. If you recall, the photographic industry nearly
went out of business when atomic power came in, because there were
radioactive atoms everywhere--even in the emulsions and the films
themselves. That has been largely abated, but only by special methods.
The world, right now, is bathed in many many more kinds of radiation
than ever before. Where once only alpha particles were, now are
protons and neutrons and both positive and negative electrons, and
gamma from here to there in wave length. Illness comes from bugs,
Commissario Hohmann, and bugs as well as humans can evolve. The
possibilities are limitless, it requires only a diligent search--"

"Diligent search?" asked Hohmann. "You sound as though you believed
that someone might have been seeking such illnesses."

"Only academically, perhaps, just as we are," replied Shield. "Just
to know what possible mutations might take place, and perhaps give
us a bit of warning, we have been operating a radiation-biological
laboratory."

"Indeed?" said Hohmann.

"Oh yes. And we've come up with some of the most peculiar cultures.
Pure laws of chance, because most mutants die. We've got a violent
one that affects the calcium exchange in the body--your bones, you
know, are in a constant state of equilibrium, the matter changes, new
comes in to replace old going out--so that only the outgoing side is
working. The bones jellify. We've licked that one by antibodies and
partial immunities. But the more recent ones have rather peculiar
effects. One of them strikes the nerves in the semicircular canals of
the ear. During the two months of its run, the patient cannot stand,
or cannot retain any balance at all. He cannot even lift his hands as
he desires, because he ... well, he might think he was standing on his
head, but he can't even accept a delusion as to his position, for all
position-sense is gone, completely. After two months, the average body
recovers, and the patient is well again. We've feared that, and we've
learned how to prevent it. That's a good thing, too, for it strikes
within a few minutes after exposure to any carrier."

"A rather terrible possibility," smiled Hohmann. "I've always been
proud of my sense of balance." He laughed nervously and stood upon one
foot for a few seconds.

"We were thinking that it might be well to combine our laboratories,"
said Franklen. "We can pool our findings and collectively advance so
that this wave of mutated bugs can be prevented."

"That is an excellent idea," said Hohmann--

At which point he fell flat on his face!

       *       *       *       *       *

The world's stockpiles of atomic weapons is rusting and unused--as
such. Gradually, they are being broken down and the high-grade
fissionables are being taken and used to light the fires of humanity.
Jim Franklen is an old man, no longer an agent of the United Nations,
but just a citizen of United Terra.

And the rattle of the saber is gone, and the storm of atomic bombs is
no longer expected.

For the last Global War was fought with weapons that seldom killed,
never maimed, and always left the cities of the world intact for the
next generation.


                               THE END.