himself.
As I've said, dumb students are nothing new to me. But even the worst ofthem couldn't have been any more obtuse than Bishop. I had the deadplants, all brown and withered. There were simple charts showingexactly, in terms of time, how the virus worked, killing the poppywithin forty-eight hours, and even destroying the viability of any seedsthat might be ripening.
Did this jughead appointed by the President to fight the terrible drugproblem comprehend the miracle being offered to him? The simple solutionthat would make him the greatest--in fact, the only--success in his postthat this country had ever known? Not he. I had to spell it out innursery school terms.
But I've penetrated many a numbskull in class by dint of persistentdrilling, and finally got through to the cold oatmeal under his parietalbones.
Did that clear the air? If you think so, guess again. He threw up hishands in horror. Turn a plant disease loose on the world deliberately!It was a violation of the conventions against germ warfare. It wasbarred by international law. It was unthinkable that the United Stateswould indulge in such irresponsible behavior.
All right, I said. Take it to the U.N. Let them distribute the poppykiller. He brightened a little at that, since every bureaucrat lovesabove all to pass the buck. A clear-cut decision is fatal to thespecies. Then he gave me a note to our delegate, Wilbur Cavanaugh, Jr.
This character was a bit sharper. He heard me out, looked at my deceasedpoppies, and arranged a conference with a bigwig from the StateDepartment. Then things got really messy. When I pointed out that in afew weeks every damned opium plant in Asia would be deader than the MingDynasty, this little creep from Foggy Bottom almost had kittens on thespot. It seems that just now our relations with Red China are highlydelicate. If we turned the virus loose on them, even if it did kill onlypoppies (and he had his doubts about that. What if--shudder--it attackedrice?) the Reds would scream murder. They'd yell germ warfare, and haveus cold. They could ship us opium by the long ton--that didn't affectthe delicate condition, though.
* * * * *
It seemed to me, however, that there was something ambiguous and wistfulin the State man's attitude, and I thought I understood. When a countrysends a spy to do some dirty job, they disown him officially if he iscaught. Except for that U-2 fiasco some years ago, when the U.S. brokeall the unwritten rules and made jackasses of us before the world. Now,obviously, if I killed all the poppies in the world, that would be afait accompli. Washington could deny knowing anything about the cause ofdeath, especially since it would work indiscriminately even in friendlyparts of Asia. Just as long as I got my hundred thousand, I didn't mindskipping the official credit. In fact, it would keep the Syndicate offmy back.
"Suppose," I said, "on my own responsibility, I release the spores andruin the opium trade for good. Will you see that I get paid?"
He was horrified. In the first place, nothing whatever could be doneuntil the virus had been checked out by government scientists. If Iwould give him the virus, and my notes, he'd start the ball rolling. Iknow that Washington ball; it's all angles, and doesn't roll worth adamn. I went cold at the thought. Before you can get an okay on anythingbig from a bureau there, your long, grey beard will be sweeping thefloor.
For a moment I was tempted to take my plans to England, but thenremembered that by sane legislation legalizing the sale of drugs undercontrolled conditions, they had already licked the problem, and wouldn'tbe in the market. For two cents, I thought, I'd make China pay me themoney to keep the virus buried. For that matter, the Syndicate wouldgladly kick in with a million. But I'm an American first, and couldn'tplay it that way, especially remembering Professor A's daughter.
I thought the thing through, and decided that if I turned the diseaseloose, so that every good poppy is a dead one, any decent governmentwill quietly pay me off. They only need to know that no other plants areaffected.
And that's the way I played it. The next day I sprayed a few grams ofconcentrated virus into the humid air of Washington, and went home. Ifyou read the papers, you know the rest of that particular story. Ineight months not even Sherlock Holmes could have found a live opiumpoppy on the face of the earth. Once current stocks are gone, there'llbe no more narcotics deriving from that particular plant. The governmentsensibly outbid all the addicts and operators in order to save what isleft for medical use. It should last for fifty years. All according tomy plan--fine!
But when I tried to collect, they didn't know me from the late LuckyLuciano. There was no proof whatever, they said, that my virus did thejob. After all, their scientists had not been allowed to check my work.I could have faked the whole thing, attempting to take credit for amutant disease which began naturally, especially since dozens ofbacteriologists were now isolating the virus.
When I pressed harder, they dragged out an F.B.I. file showing I was acrank and maverick, unable to hold a job, and guilty of signing a peacepetition in 1949. If Bishop or Cavanaugh tried to help, I don't knowabout it. I suppose I'm lucky that the Syndicate has been equallyskeptical. Otherwise, being out many millions, they would haveliquidated me by now.
But basically it's your fault--you, the people. I took my case to you,as a court of last resort. A few papers gave me a fair enough shake topresent the evidence, but you paid no attention. I tried to get yoursignatures to a petition to purge the H.E.W. Department, or to start aCongressional investigation. You just laughed at me. You enjoyed thatheadline: "Crackpot Chemist Claims He Killed All Those Poppies. Was itSelf-Defense?"
Well, my jovial friends, I'm going to teach you a lesson. I could easilywipe out half of you by killing some selected food plants, but I'm not amass murderer, and would rather make a more subtle job of it. I've twomore viruses just about perfected; after the first, it's easier. When Iturn them loose, you'll have a real grievance against me. This time,you're getting notice in advance, so nobody can talk about "natural"disease. Besides, the appended lab notes will easily convince a few keymen in biochemistry; and they'll confirm me.
Now let me point out the two plants you'll miss badly.
One is yeast. Yes, yeast. When you read this, the one-celled organismsresponsible for wine, beer, and alcohol generally, will be dying as arace. In a few months, good liquor will be scarcer than an electricblanket in hell. Sure, grain alcohol can be synthesized, but bouquetisn't that simple, and you'll pay dearly for it--how you'll pay!--anddecent lab-made whiskey won't be on the shelves tomorrow, either.
The other plant you'll miss even more. I mean tobacco. No morecigarettes; no more fat cigars--and hallelujah!--no more tobaccocommercials on TV. Did you know, tobacco cannot be synthesized at all,at any price? Get it, you two-pack-a-day fiends?
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ February 1961. 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.
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