Fellow human beings, we've been suckered again. The Citizen found out for sure this morning that the big surprise Popeek's Interim Director Walton yanked out of his hat last night has a hole in it.
It's sure dope that there's a good planet up there in the sky for grabs. The way we hear it, it's just like earth only prettier, with trees and flowers (remember them?). Our man says the air there is nice and clean. This world sounds okay.
But what Walton didn't know last night came home to roost today. Seems the folks on the next planet out there don't want any sloppy old Earthmen messing up their pasture—and so we ain't going to have any New Earth after all. Wish-washy Walton is a cinch to throw in the towel now.
More dope in later editions. And check the edit page for extra info.
It was obvious, Walton thought, that the spy pickup which had been planted in his office had been a direct pipe line to the Citizen news desk. They had taken his conversation with McLeod and carefully ground it down into the chatty, informal, colloquial style that made Citizen the world's most heavily-subscribed telefax service.
He shuddered at what might have happened if they'd had their spy pickup installed a day earlier, and overheard Walton in the process of suppressing Lamarre's immortality serum. There would have been a lynch mob storming the Cullen Building ten minutes after the Citizen hit the waves with its exposé.
Not that he was much better off now. He no longer had the advantage of secrecy to cloak his actions, and public officials who were compelled to conduct business in the harsh light of public scrutiny generally didn't hold their offices for long.
He turned the sheet over and searched for the editorial column, merely to confirm his expectations.
It was captioned in bold black:
ARE WE PATSIES FOR GREENSKINS?
And went on to say:
Non-human beings have said "Whoa!" to our plans for opening up a new world in space. These aliens have put thumbs down on colonization of the New Earth discovered by Colonel Leslie McLeod.
Aside from the question of why Popeek kept word of the McLeod expedition from the public so long, there is this to consider—will we take this lying down?
We've got to find space for us to live. New Earth is a good place. The answer to the trouble is easy: we take New Earth. If the greenskins don't like it, bounce 'em!
How about it? What do we do? Mr. Walton, we want to know. What goes?
It was an open exhortation to interstellar warfare. Dispiritedly, Walton let the telefax sheets skitter to the floor, and made no move to pick them up.