Imperial Stars 2-Republic and Empire by Jerry Pournelle Page A
Authors: Jerry Pournelle
Tags: Science-Fiction
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actually believed the news (14.6 percent), praise and opprobrium were heaped on Chap Foey Rider in equal amount.
"This great innovator," began the Hong Kong South China Morning Post .
"This further proof of Chinese-American collusion," roared Tass .
"This is a disturbing example of the abuses of unregenerate and unregulated entrepreneurialism at its worst," chided the Washington Post. "Although Mr. Rider is clearly to be commended for the initial astuteness by which (apparently) he alone has given Mankind the universe, the furtive, almost criminal, fashion in which Mr. Rider allegedly attempted to sequestrate the Galactic Ambassador for motives which surely can only be construed as furthering his own selfish . . ."
Chap Foey Rider snorted, tossed the newspapers into the wastepaper basket, and returned to his desk. An initial reply had been received from the Chamber of Commerce and this time there was no officious mailroom meddler to tip off the government busybodies. Work was already under way.
John was in Atlanta, talking with officers of the Coca-Cola Bottling Company.
Chong was in Los Angeles, negotiating with hotel and apartment house owners and managers.
Chan was in Tokyo, dickering with city officials.
Wong was in the mailroom, drawing up a mailing list and brewing tea.
And he himself was waiting for the New York Stock Exchange to reopen after a three-day suspension in trading. He was genuinely curious as to whether American Airlines, previously at 62, would open at a nominal 1/8or if it would be as high as 1/4.Not that it was a purely intellectual curiosity, of course: his forthcoming expenses would be enormous. Every additional dollar that could be milked from his farsighted move of selling the market short would be welcome. That 360 computer promised for installation tomorrow, for instance—even leasing it took a substantial amount of money. What would his branch managers in Bangkok and Calcutta think of such profligacy: they, who still ran their offices with abaci?
He shook his head. One must simply move with the times. This mailing list, for example. Without the computer it would be impossible. And as for his projected activities . . . which reminded him. He made a neat note. Somewhere among 27,000 worlds there must exist a more compact, a more efficient, a cheaper computer. A useful agency to pick up. He smiled infinitesimally: how fortunate his subconscious had urged him to lease the 360 for a single month only. And, all things considered, this might be the best time to sell the portfolio's 1,000 shares of IBM. After calling his broker, he turned on the radio for the noontime news. It was much as he expected.
Ambassador Xanthil had been welcomed in Moscow by tumultuous applause and a medal: Hero of the Soviet Union, First Class.
There was consternation in Washington, whence the alien had managed to extricate himself for a worldwide tour without having made a single commitment to the furtherance of the economic or military well-being of the United States. A Democratic President and Republican Congress, recently each so eager to claim total credit for the diplomatic coup of the century, were now engaged in acerbic partisan bickering.
"Who lost us the universe?" cried the Democrats.
"Who sold us down the starstream?" riposted the Republicans.
From there the dialogue degenerated to shrill cries of Yalta and Watergate.
The single common ground was the unanimous decision to reactivate the House Un-American Activities Committee for the purpose of investigating Chap Foey Rider.
"But why you, sir?" asked Wong, setting a cup of tea at his father's elbow. "You'd think they'd be grateful to you."
"Hell hath no fury like an industrialist scorned," replied Chap Foey Rider drily.
"So?"
"Ambassador Xanthil has made it abundantly clear that whereas the Galactic Confederation has nothing but the highest esteem for Earth and its aspirations, it is, nevertheless, an association bound together exclusively by
"This great innovator," began the Hong Kong South China Morning Post .
"This further proof of Chinese-American collusion," roared Tass .
"This is a disturbing example of the abuses of unregenerate and unregulated entrepreneurialism at its worst," chided the Washington Post. "Although Mr. Rider is clearly to be commended for the initial astuteness by which (apparently) he alone has given Mankind the universe, the furtive, almost criminal, fashion in which Mr. Rider allegedly attempted to sequestrate the Galactic Ambassador for motives which surely can only be construed as furthering his own selfish . . ."
Chap Foey Rider snorted, tossed the newspapers into the wastepaper basket, and returned to his desk. An initial reply had been received from the Chamber of Commerce and this time there was no officious mailroom meddler to tip off the government busybodies. Work was already under way.
John was in Atlanta, talking with officers of the Coca-Cola Bottling Company.
Chong was in Los Angeles, negotiating with hotel and apartment house owners and managers.
Chan was in Tokyo, dickering with city officials.
Wong was in the mailroom, drawing up a mailing list and brewing tea.
And he himself was waiting for the New York Stock Exchange to reopen after a three-day suspension in trading. He was genuinely curious as to whether American Airlines, previously at 62, would open at a nominal 1/8or if it would be as high as 1/4.Not that it was a purely intellectual curiosity, of course: his forthcoming expenses would be enormous. Every additional dollar that could be milked from his farsighted move of selling the market short would be welcome. That 360 computer promised for installation tomorrow, for instance—even leasing it took a substantial amount of money. What would his branch managers in Bangkok and Calcutta think of such profligacy: they, who still ran their offices with abaci?
He shook his head. One must simply move with the times. This mailing list, for example. Without the computer it would be impossible. And as for his projected activities . . . which reminded him. He made a neat note. Somewhere among 27,000 worlds there must exist a more compact, a more efficient, a cheaper computer. A useful agency to pick up. He smiled infinitesimally: how fortunate his subconscious had urged him to lease the 360 for a single month only. And, all things considered, this might be the best time to sell the portfolio's 1,000 shares of IBM. After calling his broker, he turned on the radio for the noontime news. It was much as he expected.
Ambassador Xanthil had been welcomed in Moscow by tumultuous applause and a medal: Hero of the Soviet Union, First Class.
There was consternation in Washington, whence the alien had managed to extricate himself for a worldwide tour without having made a single commitment to the furtherance of the economic or military well-being of the United States. A Democratic President and Republican Congress, recently each so eager to claim total credit for the diplomatic coup of the century, were now engaged in acerbic partisan bickering.
"Who lost us the universe?" cried the Democrats.
"Who sold us down the starstream?" riposted the Republicans.
From there the dialogue degenerated to shrill cries of Yalta and Watergate.
The single common ground was the unanimous decision to reactivate the House Un-American Activities Committee for the purpose of investigating Chap Foey Rider.
"But why you, sir?" asked Wong, setting a cup of tea at his father's elbow. "You'd think they'd be grateful to you."
"Hell hath no fury like an industrialist scorned," replied Chap Foey Rider drily.
"So?"
"Ambassador Xanthil has made it abundantly clear that whereas the Galactic Confederation has nothing but the highest esteem for Earth and its aspirations, it is, nevertheless, an association bound together exclusively by
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