The Other Teddy Roosevelts by Mike Resnick Page A

every one of them will be loyal to you, sir.”
    “Father, it’s getting late,” called Kermit from outside the tent.
    “You go along,” said Roosevelt distractedly. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.” He turned back to Boyes. “Fifty men?”
    “That’s right, Mr. President.”
    “Fifty men to tame the whole of Central Africa?” mused Roosevelt.
    Boyes nodded. “That’s right. There’s seven of us right here; we could have the rest assembled inside of two weeks.”
    “It’s very tempting,” admitted Roosevelt, trying to suppress a guilty smile. “It would be a chance to be both a boy and a President again.”
    “The Congo would make one hell of a private hunting preserve, sir,” said Boyes.
    The American was silent for a moment, and finally shook his massive head. “It couldn’t be done,” he said at last. “Not with fifty men.”
    “No,” said Boyes. “I suppose not.”
    “There are no roads, no telephones, no telegraph lines.” Roosevelt paused, staring at the flickering lanterns that illuminated the interior of the tent. “And the railway ends in Uganda.”
    “No access to the sea, either,” agreed Boyes pleasantly, as the lion coughed again and a herd of hippos started bellowing in the nearby river.
    “No,” said Roosevelt with finality. “It simply couldn’t be done—not with fifty men, not with five thousand.”
    Boyes grinned. “Not a chance in the world.”
    “A man would have to be mad to consider it,” said Roosevelt.
    “I suppose so, Mr. President,” said Boyes.
    Roosevelt nodded his head for emphasis. “Totally, absolutely mad.”
    “No question about it,” said Boyes, still grinning at the burly American. “When do we start?”
    “Tomorrow morning,” said Roosevelt, his teeth flashing as he finally returned Boyes’ grin. “By God, it’ll be bully!”

2
    “Father?”
    Roosevelt, sitting on a chair in front of his tent, continued staring through his binoculars.
    “Kermit, you’re standing in front of a lilac-breasted roller and a pair of crowned cranes.”
    Kermit didn’t move, and finally Roosevelt put his binoculars down on a nearby table. He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and began scribbling furiously.
    “Remarkable bird viewing here,” he said as he added the roller and the cranes to his list. “That’s 34 species I’ve seen today, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.” He looked up at his son. “I love these chilly Ugandan nights and mornings. They remind me of the Yellowstone. I trust you slept well?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Wonderful climate,” said Roosevelt. “Just wonderful!”
    “Father, I’d like to speak to you for a few moments, if I may.”
    Roosevelt carefully tucked the notebook back into his breast pocket. “Certainly,” he replied. “What would you like to talk about?”
    Kermit looked around, found another canvas chair, carried it over next to his father, and sat down on it.
    “This entire enterprise seems ill-conceived, Father.”
    Roosevelt seemed amused. “That’s your considered opinion, is it?”
    “One man can’t civilize a country half the size of the United States,” continued Kermit. “Not even you.”
    “Kermit, when I was twelve years old, the best doctors in the world told me I’d always be underweight and sickly,” said Roosevelt. “But when I was nineteen, I was the lightweight boxing champion of Harvard.”
    “I know, Father.”
    “Don’t interrupt. People told me I couldn’t write a proper sentence, but I’ve written twenty books, and four of them have been bestsellers. They told me that politics was no place for a young man, but when I was 24 I was Minority Leader of the New York State Legislature. They told me that law and order had no place in the West, but I went out and single-handedly captured three armed killers in the Dakota Bad Lands during the Winter of the Blue Snow.” Roosevelt paused. “Even my Rough Riders said we couldn’t take San Juan Hill; I took it.” He