his arms on the table in front of him. He looked at the Chairman, then Vice-Chairperson Muzeal, General Raton and around the table, making eye contact with everyone. The pause before he began speaking seemed longer than the time it would take for our hero to get to Earth. He nodded his head twice, squinted slightly, lips twitching, nostrils slightly flared, and then said, “After all of my years of public service and my more than half a century on this Committee, the thought of being on the first tribunal in our planet’s history to use the power of the Rankin Cube”—he stopped—“to even consider using the power of the Cube for anything but peaceful purposes disheartens—no,” he said solemnly, “it sickens and profoundly embarrasses me.”
Wir-Gardena sat up straight and began to speak a little more rapidly to show that he had made up his mind. “However, I agree with Chairman Rommeler’s and General Raton’s assessment of the current situation. Under no circumstances, none whatsoever,” he said with obvious finality, “can we allow Rennedee to set foot on our planet with nuclear weapons. Mr. Chairman, fellow Committee members, you have my support for all three options just presented to us.”
The Chairman continued around the table, starting to Wir-Gardena’s left, making sure he had everyone’s opinions and support.
“Geneen, may we have your thoughts?”
Geneen Ricc’e represented the legal profession. She was the administrative partner of a relatively small but extremely influential law firm specializing in intergalactic commerce. Ricc’e kept herself in good physical condition and always dressed nicely. She was not physically beautiful or stunning. Most considered here moderately attractive, although the impression of how attractive she was seemed to increase as she moved up the political ladder.
She was also by far the quietest member of the Committee of Ten, saying even less than Wir-Gardena. She was bright, energetic, hard working, and talented, but just didn’t seem to have the blazing intellect or strength of character of the other Committee members, of one who had risen so far in the meritocracy of Oria.
In fact, once, in private, Chairman Rommeler, despite his reluctance to discuss his personal impression of others, had mentioned this to Wir-Gardena, who had carried the same nagging questions about something in her he just couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Hwaet, she’s more manipulative than shrewd, she’s observant but not particularly insightful, and she’s intelligent…” he paused obviously searching for the right word.
“She’s intelligent but not wise,” said Wir-Gardena.
“It just doesn’t add up, does it?” said Rommeler shaking his head.
Both the Chairman’s and Wir-Gardena’s intuition and suspicions were correct. Ricc’e was a crook, in fact, probably the biggest crook on the planet. She was currently blackmailing three members of the Committee of One Hundred. Ricc’e owed her success to her intelligence and talent, to the fact that she always worked alone; there were no ring members or accomplices to betray her, to rat her out, but mostly because she wasn’t greedy. She was quite happy to take some from here, some from there, but never enough to cause her to slip up and make her vulnerable. Twice she let multi-million hora deals (the hora is the unit of currency on Oria, representing the output of the average Orian worker in one hour) go because they were just too hot. She could only spend so much money. It was power that she wanted to accumulate; it was how she kept score.
She said only, “I agree.”
Rommeler paused. Considering this was the most important political decision of everyone’s life, he wanted to give Ricc’e a chance to make any further comments or suggestions. There were none, so he continued on around the table.
He looked at Blanck, seated on Ricc’e’s left, who said, “I have already given my opinion. Under no circumstances can we allow nuclear weapons on our planet!”
To Blanck’s left was Piros Redd, representing the arts. He was a short man by Orian standards, with a head that seemed a little too large even for his slightly plump, non-athletic body, and cheeks better described as jowls and the turkey neck that usually went with it. He invariably wore a suit that was about to go out of fashion and kept his hair cut short so he didn’t have to worry about combing it. Redd was not a performer or artist himself: he couldn’t sing, he couldn’t dance, he couldn’t act. He hadn’t played an instrument, aside from the zloom, a kazoo-like instrument, for years, and he often joked that he couldn’t even draw a circle with a protractor.
Redd was an impresario, a judge of talent. He was insightful, a great judge of intent and motives.
In the official records of Oria, the members of the Committee of Ten were given numerical designations to facilitate the recording of their votes. To honor Adipatt Kottel, first Chairman of the Committee of One Hundred, all subsequent members of the Committee were given the designation K followed by a number denoting their order of elevation to membership. Redd, the Impresario, was K 486.
Redd got quickly to the point. “It seems that only twenty minutes would hardly be sufficient time to reach so momentous a decision as to use the power of the Cube on our own citizens. But we are not acting in haste or in error. I have absolutely no doubt that Rennedee has the intention—and the will—to use nuclear weapons on our planet. I support all three proposals, including, should it be required, the use of the Rankin Cube.”
The next seat was vacant. The Chairman said, “To remind you, Dr. Slaytorre has given her proxy to Mr. Wir-Gardena.
“Sir,” said Rommeler looking at Wir-Gardena on his left, “How does Dr. Slaytorre vote?”
“She votes as I do,” he said, “in support of all three proposals.”
“I’ll brief her as soon as she returns to Oria,” said the Chairman.
Pilon Occabid was seated directly across the table from the Chairman. “Pilon, may we have your opinion, please?”
Occabid was president of The House of Moley-Gard, Oria’s largest financial institution. His general appearance was exactly what one would expect of the most important and successful banker on the planet. He always dressed nicely but not extravagantly, a nice handkerchief in his pocket, and an antique mother-of-pearl tie pin highlighted by a small diamond. He seemed to have an innate knack to let the other person both start and continue the conversation while he would just nod. If he said anything more than: “Hello, my name is Pilon Occabid,” he was talking too much. He’d make Calvin Coolidge look like a gabbing, blabber-mouth, chit-chat. He was unfailingly polite, never calling a person by their first name until they asked him to.
He was also never accused of being charming. There was a story, whether true or apocryphal, that he hadn’t smiled since the doctor spanked his fanny when he was born. Neither his father nor his mother would confirm or deny it. He considered himself to be a contrarian, when in actuality he was often no more than a dour pessimist.
Occabid was not a risk-taker. Fighter pilots, professional gamblers and a wealthy sixty-five year old man taking a hot twenty-five year old chick for his fourth wife are risk takers; bankers on Oria are not. He had tremendously sound judgment. He was not on the Committee to break new ground. Rather, his temperament and background were best suited to prevent mistakes due to poor or hasty judgment. If anyone were to object to the use of the Cube, it would be Occabid.
Paradoxically, what separated Occabid from other bankers—what defined his greatness in the profession—was how he arrived at decisions. His snap judgments, seemingly made without sufficient information, were always his best. It was just obvious, at least to him, how to proceed.
“I have been on this Committee for twenty-four years,” said Occabid, “and rarely has a decision been so easy. I will never second-guess myself. We must show no hesitation or equivocation. Rennedee must not be allowed to bring nuclear weapons to our planet. Should any of the options we have so far discussed fail, and any that may present themselves in the interim, you have my complete support to use the power of the Cube.”
Rommeler nodded, and turned to Riccardo, “Ennui, may we have your opinion?” said the Chairman.
Riccardo