Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
A WORLD BY THE TALE
This is about the best-hated author on Earth. Who wasnecessarily pampered and petted because of his crime againsthumanity....
BY SEATON McKETTRIG
ILLUSTRATED BY LEO SUMMERS
Exactly three minutes after the Galactic left the New York apartmentof Professor John Hamish McLeod, Ph.D., Sc.D., a squad of U.B.I. menpushed their way into it.
McLeod heard the door chime, opened the door, and had to back up aseight men crowded in. The one in the lead flashed a fancily engravedID card and said: "Union Bureau of Investigation. You're ProfessorMac-Lee-Odd." It was a statement, not a question.
"No," McLeod said flatly, "I am not. I never heard of such a name." Hewaited while the U.B.I. man blinked once, then added: "If you arelooking for Professor MuhCloud, I'm he." It always irritated him whenpeople mispronounced his name, and in this case there was no excusefor it.
"All right, Professor McLeod," said the U.B.I. agent, pronouncing itproperly this time, "however you want it. Mind if we ask you a fewquestions?"
McLeod stared at him for half a second. Eight men, all of them underthirty-five, in top physical condition. He was fifteen years olderthan the oldest and had confined his exercise, in the words ofChauncey de Pew, to "acting as pallbearer for my friends who takeexercise." Not that he was really in poor shape, but he certainlycouldn't have argued with eight men like these.
"Come in," he said calmly, waving them into the apartment.
Six of them entered. The other two stayed outside in the hall.
Five of the six remained standing. The leader took the chair thatMcLeod offered him.
"What are your questions, Mr. Jackson?" McLeod asked.
Jackson looked very slightly surprised, as if he were not used to havingpeople read the name on his card during the short time he allowed them tosee it. The expression vanished almost instantaneously. "Professor," hesaid, "we'd like to know what subjects you discussed with the Galactic whojust left."
McLeod allowed himself to relax back in his chair. "Let me ask you twoquestions, Mr. Jackson. One: What the hell business is it of yours?Two: Why do you ask me when you already know?"
Again there was only a flicker of expression over Jackson's face."Professor McLeod, we are concerned about the welfare of the humanrace. Your ... uh ... co-operation is requested."
"You don't have to come barging in here with an armed squad just toask my co-operation," McLeod said. "What do you want to know?"
Jackson took a notebook out of his jacket pocket. "We'll just get afew facts straight first, professor," he said, leafing through thenotebook. "You were first approached by a Galactic four years ago, onJanuary 12, 1990. Is that right?"
McLeod, who had taken a cigarette from his pack and started to lightit, stopped suddenly and looked at Jackson as though the U.B.I. manwere a two-headed embryo. "Yes, Mr. Jackson, that is right," he saidslowly, as though he were speaking to a low-grade moron. "And thecapital of California is Sacramento. Are there any further matters ofpublic knowledge you would like to ask me about? Would you like toknow when the War of 1812 started or who is buried in Grant's Tomb