puppet government
BY GEORGE REVELLE
Year after year they came back,
despite his constant refusals. And
still Brandon couldn't figure
out why he was so important....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Brandon was looking at his desk again.
An artificial grin spread across the narrow face of the Secretary ofInterior who was watching him closely. The Secretary's pencil-thinfingers continued to toy with the small, wood figure he was holding."Brandon," he tried to lie gracefully, "You're a card. A real card."
Brandon shifted his position, brought his attention back to the thinman with the receding hairline. He couldn't, for the life of him,remember anything humorous he had said or done. He was too tired to bejovial. The past few days had sapped his strength. He was exhausted andthere were still two more interviews scheduled.
Good Lord, he thought. Two more! He found his eyes wandering back tohis desk. He would never finish the papers in time. That would mean asevere penalty.
"Come now, Brandon. Admit it. You know you want to work for us inInterior."
"Right now I don't know anything," Brandon said wearily. "My head istired and clouded. I can't think straight." He rubbed his hand acrosshis forehead, wondering how much longer he would be able to continue tosay no to their requests. He had almost found himself agreeing with thethin man a few moments ago. That wasn't good.
Brandon leaned back in the contour chair and let some of the strengthseep back into his outstretched legs. Each year at this time they wouldbegin to wander in with their strange, outlandish offers of positionswith the government. It was perplexing.
"Why me?" he asked suddenly. "Why in Interior? I know nothing aboutsuch work?"
The thin man leaned foreward, "Because you are a good man, Brandon. Andwe need good men these days. Government is big business and we wantthe top positions filled with the best men we can get. Besides," theSecretary laughed softly, "you're wasting your time playing with dolls."
"They aren't dolls!" Brandon said indignantly.
"So they aren't dolls."
"There is a difference," Brandon insisted. "You make it sound as if I'min my second childhood."
"All right. Puppets!" The thin man shifted in his chair. He ran hislean fingers over the hand-painted figure he was holding in one hand."But you can see my point."
Brandon shook his head. That was it. He couldn't see the point. Hispuppets were becoming world famous, the result of reviving the almostlost art of hand carving. He was earning a fair living at it. He couldsee no reason for a change.
"Think of the prestige if you come with us. You will be heading adepartment of your own," the Secretary said.
Brandon wrinkled his brow, thinking of how his name was alreadyassociated with his puppets. If only they would leave him alone, ifonly there wasn't so much paper work waiting for him on his desk, hewould be able to spread out, expand, really have a going business. Butthey had to keep pestering him with worthless offers that they knew hecouldn't handle, wasting his time, especially now when time was of theessence. The paper work on his desk had to be completed by midnight. Hewould never finish it now.
Brandon felt the beginning of a headache. Because of the paper workhe hadn't had time to touch a