Emperor Mortiiy, on the dais, looked out across the turbulent Grand Council hall. Heller, on the dais beside him, seeing that he was about to speak, hit the table with his handgun butt for quiet. "Thank you, Noble Stuffy, for your assistance in this matter. Now____________________

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"Oh, Your Majesty!" cried Noble Stuffy. "That is not why we're here." There was a surge behind him as half a dozen publishers moved forward to stand near his chair, a gesture to back him up. "Noble Stuffy," said Mortiiy, "the only reason we, the Emperor, are attending this meeting, which fact, you will admit, is unusual, is to get to the bottom of these recent disturbances. If you have requests of another nature, I suggest that you wait until a proper Grand Council is formed____________________

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"Oh, Your Majesty!" cried Noble Stuffy. "What I wish you to institute has EVERYTHING to do with the recent riots. We want you to appoint a Royal Censor." "A WHAT?" cried Mortiiy, startled. "I never thought I would see the day when newspapers would tolerate being told what they could or could not print. Incredible!" "Well, yes, Your Majesty," said Noble Stuffy, clinging stubbornly to the position he had been momentarily granted at the table. "We publishers would form a committee under him and we would give him the code he would enforce. You see, Your Majesty, newspapers have never before been forced into competition for circulation. Each paper had its own type of reader and sphere of interest, Homeview simply quoted us: we were quite happy and profitable. But with the introduction of yellow journalism, each paper finds itself-" "Yellow journalism?" said Mortiiy. "What's that?" "Super sensationalism," said Noble Stuffy. "Since it came into practice, each paper finds itself vying with the rest to see which one can sell the most papers by telling the biggest lies." "WHAT?" cried Mortiiy, black beard bristling. His well-known shortness of temper was suddenly shorter, "Yes, Your Majesty. The situation is entirely out of our own control. Our reporters are lying, cheating, manufacturing false evidence, even our editors are whipping them on. It began even before the Gris trial. We publishers are helpless. We want a Royal Censor we can resort to when a newspaper finds that it is. being used as a tool for PR." "Now you've lost me," said Mortiiy, giving a cross gesture of dismissal. "You had better take this up____________________

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Seeing he was losing, Noble Stuffy wailed, "But, Your Majesty, it was PR that caused the riots!" "WHAT? Is it some kind of anger bomb?" "Oh, worse. Far, far worse____________________

"

There was a battering clatter at the main entrance and voices raised. All heads turned toward it. "I don't care!" the Fleet marine captain was shouting. "Pick up those lights and get out and stay out! This hall is JAMMED! There's one Homeview crew here already!" "That's the point, you idiot!" a man in aqua-green was shouting. "Men, shove right on in!" The tan of Fleet marines and aqua-green of the newcomers went into a boil at the entrance door. In a high-pitched, reaching voice, Heller shouted, "Stand!" The Fleet marines instantly froze. One of the men in aqua-green stepped forward. "What's all this?" shouted Heller. "I'm a Homeview crew director," the man yelled back across the hall. "The manager in Joy City sent us out here posthaste, spare no air-trucks, to get some stupid idiot off the commentator channel and take over!" "Can't you settle internal squabbles," shouted Heller, "without interrupting a conference?" "This is no internal squabble!" the man at the door yelled back. He looked around the room and then walked up to a roustabout who had been in the hall and suddenly raised his visor. "Just as I thought!" he yelled. He faced the dais, "The manager has been going crazy thinking he'd misplaced a Homeview team. This isn't a Home-view team you've got in here. This is Madison and his crew!" "WHAT?" cried Heller. "Captain, GRAB THAT TEAM!" "ATTACK!" screamed Flick. Madison's crew acted instantly. They dropped equipment, snatched out knives and charged the Fleet marines. The Fleet marines acted instantly. They charged the crew. People in the hall recoiled with piercing screams. Tan and aqua-green boiled in furious tumult. Equipment and lights were falling. "PARALYZE! PARALYZE!" the Fleet marine captain was shouting above the din. The electric daggers of the Fleet marines were throwing sparks as they fended and duelled. Because they were accustomed to operating on spaceships of the Fleet where gunshots could bring catastrophe to all, they were never armed with blasters. And their electric daggers could be set at intensities lower than killing. It was an unfair advantage and Madison's crew took any profit from it they could. Knives and daggers were crossing with streams of sparking flame. Pairs were circling. At a command from Flick, Madison's crew tried a rush for the door! It was their undoing. A marine platoon had remained there, expecting just that. There was a flurry of flame and sparks. Outnumbered two to one, Madison's crew, with howls of pain, one after another were stretched out, temporarily paralyzed. The real Homeview crew in the door had been smugly taking pictures. They marched now in triumph fully into the hall and began to set up. The Fleet marines had suffered only minor casualties. They began to drag their late assailants over into a pile along the wall. "Captain," Heller called. "Look through those casualties and see if you can identify a man called J. Walter Madison if he's there." From behind a glaring light which was still standing in the corner, pouring its rays into the room, a man stepped out, gradually becoming visible. "If you're looking for J. Walter Madison," he said, "I'm right here. And," he said, walking forward, his visor lifted, "you are completely wrong about PR." He came to the table edge, stared at incredulously by all eyes. He looked up at Mortiiy and said, "I refuse, Your.Majesty, to stand idle and see the noble profession of PR maligned." Mortiiy stared at him. "PR," said Madison, "means, in your language, public relations. It is, Your Majesty, of infinite use to a government." His voice took on a crooning lilt. "You can mold, sculpt and create in wondrous forms the opinions of the multitude. It is not necessary even to be sensible in your government decisions when you utilize PR. You can do anything you please and, by the beautiful techniques of imagery, bring about any public opinion that you might require. You do not even have to be fair or just in trials. If you, as a governing sovereign, do not like someone, he does not even have to be guilty of a single crime: you simply manufacture news stories and try him in the press. You do not even have to bring him to court." "WHAT?" said Mortiiy, scandalized. "Indeed," said Madison, "you may well stare in astonishment. But it is true. By manipulating public opinion, you can drive the mobs and riffraff any direction you want. In fact, it was by the skilled use of the Gris trial that I was able, with PR, to bring these wonderful riots to a positive boil!" "WHAT IS THIS?" cried Mortiiy. "PR," said Madison. "The whole planet of Blito-P3 is run on it." His voice took on an almost singing tone. "PR is the gift of Earth to a waiting universe." Heller could see the embers begin to kindle behind the eyes of Mortiiy. In a low voice, Heller said, "Watch it, Madison. You'd better shut up!" Madison turned to him with an attitude of disdain. "Shut up? It's a very good thing I did NOT shut up. Heller-Wister, I made you what you are today! Without PR and my genius at using it, you would be shivering, unknown in some dark, dank cave. What are you really? A nobody, a nothing!" Mortiiy was on his feet. His face was contorted with rage. "Why, you infernal snot!" he stormed at Madison. "How dare you insult one of the bravest officers that ever lived! You're a snivelling coward in the bargain! You know very well an officer is forbidden to duel in his monarch's presence. Well, I will take care of that!" And he drew his hand blastgun to shoot! Madison looked at the gun and went white. He had not known anything about any such custom. He had been carried away. Now it appeared he would be carried away feet first. With horror he watched the thumb throwing off the safety lever! Mortiiy suddenly checked himself. "No," he said. "Those days are over. I am Emperor now. I must reform." Although he put the handgun back in his belt holster, he did not look very reformed. He was still blazing angry. He was still standing. Mortiiy glared at Madison. His space-deck voice roared out. "At LAST we've gotten to the bottom of it!" The snarling rage struck fear into the tense hall. "A thing called PR mangles a million people in the streets, with tens of billions of property damage! A P. T. Barnum gives us abominable freaks! A CIA/KGB gives us a rotten, foul organization called the Apparatus! Two insane fake 'sciences' named psychology and psychiatry lying to the entire population! Drugs shatter the lives of whole cities and subvert the government! My two poor brothers dead, my father ruined in health and myself consigned to five years of Hells! And where did all this come from?" He brought his fist down on the board. "A planet called Blito-P3, Earth! WE HAVE BEEN INVADED!" Mortiiy straightened up. His face was very grim. But he had regained his self-control. He spoke now with kingly determination. "I know now why things went wrong with Voltar and I know where the disease came from. Primitive, decadent or decayed civilizations can be very dangerous to associate with. It can be like putting a patient with a contagious illness into a roomful of healthy people. A higher strata of culture can be pulled down and fouled by such association. We have seen these before in our history and we are far from perfect. "But never in my whole career, which has contained extensive travels, have I ever in my life heard of such a putrid and degenerate society as that of Blito-P3, Earth!" He stood for a moment. His eyes wandered to the armorial bearings and portrait of his father which still hung against the far wall. Inset below it were paintings of his two brothers, now dead. His eyes misted for a moment and then he turned suddenly to Heller. "I never want to hear of Blito-P3 again! NEVER!" He drew a long breath. "You are permanent Viceregal Chairman, Lord Heller. As Emperor, I am not, by custom, supposed to be here." Heller could see that Mortiiy was actually crying and seeking to hide it as best he could. "As Crown," he continued, controlling his voice with difficulty, "complete this conference. I will compose, at my leisure, lists of potential new Lords and we can use them to form a government." He was bending over to mask the emotional stress he was under. He took six blank' sheets of proclamation paper. He rapidly signed his name across the bottoms. He took the Royal seal from his pocket and pressed it over the signatures. He sent the six sheets skidding sideways to Heller. "Use one of those blank orders," said Mortiiy, "to dispose of Blito-P3, Earth, any way you see fit!" He turned away to the back of the dais. He was obviously leaving and the whole hall was taken by surprise. They stood suddenly in a belated effort to bow. But Mortiiy wasn't looking at them. He walked down the back steps of the dais. When he was out of their sight he brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand. The Countess Krak slipped down to his side and took his arm and led him away, for it was obvious to her that he was now blinded with tears and couldn't see where he was going. He had loved his brothers very dearly. And knowing now, at last, what really had caused their deaths had brought the fact home.