Promise of Joy (43 page)

Once again their eyes locked across the table. But the President of the United States of America did not yield, and presently the President of the United States of Russia flushed and glanced away.

“Vorosky!” he snapped. “Go and do as the President requests.”

“Hal,” the President said quietly, “I think you had better go along and report back to me that it has been done.”

“Yes, sir,” his son said; and in a moment he and an obviously disgruntled, but perforce compliant, Russian walked together out the door.

The room was silent for several moments. Finally Shulatov leaned forward.

“Mr. President,” he said carefully, “I told you yesterday that you must not patronize or order my government to do things. We are a free country now, a free government and a free people, and it will only disturb our negotiations very seriously if you persist.”

“I shall certainly persist in standing up for what is right,” the President said calmly. “And ‘being free’ is more than words, Mr. President. It is actions and it is good faith and honesty. My colleagues and I—and I think the world—intend to hold you to it. So if it annoys you, I am sorry. But I suggest to you that the situation is frightful enough, here and in China and potentially in the whole world, so that you must not only talk freedom, but
be
free. Isn’t that right?”

And again he stared impassively at his host, whose eyes this time did not drop. Instead they crinkled suddenly into amicable laughter, and all along the table his tense and uncertain colleagues took their cue and began to chortle too.

“Of course you are right, Mr. President,” Shulatov said, “of
course
you are right. It was a momentary annoyance on my part because the press is so—so
insistent.
We do not like them to tell us what we have to do!”

“I don’t like it either,” Orrin said, laughing with a deliberate amicability also, “but they do it to me all the time. So, then”—he leaned forward briskly, his tone becoming businesslike and matter-of-fact—“there are certain necessities for peace which we hope your government will willingly and speedily agree to. Are we ready to discuss them?”

“As you like, Mr. President,” Shulatov said, and sat back in his chair in a relaxed and expansive way. All down the table his Cabinet did the same.

“Very well,” he said. “When the state of war between the former Communist government of Russia and the former Communist government of China reached an impasse after the atomic exchange, and the leaders turned to me to arbitrate, I announced certain conditions. Some of you may have heard of them in the past several days, some of you may not, depending upon where you were and what you were doing prior to taking power.”

“Most of us were quite busy, Mr. President,” Shulatov interjected in an amused tone. “Quite busy.”

A little ripple of laughter went up and down both sides of the table.

“Yes,” the President said, “I imagine. Let me review them for you, then.

“The first was that the government of Russia and the government of China would immediately withdraw their forces from Gorotoland and Panama and give to me a formal statement that it has been done. I assume—?”

Shulatov nodded.

“It is moot. We are out of both places. We have no intention of returning. It is no longer a concern to the new government and the peoples of Russia. The Foreign Secretary”—he looked down the table to a bushy-haired, middle-aged figure who nodded vigorously—“will furnish you your statement by the end of the day.”

“Good,” he said. “And you will recognize the legitimate governments of Gorotoland and Panama, and will pledge your support and assistance in an international commission to supervise free elections in both countries.”

“Assuredly,” Shulatov said with a dismissing wave of the hand. “And, Mr. President”—he smiled—“it will be real cooperation, from
this
government. We have enough problems right here. Russia’s days of fishing in troubled waters are over, we hope forever.”

“We hope so too,” Orrin said with a humorous exaggerated relief that brought answering chuckles from many along the table. “There were several conditions outside the competence of your two countries, such as internationalization of the Dardanelles, Suez and the Panama Canal. Thanks to the prompt cooperation of the governments of Turkey, Egypt and just yesterday the restored legitimate government of Panama, this has been agreed to.

“There was the establishment of an International Relief Commission under United Nations supervision to assist your stricken peoples and the stricken peoples of China, and also peoples of the South Pacific Basin who might be injured by the atomic cloud thrown up by the war. The cloud has fortunately dissipated but the need in your two countries remains. All the other nations in the world have pledged monetary and medical assistance. I assume your government will do whatever it can to aid its own people in cooperation with the international commission.”

Again his host gave the little dismissing wave.

“We will certainly do everything we can for our own people, and we welcome with the utmost gratitude the assistance of the nations of the earth. We will cooperate.”

“Good,” Orrin said. “The next proviso, which has already been met by the Secretary-General and the willing contributions of more than sixty nations as of this morning, with more scheduled to announce their contributions very soon, is the establishment of an international peace-keeping force to patrol the frontier between Russia and China.” He paused and looked at the faces across the table. He could see that a curtain, subtle but unmistakable, had come down. “This will require,” he went on calmly, “the full cooperation and support of both governments. I trust yours can see the necessity of such a
cordon sanitaire,
and I trust it will assist fully.”

“Where,” Shulatov inquired cautiously after a moment, “would this force operate, Mr. President?”

“Why,” he said, “along the border.”

“It is a very long border. Where?”

“At posts spaced out at regular intervals, I would assume. Perhaps a hundred miles apart, so that they could patrol fifty miles on each side.”

His host studied him thoughtfully, while along the table his Cabinet stayed very still.

“Who would establish the locations?”

“The United Nations general command,” the President said, looking deliberately blank. “Who else?”

“I had thought the governments of Russia and China, in consultation and agreement with one another,” Shulatov said slowly.

“Could you reach agreement?”

“I believe so.”

“I am afraid the world may not be so confident. I think it may insist upon an impartial body doing the job.”

“Would that not be a very substantial infringement of our sovereignty?” Shulatov inquired.

The President looked surprised.

“You are belligerents. I don’t believe the world would trust you to reach agreement, or, if you did, to establish patrol posts in any pattern that would really do any good.”

“Has the United Nations discussed this?”

“Establishment of the peace-keeping force, yes. Precise details, no.”

“Then this is really just America’s idea, just your idea?” Shulatov asked slowly.

“I believe it represents the consensus of the nations,” the President said, permitting a certain asperity to enter his voice.

“But you do not know,” his host observed calmly. “Perhaps it should be discussed in the Security Council.”

“It will be,” the President promised. “But,” he added as a certain aura of satisfaction flickered along the table opposite, “you know the veto no longer exists.”

“No!” his host exclaimed, and many others on his side echoed,
“No!”
and fell into agitated whisperings and murmurings among themselves.

“Yes,” he said. “The Charter was amended the night the former governments fell. There is no more veto.”

There was a pause while Shulatov stared very thoughtfully into the depths of the table’s gleaming surface. Then he raised his eyes, his face a bland mask that revealed nothing.

“We will have to consider this,” he said in an almost offhand way. “What else do you have for us?”

“Two final things,” the President said. “A pledge from your government, and from the government of China, that you are abandoning permanently, once and for all, imperialistic, expansionist policies everywhere in the world; that you formally renounce all desire and ambition to intervene in the affairs of other nations; that you will devote your funds, your energies, your purposes, to the peaceful development of your own societies.”

Again there was a silence while his host thought. Again he looked up with bland eyes in a bland face.

“I have already told you that the new Russia has no more interest in overseas adventures. Obviously, however, we do have an interest in the existence of friendly governments on our borders. We would like to be assured of this—if not through our own efforts, then through international guarantees from all the nations.”

“No nation at this hour wishes to be hostile or covetous toward any other,” the President said. “You do not realize the state of mind of the world right now. You do not understand the impact the outbreak of atomic war has had upon the world. Nobody wants conquest any more. Nobody would threaten you.”

“‘At this hour,’” Shulatov echoed. “‘Right now.’ Perhaps you speak truly, Mr. President. You wish guarantees against a renewal of imperialist conquest by us. Perhaps we have an equal right to ask guarantees against imperialist conquest by anyone else—even including the great United States of America.”

It was the President’s turn to look thoughtful; and after a moment he smiled, not without humor.

“Perhaps you do,” he agreed. “Certainly you will have this guarantee from the United States the moment you give a similar guarantee. I cannot command the other nations, but I think I can safely say that they will unanimously do the same.”

“But first we must give our guarantee,” Shulatov remarked slowly.

“Yes,” the President said crisply. “You are the belligerents, you have been the aggressors. You owe the world something, Mr. President.”

“My government and I have not been the belligerents,” Shulatov remarked, “nor the aggressors. We have been in power scarcely forty-eight hours. It is the old government you must blame, not us.”

“You are responsible now,” the President said. “Do not be disingenuous, Mr. President.”

Shulatov smiled, also not without humor.

“We
are
responsible,” he agreed. “For a great country and a great people. Forgive us if it makes us appear overly cautious, but it is a great responsibility.… This, too, we must consider.… Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” the President said, and along his own side of the table he could feel a tensing, a quieting, a suddenly wary watching; for this was the nub of it and no one could say what would happen next, though they all had their ideas.

“The final condition,” Orrin said, and his voice was level, firm and as calm as though he were discussing the time of day, “is that the United States of Russia and the United Chinese Republic will immediately reduce, by at least one-half, with further reductions to follow, their conventional armed forces, and will immediately and permanently eliminate, under United Nations supervision, all of their atomic weapons, atomic missiles and atomic submarines, and any and all stockpiles and weapons of germ warfare.

“The United States,” he went on, his voice rising a little in response to the sudden agitation across the table, but still firm and calm, “will participate in, agree to, and be bound by, exactly the same limitations, once our forces have been repaired to the parity destroyed by the fighting in Gorotoland and Panama. Congress has already approved the funds to do this, and we are therefore ready to commence these negotiations at once.”

And he sat back quietly while on his own side of the table his friends kept their faces as impassive as his, and on the other side the agitated movements and sounds and conferrings continued for several moments in a fiercely agitated undertone.

Presently it died away; and the President of the United States of Russia, whose face had been a study in racing emotions, became calm and uncommunicative once again.

“This, too, Mr. President,” he said quietly, “we must consider.…And now!” He stood up abruptly, his colleagues followed suit, he beamed upon the Americans. “Again we have a party for you! This time it is lunch. You will find that our lunches are as good as our dinners. Come, let us—”

“Mr. President,” Orrin said, remaining seated, voice still firm, and unimpressed. “We must ask that you stay here and discuss these most serious matters. It isn’t noon yet.”

“You will wish to rest and relax a little before lunch,” Shulatov said cheerfully. “We can meet again at six p.m., if you like, after everyone has had a chance to recover from lunch. You will need it, believe me, Mr. President, you will need it!”

“At six p.m.,” Orrin said in a level voice, “we will discuss and reach agreement upon the three matters in dispute. And we will stay here until we
have
reached agreement.”

“As you like,” Shulatov said, almost airily. “As you like, Mr. President. But: one thing. They are not ‘in dispute.’ The government of the new Russia would never want to dispute with our good friends from America. Say they are ‘matters of concern and discussion.’ We simply want to consider them for a brief time, in private, by ourselves. Surely you and your friends cannot object to that—you no doubt wish to do the same. So come, now, Mr. President! Let us meet our friends of the press again, then let us rest, then let us have a beautiful lunch, then let us rest again, then let us discuss again. O—kay?”

“O—kay,” the President said with a grim little smile. He stood up. “But we want no more evasions,” he added flatly. “There isn’t time.”

“We know,” Shulatov agreed. “We
know.
Let us go and meet our disgruntled friends of the press, Mr. President. Maybe by now they have had their little tours!”

But they had not, and they were disgruntled; and this time there was sharper questioning, harder to evade; and into the second wave of headlines there crept a note of uneasiness and worry that disturbed the waiting world.