Chain of Command

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  CHAIN OF COMMAND

 

  By STEPHEN ARR

  By going through channels, George worked up from the woodwork to the top brass!

  Illustrated by ASHMAN

  * * * * *

  "George," Clara said with restrained fury, "the least you could do isask him. Are you a mouse or a worm?"

  "Well, I have gone out there and moved it every night," Georgeprotested, trying to reason with her without success.

  "Yes, and every morning he puts it back. George, so long as that trapis outside of our front door, I can never have a moment's peace,worrying about the children. I won't go on like this! You must go outand talk some sense into him about removing it at once."

  "I don't know," George said weakly. "They might not be happy to findout about us."

  "Well, our being here is their own fault, remember that," Clarasnorted. "They deliverately exposed your great-great grandfatherMichael to hard radiations. George," she continued fervidly, "all youhave to do is to go out and ask him. I'm sure he'll agree, and thenwe'll have this menace removed from our lives. I simply can _not_ goon like this another minute!"

  That, George knew, was a misstatement. She could go on like this forhours. He stared at her unhappily.

  "Yes, dear," he mumbled finally. "Well, maybe tomorrow."

  "No, George," she said firmly. "Now! This morning. The very moment hecomes in."

  He looked at her silently, feeling harried and unsure of himself.After living here so long, they'd observed and learned human customsand speech--they'd even adopted human names.

  "George," she pleaded, "just ask him. Reason with him. Point out tohim that he's just wasting his time." She paused, added, "You'reintelligent--you can think of the right things to say."

  "Oh, all right," he said wearily. But once he had said it, he feltbetter. At least, he would get it over with, one way or another.

  * * * * *

  As soon as he heard the swish-swish of the broom outside his home, hegot up and walked out of the front door. He saw that the trap wasstill off to one side, where he had pushed it the night before.

  "Hello," he shouted.

  Swish-swish-swish went the broom, busily moving dust from one part ofthe room to another, swish-swish-swish. The man looked tremendous fromso close a view, yet George knew that he was just a little, bent, oldman, a small specimen of the species.

  George took a deep breath. "_Hello!_" he bellowed with all hisstrength.

  The janitor stopped swish-swishing and looked around the roomsuspiciously.

  "_Hello!_" George shrieked. His throat felt raw.

  The janitor looked down and saw the mouse. "Hello yourself," he said.He was an ignorant old man and, when he saw the mouse shouting helloat him, he assumed right away that it was a mouse shouting hello tohim.

  "_The trap!_" the mouse bellowed.

  "Stop _shouting_!" the janitor cried, annoyed. He liked to think as heworked, and he hated loud noises. "What about the trap?"

  "My wife doesn't want you to put it by the front door any more,"George said, still speaking loudly, so that the janitor could hear,but at least not bellowing so that it tore his throat. "She's afraidit might hurt the children."

  "_Will_ it hurt the children?" the janitor demanded.

  "No," George replied. "They know all about traps--but my wife stillwants it removed."

  "Sorry," the janitor said, "but my orders are to put a trap by everymousehole. This is an atomic plant, and they don't want mice."

  "They do, too!" George said defiantly. "They brought mygreat-great-grandfather Michael here themselves and exposed him tohard radiations. Otherwise _I_ wouldn't be here."

  "I can't help it," the janitor snapped. "I have to obey orders."

  "What will I tell my wife?" George shouted.

  That stopped the janitor. He had a wife of his own.

  "I guess I can take it up with the supervisor," he finally said.

  "All right," George shouted. "_Thanks!_"

  * * * * *

  The janitor picked up the trap and moved it over to the front door. Hewatched, interested, as George promptly pushed it several inches alongthe wall. Then he turned and busily swish-swished more dust around theroom.

  "Well, what did he say?" Clara asked George as soon as he came backinto the house.

  "Said he'd take it up with the supervisor," George said, settling downin an armchair.

  "George," she ordered, "you get up this instant and make sure that hereally does!"

  "Look," George pleaded, "he said he would."

  "He may have been lying," Clara said promptly. "You go right up to thesupervisor's room and see."

  So, George reluctantly heaved himself out of the chair and ran throughthe mouseways in the wall until he came to the mousehole in thesupervisor's room.

  At that moment, the janitor came in and the supervisor looked up,annoyed. He was a fat man, with stubble on his cheek, and he walkedwith a waddle.

  "There's a mouse in room 112 who doesn't want a trap by his frontdoor," the janitor said simply.

  "You're crazy," the supervisor said.

  The janitor shrugged. "What should I tell him?" he asked.

  "Tell him to come up here and speak to me himself," the supervisorsaid, feeling very clever.

  "I'm right here," George cried, stepping out of the mousehole andneatly side-stepping the mousetrap beside it.

  "There he is now," the janitor said, pointing.

  "My God!" whispered the supervisor, who'd had some education. "Ahallucination."

  "No, a mouse," the old janitor corrected.

  "My wife wants the trap removed," George patiently explained. "She'sworried the children might blunder into it."

  "Do _you_ see him, too?" the supervisor asked the janitorincredulously, still whispering.

  "Sure," the janitor replied. "He's the one I was telling you about,from room 112."

  The supervisor stood up unsteadily. "I don't feel very well," he saidin a weak voice. "I think that I'd better talk this over with theAdministrative Officer. It's a policy matter."

  "You come along, too," he said hastily to the janitor, who had turnedto leave. "I'll need all the support I can get." He waddled out,followed by the janitor.

  "_What should I tell my wife?_" George shouted, but they didn'tanswer, so he went down and told his wife that they were discussing itwith the Administrative Officer. And, as anyone could have guessed, ashort time later he pushed his head out of the mousehole in theAdministrative Office.

  * * * * *

  He was a bit late, just in time to see the door close on thesupervisor and the janitor.

  So he shouted, "_Hello!_" as loud as he could.

  The Administrative Officer looked down and saw him right away. He wasa thin pale man with tired eyes.

  "Go away," he said spiritlessly, "I've just told two people that youdon't exist."

  "But my wife wants that trap removed--it's dangerous for thechildren," George complained.

  The Administrative Officer almost shouted to hell with George'schildren, but basically he was a decent man, even if an overworkedone, and he caught himself in time.

  "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, picking up some le
tters that he hadalready read, "but we've got to leave the traps."

  "Then what will I tell my wife?" George demanded.

  That stopped the Administrative Officer, too. He buried his head inhis hands and thought for a long moment. "Are you sure you _really_exist?" he asked, finally raising his head from his hands.

  "Sure," George said. "Do you want me to bite you to prove it?"

  "No, you needn't bother," the Administrative Officer said. And thenhe