The Star Beast by Robert A. Heinlein

Robbins shook his head slowly. “Mac, you are dead set on scuttling yourself. Hadn’t you better cut Henry’s tongue out before the newsboys reach him? Here, you can borrow my knife.”

“What?” MacClure looked stunned. He swung around and snapped, “Mr. Kiku! You are not to speak to the press. That’s an order.”

Robbins bit off some cuticle, spat it out, and said, “Mac, for Pete’s sake! You can’t both fire him and keep him from talking.”

“Departmental secrets. . .”

” ‘Departmental secrets’ my bald spot! Maybe you could fine him severance pay under the official-secrets rule but do you think that will stop him? Henry is a man with no fears, no hopes, and no illusions; you can’t scare him. What he can tell the reporters will do you more harm if you classify it ‘secret’ than it would if you didn’t try to gag him.”

“May I say something?” asked the center of the storm.

“Eh? Go ahead, Mr. Kiku.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I had no intention of telling the press about the messier aspects of this affair. I was simply trying to show, by reductio ad absurdum, that the rule of keeping the public informed can. . . like any rule. . . lead to disaster if applied blindly. I felt that you had been indiscreet, sir. I hoped to keep you from further indiscretions while we sought means to repair the damage.”

MacClure studied him. “You mean that, Henry?”

“I always mean what I say, sir. It saves time.”

MacClure turned to Robbins. “You see, Wes? You were barking up the wrong tree. Henry is an honorable man, even if we do have our differences. See here, Henry, I was too hasty. I honestly thought you were threatening me. Let’s forget what I said about asking for your resignation and get on with our jobs. Eh?”

“No, sir.”

“What? Come, man, don’t be small. I was angry, I was hurt, I made a mistake. I apologize. After all, we have public welfare to consider.”

Robbins made a rude noise; Mr. Kiku answered gently, “No, Mr. Secretary, it wouldn’t work. Once having been fired by you, I would not again be able to act with confidence under your delegated authority. A diplomat must always act with confidence; it is often his only weapon.”

“Um. . . Well, all I can say is I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I believe you, sir. May I make a last and quite unofficial suggestion?”

“Why, certainly, Henry.”

“Kampf would be a good man to keep routine moving until you work out your new team.”

“Why, surely. If you say he is the man for it, I’m sure he must be. But Henry. . . we’ll keep him there on a temporary basis and you think it over. We’ll call it sick leave or something.”

“No,” Mr. Kiku answered coldly and turned again toward his own office.

Before he could reach it Robbins spoke up loudly. “Take it easy, you two. We aren’t through.” He spoke to MacClure: “You said that Henry was an honorable man. But you forgot something.”

“Eh? What?”

“I ain’t.”

Robbins went on, “Henry wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t cricket. Me, I was raised in a river ward. and I’m not bothered by niceties. I’m going to gather the boys together and give ’em the word. I’m going to tell them where the body is buried, how the apple cart was upset, and who put the overalls in the chowder.”

MacClure said angrily, “You hand out an unauthorized interview and you’ll never hold another job with the administration!”

“Don’t threaten me, you over-ripe melon. I’m not a career man; I’m an appointee. After I sing my song I’ll get a job on the Capital Upside Down column and let the public in on the facts about life among the supermen.”

MacClure stared at him. “You don’t have any sense of loyalty at all.”

“From you, Mac, that sounds real sweet. What are you loyal to? Aside from your political skin?”

Mr. Kiku interposed mildly, “That’s not exactly fair, Wes. The Secretary has been quite firm that the Stuart boy must not be sacrificed to expediency.”

Robbins nodded. “Okay, Mac, we’ll give you that. But you were willing to sacrifice Henry’s forty years of service to save your own ugly face. Not to mention shooting off that face without checking with me, just to grab a front-page story. Mac, there is nothing a newspaper man despises more than headline hunger. There is something lascivious and disgusting about a man overanxious to see his name in headlines. I can’t reform you and don’t want to, but be sure that you are going to see your name in headlines, big ones. . . but for the last time. Unless. . .”