The Winner and New...

by Ib Melchior

We have long been convinced that there is something about science fantasy which attracts, in electro-magnetic fashion, the brilliant sons of famous authors, artists, actors, physicians and tenors. Fritz Leiber, Jr., Manly Wade Wellman, and Samuel Merwin, Jr. are three writers of distinction in the genre we could mention in this connection. And now comes Ib Melchior with his second story for us, to strengthen our conviction quite unshakably. It is both gratifying to find a pet theory confirmed and to publish a story as unusual as this by a TV director who can tune in on the future at will!

A TV Emcee may assume anything he wishes about the big question contest lads. But it’s unusual when they know all about Mars!

“Hello-hello-hello! This is Bob May wishing a wonderful Quizz Night to one and all!”

The effervescent young man came bounding out on the brilliantly lighted stage of the gigantic Capitol Coliseum. The perpetual smile never left his handsome face, but a note of studied sincerity crept into his voice as he continued:

“From all of us here I want to welcome all of you out there in the Coliseum auditorium, and all you folks gathered around the over one hundred million TV sets watching us tonight. Yes, folks, tonight’s the night! The one day in the week I know you impatiently wait for. But before we settle down to the important business at hand, here is a little message which I know will be of interest to you.”

The lights pouring down upon the young Quizz Master dimmed, and simultaneously another part of the big stage became brightly illuminated. The small tally lights on the TV camera aimed at the area sprang to life with a red glow. A breathtakingly beautiful girl stood smiling in front of the camera. After a musical fanfare she addressed the vast, unseen TV audience, her honied words rolling off her tongue in dulcet, sexy tones.

“Hi! Here I am again, your own Barrie Rose, to tell you about a simply super new product created for you by those wonderful people at REJUVENATION! Remember, only REJUVENATION products are The Real Thing—accept no substitutes! And now REJUVENATION has come up with something brand new. It is ...”

The orchestra launched into an impressive fanfare.

“... REJUVENATION’S new, unequaled Plasti-Form Spray! It comes in eight gorgeous, life-like colors and textures. Tough-hard Plasti-Form Spray for men, and soft, silken textures for women. Are you dissatisfied with your build? Is your figure sub-standard? If you want masculine muscles or enticing curves get REJUVENATION’S all-new Plasti-Form Spray! So easy to apply a child of five can do it! Take Barrie Rose’s word for it, REJUVENATION’S Plasti-Form Spray. It’s marvelorious!! And now, back to Bob May, and the contest you’ve all been waiting for.”

Again the lights bathed the Quizz Master with their brilliance. This time the young man was joined by two others—one a rather stout, partly bald gentleman with old-fashioned rim-glasses, the other a younger, more robust looking fellow with a shock of iron-gray hair.

“Well, well, here we are again! And here, Ladies and Gentlemen, are our contestants. I hardly need introduce our Incumbent to you—forty-nine weeks undefeated. Here he is—Charles Monroe!” The little stout man stepped forward and took a bow. The applause was thunderous in the vast hall. Then Monroe nervously fingered his rim-glasses and returned to his place.

“And here, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have this week’s Challenger, Mr. James Burton!”

The applause was almost as deafening. Burton stepped forward and waved confidently to the multitude.

Bob May quickly interposed: “Folks! You all know how The Quizz is held—and how important it is. You remember that Mr. Monroe’s category is Philately—and he certainly has shown us that there’s little he doesn’t know about postage stamps!”

He turned purposefully to Burton. His voice was tense with excitement as it rang out in the hushed auditorium: “And now, Mr. Burton, will you tell us—what is your category?”

A gaudy, multi-colored panel of many category listings suddenly blazed on across the back of the stage. Burton slowly turned and regarded the panel. The huge auditorium was whisper-silent. Then Burton said: “The Planet Mars!”

Bob May fairly jumped off the stage in his tempestuous excitement. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Our Challenger picks as his quizz category—The Planet Mars!”

The audience roared its delight.

“All right! You both know what to expect. The questions in your respective categories are selected by our own Univac Cybernetic Brain. No human being knows what they will be until I ask you the questions! Are you ready?”

Monroe swallowed nervously and adjusted his funny spectacles. He nodded.

Burton answered: “Yes, sir, Mr. May!”

“Good! As you know each one of you will be asked questions of increasing difficulty—until one of you misses! The survivor is the winner! But just so that you will have no outside disturbances—or help—” he waved a waggish finger at them—“you’ll be enclosed in the special Force-Field. Nothing can penetrate, no light, no sound, no telepathic prompting! We can all see you, but you can’t see us. That should be a comfort!”

He laughed uproariously at his own joke. “Only I can talk to you through my special communicator. But we can all hear your answers. And now—are you ready?”

Both contestants nodded.

“Here we go, then! But first....”

The commercial message by Barrie Rose over the cameras once again focused on Bob May and the two contestants. Around both the Incumbent and the Challenger hovered a curious shimmering, completely transparent shell. As the cameras went on, two metal rods ending in small cylindrical two-way transmitter heads rose out of the floor in front of each of the two contestants.

May adjusted his throat transmitter. “Can you hear me, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Yes,” croaked Monroe. He had a frog in his throat.

“Perfectly,” said Burton.

“Stand by for your first question then, Mr. Burton,” said May.

He turned to Barrie Rose who was standing off to one side.

“The first question from Univac,” he said tensely.

Barrie Rose touched a button. Immediately a multitude of flashing lights on a huge panel traced an intricate pattern across the banks upon banks of small bulbs on the board. In less than a second there was an audible click, and Barrie Rose extracted a printed card from the machine. On it was Burton’s first question. Bob May winced when he read it.

“Mr. Burton,” he said, his voice ominously serious, “here it is: One of the most amazing cases of the purest coincidence known to the history of astronomy occurred when a medieval author in a book of fiction predicted that Mars has two moons! For your first question—what was the name of the book? Who wrote it? And when was it published?”

Burton’s brow knitted. The audience held its breath. It was not an easy question. Would the Challenger flunk out at his first try? Then Burton straightened up: “The book was ‘Gulliver’s Travels,’ published in seventeen twenty-six and written by one Jonathan Quick—no. Swift—Jonathan Swift!”

“Correct!” shouted Bob May.

The audience applauded wildly.

“Mr. Monroe’s first question, Barrie Rose!”

“Here it is!” Bob May read earnestly: “One of the former Presidents of the United States was a famous stamp collector. During a war fought under his administration he advocated the occupation of a small island by United States troops because of his knowledge of that island through his hobby. For your first question—who was the President? What was the name of the island? In which postal district was it situated?”

Almost before May had finished reading the question Monroe answered: “Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The island was Mangareva in the postal district of Tahiti!”

“Right, Mr. Monroe! Right!” bellowed the Quizz Master, and the audience clapped and whistled and stamped its feet.

The questioning continued. The contestants ran neck to neck. But the strain began to tell. Monroe’s glasses—forgotten—slid down his nose; Burton’s shock of hair became disarranged. They had been at it for more than two hours, interrupted only by the REJUVENATION commercials after each set of questions.

The tension in the audience and throughout the nation was mounting. And still Bob May kept on asking questions: “Your seventeenth question, Burton. What is the highest point on Mars? How high is it? Who discovered it, and when?”

“Mount Kepler! It’s a little over eighteen thousand feet above Canal Level. Discovered by Captain Peter Eriksen on the Third Martian Expedition in the year two thousand and seventeen.”

“Correct!”

“Monroe—question seventeen for you. On what Twentieth Century stamps do you find the overprint, Z.A.? What do these letters stand for?”

“On stamps from old Armenia. Z.A. stands for Zapadnya Armia, meaning Western Army!”

“Correct!”

“Burton, number eighteen—it’s a toughie! Of the over nine thousand different Martian plants, eight thousand and five are lichens and mosses. Of the remaining varieties which one is the rarest, and how does this plant multiply?”

Burton ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. His voice had long ago lost its cockiness. He hesitated in concentration for a moment, and then said: “I believe it’s the Lizard Cactus. Its needles, bearing the spores, get stuck between the scales of the Lesser Canali Lizard and poison it. Then it uses the moisture of the animal to start the growth of the new plant.”

“Right! Right all the way!”

“And you, Mr. Monroe, your eighteenth—another tough one! Of the so-called Presidential Series of postage stamps in use in the United States in the third quarter of the Twentieth Century what was the color of the three-cent stamp? And whose portrait was on it?”

Monroe licked his lips. Absentmindedly he pushed his glasses up. The great hall was breathlessly quiet. Monroe was getting visibly tired!

“The three-cent stamp was—eh—deep violet, and—the portrait was of—of—George Washington!”

Bob May sucked in his breath. “No!” he exploded, “No! It was Thomas Jefferson! You are wrong!!!”

The audience gasped.

Wrong!

Monroe stood ashen-faced inside the Force-Field. Little beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and a tiny artery in his temple beat—and beat—and beat....

He did not utter a sound.

“I’m sorry,” said Bob May in sepulchral tones. “Genuinely, deeply sorry!”

The communicator in front of Monroe quickly sank down through the floor. The shimmering shell around the man seemed for a moment to intensify. Then with lightning speed it collapsed upon itself and disappeared in a blinding implosion—and with it Charles Monroe!

Bob May whirled on the spellbound audience. In ecstatic frenzy he shrieked: “I give you James Burton—the Winner and New President of the United States!”

The great audience went crazy!