CHECK and CHECKMATE
By WALTER MILLER, Jr.
Illustrated by TOM BEECHAM
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of ScienceFiction January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John Smith XVI, new President of the Western Federation of AutonomousStates, had made a number of campaign promises that nobody reallyexpected him to fulfill, for after all, the campaign and the electionwere only ceremonies, and the President—who had no real name of hisown—had been trained for the executive post since birth. He had beenelected by a popular vote of 603,217,954 to 130, the dissenters castingtheir negative by announcing that, for the sake of national unity, theyrefused to participate in any civilized activities during thePresident's term, whereupon they were admitted (voluntarily) to the campfor conscientious objectors.
But now, two weeks after his inauguration, he seemed ready to make goodthe first and perhaps most difficult promise of the lot: to confer byteleviewphone with Ivan Ivanovitch the Ninth, the Peoplesfriend andVicar of the Asian Proletarian League. The President apparently meant tokeep to himself the secret of his success in the difficult task ofarranging the interview in spite of the lack of any diplomatic contactbetween the nations, in spite of the Hell Wall, and the interferencestations which made even radio communication impossible between the twohalves of the globe. Someone had suggested that John Smith XVI hadfloated a note to Ivan IX in a bottle, and the suggestion, thoughludicrous, seemed not at all unlikely.
John XVI seemed quite pleased with himself as he sat with his staff ofPrimary Stand-ins in the study of his presidential palace. His face, ofcourse, was invisible behind the golden mask of the official helmet, themask of tragedy with its expression of pathos symbolizing theself-immolation of public service—as well as protecting the President'sown personal visage from public view, and hence from assassination inunmasked private life, for not only was he publicly nameless, but alsopublicly faceless and publicly unknown as an individual. But despite theinvisibility of his expression, his contentment became apparent by acertain briskness of gesticulation and a certain smugness in his voiceas he spoke to the nine Stand-ins who were also bodyguards,council-members, and advisors to the chief executive.
"Think of it, men," he sighed happily in his smooth tenor, slightlymuffled by the mask. "Communication with the East—after forty years ofthe Big Silence. A great moment in history, perhaps the greatest sincethe last peace-effort."
The nine men nodded dutifully. The President looked around at them andchuckled.
"'Peace-effort'," he echoed, spitting the words out distinctly as ifthey were a pair of phonetic specimens. "Do you remember what it used tobe called—in the middle of the last century?"
A brief silence, then a Stand-in frowned thoughtfully. "Called it 'war',didn't they, John?"
"Precisely." The golden helmet nodded crisply. "'War'—and now'peace-effort'. Our semantics has progressed. Our present'security-probe' was once called 'lynch'. 'Social-security' once meant alimited insurance plan, not