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!









Transcriber’s Note:





  This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5,

No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.

copyright on this publication was renewed.



  Obvious errors in punctuation have been silently corrected in this

version, while spelling and hyphenation have been kept as is.