There Won't Be War

“That’s a lot,” Stone said. “I’d better get the boys in Intelligence to help with the wording.”

“Do that,” Vargas said. “And tell somebody to get the ships ready for immediate departure.”

That was the idea. But it didn’t work out that way.

That afternoon, as Vargas sat in his office playing mumbly-peg with his favorite Philippine bolo knife and dreaming of being back with Lupe, there was a flash of brilliance in the middle of the floor. Vargas didn’t hesitate a moment when he saw it. He dived under the desk to avoid what he assumed was an assassination attempt.

It was sort of nice, under the desk, even though it was not a particularly sturdy desk, Magellenic furniture-building being what it was. Still, it gave Vargas a feeling of protection, and time to unholster his ivory-handled laser blaster.

A voice said, “If you try to use that on me, you are going to be very sorry.”

Vargas peered out and saw, standing in the middle of his office, the characteristic metal skin and flashing eyes of the Galactic Effectuator.

“Oh, it’s you,” Vargas said, getting out from under the table with as much dignity as circumstances allowed. He reholstered his firearm, took his seat at his desk again, and said, “Sorry about that, Galactic Effectuator. I thought it might be an assassination team. Can’t be too careful, you know. Now, what can I do for you?”

“The first thing,” the Galactic Effectuator said, “is not to try zapping me again. We let you get away with it once. Try again and the Galactic Forces will nuke you back to the Stone Age. If you think I’m kidding, take a look out the window.”

Vargas looked. The sky was dark with ships. They were big ships, as you’d expect of a Galactic force.

“I want to apologize for zapping you earlier,” Vargas said. “I was acting on bad advice. I’m glad you’ve come. You’re just in time to hear me declare the end of Earth’s occupation. Maybe you’d like to watch us get out of here and go home.”

“I know that is what you are planning,” the Effectuator said. “I’m here to tell you it’s not going to be quite as easy as that.”

“Why not?”

“Galactic policy is to keep the status quo, whatever it is. We were unable to prevent you from declaring war on Magellenic. That is the one mistake you’re allowed. You’ve got this place, now you have to keep it.”

“Believe me,” Vargas said, “this sort of thing will never happen again. Can’t we just apologize and forget it?”

“No,” said the Effectuator. “You can’t get out of it as easily as that. War was your idea, not ours. Now you’re stuck with it.”

“But the war’s over!”

“According to Galactic Rules, the war is only over when those you attacked say it’s over. And I can assure you, the Magellenics are very satisfied with things as they are.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling,” Vargas said, “that these Magellenics tricked us. That Hurtevert and his story! It reminds me of something to do with a bird. But I can’t quite remember what.”

“Permit me to refresh your memory,” the Effectuator said. “I have made a study of birdlife throughout the galaxy, so I know there is a bird called the cuckoo on your planet. It lays its egg in other birds’ nests and they take care of it. That is what the Magellenics have done to you Earth folks.”

“What in hell are you talking about?” Vargas said, his voice blustery but shaky.

“They get you to take over their planet. They get you to take their surplus workforce to your own world. Once there, you can’t get rid of them. But that’s what you get for trying to practice charity without taking thought for the consequences.”

“Charity, hell! We were doing war!”

“In the Galactic view,” the Effectuator said, “war is a form of charity.”

“How do you figure?”

“We believe that war entails a number of selfless and exemplary actions. First there’s the duty of rapine, which we define as the willingness to transfer large quantities of your planet’s best sperm to a civilization that badly needs it. Your troops have done well that way. Next there’s the duty of pillage, which is the act of cleansing the artistic life of a conquered people by carting away vast quantities of their inferior art treasures in order to unblock their creative self-expression and allow them to produce newer, better works. Finally we have the duty of education and self-improvement, which you have performed by taking in large numbers of Magellenic’s surplus and idle population to your own planet, where you support them until they are smart enough to put your own people out of work.”

Vargas thought for a while, then shrugged and said, “You got it right, Galactic Effectuator. But how do we end it?”

“That’s always the difficult part,” the Effectuator said. “Maybe, with some luck, you can find some other planet that’ll be crazy enough to take over both your planet and Magellenic. That’s the only way you’re going to get off the hook.”