INTRODUCTION
Héctor Germán Oesterheld was an Argentine journalist and author of science fiction and comics, his 1957-59 comic "El Eternauta" is commonly recognized as one of, if not the, most important work of Argentine science fiction. Oesterheld wrote more than 20 science fiction short stories and novellas, many under different pseudonyms. In 1977, Osterheld and the families of his four daughters were kidnapped and presumed murdered by the Argentine military.
"Innocent Machivelli Reinforced" was published in the October 1955 issue of the Argentine science fiction magazine "Más Allá" ("Beyond").
For further information on this era of Argentine science fiction, see Rachel Haywood Ferreira's "Más Allá, El Eternauta, and the Dawn of the Golden Age of Latin American Science Fiction (1953-59)" and "How Latin America Saved the World and Other Forgotten Futures".
For complete scans of Más Allá, see: https://ahira.com.ar/revistas/mas-alla-de-la-ciencia-y-de-la-fantasia/
INNOCENT MACHIAVELLI REINFORCED
We warn serious readers, those who do not wish to read anything light-hearted, anything unsettling, anything daring, to skip over, very quickly, because they're burning hot!, the pages of this story, from which an Argentine writer challenges the readers of MÁS ALLÁ.
Read it, and let us know your opinion, even if it is only to insult us.
We expect everything.
* * *
In one of those luminous cloud advertisements, all the rage in recent times, letters of gold were sparkling between two cypresses, the famous name: "Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced".... "Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced", in letters of gold on two equal pink circles...
Behind the bush, crouching down to avoid being noticed by the couples that were leaving the park, Jacobus Random checked the dials on his atomic pistol one last time. This was his first assassination, and Random was determined to do it right.
The path was deserted. The slow sounds of the last couple's footsteps faded, vanishing in the gentle whisper of the breeze. Jacobus Random was left alone. Only one thought was troubling him: "What if he doesn't come? What if I'm wrong and this isn't the place?"
But no; there was no need to worry; it was still early: just a little after 8:30. The detectives told him quite clearly: "The person you're interested in was heard making an appointment with some lady over the telephone. He said he'd wait for her in the park, between the two cypress trees, at nine o'clock..."
Because it all started with that name... Because of that name, Jacobus Random was there, in the park, stalking a man...
There was a fleeting shadow of a bat on the luminous cloud, and Jacobus Random, without intending to, found himself reliving the incredible series of events that brought him to the park and put an atomic pistol in his hand...
* * *
Three months earlier, Jacobus Random was in his office as president of the "One-Two Company", one of the two largest bra manufacturers on the planet; his large white office, made of imitation marble plastic, with a desk that was an exact replica of the Parthenon, the famous temple of the Acropolis in Athens... or was it Rome? Perhaps not even the decorator knew. The blame laid with these damned trends that tried to revive classical architecture in the 22nd century.
It was still early, and Jacobus Random was barely settled into his curule chair, an exact copy of one used by a first-century Roman senator, when the door opened and admitted Miss Gertrud, the secretary. With the quick gait of a diligent and alert employee, she stood before Jacobus Random. He couldn't help but compare the secretary's thin, flaccid figure with the warm, rosy portraitogram of Carolyn Conrad in a red sweater, situated on the opposite wall. Jacobus hung it there himself so he could always keep before him that serenely breathing, occasionally blinking, figure in relief, the lush perfection of the one who had almost been his model.
Jacobus Random sighed. The comparison with Miss Gertrud's frail anatomy further emphasized the forms of the portraitogram, so skillfully molded by the red fabric... "And to think," Jacobus sighed, "that Carolyn could've been the model for the Innocent Machiavelli..."
But Miss Gertrud was already making herself heard:
- "Mr. Hitler Müller wishes to see you, Mr. Random."
- "Mr. Hitler Müller?" Jacobus shuddered. This was the inventor who came to him a year earlier to propose a new bra, a novelty so stupid that Random had to laugh when the man said: "Up until now, ever since bras were invented, both cups have been the same color. My idea, Mr. Random, is to make the two cups in very different, contrasting colors..."
Yes, he, Jacobus, the genius of the One-Two Company, laughed at the inventor. And the latter had taken his creation to Bipolaris Incorporated, his rival company, and Einstein Rogers, its president, welcomed him with open arms: they rolled out the "Bi-Bi" (Bipolaris Bicolor) which sparked quite the sensation. One-Two's sales, despite all the hype surrounding its latest model, the Innocent Machiavelli, made of satin and lace, a daring return to the old style, fell by more than half...
- "Tell him to wait, Miss Gertrud." Jacobus spoke with an indifferent air: he was interested in knowing what Müller brought, but tried to hide it.
The secretary went out, and Jacobus looked around the room. Carolyn Conrad was still breathing and blinking from her portraitogram and sweater... With some effort, Jacobus tore his eyes away from her and looked at a smooth, soft blue panel. He pressed a button on the edge of the desk. A glowing line lit up on the wall. The line snaked along, slowly tracing an irregular curve: it was a graph representing One-Two's profits... When the first significant spike appeared, Jacobus sighed. This increase represented his first major success since taking over as head of the firm from his father. He owed his success to the "Cushion of Silk", the world's first silk bra after centuries of plastic materials' absolute reign. Jacobus had the opportunity to anticipate the public's shift toward "old fashions." The second spike corresponded to the launch of The Innocent Machiavelli, for which he had had to rediscover lace-making methods. The success was overwhelming. But the spike's crash was also overwhelming: the curve fell and fell in a completely straight line to never-before-seen levels. That was the crash caused by the Bi-Bi, the bicolor bra invented by the doomed Müller...
The curve, still in red, remained flickering at an extremely low level, close to the ground. With a outburst of irritation, Jacobus pressed the button and turned it off.
- "We have to come up with a new model," he said to himself, standing up, "something that surpasses the Bi-Bi."
As always when he stood up to think, his steps led him in front of Carolyn's portraitogram...
Carolyn Conrad, the full-figured model who, during a simple argument when it came to sign the One-Two contract, tore the document into pieces and ran off with Einstein Rogers, the man from Bipolaris...
Jacobus sighed and touched the portraitogram frame. Slowly, the image raised her arms and crossed her hands behind her neck in voluptuous movement... And so she remained, her sweater fuller than ever, displaying a gold brooch on her neck. The brooch mimicked a butterfly and had an electronic device concealed within it, that when a certain combination of words was uttered nearby, it would open not only the brooch but the entire sweater. Another combination of words had the opposite effect, instantly closing the brooch and sweater. It was the electronic version of the primitive zip fastener.
- "Carolyn..." Jacobus sighed again, shuddering as he looked at that magic brooch that was at once lock and promise, seal and door. "Carolyn, the ideal woman for a bra manufacturer... the opulent woman who doesn't need to wear them... Carolyn..." Another sigh from Jacobus. But he couldn't continue sighing because the door opened again. And once again he found himself standing before Miss Gertrud's miserably vacant blouse.
- "Mr. Hitler Müller insists on seeing you, Mr. Random... He says that if you don't want to see him, he'll go see Mr. Einstein Rógers right now."
- "Send him in..."
* * *
A moment later, a tall, lanky man with thick blond eyebrows and a wrinkled face entered; his eyes, beneath that ridge of brows, looked like he was peering through a telescope.
A man accustomed to dealing with the captains of industry, he went straight to the point:
- "I hope you'll listen to me this time. I shouldn't help you; but I'm interested in having two rival companies competing, not just one. So you should buy my idea, because if I have to sell it to Bipolaris, One-Two will vanish out of circulation."
- "Well..." Jacobus tried to remain calm on the opposite side of the Parthenon. "If you can tell me what it's about..."
- "It's about..." Hitler Müller leaned over the temple's pediment, "making use of AS 1760. It's been totally unused for more than fifty years, and we can buy it for nothing..."
- "Wait a minute..." Jacobus, like a good specialist, didn't know about anything that wasn't a bra. "What's this AS 1760?"
- "AS 1760 stands for 'Artificial Satellite Number 1760,'" the inventor explained patiently. "It's one of the largest ever installed, and I know that no one's reclaimed it since the Cosmarines stopped using it... With it in our possession..."
A disappointed sigh from Jacobus interrupted him.
- "I thought you were going to me something interesting," his fingers tapped on the roof of the Parthenon, "and something more original! Don't you know that advertising from artificial satellites is already in steep decline? Ever since the advent of luminous clouds, which are much cheaper and much more attractive, satellites..."
Now it was Hitler Müller who did the interrupting, with a snort instead of a sigh.
- "I must have the face of an idiot or a bra manufacturer," he snarled. "I wouldn't bother talking to you about using artificial satellites for advertising, Mr. Random. What I propose to do with the AS 1760 is something different...; so different that it must remain a sacred secret between us."
Here the inventor paused, which was unnecessary, for Jacobus was half-upon the Parthenon, with the sheen of anxiety in his eyes.
- "After a lengthy and patient period of research," Müller continued, "I've made a sensational discovery: the isotope carbon-15.
- "What's that?"
- "Isotope carbon-15... I won't go into too much detail as I can tell I'd have to repeat each word several times. Suffice it to say that it's a different kind of carbon than common carbon, and it's assimilated by the human body, with a surprising effect. Imagine that by simply breathing it, and without changing your diet at all, a man could gain 20 or 30 kilos in just a few days. But the most interesting thing is that fattening occurs selectively: some parts of the body fatten more than others..."
Jacobus left the roof of the Parthenon and returned to the chair.
- "You know, Mr. Hitler Müller," he said wearily, "that charity doesn't interest me very much. If you want to fatten the human race, then offer your discoveries to the Patriarch and don't..."
- "Shortsighted, like every other bra manufacturer," the inventor shook his head disapprovingly. "Doesn't it occur to you that, thanks to my discovery, the human race could be fattened up in just a few weeks, without anyone noticing or being able to prevent it? If you're interested in knowing, the selective fattening of the human species will give men an abnormal development in the abdominal region and women (listen carefully, Mr. Random) a very pronounced growth in the pectoral region... The reasons for this different reaction in the sexes hasn yet to be determinted; it must undoubtedly be related to hormones... But I know you're not concerned with the scientific basis of a business. What interests you is the business itself. Very well, can you calculate, Mr. Random, the fabulous business deals that a bra manufacturer can make who knows that this selective fattening is going to occur in advance?"
- "I'm not seeing it, Mr. Müller." Jacobus blinked, a little dizzy, as if he had a piece of garbage in his eye.
- "You're not seeing it! And you've become president of a company like this! By Zeus, are you myopic? Do I have to give it to you in writing?" Now it was Hitler Müller who lay across the roof of the Parthenon, in an angry effort to join his nose with Jacobus's. "Imagine, Mr. Random," he continued shouting, "that you buy my discovery! Imagine that then, financed by you, of course, I install an automated plant that produces isotope carbon-15 on an artificial satellite (AS 1760, for example)...! Imagine that all the I C-15 thus produced is released into the atmosphere, until it becomes saturated...! Imagine that, in the meantime, you've set all your factories to manufacture gigantic bras...! Is it hard for you to imagine that your company will quietly monopolize the entire industry without violating any commercial laws? Is it hard for you to imagine that the ruin of all the other companies, especially Bipolaris, will be in your hands; as once the selective fattening has taken place, all their stocks of standard sizes will be unsellable?" Hitler Müller straightened, while Jacobus's lower jaw hung limply. "But I still see that you can't imagine that. I'll go and talk to Einstein..."
- "No! You're not talking to anyone from now on!" Jacobus jumped in, his eyes moist and his hands trembling with excitement. "How much will your discovery cost?"
- "Fifty million; plus one million for the installation of the plant in the AS; plus five million as compensation for my abdominal fattening. Total: Fifty-six million."
- "That's a lot of money!"
- "I'll go and see Einstein Ro..."
- "You won't go anywhere! But understand, Müller, that's a galactic sum... Give me a discount..."
After a long back-and-forth, the inventor agreed to reduce his compensation to three million. That was all Jacobus could get out of him.
They finally shook hands. That same afternoon, Müller would arrange for the purchase of the AS and a used IT (interplanetary taxi) to travel to and from the AS. The I C-15 production plant should be spraying the atmosphere within a month... By then, Jacobus' factories would have accumulated enough stock of gigantic bras to mold the silhouettes of an entire generation.
When the inventor had left, carefully folding the check, Jacobus looked again at the portraitogram from which Carolyn, languid but full of health, smiled at him, the enticing golden butterfly shining on her neck.
- "Einstein Rogers will go bankrupt, Carolyn... And then you'll have to sign a contract with me... With me, Carolyn! Carolyn, you don't need any of them!"
* * *
Everything went as if it was on atomic rails. In less than a week, the IT and AS were purchased. Another week, and Hitler Müller, after countless trips, had everything necessary in the AS to produce the I C-15. Of course, he could have done it in a fifth of the time if he'd had assistants; but as secrecy was paramount, the inventor had to manage on his own, acting as both chauffeur and technical director.
Of course, Jacobus Random couldn't sit idle: his factories buzzed with activity night and day. He need to triple his robot workers, but that wasn't a problem. What was a problem however, was finding warehouses to store so much merchandise on a planet already almost devoid of usable space. Random managed by renting underwater silos built by Australia to store his wool production before woolon, the latest aluminum-based plastic, displaced the venerable ovine product from the market.
Of course, Einstein Roger, the president of Bipolaris, wasn't late to present himself in Jacobus's office.
- "This is quite unexpected indeed!" Jacobus said, all smiles, standing up to greet him.
Roger took his time answering: he sat on a wing of the Parthenon and, lighting a cigarette, looked at the portraitogram. Carolyn was now in profile, looking better than ever in the red sweater.
- "You never did give up, did you, Jacobus?" Roger said at last.
- "I confess I haven't, Einstein... But I don't hold grudges: I haven't lost hope of bringing her to One-Two..."
Roger smiled with an air of superiority. That morning, sales of Bi-Bi increased tenfold compared to The Innocent Machiavelli... However, Roger's confidence was only fictitious. He heard about Random's factories' incredible production rate and was eager to know why they were mass-producing models that would never sell. Was Random committing commercial suicide? Or had the poor state of his business gone mad? Nevertheless, he seemed quite happy...
- "You don't fool me, you skunk," he said suddenly, staring at him. "What's going on in between the bones of that skull of yours?"
- "Nothing. Why?" Jacobus seemed like the portraitogram of innocence.
- "Don't play dumb! What are you up to?"
- "Einstein, Einstein... Since when do we consult each other on projects? Did you tell me anything when you released the Bicolor?"
- "So you confess that you're up to something?"
- "Always, my dear Einstein, the two of us are always up to something... The only thing I can tell you is that Carolyn will come back to me... And very soon!"
- "Never!" Roger bellowed, kicking the Parthenon. But the plastic was petrified, and the president of Bipolaris was left hopping on one foot, muttering curses that would make a sailor blush.
Two days before the deadline, Hitler Müller announced that everything was ready.
- "When tomorrow's sun warms the starter coupling, my good friend Jacobus, the AS will begin to release a continuous stream of I C-15 into the atmosphere..."
- "Magnificent!" Jacobus rubbed his hands together. He too was ready, the underwater silos packed to the brim with supplies. But, as was typical of him when he saw himself on the eve of a great success, he was filled with profound anxiety. "Are you sure, my good friend Hitler, that the I C-15 won't fail?"
- "Absolutely sure. I've already shown you the photos of the monkeys we've treated."
- "Yes..." Jacobus shuddered at the memory. "Are you also sure there weren't any harmful effects?"
- "Also sure. The selective fattening will be just as I predicted. There will, of course, be a general fattening of the body, but it will be insignificant compared to the development of the parts we're interested in."
- "When will the effects start to be felt?"
- "I've already told you I can't give you a date. As you know, the atmosphere is chaotic, and one can't predict when a general distribution of I C-15 will take place... But why so many questions? Scared?"
- "No. I've already spent too many millions to be scared... And besides, I have other reasons not to back down... Two powerful reasons," he added, looking at the portraitogram with half-closed eyes.
* * *
During the first few days of putting the I C-15 production plant into operation, Jacobus Random wasn't overly concerned. But when the second week began, he started looking for telltale signs that Hitler Müller's predictions were coming true. Every day, as soon as he took up his post behind the Parthenon, he called Miss Gertrud in.
The flat secretary stood before him, awaiting orders. And Jacobus subjected her to silent scrutiny. Not noticing anything new, he dismissed her, much to the surprise of the forty-something girl. On the tenth day, after noticing no change, he called the inventor.
But Hitler Müller was already busy with other things...
- "You know, Mr. Random," Müller growled into the device, "that I C-15 no longer interests me. I'll go to AS 1760 every week to renew the plant's supplies, as stipulated in the contract; but that's the end of my undertaking. I've already told you that there's no telling when the effect will begin, now leave me alone. I'm very busy with my new invention: mechanical ants that trim your beard while you sleep... But that has nothing to do with you."
Jacobus had to swallow his impatience and continued to wait for any developments. On the twelfth day, Miss Gertrud changed... but not in the way he'd expected: the secretary appeared wearing a red sweater, her face rejuvenated by expensive makeup. Jacobus was surprised; but when he saw her blush under his scrutinizing gaze, he understood what was happening: Miss Gertrud was interpreting each morning's silent examination in her own way. Of course, her new look couldn't have been more disastrous: it invited comparison with Carolyn's glorious portraitogram; a comparison not at all favorable, certainly, to the secretary's deflated sweater.
Jacobus had already begun to worry and wonder whether he was the victim of a colossal swindle when, one morning, as he was getting dressed, he had trouble with his belt: he had to loosen it one notch... Filled with hope, he returned to the office and, once he was behind the Parthenon, called Miss Gertrud.
She appeared with a new expression in her eyes: no longer the attentive but dull and somewhat resigned gaze of a maid in the line of duty: now there was warmth and light in her pupils, which burned with self-confidence, almost defiantly. It wasn't difficult for Jacobus to find the cause: from one day to the next, Miss Gertrud's sweater had accrued unexpected interest...
By the afternoon, he had confirmation: sales of the "Innocent Machiavelli" had shown a marked upswing, especially in the larger sizes. Of course, the Bi-Bi's figures were much higher; but Jacobus wasn't worried.
- "It's Bipolaris' swansong," he said with satisfaction. "We'll see the numbers in a few days... Carolyn, Carolyn!... How little time separates us!"
Once it had begun, the selective fattening, as Hitler Müller called it, took off with incredible rapidity. Within 48 hours, Miss Gertrud could look down upon Carolyn's portraitogram. Jacobus decided to double her salary, given her outstanding merits, and would have decided on something more if his own person hadn't started to worry him. Because not only did his abdomen reach an incredible diameter: his hips also widened, to the point that he began to have difficulty sitting in his curule chair behind the Parthenon...
He called Hitler Müller, but the latter told him to go take a walk.
- "I've already told you not to bother me! Aren't you already selling more gigantic size 'Innocent Machiavellis' in one day than you did in a whole year? Why are you complaining? Because of a simple, not entirely foreseeable side effect?"
It was all he could get out of him.
* * *
Meanwhile, as was inevitable, the public at large also became aware of the prodigious phenomenon that was dilating the women from above and the men from below. The newspapers initially took note of it with great joy and spirit; truly, a walk down the street in those days was enough to lift anyone's spirits.
As Müller said, One-Two's sales reached super-galactic figures. It was the only brand that had such large sizes, and, furthermore, customers had to buy a larger size every few days...
Einstein Rogers called Jacobus.
He simply picked up the receiver and listened to the torrent of abuse from a distance. He put the receiver down again, and silence returned to the office, presided over by the incomparable Carolyn; the incomparable Carolyn who, since a few days ago, didn't seem so incomparable anymore...
Although no pair of pants fit him, and despite having to abandon his curule chair, his faithful companion through so many sleepless nights, Jacobus Random considered himself the happiest and most genial of the captains of industry. The overcrowded underwater silos were rapidly becoming depleted, and there was already discussion on Wall Street about whether the phenomenal Jacobus would open a chain of banks to manage his fabulous profits, or whether he would invest part of them in the purchase of the Proxima Centauri planetary system.
Einstein Roger called again, but now there was a very different tone in his voice.
- "I'm selling you the Bipolaris, dear Jacobus, with all the machines and all the stock. I can't bear the effort of adapting my factories to the production of such sizes. I'll confess to you that I listened to an expert who predicted the gradual reduction of mammalian function in the human species, and that my entire stock leaned toward smaller sizes."
- "You don't expect me to consider all that unsellable merchandise you have for stock..." Jacobus, at the height of his glory, felt pity for his defeated rival. It was touching to hear him confess. "But, well, I understand that you weren't obliged to have the brilliant intuition I had that a change was taking place in the atmosphere..."
- "Of course, of course, dear Jacobus... Even the experts were surprised by the change. No one can imagine where that famous I C-15 came from. You were brilliant, Jacobus." The unfortunate Einstein, in the midst of a financial slide, didn't care for a little servility anymore...
- "How much are you asking for the Bipolaris?"
- "For being you..., three hundred and fifty trillion."
- "Okay. Let's say fifteen trillion. Does that sounds good to you?"
There was a bubbling noise in the telephone earpiece. Finally, Einstein Roger's voice spoke again:
- "Yes, dear Jacobus; that sounds good to me... You're getting the best factory in the world... after One-Two's, of course!"
Jacobus Random smiled to himself: that was a triumph! A one-punch knockout victory!
That same afternoon, they signed the contract on the roof of the Parthenon. As the now swaying Miss Gertrud dried the signatures, a condescending Jacobus looked at an aging Einstein.
- "I've already bought your Bipolaris," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I'd like to buy something else from you..."
- "Something else, still?" The now former president of Bipolaris looked with the anguish of a whipped dog.
- "Yes, something else, still... Carolyn's contract!"
- "Carolyn's contract? Never!"
- "I think ten trillion is a good price." Jacobus pretended he hadn't heard Einstein's outburst. "Not even an opera singer in the middle of the Mad Century was paid that much!"
- "Carolyn's contract isn't for sale."
- "Twenty trillon."
- "Carolyn's contract isn't for sale!"
- "A hundred trillon!"
Einstein made a noise similar to a sob. Then there was silence; then a snort, and then a curse...
- "What did you say?" Jacobus jumped in.
- "That you're the most vile scoundrel the world has ever known! That I'd rather work as an elevator operator in the Pleiades Building, which has five thousand floors, than give up on Carolyn! Even if I've lost Bipolaris I'll still be a bra maker at heart for the rest of my life! And Carolyn is a bra maker's ideal! I'll never, ever renounce her!"
There was a crash: Einstein Roger had just left, slamming the door with terrible violence.
Perplexed, Jacobus stood with his mouth open. He didn't know why, but a strange, almost painful sensation had replaced the triumphant intoxication of moments before.
- "This Einstein's an imbecile!" he growled aloud. But that didn't make things any better: something, deep inside, told him he'd just been taught a lesson.
And he never enjoyed victory again. Not only because of the argument with Einstein, but also because of the news that began to reach him.
* * *
The selective fattening continued, and soon the first of the difficulties arose: the columbium mines of Mont Blanc halted their work because the tunnels proved too narrow for the widened miners; others followed; and in a matter of hours, the entire extractive industry on the planet came to a standstill.
It was the first blow. There were more the next day, just as serious or worse.
Interplanetary trade was suddenly interrupted; the Cosmarines could no longer enter through the hatches of their cosmocraft, and the entire Earth suddenly found itself deprived of all imports, as if subjected to the most inflexible blockade. Submarines stopped sailing. Soon, aerial omnibuses stopped running: it was useless to enlarge their doors, because the seats couldn't be used anyway. All exchange ceased, as if I C-15, instead of being a selective fattening agent, had been an anesthetic of terrible paralyzing efficacy.
The above mentioned were undoubtedly the most widespread and serious damages caused by I C-15. There were many others with minor consequences, although very annoying in some cases and plain irritating in others.
Thus, for example, the problem presented itself in neighborhood movie theaters. (The movie theater is a curious case of survival: despite the centuries that passed since its invention, nothing has been able to permanently relegate it; it's what sociologists call "fossil convenience.") The theater management, unable to accommodate the enlarged audience in the seats, replaced them with benches and raised the price of tickets to offset the reduction in sales occasioned by the smaller number of spectators they could admit. This increase, for a population already in crisis was decisive; no one set foot in a movie theater anymore. Something similar happened with barbershops: rendered useless for being too small, the comfortable and cumbersome chairs couldn't be replaced in a time of industrial decline, and they lost their greatest appeal: what barber can entertain a customer with his conversation who has to uncomfortably sit on a hard bench?
The automotive and cosmocraft factories were quickly repurposed for production according to the new "standard" measurements for a human being. But they found themselves short of raw materials, as repurposing the mines proved much more difficult: the experts calculated that they would need three months time to expand them and make them workable again; a similar period, burdened by the cessation of imports from other planets, was more than enough to completely disorganize the entire economic structure of the planet.
Fattened multitudes of the unemployed let themselves be dragged along the moving sidewalks; there were rumors of political movement, and for the first time in two centuries, there was talk of forming regional police forces. I C-15 was no longer an anesthetic; it was now a powerful, lethal poison... The Patriarchate system shook to its foundations...
Humans weren't the only species affected by the fattening: all of nature suffered a shock, one perhaps not seen since the Mesozoic climate lost its mildness. Animals accustomed to living in caves found themselves having to spend most of their time outside; as they grew fatter, the caves became too small for them; from mice to earthworms, they all suffered terribly. [Translator's note: literally 'went the way of Cain']. But the greatest disaster fell upon the birds: their instincts couldn't adapt to their new situation, and they continued to build nests like normal birds, rather thin ones; soon the weight of the fattened birds exceeded the nest's strength, and there was no longer any peace or quiet among the leaves. A female sparrow, for example, besides not being able to fit any longer in the nest, didn't know if the nest would give way and collapse at any moment; as a result, birds stopped laying eggs, and the sky lost the charm of the chirping and trilling...
All Earthly science was devoted to studying the new element that appeared in the atmosphere. It was quickly detected by the Sentinel Service. There was a certain tension between Earthlings and the inhabitants of Churchill, the third planet of Antares, discovered by an Englishman, and a great deal of vigilance was exercised on Earth. Since it was unknown what a Churchillian attack might look like, everything was monitored, even the chemical composition of the atmosphere; and so I C-15 was discovered as soon as it appeared. A thousand conjectures were made to explain its appearance, but all were far from the truth: who could have imagined that an Earthling would be capable of such sabotage of his own planet? And who could have guessed that the source of its production was there, in that melancholic and rusty ring of disused artificial satellites that circled round and around the Earth?
Overwhelmed by the general disaster, Jacobus, the multitrillionaire, found himself poorer than ever; what good were his trillions if he couldn't even call an IT to run in search Carolyn, who had been missing since Einstein Roger locked up his factories and fled to an unknown destination?
Of course, One-Two also suffered from the general crisis: the buying public lost purchasing power, and the unsightly and uncivilized habit of wearing nothing became widespread. Moreover, the opulence that had initially so enthused them lost appeal in a world of men overwhelmed by the crisis and burdened by their ever-expanding abdomens and hips. Feminine coquetry was not one of the minor victims of the I C-15 crisis. Thus, the day came when One-Two sales also plunged to zero.
- "Who could have imagined such a catastrophe?" Jacobus wondered desolately, spending all day in the icy silence of his marble offices. "Who could have foreseen that a few extra centimeters would be worse than the worst plague?"
It was on one of those days that he suffered the worst shock... As if, after instilling the wildest hope in him, it buried him in the darkest abyss of disillusionment!
The telephone rang and he ran to answer it. A feminine voice spoke on the other end:
- "One-Two? I have a request... Write this down: an Innocent Machiavelli in the smallest size you have."
- "An Innocent Machiavelli in the smallest size?" Astonished, Jacobus couldn't believe what he was hearing. A wild hope quickened his heart: was the selective fattening beginning to subside? Who was this marvelous woman in need of an Innocent Machiavelli in the smallest size?"
- "Yes, the smallest size," she insisted.
- "This... beautiful, miss. I'll bring it to you myself right away! What's the address?"
- "35201 503rd Street, New York... It's for the Modern Museum of Antiquities."
Completely knocked out, Jacobus fell into his chair.
* * *
To make matters worse, Hitler Müller had disappeared: Jacobus wasn't able to locate him, neither by telephone nor by personally visiting his laboratories. Undoubtedly remorseful for the global catastrophe he had caused, the inventor chose to flee the scene.
But Jacobus was a tenacious man, and he had trillions to spare. He hired a heavy-duty team of fattened detectives and offered a substantial reward to anyone who could bring him the inventor. Of course, he didn't explain his reasons to any of them for the interest in this man with the vulgar surname and even more vulgar first name.
Although fattened, the detectives were capable people: in two days they located Hitler Müller and brought him to Jacobus's office. It took some struggling to get him through the door, as the I C-15 had performed a magnificent fattening effect on its discoverer; and finally, the perpetrators of this whole cataclysm were once again face to face.
Jacobus waited until they were left alone, then advanced with his fists clenched.
- "Can you tell me why you've hidden yourself?" he bellowed, his enormous abdomen trembling with rage.
Hitler Müller, his arrogance completely lost, hid his head in his hands.
- "Because I couldn't continue fulfilling the contract," he said in a broken voice.
- "You haven't fulfilled it! You've fulfilled it, and far too well!"
- "No, Mr. Random, no... According to our agreement, I agreed to refill the automatic I C-15 producing plant's supplies every week..."
- "Well, and?"
- "Well... as you know, no one can board a cosmocraft anymore: the hatches are too narrow... I've been a victim too: for ten days I haven't been able to board a IT to travel to the AS. That's why I went into hiding: because the plant installed on AS 1760, lacking supplies, stopped working three days ago! Will you forgive me, Mr. Random?"
Jacobus's eyes widened.
- "Are you saying that the atmosphere will no longer receive I C-15?"
- "That's right. I'm not to blame if..."
- "Shut up! Just answer me. So the selective fattening will stop?"
- "Of course," Hitler Müller shrank even further. "Not only will it stop, but very soon it will begin to give way. Slowly, bodies will return to normal... Will you forgive me for that, Mr. Random? I'm not to blame if..."
- "Shut up, I said! When will everything be back to normal?"
- "I already told you before that the atmosphere is chaotic... But the defattening won't take long; with the I C-15 gone from the air, there won't be any reason for the current dilation of organisms to continue..."
Jacobus sat on the Parthenon, heedless of the risk of crushing it. A malicious smile began to contort his face...
- "If everything goes back to normal," he said to himself, "all the Bi-Bi stock I bought for a pittance from Einstein will be worth something again... Jacobus, Jacobus, I always said there's no genius in all the world like you!"
* * *
This time, Hitler's predictions came true in every way: the day came when an unusual sound woke Jacobus up.
- "Birdsong!" he exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "The defattening has begun!"
Quickly, as if each organism were a deflating balloon, every living being's various diameters all returned to their previous measurements. Agile, more energetic than ever, men returned to crewing cosmocraft and submarines, working in mines and factories, feasting their eyes on the still opulent but once again attractive matrons who walked the streets. Feminine coquetry regained its dominance, and the demand for bras began again.
From absolute zero, One-Two's sales soared again to astronomical heights: absolute master of the market, it once again flooded the world with the Innocent Machiavelli. Of course, this time the demand was for the smaller size.
If before, as the measurements grew, Jacobus's fortune multiplied feverishly, now it became something incalculable. It was said that he possessed more trillions than the Patriarch himself. However, all this triumph did not make him vain. Jacobus hadn't achieved the supreme goal that would drive him to so upset the breadth of humanity: Carolyn Conrad, once again incomparable in the superb red sweater in the portraitogram, remained as unattainable for him as on the first day. Not even the detectives who brought Müller to him could find her. Einstein Roger, when he took her away, left no trace behind.
As happens to every victor who falls short of complete triumph, melancholy took hold of Jacobus, a melancholy that worsened day by day in the face of the increasingly wretched spectacle offered by Miss Gertrud's increasingly deflated red sweater, already kilometers away from the invariable charm of Carolyn's portraitogram. One morning, even though no one called him, Hitler Müller presented himself in Jacobus's office. Although still fat, it was clear that he would soon return to his former thinness.
- "I can get into ITs now," he said to Jacobus. "Shall I restart the I C-15 production plant?"
- "No, you idiot!" Jacobus jumped, seized by a violent tremor. "There's no need for that anymore! I've already earned more money than I could ever count!"
- "As you wish, Mr. Random, I was just asking because we have a contract..."
- "We can terminate it. And to show you how satisfied I am," Jacobus leaned back in his chair with pleasure. He hadn't yet grown accustomed to the idea that he could sit in it as often as he liked, "to show you how grateful I am, here, Hitler, is another fifty million as a reward... How does that suit you?"
- "That suits me very well!" the inventor blinked excitedly. "I'll be able to work on my razor ants again!" The good Hitler was so grateful that he added, "I'll return the favor, Mr. Random. I'll give you a piece of information I was thinking of keeping to myself, and it will earn you even more money. As you'll soon find out, when human tissue returns to its former dimensions, there will be a general loosening of the flesh..."
- "I don't see the importance of that information. It's a detail that..."
- "It's a detail that will represent another fortune for you, Mr. Random. Put those brains to work!" The inventor looked at Jacobus with pity. "All you have to do is launch a new model, the 'Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced', to counter the general tissue laxity."
Jacobus revived; although saturated with trillions, he couldn't remain indifferent to the prospect of another fabulous business.
- "I understand... I'll adapt the Bi-Bis I bought from Einstein... I have a feeling the smaller sizes will be the most in demand."
- "That's right," Hitler smiled beatifically. "And as a final demonstration of appreciation, I'll calculate the reinforcements you that should put in the new 'Innocent Machiavelli'..."
Here, the inventor took out a slide rule and performed a series of complicated operations. Finally, he concluded:
- "Four little stays per side will suffice. That will perfectly compensate for the increased weight caused by the tissue laxity."
* * *
Thus the "Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced" was born, which, in honor of historical truth, should have more appropriately been called the "Bi-Bi Reinforced". But commercial vanity has its demands.
The public received it with immense favor. It was a new harvest of trillions for Jacobus, and another source of pride for his already vain spirit.
- "If I had Carolyn, my happiness would be perfect," he said to himself one morning, leaning his elbows against the Parthenon and gazing with half-closed eyes at the triumphant portraitogram of Carolyn. "When she's not with me, my ideal as a bra manufacturer can't be fully realized... Carolyn, the perfect woman! Where can you be?"
The door opened, and miss Gertrud entered, once again bundled up in a black blouse, deplorably vacant.
- "A young lady wishes to see you," she said in a sour voice. Since her diameter had returned to its usual puny proportions, her temper had become even shorter. "She didn't want to give me her name."
- "Send her in."
Miss Gertrud stepped aside and Jacobus's eyes bulged in an exaggerated effort to escape their sockets. There, in the doorway, smiling at him in a fabulous red sweater that looked more like a jewel setting than a garment, was Carolyn! Carolyn Conrad! A bra-maker's dream come true!
- "Carolyn!" Jacobus leaped from his curule chair and circled the Parthenon. "Carolyn!"
Miss Gertrud walked away with her face converted into a frozen mask. But Jacobus didn't notice: he only had eyes for that sweater, which attracted him like a butterfly to flame, and as for that golden butterfly, how it burned him like a flame.
- "I separated from Einstein," Carolyn's voice was warm, as befitted a voice coming from such a bosom. "The poor fellow has been very down on his luck lately... I remembered the contract you once offered me, Jacobus, and that's why you have me here. Is the offer still open?"
- "Yes..." Jacobus could barely get out, placing his trembling hands in contact with the incredibly soft wool and pulling Carolyn towards him. "Yes, the offer still stands, Carolyn," he added in a hoarse voice. "If you only knew how much I've longed for this moment! It's been my entire life's ideal!"
Carolyn smiled, her mouth almost touching Jacobus's. But he didn't kiss her; he leaned toward her neck, toward the golden butterfly; the electronic lock he had so often dreamed of snapping in two during his feverish nights.
- "How do you open it?" he whispered.
- "The words are 'open sesame...'" a crescendoing languor smoothed the girl's voice like velvet.
- "Open sesame!" There was an edge of urgency in Jacobus's tone.
The golden butterfly broke, and, as if an invisible hand pulled an invisible zipper, the red sweater opened with the slowness of a curtain.
Eagerly, Jacobus lowered his eyes...
And he took a step back, as if he had been hit in the middle of his chest.
- "But... what's this?"
- "You should recognize it... It's an 'Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced'," Carolyn replied, advancing.
- "Don't come any closer!" Jacobus's eyes, wide open in horror, remained fixed on the product of his factories. "What happened to you?" he added, seeking the support of the Parthenon. "You never wore anything before, except when you posed for ads!"
- "You're forgetting that I too breathed the I C-15 in," Carolyn's voice became sharp, "that I too went through selective fattening and then selective defattening..." Here a sob forced her to pause. "I'll never be the same again! I'll never be able to do without the 'Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced'." Another sob, and then, in a furious reaction, an imperious: "Close sesame!"
As if touched by a magic wand, the red curtain of the sweater drew back. Without even looking at the overwhelmed Jacobus, half-collapsed on the Parthenon, Carolyn turned around and looked for the door. But before reaching it, she stopped in front of her portraitogram. For a moment, she stared at it, and then, drawing back her fist, she smashed it with a violent jaw-cracking swing. A cloud of pink gas remained floating in the frame, where that perfect image reigned for so long in the office of the One-Two president.
Jacobus was so stunned that he didn't even hear her leave. For a very long time, he stood there like a boxer from the barbaric Mad Century, fallen against the ropes. And with good reason. That Carolyn Conrad, the woman of his bra-making dreams, was now wearing a "Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced" represented the worst trick fate could ever play on him... Because he, Jacobus Random, in an effort to enrich himself and to conquer that ample, strong beauty, was her direct destroyer; he, by heeding Hitler Müller's suggestions, loosened what was previously firm, had made what never needed support give way...
Hitler Müller! The name of the guilty, the destroyer of his lifelong ideal as a bra maker, flashed through his mind like a luminous cloud advertisement. Random bent over the Parthenon; he took a polished atomic pistol from his drawer; he put it in his pocket and called his chief detective.
- "I want you to find out where I can find Hitler Müller in a solitary environment," he ordered.
Ten minutes later the detectives answered him:
- "The person you're interested in was heard making an appointment with some lady over the telephone. He said he'd wait for her in the park, between the two cypress trees, at nine o'clock."
Jacobus Random hung up the telephone. From force of habit, his gaze sought the portraitogram from which, for so long, Carolyn's divine curves spurred him to action; but he found only a rosy cloud floating within the frame. Pressing his lips tightly together, he stood up and walked toward the door. Just as just a few minutes before, the model's firm charms had been the guidestar of his life, the two poles toward which all his efforts were directed, the idea of killing Hitler Müller, the man responsible for the subsidence of those charms, now become an obsession, an imperative, inescapable obligation.
* * *
The cloud advertisement, hanging there between the two cypresses, continued to flash the brand that ruled the world: "Innocent Machiavelli, Reinforced... Innocent Machiavelli, Reinforced..."
A distant rooster, one of those infallible roosters perfected by genetics to tell the time with the exactitude of an astronomical observatory, crowed nine o'clock in some municipal building. Automatically, Jacobus's fingers closed around the butt of his pistol.
The hour had arrived... and so had the victim: advancing with a firm, agile step, the step of an impatient lover, the discoverer of I C-15 emerged onto the path.
Jacobus pulled out the pistol and pressed a button; he felt a gentle warmth on the handle, indicating that the weapon was ready to fire. He raised it and pointed it at Hitler Müller, now barely a dozen paces away.
But he immediately lowered the lethal instrument. An ample figure emerged from a lateral path and was advancing to meet the inventor. There were no words of greeting: barely a murmur, and then a passionate embrace that clearly demonstrated Hitler's haste.
Jacobus, bewildered, watched the entwined figures from his hiding place... until, shrugging his shoulders, he raised his pistol again. In the end, neither of them would feel anything; in fact, the last sensations with which they would bid farewell to the world could not be more pleasant.
But he couldn't pull the trigger now either. In the semi-light coming from the cloud advertisement, Hitler Müller's urgent voice could be heard:
- "Open sesame!"
For a moment, Jacobus couldn't breathe. The lady who made an appointment with the inventor was Carolyn! This was the ultimate irony on the part of fate... Although was Carolyn really Carolyn? Jacobus answered himself that it was not. Because Carolyn, when she had, out of necessity, put on an "Innocent Machiavelli Reinforced", had ceased to be Carolyn.
He didn't hesitate any longer, and took aim again. But even now he didn't fire. A voice spoke behind him:
- "If I were you, I wouldn't do it."
He turned and found himself face to face with Einstein Roger, his defeated rival, the ex-president of Bipolaris, who was smiling at him with a disdainful expression of pity.
- "If I were you, I wouldn't do it," Einstein repeated. "Because they'd send you to the Disintegrator..."
Stunned, Jacobus stared at him.
- "I bought one of your detectives," Einstein continued, "and he told me he'd find you here, about to kill someone... So, I rushed over to to keep you from ruining yourself."
- "Since when did you start being so generous?"
- "It's not generosity, Jacobus. It's just refinement... Because if you end up in the Disintegrator, I'll lose the chance for revenge; the chance to repay you with ruin - the ruin into which you plunged me!"
- "Ruin me? You, ruin me?" Jacobus couldn't suppress his contemptuous smile.
- "Yes, I'll ruin you, Jacobus... with Hitler Müller's new invention."
The smile disappeared from Jacobus's face.
- "Hitler Müller's new invention?"
Einstein Roger paused, savoring the victory, and then clarified:
- "A totally transparent bra model...: an invisible bra."
- "What a novelty!" Jacobus breathed a sigh of relief. "Transparent plastic bras were already being used in the second half of the Mad Century!"
- "Let me finish!" Einstein looked at him with infinite pity. "Hitler Müller's invention is something more serious. He's turned the transparent bra into an electronic device that lights up at the will of the interested party, capable of colors in a whole range of delicate shades. Can you imagine the use that feminine coquetry can make of such a device? If there was a time when ladies performed miracles with a simple fan, imagine the havoc they can wreak by manipulating the infinite possibilities of the Milky Way with the wisdom inherent in their sex..."
- "The Milky Way?"
- "Yes... That's what I've decided to name the new luminous bra."
Jacobus Random said nothing. He was surprised to notice how little of an impression Einstein's revelation made on him. Suddenly, he realized that all of this ceased to interest him. He would never again care about Hitler Müller and his Milky Way, nor all the bras in the world. He understood that, with the illusion that drove him to fight being broken, nothing else in life mattered to him.
He gave Einstein a dismissive nod and walked out of the park, his steps firm and determined.
He stopped about three blocks away, where an electrobar flickered its display in the darkness; one of those electrobars where the waiter puts a helmet on you with electrodes that induce all sorts of stimulating thoughts in your brain.
Jacobus Random knew what kind of thoughts would be induced in him; he knew that, as soon as they put the helmet on, he would see again the incomparable Carolyn, just as she had been when her portraitogram was taken, with her red sweater and her gold butterfly waiting for the "open sesame."
He knew all that, but he walked into the bar.
