30-DAY WONDER By Richard Wilson BALLANTINE BOOKS NEW YORK Copyright © 1960 by Richard Wilson PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BALLANTINE BOOKS, INC. 101 Fifth Avenue, New York 3, N. Y. [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's a _lovely_ world.... He was a reporter. A good one. An average guy with a sense of humor and reasonable views about the rights of man. Maybe that's why the Monolithians picked on him to head up their public-relations program. After all, they had to reach a lot of average people and even though they were invulnerable, they couldn't afford to take chances. _Because they had a message_, and EVERYBODY had to be convinced. So he didn't have any choice in the matter. That's where the system went wrong. No choice. Act peaceful. Love thy neighbor. Obey the law. Why, people could go mad living that way. And many will. 1 (JULY 22, TUES.) Yes, an' no, an' mebbe, an' mebbe not. --Edward Noyes Westcott, _David Harum_ It was an ordinary July morning. July 22d, to be exact. A Tuesday. Already hot at 8:20 A.M., which is when I got off the long-distance bus at the Port Authority terminal and walked the few blocks to my office in the Times Building on 43d Street. I work for a wire service called World Wide, and my job is to edit American news and send it to London for relay to clients around the world. Actually, wire service is a misnomer, because we use radioteletype, called RTT. My name is Sam Kent. I hung up my coat, which I had been carrying, rolled up my sleeves and sat down at the big news desk opposite the overnight editor, Charlie Price. WW operates 24 hours a day. "'Morning, Charlie," I said. "Anything happening?" "Not a thing." "Good." I started to read the copies of the news stories which had been filed to London since I'd left late the previous afternoon. This is called reading in. A copy boy automatically brought me a cup of coffee, heavy on the milk, and I lit a cigarette and read the stories on the torn-off yellow teletype paper attached to the clipboard. At a quarter to nine I was up to date. I got up and took Charlie's place in the slot. "Good night," he said, and went home. "'Morning Nan," I said to Nancy Corelli, the teletype operator. "Ready for a big day?" "Hi, Sam." She put down the _Daily News_ and gestured at the teletype to London. "It's dead as a tomb." The belt was on. A belt is a length of perforated tape, glued into a circle, which goes through the transmitter and sends on the RTT, over and over, a series of lines that look like this: QRA QRA DE WFK40 VIA PREWI/NY RYRYRYRYRYRYRYRYRY QRA QRA DE WFK40 VIA PREWI/NY RYRYRYRYRYRYRYRYRY