FINAL
WEAPON
BY EVERETT B. COLE
Man has developed many a deadlyweapon. Today, the weapon mosteffective in destroying a man'shopes and security is the filefolder ... and that was the weaponMorely knew and loved. But therewas something more potent to come.
Illustrated by Leydenfrost
District Leader Howard Morelyleaned back in his seat, to glancedown at the bay. Idly, he allowed hisgaze to wander over the expanse ofwater between the two blunt pointsof land, then he looked back at theskeletonlike spire which jutted upwardfrom the green hills he had justpassed over. He could rememberwhen that ruin had been a supportfor one of the world's great bridges.
Now, a crumbling symbol of thepast, it stubbornly resisted the attacksof the weather, as it had onceresisted the far more powerful blastsof explosives. Obstinately, it pointedits rusty length skyward, to remindthe observer of bygone conflict—andmore.
Together with the tangled cables,dimly seen in the shoal water, theline of wreckage in the channel, andthe weed-covered strip of torn concretewhich led through the hills, ittestified to the arrival of the air age.Bridges, highways, and harbors alikehad passed their day of usefulness.
Not far from the ruined bridgesupport, Morely could see the huge,well maintained intake of one of thechemical extraction plants. He shookhis head at the contrast.
"That eyesore should be pulleddown," he muttered. "Should havebeen pulled down long ago. Suggestedit in a report, but I suppose itnever got to the Old Man. He dependson his staff too much. If I hadthe region, I'd—"
He shook his head. He was notthe regional director—yet. Some day,the old director would retire. Then,Central Coördination would be examiningthe records of various districtleaders, looking for a successor.Then—
He shrugged and turned his attentionto his piloting of the borrowedhelicopter. It was a clumsymachine, and he had to get in toRegional Headquarters in time forthe morning conference. There wouldbe no sense it getting involved inemployee traffic—not if he couldavoid it.
The conference, his informant hadtold him, would be a little out ofthe ordinary. It seemed that the OldMan had become somewhat irritatedby the excess privileges allowed ina few of the eastern districts. Andhe was going to jack everyone upabout it. After that would come theusual period of reports, and possiblya few special instructions. Some ofthe leaders would have pet projectsto put forward, he knew. They alwaysdid. Morely smiled to himself.He'd have something to come upwith, too.
And this conference might put acrimp in Harwood's style. Morelyhad carefully worded his progress reportto make contrast with the typeof report that he knew would comefrom District One. George Harwoodhad been allowing quite a few extraprivileges to his people, stating thatit was good for morale. And, duringthe past couple of months, he'dseemed to be proving his point. Certainly,the production of the employeesfrom the peninsula had beenclimbing. Harwood, Morely decidedwould be the most logical person—afterhimself—for the region whenthe Old Man retired. In fact, for atime, it had looked as though thedirector of District One was going tobe a dangerous rival.
But this conference would changethings. Morely smiled slowly as hethought of possible ways of shadingthe odds.
He looked ahead. Commuters werestreaming in from the peninsula now,to make for the factory parking lots