THE TRANSCRIPT of the interrogation of Rod Cheatwood was faxed to French Minister of Culture Maurice Tourette within ten minutes of being transcribed.
He read it with quick sweeps of his eyes, a blue pencil poised over the document that was stamped Secret-d'etat.
Finding a junk word, he crossed it out and inserted the correct form. Then he finished his perusal.
When Tourette was at last done, he called the president of France.
"Allo?"
"I have just read the transcript of the Beasley prisoner interrogation," he said.
"How can this be?" the president sputtered. "I myself have not yet received my fax copy."
"Please. Do not say 'fax.' It is an outlaw word."
"I will say what I please. I am le President. "
"And I am the minister of culture. Do you wish to land in jail for six months?"
"What have you learned?" said the president wearily.
"They have developed a hypnotic rayon de l'energie which bends those exposed to it to their will."
"Rayon de l'energie. What is a rayon de l'energie?"
"It is the word that has replaced l-a-s-e-r, " said the culture minister, spelling the junk word because he knew that he, too, could technically land in jail merely for enunciating it.
"I fail to grasp how a laser-I mean rayon de l'energie-could hypnotize. Do they not cut things?"
"Oui. But this rayon de l'energie uses tinted light. Pink pacifies. Red boils the blood-"
"Literally?"
"Non. Figuratively. Yellow makes the heart quail in fear, and green insults the brain and stomach so that one vomits and loses one's wits."
"What about blue?"
"Blue?"
"It is my favorite color. What does blue do?"
"Blue," said the culture minister, "depresses."
"Depresses? I have always believed that blue soothed. The sky is blue, non? And the oceans. They are very soothing to look upon."
"True. But you are forgetting that when you are sad, you feel blue. Forlorn music is called le blues. "
"Is that not a forbidden word?" the president asked pointedly.
"Les bleus, then," the culture minister said, adding it to his working copy of his dictionary of official terms.
"Proceed," said the president of France in a purring tone.
"They have installed pink lights all over that Blot. It creates a sense of well-being and receptivity. Like cotton candy for the eyes and the brain."
"It is no wonder that our poor citizens flock to the Blot."
"This is an indefensible provocation, an act of cultural imperialism. They have subverted our people, our culture, our way of life. What do you intend to do about it?"
"I must evaluate this fully."
"France cries out for strong action. Retaliation in kind."
"Do you propose that I have built a Parc Asterix on American soil and install pink rayon de l'energie lights everywhere?"
"I meant military retaliation."
"I am not yet convinced this is the doing of Washington, but the lawless depredations of a private company. I will not be stampeded into-"
"'Stampeded' is a junk word. I do not wish to report this conversation to the High Committee for the Defense and Expansion of the French Language."
Unseen by the minister of culture, the French president rolled his eyes ceilingward. "What do you propose?" he asked through politely clenched teeth.
"We gave them the Statue of Liberty. Let us demand it back."
"Absurd!"
"Then let us destroy it."
"I understand that there are restive elements over there which have called for Liberty to be torn down and sold for scrap."
"That would be an act of war!" Maurice Tourette cried. "If they dare to harm Liberty, we should nuke them flat. Stamp out their junk culture and its uncouth language at one blow."
"I will have to speak with the minister of defense."
"He is on my side," Tourette said quickly.
"Have you spoken with him on this matter?"
"Not yet. But I know he is on my side. If you wish to ensure your political future," the culture minister said, "you should be on my side, as well."
"I will think about it," said the president of France, hanging up.
Then the expected fax entered the room, attached to the hand of an aide, and the president of France leaned back to read it over.
It was good, he considered, that the US. President was so indecisive. Between that and his own leisurely approach to this crisis, perhaps a solution would present itself before the minister of culture prodded both sides into something infinitely more dangerous than a war of words over words.