yawning and his eyes burned. He turned to his wife, who was just finishing the dishes. "My dear," he said, "do you suppose you could help me?" "Is it proper?" she asked. "Oh, absolutely. The books state that the Prime Minister's wife tries in every way possible to relieve her husband of the burden of power." "In that case, I'll be happy to try." She sat down in front of the great pile of papers. "But, dear, I don't know anything about these matters." "Rely on instinct," Nob answered, yawning. "That's what I do." Flattered by the importance of her task, she set to work with a will. Several hours later, she awakened her husband, who was slumbering on the couch. "I've got them all finished except these," she said. "In this one, I'm afraid I don't understand that word." Nob glanced at the paper. "Oh, propaganda. That means giving the people the facts, whether true or false. It's very important in any war." "I don't see why." "It's obvious. To have a genuine Earth-style war, you need ideological differences. That's why we chose a dictatorship and the other continent chose a democracy. The job of propaganda is to keep us different." "I see," she said dubiously. "Well, this other paper is from General Heglm of Security. He asks what you are doing about the spy situation. He says it's very serious." "I had forgotten about that. He's right, it's reached a crisis point." He put the paper in his pocket. "I'm going to take care of that personally, first thing in the morning." In the last few hours, his wife had made no less than eight Major Policy Decisions, twenty Codifications, eight Unifications, and three Clarifications. Nob didn't bother to read them over. He trusted his wife's good judgment and common sense. He went to bed that night with the feeling of a job well done. And before he fell asleep, he figured out exactly what he would do about the spy situation. The next morning, Nob's orders went out by all means of communication. The results were gratifyingly swift, since the people of the
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