"You're all remembering the old stories about the Dorsai, and how they're unbeatable in battle," he went on. "They're mostly just that—stories—now; because times have changed, and changed in our favor." There were some mutterings on the edges of the circle, but he ignored those, seeking to supplant their concerns, while they were still young, with his own words.
'if the Dorsai were able to conquer all the Younger Worlds, they'd have done it long ago," he said. "They never even tried. Remember, they have the smallest population of any of the worlds. We have all the advantages: population, resources ... and most of all, a clarity of purpose."
"'Clarity of purpose'?" Prosper Fulton asked, frowning.
"It's the main thing our leadership gives the Younger Worlds," Bleys said. "We know what we want. The peoples of those Younger Worlds not under our leadership are confused, preoccupied with the details of their own lives; because of that, they're divided among themselves. That goes for the Exotics and the Dorsai—divided, they'll never be a serious threat to us. Just as, divided, they can never amount to anything in any other endeavor."
He paused, and looked about the circle once more, pulling their attention back to himself, away from their fears.
"It's as simple as this," he continued after a moment: "People want to be led. Most of them lack the confidence to deal with anything outside the scope of the way they've always led their lives— when something unusual happens, they become frightened and want someone to hold their hands and tell them they're in the right and everything will be fine if they just do what they're told."
"And that's what we'll do," Ameena Williams said, nodding.
"Until they're able to take care of themselves," Bleys said. "It's a tremendous responsibility, as I think you realize. But it becomes our mission simply because we're the only ones able to deal with the unexpected, with change—it's an ability we have because we grew up outside the usual mold of society. It's not just that we're generally more intelligent than most of the race; it's that we're able to see how to use what we've got to achieve our goals."
"But war" Sami DeLong said softly, a troubled frown still on her face.
"Oh, we'll do everything we can to avoid it," Bleys said, his voice filled with confidence. "We'll build up a military force of our own, one so powerful no one in their right mind would try to fight us— that's the best way to avoid having a war at all." He paused to take a small sip from his snifter.
"But war might come, anyway," he went on. "People aren't always sensible." There were troubled nods about the circle.
"We'll make sure it's not fought on our own planets," he said. "That's one of our responsibilities as leaders."
"But what about Old Earth?" Prosper Fulton said.
"What about it?"
"Won't Old Earth be likely to want to—well, to stop us, when they see what we're doing?"
"Now you're getting into matters I planned to discuss during the course of our meetings," Bleys said. "Believe me, Eve been thinking about this for a long time." He paused, projecting seriousness.
"We'll talk more about this later, I promise," he went on. "But I firmly believe we're more likely to fall into commercial, rather than military, conflicts with Old Earth." He smiled at them. "After all, the mother planet doesn't really care much who rules the Younger Worlds, does she?"
The nods around the circle were slight, hesitant.
"I think you all know Old Earth doesn't really pay much attention to the Younger Worlds," Bleys went on. "She doesn't have to. Old Earth is too involved in her own internal conflicts, and her citizens worry more about living their own good lives ... and in the end, remember: if war should come, are those spoiled, pampered Earthmen likely to come out from their planet and fight very hard?"
He looked about.
"I don't think so," he finished. "But that doesn't mean we won't have conflict with them."
"You mentioned a 'commercial' sort of conflict," someone said from the back of the circle, a question in his voice.
"Well, it's possible," Bleys said. "If we weld a unified community out of the Younger Worlds, we'll automatically be forming a commercial entity that could conflict with Old Earth's own interests, eventually. But my hope instead is that when we become a commercial equal, we can deal with them as equals—and eventually our community will expand to include them." He took the last sip from his brandy.
"There are many forms of conflict," he said, his gaze circling among their faces. "We have the advantage in all of them." He smiled.
"It's true Old Earth's population is the equal of all our Younger Worlds combined. In both military and economic conflicts, any battle would be a hard one—particularly because we can't wait another few hundred years for our population to grow. And waiting won't increase the natural resources of our planets." He put his empty snifter down.
"If you've studied history," he went on, leaning back, "you'll understand that in any sort of conflict with Old Earth, we'll be under the disadvantage of being able to bring only a fraction of our people into contact with them, across the long lines of space transportation— while the mother planet would only have to operate just outside its own atmosphere, with the advantages of interior lines of communications and having its largest markets within its own sphere."
"You seem to be assuming such a war would be fought near Old Earth," Peter Cossey said.
"I guess I am," Bleys replied. "And that's because of something I mentioned earlier: they have no clarity of purpose—but we do. That gives us what military science calls the initiative.''''
"You implied other forms of conflict might occur," Ameena Williams said.
"Yes," Bleys said. "In fact, I consider them much more likely." He looked about the circle once more.
"I'm talking about a conflict of ideas," he said. "I'm talking about our vision of a future for the entire human race coming up against their own vision."
"Do they have some sort of vision for the race?" Sami DcLong asked.
"A very good question," Bleys said, smiling. "The answer is: probably not—not in any terms we've been thinking about." He shook his head, looking sad.
"The fact is, Earthmen don't think about the future any more than do the people on our own Younger Worlds. The closest they might come to it is this: they generally have an attitude—maybe you could call it a series of unspoken assumptions—about the future. And if you think about your history, you know what those are: they believe that Old Earth's way is the best way, and that Old Earth is destined to be the natural leader of the human race for all time.
"What we're going to do will change that," he went on, "for all time. It will take time, but it will happen."
He paused again; and then leaned forward, raising his hands before his chest as if placing something before them, for them to look at.
"So," he went on, "we should look beyond the actual confrontation time, when it comes, to what we want to accomplish. What we really want is to end Old Earth's attempts at dominating us. These days, those are very underground, very subtle; but they're still there, a hidden motivation for that planet's behavior, and the energy behind the attitudes of most of those on Old Earth toward all of us on the Younger Worlds. As if we were a lesser people.
"What we're really up against is the task of changing the mental attitudes of half the members of the human race—their attitudes toward us.
"I'm confident there will come a real victory, in the form of a real change in the way they think. That's why we've had to start on our own worlds—as you did in the organizations you lead—in changing the mental attitudes of our own peoples, to a form that will allow them to shed their blinders about the mother planet. And that's going to be a large part of your jobs, in the future."
He paused for a longer period. He wanted to let them think, to let his message sink in.
"Remember this," he said finally: "the real battle now, and to come, is between two different mind-sets. It's a battle of attitudes and beliefs. We can't hope to make them adop
t ours. Never in history has that been possible; we'll never be able to impose our mind-set on them. What we have to do is expose our mind-set to them, until they begin to find—" he paused, apparently groping for the right words, "—elements, yes, in it, that are attractive or useful to them."
"You make it sound as if we're all going to become philosophers, and teachers," Prosper Fulton said.
"It's unavoidable," Bleys said, nodding. "Because you—each and every one of you—either already are a leader, on your planets, or will be soon. Leaders always teach things to their followers, even if unconsciously. You'll be teachers simply because those who follow you will be looking at you, watching what you do and thinking about what you say—every single thing you do or say will be a lecture, a lesson."
"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Sami DeLong said softly.
"But how did you think you were going to help lead your planet?" Bleys asked her, his voice low and quiet. "Surely you didn't think you'd simply give the occasional order, and it would be obeyed without anyone being changed in any way?"
"No," she said, softly. "No, I guess not... I just hadn't thought about it that way."
"But you don't feel ready to be an example," Ameena Williams said, looking across the circle at Sami.
"Of course she doesn't," Bleys said. "I wouldn't want her to feel otherwise. That's the path of arrogance; it's dangerous and leads to major mistakes." He shook his head.
"We're not prophets," he went on. "We're just particularly gifted human beings trying to make life better for everyone else. I don't want you to tell people they should be something else that's better than what they are now. They should be whatever they are now, whatever they've chosen to be—but a better, stronger, more capable version of it. And they should find their own ways to reach out to that chosen state."
He leaned back in his chair once more, looking at the ceiling.
"You asked me, Ameena, about my own 'personal vision,' as you called it, for the future: if it were possible in this present time, when we're spread over a number of worlds widely separated among the stars, I'd like to see you all go forth in a robe with a begging bowl in your hand, and wander with that message, as individuals once wandered across the face of Old Earth in those pre-space travel days.
"Remember, we won't suggest they change, that they make themselves different. We wish them to stay as they are and improve into a better version of themselves, continuing as whatever identity they've picked out in life. Whatever role they've chosen, in society, in life—they should stay in that role. Provided it's the role they want. If it's not, they should seek the role they want and grow into it, improve into it—headed toward a state in which they'll be more powerful and more responsible, and will have effort and mind and body and strength left over for helping all others be better in their roles, in turn."
Shortly after that Toni appeared, making the noises a hostess makes to politely herd her guests to the door; and the group, with thoughtful looks on their faces, gave their thanks and left, talking quietly. Bleys knew a few of them, at least, would gather elsewhere, to discuss among themselves what he had said.
As Bleys had expected, the assembled Others were enthusiastic over the prospect of greater power and influence, not only on their own planets, but within the Others' organization. As with any group of people, however, their motivations and views varied widely, and it took weeks to hammer out a pattern for the future workings of the organization. Always, up to now, they had simply followed orders, whether from Dahno or Bleys, or from the nominal superiors appointed by Dahno and Bleys; suddenly thrust into the position of having much more of a voice in the workings of the organization, almost every one of them found an opinion, or two.
It was necessary, if tedious, Bleys supposed; they were having to grow into new roles.
Bleys did not tell them he and Dahno could no longer do it all themselves; rather, he told them, in essence, that they had graduated to the next level, that they were coming into their kingdom.
Dahno watched his brother's performance, and kept his silence.
Few noticed. Those Bleys had won over during the secret conclave on Harmony found their plan to stampede the gathering largely unneeded; the Others who had not been at that gathering quickly embraced Bleys' vision. They didn't even bother with a vote; up to now, the organization had never taken one, and so no one thought of it.
Still, it took time to hammer out an outline for the new organization, and there was a lot of infighting when it came to picking which Others would sit on the Council. Bleys knew it could all have been accomplished in much less time if he had simply stepped in to tell them how it should be; but that would have deprived them of the proprietary feeling—the feeling of ownership of the organization— that was the main thing he had wanted to see come out of this meeting.
He was pleased to find, too, that they all still recognized that Bleys—and, they thought, his brother—were the ones who had gotten them this far. That spirit of deference and cooperation would not last, he knew. But it would last for a while—long enough for him to lead them all in the beginnings of the direction he wanted.
Once set on the course he desired, they would find it difficult to move in another direction.
He would deal with the coming problems when he had to— before their future opposition became strong enough to beat him.
CHAPTER 26
From his place at the dais, Bleys silently watched as the Others at the tables ranked before him chattered together in small groups. This was the last day of the convocation which had so dramatically altered the structure of the Others' organization. Throughout the weeks here, personal alliances and enmities had been created, and had shifted; boredom had set in, to be relieved by renewed enthusiasm; and even a few romances had bloomed, distracting the concerned parties—all exactly the sort of doings to be expected in any large gathering of people away from their usual routines.
In the end, he believed, he had prevailed, at least enough that his plan could go forward. Some of those before him were exulting at the vision of wealth and power placed before them, and for the moment they credited Bleys with turning it over to them, and were committed to supporting his plans to subjugate the Dorsai and the Exotics, and to unite the Younger Worlds in a power bloc that would ultimately be capable of standing up to Old Earth.
Some had other motivations, such as those he had provided to the gathering of idealists; they, too, were coming out of this gathering with something to prize.
What might happen when all of them became used to their gains was a subject none bothered to worry about. Indeed, some would never worry about more than their rosy present; and as for those who were of the sort that would, before long, look for more—he had a little time yet in which he could count on them giving him what he asked for.
Now, as he maintained his silence, one by one the faces turned in his direction, the chatter dying away.
"—what I say!" As usual, the last voice to continue speaking stood out, shockingly noticeable in the new silence. Bleys waited several beats more, before speaking.
"I have one more item," he said, "which you'll have noted as the last thing on the agenda—the matter of making some of your people available for a new assignment."
Skepticism showed on more than a few of their faces.
"We were informed people would be wanted," Hammer Martin said. "But since you didn't tell us what the mission was to be, I, at least—" He looked about as if seeking evidence of solidarity. "—I couldn't be sure just what sort of people were wanted." He paused, as if expecting an answer; when none came, he continued, a certain belligerence in his voice.
"So I sent for a half-dozen of my people, who have a varying mix of skills," Hammer concluded. "If you'll tell me what you're looking for, I can name the ones who match your needs."
"We'll take them all," Bleys said. He moved his gaze about the long room, projecting calm in the face of a rising tide of protest.
"We're going to need
all the people you've selected for us," he said, "and more besides. Messages have already gone out to your home offices, naming people we selected in our analyses of your tables of organization; in fact, some of those people arc probably already on their way here."
Like any managers of bureaucratic organizations, the leaders before him, Bleys believed, had probably chosen to select for his use people they felt they could do without—the lazy, the inefficient, the inept, and the flawed. He knew these leaders would now take his words very much like a slap in the face. It was a breach of the unspoken protocols normal to any large organization—even though the Others' organization, up until this meeting, in fact had no protocols beyond obedience to Dahno and Bleys. But Bleys was confident he could bring them past their outrage.
Beside Bleys, Dahno shifted slightly in his chair, where he had been lounging back, as if disconnected from the meeting, for some time. Dahno had argued with Bleys about this project, when Bleys suggested it.
Is he pouting? Bleys wondered. Or is he worried about their reaction? Bleys did not need to be told he had just thrown metaphorical cold water on the people before him; he had, after all, not only diminished their individual kingdoms, but rubbed their noses in the fact that he had the power to do so. These were people who had become used to occupying positions of considerable influence, if not control, on entire planets—people who, moreover, had just been handed visions of power on an interstellar scale. They had become subject to the same effect power has on most people: they had very high opinions of their own importance.
On the other hand, they had already received a large trade-off, in the promised increase in their individual power.
Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 Page 27