Martin had to smile, then sobered as he reasoned out the implications. A rapist might use Social Darwinism as an excuse to rape. If a woman couldn't fight him off, she was weak and her rape, therefore, was justified. It was a sickening thought.
“But most of you,” Scudder said, “will have only experienced the governments of what was once called the West.”
He settled back in his chair. “There is a fundamental flaw in the government’s approach to human life,” he said, smoothly. “That is, put simply, that it exists to take care of the population. By this standard, the average man or woman is nothing more than a legal child, regardless of age, a child who cannot be trusted to make decisions for himself. The government therefore sees itself as the parents, the people who must make decisions for their children.
“Some of the politicians actually believe this to be true, that they and only they are the ones who can make decisions for their people. They actually mean well ... but then, we all know what the path to hell is paved with, don’t we?”
“Good intentions,” Toby Kingworm muttered.
“Quite,” Scudder agreed. “Other politicians don’t give a damn about the rabble. Their only interest is in keeping and expanding their own power. As such, they will use whatever justifications they can invent to ensure they keep power, all for the good of the People. The core of the problem, therefore, is an alliance between two sets of dictatorial politicians; the ones who mean well and the ones who have no qualms about doing whatever it takes to maintain their power.
“You may ask why they bother searching for justifications at all. But you’ll be amazed at just how easy it is to come up with a justification that is hard – almost impossible – to argue down without looking like a complete bastard. How many of you have actually smoked?”
A handful of hands, including Martin’s, rose into the air.
“Smoking is actually quite illustrative of how those politicians take power and manipulate public opinion,” Scudder said. “In the days before nanotech, smoking actually did do considerable damage to public health. The smoker himself risked cancer, which would be his own stupid fault, but anyone near him breathing in the smoke also risked cancer. It was not hard for politicians, with the best possible motives, to start asserting control over the smoking industry in the hopes of stamping it out of existence.”
He paused, then stood and assumed a thinking pose.
“But wait? How to justify this assault on civil liberties?
“Public health, of course. They took a very strong argument – that public smoking was bad – and then hammered it into every crack they could find. Non-smokers largely backed them because they disliked having to breathe in second-hand smoke. Smoking was rapidly banned from public places, then smokers were hit with other issues that forced them to consider abandoning smoking altogether. Those with children, for example, actually ran the risk of having their children taken away from them, on the grounds that smoking regularly made them unfit parents.
“In the meantime, the tobacco industry was hammered with repeated penalties that crippled its profits and eventually drove it into the gutter.”
Martin stuck up his hand before quite realising what he was doing. “If that is true,” he said, “how did I manage to get my hands on a smoke or two?”
“They were smuggled in, I imagine,” Scudder said. “You see, the politicians failed to take human nature into account. When a market was declared illegal, as alcohol was during Prohibition, criminals would lunge forward to take advantage of the demand, a demand that could not be satisfied legally. The number of smokers in the United States declined, I suspect, but not as much as you might think. And can you guess, young man, at another unintended consequence of banning smoking?”
“No, sir,” Martin said.
“Criminals don’t normally bother to regulate their production,” Scudder said. “The chances were that your cigarettes were much more dangerous, much more unhealthy, than anything that was once produced legally and sold without restriction. There’s no actual data, for obvious reasons, but judging by the health of some of the new emigrants, the law has actually done more damage to the population than the tobacco industry did before the politicians started trying to destroy it.”
Yolanda leaned forward. “Why didn't anyone see this?”
“They did,” Scudder said. “But their arguments were squashed flat by raw emotion. Won’t someone please think of the children? It was hard to argue against regulations – and then more regulations, and then more regulations – when raw emotion is involved. But politicians can use that emotion as a weapon against common sense.”
“I have a question,” Jane Robertson said. “My father used to drink heavily, even though there were limits on how much alcohol he could buy at any one time. I loved him, but I hated his collapse into drunkenness. There were times when I thought I had two fathers; Kind Dad, who took us to the zoo and helped us with our homework, and Drunk Dad, who beat us whenever we said the wrong thing. There were days when I thought he would kill us all in a drunken rage.
“So how could keeping alcohol out of his hands be a bad thing?”
Scudder took a moment to put together a response. “From what you have said, I will agree that your father should probably have been forced to sober up,” he said. “However, would that be true of everyone who drank, from drunkards to the men and women who take a small glass of wine for dinner every so often? You might remove alcohol from someone who was much better off without it, but you would also be giving the government more power to interfere in a person’s life.”
“But he needed the help,” Jane protested.
“Then let me ask you a question,” Scudder said. “You said he beat you. I assume we’re not talking about a light spanking here. So ... why didn't you do something yourself?”
“I tried,” Jane said. “But what could I do?”
“That is the core of the problem,” Scudder said. “You are relying on the government to help you out of a very nasty situation, instead of doing something about it yourself. Why didn't you take Kind Dad to alcoholic counselling? Or even try to convince him not to drink? Or even leave sooner than you did?”
“I ...”
“You’ve been conditioned into assuming you could count on the government to help,” Scudder said, interrupting her. “You, your family, your neighbours ... probably did nothing because they thought the government would do something. Or, perhaps, they were nervous about becoming involved and taking some of the blame. Trying to help can get someone sued on Earth, don’t you know?”
Martin didn't, but he felt Yolanda nod in agreement beside him.
“The government is simply incapable of meeting the obligations it has assumed,” Scudder said. “Even with the best will in the world, it cannot provide a tailor-made solution to each and every problem faced by its population. It does the only thing it can do; it produces ill-considered laws, governed by emotion rather than common sense, and then tries to implement them. The results are rarely pleasant. All smokers get blamed and penalised for the crimes of a few; all alcoholics get penalised for the crimes of a few ... and so on, and so on. The government is simply incapable of handling each situation individually.
“Worse, you are incapable of handling a problem without government help. You are dependent on something that cannot help you now, let alone after a major disaster.”
He paused, then addressed the room as a whole. “This terminates my first lecture,” he said, shortly. “By the time we meet again – if we meet again – you should have your implants. I will expect you to read around the subject, if only so you know the meaning of my words.
“Dismissed!”
Martin glanced at Yolanda, then allowed her to lead him out of the compartment.
“He’s right,” Yolanda said, once they were outside. There was something nasty in her tone that bothered him. “We did become too dependent on the government, didn't we?”
Martin nodded, but said nothing.
Chapter Five
Protests erupted in several small towns after the Sexual Behaviour Act was signed into law by the President. The Act, which removes most restrictions on sexual behaviour, has been condemned heavily for condoning paedophilia, to the point where it is no longer criminal. However, its supporters claim that the Act will ensure that sufferers of the paedophilic condition will receive the treatment they need.
-Solar News Network, Year 51
“I called you into my office for a reason,” Kevin said. “But I believe I have forgotten what it was. Can you enlighten me, perhaps?”
His Deputy Directors eyed him warily. Kevin had been a veteran of the CIA long before the Hordesmen had approached Earth, then the Director of Solar Intelligence for almost fifty years. He knew, quite literally, where some of the bones were buried ... and had worked hard to ensure that the flaws that had rendered the CIA useless were not mirrored in the Solar Intelligence Agency. In particular, there was a requirement for directors and senior officers to be experienced field agents in their own right.
“You’re going back on active service,” Deputy Director Gayle Walsh said. She gave him a thin smile. “I deduce this because you’re wearing a shipsuit instead of your normal suit and tie.”
“A brilliant deduction, Holmes,” Kevin said. Gayle had spent the last year in the bureaucracy that made the SIA work, but would need to go back on active service herself soon before she lost her touch. If the bureaucracy hadn't been so necessary, he would have banned it from existence by now. “I will be going to Varnar myself, accompanied by a Covert Operations Team. This mission will be so completely black that even our station on Varnar will be unaware of our presence.”
“Just in case they’ve been compromised,” Deputy Director Gordon Thomas said. He’d been Director of Operations twice in his long career, long enough to learn the tricks of the trade. “Are you sure you need to go in person?”
“This isn’t something I feel comfortable delegating to a younger agent,” Kevin said. There were risks, true, in going himself, but fewer than the average citizen might think. His implants would ensure he didn't talk, if he fell into enemy hands. “It’s just too important for anyone else to handle.”
He looked from face to face, then smiled humourlessly. “I’ve just granted you access to a secure datanode,” he said. “Please read the summaries now.”
Their faces went blank as they linked into the datanode through their implants and scanned the files, automatically copying them to their personal data storage cells. Kevin sighed inwardly – implants always presented a security risk, particularly as even the SIA wasn’t permitted to rewrite a person’s implants at will – but his staff had passed endless loyalty checks. They simply wouldn't have been allowed to work for the SIA if he’d had any doubts about their reliability. Or, for that matter, about their competence.
“Shit,” Gayle said, when she had finished. “You believe the Tokomak are finally going to be taking an interest in us?”
“Bit more than just an interest,” Deputy Director Travis Yodel said. “They’re planning to intervene openly in the war.”
“I think so,” Kevin said. He smiled, grimly. “Now you know what is at stake, I expect your full cooperation in preparing for the mission.”
There was no disagreement. “Have a starship prepared for me, then assigned a COT to my command,” Kevin ordered. “And then start preparing contingency plans. If I fail to return” – he looked at Travis sharply – “inform the President and declare yourself Director pro tem, at least until the Senate Oversight Committee confirms your appointment. I don’t think they will hesitate long.”
Yodel frowned. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “But I would prefer to see your safe return.”
Kevin couldn't help wondering just how true that was. Advancement in the CIA had been slow, but senior officers retired or died off on a regular basis. The SIA, on the other hand, had officers who were effectively immortal. Yodel and the other Deputy Directors knew they might have to wait for decades before they had their shot at the top job, unless some mischance removed Kevin from play earlier. He couldn't blame them for feeling as though their ambitions would never be realised.
And what, he asked himself, will that do to our society in the future?
He’d once read an interesting report by a pair of human sociologists who’d studied the Tokomak carefully. They’d argued that the Tokomak had once been very like humanity, possessing the drive to develop the technology that had eventually allowed them to build a mighty empire, but they’d stagnated because of their near-immortality. Younger Tokomak, unable to rise in the ranks, had turned to decadence instead, losing the drive that had propelled their ancestors into space. What would happen to the younger generation of humanity if the older generation never died off?
There’s a whole galaxy for us to explore, he thought, and a whole universe beyond. We could keep expanding indefinitely.
But the Tokomak hadn't – and Kevin suspected he knew why. Age and conservatism went together ... and the Government of Old Men was very old indeed. Perhaps, at one point, they’d placed a ban on further expansion, or refused to offer resources to any Tokomak version of Robert Clive or Christopher Columbus. The young, their ambitions strangled in the cradle, had simply given up. It would explain a great deal about their society if that were the case.
He shook his head, then hastily replayed their conversation in his mind.
“I would prefer to return too,” he said. “But I have to prepare for the worst.”
“True, sir,” Gayle said. “Make sure you say your goodbyes to your latest wife before you go.”
Kevin flushed. “I will,” he said. “Now ... the current situation on Earth?”
Two hours later, he boarded Rory Williams and looked around. On the face of it, Rory Williams was nothing more than a standard Class-XXI Medium Freighter, a boxy Tokomak design so old that it predated the Roman Empire. The design was solid, he had been told, and strikingly efficient. There were so many such ships in service that one more would pass completely unnoticed. But inside, it was a whole different story.
“We have human-designed datacores built into the hull,” Captain Jean Vanern informed him, as he stepped onto the bridge. “Our staff can link into any Galactic node and rape it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Kevin said. Jean Vanern was a veteran of covert missions into Galactic territory, experienced enough to ensure they evaded the kind of close scrutiny that would blow their cover. “And the remainder of your team?”
“Boarding in an hour,” Jean assured him. She was tall and powerfully built, her hair shaved completely. Combined with the insect-like implant that had replaced one of her eyes, it made her look faintly inhuman. “We need to get something clear, Director, before we go any further.”
“You’re in command of the ship,” Kevin said. He gave her a droll smile. “I have been on covert missions before, Captain.”
“So you have,” Jean said. “While we’re in space, I am in command and you do what I say. I don’t have time to deal with arguments when we’re facing customs officers or security patrols.”
“I do understand,” Kevin reassured her. Some of his less pleasant memories of service on Earth had been dealing with superior officers whose ignorance included the depths of their own ignorance. It was why he was so insistent on his senior officers switching between active service and support duty. “But on the planet, I have authority.”
Jean smiled, then waved a hand around the bridge. “What do you make of her, Director?”
“Call me Kevin,” Kevin said. The bridge was cramped; a handful of consoles stuffed into a tiny compartment, with a single large chair set in the centre. A holographic projection showed a near-space status display, revealing a handful of automated weapons platforms hanging near the asteroid. “I think she looks typical for a freighter.”
“She does,” Jean agreed. “If it came down to a straight fight, we’d be screwed. We have no wea
pons, apart from a pair of popguns, and our shields are commercial-grade. And if they wanted to search us thoroughly, Director, we’d be screwed too. There’s no way we could hide all the enhancements if they took the ship apart. In that case, I would have no choice, but to activate the self-destruct system and blow the ship into atoms.”
“I understand,” Kevin assured her. “My implants won’t let me be taken alive.”
“Try not to get hurt, then,” Jean said. She swung around and started walking towards the hatch. “It would be a shame to lose you to a stupid accident.”
Kevin nodded in agreement as she led him through the hatch and into a short stubby corridor, illuminated only by pale lights set into the bulkhead. His implants were designed to resist everything from direct brain access to simple old-fashioned torture, but they lacked the intelligence of a standard-issue Restricted Intelligence, let alone an AI. If he managed to hurt himself badly, the implants might assume he was being tortured and kill him before he managed to recover. It was one of the risks of serving in the SIA.
A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons Page 5