Let it not come to that, Royce thought, rising from his chair. It was definitely time to demand Falkenstein’s unequivocal answer. He was beginning to dread what he was going to hear, but waiting to hear it had suddenly become exquisite torture.
“I’m overdue for a meeting,” he said. “It’s been enlightening, buckos. I just hope you’re wrong about what’s going to happen.”
“We won’t be,” Gary said.
“Leave the man alone,” Brian snapped, standing up and offering his hand. “Can’t you see he’s got a personal conflict here?” He smiled warmly at Royce. “It’s not exactly my vector,” he said, “but I can feel for you.” Royce shook his hand. “Thanks brother,” he said, feeling a surge of genuine warmth pass between them, even as a shadow of impending sadness drifted like a stormcloud across his heart. How are you going to tack across this stretch of sea, Jocko? he wondered.
“Fm sorry, Royce, that’s just the way it is, I have no discretionary power in the matter,” Roger Falkenstein said.
“Really?” Lindblad said, eyeing him narrowly. “Or is this the way you planned it all along? At the moment, I feel like a monumental asshole. Carlotta was sure this would happen; even some buckos I just talked to on the street knew it would happen. I seem to be the only one stupid enough to have given you people the benefit of an honest doubt. I don’t like being made a fool of, Roger.” They were sitting alone in the indoor balcony of the habitat. Down at the end of the meadow, the lights of the town had already dimmed. It was the tag-end of the night; soon Lindblad would retire, Falkenstein thought, and then it would be morning, and he would fly back to the capital, out of immediate reach. It’s important that he not go to bed angry. If he can’t leave here for us, at least he shouldn’t leave against us.
“I can sympathize with your anger, Royce,” Falkenstein said. “Policy often conflicts with personal feelings, for me as well.”
Lindblad cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. Good.
“Perhaps I’ve been less than honest,” Falkenstein said.
“Perhaps I really knew all along that the Council would insist on its own terms.” He smiled ironically at Lindblad. “And perhaps you were practicing much the same selfdeception, and for similar reasons.”
“Oh really?”
“Come now, Royce, we both know you’re at least as intelligent as Carlotta, and you must have known on some level that it would come to this, just as I really knew I had no real chance of persuading the Council to accept your terms. So we both double-thought our way around the inevitable as long as we could because we both really want the same thing and we both have policy problems with our superiors.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Lindblad said, in a tone of voice that seemed to indicate that he did, “We both understand that the forces of human evolution can’t be stopped in the long run, that your planet must have our knowledge simply because the knowledge exists, that we must give it to you because to withhold it would be a futile attempt to hold back our common destiny.”
“I guess I can agree with that,’’ Lindblad said. “But—” “‘But politics. But the inevitable fear of ongoing change. Your political superior is concerned with preserving your planetary culture against transformation by outside forces, and I can respect that. My political superiors are concerned with keeping our knowledge and power from falling into the wrong hands. I hope you can respect that, too.”
"Yeah,” Lindblad said, “I see your point”
Falkenstein shrugged. “If it were up to the two of us, there wouldn’t be any problem,” he said. “Our priorities are the same; I think perhaps we even trust each other, and we don’t have the pragmatic political responsibilities.” “But that’s not reality, Roger,” Lindblad said sympathetically. “Reality is that our governments are now going to insist on conflicting policies.”
Falkenstein nodded. “And I must implement the policy of the Council while you must do your best to thwart it...”
Lindblad looked away, out over the darkened meadow. “Maybe...” he said slowly. “But maybe not. Your Council may dictate policy to you, but Carlotta and I are a team, we listen to each other, and beyond us is a Parliament that can overrule our decisions, and a populace that can overrule Parliament. So our positions will be thrashed out between Carlotta and me, subject to what we think Parliament will accept, subject in turn to the Delegates’ estimate of the will of the voters, which in turn will be influenced by your own media blitz...”
“Which Carlotta will attempt to remove from the net?” Lindblad eyed him ironically. “No way,” he said. “You know damn well you’ve already made that politically impossible, and besides, I wouldn’t stand for that myself. Cutting off media access to preserve our way of life would be a contradiction in terms, and unconstitutional as well.” “You mean you’re going to support us?” Falkenstein asked hopefully.
Lindblad laughed. “I mean I’m going to try to keep an open mind and support your right to make your case,” he said. His eyes suddenly became shrewd and measuring. “And realistically, that was the purpose of this artful little conversation in the first place, now wasn’t it, Roger?” Falkenstein laughed spontaneously, without calculation. “Perhaps we both understand each other better than we like to pretend,” he said. “Perhaps that makes us friends.” “Maybe we like each other,” Lindblad said. “But as things stand now, we can’t afford to be friends.”
Falkenstein nodded. “Too much policy between us,” he said. But he did feel a surge of something very like friendship for Lindblad. Childlike in some ways, vastly sophisticated in others, these Pacifican buckos had it in them to be men of true galactic stature, and Lindblad himself seemed to be awakening from the arrested adolescence in which his cultural matrix had trapped him. Perhaps I’ll liberate him from this planetary parochialism yet, Falkenstein thought, and the planet with him. What, after all, are friends really for?
“I still think you’re making a big mistake, Carlotta,” Royce said, as they sat in his office in the Ministry of Media watching her taped announcement running on the gov channel. “Why get yourself booted out of office over the inevitable?”
Carlotta’s attention was multiplexly fragmented as she watched the four live screens of Royce’s net console. Part of her was watching her own image calling for a Parliamentary vote on establishing an Institute on Falkenstein’s terms in seven days. Another part of her was watching a taped playback of Falkenstein himself, as he transmitted the diktat of his possibly nonexistent Council in yesterday’s press release. Yet another segment of her attention was on the Parliamentary computer’s projection of the outcome of such a Parliamentary vote, and the fourth screen displayed the latest depth-poll figures. In addition, there was Royce’s attitude to contend with.
Her own taped voice was that of a neutral technocrat announcing a procedural matter. Falkenstein’s attitude seemed falsely regretful and smarmy. The Parliamentary computer projected a ten- to fifteen-vote majority in favor of an Institute. The depth-polls showed 37 percent in favor of an Institute, 3I percent opposed, a whopping 32 percent undecided; a deep split along male-female lines; and 8I percent of the Cords now in Falkenstein’s pocket. Royce’s attitude seemed sullen, contentious, and perhaps even hostile.
Nevertheless, Carlotta had already integrated the data into a total gestalt and reached a decision. Now, she thought, I’ve got to try to explain that process to my own bucko.
“By making it a vote of confidence in me, I may swing enough Delegates to squeeze a no vote through,” she said, not really believing it herself.
“Not a chance,” Royce said. “This issue transcends political charisma, and you know it.”
“You’re probably right,” Carlotta admitted. “But if I lose the Parliamentary vote of confidence, it’ll force an electronic vote of confidence, and if I win that, there’ll be Parliamentary elections, and probably a majority in the new Parliament for rescinding permission.” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m really after. The rest is just maneuverin
g.”
“Oh, crap!” Royce snapped, pointing at the depth-poll figures. “Look at those figures! You’ll lose the electronic vote of confidence, too, and then what will you have accomplished?”
“I see 32 percent undecided, Royce, and those votes will be decisive.”
“They sure will,” Royce said, “and the trend is from the nos to the undecideds and from the undecideds to the yeses. It’s moving Falkenstein’s way already, and he hasn’t even made full use of his ammunition yet. What do you think the prospect of eternal youth will do to those undecided votes?”
Carlotta got up, walked to a window, and looked out over the islands of Gotham, so normal-looking from this height in their midday bustle. The sky was a crystalline blue, the bright sun shone on the waters, the bridges and buildings sparkled in a rainbow of colors, and floaters skipped blithely over the waves like discrays. To the east, the Island Continent speckled the ocean with fair green isles. This world was beautiful, life here was good, what men and women had built together on Pacifica was precious, it was home, and no matter what the personal cost, it was worth defending.
“A lot can happen between now and a final electronic vote of confidence,” she said, turning to Royce. “And you’re the bucko who can make it happen.”
“You mean using vyour own campaign to stick it to Falkenstein?” Royce said.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Carlotta said. “In an electronic vote of confidence, we can go after the bastards in a way we can’t as gov officials. Falkenstein’s had the media blitz business all to himself so far—that’s why the trends are all in his direction.” She smiled warmly at Royce. “But when Royce Lindblad has a chance to go after those undecided votes with no holds barred... well, bucko, we both know who the master is.”
Royce looked across the room at her with a most peculiar expression—narrow around the eyes, laughing around the mouth.
Carlotta walked across the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “We can do it together, Royce,” she said. “Not just the standard political treatment, but muckdigging, scripted interviews, entertainment satires of Transcendental Science, I could even challenge Falkenstein to a debate...”
Royce frowned. “It’s my considered professional opinion that it won’t work,” he said.
"Why?” Carlotta snapped. “This defeatism just isn’t like you.”
Royce stood up, pulled away from her, and began pacing in small circles. “Damn it, Carlotta, I’ve been there, I’ve seen some of what they really have. As far as anyone knows, no planet has ever said no to an Institute. Have you asked yourself why? I think not even the best media blitz can beat them because even I’m not convinced that they should be beaten.”
“Are you telling me you’re going to oppose me on this, Royce?” Carlotta said softly, finally voicing the unthinkable.
Royce stopped pacing and stared right at her. He hesitated. He shook his head. He shrugged. “No... not exactly ... I mean ... sophomoric as it may sound, I just want to let the system work. Pacifica is supposed to be a democracy, so let the people really decide. Not you and me predetermining a position and then trying to use the net to engineer public assent. I think I belong in the undecided column, too, Carlotta.”
“You’re a high gov official, Royce. You can’t avoid taking a stand on an issue like this. When it comes down to a Parliamentary vote of confidence, you’ll have to vote either for me or against me.”
“Torch it, Carlotta, you know I’d never vote non-confidence in you I” Royce blurted. “If we really do disagree, it stays here in this room. You’re the Chairman, babe, and when you take a public position, I’ll back you up...
“But your heart won’t be in it,” Carlotta said. You’ll do it because you love me, she thought. Because I’m your lady.
Royce sat down on the arm of the lounger where she stood. “I’m not even sure of that,” he said. “Because I’m not really sure what you’re against—Transcendental Science or the effing Transcendental Scientists.”
Carlotta looked down at him, finally beginning to understand, groping for some middle way. “It’s the Transcendental Sciences you think we can’t afford not to have, right?” she said.
“Yeah, that’s the bottom line.”
“And I know we can’t afford to have some Machiavellian Institute mucking up the life of this planet. Thing is, the Femocrats are right about the Transcendental Scientists—they are faschochauvinists. They’re playing the dirtiest sort of psychosexual politics. Maybe they can’t even help themselves; maybe they don’t even know what they are. They’re a disease, and as long as their faschochauvin-ist pathology is synced into their Faustian goodies, that disease will spread into every male psyche, into every bedroom on Pacifica.” And I’m beginning to wonder about us, she thought nervously.
Royce stood up. He fingered his lower lips thoughtfully. “If we could have Faust without the faschochauvin-ism...e said. “Could you buy that?”
“Sure,” Carlotta said. “But would Falkenstein sell it? “No way,” Royce said ruefully. He snapped his fingers. “But maybe we could,” he said. “Define the issue as narrowly as possible. No to their terms for an Institute. But without kicking them off the planet.”
“And then what?” Carlotta said. “As long as they have media access, they’ll keep playing the same game.”
Royce shrugged. “But it would buy us time, it would put them on the defensive, and if we couched it that narrowly, I think you might be able to squeeze through an electronic vote of confidence. Make it a vote to expel them, and the result will be an Institute and a new Chairman backing it.”
Carlotta’s political instincts were all against the idea. As far as she was concerned, the real issue at this point was Falkenstein’s meddling. And this would only extend the present situation indefinitely, if it worked...
Unless, she told herself, it made Falkenstein decide to leave on his own. He just might, she thought uneasily. We have no way of really knowing, do we? “I suppose it’s worth a try,” she said dubiously.
Royce’s expression brightened. He took her hand, and beamed at her like a little boy. “Great!” he said. “Now we can really work in sync on this thing.”
Carlotta smiled at him, a mere mask over the doubt she felt. Don’t kid yourself, she thought This isn’t a political decision, it’s a personal one. You’re doing it for Royce. You’re doing it for us. Politically, it’s a lousy compromise, it’s just postponing the crunch, hoping it’ll go away.
Thanks to Falkenstein, politics had invaded the bedroom. And now, for the first time in her career, she had compromised her political judgment for a simulacrum of domestic peace. Was it a compromise with the Minister of Media or with the man she loved? Had love invaded politics as surely as politics had invaded love?
8
“PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT!”
Carlotta Madigan was jolted rudely into abrupt head-pounding wakefulness by a klaxon and a shouting voice emanating from the bedroom’s auxiliary net console. The single screen was strobing an angry eye-killing red in the darkness. “Oh shit...” Carlotta groaned, disentangling herself from Royce’s arms and propping herself shakily up against the bedboard.
“PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT! PRIORITY ALERT!”
“What the fuck—” Royce sat up beside her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He fumbled for the bedside controls and finally found them. The racket ceased, and a distraught face appeared on the screen.
“What’s going on?” Carlotta demanded. “It had better be at least a major earthquake! Do you have any idea what time it is, whoever you are?”
“Madison, Net Monitoring,” the man said brusquely. “What’s going on is this.” A woman’s face appeared on the screen, yellowish complexion, almond eyes, a short cap of black hair, her voice soothing in register, but harsh with underlying tension.
“This is Cynda Elizabeth of Starship B-31, out of Earth. Our ship has been struck by a meteor, our propulsion system is damaged, we
have crew members suffering from gee-fatigue, we need medical assistance and permission to land at once. Planetfall in five days. This is an emergency. Starship B-3I in distress...
“Great grunting godzillas,” Royce muttered as the Net Monitoring tech appeared on the screen again, “effing Femocrats!”
With a conscious effort, Carlotta shook the sleep from her mind and made her voice sharp and authoritative. “Is this channel scrambled?”
“No,” the tech said.
“Why in blazes not?” Carlotta snarled. “Do you want this damned thing leaked all over the planet?”
“It is already,” the tech said. “They’re broadcasting this on ten different wavelengths—comchannels, news channels, gov channels, the works, all unscrambled and in clear.”
Goddamn bitchesl Carlotta thought. They’ve got to be doing this deliberately. Disabled ship, my sweet ass! A blanket distress signal to make sure they leave us no choice.
“Cute,” Royce muttered. “Very cute.”
“You think it’s a phony, too?”
Royce grimaced. “You can bet they’ll produce some gee-fatigue cases when they land, and you can also bet it’s going to take some time to repair their propulsion system, too,” he said.
“When they land? If they land, bucko!”
Royce shrugged at her in the darkness. “We have a choice? With the whole planet listening to them scream for help?”
“Arrr!” Carlotta snarled wordlessly. “You’re right, damn it!” she said. “Tell them permission to land is granted and all medical assistance will be rendered,” she told the tech. “Send that via their ten bloody broadcast channels. Then send them another message by tight tachyon beam. Tell them to maintain total silence until further contact. And tell them if they don’t, they can bloody well stew in their own juices and suck vacuum.”
“Shall I phrase it somewhat more diplomatically than that?” the tech asked.
“Yes,” Carlotta sighed. “Say it as sweetly as you please as long as you make yourself abundantly clear.”
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