Mack Reynolds - Computer War

Ross was frowning. “The Amish?”

“That is the common name given their pseudo-religious group, Coaid Deputy,” she said stiffly.

Ross said, shaking his head, “When I was a boy, I went once to the Tatra Mountains on a vacation. skiing. I didn’t get to know any personally, but I failed to gain your picture of these people. They were rather drably dressed and not overly gregarious perhaps…”

“That’s what I am saying, Coaid. Evidently they’re almost like misers, hoarding their finances, associating only with each other. And, to top it all, they have their own false religion, not abiding by the benevolent guidance of the United Temple.”

“Hmmmm,” Pater Ian injected. “It seems to me that I have vaguely heard of this group. However, I didn’t think their powers extended as far as you report.”

The data banks hardly lie, Pater,” she said primly.

“No, of course not,” The Temple Monk said.

Assistant Deputy Bauserman came into it, his eyes gleaming. “It’s a natural. There’s absolutely nothing like religion to get people steamed up to the boiling point. Remember the Hindus and Moslems, back on Earth? Supposedly, a Hindu wouldn’t swat a mosquito since it would be breaking the taboo against” taking life, but given religious troubles with the Moslems and they slaughtered and were slaughtered by the millions. Or take the centuries-long wars and massacres between the Christian sects; all in the name of the gentle Jesus, they butchered each other wholesale. Or take the Christian prosecution of the Jews, down through the millennia. No, religion is the perfect background for butchery.”

“My son,” Pater Ian said in mild protest.

Bauserman looked at him. “Oh, I didn’t mean the Holy United Temple, Pater Ian. Obviously, at long last man has evolved to the perfect intermediary between himself and God. However, from what Coaid Taylor says, this Amish scum doesn’t even observe the leadership of the United Temple in matters religious. They are fair game in this holy crusade we are about to embark upon.”

The Temple Monk nodded thoughtfully. “It would seem so.”

Ross exhaled air. He had no alternative. He said, “All right, Coaid Taylor. I will expect your department to launch a full denouncement of these Amish. For three weeks you will exploit every opportunity to expose them. At the end of the period, stress the sacred need for all believers in the true religion to seek these Amish out and destroy them.”

Bauserman broke in. “You might also continually hint that they are actually part of the Karlist conspiracy.”

Ross looked at him. “What Karlist conspiracy, Job?” He seldom used the other’s first name, knowing Bauserman’s objection to anything less than the strictest form, but it had come out in his surprise.

His Assistant Deputy turned to him. “I was about to brief you on this phase, Coaid Deputy Westley. Obviously, we are going to have to devote a major part of our propaganda campaign to the Karlist threat. It will be particularly effective among the neutrals. Just the mention of the word is enough to set governments trembling in half the nations on the planet. We’ll push the line that the Betastan government is infiltrated with Amish and Karlists. That there’s a scheme underfoot to allow the Karlists to take over the government and then subvert the rest of the world.”

Somebody muttered, “I thought there weren’t enough Karlists left in the world to hold a committee meeting.”

Bauserman looked at the speaker coldly. “Coaid, the ends justify the means. The holy crusade to bring the whole planet under the aegis of our inspired Presidor is an effort so worthy that nothing done to achieve its success can be thought of as less than the truth in the ultimate sense of the word.”

“I could not have stated it better myself,” Pater Ian said unctuously.

“All right,” Ross sighed. “You can go over this with me later in detail, Coaid Bauserman. And now, what else do we have as possible propaganda against the Betastani?”

A uniformed colonel said, “Off and on, over the years, we’ve had touches of border trouble. It could be allowed to come to a boil.”

“How?”

The colonel looked at his superior as though the other were stupid, then caught himself and his face went militarily blank.

“Several ways, Coaid Deputy. We could precipitate a clash with their border guards, and then claim they had started it. We could escalate the clash, over and over again—always assuming the funkers would resist at all.

“Or, we could infiltrate a few score of our ECE men, armed with mortars, at one of the least populated border points, and let them shell one of our own garrisons or towns. The mortar shells, of course, would be Betastan calibers and we would make sure some of them failed to explode. We could then bring a planet-wide committee to see the effects of the shelling, the dead and wounded civilians, old men, women, children—that sort of thing. A hospital would be good. A shelled hospital is particularly effective in the way of horrifying non-combatants. I’ve never quite figured out why.”

The Temple Monk said gently, “My sons, couldn’t some more kindly tactics be devised? Not that I wish to inject a note that interferes with secular affairs. The United Temple is involved only with man’s most spiritual concerns.”

They ignored him.

Bauserman, his eyes gleaming, said, “A natural, Colonel!”

Ross Westley left his pneumatic car at the park entry and, ignoring his usual precautions, made his way in the direction of the bookshop and binding service presided over by Tilly Trice. He didn’t notice the two unobtrusive men in civilian clothing who drifted after him.

After he had disappeared into her tiny store, one of the two tails looked at the other, eyebrows raised.

The second one said, “Better report.”

“What’ve we got to report? The chief said to follow him. All he’s done is go into an antique bookstore.”

“Listen, if you were in the frame of mind he oughta be in these days, would you be going into a bookstore? Some bootleg auto-bar, yeah. Even a mopsy-house, yeah. But an antique bookstore?”

The other grunted.

The first said contemptuously, “The flat. No precautions at all. Doesn’t even look over his shoulder.”

The other said sourly, “Which indicates he wasn’t thinking in terms of having anything to hide.”

“Well, let’s go report. There’s something funny about that old bookshop. Come to think of it, that’s one of the places Admiral Korshak used to go before he committed suicide.”

“He did! Holy Ultimate, let’s get to a communicator.”

The other looked around nervously. “Watch your lip, Larry. Just because you’re Surety doesn’t mean some Temple Monk cloddy might not nail you for blasphemy.”

They started back the way they had come.

The one who had been contemptuous of Ross Westley’s lack of caution could have taken a lesson from his own teachings. Neither of the two Surety agents had noticed the three teen-agers who had been strolling across the street from them but in the same direction, even though the three loudly dressed youngsters had been noisy enough, conspicuous enough.

Nor did they see the three close in behind them.

Nor did they see the one who raised to his lips what seemed to be a bean-shooter.

Tilly Trice pouted at him. “Nope, lover-mine, I told you. I can’t marry you until this crisis is past. Even then, I’m still thinking about it. Your passion, fella, is obvious. But any girl should know that first passion can pass. How’ll you be in the long pull, Rossie, my friend?”

“Look,” he blurted, “you know damn well you’re the only girl that ever made any difference to me.”