Mack Reynolds: Blackman' Burden

Kenny Ballalou grumbled, “We all thought about it. Remember, we pulled into Tessalit and found that prehistoric refrigerator that worked on kerosene and there were a couple of dozen quarts of Norwegian beer, of all things, in it.”

“And we bought them all,” Abe recalled happily. “Man, we hung one on.”

Homer Crawford said to Cliff, “The Mopti airport is about twelve miles over to the east of the town.”

“Yeah, I know. Been here before,” Cliff said. He called back to Ballalou, “And then what happened?”

“We took the beer out into the desert and sat on a big dune. You can just begin to see the Southern Cross from there. Hangs right on the horizon. Beautiful.”

Bey said, “I’ve never heard Kenny wax poetic before. I don’t know which sounds more lyrical, though, that cold beer or the Southern Cross.”

Kenney said, “Anyway, that’s when El Hassan was dreamed up. We kicked the idea around until the beer was all gone. And when we awoke in the morning, complete with hangover, we had the gimmick which we hung all our propaganda on.”

“El Hassan is turning out to be a hangover all right,” Elmer Allen grunted, choosing to misinterpret his teammate’s words. He peered down below. “And there the poor blokes are, rioting in favor of the product of those beer bottles.”

“It was crazy beer, man,” Abe protested. “Real crazy.”

Homer Crawford said, “I wish headquarters had more information to give us on this. All they said was, there were demonstrations in favor of El Hassan and they were afraid if things went too far that some of the hard work that’s been done here the past ten years might dissolve in the excitement: Dogon, Mosse, Tellum, Sonrai fighting among each other.”

Jake Armstrong said, “That’s not my big worry. I’m afraid some ambitious lad will come along and supply what these people evidently want.”

“How’s that?” Cliff said.

“They want a leader. Someone to come out of the wilderness and lead them to the promised land.” The older man grumbled sourly. “All your life you figure you’re in favor of democracy. You devote your career to expanding it. Then you come to a place like North Africa. You’re just kidding yourself. Democracy is meaningless here. They haven’t got to the point where they can conceive of it.”

“And—” Elmer Allen prodded.

Jake Armstrong shrugged. “When it comes to governments and social institutions people usually come up with what they want, sooner or later. If those mobs down there want a leader, they’ll probably wind up with one.” He grunted deprecation. “And then probably we’ll be able to say, heaven help them.”

Isobel puckered her lips. “A leader isn’t necessarily a misleader, Jake.”

“Perhaps not necessarily,” he said. “However, it’s an indication of how far back these people are, how much work we’ve still got to do, when that’s what they’re seeking.”

“Well, I’m landing,” Cliff said. “The airport looks free of any kind of manifestations.”

“That’s a good word,” Abe said. “Manifestations. Like, I’ll have to remember that one. Man’s been to school and all that jazz.”

Cliff grinned at him. “Where’d you like to get socked, beatnik?”

“About two feet above my head,” Abe said earnestly.

The aircraft had hardly come to a halt before Homer Crawford clipped out, “All right, boys, time’s a wasting. Bey, you and Kenny get over to those administration buildings and scare us up some transportation. Use no more pressure than you have to. Abe, you and Elmer start getting our equipment out of the luggage…”

Jake Armstrong said suddenly, “Look here, Homer, do you need any help?”

Crawford looked at him questioningly.

Jake said, “Isobel, Cliff, what do you think?”

Isobel said quickly, “I’m game. I don’t know what they’ll say back at AFAA headquarters, though. Our cooperating with a Sahara Development Project team.”

Cliff scowled. “I don’t know. Frankly, I took this job purely for the dough, and as outlined it didn’t include get roughed up in some riot that doesn’t actually concern the job.”

“Oh, come along, Cliff,” Isobel urged. “It’ll give you some experience you don’t know when you’ll be able to use.”

He shrugged his acceptance grudgingly.

Jake Armstrong looked back at Homer Crawford. “If you need us, we’re available.”

“Thanks,” Crawford said briefly, and turned off the unhappy stare he’d been giving Cliff. “We can use all the manpower we can get. You people ever worked with mobs before?”

Bey and Kenny climbed from the plane and made their way at a trot toward the airport’s administration buildings. Abe and Elmer climbed out, too, and opened the baggage compartment in the rear of the aircraft. “Well, no,” Jake Armstrong said.

“It’s quite a technique. Mostly you have to play it by ear, because nothing is so changeable as the temper of a mob. Always keep in mind that to begin with, at least, only a small fraction of the crowd is really involved in what’s going on. Possibly only one out of ten is interested in the issue. The rest start off, at least, as idle observers, watching the fun. That’s one of the first things you’ve got to control. Don’t let the innocent bystanders become excited and get into the spirit of it all. Once they do, then you’ve got a mess on your hands.”

Isobel, Jake and Cliff listened to him in fascination. Cliff said uncomfortably, “Well, what do we do to get the whole thing back to tranquillity? What I mean is, how do we end these demonstrations?”

“We bore them to tears,” Homer growled. They looked at him blankly.

“We assume leadership of the whole thing and put up speakers.”

Jake protested, “You sound as though you’re sustaining, not placating it.”

“We put up speakers and they speak and speak, and speak. It’s almost like a filibuster. You don’t say anything particularly interesting, and certainly nothing exciting. You agree with the basic feeling of the demonstrating mob, certainly you say nothing to antagonize them. In this case we speak in favor of El Hassan and his great, and noble, and inspiring, and so on and so forth, teachings. We speak in not too loud a voice, so that those in the rear have a hard time hearing, if they can hear at all.”

Cliff said worriedly, “Suppose some of the hotheads get tired of this and try to take over?”

Homer said evenly, “We have a couple of bully boys in the crowd to take care of them.”

Jake twisted his mouth, in objection. “Might that not strike the spark that would start up violence?”

Homer Crawford grinned and began climbing out of the plane. “Not with the weapons we use.”

“Weapons!” Isobel snapped. “Do you intend to use weapons on those poor people? Why, it was you yourself, you and your team, who started this whole El Hassan movement. I’m shocked. I’ve heard about your reputation, you and the Sahara Development Project teams. Your ruthlessness…”

Crawford chuckled ruefully and held up a hand to stem the tide. “Hold it, hold it,” he said. “These are special weapons, and, after all, we’ve got to keep those crowds together long enough to bore them to the point where they go home.”

Abe came up with an armful of what looked something like tentpoles. “The quarterstaffs, eh, Homer?”

“Um-m-m,” Crawford said. “Under the circumstances.”

“Quarterstaffs?” Cliff Jackson ejaculated.

Abe grinned at him. “Man, just call them pilgrim’s staffs. The least obnoxious looking weapon in the world.” He looked at Cliff and Jake. “You two cats been checked out on quarterstaffs?”

Jake said, “The more I talk to you people, the less I seem to understand what’s going on. Aren’t quarterstaffs what, well, Robin Hood and his Meffy Men used to fight with?”