Robert Silverberg - Master Of Life And Death

The hour passed rapidly; by its end, Walton’s head was slightly dizzy from too much skimming, but his mind was thrumming with new possibilities, with communications potentals galore. Talk about reaching people! He had a natural!

He flipped on the annunciator. “Is Mr. Percy here yet?”

“No, sir. Should I send for him?”

“Yes. He’s due here any minute to see me. Have there been any calls?”

“Quite a few. I’ve relayed them down to Mr. Eglin’s office, as instructed.”

“Good girl,” Walton said.

“Oh, Mr. Percy’s here. And there’s a call for you from Communications.”

Walton frowned. “Tell Percy to wait outside a minute or two. Give me the call.”

The communications tech on the screen was grinning excitedly. He said, “Subspace message just came in for you, sir.”

“From Venus?”

“No, sir. From Colonel McLeod.”

“Let’s have it,” Walton said.

The technician read, “‘To Walton from McLeod, via subspace radio: Have made successful voyage to Procyon system, and am on way back with Dirnan ambassador on board. See you soon, and good luck—you’ll need it.’”

“Good. That all?”

“That’s all, sir.”

“Okay. Keep me posted.” He broke contact and turned to the annunciator. Excitement put a faint quiver in his voice. “You can send in Mr. Percy now,” he said.

Walton looked up at the public relations man and said, “How much do you know about kaleidowhirls, Lee?”

“Not a hell of a lot. I never watch the things, myself. They’re bad for the eyes.”

Walton smiled. “That makes you a nonconformist, doesn’t it? According to the figures I have here, the nightly kaleidowhirl programs are top-ranked on the rating charts.”

“Maybe so,” Percy said cautiously. “I still don’t like to watch them. What goes, Roy?”

“I’ve suddenly become very interested in kaleidowhirls myself,” Walton said. He leaned back and added casually, “I think they can be used as propaganda devices. My brother’s reaction to one gave me the idea, couple days ago, at the Bronze Room. For the past hour or so, I’ve been studying kaleidowhirls in terms of information theory. Did you know that it’s possible to get messages across via kaleidowhirl?”

“Of course,” Percy gasped. “But the Communications Commission would never let you get away with it!”

“By the time the Communications Commission found out what had been done,” Walton said calmly, “we wouldn’t be doing it any more. They won’t be able to prove a thing.” Sarcastically he added, “After spending a lifetime in public relations, you’re not suddenly getting a rush of ethics, are you?”

“Well… let’s have the details, then.”

“Simple enough,” Walton said. “We feed through a verbal message—something like Hooray for Popeek or I Don’t Want War With Dirna. We flash it on the screen for, say, a microsecond, then cover it up with kaleidowhirl patterns. Wait two minutes, then flash it again. Plenty of noise, but the signal will get through if we flash it often enough.”

“And it’ll get through deep down,” Percy said. “Subliminally. They won’t even realize that they’re being indoctrinated, but suddenly they’ll have a new set of opinions about Popeek and Dirna!” He shuddered. “Roy, I hate to think what can happen if someone else gets to thinking about this and puts on his own kaleidowhirl show.”

“I’ve thought of that. After the Dirna crisis is over— after we’ve put over our point—I’m going to take steps to make sure no one can use this sort of weapon again. I’m going to frame someone into putting on a propaganda kaleidowhirl, and then catch him in the act. That ought to be sufficient to wise up the Communications Commission.”

“In other words,” Percy said, “you’re willing to use this technique now. But since you don’t want anyone else to use it, you’re willing to give up future use of it yourself as soon as the Dirna trouble is over.”

“Exactly.” Walton shoved the stack of textbooks over to the PR man. “Read these through first. Get yourself familiar with the setup. Then buy a kaleidowhirl hour and get a bunch of our engineers in there to handle the special inserts. Okay?”

“It’s nasty, but I like it. When do you want the program to begin?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight, if you can work it. And set up a poll of some kind to keep check on the program’s effectiveness. I want two messages kaleidowhirled alternately: one supporting Popeek, one demanding a peaceful settlement with the aliens. Have your pulse takers feel out the populace on those two propositions, and report any fluctuation to me immediately.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, one more thing. I suspect you’ll have some extra responsibilities as of tomorrow, Lee.”

“Eh?”

“Your office will have one additional medium to deal with. Telefax. I’m buying Citizen and we’re going to turn it into a pro-Popeek rag.”

Percy’s mouth dropped in astonishment; then he started to laugh. “You’re a wonder, Roy. A genuine wonder.”

Moments after Percy departed, Noel Hervey, the securities and exchange slyster, called.

“Well?” Walton asked.

Hervey looked preoccupied. “I’ve successfully spent a couple of hundred million of Popeek’s money in the last half-hour, Roy. You now own the single biggest block of Citizen stock there is.”

“How much is that?”

“One hundred fifty-two thousand shares. Approximately thirty-three percent.”

“Thirty-three percent! What about the other eighteen percent?”

“Patience, lad, patience. I know my job. I snapped up all the small holdings there were, very quietly. It cost me a pretty penny to farm out the purchases, too.”

“Why’d you do that?” Walton asked.

“Because this has to be handled very gingerly. You know the ownership setup of Citzen?”

“No.”

“Well, it goes like this: Amalgamated Telefax owns a twenty-six percent chunk, and Horace Murlin owns twenty-five percent. Since Murlin also owns Amalgamated, he votes fifty-one percent of the stock, even though it isn’t registered that way. The other forty-nine percent doesn’t matter, Murlin figures. So I’m busy gathering up as much of it as I can for you—under half a dozen different brokerage names. I doubt that I can get it all, but I figure on rounding up at least forty-five percent. Then I’ll approach Murlin with a Big Deal and sucker him into selling me six percent of his Citizen stock. He’ll check around, find out that the remaining stock is splintered ninety-seven different ways, and he’ll probably let go of a little of his, figuring he still has control.”

“Suppose he doesn’t?” Walton asked.

“Don’t worry,” Hervey said confidently. “He will. I’ve got a billion smackers to play with, don’t I? I’ll cook up a deal so juicy he can’t resist it—and all he’ll have to do to take a flyer will be to peel off a little of his Citizen stock. The second he does that, I transfer all the fragmented stock to you. With your controlling majority of fifty-one percent, you boot Murlin off the Board, and the telefax sheet is yours! Simple? Clear?”

“Perfectly,” Walton said. “Okay. Keep in touch.”

He broke contact and walked to the window. The street was packed with people scrambling in every direction, like so many ants moving at random over the ground. Many of them clutched telefax sheets—and the most popular one was the Citizen. Many of them would gape and goggle at kaleidowhirl programs, come evening.

Walton suddenly tightened his fist. In just that way, he thought, Popeek was tightening its hold on the public by capturing the mass media. If Hervey’s confidence had any justification in truth, they would own the leading anti-Popeek telefax sheet by tomorrow. With subtle handling over the course of several days, they could swing the slant of Citizen around to a pro-Popeek stand, and do it so surreptitiously that it would seem as though the sheet had never had any other policy.