John Shirley - A Song Called Youth

Watson wasn’t as good at this sort of thing as Crandall had been, but until the new Crandall was video-fabricated, he’d have to deploy all the leadership faculties at his command.

“Rick is in seclusion, as you know, but he has asked me to be his spokesman—I believe you all got his signed statement to that effect—and I have the joy to inform you that we have some very good news indeed to offset all the bad news that’s plagued us lately. The good news is: Europe is essentially ours, though NATO is withdrawing its support. We will get no more help or credibility from them. But it doesn’t matter a bit. We are being incorporated into the military infrastructure of our adopted European nations. The government of every European nation where we maintain a presence is a government we have established. And in a month they will announce SPOES, essentially a ‘united states’ of Europe, united for reasons of defense, and by philosophical alignment. But not a democracy. Anticommunist, anti-immigrant, nationalist-central and of course a strong advocacy of racial purity. And yes, it’s that simple.”

Tamping his pipe, Smith nodded, like a TV father hearing Abraham Lincoln quoted. But he said, “If we could hear it from Rick, I mean, in person…” He lit the pipe; its aroma slithered through the room.

“You will, shortly. He’ll be taping an announcement. He’ll be announcing the retirement of Sackville-West, Klaus’s stepping into the job, our move to Europe, and the formation of SPOES.”

“‘Formation of SPOES,’” Jaeger said. “You do make it sound very easy.” Jaeger spoke from his screen. He was a stocky, pug-nosed, thin-lipped man, an ex-football player who’d failed in three bids for the US Senate. His munitions company had designed the Jægernauts.

“Resistance on the legitimate political level is almost nil,” Watson said. Not a lie but surely an exaggeration. “And as for the fringe groups, like the NR—well, they’re being taken care of. Klaus?”

Klaus cleared his throat and threaded his fingers together. He wasn’t used to having to deal with people this way. “Yes—it is all coming together very nicely.” Klaus rumbled. “Our man in the NR, on Malta, has warned us that they are about to relocate, so we have moved up the date of our surgical strike against them.” He glanced at his watch. “Twelve hours from now, the majority of our Sicilian air unit will carpet bomb the area. Our troops will move in by helicopter to do the mopping up, I think you call it. We expect the strike to destroy Steinfeld himself and the core of the NR leadership.”

Smith nodded. The smile was still there, but he was pale, and the hand bringing the pipe to his mouth was leaving a crooked trail of smoke. “I see. And as for the relocation—you feel we will be, um, allowed to leave?”

“We’ve got a lot of friends still. They’re lying low, of course,” Watson said, “but they’ll help us. Friends in immigration, customs especially. We’ll get everyone, ah, significant out. And most of Colton City. You can be sure we’re going to take good care of Jebediah.” He smiled at Smith. “You should be very proud of that young man. He’s our future. I can tell you that Rick is thinking of Jebediah in terms of his successor. One day, ten years from now, after he has been properly prepared…”

Smith’s smile became genuine. He fairly glowed.

Watson congratulated himself on winning Smith over. The others seemed ready to go along. They were desperate, after all…

Things were going badly, in one sense. But in another way, everything was falling into place.

Watson and Klaus were alone. The screens were blanked. Smith had gone to call his family in the privacy of the guest room.

Watson leaned back in his chair in the silence, and wondered how long he could keep the rest of them from knowing that Crandall was dead. And wondering who he should tell.

Klaus lit a cigarette and said, “This SPOES State… Jaeger is right. It’s not going to be so easy. There is probably going to be a reaction, a resentment against the new governments by the regional nationalists. They will know that the figureheads are being manipulated by foreigners. You think the Basques in Spain were a problem—just wait. Many new such organizations will emerge. And there are still opposition parties, still political resistance, especially in Germany and Italy…”

“Italy is always fighting itself. Its internal chaos will make it easy for us. Within our organization, there is no chaos. But I suppose you should know there’s another method… a bigger picture…”

Klaus looked at him expectantly. Watson wondered how much he should tell him. Well, Klaus was really and truly inner circle now. Still, he mustn’t tell him everything.

Watson went on, “I’ve been in conference with the Worldtalk people. We are going to create our own national leaders much the way we’re re-creating Rick Crandall. We’ll use video animation and computer-designed psychiatric models to create for each country a kind of… well, a false idol, the ideal demagogue for that country. He’ll look and sound like that country’s ideal leader, incorporating in his speech and mannerisms all the cultural characteristics of the quintessential Frenchman, Brit, Dutchman, German, Greek, Belgian, Italian.

“Of course, people have been doing this for years but not so literally. In America the political PR specialists do something equivalent, packaging their candidates, so their candidates seem to have all the right qualities for the average American’s taste. In public our man will only be seen in the distance. For security reasons all interviews will be done via screen. We’ll have to invent a private life for him. In one case we’ll be co-opting the public life of a certain national favorite—we’ll alter the man’s image to suit our needs. And the man himself will be entirely under our control. Extractors are marvelous things… we’re just beginning to explore their potential.”

Klaus shook his head in amazed disbelief. “It’ll never work.”

“Klaus, you underestimate the power of the Grid. The media is powerful—it’s what wrecked our work here in America, and in a remarkably short time. People will believe in our creations. They believe the men they see on TV and the Internet—and most of them never see them in person, really know very little about them.”

Klaus sat in silence for a moment. Then he said, “Yes. Perhaps you’re right. Still, we’re going to be observed: we want to eliminate the mongrel gene pools, the lesser races. But Europe is sensitive to genocide.”

“Much of it will be done…” He hesitated. This was too sensitive to tell Klaus about yet. The virus was a very serious matter indeed. When you are contemplating the extermination of millions, you must be more careful than anyone has ever been before. “We will talk about that later. When the time comes…”

At three a.m., Karakos stepped out the back door of the villa, closing it carefully behind him. The sentry was on the other side of the house for the moment. Carrying his satchel, he turned, stepped into the darkness, took only one step toward freedom and safety. And then the darkness grew the shapes of men.

They moved in all around him, and he froze as one of them shined a light on him. It was Steinfeld. “When are they coming, Jean?” Steinfeld’s voice came out of the darkness above the glare of the light. The hurt in that voice was unmistakable.

“Who? What is—I was going to Valletta, to… well I have private matters…”

“And you needed the bag you’re carrying? We’ll have a look in that bag. Please, Jean. Tell us when they’re going to come.” The light angled up to shine in his eyes. He looked away—but the other men switched flashlights on, to shine in his face, so many he could feel the heat of the beams.