New York. You can take relative population figures into account, just as you said, but that still doesn’t make for a complete picture. You’re forgetting about the psychological factor of stress given increased population density and things like pollution and noise, which had demonstrable adverse effects upon the central nervous system. making people more aggressive. It’s inevitable that with increased population density and industrialization, you’ll get increased violence. Besides, come to think of it. Dodge City would be a bad example anyway. One of the first things Wyatt Earp and other frontier marshals did was to institute a very basic form of gun control at shotgun point. Surrender your gunbelt within city limits or get out of town. Or take your chances with a load of ‘double-ought.’ They had to run the towns and they understood real well that a gun only gives you power when no one else has got one.”
“You know. right now in Boston, there are no laws of any kind restricting firearms.” said Nielson.” In fact. there were no such laws at all in America until the middle of the 19th century, when carpetbaggers started passing them to disarm former Confederates. Up until that time, the courts upheld the right of citizens to carry arms, openly or concealed, in order to defend themselves. At this time in Boston, it’s very common for men to carry swords or pistols. There’s been rioting in the streets, but interestingly, not one citizen of Boston has been run through or shot.”
“Not yet, but they will.” said Linda.
“Only after the British troops arrive.” said Neilson. ‘Remember, the first fatalities didn’t occur until the Boston Massacre. The Sons of Liberty were a rowdy bunch of street fighters with easy access to firearms, but though they busted a few heads and tarred and feathered a few Tories, they never actually killed anybody until the British sent armed troops against them. To seize their arms and ammunition.”
“Yeah, like you’ve seized mine,” said Hunter, coining into the room and seeing his cache of weapons spread out on the table along with the commandos’ gear, suppose you found the hand grenades and the plastique, as well?”
“ What?” said Linda.
Hunter grinned. “Just kidding, Corporal. You’ve got it all, scout’s honor.”
“Cross your bean and hope to die?” said Linda. wryly.
“Hey, not me.” said Hunter. “I’d like to get out of this thing in one piece, if you don’t mind.” He smiled. “You know, I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation. It’s funny, in a way.”
“Funny?” Neilson said, “Yeah. We have the same sort of conversations over on our side,” Hunter said, He grinned. “Get a bunch of C.I.S. agents together and they start sounding like a faculty meeting of some university history department.”
“Not so unusual,” said Chavez, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “What we all have in common is that our lives often depend on our knowledge and understanding of historical events.” He lit one and tossed the pack to Hunter.
“Thanks.” said Hunter, he glanced at the label. “Noncarcinogenic, huh?”
“The benefits of genetic engineering,” Chavez said. “Taste better, too.”
“We banned ’em,” Hunter said, lighting up, “our tobacco companies started selling dope instead.”
“Seriously?” said Linda.
“Seriously,” said Hunter. We instituted a system of addict registration. Cut the market out from under organized crime and still managed to turn a tidy profit and generate some tax revenue. You guys ought to try it. ‘Course. now the crime families push cigarettes..
Craven and Neilson exchanged glances, not certain if he was serious or not.
“No, it’s a funny thing about soldiers.” Hunter continued, inhaling deeply and blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Not just modern temporal soldiers, but even soldiers in the past, wherever you’re dealing with a culture that’s got a decent rate of literacy. You’ve always got a substantial number of military personnel with academic or philosophical inclinations. ‘They read like crazy. Take graduate degrees. Write books. Learn languages. Study everything from psychology to engineering, but especially history. History’s always been big with soldiers. I wonder why.”
“Maybe it’s because soldiers never get to see the big picture.” Chavez said. “It’s what we’re always told, isn’t it? Some poor grunt in the middle of an Asian jungle, thousands of miles away from home, just can’t understand why he’s been asked to take the same fucking hill six times, only to pull back each time and let the enemy have it once again. He’s told its all part of the big picture, which is something he never gets to see because only the high command sees the big picture. So if he’s lucky, he survives the action and when he gets back home, he picks up a book and reads about some old battle, hoping he might be able to see the big picture there and relate it somehow to the big picture that he had been a part of. Try to figure it all out. Only that doesn’t make sense, either, because he reads about how the high command screwed up in that old battle and got all these people killed for nothing.
“So he reads some more about the history of that period where the old battle took place, to see if there was some reason for it, only he can’t find one, so he continues reading, still trying to figure it all out. And meanwhile, while he’s doing all this reading on the side, he gets promoted and eventually he winds up a general, part of the high command, and now suddenly he’s supposed to be in a position to see the big picture for himself. Only he still can’t see it, because some politician is telling him to do something that makes absolutely no sense to him at all and when he says he doesn’t understand it, he’s told it’s because he can’t see the big picture. Only the politicians get to see the big picture.”
Neilson chuckled.
“So he studies up on politics,” Chavez continued, “serves his time, retires with a pension, and runs for office. Gets, himself elected to the Senate. So there he is in the Senate, being asked to vote for some ridiculous appropriation that makes no sense to him at all, but he’s told it’s all part of the big picture. Only he still can’t see it, because only the President and his advisors get to see the big picture.”
Hunter was grinning.
“So he runs for President.” Chavez went on, in a slow, drawl. “Wins in a landslide because he was a war hero and a great American. Now, finally, the big picture! But no. The corporation heads who contributed to his campaign tell him that they’re the only ones who really get to see the big picture, so he does what they tell him to and after he completes his term of office, they reward him with a seat on the executive board and now he’s really excited. He’s finally made it, he’s going to get to see the big picture at last…” “And?” said Neilson.
“And they all gather together in the boardroom, and they light up their cigars, and they go over their reports, and they examine all their charts, and they go over all their profit statements, and they have someone come in and explain it all to them so they can understand it, and they pour brandy into their snifters and loosen up their ties and congratulate one another and talk about how things will be even better during the next quarter, and they schedule their next meeting, which will take place in the Bahamas at a corporate resort complete with hookers, and they get ready to leave, and our guy suddenly jumps up and says. ‘But wait! ‘ What about the big picture? ’ And they all look at him like he’s crazy. ‘The big picture!’ he says again. ‘What about the big picture?’ And the chairman of the hoard looks at him with absolute amazement and says. ‘Man, you mean to tell me you were on that fucking hill. too?’”
Hunter burst out laughing. “Give me that gun.” said Linda. ‘I’m gonna shoot him.”
“Got a permit?” Neilson asked.
You go to hell.”
Delaney walked in the door. “Dinner’s on,” he said. He glanced around at them. “What’s the joke?”
You ever hear the one about the big picture?” Neilson asked.
Delaney grimaced, “Yeah. I was the idiot on that fucking hill. Now come on. well have the briefing during dinner.
8
The small, secluded country chapel stood in the middle of a grove of trees, well hidden from the road. The estate on whose property it stood was out of sight over the next hill. It belonged to a wealthy Boston Tory who only made use of it on weekends, except on those nights when the Hellfire Club met. On those nights, he would saddle
