“I learned a little about politics, Georgi.”
“Of all music, Ben, which do you want to endure through the ages?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Georgi. I was listening to a tape of Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings and Capriccio Italien on the way up here. But I still maintain it is all a matter of free choice.”
“We could argue for quite sometime about this, Ben.”
“Yes. But what would be the point? Unless one of us wanted to play devil’s advocate?”
Georgi laughed. He leaned back, sipping his coffee. “I forbid the yowlings of hillbillies and the jungle throbbings of black music among my people.”
“I don’t,” Ben said. “But I don’t have to listen to it, either.”
“You are very agile at sidestepping, Ben. But I think we are of like mind on many-no! perhaps a few- issues.”
“Probably.”
“How many sides do you possess, Ben?”
“Personalities?” Ben shrugged. “Several, I’m sure. I think you and I are both music snobs, Georgi.” “Yes,” the Russian said. “Q. And you are an honest man, Ben Raines. A truthful man. Diogenes the
Cynic would have enjoyed speaking with you, I believe. Ben, let me be quite open and honest with you. When I first… when this plan of mine was first conceived-and it is not original with me, I assure you-I thought at first… well, that I would find Americans to be more compassionate than we Russians. But do you know what I’ve found, Ben? The majority of the Americans I’ve encountered are no more compassionate than my people. So for the past few weeks, I have been very honest with those to whom I speak. I tell them up front: We are going to have a pure white race-colorless. There will be no concentration camps, no gas chambers, nothing of that horror. No torture, no starvation, nothing of that sort. Now … history may well perceive me as-to use a movie term-the bad guy, but historians, if they exist at all a hundred years from now, will not portray me as some sort of modern-day Vlad the Impaler or Hitler or Amin. Selective breeding-yes. It will take many, many generations, and of course, I shall not see the end results of my work, certainly, but I will die with the satisfaction of knowing I started a pure race.
“And Ben, eighty percent-at least that many-of the people to whom I have approached agree with what I’m doing. You don’t appear to be startled at that news, Ben.”
“No, I’m not, Georgi. I have thought for years that Americans are some of the most arrogant people on earth. But I also think, in spite of, or perhaps because of, that arrogance, we have done more for the world than any other nation in history.”
Georgi reminded Ben: “You also helped to bring about the world’s downfall.”
“That, too.”
“More coffee?” the Russian offered. “Ah-good. I shall have another cup with you. Must we fight, General Raines?”
Ben sugared his coffee. Real sugar too. “General Striganov, the historians might well condemn me for what I’m about to say and do, and I may-probably will-have second thoughts about it. But from what you have told me so far, at this moment, I don’t want a war with you. For several reasons. I think what you are planning is wrong; I think it is monstrous. But I just don’t have the troops to beat you. At least I don’t believe I have. I think you carefully surveyed the situation before you came in, and you know all we would accomplish, at this time would be to annihilate each other. And I won’t do that, General. I have plans and hopes and dreams for what remains of this nation. Besides, you’ll fail, General, with or without me. If you think the surviving minorities in this land will just roll over and let you wipe them out as a race, you, sir, are very badly mistaken.”
“They are not organized, Ben, with the exception of that little group out in South Carolina and that other group in the Southwest. And those groups are of little concern to me. You are a man of organization. I am a man of organization. And we know that without organization-a central government, a man in power, in full control-all is lost. How many blacks and how many Hispanics and Indians are left? Let’s say a million. Spread out over more than three-and-a-half million square miles. Nyet, Gospodin Raines, they will present no problem. You present the immediate problem to me.”
Ben knew the man was right, but damned if he was going to agree with him. “So, General Striganov, do we now talk of a dividing line?”
“In time, yes, I believe that is the only answer. But first, let us have lunch. Then we will speak of boundaries.”
The lunch was excellent: thick steaks and green salad and good wine and baked potato with real butter and sour cream. Sour cream! Ben couldn’t believe it. He said as much.
The Russian was amused. “I like to eat,” he said simply. “And eat well.”
“Do your troops eat just as well?”
“Very nearly so, yes. The steaks might not be as thick, and they may have mashed potatoes with gravy, but they are well-fed, yes. I assure you of that. I do not stint on my people’s behalf.”
“But there are people probably not fifty miles from where we sit, gorging ourselves, who are starving.”
“Not in any area I control,” General Striganov contradicted, his answer surprising Ben. “You see, Ben, we are-you and I-of very like mind. In some ways,” he was quick to add. “I do not wish slavery or hunger or disease or poverty for my people. Besides, they would be so much more difficult to control should I be an advocate of those undesirable traits.” He smiled. “You were correct in your statement that I have planned well. I do demand discipline, Ben, but no, there is no hunger in any area the IPF controls.”
“Providing I buy all that you have told me, General, and I have certain reservations, there is still one issue- correction-several issues that bother me.”
The Russian refilled their wine glasses. “Ties, I’m sure. Now we come to the part where I must try to match your honesty.”
Ben took a sip of wine. It was a Rothschild, a very old
vintage. “White is a rather bland color, General. Black or brown or tan or yellow will almost always be dominant. You say you aren’t going to kill the minorities; you aren’t going to starve them out. No concentration camps, no gas chambers. Tell me, just bow do you plan on achieving the master race without some form of genocide?”
The smile on the Russian’s face widened. “The minorities will not have children.”
Ben laughed. “Men and women have been known to engage in sex, General.”
“They may engage in all the sex they wish, General. As a matter of fact, I plan to encourage that-keep them happy. I am merely saying they will not have any offspring.”
“You’d better have one hell of a medical team if you’re planning on performing operations on every man and woman in this nation who doesn’t fit your standards of what a human being should look like.”
The smile remained on Striganov’s lips, but his eyes were cold. “What do you think we’ve been doing in Iceland for the past decade, Ben-playing cards and drinking vodka?”
“I have no idea what you’ve been doing, Georgi.”
“When we left Russia, Ben-getting out with only seconds to spare, I can tell you that-I took quite a few very good scientists with me. Doctors, scientists, the like.” He shrugged. “Many of them were Jews, I will admit, but still intelligent people. I don’t like Jews,” he conceded, “but they are survivors. And good scientists, too. It seems the Jew scientists perfected-and kept it a secret for years-a simple method of preventing pregnancy. One injection virtually destroys the ability to reproduce. They kept silent about their discovery for years; we
found out only by accident. Then it was only a matter of, ah, well, convincing them to share their knowledge with us. How we got it is not something one would want to discuss over lunch.”
“Torture.”
The Russian shrugged. “The end justified the means, Ben.”
“I’m sure.” Ben’s reply was as crisp as the wine.
“The people will be able to have and enjoy sex as often as they like. But they will never be able to reproduce offspring.”
Ben stared at the man for a full moment, allowing the horror of what he had just heard to sink in to its hideous depths. “That is monstrous!”
“Calm yourself, Ben.” Striganov patted Ben’s hand and Ben fought to restrain himself from taking physical action for that gesture. “After all, I’m not destroying a human being; I have no gas chambers or firing squads or the like. I beg you, please don’t compare me to Hitler.”
