“Surprised, General? Don’t you mean elated?”
A hard smile edged onto Hawthorne’s lips.
“If you and your guard will be kind enough to step into the other room I’ll let Yezhov in,” Blanche-Aster said.
“Madam Director, I wish to remind you that my… You have a new security arrangement, which I hope you’ll keep in mind,” Hawthorne said. “Depending on developments today, well, perhaps your former security teams will be rearmed. I also wish to remind you that the cybertanks are again under Military control.”
“This is all highly unusual, General.”
“So is the fact that your bodyguards are clones of yourself,” said Hawthorne.
Blanche-Aster and her bodyguard traded glances, before she told Hawthorne, “I’m sure you’ve discovered that finding loyal people is difficult.”
General Hawthorne nodded curtly. Then he put his right hand on his holster as he marched into hiding. Captain Mune followed, although he never took his eyes off the Director’s clone.
Soon Madam Blanche-Aster said to her bodyguard, “Let him in.”
The door swished open and Yezhov, the Chief of Political Harmony Corps, walked in. He wore a scarlet uniform, with black boots and a black, plastic helmet held in place by a black chinstrap. Naturally, he’d surrendered his sidearm before entering the building. The bionic men had stayed out of sight, and the cybertanks had been ordered to act as if they still followed PHC’s orders.
Yezhov’s skin was pale and he had washed-out blue eyes and a ridiculous little mustache, twin dots under his nose. There was nothing else remarkable about his appearance: short and thin, a potbelly and an almost nonexistent chin. Long ago as a youth, he’d failed the Military’s physical. Next, the Peacekeeper Academy had flunked him. Choice number three had been Political Harmony Corps. Since then, forty years of dedicated service had finally paid off.
“Madam Director,” he said, in a normal, unremarkable voice. He managed a small smile by stretching the corners of his lips.
“Good of you to come, Yezhov.”
“I am at your service, Madam.”
“Why? To try and convince me to leave the city?”
“Madam knows best, of course.”
“Which city would you suggest?”
He pulled his eyebrows together, as if considering it for the first time. “Perhaps not any city, Madam. Highborn espionage has become most cunning lately.”
“Meaning?”
“We’ve begun to suspect that the attack on Beijing wasn’t solely to take out the proton beam station.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Blanche-Aster. “How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
He shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
She said, “The three directors who died there on May 10 influenced your thinking, no doubt.”
“Certainly that’s part of it.”
“But more importantly because such talk scares the other directors into doing whatever you suggest.”
“Madam?”
“Come now, Yezhov, let’s not lie to each other. This is your moment, is it not?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I’ve heard your theories before. You’ve likened Social Unity to a triangle. How did it go? The Party is one point of the angle, the Military the other and finally PHC, our benevolent secret police, complete the geometry. Each is used to keep the masses docile. The Party supplies the propaganda, the slogans that beguile the masses. The Military insures that no one physically harms Social Unity, while PHC watches the people and weeds out the insubordinate. Yet the Military is like a bear, you’ve been known to say. It is a beast that will devour the other two. For the Military, if unrestrained, could rule alone. Therefore, the Party and the Secret Police hold the leashes that keep the Military from eating them. As long as the two hold on tightly, each is safe. Yet now the Military has been sorely wounded by the Highborn. May 10 and the late Lord Director’s foolish policies saw to that.”
Yezhov licked his lips.
“I have no intention of leaving the city,” Blanche-Aster said.
“What if the Highborn drop an asteroid here?”
“Why would they?”
“To decapitate Social Unity, to kill you and the other directors. I’m afraid that I must insist that you leave, for the good of the State.”
“Their targets before were the proton beam stations.”
“We can’t be certain of Highborn logic, Madam. They don’t think like us, after all.”
“I’ll grant you that. But the changing weather patterns will no doubt cause them to rethink this particular tactic.”
“The winds are a temporary inconvenience,” Yezhov said. “They’re meaningless.”
“Some of my meteorologists suggest it could lead to nuclear winter.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the term.”
“As I’m unfamiliar with giving in to fear. Until Director Gannel flees New Baghdad, I also will remain in the seat of power.”
“But the rioters, Madam, what if they storm the Directorate and injure you?”
“You will restrain them long before, of that I have no doubt. However, if it turns out that you cannot, well, Social Unity will quickly find someone who can.”
A hint of anger colored his checks. “If you think the Public Security Bureaus have teams who will face the mobs—”
“My dear man: Face the mobs? What a quaint term for the sheep that have lifted their heads and bleated a little louder than usual.”
“Madam, I wish you would reconsider.”
“Let us talk about General Hawthorne.”
Yezhov blinked slowly. For the first time he glanced about the room, noticing the bodyguard. The clone gave him a faint nod. He ignored her and turned to the director.
“There was an attempt upon the General’s life,” Blanche-Aster said.
“A terrible tragedy. Air Marshal Ulrich became unbalanced.”
“Why do you suppose that happened?”
“Madam, the military clique is rife with non-socialist behavior that on examination the rest of us find quite inexplicable.”
“Ah, yes. Your latest witch-hunt is called the Anti-Rightist Movement.”
“The Highborn rebellion proves the thesis, Madam. The Military is a seedbed for rightist tendencies. PHC works hard to root out this madness.”
“To bring
Yezhov stiffened, and he now spoke with a nasal quality. “Director Blanche-Aster, PHC will mercilessly destroy
The one hundred and sixty-two-year-old director leaned forward, pulling the many medical tubes with her. “You dare hint that I’m unorthodox. You dare this here?” The physical effort cost the ancient Blanche-Aster. She fell back into her padded rest.
Yezhov seemed to remember where “here” was. “Madam, I assure you your ideology is not under scrutiny.”
“I’ve long served the people and kept them safe from class-enemy exploiters and profit-imperialists. Before you ever memorized the social creche credo—”
“We are all tiny cogs in the machine of State service,” Yezhov quoted. He stretched his lips in an imitation of a smile. “The Air Marshal’s strange behavior proves that we are on the correct path. The Rightist Movement must be stamped out. I’m sure you agree that at this time we cannot tolerate any deviancy in the upper echelons of Social Unity. The ripple effect the billion casualties had on the rest of the populace has left us little room to maneuver.”
