something confidential. I was talking with my friend Sydney Skylark the other day. The new management has hired him as an associate network manager for GBC, so of course he knows what’s going on up top. Sydney told me he had the distinct impression that GBC wants this war to go on a while longer. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a good war to cover.”
John gave him a scornful look. “They’ll just have to cover it without me or my troops. You can’t expect me to go on fighting on Lekk when all I get for it is busted robots and canceled TV slots and trouble from my wife and general ostracism from everyone else and my name taken off the guest list of the Interplanetary Charity Dinner. Forget it, Irving, I’m closing down the war here and now.” John stood up.
“Sit down,” Bedizened said. John sat down. “Ending the war now will get you nowhere. Like I said, GBC likes the war and wants it to continue. Sydney told me that if you cooperate, they’ll work out something for you. Nothing on paper, you understand, but I’ve known Sydney Skylark all my life and I know I can trust him.”
“What’s the deal?” John asked.
“It’s not a deal ,” Bedizened said. “And don’t quote me on this. But Skylark intimated that if you continue this war for a while longer, they’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“By rehabilitating you as soon as public interest in Lekk dies down a little.”
“How will they rehabilitate me?”
“They’ll do a TV documentary representing you as a misunderstood social reformer, weak but lovable, a charming but impractical idealist, a sort of William Blake without talent.”
“But it was all Dramocles’ fault! Why doesn’t he get blamed?”
“Face it, Dramocles is a more sympathetic type than you. Don’t worry, though, you’ll come out of this looking good.”
“So I’m to go on with the war on Lekk?”
Bedizened finished his drink and lit up a thin panatela. “It’s entirely up to you, of course. You might even get your show back.”
“I’ll think about it. By the way, who are the new people who’ve taken over GBC?”
“It’s a group called Tlaloc, Inc.”
“Never heard of them,” John said.
27
Ultragnolle Castle was headquarters for the conduct of the Lekkian War, and the War Room was the heart of the operation. It was a large room filled with consoles and banks of dials and TV screens, and there were uniformed men and women sitting at the consoles and pushing buttons. The lighting was subdued, there was a low hum of machinery, and you really felt like serious business was going on here. Dramocles loved this room.
The castle was filled with people at all hours of the day and night, hurrying up and down the corridors on official business. Several new restaurants had opened near the War Room, to save time for the people fighting the war. Dramocles usually ate at the Hellenic Palace Snack Bar, and was especially fond of their foot-long Texas red hots with chili and chopped onions and melted cheese, the food of heroes. When he reached the Hellenic today, however, the place was closed for repairs.
Why should a snack bar need repairs? The place had looked all right yesterday. Dramocles considered complaining, or, better, ordering the owners to get the place opened at once and to hell with the repairs–didn’t they know there was a war on? But he didn’t, because he prided himself on being just like everyone else while the state of emergency was on. “I’m just one of you,” he had told his staff only yesterday. “I’m just doing a job, like the rest of you. To be sure, my job is to run the whole show; but so what? That doesn’t make me any more important than the rest of you, though it might seem to. The fact is, gentlemen, we are all fighting for our homeland, for freedom, for Glorm.”
Dramocles decided to have lunch at the Sword & Stomach, a rather pretentious eating place just down the hall. The S & S was crowded, as usual. It
John gave him a scornful look. “They’ll just have to cover it without me or my troops. You can’t expect me to go on fighting on Lekk when all I get for it is busted robots and canceled TV slots and trouble from my wife and general ostracism from everyone else and my name taken off the guest list of the Interplanetary Charity Dinner. Forget it, Irving, I’m closing down the war here and now.” John stood up.
“Sit down,” Bedizened said. John sat down. “Ending the war now will get you nowhere. Like I said, GBC likes the war and wants it to continue. Sydney told me that if you cooperate, they’ll work out something for you. Nothing on paper, you understand, but I’ve known Sydney Skylark all my life and I know I can trust him.”
“What’s the deal?” John asked.
“It’s not a deal ,” Bedizened said. “And don’t quote me on this. But Skylark intimated that if you continue this war for a while longer, they’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“By rehabilitating you as soon as public interest in Lekk dies down a little.”
“How will they rehabilitate me?”
“They’ll do a TV documentary representing you as a misunderstood social reformer, weak but lovable, a charming but impractical idealist, a sort of William Blake without talent.”
“But it was all Dramocles’ fault! Why doesn’t he get blamed?”
“Face it, Dramocles is a more sympathetic type than you. Don’t worry, though, you’ll come out of this looking good.”
“So I’m to go on with the war on Lekk?”
Bedizened finished his drink and lit up a thin panatela. “It’s entirely up to you, of course. You might even get your show back.”
“I’ll think about it. By the way, who are the new people who’ve taken over GBC?”
“It’s a group called Tlaloc, Inc.”
“Never heard of them,” John said.
27
Ultragnolle Castle was headquarters for the conduct of the Lekkian War, and the War Room was the heart of the operation. It was a large room filled with consoles and banks of dials and TV screens, and there were uniformed men and women sitting at the consoles and pushing buttons. The lighting was subdued, there was a low hum of machinery, and you really felt like serious business was going on here. Dramocles loved this room.
The castle was filled with people at all hours of the day and night, hurrying up and down the corridors on official business. Several new restaurants had opened near the War Room, to save time for the people fighting the war. Dramocles usually ate at the Hellenic Palace Snack Bar, and was especially fond of their foot-long Texas red hots with chili and chopped onions and melted cheese, the food of heroes. When he reached the Hellenic today, however, the place was closed for repairs.
Why should a snack bar need repairs? The place had looked all right yesterday. Dramocles considered complaining, or, better, ordering the owners to get the place opened at once and to hell with the repairs–didn’t they know there was a war on? But he didn’t, because he prided himself on being just like everyone else while the state of emergency was on. “I’m just one of you,” he had told his staff only yesterday. “I’m just doing a job, like the rest of you. To be sure, my job is to run the whole show; but so what? That doesn’t make me any more important than the rest of you, though it might seem to. The fact is, gentlemen, we are all fighting for our homeland, for freedom, for Glorm.”
Dramocles decided to have lunch at the Sword & Stomach, a rather pretentious eating place just down the hall. The S & S was crowded, as usual. It
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