“Correct!” the Surety head applauded.
Temple Bishop Stockwater said worriedly, “Now, my children, let us not become too radical here. We would not wish to disturb established institutions.”
Job Bauserman, unduly articulate in this gathering of his superiors, Ross thought with some surprise, said, “But we’ll have to seem to disturb them, Coaids. The candidate for office, whether he means to attain it through force or by ballot, promises great reform in the attaining. Living up to it, later, is another matter.”
Fielder looked at the propaganda man thoughtfully. “You are quite correct, of course, Coaid. We must promise them the moon, as the ancient expression goes.”
Matheison added, “And later deliver green cheese.”
Fielder took direction again. “So simply changing the Presidor would be insufficient. I propose, Coaids, that a triumvirate be nominated here, this afternoon. And that elections be promised within a year after our coming to power.”
“Elections!” the Marshal blurted, unbelievingly. “You mean real elections?”
The Temple Bishop, too, led the objections. “My son, much though I am in sympathy with democratic institutions, and look forward to the day when they are practical, surely it is realized by all present that our good people are not, at present, capable of voting intelligently. They lack, ah, the educational background, the, ah, intelligence. Until they are arrived at a higher level than now prevails, it falls upon us of the, ah, better classes to lead them.”
Ross Westley looked at the holy man. It was a cry heard down through the ages. He wondered if Stockwater had ever read of the fact that most primitive men, long before the advent of writing, not to speak of education, ruled themselves democratically. Not that Ross had any intention of bringing forth the subject in this gathering.
Fielder held up a hand again, the hands holding the travel, and chuckled without humor. “Coaids, please. You evidently failed to hear me. I said that we would promise elections. Once in power, various emergencies can arise—a threat of the Karlists attempting to put their own candidates on the ballot, or some such. We can face such problems when they confront us; certainly no one here is so foolish as to suggest mob rule.”
“Amen,” the Temple Bishop murmured.
Fielder pressed on. “A ruling triumvirate, fraternally united, will be a departure from one man control, such as the Presidor has exercised. It will seem, and on the surface be, a radical change and appear to herald still more definite reform. However, in actuality, such a triumvirate will continue to reflect the desires of this, our lady, the Central Comita.”
Bauserman said, “I suggest that the name of the Comita be changed, as well as the title of every official in it, save, of course, the representative of the United Temple.” Here he nodded his head to the Temple Bishop. “The Temple, of course, remains unchanging, as it should be, down through the ages. But the Commissariat of Finance should have its name changed to something like the Ministry of the Treasury. The Commissariat of Information could become the Department of Public Knowledge.”
Fielder was nodding encouragingly. “Coaid Bauserman is obviously going to be a valuable member of the new regime. We must make as many surface changes as possible.”
Somebody called, “All right, but who’s to be on this Triumvirate?”
Fielder looked at the speaker. “Among ourselves, of course, we are Coaids and equals. The actual trio will be meaningless. I suggest we now nominate our three figureheads, our supposed chiefs of state.”
Ross grunted inwardly. Figureheads, his aching back. He already knew who was to succeed Number One, given a success of this putsch. And he strongly suspected that it had been worked out long ago.
Matheison called, “I nominate Marshal Croft-Gordon, our most noted hero. Next to the present Presidor, certainly the best known public figure in Alphaland.”
“Second,” someone called. Ross noted idly that the seconder was in uniform.
“Our chairman, Coaid Fielder,” someone else called.
The holder of the gavel held up a hand. “Now, consider well, Coaids. Remember, in actuality, our three will be but figureheads for this Comita. However, is it wise that a police official be on the group?”
“Absolutely,” Bauserman called. “The military and police must be seen to be represented. The iron fist within the silken glove.”
“Second the motion,” Franklin Wilkonson, the geopolitician, called out.
One of the Old Hands, Ross told himself bitterly. Shoulder to shoulder with Number One on the barricades.
“Jon Matheison,” someone else called out and was seconded.
Ross nodded to himself. He had called it. Croft-Gordon, Fielder and Matheison. The other two didn’t know it, but eventually that triumvirate was going to thin down to one man again. He might not call himself the Presidor, but eventually, Ross had no doubt, Mark Fielder would stand alone at the head of government. Neither of the other two had the capability to hold ultimate power.
He listened, but largely unhearing as they droned through other proposals.
Finally, Fielder brought it to the crux. “We are, then, in complete agreement. Number One has failed us. It is our duty to take over the reins of government.”
“Who’s going to bell the cat?” Ross said, evenly.
All eyes came to him, most faces frowning.
Ross said, “Who’s going to take on the job of getting through Number One’s Surety and informing him he has just been demoted from the job he’s held for almost half a century?”
Fielder pursed his lips. “That has been worked out, Coaid. Marshal Croft-Gordon, Deputy Matheison and I will request audience with the Presidor. We will inform him of the changes.”
“And what will his guard have to say about that?”
Fielder arched his eyebrows. “My dear Coaid Westley, it is I who appoints the Surety guards to protect the Presidor.”
Ross nodded. He should have known the answer. Evidently, Number One was not to survive the audience with his three top deputies.
Fielder repeated himself. “We are, then, in complete agreement?”
Ross, who had been slouched in his chair, trying to keep from contemplating the result of what he knew he was going to do, came deliberately to his feet. He looked around at the rest of them, one by one. Deep within himself he was amazed. All this was not in his basically retiring nature.
“I guess this is the vote,” he said. “This is where we take our stand.”
He looked at Wilkonson. “I understand that you, Coaid, along with my father and Number One, were one of the original revolutionary committee. One of the handful who revolted against the takeover of the Karlists. Who else is left of that group? Only Academician McGivern, I suppose, the party theoretician. I notice Coaid McGivern isn’t here.”
Fielder said coldly, “He met with an unfortunate accident, shortly after being approached, Coaid.”
Ross nodded. He looked at Marshal Croft-Gordon, who appeared to be building up a head of steam. “And the good Marshal, although not an Old Hand, also fought in the war, if party history serves me. At first as a sergeant, but under the wing of Number One he rose quickly in rank until at last he is supreme head of the military.”
Ross turned his gaze on Mark Fielder. “And our Deputy of Surety. As I recall, a nephew of one of the now deceased Old Hands who recommended him highly to Number One. And he, as a favor, saw our present chairman, and triumvir to be, promoted and promoted again.”
Fielder said ominously, “What are you getting to, Coaid?”
Ross shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious, Coaids? I am the son of Franklin Westley, another of the Old Hands. Frankly, I am a misfit in my position. However, I am not a traitor, although I find myself increasingly against our present government. My single vote is against this coup d’etat. I suggest instead that the full Central Comita be convened and that the Presidor be allowed to defend himself before it. If he cannot do so, I suggest that an immediate election be held and a new government be chosen by all elements of the population.”