Movius bent to peer more closely. “Individual?”
“Persons who influenced the course of history.”
Movius straightened. “What is the yellow line?”
“It’s a blending of many things—economic activity, sun spots, lunar influences, atmospheric electrical changes, gravitational flow, magnetronic fluctuations on the earth’s surface, random impellation interpreted by charting cosmic rays…”
“It slopes down here,” said Movius, pointing to the right. He looked back along the undulant course of the line. “Farther down than it’s ever been before. Is that the present crisis?”
“Yes. Something special in the way of crises. We are in the bottom of the curve now. That means conditions are ripe for an upheaval. It will only take a catalyst.”
“The Fall poll.”
“I believe so. Many people are bitter about the polling. Your activity has a great deal to do with this, showing people how the Selector is by-passed, how the questions forecast the answers, how the whole thing is maneuvered. When they are asked to participate again in that day-long activity which they now consider farcical—that may be the push that’s needed.”
“How bad will the crisis be?”
“We can only guess. The mathematics and knowledge by which we made this prediction were centuries in gestation.”
Movius smiled. “Now you need a midwife.”
O’Brien appeared surprised, tugged at his ear, head cocked to one side. “Why, yes, I guess we do. I’d never quite thought of it in that way.”
“How precious is the midwife?”
O’Brien turned away. “I’ve been aware for some time that we’ve very much underestimated you, Movius.”
“No.” Movius shook his head. “You’ve mis-estimated me.”
“How is that?”
“Is this business important enough to see me as Coordinator?”
O’Brien whirled on him. “Are you trying to make a deal with me?”
Movius stared down at him. “No. The fact is, I’ve come to a decision.”
“What decision?” O’Brien bristled. He looked like a small hen demanding of a rooster where he had been until this hour.
“You want to save the world from a catastrophe which would lose this valuable knowledge.” Movius pointed toward the chart. “That’s a laudable ambition, although of questionable value. I want to save the world from the cold brutality of such as you.”
O’Brien’s eyes blazed. “Brutality! Is it brutal to…”
“Oh, be quiet,” said Movius, his tone disgusted. “Who’s to be the judge of who we might argue here? Each of us thinks he knows his motives. The truth is, we actually know very little about our motivations and probably care less. The difference between us, O’Brien, is a matter of distance—the distance from our racial roots at which we operate. You’re far away; I’m close.”
“Mmmmm,” said O’Brien.
“And this loyalty index. I’ve been studying that. It really has damned little to do with loyalty.”
“True,” said O’Brien. “The index could be said more truthfully to measure the degree of compassion a person feels for his fellow humans. Loyalty index is a popular catch phrase tacked onto the measurement because the higher the index the greater degree of loyalty to a cause or person.”
“Much of your business is a sham,” said Movius. “I’ve decided that…”
“Ah, yes, the decision,” O’Brien interrupted him. “When did you come to this decision, if I may ask?”
Why would he want to know that? Movius wondered. He shrugged, said, “The other night… in bed.”
“Ahhhh.” O’Brien made the sound as though he had seen a great light.
“More of your stock in trade,” said Movius. “Ahhhhh. The witch doctor’s mysterious incantation.” He raised his hand as O’Brien started to speak “I just about have you figured, O’Brien. You set me up for this business. You picked me up when I came along, way back before I was Liaitor. You decided that here was something you could use. You…”
“Just a moment.” O’Brien sounded bored. “Why should we want you?”
“In a moment,” said Movius. He turned, marched to the chart which he knew plotted some element of his life. “You want to ride the tiger, O’Brien?” Movius reached up, ripped the chart from the wall. “Then wake up to the fact that your tiger is no longer tame. Prepare yourself for some scratches.”
“You will not leave here alive,” said O’Brien.
Movius smiled at him. “Don’t be rash, O’Brien. Find out your tiger’s strength first. A wounded tiger is much more dangerous than an unwounded tiger.”
“So?”
“This is a fallacy.” Movius kicked the chart on the floor. “No man can be reduced to a line on a chart with any hope that predictions from that line will be infallible. You cannot know what will stimulate a man’s awareness from minute to minute. The person you’ve charted here is many people—the son of a frustrated ex-teacher, a rising executive, a blind young man who lived in a world of his own projections, then the low-opped seeker after revenge, the focus point of a revolution.”
“And now he’s the great lover,” said O’Brien tauntingly. “Movius, you’ve outlasted your usefulness.”
“Is that your latest prediction?”
“Yes. Primarily, because you’ve become aware of your position. We needed you for the figurehead of the revolution. You were valuable as long as you were ignorant of that fact. A man conscious of his own importance to such a movement does not have the reckless courage this job requires.”
“You informed me yourself, you know,” said Movius. He put his hands in his pockets, watched O’Brien.
The Bu-Psych head turned away. “That was my mistake. But it isn’t irreparable. There are other…”
Movius interrupted him with an abrupt, barking laugh. “I warned, O’Brien, not to do anything rash. Listen carefully. I have a dozen men in your organization. They will kill you if you harm me. You have no way of…”
“How could you? You haven’t had the time!”
“Time? What is time? Rather, say I’ve had the opportunity. Now I’m going to tell you my decision. I’m taking over, O’Brien. You’ll listen to how you fit into my plans and you’ll do what I say or else.”
O’Brien sounded more hesitant. “Oh?”
“Today, I started a chain of events which will eventuate in by-passing the master opinion controls.”
“That’s impossible!”
“I’m happy to hear you say that, O’Brien. I’m hoping The Coor et al feel the same way.”
“It is a known scientific fact that the control beam cannot be…”
“Will you shut up?” Movius glowered at the man. “Save your double talk for someone you can impress. Nine years ago in the Comp Section another fellow and I figured out a way to tap the beam. We did it as an exercise for the very reason that people said it couldn’t be done. Then we dropped it because we didn’t see any value in it and knew it would cause a lot of trouble for us. People would want to know why we did it.”
O’Brien’s mouth was open. He closed it with a snap.
“I am about to demonstrate the danger of fixed-pattern thinking. The proper moves have been right in front of your nose for so long you haven’t been able to see them. You see through them.”
O’Brien leaned back against his table. “Do go on.” His tone was patronizing.
“The registration kiosks of the world are controlled from this city,” said Movius. “The small percentage of the population which constitutes a sample is called…”
“If you mean that the questions are formulated here, transmitted from here and computed here, yes, that’s true. But what does that have to do with…”
“What would happen if The Coor’s transmitter fed its questions into a relay station? Let us say that relay station is equipped with a staff of about four of your best semantic analysts, who then take his carefully prepared question and distort it to obtain precisely the answer The Coor does not want. Then this relay station puts the new question back on the beam. Say a three minute delay.”