There was laughter on both sides of the table, followed by a chorus of woofing and yapping. Morgan’s cheeks colored, and the Khalifa hammered for order.
“Mongrels are often stronger and less high-strung than pure-breds,” Jameela said. “Human beings aren’t dogs to be ‘bred’ in any case!”
Morgan frowned at her. “Selective breeding would benefit the human race. A mixed-blood horse can’t beat an Arabian at the racetrack or pull heavy loads like a Belgian or a Percheron. We’re not pushing for forced breeding, of course.”
“Thank you for that!”
“Still, encouragement to stay within sub-species boundaries seems to be a good thing. Genetic weaknesses… the Black susceptibility to sickle-cell anemia, for example… can be contained, curtailed, and hopefully conquered without letting them spread to the whole human race through random breeding.”
“You’re an Indian Muslim?” the Khalifa asked the girl. When she nodded, he said, “Thought so. Our Community of Allah Almighty isn’t interested in genetics as much as it is in Islam… you’ll understand that. We want a homogeneous Islamic society, one free of ‘Whitey’ andfreeof the decay that’s ruining our people! Wewant Islam, and we want out. If you Indian Muslims hadn’t always had to fight the Hindus, you’d have made more progress, like Japan or Korea.”
“Progress? Industry, technology, consumer goods… they’re not everything!”
“Don’t jive me with ‘mystic India’ or Mahatma Gandhi in a diaper, miss! I’ve seen some very greedy, seedy gurus in my time. Materialism is better than the simple life pushing a plow. It’s a lot better than being broke and unemployed in a slum, watching your family disintegrate and your kids grow up with crime and dope!”
“There are things you could do…!” Jameela retorted hotly.
Morgan cut her off. “Please, Jameela. Let me say just one more thing about our concept of the ethnos: it’s more than just genetic race. It’s a Gestalt of race, culture, history, and perceived psychological and spiritual identity. We accept those who can become one with us and share our homogeneity. Those who don’t… or can’t, because of visible and insoluble differences… are ‘other.’ That’s reality. That’s the way it is, and to claim anything else is hypocrisy.”
“‘The wogs begin at Calais,’” the Khalifa quoted, a trifle wistfully. “No more lectures, please!”
“You Hogboes’re welcome to the ‘coffees’ and the Uncle Toms!” one of the Black beegees standing behind the table shouted out. He added an obscene gesture.
There was a flurry of gun bolts snicking and muzzles coming up.
Lessing was on his feet. “Any of you assholes ever been in a firefight? In a room this size? Do you know what a stitch-gun does? A Riga-71?” He jabbed a finger toward the weapon of one of the Black bodyguards. “A goddamned grenade launcher?”
The Khalifa joined him, thundering on the table with one powerful fist “Brothers! Hey, you godzoes! He’s right! Chug the jango! It’s green light… we’re jackin’ up front here!” He added more in the incomprehensible Black-English argot. To Morgan, who had stayed seated, the Khalifa rapped, “Get your godzoes under control! Who wins if we thumb ourselves? Which ethnos inherits the earth then? And no jive about ‘the meek’!”
Morgan’s response was braver than Lessing might have expected. Sam stood up, smiled, and said, “We’ll be leaving now. Send somebody over with whatever plan you come up with.” He ignored the Riga-71 aimed at his nose. “Come on, Lessing, Jameela.”
The guns slowly came down again. Lessing motioned Ensley to take Jameela outside, but she shook her head.
Morgan said, “We’ll consult our advisors…”
“You mean Eighty-Five?” The Khalifa inspected the pale halfmoons of his fingernails. “We, too, have access to Eighty-Five.”
Morgan showed no surprise. He replied, “Who doesn’t? Oh, you do understand that our top brass has to rule on anything we say here in Los Angeles?”
The Khalifa nodded. “I know. Herman Mulder and his international committee, the men behind… or to the right of… Jonas Outram. In the meantime let’s agree to keep your lily-White stormtroopers from tangling with my Black-power, Mrica-uber-alles godzoes!”
“Sounds good. Is four months enough for you?”
“Should be. We won’t oppose Outram’s plan to regroup the military, but we want a say, the right to make suggestions about officers and units. Green light?”
“Okay, we should be able to do that.” Morgan turned to Lessing: “Let’s go.” Their Cadre troopers began to file out.
“Ah, I almost forgot! I was going to tell you.“The Khalifa’s smile shone forth again. “We do have a preventive for Pacov… a start at it, anyway. I was about to offer it as proof of our good faith.” He gestured, and an aide handed him a plain, brown medicine bottle.
“A what?” Morgan exclaimed.
“You’ve heard of zombies?” A dozen white tablets the size and shape of collar buttons spilled out onto the Khalifa’s palm. Like a boy shooting marbles, he snapped one of these to Lessing, who caught it in the air. “Keep that as a gift from Allah, Mr. Lessing. Or rather from the voodoo gods, since it began with our brothers down in Haiti, while they were being exploited by Spain and France.”
“And other Blacks!” Morgan couldn’t help adding.
“This is a derivative of puffer-fish poison: tetrodotoxin, the essential ingredient in the mixture of toad-teats, lizard tails, tarantula toes, and human bones that make up the cocktail the houngans… voodoo priests… serve up to people they deem socially incorrect. It slows down a victim’s metabolism to the point where even a modem hospital can declare him dead if the doctors aren’t paying attention. If the zombie isn’t buried… or worse, embalmed… he wakes up a while later. How much later we still aren’t sure: anything from a day to a week. The original potion had just one major side effect: it usually caused extensive brain damage. That’s what produced the ‘corpse from the grave’ late-night horror-show look. You know, the ‘zombie shuffle.’”
“This… this prevents Pacov?” Morgan peered at the tablet in Lessing’s hand.
“To an extent. I said it was a start. A researcher… a Black lady scientist, you’ll be happy to learn… found that tetrodotoxin inhibits the lethal coagulation of the blood caused by Pacov. It’s not yet clear why. Talk to Dr. Ellen Jefferson Kirk in the medical school at Berkeley. She and her team are the ones working on this.”
To Lessing’s eyes the little white pill appeared as innocuous as aspirin. “This… uh, refined form… still causes brain damage?”
“Less than the ‘classic’ variety but still a danger. You can’t inhibit a person’s metabolism for any length of time without risk. Here we have a prophylactic that’s almost as bad as the disease, like cracking your skull open with a rock to relieve a brain tumor.”
Morgan continued to stare at the pill. “We’re grateful for this. We’ll see that it gels tested… refined.”
“Here, the whole bottle’s for you. We’ve got more.”
“Would this Dr. Kirk mind if I showed this to other people? We can promise to keep her patents intact.”
“She doesn’t care about patents. It’s for humanity. She’s already talked to the Swiss and the Japanese. What matters is stopping Pacov, though this stuff won’t help now. Pacov’s run its course in Europe, and it’s dying out in Africa and Asia. This is only a preventive at best. Dr. Kirk only hopes it’ll discourage the use of Pacov in the future.”