The Simulacra

She stared at him open-mouthed.

‘I'm serious,' Pembroke said, stammering slightly. ‘It certainly would be better -- for us at least -- than allowing the Karps to make public the information they possess. That's the worst alternative of all.'

‘I agree,' Garth McRae said.

‘It's insane,' Nicole said.

Garth McRae said, ‘Is it? Through von Lessinger's principle we have access to trained assassins, and, as you pointed out, in our era no such professionals exist. I doubt if it would mean the destruction of scores or hundreds of individuals. I'd guess it could be limited to the board of directors, the executive vice-presidents of the Werke. Possibly as few as eight men.'

‘And,' Pembroke pointed out eagerly, ‘these eight men, these top officers at Karp, are de facto criminals; they've deliberately met and conspired against the legal government. They're on a par with the Sons of Job. With that Bertold Goltz. Even though they wear black bow ties every evening and drink vintage wine and don't squabble in the gutters and streets.'

‘May I say,' Nicole said drily, ‘that all of us are de facto criminals. Because this government -- as you pointed out is based on a fraud. And of the most primary magnitude.'

‘But it's the legal government,' Garth said. ‘Fraud or not. And the so-called "fraud" is in the best interests of the people. We're not doing it to exploit anyone -- as the cartel system does. We're not out to engorge ourselves at somebody else's expense.'

At least, Nicole thought, that's what we tell ourselves.

Pembroke said respectfully, ‘Having talked just now to the Attorney General I know how he feels about the rising power of the cartels. Epstein feels they must be cut down. It's essential!'

‘Perhaps,' Nicole said, ‘you have a trifle too much respect for the cartels. I don't. And -- perhaps we should wait a day or so until Hermann Goering is with us and we can ask for an opinion from him.'

Now the two men were staring at her open-mouthed.

‘I'm not serious,' she said. Or was she? She did not know, herself. ‘After all,' she said, ‘Goering founded the Gestapo."

‘I could never approve of that,' Pembroke said, with hauteur.

‘But you don't make policy,' Nicole said to him. ‘Technically, Rudi does. That is, I do. I can compel you to act on my behalf in this matter. And you'd do it ... unless, of course, you'd prefer to join the Sons of Job and march up and down the streets throwing rocks and chanting.'

Both Garth McRae and Pembroke looked uneasy. And acutely unhappy.

‘Don't be frightened,' Nicole said. ‘Do you know what the true basis of political power is? Not guns or troops but the ability to get others to do what you want them to do. By whatever means are appropriate. I know I can get the NP to do what I want -- despite what you personally feel. I can get Hermann Goering to do what I want. It won't be Goering's decision; it'll be mine.'

‘I hope,' Pembroke said presently, ‘that you're right, that you will be able to handle Goering. I admit that on a strictly subjective level I'm frightened, frightened of this entire experiment with the past. You may open the floodgates. Goering is not a clown.'

‘I'm well aware of that,' Nicole said. ‘And don't presume to give me advice, Mr Pembroke. It's not your place.'

Pembroke flushed, was silent a moment and then said in a low voice, ‘Sorry. Now, if it's all right with you, Mrs Thibodeaux, I'd like to bring up one other matter. It has to do with the sole remaining psychoanalyst now practising in the USEA. Dr Egon Superb. In explanation of the NP's reason for allowing him to -- ‘

‘I don't want to hear about it,' Nicole said. ‘I just want you to do your job. As you must know, I never did approve of the McPhearson Act in the first place. So you can hardly expect me to object when it is not fully applied.'

‘The patient in question -- ‘

‘Please,' she said sharply.

Pembroke, his face impassive and set, shrugged in obedience.

8

As they started into the auditorium on floor one of The Abraham Lincoln, Ian Duncan saw, trailing along behind Al Miller, the flat, scuttling shape of the Martian creature, the papoola. He stopped short. ‘You're bringing that along?'

Al said, ‘You don't understand. Don't we have to win?'

After a pause, Ian said, ‘Not that way.' He understood all right; the papoola would take on the audience as it had taken on passers-by. It would exert its extrasensory influence on them, coaxing out a favourable decision. So much for the ethics of a jalopy salesman, Ian realized. To Al, this seemed perfectly normal; if they couldn't win by their jug-playing they would win through the papoola.

‘Aw,' Al said, gesturing, ‘don't be our own worst enemy. All we're engaged in here is a little subliminal sales technique, such as they've been using for a century -- it's an ancient, reputable method of swinging public opinion your away. I mean, let's face it; we haven't played the jug professionally in years.' He touched the controls at his waist and the papoola hurried forward to catch up with them.

Again Al touched the controls. And in Ian's mind a persuasive thought came, Why not? Everyone else does it.

With difficulty he said, ‘Get that thing off me, Al.'

Al shrugged. And the thought, which had invaded Ian's mind from without, gradually withdrew. And yet, a residue remained. He was no longer sure of his position.

‘It's nothing compared to what Nicole's machinery can accomplish,' Al pointed out, seeing the expression on his face. ‘One papoola here and there, and that planet-wide instrument of persuasion that Nicole has made out of TV there you have the real danger, Ian. The papoola is crude; you know you're being worked on. Not so when you listen to Nicole. The pressure is so subtle and so complete -- ‘

‘I don't know about that,' Ian said. ‘I just know that unless we're successful, unless we get to play at the White House, life as far as I'm concerned isn't worth living. And nobody put that idea in my head. It's just the way I feel; it's my own idea, dammit.' He held the door open, and Al passed on into the auditorium, carrying his jug by the handle. Ian followed, and a moment later the two of them were on the stage, facing the partially-filled hall.

‘Have you ever seen her?' Al asked.

‘I see her all the time.'

‘I mean in reality. In person. So to speak, in the flesh.'

‘Of course not,' Ian said. That was the entire point of their being successful, of getting to the White House. They would see her really, not just the TV image; it would no longer be a fantasy -- it would be true.

‘I saw her once,' Al said. ‘I had just put the lot down, Jalopy Jungle Number Three, on a main business avenue in Shreveport, Louisiana. It was early in the morning, about eight o'clock. I saw official cars coming; naturally I thought it was the National Police -- I started to take off. But it wasn't. It was a motorcade, with Nicole in it, going to dedicate a new apartment building, the largest yet.'

‘Yes,' Ian said. ‘The Paul Bunyan.' The football team from The Abraham Lincoln played annually against its team, and always lost. The Paul Bunyan had over ten thousand inhabitants, and all of them came from administrative-class backgrounds; it was an exclusive apartment building of men and women verging on becoming Ges. and it had incredibly high monthly payments required of each tenant.