Battlefield Proxies
Paddy Davies' corner office was too small for a quorum meeting of the Peace Council. So the utility room, used for coffee breaks, all-hands briefings, etc., had been cleaned up. Thermal coffee mugs had been set at twelve places, while cookies and assorted raw veggies occupied trays and bowls.
The council members were from several continents, and usually convened via the Ether. But not this time. Gunther Genovesi, the Peace Front's attorney, treasury secretary, and sometime emergency financier, had called for this meeting, insisting it be live. And the entire suite boasted effective anti-snooping equipment. So the complete council was there except for Francesca Yoshinori, currently being held without bond on weapons charges, in Concepcion, in the Chilean Autonomy. Her proxy on the council was Yolanda Guzman.
Jaromir Horvath rapped the gavel plate. "Gunther asked for this meeting," Horvath said, "so I'll turn it over to him." He paused, then added drily, "He didn't confide in me, beyond telling me it has to do with membership and finances." Laying the gavel down, he turned to the heavy, Levantine-looking man to his left, the one council member who was truly wealthy. "The chair is yours, Gunther."
Genovesi stood, and got down to business without acknowledging Horvath's comments. "I asked for this meeting for three reasons. First, you're aware that over the past eleven months, our membership has declined by eighteen percent. The reduction in income is troublesome, but even more troublesome is the weakening of leverage caused by our decline. Not that we've publicized it, but none of you is naive enough to suppose the government doesn't know.
"Second, and much more important, we've had no significant effect on the war plans of this government. We need to discuss changes in strategy. New ideas.
"And third-" Finally he looked at Horvath. "Third, we need a change of leadership. Yaro, you are the chairman and cofounder of the Peace Front, and more to the point, you've been our chief theorist and strategist. But when an organization needs to grow-in size, influence and results-and instead shrinks… " Genovesi shrugged. "It's time to change leaders."
He scanned the men and women sitting around the long table. No one shook their head, not even Horvath, who hadn't changed expression. "I will not," Genovesi continued, "propose someone for the chairmanship yet. But keep the matter in mind while we discuss this lamentable decline. This failure."
He turned to a stocky, militant-looking woman. "Kuei-Fei, give us your thoughts on the matter."
Kuei-Fei the complainer, Horvath told himself. He'd never gotten along with her. She wanted his chairmanship, and no doubt Moneybags would see that she got it. As for himself-he'd be better off rid of it.
He could taste the bile rising in his gorge.
She got to her feet and began. "The basic strategy has been wrong," she said, "based almost entirely on demonstrations that only a small fraction of the population could get to, take part in. Seen on the telly or holo, they draw attention. And sometimes new members, too many of whom later leave because there is no active role for them. No role most of them could afford."
Or because, Horvath thought, between the media and the government, they end up convinced by stories of more and more human worlds conquered by murdering aliens.
It was Paddy Davies who interrupted the woman. "And what would you have us do?" he asked. "Mind you, I'm not challenging what you say. I'm asking for examples."
She scowled, not trusting his disclaimer. "An example? We publicized the African Bee Project, and staged demonstrations against it in over forty cities. But few attended except for the demonstrators and the media. Those who watched, watched at home, safe from involvement. Most of them thought the bees were a good idea. Even most mainstream Gaians approved."
Horvath scowled. What do you expect when a movement goes mainstream? he thought. But beneath the thought lay a realization-that without the mainstream, their job was impossible. They needed to capture the mainstream, turn it against its government masters.
"But suppose… " Kuei-Fei went on, "suppose we'd arranged to have African bees collected? Whole colonies. And had them released in major cities here on Terra? Then people would have looked differently at the bee project."
When she paused, Horvath had his chance. "They'd have looked differently at us," he growled. "We'd have multiplied our enemies tenfold, to no good purpose."
Coloring, she went grimly on. "Our demonstrations over capturing and murdering Wyzhnyny colonists backfired; another poorly chosen issue. People considered the dead marines heroes, and resented our calling them murderous kidnappers who'd endangered any possible negotiations. And even though the dead Wyzhnyny won't be seen on Terra for months, word that they're being brought here for display and study has weakened those of our allies who claim the invasion is a hoax. Meanwhile, Paddy's public proposal to negotiate-invite the Wyzhnyny to settle on worlds not already colonized-was lost sight of in the bombast and furor of the demonstrations."
She turned to Paddy. "The media prefer a show to ideas, but without the show, it's the ideas they'd feature."
"And what would you think," Paddy said, "of printing fliers with our main arguments? Given in simple statements, catchy aphorisms. And passing them out to the demonstrators, with instructions to use them if questioned by the media. They always question demonstrators."
She nodded. Her face remained severe, but when she spoke again, her tone was milder. "That might be useful, if the ideas in the fliers are clearly tied to the matter being protested."
Horvath interrupted again, getting to his feet. His tone was domineering, but short of scornful. "You tell us our basic strategy is wrong, then you veer off into talking about tactics. What strategy should we follow?"
She locked eyes with him. "A strategy that grows out of one basic fact: We have nothing to lose, Horvath. Nothing except possibly our lives and liberty. If our goals are worthwhile-if peace is worthwhile!-we've got to go all out. Take risks! Considering the time factor, and the direction things are going, BIG risks!" Her words had been growing louder, more combative. Now they slowed, softened. "You've been a fighter all your life, Yaro. You led student rebels against university administrators before you were twenty, and got expelled. Four years later you led blue collar technicians against ISUTA schedule controls, and your people lost jobs. Then you learned to work within the system, learned to compromise without ever giving up. Learned to keep the pressure on, educating, politicking, building inside and outside support, but always pushing. Going for the best compromise possible, and more often than not getting more than anyone thought you could."
Horvath watched her narrowly. What's your point, woman? he wondered.
Her eyes had never given way as she spoke. Now she examined the nails on her right hand, fingers curled and palm up, like a man. Her voice became reflective. "You developed an operating style that worked for you." She paused. "And you brought it with you when you started the Front."
Again she met his eyes. "But this is not a labor dispute, or a political dispute, or an environmental or economic dispute." Her voice intensified. "It is a war against war, Yaro, and we need to fight it differently. Find the enemy's greatest weakness, and attack it. Regardless of risk, because the stakes are so great, and time is against us."
She looked around the table. "Many voices have urged the government to declare martial law, but Chang and Peixoto have refused. Because they're smarter and more farsighted than those who've pressed them for it. They appreciate that the people hate martial law. For more than ninety years our ancestors lived under it! Generations never knew anything else! Meanwhile they watched their technical infrastructure erode, saw their physical-biological environment degraded to a point where it seemed almost beyond recovery. After all these centuries it's still not completely recovered."
She stopped, standing silent, clenched jaw jutting, eyes hard, and let them wait till it seemed someone would surely burst out, demanding she finish. Then she spoke again. "We need to create a campaign that will force them to declare martial law. A campaign of acts by individuals and small groups. Of violence. Of destruction." She paused for emphasis. "And of assassinations. Aimed at the most egregious, or most heinous, or most corrupt government war action we can find. At the same time risking a backlash against us. And there will be one."
Then she sat down. No one applauded. No one even said "Hear hear!" For another dozen seconds the room was silent. Finally Genovesi spoke. "Well. That's said. Now we need to look at what issue or issues to use as a focus, a target, for that serious violence. Which is what it will take to bring about martial law."
Guzman suggested accusing the government of planning to use neutron bombs. The nuclear strikes in the Hitler War, the brief and suicidal nuclear religious war of the 21st century, and finally the cynical neutron bombings of the Troubles had made nuclear weapons-nuclear technology of any sort-anathema in the Commonwealth. It was the deadliest accusation possible.
Paddy Davies was adamantly against it. "If we make such a claim," he said, "we'll need plausible evidence. Plausible evidence! Considering the seriousness of the charge, the public will demand it. I'd demand it. And in all our gathering and winnowing of information and gossip, we've found no whiff of that or any other nuclear plans." Then Horvath stood, guaranteeing it would backfire, and Kuei-Fei pointed out that there wasn't even an infrastructure to provide the means for such a program. When Genovesi called the question, not even Guzman voted for it.
Afterward, discussion became listless, the proposals feeble and unpromising. Then Genovesi suggested that if crimes against Wyzhnyny didn't seemed to resonate with the public, crimes against humans might.
"We've already plowed that ground," Horvath said.
"Not all of it," Kuei-Fei countered. "We can attack the newly leaked loosening in military bot agreements! Loosening designed to shanghai the wounded out of their bodies!" They were, she felt, nothing short of outrageous: reduced eligibility standards for the wounded. Battlefield proxies authorized to "speak for the unconscious wounded." The use of a stasis drug to prolong the survival of the mortally wounded till they could be bottled. Bottled and thrown back into the shame of battle, instead of peacefully joining with the All-Soul. And as an issue, it came with built-in support: some mainstream media had already criticized these changes as designed to allow abuses.
The discussion wasn't enthusiastic, but before lunch they'd approved the issue without dissent.
After lunch they discussed and voted on a change of leadership: previously, the chairman had worn the policy and planning hats, and the vice chairman the operations hat. That was now changed. Gunther Genovesi was elected chief executive officer, which included chairing meetings. Kuei-Fei Wu became planning officer. Jaromir Horvath accepted the post of whip; he would make sure people did what they'd agreed to. And Paddy Davies would be public relations director.
Of the old "big three," only Fritjof Ignatiev continued in his previous post-the Voice of the Front. Its orator.
Fritjof Ignatiev, a dedicated soldier of peace, who bore no management responsibilities and wanted none. He was not very intelligent and, remarkably enough, realized the fact.