The Gentle Seduction

by Marc Stiegler

  But Kiril's motivations were different. God, how Max wished he understood what motivated Kiril Perstev. "I don't have a problem, Premier. You do."

  Kiril raised an eyebrow.

  "Three hours ago, terrorists attacked Japan's two largest ocean harvesters. The terrorists slaughtered the crews and raced for safety. We, of course, have interceptors in hot pursuit."

  "In what way is this a problem for me, Mr. President? To be sure, the Soviet Union regrets the loss of life, but we support the liberation movements throughout the world as well."

  "These pirates seem to be heading for Vladivostok. It's as if they expected to find safe harbor there. Naturally, if they make it, it will be more difficult to punish them. We would probably have to use the GHOL to saturate the entire city with lethal radiation levels, to make sure that justice was served."

  Kiril studied Max through the visiphone. "That would, of course, lead to the holocaust."

  Of course it would. Though Kiril was currently the strongest member of the ruling troika, many issues had not yet been settled. For Kiril, a show of weakness, particularly because of a mistake, would be fatal. Kiril's only alternative would be massive retaliation.

  Max clenched his fist under the table. The fear tasted bitter in his mouth. Yet he stared coolly back at Kiril. "Premier, the pirates are dead men. How many others shall die with them?"

  Kiril leaned back, bringing his fingers together in a steeple. "You would not do it. It is not in your nature. You are philosophically incapable of ending the world." He smiled wolfishly. "In fact, I believe that if I pressed the buttons and destroyed the United States, you would decide not to retaliate, in order to protect the human race."

  Max's heart leaped in his throat; still he smiled back at Kiril. "You have an interesting point. I concede. It is against my philosophy to destroy you, or to destroy humanity." He leaned forward, and whispered into the visiphone. "But, Kiril, it is also against my philosophy to bluff. I'm not the kind of person who would bluff—someone might call it, and I would lose." His look hardened further. "No, Kiril, I would not bluff. You face a contradiction: my philosophy permits me neither to threaten nor to carry out the threat. Yet I have threatened. Where have you erred in your reasoning, Kiril? Don't guess wrong here, Kiril: for if you guess wrong, you will lose everything."

  Kiril laughed, a loud belly laugh; but as the laughter faded, and Max remained immobile, Kiril's smile went away. For a moment doubt flickered in his eyes, before his mask returned. "Any pirates who attempt to use our territorial waters as a sanctuary will naturally be disappointed. Such an incursion into our security would be dealt with instantly by our Navy and air forces: such pirates would have their ships destroyed, and survivors would be executed," he said tonelessly as he broke the connection.

  Max sank back in his chair, completely drained. How many more times will I get away with it, he wondered.

  His bluff had worked.

  "Don't you see how dangerous it would be to let our population grow untempered?" A ghost whispered in Max's ear. "It would be a simple case of suicide."

  Max shook his head, and for a moment he felt the burden he had carried so long dragging him down. "Lord knows I have tried to make the world ready for this cancer cure. "

  "You're wrong, Jason. There is a way mankind can survive!"

  "Goodness, you certainly are certain of yourself. For a change," Jason responded with a smile. "Would you care to sit down before you destroy all my most cherished pessimistic theories?" Since becoming a member of Congress, Jason had mellowed just a bit. Actually, Max wasn't sure "mellowed" was the right word: Jason just didn't talk as fast as he once had. That might be put down to weariness. But Jay's eyes still held a feverish brightness: perhaps the slowing of his verbal attacks was a part of converting himself from a politician to a statesman.

  Once he had Max seated at the kitchen table, Jason leaned forward in the old style, and his words speeded up. "So tell me about the solution to all our woes. How are we going to prevent the holocaust?"

  "By reducing the population."

  "Sounds wonderful, but not very implementable. Or do you come equipped with a mechanism for performing this miracle as well?"

  "Sure. We'll start a birthright lottery, conducted by the UN. Every country will get so many 'places' in the lottery, and the particular couples who get to bear children will be chosen at random."

  "A beautiful idea that has absolutely no chance of success. Right off the bat, I can see a problem—naturally, the leaders of all the countries will want preferential treatment. They want children, too, after all, and they have the power." He stared at Max, puzzled. "Besides, why would any country be interested in paying attention to a lottery, anyway?"

  "You mean, what carrot would I hold out to them?"

  "Exactly."

  "We'd offer medical assistance, education, and food to the countries that went along with it."

  "Um. What incentive could we give Americans? The safety net already gives them those things."

  Max felt exasperated; why was Jason always against ideas, never for them? "Actually, I was hoping you would supply some of the ideas for making this thing work yourself."

  Jason shook his head. "No matter how neat or clever a solution may be, Max, no matter how effective the idea might be if it could be put into action, you have to remember that a workable solution to a problem not only has to function within the physical laws of the universe, it also has to function within the social laws of dealing with people. Any kind of a birthright lottery will have to get everyone to agree to it. That just won't happen. What would we do with people who had illegal babies—what would we do with the illegal babies themselves? Do you figure on shooting them?" Jason waved his hand. "To be implementable, you have to have a solution that requires as few people as possible, and to make the people you want to use exchangeable, so that if the particular person you want to help you won't, you can go find somebody else to fulfill his part in the project."

  Max took a deep breath. "Yeah, I knew all that, sort of. I just hoped that you might be able to fill in some of the gaps."

  "I wish I could, Max." Jay shrugged. "But I don't know how. I'm not a superman." He smiled. "Not yet, anyway."

  "Well, I have another idea." It still left a bad taste in his mouth, but the second idea would work. "We could start up a few conventional wars, and commit enough atrocities and slaughter enough people to bring the population back down again."

  "Now that sounds more promising—you don't need anywhere near as many people to help you start a war as you need to end one. There is, of course, a problem—how do you guarantee the conventional war won't escalate into a holocaust?"

  "By neutralizing the missiles. We'll build an ABM system."

  Jason coughed politely. "I can't help thinking somebody's already working on that."

  "I'm sure they are. But I wonder if they're aware of all the new stuff going on with lasers and molecular computers these days." He described the new generation of x-ray lasers being used in the labs, what they were used for, and how they might be used for other purposes. "Anyway, if we could put a few megawatt x-ray lasers—with the kind of precision we're getting in the labs—in the sky, we ought to be able to make nuclear attack pretty unlikely to succeed, don't you think?"

  Jason looked at him strangely. "Perhaps you're right. They could very well have overlooked this possibility. I'll investigate it." He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands. For a moment the fever subsided from his expression; he was strictly serious. "You know, I'm currently holding discussions with the members of the House and the Senate on putting together a new group to . . . well, a group to be a think tank, more or less, but with no party biases, with only the congress to be loyal to. I know that that probably sounds as unimplementable as anything else we've discussed here, but I think I can do it." He nodded to himself, as if finally reaching a decision. "How would you like to be the boss?"

  "Me?"

  "Is there anyone else i
n the room? I'm going to need all the good people I can get."

  "But my work—"

  "Your medical research is more dangerous to humanity's survival than any other work in the world today. All those weapon makers out there aren't anywhere near as dangerous as you and Steve are. We already have the weapons we need to destroy ourselves. It's people like you who'll create a reason for us to use them."

  He lurched forward to the edge of his chair; his intensity was greater than ever before. "Come with me, Max, and help me make a world that will be ready for your cancer cure when it's finished. I'll warn you right now—I don't think we can do it. But I know for sure that it can't be done at all if nobody tries. I want us to try."

  Max shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I'll think about it." He smiled. "Maybe, if you promise to try to make the birthright lottery idea work."

  Jason smiled back. "I don't know. I'll think about it. Maybe, if you promise to come to work for me."

  CLASSIFICATION:

  TOP SECRET

  AUTHORIZATION KEY:

  SILENT CAMPER

  ACCESS SUBKEY:

  STEEPLE

  NOTE TO GENERAL MAVERY ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE HIGH-ENERGY XRAY PLATFORM (HEXPLAT)

  Work is progressing swiftly toward launch of a prototype platform. Current estimates suggest we will be able to identify, acquire, and kill individual missiles with 95% confidence at a rate of five targets per second per platform. This is equivalent to wiping out the entire Soviet ballistic force in three minutes with two HEXPLAT platforms.

  "I have known for many years that this day would come, when the cure for mutant II cancers would be uncovered." Yes, he had known it would come, for he had known Steve would bring it, even without Max's help.

  "We have to tell him, Max," Tina chided. "He's a good man; he can take it."

  Max squeezed her hand. "I know he can. But, God, how I hate to do this to him. His whole world will be wiped out."

  They came at last to the door of Max and Steve's apartment. They entered. Steve sat upon the couch, a guitar in his hands, softly singing melancholy songs. He glanced up as they opened the door. "Howdy," he said, interrupting himself.

  "Hi, Steve." Max cleared his throat.

  Steve looked back and forth between the two of them. "Is something wrong?"

  Tina started forward, unlocking her hand from Max's; somehow, it was uncomfortable to hold hands in Steve's presence. "We've got a couple of announcements, Steve."

  "I see." He put the guitar aside, and sat up, cross-legged. "So?"

  Max took a deep breath. "First off, I'm moving out of the apartment." He took Tina in his arms. "We're getting married."

  Steve turned away. "I see," he choked out. He turned back, blinking his eyes. "Well, I sorta knew this was coming anyway. It would be sorta hard to miss it, wouldn't it?"

  Max didn't say anything. Sure, Steve had known, academically, that Max had won the girl they both loved, but only now did Steve feel it in his gut. I almost wish it were the other way around, Max thought. I'd rather suffer myself than to have you, my best friend, suffer.

  "Well, at least I'll still see you every day on the project," Steve said, making a half-hearted effort at a joke. But both Max and Tina turned away when he said it. Steve's voice turned panicky. "We will still see each other on the project, won't we?"

  Max covered his face with his hands. "No," he mumbled.

  Steve stood up. "What did you say, Max?"

  "I said . . . we won't see you on the project." He forced himself to speak clearly. "Steve, Jason offered me a job, a while ago. I—"

  "Jason! That creep!" Steve stomped across the room. "You're not letting him tell you how to run your life, are you? Did you let his goddam willies infect you, about mankind's survival and all that bilge?" He held up his hands. "Not that we aren't in a lot of trouble, don't get me wrong. But Jason's so sure he knows exactly what the problems are and exactly what to do to solve them, and he's full of it! You see that, don't you?"

  Max started to step back, then held his ground. "He's not full of it, and you know it."

  "So you're just gonna walk out on six years of our lives, all the plans we made, all the promises we made?"

  Max stared stonily into the distance. "I'm sorry, Steve. Yes. I'm just going to walk out."

  Steve stepped back, too shocked to be angry. But the anger came back, a burning anger that flushed his whole complexion. "Then get out," he spat. "You think our project is dead, just because you're a traitor, but it's not. I don't care what you and Jason think of it. Our idea is a good one. I'll complete the work we started. I'll show you." He walked to the door. "I wish you'd never met Jason." He sobbed. "I wish I'd never introduced you to Tina."

  "But people have shouted down every effort to make the world safer. The whole world ranted against the birthright lottery. All of America turned its back on the space program." Max choked with rage. "And the space program was the only program in the world that might have put people safely beyond the reach of the GHOL. But we destroyed it in the name of the safety net— never admitting that mankind's only true safety net is continued progress."

  "Surely you can see that, over the long haul, the space program is the only thing that can save us." Max wanted to make it a plea, but he dared not show weakness in front of Senator Kelvane; that would be fatal.

  Though it might be fatal just to have to talk to the senator; Kelvane knew that he had won, if Max asked to see him personally.

  Kelvane snorted. "You fellahs an' your long hauls," he said with the Southern drawl he was so proud of. "I've got enough trouble with today an' tomorrow." He jabbed a slim finger at Max; Max couldn't help thinking it ought to be a fat cigar with smoke pouring off, to match the classical image of a politician.

  But it wasn't. Kelvane was a classical politician—not a statesman—but he was smooth, like fine bourbon.

  "Y'all have a long haul of time to pay for your long- haul solutions. Now my constituency needs things they can see in their lifetimes."

  "Senator, the space program budget is so trivial compared to the Social Security budget—destroying the space program will have absolutely no impact on the current budgetary problems."

  Kelvane just shook his head. "Boy, it don't matter one bit whether it helps or not. It's the signal it makes that's important. Cutting off all the silly games lets the people see that we are making all the sacrifices we can to correct the problems."

  Max had already lost; he let his fury take control. "You're killing the whole human race for the sake of a few voters!"

  The senator smiled; it was still a smooth smile, but it was ugly. "Why, no, son. I'm killing you for the sake of me. Big difference there." The senator rose to go. "If you were Jason Masino, things might be different." Kelvane's eyes filled with a strange combination of feelings: a bit of fear, a deep awe, and a profound, even compassionate, concern. Somewhere, sometime, Jason had touched him.

  But the touch was too long ago; the look faded, and the senator went for the throat. "But you aren't him. Not by a long shot."

  Max hated him for a time, but that feeling faded, too; there were so many others like him it wasn't worth wasting the energy.

  Eventually, of course, the future became the present, more swiftly for Senator Kelvane than for many. Kelvane was in San Diego when the SALO completed their crude, hand-made nuclear device. They lit it off in the hotel adjacent to the auditorium where Kelvane was speaking to the assembled governors. Kelvane's last moments were spent a hundred meters from ground zero of a twenty-four-kiloton explosion.

  "The world is not yet ready for American medical technology; not even America is ready for the banishment of disease.

  "But some day we will be ready. Some day we will have a defense against the GHOL. When it's impossible for us to kill ourselves on impulse, we will be able to save lives impulsively. But until then we must discipline ourselves, and hold the technology of even longer life in abeyance." Was that concept too sophisticated to be pi
tched to the American public—the idea that sometimes one technology dare not be brought to life until after some other technology arrived to solve the problems of the first? He prayed it was not; but he heard Jason's ghost laughing nevertheless.

  Jason sipped a cup of coffee; as Jason said, coffee was his only vice, except for sugar cookies. "Tell me, Max, is there anything you would not do, anything you would not sacrifice, to guarantee Man's survival?"

  Max finished buttering his toast and glanced at Jason. He knew he should think carefully before answering, but he thought he already had thought carefully. "I don't think so."

  "I see. I asked, because we have a new problem."

  Max's stomach tightened.

  "They're building a new weapon, Max, that's impervious to the HEXPLAT."

  "Who? How?"

  Jason shook his head "I don't know, Max. But somebody is."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because that's the way people are. There are millions of men employed in the world for the purpose of finding better ways to kill people. One of them will succeed."

  Jason had fallen off the deep end this time. Max threw up his hands in exasperation. "So what are we supposed to do about it? We'll have to deal with it when the time comes."

  "Can we afford to wait until the time comes, Max? How likely is it that Steve will complete his research?"

  Max swelled with pride. "He'll do it, Jason. Just a few more years: he's licked all the hard problems. The work he won the Nobel Prize for answered most of our toughest biological questions. There are still difficulties, technology-wise, but he'll beat them all."

  "That reminds me, Max. Have you talked to Steve lately?"

  Max looked away. "No. I wrote him a letter, congratulating him on his Nobel, but . . ." He choked.