David's Sling (19 page)

Trapped! She was trapped by the Parkway, just as Daniel would soon have the Zetetic Institute trapped. She had finally penetrated the murky complexity of the Wilcox Morris data bases, and she knew why Daniel wanted to meet Uncle Nathan. She knew who else would be there when Daniel met him, and she knew the inevitable consequences of that meeting.

She had to warn Uncle Nathan before he got to the Capitol for Senator Obata's book announcement. If she didn't—

Her leg drove against the clutch pedal as if that forward pressure could somehow be translated into motion. But neither her fury nor her determination could budge the megatons of steel blocking her way.

Charles slid his glasses along his nose as he leaned back in his judges chair, stretching his legs beneath his desk. He contemplated the amusing possibilities for his future relationships with the Zetetic Institute.

He saw three potential futures. One, the most absurd, was that the Institute would simply come back and tell him that the Sling Project could not be run the way Charles demanded. In that case, he could simply cancel the project for cause and move the funding associated with it to one of his other projects. Of course, the sums of money he had picked up with the Sling Project were mere niblets compared with the fortunes already invested in FIREFORS, but every little bit helped.

The second possible future was that Nathan would agree to militarize the Sling's Hunters. That might generate some very interesting results. The Sling was popular in some circles, and Charles might well be able to soak up considerable quantities of next year's Federal budget working on such a modified project. And though he had enjoyed defeating the Institute in this small campaign, he held no grudges against them. If they played along with his goals as program manager of FIREFORS, he would be delighted to hand them a few contracts.

Frankly, he didn't understand Nathan's hostility to building a bigger, more expensive system. How could you grow a reputation in defense except by working on big projects? And big projects, by definition, spent big sums of money. Charles was not merely protecting and enriching his own empire by changing the course of the Sling Project: he was helping the Zetetic Institute as well! Certainly this second possibility was most profitable to both the Institute and to the FIREFORS office.

The third possible future was that Nathan would opt for the commercial approach by declaring the Sling systems non-mission-critical. This third possibility was most dangerous. The Sling Hunters fulfilled many of the same functions as other FIREFORS products, yet they would cost less than a tenth as much. The budget-watchers could conclude that the fully militarized systems weren't necessary, and then the FIREFORS budget would be slashed to the bone.

Fortunately, Charles had a solution to that problem, made possible by the very nature of the rules governing non-mission-critical development. Since the commercial version of the Sling would be non-mission-critical, that meant it was less important than mission-critical projects. So the next time Congress came sniffing around for budget cuts, Charles would naturally supply the non-mission-critical project—namely, the Sling—for the axe. By sacrificing this tiny project to the blood suckers, he would be able to protect his larger projects from the knife and could maintain his spending rates unimpaired.

So though the second possible future was most profitable, the third was most ironic: the Sling Project would destroy itself to protect his comprehensive FIREFORS projects—the very projects that the Sling had been designed to destroy.

He almost hoped the third future would prevail.

PAN. His eyes and his camera capture the overblown beauty of the men and women arriving in the Mansfield room of the Capitol. The sweep of the high, ornately carved walls enters his flatcam with sharp clarity; the room's narrow width and length are lost in the growing density of the crowd. Bill understands the purpose of this room, so well suited to optical illusion: with just a handful of people, Senator Obata's press men create the atmosphere of a vast, tightly packed throng.

CUT. Bill catches a short glimpse of himself in a gold- framed mirror above a brass serving table. He blends in perfectly with the crowd. He watches his own smirk as it reflects back from the mirror. No one could guess his intentions. His flatcam, decorated in a simple gold design that neatly camouflages its intricacy, nestles against a small carnation in his lapel.

ZOOM. Senator Hilan Forstil arrives: at last, someone of interest. With casual grace Bill follows as Forstil weaves through the crowd. He stops to talk. Bill recognizes Forstil's companion and smiles seeing his prey: Nathan Pilstrom.

FOCUS. Forstil says, "Nathan Pilstrom. I'm glad to see you. How is the Sling Project?"

CLOSE AND HOLD. Pilstrom grimaces. "Things were fine until early this afternoon. We finally solved all our staffing problems a few weeks ago, and we'd started to catch up our schedule.

"But an hour ago I met Charles Somerset, the program manager of FIREFORS, for the first time." He describes the takeover of the Sling by FIREFORS with fatigued anger. "We'll probably declare the project non-mission-critical, so we can continue with our current design."

Forstil nods. "You know, the FIREFORS position sounds reasonable, as far as militarizing mission-critical items. The essential systems need to be survivable."

"It sounded reasonable to me, too, until I discussed it with Leslie Evans, who's in charge of the systems integration. He pointed out the flaw quite clearly." Pilstrom settles himself into a professor's posture. "Suppose a function is mission-critical. But now suppose that the mil-spec box for this function is so expensive that we can't build enough of them. Then, by definition, the more critical the function is, the less likely we are to get it." Nathan rolls his eyes. "The Sling, in its unmilitarized form, can eliminate the need for tactical nuclear weapons. Isn't that somehow mission-critical?"

SLIDE. A short man standing nearby perks up. He turns to Pilstrom. "Eliminate nuclear weapons? How?"

ROLL. Pilstrom assesses the man as he would assess a delicate goblet, deciding how much information he may pour into this container before it overflows. "There's a long answer and a short answer. The short answer—an answer so short that it's misleading—is that, if we want to eliminate nuclear weapons, all we have to do is build a better weapon."

FOCUS. The man's face falls.

ROLL. Pilstrom continues. "But that's not as horrible as it sounds. Something few people understand is that nuclear bombs make lousy weapons."

The man's expression turns to curiosity, matching Senator Forstil's.

"Remember, the purpose of a weapon is not to obliterate the countryside. The purpose is to stop the enemy. But that's exactly the opposite of the effect of a nuclear blast. Nukes are great for killing farmers for miles around. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to kill a guy driving a tank?"

The short man sputters. "But surely if you drop nukes on a bunch of soldiers you kill a lot of them."

Pilstrom nods. "But fewer than you might think. A nuke is better than ordinary bombs. But if you plant ordinary bombs very carefully—if you increase the informational content of those bombs, and nothing else—only a handful of those ordinary bombs would make a better weapon than a nuclear bomb."

CUT. The gathering crowd around Pilstrom forces Bill to shift position. The room is crammed with people, yet somehow, the densest crowd rings around a small breathing space occupied by Senator Forstil and Nathan Pilstrom.

Forstil speaks. "I grant all that. But I still don't see why we couldn't make the Sling systems mil-spec."

"We shouldn't make the Sling systems mil-spec primarily because that's not the right path to survivability for this system. There are at least two paths to making a system survivable. One is to make it very tough: make it mil-spec. The other alternative is to make it very cheap, so you can make lots of copies. Though every case is different, American history suggests that the second alternative is as viable as the first; indeed, the triumph of America has often rested on the second alternative. Look at our tanks in World War II. The Germans had better tanks, but the American commercial economy had developed mass production methods so powerful that we could pour tanks into the field until we overwhelmed them. Similarly, the German submarines sank four hundred ships in the last year of the war—but America
built
seven hundred! We
buried
them in our productivity."

BACK OFF. Nathan's voice breaks across the room with a forceful confidence that damps out other voices. An eerie silence hushes even the tinkling of the champagne glasses. Bill feels suddenly conspicuous. He accepts a small hors d'oeuvre sprinkled with caviar from the passing waiter. He is not hungry, but he chews it drily and swallows. The caviar leaves a salty aftertaste in his mouth.

ZOOM. "This power of the economy to work for America's defense is the unique strength that made us inconquerable. It's the power that we've lost sight of. It is the power that the Zetetic Institute is trying to restore with the Sling Project—the vitality, the creativity, the effectiveness of the best of our industry." His voice falls to the level of a personal vow. "Societies built around the principles of war have great difficulty learning to turn their swords into plowshares. America, a society built around peace, must always remember how to turn its plowshares into swords."

Another man in the crowd shifts forward just an inch—the distance of a thrust jaw. "If you're so much in love with our free enterprise system, why are you trying to destroy it?"

Pilstrom turns in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

"The Zetetic Institute's the bunch of weirdos who're trying to destroy advertising, isn't it?"

TURN. Bill suppresses a laugh. The man is repeating words from one of his newscasts.

ZOOM. Pilstrom gives a gentle rebuttal that twists Bill's internal laughter to dismay. He replies, "You've heard too many newscasters distorting the truth. We don't want to destroy advertising. We want to destroy
manipulative
advertising. We want to eliminate the kind of advertising that persuades the listener to buy
in spite
of the best information, rather than because of it. We want people to filter the informational content from commercial advertising—and all too often, when an advertisement is run through an informational filter, nothing is left.

"But there are many useful forms of advertising. Come to the Institute, and we'll show you some examples. Good advertising doesn't get enough good advertising these days."

PAUSE. The conversation stops. The crowd seems suspended—not quite ready to abandon the play of strong convictions, but not willing to wait for the conversation to pick up again.

PAN. A tall, immaculately dressed man steps out of the crowd, quickly, gracefully—a silent, defiant presence.

Bill studies the man. His camera captures the charm, but his mind does not quite grasp its source. The man stands with a relaxed straightness, as though looking down from a great height. He is not as handsome as Bill himself; the face is too narrow, the eyes too calculating for that. But only the senator comes close to projecting so much
presence
, and even for the senator, the projection is not effortless. For this man it is inevitable, as natural as breathing.

The intruder speaks. "What you're doing to advertisers isn't half as bad as what you're doing to our civil liberties."

ZOOM. Nathan looks completely baffled. "What do you think we've done to your civil liberties?"

"For one thing, you're attacking our right to smoke."

Nathan laughs, though a nervous catch suggests he wonders if both the criticism and the response are too obvious. "That would be an amazingly inaccurate analysis. Our relationship to liberty is quite the opposite: we're
restoring
people's rights. Two-thirds of the people who smoke don't want to. We help them regain their right to choose. Everyone who comes to our clinics volunteers."

The tall man's eyes hold steady, filled with accusation. "I'm speaking of the tens of thousands of men and women who depend upon the tobacco industry for their livelihoods. You're depriving them of their freedom to earn a living doing what they do best."

"People do their best when creating better ways to live, and better ways to earn livings. Creating something better takes some ingenuity, and a lot of hard work. But the search for better ways to live has been a part of our society since the beginning of the Industrial Age. We don't deprive anyone of their ability to create something better; we enhance it"

"But you can't deny that the end of the tobacco industry would devastate the economy of North Carolina."

"Yes, it would devastate North Carolina—but only if every smoker quit smoking at the same time. No matter what the Zetetic Institute does, that's an unlikely outcome. We couldn't destroy North Carolina even if we wanted to, which we don't."

"I know exactly how you'd do it. You'd destroy us exactly the way you
are
destroying us. You would encourage other anti-smoking groups to attack us more violently, with laws that restrict our freedom."

PAN. Something about the stranger has seemed wrong to Bill since the beginning of the conversation. The stranger speaks of the people who smoke as his own people, yet Bill cannot imagine this graceful, commanding man with a cigarette in his hand. The collision of his mind's image and the camera's image gives Bill a moment of internal discord.

"Only people who don't hear the whole Zetetic message react in that manner."

"But some of them do. Your lectures often fail—and that's your fault as much as the listener's. So the viciousness of the attacks on smokers rises every time your Institute speaks. Or do you deny your responsibility for inciting those attacks?"

ZOOM. Bill realizes that the stranger has made a brilliant jab. Zetetics have a complex concept of responsibility—so complex that it plays out as confusion in short newscasts.

Nathan lowers his head. "No. We know that we can never do just one thing. We accept partial responsibility for creating the tension that promotes those attacks—just as we accept partial responsibility for the extra years of life people earn when they stop smoking."