Ron grunted in disbelief and his hand tightened on his Gyrojet.
But Forry shook his head. "Let them alone," he said. "The Graf doesn't have any teenagers in his outfit. His need is for experienced professionals." He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Carry on, kid."
"Yes, sir."
Hamp and Max had joined the Wobbly contingent as they entered the building, three of the guards going ahead.
Max said to Roy Cos, "We're the delegates from the Anti-Racist League."
Roy shook hands. "I suppose you know my name," he said. "And this is Forrest Brown, my business manager."
"Max Finklestein and Horace Hampton," Max introduced them.
"The meeting's on the third floor," Forry said nervously. "Let's get going."
Ron and Les got into the elevator alone and rode up, to check out the way. The other guards packed around Roy and Forry, waiting.
Roy looked over at Hamp wanly and said, "A helluva way to live."
The black nodded. The other was right. The elevator returned.
On the third floor, Ron and Les were waiting. The whole group proceeded to a hall down the corridor from which sounds were emanating. They were evidently a bit late.
Two members of the Synthesis committee were at the door checking credentials. Roy Cos, on the face of it, hardly needed them, but he went through the motions of proving himself a delegate from the Wobblies. Max presented a letter identifying himself and Horace Hampton.
The meeting was a bore, doomed to failure from its inception. The Synthesis group, which had proposed it, was obviously sincere in its desire to unite all the radical elements but, as Hamp whispered to Max Finklestein, sincerity alone was dull as dishwater.
There were perhaps thirty-five present, including the Synthesis committee, the bodyguards, and various delegates. The leading representatives were those from the Wobblies, the Nihilists, the Luddites, and the Libertarians, in addition to the Anti-Racists. The other delegates were from splinter groups and some, splinters from splinters. There was even one representative from an organization evidently unknown to the others, called Technocracy, Incorporated. Going at least a century and a half back, the Technocrats opted for a world government dominated by scientists, engineers, and technicians. He wasn't quite booed down.
A table in front of the hall acted as a rostrum and each delegation was called upon to give the program of its organization. Roy spoke for the Wobblies, Max Finklestein for the Anti-Racist League, a Nils Ostrander for the Nihilists, and a blowsy woman named Bertha Holtz held forth for the Libertarians, who evidently carried high the banner of the new women's lib and that of the gays as well. After these four stars, the splinter groups each had their turn, turns that dealt almost exclusively with hair-splitting.
Hamp and Max had seated themselves next to Roy Cos and Forry Brown, the guards being strategically placed about the room, all standing with their backs to the walls. Hamp spotted Nils Ostrander, who sat next to a younger, very earnest-looking man whose suit was by far the best of any of those present. He also spotted the other person he was looking for, an athletic-looking young fellow in his early twenties. The chairman had introduced him as the sole delegate from one of the smaller organizations back East, of which Hamp had never heard, and suspected that no one else present had either.
By the time each organization had had its say, the chairman was looking distressed; indeed, downright unhappy. He said, "Did anyone else wish to speak?"
Hamp stood and said, "I wouldn't mind doing a little summing up."
He was invited to the table and stood in front of it, rather than behind.
He looked over them, sighed, and said, "This meeting is a farce and I suspect that by this time most of us realize it. It's been a farce because its purpose is unobtainable. The organizations here can't get together because they don't stand for the same things. I can't figure out what some of you do stand for. Everybody here is against something, but damn few are for anything. Cos's Wobblies at least have a program, whether or not it's valid, but the Nihilists proudly announce that they haven't. All they want to do is tear down the present social system without having anything definite to replace it. The Libertarians want to reform the present Welfare State by granting more GAS for all proles, by pushing through still further rights for women and gays. They aren't interested in complete change, just reform. The Luddites want to turn the wheels of progress backwards. They want to destroy modern technology and return to the days before automation and computerization, when all of the labor force was needed in production, distribution, and services. The trouble is that you can't uninvent things any more than you can unscramble eggs. We of the Anti-Racist League have only one thing in common with the Luddites: our interest isn't in overthrowing
People's Capitalism and neither is theirs. Neither is it the interest of the Libertarians. In fact, in the ranks of anti-racists are some who are wealthy and have an interest in maintaining the status quo, save on the racial question. You see, none of us stands for the same thing. We can't unite."
The audience stirred, some muttering among themselves.
Nils Ostrander, the delegate from the Nihilists, was on his feet angrily. "That's defeatism! Quite a few of us stand for the complete dismemberment of the welfare state. We ought to get together to pull this rotten system down."
More mutterings and still more agitation. The saturnine Max Finklestein was looking at his companion in amusement.
Hamp said deliberately, "I've done a lot of wondering about the Nihilists. You are a continuation of the terrorists of the late 20th century, such as the Symbiosis Army here in the States, and the Sekigun, the so-called Red Army of Japan, and similar groups in Germany and Italy. Anti-establishment, but pro-what? And, given the viewpoint of those who opt for the status quo, you serve a very definite need. Whether you want to be or not, you serve as agents provocateurs. The assassinations and kidnappings laid at your door serve to turn sincere people of good will away from any movement that proclaims the need for fundamental change. People are repelled by what you do in the name of radicalism, which puts a chip on their shoulders about all revolutionary groups— including the Wobblies, who foreswear force and violence and want to make their changes through legal means. In short, you're the kiss of death to all the movements represented here tonight. If there was no such organization as the Nihilists, it would be to the interest of such outfits as the United Church, the IABI, the World Club and, for that matter, Mercenaries, Incorporated, to start one. They use you to louse up the image of anybody advocating change."
"That's a lie!" Ostrander yelled in indignation.
"Is it?" the black said emptily. "Let me give an example. Recently, the multimillionaire World Club man, Harold Dunninger, managed to get himself on the shitlist of the United Church, as well as in the bad graces of some of the higher-echelon members of the World Club. Names? Harrington Chase, Moyer of the IABI, and Lothar von Brandenburg, the Graf, who was anxious to take the place scheduled for
Dunninger in the top ranks of the World Club. Obviously it wouldn't do for Dunninger to be eliminated by one of the Graf's men. So the job was delegated to the Nihilists and the blame put on them."
"That's a lie, you bastard!"
"I$o, it isn't, Ostrander. You engineered it yourself. You're a mole in the Nihilists, an agent of the Graf."
The Nihilist delegate was gaping at him, his face white, only partially in anger. His younger companion seated next to him was eyeing him strangely.
Hamp shrugged in contempt. "You pretended it was a kidnapping to raise funds for your organization but you put the ransom so high there was no chance of it being met. Then you killed him, per orders of the Graf. I don't have the proof with me here tonight, but now that I've made the charge, I have no doubt that your fellow Nihilists will look into the matter."