Richardson was a thin-lipped professorial type with a dry, pedantic manner. He ran his hands through his thinning hair and said, “I’ve been thinking of three or four separate multilevel approaches to this thing, Ernie. But I won’t throw them all out on the floor right now. The basic handle is a kiddie-approach. Kiddies and women. Men don’t form their own opinions, anyway. I propose that we assault this thing by filtering anti-Ganymede stuff into the kiddie shows and the afternoon women-slanted videocasts. I’ve drawn up a brief on how to go about it, listing fifteen selected shows and the angle of leverage on each one. Some of the writers are former S and D stablemen. You want to go through the brief now, or file it afterwards?”
Watsinski stirred restlessly. “Better save it for later, Claude. We’re still searching for the broad patterns. Detailed implementation comes later.” Kennedy could see that the second-level man was inwardly displeased that Richardson had come through; Watsinski liked nothing better than to see a staffman squirm and admit he was unprepared. But if you were third-level you just didn’t come unprepared to a meeting with Watsinski.
They went around the table. Haugen had developed a slippery idea for feeding pro-Ganymedean stuff into overseas video shows and newspapers, carefully picking the countries, selecting the ones least in favor in the United States at the moment. Then, via a simple contrast-switch, local opinion could be pyramided on the basic proposition, If they’re for it, we’re gonna be agin it!
Watsinski liked that. Fleischman then offered his ideas: a typically Fleischmanoid product, many-layered and obscure, for grabbing public opinion simultaneously at the college and kindergarten level and letting babes and late adolescents serve as propagandists. Watsinski went for that, too.
Then it was Kennedy’s turn. He tugged nervously at his collar and put his unopened briefcase before him on the table.
“I’ve sketched out a plan that substantially dovetails with the ones we’ve just heard, Ernie. It can be used alongside any or all of them.”
“Let’s have it.”
“In brief, it’s this: we need a straw man, a dummy to set up and kick over. Something to engage local sympathies firmly and finally.”
Watsinski was nodding. Kennedy moistened his lips. He said, “At the moment the only human beings on Ganymede are a couple of dozen Corporation spacemen and scientists. I don’t think there’s a woman or a child on the place. Where’s the human interest in that? Where’s the pathos when we highlight them against the Ganymedeans? Who gives much of a damn about a bunch of Corporation scientists?
“Now,” Kennedy went on, “here’s my suggestion. We start disseminating word of a colony of Earthmen on Ganymede. Volunteers. A couple of hundred chosen people, brave self-sacrificing men, women, and children. Naturally there isn’t any colony there. The Corporation wouldn’t send noncombatants into a militarily unsettled area like Ganymede. But the public doesn’t have to know that If we make the doings of the colony consistent, if we start believing in it ourselves—then the public will believe in it too. And once we’ve got a firm fisthold on their sympathies, we can do anything with them!”
Kennedy had hardly finished speaking when half a dozen hands were in the air. For an instant he thought they were going to laugh him down, but then he saw the way they all looked, and realized his suggestion had inspired them to new heights.
Presslie got the floor and said, “It’s a natural! Why, then we can follow through by having the Ganymedeans wipe out this colony. It’s a sure bet for engaging sympathy in any sort of necessary police action! Innocent women and children perishing, flames, blood—why, this is the handle we need! Of course I can suggest some modifications, but those can come later.”
Watsinski nodded. “Kennedy seems to have hit on a sharp idea. I’m going to suggest it to Dinoli as our basic line of approach, and build all the other plans around it. Good work, Kennedy. Lund, let’s hear from you, now, I want to kick this all the way round the table.”
6
Later that day, two hours after the meeting had broken up, Kennedy was working at his desk when the phone chimed. He snatched it up and heard Watsinski’s dry voice say, “Kennedy? Ernie here. Can you come over to my place for a few minutes?”
“Be right there, Ernie.”
Watsinski was waiting for him when he came in. The second-level man wore a severely funereal business-suit and a glistening red wig. He smiled perfunctorily and beckoned Kennedy to a seat.
“I took up your suggestion with Dinoli,” he said immediately, without preface. “The old man loved it. He thinks it’s great. So did Kauderer, McDermott, and Poggioli. We had a quick vote on it just before lunch.”
Stiffly Kennedy said, “I’m glad to hear it went over, Ernie.”
Watsinski nodded. “It went over. Dinoli spent half of lunch talking to Bullard—he’s Mr. Big over at the Corporation, you know. They were mapping out the strategy. Dinoli is using your plan as the core of the whole thing.”
Kennedy felt a self-satisfied glow. Dammit, it was good to know your voice counted for something around this place. It was always so easy to think you were just a puppet being pushed around by the top-level men with the same ease that you pushed the vast inchoate public mind around.
“I hit a good one, huh, Ernie?”
“You did.” Watsinski leaned back and permitted some warmth to enter his face. “I’ve always liked you, Ted. I think you’ve got the stuff for second-level. You know what it takes—dogged persistence plus off-beat ingenuity. That isn’t an everyday combination of traits. We’ve got guys who come up with off-beat ideas—Lund, for instance, or Whitman, or sometimes that kid Spalding. But they don’t have the push to implement their notions. And then we get the kind like Haugen, the solid pluggers who never make mistakes but who never come up with anything new or fresh either. Well, we need both types down on third-level. But second-level takes something else. I’ve got it. So do Poggioli and McDermott and Kauderer. I think you have it too, Ted.”
“It’s good to hear you say that, Ernie. I know you don’t go soaping people up.”
Watsinski inclined his red wig forward. “This is strictly, off the record, Ted. But Frank Poggioli is talking about pulling out of S and D and taking a big network job in video. I know he and Dinoli hashed it out, and Dinoli’s willing to let him go.”
“The Chief always likes to have his graduates high up in the networks,” Kennedy said.
“Sure. Well, in case Poggioli goes, someone’ll have to be kicked up to second-level to fill the vacancy. Dinoli also took that up with me this morning. It’s between Haugen and Presslie and you. But Presslie’s fresh out of fourth-level and I know McDermott’s afraid to move anybody up too fast; and they think Haugen’s too stodgy. I’m putting my support back of you. That business this morning helped me make up my mind.”
“Thanks, Ernie. Thanks.” Kennedy wondered why Watsinski was bothering to tell him all this.
Watsinski let his eyes droop quietly closed, and when he opened them again they seemed to be veiled. “Okay. Enough if-talk, Ted. I just wanted you to know where you stand in the agency. I hate to see a man feel insecure when he’s in a good position.” Watsinski frowned. “You know, there are guys in this agency who don’t have the right spirit, and I wish we could root them the hell out of here. Guys who aren’t loyal. Guys who don’t have the right ideas. Guys whose minds are full of cockeyed garbage served up by antisocial creeps. You know these guys better than I do; you see them through clearer focus. As a prospective second-level man you ought to start thinking about these guys and how we can weed them out. You ought to let me know if you spot any thinking of a negative type. Okay, Ted?”