Remo wandered back into the Student Union, glancing at the menu in the cafeteria. Enough starch content to stiffen the living. He took a glass of water and sat down in a booth near some students who, like many youngsters and older lunatics, had solutions to problems of the world. Invariably these solutions required levels of mass morality that would shame a saint. These levels of morality, to be immediately adopted by mankind, were usually introduced by words such as "merely" or "just," such as "If only the police would just stop looking at brick throwers as enemies," or, "If everyone would merely stop thinking of their own self-interest," and, "Blacks just have to get together and think as one."
Remo sipped the water. The youngsters in the next booth had narrowed the solutions to man's problems down to one. "Merely have everyone think of himself as part of one world family." The methods for achieving this world salvation somehow included, as its initial action, emptying garbage cans at Fayerweather Hall.
Remo closed his eyes for a moment. Had he been wrong about Patton College? Had the three skyjackers lied? He thought back to the plane, and tried to rebuild the scene in his mind. Seventy persons, terrified hostages. Four skyjackers, all with weapons. In his mind, he looked around the plane's cabin. Nothing. Rows of seats. An old wheelchair propped against the wall in the back. Stewardesses looking tired and tweety. But he should have found out how they got the weapons' aboard. And he should have found out why the plane had gone on to L.A. Sure, Smith wanted Remo to deliver the money. But the hijackers had control of that. If they had told the pilot, land here or get your brains blown out, he would have landed. Why had they agreed to L.A.? It was almost as if it had been part of their plan. But why? He should have asked. He should have asked a lot of things. But he was sure of one thing. They had not lied about Patton College. Fear was the greatest truth serum of them all. So where the hell was the training site? Remo let his mind wander and as he did, universal peace seemed easier. Maybe he could start it by throwing an egg at the dean of women or something. Then he felt the vibrations of someone sitting down.
"Bastards. The bastards," said a young girl.
Remo opened his eyes. A pert-faced girl surrounded by a strong shag cut of blonde hair was sitting across the table. She was crying.
"The bastards."
"What's the matter?"
"The bastards. They won't let me get a word in edgewise."
"That's too bad," said Remo without enthusiasm.
"They never let me say anything. Especially when I have something good. Robert and Carol and Theodore always do all the talking and I never get a chance. I had something very good. Excellent. But no one would let me say it. They just didn't ask if I had something and they could see, if they looked close, that I had something to say."
"Oh" said Remo.
"Yes," said the girl, taking a paper napkin from a metal holder on the table between her and Remo. "I had a wonderful plan. All you have to do for a revolution is to kill the millionaires and the policemen. Without policemen, there'd be no police brutality. Without millionaires, there'd be no capitalism."
"Uh, who's going to do all this killing?"
"The people," said the girl.
"I see. Anyone in particular?"
"You know, the people," said the girl, as if everyone knew who the people were. "Blacks and poor."
"Just in America?"
"No. The Third World throughout."
"I see. And what will you be doing?"
"I'll help lead it, but I'll step aside for Third World leadership. I'll be the catalyst to help bring it about."
"What if they don't let you get a word in edgewise?"
"Oh, no. Third World people are nice. They're not like Robert or Carol or Theodore."
"You think a Zulu chief is going to let you outline his future for him?"
"The tribal chiefs of Africa are only a remnant of neo-colonial exploitation and we'll have to remove them too."
"I see. What, if anything, do you learn here at Patton?"
"History and political science. But it's really irrelevant I just cram for the exams to get an establishment piece of paper that says I'm legally allowed to teach. I mean, the paper won't make me any better a teacher. But you know the establishment."
Remo toyed with the water glass.
"You're probably very proud of the hijackers ... the revolutionaries who were killed recently."
"Are you part of it?" asked the girl, her button brown eyes widening in excitement.
Remo winked.
"Gee, I didn't think anybody hardly knew they came from here. I mean, they weren't students. You're not a cop, are you?"
"Do I look like a cop?" said former Patrolman Remo Williams.
"Gee, I don't know, man, you could be. I mean, your hair isn't long or anything."
Remo suddenly became very interested in the girl as a person. He asked her name. It was Joan. Joan Hacker, but Remo said that was the wrong name. She was starlight. She was truly starlight. Joan thought that was corny. Remo touched her arm and smiled. She thought Remo had a nice smile, but he could still be a cop. He smiled and listened. Starlight's father was a chemical engineer. He was a male chauvinist pig oppressor who revoked her American Express card and went pigging around, begging for approval and gratitude, just because he footed the bill for this bourgeois irrelevant institution. Starlight's mother was an un-liberated woman who refused to be liberated no matter how hard Starlight tried.
Starlight's roommate was a nosy, aloof bitch who did nothing but paint her body to be attractive to male chauvinist pigs. Starlight's professors, except for her sociology teacher, were backward bourgeois nincompoops. Her sociology teacher had given her an A because of her term paper on how to conduct a successful revolution. Starlight's greatest ambition was to fight for the Viet Cong but since her father had revoked her American Express card, she couldn't afford the airfare.
Starlight was for all oppressed people and against oppressors. Starlight's bust was a 38-D. Did Remo know that Starlight had taken the pill since she was sixteen?
Starlight was outlining what America and the world really needed, later that afternoon in her dormitory room, when Remo gave her what she needed. Three times.
Remo pressed her young nude body to his and waited for an expression of gratitude. Instead, he felt her hand run to reactivate the pleasure maker. She wanted more. She got more. Two more.
"You really know how to get things started," said Starlight.
"Started?" said Remo.
"You're going to stop?" asked Starlight.
"No," said Remo and by nightfall, Starlight finally believed he was not a policeman. She lay cuddled in him arms, kissing him shoulder.
"I believe in the revolution," Remo whispered in her ear.
"Do you? Do you really?"
"Yes," said Remo. "I think the heroes who died in the airplane to free oppressed people are Patton's greatest contribution to civilization."
"They really weren't matriculated," said Joan Hacker. "One took night school courses and the others weren't students."
"Go on," said Remo, in amazement "You didn't know them?"
"I did, too. I supplied the coffee and food. I paid for the lunch."
"The lunch?"
"Sure. It came out of my allowance but I considered it an honour. I suffered for the revolution."
"They had only one lunch?"
"How many lunches can you eat in one day?"