"I feel Mr. Yamada has stated our position adequately," Becker intoned. "And I for one do not feel like continuing this discussion."
He rose, Wilson following suit.
"We're leaving now, gentlemen. Shoot if you feel it will do any good."
23
"This still seems strange."
"What does?" Judy turned from gazing out the taxi window to direct her attention to him.
"Dictating terms to the government. It's weird. I mean, as long as I've been working, the corporations have bitched about government controls and chafed under the rules. Sometimes we bought our way into some favorable legislation and sometimes we just moved our operations to a more favorable climate. But just telling them...that's weird."
"Look at it like the Magna Carta."
"The which?"
"History...medieval Europe. A bunch of the lorded barons, the fat cats of the era, got together and forced the king to sign a document giving them a voice in government."
"Is that what we're doing?"
"In a manner of speaking. Look, love, any system of government involves voluntary acceptance of that authority. Once the populace decides they don't want to play along, the Lord High Muckity-Mucks are out of luck."
"Except in a communist police state."
"Including a communist police state. If the people aren't happy or at least content, they're going to take things into their own hands and trample you."
"But if anyone mouths off you can just take them out and shoot them."
"If enough people are upset, you're in trouble. You can't shoot them all. And who's going to do the shooting? If things are out of hand, odds are the military won't follow your lead either."
"It still seems unnatural."
"It's the most natural thing in the world. Ignore governments for a minute. look at any power structure. Look at the beginning of the unions. The fat cats had all the cards. It was their football. But when conditions got bad enough, the workers damn well dealt themselves in whether the fat cats liked it or not."
"But the unions are only a minor power now."
"Right, because they're no longer necessary. Business finally wised up to the fact that keeping the workers happy is the key to success. The conditions that caused the unions to form and justified their existence disappeared, and people started wondering what they were paying their dues for. Just like the corporations are asking what they're paying taxes for. You can't force a loyalty to any system. It's either there or it isn't. Inertia maintains the status quo, but once the tide turns there is no stopping it."
"You make this sound liked take-over."
"Effectively it is. The only reason the governments still exist today is because they do a lot of scut work the corporations don't want to dirty their hands with. But anything we want, we've got. They tried to assert their authority and proved that they don't have any."
"So where do we go from here?"
"We go in there." She pointed through the window at the large steel and glass building as the taxi pulled over to the curb. "As delegates to the First United Negotiations Council, the most powerful assemblage the free world has ever seen-every major corporation and industrial group gathered to decide how we want the world to run."
As they started up the stairs, she drew close to him.
"Stay close to me, huh;"
"Nervous? After that talk in the car, I thought you were ready to take on anyone in the council."
"It's not the council, it's them."
She nodded at the mercenaries lounging around the lobby, their hard eyes betraying the casual manner with which they checked the delegates' ID's.
"Them? C'mon, sweetheart, those are our heroes; without them, where would we be now?"
"I still don't like them; they're animals."
She quickened her step, and Fred had to hurry to keep up.
"How about that?"
"What?" Tidwell drifted over to the mezzanine railing to see what Clancy was ogling.
"That little bit of fluff with the old geezer-rough life, huh?"
"Nice to know what our fighting is for, isn't it-so some fat cat can bring his chippie along to meetings with him."
"Don't short-sell them, Steve. They fight as hard as we do. Just in different ways."
"I suppose." Tidwell turned away and lit another cigarette, leaning back against the railing.
"What's eating you today, Steve? You seem kinda on edge?"
"I dunno. I keep getting the feeling something's about to happen."
"What?"
"I dunno. Maybe it's just nerves. I'm not used to just standing around."
"Just the wind-down after being in the field so long. You'll get over it."
They stood in silence for a few moments. Then Tidwell eased off the railing, and ground out his cigarette in an ashtray.
"Clancy, what do you know about samurai?"
"Not much. They were bad-ass fighters as individuals, but not much as an army."
"Do you know what happened to them?"
"No. Outmoded when gunpowder came in, I guess."
"Wrong-they got done in by a change in the system."
"How's that?"
"Well, they were professional bodyguards when Japan was essentially a bunch of small countries each lorded over by a warlord. Anyone who was wealthy and landed maintained a brace of samurai to keep his neighbors from taking it all away from him. The constant raiding and feuds kept them busy for quite a few generations. Then the country became united under one emperor who extended his protection over the whole shebang. All of a sudden the samurai were unnecessary and expensive, the clans were disbanded, and they were reduced to beggars and outlaws."
"And you're worried about that happening to us?"
"It's a possibility."
"There are other options."
"Such as?"
"Well, for openers..."
"Wait a minute." Tidwell was suddenly alert and moving along the railing. A group of some twenty mercenaries had just entered and were standing just inside the glass doors.
"Who are those men?" Tidwell leaned on the railing and craned his neck, trying to see a familiar face in the group.
"They're our relief."
"Relief? What relief? We're supposed to be on guard for another..." He stopped abruptly.
Clancy was holding his favorite derringer leveled at him, the bore immense when viewed from the front.
"What's this?"
"It'll all be clear in a few minutes. In the meantime, just take my word that those men are here with peaceful intentions."
"Who are they?"
"Some of the guys from my old outfit."
"Your old outfit? You mean during..."
"During the Russo-Chinese War, right. The C-Block is about to break their communications silence, and we're delivering the message."
"Since when did you work for the C-Block?"
"Never stopped."
"I see. Well, now what?"
"Now you tell the guards they're relieved. Tell 'em it's bonus time off or something, but make it sound natural. My men have been briefed on you and your team and will be watching for anything out of line."
"I thought you said this was peaceful."
"It is, but we don't want anyone going off halfcocked before we have our say."
"So all I have to do is dismiss the men."
"Right. But stick around. I think you'll find this kinda interesting."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
If Fred had not been already bored with the opening comments from the chairman pro tem, he probably would not have noticed the mercenaries entering the auditorium, but curiosity made him watch first leisurely, then with growing interest as the patterns formed. Four of them spreading quietly along the back walkway. Three more appearing in the balcony. Fred straightened slightly. Were the two by the door holding weapons on the stone-faced mercenary leaning against the back wall?
Something was up. What was it? Had an assassin been infiltrated into the meeting? A bomb threat?