Alan read and saw all this as he breakfasted, glancing from news-sheet to laservid and constructing all the details of the dramatic, and in some ways tragic, session. He rather sympathized with Benjosef. Perhaps he was old and wise, perhaps he was just old. Simon Powys was only five years younger, but he possessed a forceful vitality that belied his age. Alan observed, judiciously, that Helen Curtis had not actually demanded the President" s resignation, though other members of her party had been vociferous in attacking him. It would not have been diplomatic or polite for a would-be President to ask the current head to step down.
He sighed and finished his coffee-a new brand from which the caffeine had been removed and replaced by a stimulant described as "less harmful." The strange thing was it tasted better, though he would have liked to have denied this.
So now the fight was between his grandfather and his cousin. Would Simon Powys see the light of day at last and ignore the Fireclown issue? As yet, of course, it had not really become an issue. It would take a political battle to make it one. Or would he plug on? Alan had a sad feeling that he would-particularly if Helen drew the Fireclown into her platform.
When he got to the office Carson was looking pale and even less savory than usual. People were not chosen as directors of City Administration for their looks; but at this moment Alan rather wished they had a smiling, pleasant-faced he-man who could cozen the public into realizing the truth of the situation.
"What did B'Ula have to say, sir?" Alan asked.
"I was unable to contact him, Alan. I tried the Works but he must have left as soon as he switched out on you. I tried his private number but his wife said he had not come back. When I tried again later he still wasn't there."
"What was he doing, I wonder?"
"I can tell you. He was broadcasting the news everywhere. Not only broadcasting but elaborating on it.-You can imagine what he said."
"I can imagine what would be said by some. But B'Ula…"
"I've just had Chairman Fou on the line. He says the Council is most disturbed, thinks we should have been able to judge B'Ula better. I pointed out, somewhat obscurely, that they appointed B'Ula. But it seems we're the scapegoats-from the public's point of view and evidently from the Council's."
"The news this morning was so full of 'stormy scenes in the Solar House' that they probably haven't gotten round to us yet," Alan said with mock cheerfulness.
"But doubtless we'll be getting it in an hour or two."
"I expect so. Well, we've still got work to do. I'm going over to Works myself, to see what the men think of the project. If they oppose it as strongly as B'Ula we're going to have trouble with the unions before long."
"What will we do if that happens?"
"Brick up the bloody levels ourselves, I suppose." Carson swore.
"Black labor! " Alan said, shocked. "We'd have a system-wide strike on our hands then.!" It was true.
"I'm hoping the City Council will realize the implications and back down gracefully." Carson walked towards the door. "But they didn't seem as if they were going to, judging by Chairman Fou's tone. Goodbye, Alan. Better stick to something routine until I find out what's happening."
When Alan buzzed for his filing clerk his secretary came in.
He raised an eyebrow. "Where's Levy?"
"He didn't come in this morning, Mr. Powys."
"Is he sick?"
"I don't think so. I heard a rumor he'd asked for his back pay from the cashiers and said something about resigning."
"I see. Then will you bring me the Pedestrian Transport file? Number PV12, I think it is."
As he ploughed through the monotonous work, Alan learned from his secretary that about a quarter of the staff in the C.A. building had not turned up for work that morning. That represented over three hundred people. Where were they all?
It was evident why they had left.
The whole business was growing into a monster. If three hundred people from one building alone could feel so strongly about the Fireclown, how many millions were there supporting him?
To Alan it was incredible. He knew, intuitively, that so many people could not be roused merely because of the proposed closing down of ten virtually unused levels-or, for that matter, give up their jobs in support of the Fire-clown. It must be that the Fireclown represented something, some need in modern mankind which, perhaps, the sociologists would know about. He decided not to ask a sociologist and risk being plied with so many explanatory theories that his mind would be still further confused.
But what was this tenuous Zeitgeist?
Perhaps the world would be in flames before he ever found out. Perhaps, whatever happened, no one would ever really know. He decided he was being too melodramatic. On the other hand, he was extremely disturbed. He had a liking for peace and quiet-one of the reasons why he had rejected the idea of entering politics-and the world's mood was distinctly unpeaceful.
Facing facts, he realized that this was not a localized outbreak, that it would have to grow in magnitude before it died down or ' was controlled. What had his grandfather started? Nothing, really, of course. His move had merely served to bring it out into the open, whatever it was.
But the people's hysteria was increasing, becoming evident everywhere. A hysteria that had not entered the human race since the war scares two centuries earlier. It seemed to have blown up overnight, though perhaps he had seen its beginnings in the worship of the Fireclown, the demand for Benjosef's resignation and other, smaller, incidents that he had not recognized for what they were.
The morning dragged. In the back of his mind something else nagged him until he realized that this was the night when the Fireclown was to hold his "audience."
He felt slightly perturbed at attending it now that public anger seemed to be building to such a pitch, but he had said he would go, promised himself that he would go-and he would.
Carson came back just as Alan's secretary brought him some lunch.
"Any luck?" Alan said, offering his boss a slice of bread impregnated with beef extract. Carson refused it with an irritable wave of his hand, apologizing for his brusque gesture with a slight smile.
"None. Most of the workmen didn't turn up this morning, anyway. The union leaders deny influencing them, but someone has…"
"B'Ula?"
"Yes. He spoke to a public meeting last night, attended by most of the men who work for him. Told them that this victimization of the simple Fireclown was a threat also to their liberty. The usual stuff. And once the news, got round, he wasn't the only one talking and rabble-rousing. At least a dozen others have used the same theme in speeches to incredibly big crowds. They didn't have to do much convincing, either. The crowds were already on their side."
"It's all happened so suddenly." Alan repeated his earlier thoughts aloud. "You wouldn't think a thing like this could grow so fast. People aren't even bothering to speak to their political representatives or beam the City Council."
"That's what's so peculiar. We might have expected angry letters demanding that we call a halt to the project-and if we'd had enough of them we should have had to. That's democracy, after all. I'd really thought the idea of law and order had finally sunk into the human race. Looks as if I was wrong."
"Disproves the Fireclown's cant about 'artificial living' producing 'artificial' men and ideas. The public's chock-a-block with human nature this morning. They seem as hysterical and as bloodthirsty as they ever were."
"Mass neurosis and all that." Carson stared at his thumb, inspecting the nail.
It was dirty. However much he cleaned them, his nails always seemed to get dirty a few moments afterwards.
By mid-afternoon, Carson and Alan were staring in blank incredulity at one another. At least two hundred more people had not come back after lunch. It was useless to attempt continuing work.