After the guy left, Vargas turned to Lupe, grinning. He was very happy about the bribe, even though he would have voted yes on Proposition One anyhow. But bribes were traditional in elections—he knew that from the history books, to say nothing of the oral tradition. Vargas would have felt unliked and neglected if General Gatt had not thought him worth the bother to bribe.
He wanted to explain this to Lupe but she was a little dense, tending not to understand the niceties. But what the hell, she looked great in her pink satin whore’s nightgown.
“Come in, old boy, come in!” That was Gatt’s voice, booming out into the anteroom. Vargas had just arrived and given his name to the prune-faced clerk in the ill-fitting Battle Rangers uniform, clerical division.
It was gratifying to Vargas that Gatt asked for him so soon after his arrival. He would not have liked to cool his heels out in the waiting room, even though he would have been in good company. General Lin was there, having just secured China and Japan for Gatt’s All-Earth Defensive League. General Leopold was there, plump and ridiculous in his complicated uniform copied from some South American general’s fantasy. He had completed the conquest of South America as far south as Patagonia. Below that, who cares? Generalissimo Reitan Dagalaigon was present, the grim-faced Extremaduran whose Armada de Gran Destructividad had secured all of Europe west of the Urals. These were famous men whose names would live in history. Yet he, Vargas, was ushered into Gatt’s private office before all the rest of them.
John Odoacer Gatt was tall with flashing eyes and a charismatic manner. He showed Vargas to a seat and poured him a drink and laid out two lines for him without even asking. Gatt was known as an imperious entertainer.
“We’ve won the war, buddy,” Gatt said to Vargas. “The whole thing. All of it. Everything. It’s the first time in the history of mankind that the entire human race has been under a single command. It is an unprecedented opportunity.”
Vargas blinked. “For what?”
“Well,” Gatt said, “for one thing, we are finally in a position to bring peace and prosperity to the human race.”
“Wonderful ideals, sir.”
“Actually,” Gatt said, “I’m not so sure how we can turn a profit on this.”
“Why do you say that, mi general?”
“It has been a long and costly war. Most countries’ economies are wrecked. It will be a long time before things can be put straight. Many people will go hungry, maybe even starve. It’ll be difficult even for the military to turn a buck.”
“But we knew all this,” Vargas said. “We discussed this in detail during the war. Of course there will be a difficult period of recovery. How could it be otherwise? It may take a hundred years, or even longer. But we are humans, and under the stable rule of the military we will recover and bring universal prosperity to all.”
“That, of course, is our dream,” Gatt said. “But suppose we could speed it up? Suppose we could go directly to the next stage? Suppose we could move directly from this, our victory, to prosperity for everyone on Earth? Wouldn’t that be splendid, Getulio?”
“Of course, of course,” Vargas said. John Odoacer Gatt was getting him a little nervous. He didn’t know what this was leading up to. “But how could this be possible?”
“Let’s talk more about it after the vote tomorrow,” Gatt said.
The delegates’ voting room was a large and circular chamber equipped with comfortable chairs and a cluster of overhead lighting. In the center was a circular stage that revolved slowly so that those in the center would by turns be facing all the delegates. On the platform was the steering committee for the first provisional and temporary world military government.
The generals, Vargas included, voted in a brisk and unanimous manner to disenfranchise all civilians outside of those few approved ones already assembled at the delegate hall. The civilians were stripped of the vote, habeas corpus, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution, and all other liberal encumbrances until such time as they could be relied upon to vote in a prescribed manner. This was a very important measure because the military had found out long ago that civilians were inherently untrustworthy and even traitorous.
Next the generals faced the serious question of disarmament, or, as they called it, unemployment. Disarmament meant there would be hard times ahead because war on Earth was finished as a business since everybody was now under a unified command and there was no one to fight. None of the generals liked the idea of giving up war entirely, however, and General Gatt said there might be a way around that and promised there would be an announcement about that later.
The conference ended with a good cheer and boisterous camaraderie among the various military satraps. Vargas very much enjoyed the reception afterwards, where Lupe made a big hit in her blue, yellow and red ball gown.
After the reception, General Gatt took Vargas aside and asked to meet him tomorrow morning at eight hundred hours sharp at the Ground Zero Motor Pool.
“I have a proposition to put to you,” Gatt said. “I think you will find it of interest.”
Vargas, accompanied by Lupe, was at the Ground Zero Motor Pool at the appointed hour. That morning he was wearing his sash of Commander in the Legion of Death, and also his campaign medals from the sacking of New York. He’d come a long way from when he was a mere bandit’s apprentice.
Soon they were speeding out of the city into the flat desert countryside. It was a time of blooming, and there were many little wild flowers carpeting the desert floor with delicate colors.
“This is really nice,” Vargas said.
“It used to belong to some Indian tribe,” the driver said. “I can never remember which one. They’re all gone now to Indianola.”
“What’s that?”
“Indianola is the new industrial suburb in Mississippi where we’re relocating all the Indians in America.”
“They used to be all scattered around the country, didn’t they?” Vargas asked.
“They sure did,” the driver said. “But it was sloppy that way.”
“Seems a pity, though,” Vargas said. “Indians have been in the country a long time, haven’t they?”
“They were always griping anyhow,” the driver said. “Don’t worry, they’ll get used to our way of doing things.”
The secret installation was in a tangle of hills some thirty miles west of Ground Zero. General Gatt came out of his temporary headquarters to greet Vargas. There was a pretty young woman with him. Gatt had thoughtfully brought along his mistress, a young lady named Lola Montez—not the original one, a relative, these names tend to run in the family—who immediately put her arm in Lupe’s and took her away for cigarettes, dope, coffee, bourbon, and gossip. Generals’ mistresses are good entertainers and it’s traditional for the military to be hospitable.
Once the two generals were alone, they could settle down to business. First some small talk about how the armed forces security groups were successfully doing away with anyone who felt that things should be handled in a different way. Most of these malcontents were quiet now. It was amazing what the Central Committee had been able to do in the way of cleaning things up.
“It’s a beginning,” General Gatt said. “These ideas of social perfectability have been around as long as there has been a military. But this is the first time we’ve had all the soldiers on our side.”
General Vargas asked, “What are you going to do about local groups who want to do their own thing or worship their own gods—that sort of stuff?”
“If they really want freedom, they can join the military,” Gatt said. “Our fighting men enjoy perfect freedom of religion.”