Yes, this was the lever he had been looking for. Tools, weapons to battle chaos. Hinduism saw the Universe as a battleground, not so much between good and evil as between order and chaos. With this analytical method and the hyper-commercial he had in mind for the ad campaign, they might succeed.
“Of course we have confidence in your judgment,” said Martell. Damn, Luke Wilson looked about ready to stomp out of the room. This tailored commercial could be the biggest weapon in the campaign, and they needed Wilson to make it work. Siemens had the luck of it, grasping the reins of destiny rather than shepherding worldlines and pampering egos.
“Then what are we doing here?” Luke Wilson looked around the War Room impatiently, nodding at Johnson and Siemens, but glaring at Pete Hoffman, whom Martell had just introduced. “Ann and I can coordinate the ads without… taking your time. And I don’t see a need for another media consultant.”
“Hell, I’m no media consultant,” said Hoffman. He slouched back in his chair, his hand wandering restlessly across the table as if searching for a beer. “I’m strictly a tech-weenie.”
“I’m sorry if I confused things, Luke.” Martell offered his best conciliatory smile. Damn all prima donnas, and double damn conferences and meetings. Martell stole a glance at his watch: ten minutes till noon. It felt like ten till midnight, ten till doomsday. “I worked with Pete on a Cable TV backbone in Dallas; Synergetics did the network design. I have a few questions for him, but let s start with you. You mentioned a ‘roadblock’ the night before the general election. What’s that imply?”
“Standard media term.” The chance to patronize calmed Wilson down. “We buy the exact same time-slot on every major network. With all the channels at the same time, we even get the ad-zappers who switch channels when the commercial starts.”
Martell leaned forward. Wilson was receptive now; time to plant the idea—delicately. “Tell me, Luke, would you use the same ad on every channel?”
“I expect so. Demographic delineation is possible, by the audience typical of each show, but hardly worth cutting separate versions of the ad.”
“But we’ll have much more data than that,” Martell said. “We’ll have individual surveys from millions of households. What if you could pick a version of the ad for each house?”
“If pigs could fly, I wouldn’t go out without an umbrella. You’re not serious, are you?”
“I’m just asking questions. ‘Possible’ is for Mr. Hoffman to say. What do you think, Pete?”
“Switching feeds, real-time? Don’t see how you could do that. Not for millions of units at once.”
“No, I guess you couldn’t do that much switching from the central node,” said Martell. Come on, Pete; grab the ball. He hadn’t dared coach Hoffman in detail, the man wasn’t a good enough actor. “You’ve got to have some trick for the pay-per-view shows, though. How many people signed up for that heavyweight championship last month?”
“That doesn’t happen all at once. People call in for days, and we download the decoding key to their controller.” Hoffman squinted and rubbed his nose. “Say, that might work. Give me a list of who you want to hit with a particular ad, and we could download a program ahead of time to switch their feed. Whatever they tune to, we show them what you pick. Yeah, the chip in the controller is bright enough for that.”
“Wait a minute,” Siemens said. “Telling different things to different folks boils down to lying about my platform.”
“Calm down, Rick,” said Johnson, an amused lilt in her voice. “It’s a matter of emphasis, talking about the part of your platform those voters want to know about. You don’t give the same speech everywhere, you pick it for the audience.”
“Yes,” said Wilson. “This is the same, but much more effective. You’ll be saying to those voters what you would in person—but they’ll think that you’re saying the same thing to the whole state. Powerful.” His eyes gleaming now, he turned to Hoffman. “Pete, could these programs be set to switch back and forth several times, combine segments as they broadcast? To personalize the ad even more?”
Martell allowed himself a satisfied smile. Hook, line, and sinker. This tailored ad could swing the race several percentage points all by itself. Now that Wilson thought of it as his own idea, he’d do a hell of a job.
The conference room was barely more than a closet, but at least it was quiet. “God, that’s a relief,” Siemens said. “How can you think with that racket?”
Ann Johnson laughed, a rich contralto, but her eyes showed worry. “Martell has his polls and fancy screens, I keep an ear on the boiler-room chatter. Here’s your schedule for tomorrow.”
“Speech to the Communication Workers, radio talk show… What’s this house-to-house stuff in the afternoon?”
“Canvassing the precincts, a campaign tradition. Knock on doors, smile real big, ask folks for their vote.”
“Christ, Ann.” Didn’t these folks know the importance of time? “There are millions of households in this state; what’s the point of my stopping by to talk to half a dozen of them?”
“PR, Rick; everything in a campaign is PR.” She tossed her head impatiently. “You visit a few houses, the TV crews get footage. Clip in a sound bite, and it adds balance, makes you more personable. Hundreds of thousands see it on the news. Plus it inspires the volunteers out pounding the streets, like when you spend a few minutes in the boiler room.”
“Encouraging the troops is something I understand.” He should trust her expertise. Staffs won wars, more than generals or grunts. “OK, what’s wrong? Are the polls that bad?”
“The primary looks fine, and it’s too early for me to get worked up over November.” Johnson shrugged, but with a grimace of anger. “Yeah, there is something stuck in my craw. It’s a rare affliction in politics, an attack of principles. There are hired guns in this business who’d work for the devil himself, but I’ve got to believe in what I do.”
“And you can’t believe in me?” Siemens kept a friendly tone, and a self-mocking grin, inviting her to go on. If he couldn’t convince her, how could he hope to win the voters?
“It’s getting damn hard.” She met his gaze steadily. “The Guard always set my teeth on edge. Now that black shopkeeper in Houston claims your thugs beat him up, in a protection racket.”
“Ann, that goes against everything I believe.” He clinched a fist. “I stopped by Houston last week and liked to rip Colonel Ramirez a new asshole.”
Siemens leaned back, then went on. “Problem is, Ramirez is good. He’s worked miracles with the gangs, and with the literacy rate in the barrio. We’re harnessing deep, primal forces to break the cycle of poverty and violence. Sometimes, dredging those depths, we hit a pocket of something foul…”
He leaned across again, and grasped her arm. “Stay with me. I need your idealism, and your talents.”
Johnson stared into his eyes a moment more, then drew back with a shudder. “A month. I’ll stay with you through the primary. Don’t make me sorry.” She searched her pockets until she found her cigar case. “Let’s go over speech three again. I’ve got a few ‘new ideas’ to work in…”
The chaotic zone sprawled around Martell like some mutant squash with a dozen necks. The yellow showed that there were no exit trajectories. The few patches that weren’t yellow were blue: defeat for Siemens. The primary still seemed safe, but the outlook for November was grim.