Starfist: Lazarus Rising (27 page)

De Tomas looked at the holograms of the young couple in the file before him.

They were a handsome pair. The prospective groom, a shooter—the equivalent of private—was the son of an SG man; that counted for a lot. The future bride's background check revealed only a casual religious affiliation; that was excellent. But he wrote in the appropriate space, "Rejected." They were too young. The groom was but twenty, and his intended twenty-one. De Tomas wanted his men to have at least eight years of service before marrying. No one was accepted into the SG who was already married. He added something to the remarks section: "Get the girl pregnant." That was an order.

The next file was that of a much older man, a storm man, a sergeant. He was thirty, she twenty-nine; excellent. Long ago both had been members of the Fathers of Padua, but they had formally renounced their affiliation, describing themselves simply as "Believers in God," the strongest religious affiliation permitted to members of the Special Group. Gods of any stripe simply did not play a part in the philosophy of Dominic de Tomas.

He wrote "Approved" on the application and reached for the next one.

The intercom on his desk squawked. "Minister Oldhouse is here to see you, my leader."

De Tomas considered. He had another of those receptions in a short while. Well, he could always cut Oldhouse short if he ran longer than a few minutes. "Send him in."

Joseph Oldhouse, Minister of Propaganda and Public Enlightenment, bustled into de Tomas's office. He'd put on weight in the months since his appointment to the government, not that he had ever been slim. But the man was full of energy and ideas, evidently highly pleased with his new duties—and with himself. But most important, so far as de Tomas was concerned, he had so far proved completely devoted to de Tomas. Under one arm he carried a large leather portfolio. "I have some
wonderful
posters here for you to approve, my leader!" he said with enthusiasm.

De Tomas gestured toward the coffee table. Oldhouse opened the portfolio, took out a wad of small, multicolored posters, and spread them across the table. "These I am calling ‘Weekly Paroles.’ Each week, my leader, the party central press will issue posters like these in the thousands, to be distributed all over Kingdom and placed in public places for everyone to see. They will help to keep the philosophy of the party constantly before the public's attention in an eye-catching format that will be easy for ordinary people to understand and to remember."

De Tomas picked one out of the display. It showed a sturdy farmer with his implements standing arm in arm with a soldier in full battle dress. It read: "‘The farmer and the soldier stand hand in hand together to guarantee the people of Kingdom their daily bread and their security’—Our Leader." De Tomas smiled. The quote was from a speech he had made to the Kingdom Agricultural League the previous month.

"Excellent propaganda for production and military service, two pillars of the state," Oldhouse gushed. "We'll have others for all walks of life—simple, dramatic, graphic statements that appeal to the eye and are in plain language." De Tomas nodded as he flipped through the collection. "I have military recruiting posters too, my leader," Oldhouse said, digging inside the portfolio. He took out a large rolled poster and opened it up. "Since so many of our people live in poverty due to their exploitation by the previous regime, life in the army will offer otherwise potentially fractious young men a focus to their lives while keeping them under control and off our streets."

"Hmmm." De Tomas admired the artwork, two handsome young shooters in black dress uniforms. The black of the uniforms contrasted brilliantly with their silver badges and trimming, and the lettering, in bright red, leaped off the paper, shouting, come join us, young men, seventeen and up! "Damned impressive," de Tomas muttered. "Almost makes me want to sign up. But you know, Minister Oldhouse, impressive as all this is," he gestured at the posters spread out on the table, "isn't it, um, well, a bit superficial? Not much depth to any of it, is there?" The question was rhetorical; de Tomas knew the answer he was looking for.

"Ah-ha, my leader! If you will permit me?" Oldhouse selected one of the "parole"

posters. He held it up. It was intended for the upcoming Mother's Day and showed a huge heart with a rose growing out of it. The inscription read: "god has made the mother's heart the sacrificial vessel of this great age." "Poster art does not lie in the scientific training of the individual but in calling his attention to certain facts, processes, necessities, and so on, whose significance is placed within his field of vision!" Oldhouse grinned.

"Go on."

"Well, you see, my leader, the
art
consists in doing this so skillfully that everyone will be
convinced
that the fact is real, the process necessary, the necessity correct, and so on! My leader, all propaganda must be popular and its intellectual level must be adjusted to the most limited intelligence among us. The greater the masses it is intended to reach, the lower its purely intellectual level will have to be. The more modest it is, the more exclusively it takes into consideration the emotions of the masses, and then the more effective it will be!"

De Tomas smiled. "‘The art of propaganda lies in understanding the emotional ideas of the great masses and finding, through a psychologically correct form, the way to the attention and thence to the heart of the broad masses.’ Does that sum it up, Mr. Minister?" De Tomas was grinning broadly now.

"Yes! Yes, my leader! That is it! Are those your words, my leader? Brilliant!"

"No, Mr. Minister, not mine. I'm quoting a past master of the art. But there we have it, eh? How did you learn so much about the art of propaganda?"

Oldhouse shrugged. "I was a preacher," he said, and laughed.

"Your plan is approved, Mr. Propaganda Minister. I want you next to start building the morale of the army. See me in, say, a week's time, with a plan to achieve that end. I might suggest, among other things which I think your fertile mind will come up with, entertainments for the troops in the field, variety shows, things like that."

Grinning happily, Oldhouse gathered up his posters. "Yes, my leader! You will be delighted to know that my staff is already working on that project! I have in fact recruited some of the finest dancers in the world to entertain the men!"

De Tomas glanced at the time. He was running late for the reception. No matter, Oldhouse's ingenious poster program had put him in an excellent mood. "You will accompany me now to the reception," de Tomas said. "If you please, Mr. Minister, wait for me in the outer office and we'll go down together."

Oldhouse, still grinning broadly, bowed and left.

The reception was being held in the Great Hall of Wayvelsberg Castle, in honor of the members of the Haven Women's Auxiliary, the largest chapter of the organization on Kingdom. De Tomas had ordered the hall to be redecorated for this purpose, to dispel the somber atmosphere that usually obtained there in favor of lots of natural light and an abundance of flowers. Even the imposing stature of Heinrich the Fowler had been garlanded in fresh bouquets. This was to be an informal affair, no great speeches, just the Leader himself, relaxed and congenial, circulating among the dames and matrons, many of whom had come from afar just to attend their leader on that occasion.

Herten Gorman was already there when de Tomas and Minister Oldhouse stepped out of the elevators. Immediately, the guests ceased their conversations and turned their attention to the Leader as he walked amiably through the little groups of chatting women, kissing hands here, bowing there, making small talk, letting the women see him up close. Wet-eyed middle-aged matrons, their cheeks flushed with joy, listened attentively to every word their leader spoke. Many begged for his autograph. Several of the ladies actually swooned and had to be dragged off into corners to recover their composure. Enlisted men of the Special Group circulated among the crowd, offering serving trays laden with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Oldhouse excused himself and circulated among the members of the media who had been invited.

At one point in their voyage between clusters of admiring females, de Tomas turned to Gorman and whispered, "Do any of these bitches have daughters I might be interested in?"

"Possibly, my leader. Shall I make inquiries?"

"Of course, you idiot!"
de Tomas hissed. He couldn't believe Gorman hadn't already done that simple thing. You want a good candidate for a Great Man's consort, go to society's elite.

Gorman's ears reddened. De Tomas had lately taken to insulting him too often for the Deputy Leader's satisfaction. He was tiring of being his leader's pimp. He bit back a sharp response. "I shall do so at once, my leader. Surely some of the families represented here have daughters who'd be a credit to you, sir."

Several large-busted ladies in their fifties rushed up to de Tomas. "Ohhh," one gushed, "I did
so
much
love
your speech at the awards ceremony, my leader!"

Another said, "I was so
honored
to receive my Mother's Cross in Silver, my leader!

Thank you and God bless you!" Another: "My daughter simply
worships
the ground you walk on, my leader! We pray for you every night!"

"Madame, I do so sincerely appreciate your thoughts," de Tomas said to the last speaker, "and would you convey to your daughter my best wishes for her future happiness? You understand, ladies," he snatched a glass of wine from a passing server, "that the Lord's blessing is all I wish for the work I am trying to do for the good of our people."

Another woman rushed into de Tomas's presence. "My leader! My daughter is
here
, in the Great Hall! It would be such an honor if you would speak to her!"

De Tomas bowed gracefully. "Take us to see the dear child, then." He held out his arm and, totally enchanted, radiant with joy, the matron accepted it. She could already see herself in the society pages. She floated across the hall, the Leader of all the people of Kingdom at her side, and called a young lady away from a cluster of young women admiring an officer of the Special Group. The officer came to rigid attention as de Tomas approached, and the girl curtsied respectfully before the Great Man.

"Her name is Joy," the girl's mother announced breathlessly. The girl was fat, with a bad complexion.

Taking the girl by her elbow, de Tomas gently brushed his lips over the back of her hand as he murmured, "What a joy, miss." Joy almost fainted on the spot. "Your mother tells me wonderful things about you. All you young people," he took in the group of girls who'd been talking to the SG man, "are the hope and the future of Kingdom. Well," he turned back to Joy and her mother, "I must spread my charm about, ladies." He bowed and, taking Gorman by the elbow, steered him toward another group. Behind him the ladies stood transfixed, following de Tomas with their eyes.

"Shall I arrange for Miss Joy to have a private interview, my leader?" Gorman asked in a whisper. Inwardly he smiled. That'll teach him, he thought.

De Tomas looked up at his deputy sharply. Does this idiot really mean that? he wondered. "I was thinking, Herten, she might prove just the girl for
you
. Find me young ladies whose faces won't turn into a pustule pie whenever they eat a candy bar. Understood? God's guts, you know what I want, Herten! You keep putting me off and I'll just grab that little doxy of yours and fuck her ears off."

Herten almost gasped outright at the remark. Why that sonofabitch! he thought, but he said, "What is mine is yours, my leader. I shall find you the woman of your dreams. It is just that your requirements are difficult to fill."

But de Tomas had already moved off to talk to another group. Herten stood looking after him, thinking, You bastard, don't forget you're as mortal as the next man. Outwardly, however, he remained the Great Man's calm and obedient servant.

"Your position here is, ah, let's say, delicate, Sergeant Raipur," Bass said. "You people attacked us without provocation, and you personally killed one of our young men. And now we know that it was your outfit that wiped out Miss Emwanna's people.
What in the hell are you people up to?
"

They were sitting in the back of the cave entrance. Emwanna had gone to fetch some food and drink for Raipur, who rubbed his wrists. "I did what I could to stop the slaughter of the savages," he said, "but when the acolyte"—he shook his head—"the
lieutenant
gave the order to open fire, well, I couldn't stop the men." He shrugged helplessly.

"I know, I know, it happens. But why did you attack us here?"

"We thought demons were here, and when I saw it was men shooting at us, I shot back. I did what I'm trained to do."

"You could have buttoned up and told the vehicle behind you we're men, not devils. You could've told your officer. We could've gotten a cease-fire."

Raipur shook his head. "Our communications system is down and I guess the commander of the vehicle behind me only saw the acid guns in operation. Believe me, we know what those things can do."

Bass nodded. "What can you tell me about your army's intentions?"

Raipur paused before answering. "Look, I didn't make the decision to bomb your town, but if it had been up to me, yes, under the circumstances, I'd have used whatever I had at my disposal to soften this place up. Those men who came in here with me, they're
my
men, poorly led, maybe, and a bit wild because of that, but I'd have killed everything here before taking a chance on losing one of my men to an ambush. I won't tell you anything that might endanger them. What happened to the vehicle that was my backup?"

"It took off like a big bird. A few minutes later the remaining four beat it back over the ridge on the other side of the village. Listen, I was held in interrogation too, much worse than anything you'll get here. I respect your silence on military matters. But understand that we don't want to fight anyone. Surely you know what happened to these people? Almost the entire sect, thousands of innocent victims, was wiped out by the devils. We thought the devils were still out there. These people are scared, is all. We never would have opened fire on you unless you fired first, and that's what you did."