Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [58]
“They have always had a diet adequate to their existence. They are hunters, not farmers!” protested Peterswarden, without asking permission to speak. This rebuttal ulcerated Brentford all the more in that he had on occasion said the very same things himself. It is strange how one’s ideas can sometimes sound loathsome in someone else’s mouth.
“Captain-General?” said Surville, dismissing Peterswarden’s remark with a little gesture of the hand.
Mason seemed embarrassed in a way that Brentford had never seen before. The Lenton “riot” was no doubt on his mind and he was probably looking for a way to ingratiate his men with the Council without opposing Brentford, whose help he thought he needed right now.
“Hunting has always been part and parcel of military activities in the Arctic regions, though often, to be honest, it has been done in cooperation with the Eskimos. I consider that beyond the question of food supply in time of peace, my men should be prepared and trained to live off the land when they are in operation, which could be well the case sooner or later, given the present circumstances. I nevertheless understand that it should be limited so as not to endanger the Native way of life.”
De Witt poured some words into Surville’s ears, which were not long in coming forth from the spokesperson’s mouth.
“The Council suggests that your men, beyond all technical considerations, should indeed get more exercise. They have been found to be rather idle and nervous lately. Maybe the city air does not suit them. The Navy Cadets especially should hunt other game than peaceful citizens.”
Mason cleared his throat.
“I present all due apologies to the Council. There has been a misunderstanding. From my information, my men were only trying to defend a lady who had by accident fallen on the ground.”
Once more De Witt ventriloquized his dummy.
“The Council reminds you that its own collaborators are perfectly entitled and able to help citizens when they are estimated to be in danger. It is the local rule that the military should not in any case intervene in civic affairs. The Council would hate to have to take the occasion of a public trial to remind the military authority of this.”
Mason’s face had become perfectly inscrutable. Brentford knew enough about soldiers to be sure that it was a mistake to humble one in front of civilians. They might force Mason into some sort of submission, but they would lose his respect for good. Brentford cued in, hoping his intervention would throw the Council a bit off balance and bring Mason a little further onto his side. He raised his hand, and Surville, although frowning, nodded his approbation.
“According to firsthand accounts I happened to hear,” said Brentford, “it was very much a mistake, indeed. The Cadets actually did not recognize persons they thought were aggressors as defenders of the law.”
Brainveil leaned toward his human microphone.
“Mistakes and accidents can happen. But these tend to have a pattern or a common origin that the Council, in spite of its leniency, can no longer ignore. Certain ideas are currently being circulated through the city, criticizing the current state of affairs and advocating a community with the Natives, in a way that is most contemptuous of their differences from us, as Mr. Peterswarden would be glad to confirm for you. A certain book, in particular, is said to exert a bad influence over the weakest minds, such as that of Ms. Lenton, as she now calls herself, and her gang of suffragettes.”
It was now Brentford who sat unmoving on his chair, under Mason’s scrutiny.
Surville