Dark Ararat - Brian Stableford [40]
“He’s not that devious, Matthew,” Shen replied, earnestly. “He’s a man completely out of his depth, and I think he’s beginning to realize the fact. You and I know more about politics and public relations than he’ll ever be able to learn. If he were cleverer, he’d be easier to deal with. He thinks he can’t lose this contest in the long run because he has more guns, more people, and more time, but he doesn’t understand that it’s not the kind of war that can be won by force. If force wins, we all lose. The only way to win is to work together—all of us.”
“It’s not going to be easy to forge a consensus,” Matthew observed. “I’ve only been awake two days, but I’ve heard enough to know how bad things are.”
“We need something new,” Shen told him. “We need an issue that will allow us to put aside our differences and look to the future. We need a common cause, like the one that brought us all together in the first place.”
“What brought us all together in the first place was the urgent threat of an all-encompassing disaster,” Matthew reminded him. “I remember it as if it were the day before yesterday.”
“Of course you do,” Shen Chin Che retorted, venturing a wry smile. “You were there. You weren’t responsible for the disaster, but you did lend a helping hand to the urgency. I knew its value, even if others didn’t. You were as important to the Ark project as I was, in your own way. I had the money, but I didn’t have the hearts and minds. You were my prophet, my messiah. Cometh the hour, cometh the man. The hour has come around again, Matthew—and so have you. It’s the first stroke of luck I’ve had.”
“I’m a little late,” Matthew felt obliged to point out, even though the flattery was music to his ears. “I don’t have the authority of celebrity any more, even among the Chosen. I was frozen down while most of them were children. The crew don’t even have TV—just VE tapes and mute pictures relayed by flying eyes.”
“I know,” Shen said. “But you can change things. It’s what you do.”
“Two days, Shen,” Matthew murmured. “If you send me back, they’ll put me down on the surface within another three—four at the most. It won’t be easy to catch up. Impossible, even.”
“It won’t stop you, if you’re determined enough,” Shen told him. That, at least, was what his lips said. What his eyes were saying—in a manner that was surely invisible to any bugs Milyukov had planted, no matter how clever they might be—was something else entirely.
What Shen Chin Che’s eyes were saying, loud and clear, was: You’re the only hope I’ve got left. I’m finished. If you can’t pull the irons out of the fire, no one can.
As “important stuff” went, there wasn’t much to it—but Matthew had to admit that it was something he needed to know.
“I’m not in a good position, Shen,” he said. “Worse now than before. I showed my hand when I hit Riddell. Milyukov won’t give me any kind of platform.”
“Milyukov’s authority over his own people is slipping,” Shen told him. “Not quickly enough, I admit—but all it will take is one good push to set him sliding. The people on the surface will be ready to listen to you. More than willing. They have no leader, Matthew. They have no direction. They’re losing heart, and they need to get it back. If you can’t find a way to give it to them, no one can.”
Matthew couldn’t help shivering. The cold that had entered into his flesh while he lay on the floor was still there. He knew how desperate Shen must be, to seize such a feeble straw in this fashion. What a foul reward for all that he had done in the home system! He had anticipated—even expected—that the descendants of the crew might have developed their own agenda, but he had underestimated the extent and effectiveness of their treason. Seven centuries had been too long an interval—but the fact that it had taken seven centuries to find a world that even the