“People!” Corrigan’s complexion changed to scarlet. “What do people know? Nothing! They know nothing!” Jarrit and Edwards began fidgeting uncomfortably, but Corrigan had become too heated to notice, “They’re just goons,” he shouted. “They’ve never had a thought in their tiny lives. They don’t know what they want until somebody strong enough stands up and tells them what to want. And when a million of ’em want the same thing they’ve got power and that’s what it’s all about . . .” He checked himself, realizing that for once he had let his mouth run away, and subsided into his seat.
“And that’s democracy?” Clifford challenged.
Jarrit cleared his throat loudly and broke in before the exchange could escalate further.
“You realize, of course, Dr. Clifford, that if you insist on pursuing the course of action that you have indicated, the financial consequences to yourself would be quite serious. Your severance pay, outstanding holiday pay, retirement contributions, and all other accrued benefits would automatically be forfeited.”
“Naturally.” Clifford’s reply was heavy with sarcasm.
“What about your security classification?” Corrigan asked, still smarting. “That would be reduced to the lowest a man can have and still walk the streets. It’d be the next thing to having Commie painted across your forehead.”
“That would deny you any prospect of future employment in government service,” Edwards added. “Or with any approved government contractor, for that matter. Think about that.”
“And you’d lose your draft-exemption status,” Jarrit said.
“You’d be jeopardizing your whole future career,” Edwards added.
Clifford looked slowly from one to another of the three and accepted the pointlessness of long speeches or explanations.
“Stuff all of it,” he said. “I’ve quit.”
Suddenly Corrigan exploded again.
“Scientists! You wanna pick daisies while the whole world’s up for grabs. You’re telling me about delusions . . . and all the time you’re chasing after reality and truth and all that shit! Let me tell you something, mister . . . that’s the biggest delusion. There is no objective reality. Reality is whatever you choose to believe is real. Strong wills and cast-iron beliefs make the reality happen. . . . When a hundred million people stand up together and believe strongly enough in what they want, then it’ll happen that way. That’s what defines truth. Men who were strong built the world; the world didn’t build them. Truth is truth when enough people say it is—that’s the reality of the world we live in. Your world is the delusion. Numbers . . . statistics . . . pieces of paper . . . what have they to do with people? It’s people that make events, and it’s about time you made it your business to grow up out of your fairyland and tried to understand it. We made you what you are and we own you. . . . You exist because your toys are useful to us. We don’t exist through any of your doodlings. You think about that!”
Clifford let the silence hang for a second to accentuate the embarrassment now evident on the faces of Jarrit and Edwards. Turning away from Corrigan to exclude him pointedly from the remark as an object no longer worthy of consideration, he quietly concluded, “I’ve quit. I couldn’t put the reasons into better words than that.”
A couple of hours later, as Clifford steered the Cougar up the climbing road along the valley side and looked back at ACRE for the last time, he became aware of something that he had not noticed for a long time: The air of the mountains tasted clean and free.
Chapter 8
Sarah looked at the numbers displayed on the screen and pursed her lips ruefully. After a few more seconds she switched off the terminal and swiveled her chair round to face across the room.
“So, what happens now, I wonder,” she said. “We’re broke.”
Clifford, sprawled in an armchair by the opposite wall, scowled back at her.
“Dunno,” he confessed. “I guess I could still get some kind of job—nothing spectacular, but worth something.”
She cast an eye round the room, with its tasteful decor and comfortable furnishings.
“I suppose all this will have to go.”
“Reckon so.” His voice was matter-of-fact.