“The transmitting antenna,” he told Janet, “is at the T-M building.” Gleeby had collected enough video technicians to put the transmitter—normally closed down at that hour—back on the air.
“You’re so excited,” Janet said. “I’m glad you’re doing this; it means so much to you.”
“I only hope we can pull it off,” he said, thinking about it.
“And afterward?” she said. “What happens then?”
“We’ll see,” he said. The plug was unfolding.
A background showed the ruins of the war, the aftermath of battle. The tattered rags of a settlement appeared; slow, halting motion of survivors creeping half-starved, half-baked through the rubble.
A voice said: “In the public interest a Telemedia discussion program will shortly deal with a problem of growing importance for our times. Participants will analyze the question: Should Major Streiter’s postwar policy of active assimilation be revived to meet the current threat? Consult your area log for time and date.”
The plug dissolved, carrying the ruins and desolation with it. Allen snapped off the TV set, and felt tremendous pride.
“What’d you think of it?” he asked Janet.
“Was that it?” She seemed disappointed. “There wasn’t much.”
“With variations, that plug will be repeated every half hour on all channels. Mavis’ hit ‘em, hit ‘em. Plus plants in the newspapers, mentions on all the news programs, and minor hints scattered over the other media.”
“I don’t remember, what ‘active assimilation’ was. And what’s this ‘current threat’?”
“By Monday you’ll have the whole story,” Allen said. “The slam will come on ‘Pageant of Time.’ I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
Downstairs on the public rack, he bought a copy of tomorrow’s newspaper, already distributed. There, on page one, in the left-hand column, was the plant developed by Sugermann and Priar.
TALK OF REVIVING ASSIMILATION
Newer York Oct 29 (T-M),: It is reliably reported that a number of persons high in Committee circles who prefer to remain anonymous at this time, favor a revival of the postwar policy of active assimilation developed by Major Streiter to cope with the then- extensive threats to Moral Reclamation. Growing out of the current menace this revived interest in assimilation expresses the continued uneasiness of violence and lawlessness, as demonstrated by the savage assault on the Park of the Spire momument [sic] to Major Streiter. It is felt that the therapeutic method of Mental Health, and the efforts of the
Mental Health Resort to cope with current insta- bility and unrest, have failed to
Allen folded up the newspaper and went back upstairs to the apartment. Within a day or so the domino elements of the Morec society would be tipped. “Active assimilation” as a solution to the “curent [sic] threat” would be the topic of discussion for everybody.
“Active assimilation” was his brain child. He had made it up. Sugermann had added the idea of the “current threat.” Between them they had created the topic out of whole cloth.
He felt well-pleased. Progress was being made.
CHAPTER 22
By monday mornnig [sic] the projection was complete. T-M workers, armed, carried it upstairs to the transmitter and stood guard over it. The Telemedia building was sealed off; nobody came and nobody went. During the day the hints, spots, mentions on various media dinned like pond frogs. Tension began to build, a sense of expectancy. The public was alive to the topic of “active assimilation,” although nobody knew what it meant.
“Opinion” Sugermann said, “runs about two to one in favor of restoring a cautious policy of active assimilation.” A poll had been taken, and the results were arriving.
“Active assimilation’s too good for those rascals,” Gates announced. “Let’s have no coddling of traitors.”
At a quarter of eight that evening, Allen assembled his staff in his office. The mood was one of optimism.
“Well,” Allen said, “it won’t be long. Another fifteen minutes and we’re on the air. Anybody feel like backing out?”
Everybody grinned inanely.
“Got your dismissal notice yet?” Gates asked him.
The notice, from the Committee, had arrived registered mail. Now Allen opened the envelope and read the brief, formal statement. He had until noon Thursday. Then he was no longer Director of Telemedia.
“Give me the story on the follow-ups,” he said to Gleeby.
“Pardon? Yes, um.” From a prepared list Gleeby read him the total projected coverage. “Up to now it’s been ground breakers. Tonight at eight comes the actual discussion. Tomorrow night a repeat of the discussion program will be aired, by ‘public demand.’ “
“Better move that up,” Allen said. “Allows too much time for them to act.”
“Make it later tonight,” Sugermann suggested. “About ten, as they’re all popping into bed.”
Gleeby scribbled a few words. “We’ve already mailed out duplicate films to the colonies. The discussion has been written up and will be printed in full in Tuesday morning’s newspapers, plus comments pro and con. Late news programs tonight will give resumes. We’ve had the presses run off paper-bound copies to be sold in commissaries at magazine slots. Youth editions for school use have been prepared, but frankly, I don’t imagine we can distribute them in time. It’ll take another four days.”
“And the poll,” Sugermann added.
“Fine,” Allen said. “For less than a week that’s not bad.”
A T-M employee entered. “Mr. Purcell, something’s come up. Secretary Frost and Mrs. Hoyt are outside in a Committee Getabout. They want to be admitted.”
“Peace party,” Priar said.
“I’ll talk to them outside,” Allen said. “Show me where they are.”
The employee led him to the ground floor and outside through the barricade erected before the entrance. In the back seat of a small blue Getabout sat the two women, bolt-upright, their faces pinched. Ralf Hadler was behind the tiller. He pretended not to notice or in any way conceive of Allen. They were not in the same world.
“Hi,” Allen said.
Mrs. Hoyt said: “This unworthy is. I’m ashamed of you, Mr. Purcell. I really am.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Allen said. “What else?”
“Would you have the decency to tell us what you’re doing?” Sue Frost demanded in a low, choked voice. She held up a newspaper. “ ‘Active assimilation.’ What in the name of heaven is this? Have you all completely lost your minds?”
“We have,” Allen admitted. “But I don’t see that it matters.”
“It’s a fabrication, isn’t it?” Sue Frost accused. “You’re inventing it all. This is some sort of horrible prank. If I didn’t know better I’d say you had a hand in the japery of Major Streiter’s statue; I’d say you’re involved in this whole outbreak of anarchistic and savage lawlessness.”
Her choice of words showed the potency of the campaign. It made him feel odd to hear her speaking right out of the plug.
“Now look,” Mrs. Hoyt said presently, in a tone of forced amiability. “If you’ll resign we’ll see that you regain your lease. You’ll be able to continue your Agency; you’ll be exactly where you were. We’ll prepare a guarantee, written, that Telemedia will buy from you.” She hesitated. “And we’ll undertake to expose Blake-Moffet for their part in the frame-up.”
Allen said: “Now I know I’m on the right track. And try to watch TV tonight; you’ll get the full story on ‘active assimilation.’ “
Re-entering the building he halted to watch the blue Getabout steam away. Their offer had genuinely surprised him. It was amazing how much moral righteousness the breath of scandal could blow down. He ascended by the elevator and joined the group waiting in his office.
“Almost time,” Sugermann said, consulting his watch. “Five more minutes.”
“At a rough guess,” Gleeby said, “dominos representing seventy percent of the population will be watching. We should achieve an almost perfect saturation on this single airing.”
From a suitcase Gates produced two fifths of Scotch whiskey. “To celebrate,” he said, opening both. “Somebody get glasses. Or we can pass them around.”
The phone rang, and Allen answered it.
“Hello, Allen,” Myron Mavis’ creaky voice came. “How’re things going?”
“Absolutely perfect,” Allen answered. “Want to stop by and join us?”
“Sorry. Can’t. I’m bogged down in leaving. All my stuff to get packed for the trip to Sirius.”
“Try to catch the projection tonight,” Allen said. “It starts in a couple of minutes.”
“How’s Janet?”
“Seems to be feeling pretty fair. She’s glad it’s out in the open.” He added,”[sic] She’s watching at the apartment.”
“Say hello to her,” Mavis said. “And good luck on your lunacy.”
“Thanks,” Allen said. He said goodbye and hung up.
“Time,” Sugermann said. Gates turned on the big TV receiver and they gathered around it. “Here we go.”
“Here we go,” Allen agreed.
Mrs. Georgina Birmingham placed her favorite chair before her television set and anticipated her favorite program, “The Pageant of Time.” She was tired from the hectic activities of the day, but a deep spiritual residuum reminded her that work and sacrifice were their own reward.
On the screen was an inter-program announcement. A large decayed tooth was shown, grimacing with pain. Next to it a sparkling healthy tooth jeered sanctimoniously. The two teeth engaged in Socratic dialogue, the upshot of which was the rout and defeat of the bad tooth.