A Rage for Revenge watc-3 Read online

  He looked around the room expectantly. Again that soulpiercing stare.

  Nobody spoke. Everybody got it.

  "Thank you." Foreman stepped over to the music stand next to the podium and opened the manual there. He flipped past the first few pages until he found what he was looking for. He studied it thoughtfully. After a moment he nodded and then stepped to the third side of the dais, facing a new group again. Once more the overhead screens cut to the head-on angle; I could look at his back or I could look up and see his face. It didn't matter which part of the room he was speaking to, the effect was that he always seemed to be addressing me.

  Foreman's voice was resonant. It was clear and penetrating. He had a vibrant quality, like a perfectly tuned cello. "First of all, it is no mistake that you are here. How many of you have been wondering about that?"

  More than half the people in the room raised their hands. I raised mine.

  "Good," said Foreman. "That's normal. Wondering about it is part of the process. Now let me tell you, no mistakes have been made. You are here because you are supposed to be here. Regardless of how you think you got here. Some of you were invited. Some of you applied. Some of you were recommended. And I know some of you think you were conned. How many of you think you were conned into being here?"

  A few people raised their hands. I thought about it and raised mine.

  "Good. Thank you for admitting that. It's bullshit, of coursenobody was conned into being here-but thank you for being honest about what you're thinking. It's a good start. This course is about telling the truth. The truth about what you see, what you feel, what you experience, what you know. In here-unlike the real world-there is absolutely no penalty for telling the truth; on the contrary, we demand it. If you're not willing to tell the truth, then please don't be here. Don't waste your time. Don't waste my lime.

  "The truth is that you're here because you want to be here. Regardless of whatever stories you told yourselves about why you tlwught it was a good idea to be here, you're here because tmderneath those stories is a genuine curiosity and, yes, even the beginnings of a commitment. Not one of you was dragged into this room. I know, I saw. I stood outside and watched you arrive. You all walked in of your own volition. That was the test and you passed it.

  "You have now completed the hardest part of the course. Getting here. Congratulations." He looked satisfied. He smiled at us. The effect was terrifying. "You can acknowledge that, if you wish." He applauded us, so we applauded ourselves-but not without some puzzlement.

  Foreman said, "I mean it. Congratulations. It's a privilege to be here. Most of the people on the planet didn't make it. Most of them died rather than be here." He paused to let that sink in.

  "There are five hundred and twelve of you. Two hundred and eighty-two women, two hundred and thirty men. In here, your job is to represent the entire human species. For the duration of this course, you are the human species. At the end of this program, when you return to your previous occupations, or to your new assignments as the case may be, you will be called upon to make choices that will affect the entire human species. So this course is about that responsibility-and the way you handle it."

  A woman stood up then. She looked Chinese, but she had an African hair style. Fourth world? "Dr. Foreman," she said. "I protest."

  Foreman looked at his watch. "Hm. We're ahead of schedule." He stepped off the podium toward the woman. She was one of those in a plain brown jumpsuit. "Yes, Dr. Chin?"

  "Isn't it presumptuous to assume that this group has the right to represent the entire human species? I have eyes. I can see that the representation of Africans and Indians and Chinese and Arabs is well below the global percentage. How can you justify that this group should make decisions about people they are not qualified to represent? There are too many white faces in here." She spoke politely, but she looked angry.

  "Mm-hm," he said. "Do you want a response to that?"

  "Yes, I do."

  Foreman looked remarkably patient-or was it an expression of superiority? He said, "The only answer I can give you is an unsatisfactory one. You won't like it."

  "Let me be the judge of that," she said.

  Foreman nodded thoughtfully. He glanced around the room, as if to confirm Dr. Chin's observation. "Yes, it's true. There are too many white faces in here. Particularly since the Chtorran plagues were far more devastating in their effects against members of the Caucasian and Asian races than they were against Negroes. So you can certainly look at the proportion of skin colors in this room and see that as evidence of discrimination-if you want to. And if that's what you want to do, then no assertions that race was not a consideration in the selection process will satisfy you. If you're looking for discrimination, you can always find evidence."

  "Is that it?" she asked. Her tone was accusatory.

  He met her gaze directly. "I told you that the answer would be unsatisfactory."

  He was right. She didn't look satisfied. She said, "May I ask what justifications were used in the selection process?"

  "Yes, you may-but it's the wrong question. No justifications at all were used. We didn't select you. You selected yourselves." Foreman returned to the podium. He looked at a page of notes. "The only criterion that we-that is, the agency responsible for this course-established for your participation is that you speak English and that you be willing to be here. After that, it was all up to you."

  Foreman stepped off the dais on the fourth side to whisper something to an assistant. When he finished, he turned back to Dr. Chin and spoke to her from across the formation of chairs, but he was no longer speaking only to Dr. Chin. He was speaking to all of us. "You are here, you were invited to participate, because you have demonstrated your commitment to excellence. In some way you have made a contribution to your species. Whatever it was, it was sufficient to attract the attention of the agency. That was how you earned your invitation. That you have come here to this room of your own free will is the completion of the selection process. Everything else is irrelevant."

  "Are you saying that you didn't choose who got to be here?"

  "Yes, exactly. We put out five hundred and twelve chairs, Dr. Chin. And we declared that five hundred and twelve of the best asses on the planet would sit on them. It is in the nature of chairs to attract asses. If you'll look around, you'll see that's exactly what happened. Chairs attract asses like honey attracts flies. Yours are the asses that got caught. And yours are the best because we say so."

  There was a spattering of laughter in the room. Foreman ignored it. He said to Dr. Chin, "But I suppose you want the four-dollar answer, right?"

  "If you don't mind." She said it stiffly.

  "Not at all. We can take all day for this if we have to. But it's really very simple. When you pour out half a cup of laundry detergent, you don't care which particles of detergent fall out of the box, do you? You just want to know that the particles you get will do the job, right? We have a job to do here, and you are the particles of the human family that we expect to do the job. That's all. Next time we pour, we'll get five hundred and twelve different particles."

  He accepted a note from one of the assistants, unfolded it, glanced at it, shook his head and handed it back. He moved around to the back of the section I was sitting in. I had to turn around to see him; that was uncomfortable, so I turned forward again and continued to watch him on the overhead screen. Dr. Chin's image was also split-screened in.

  She was still standing at her seat. She looked very angry. She said, "That's all very clever, Dr. Foreman. But I still don't agree with the results of the selection process."

  Foreman stopped smiling. "That's too bad. But we're not here to have an election. We already had one. The bad news is you're one of the winners."

  There was more laughter at this, even some applause. Foreman held up a hand to stop it. "Don't get cocky;" he warned us. "What you've won is custody of the biggest disaster in human history." The laughter stopped.

  Foreman added quietl
y, he was speaking to all of us, "Now here's the really bad news-it may turn out that you are not the very best qualified individuals to be here. You may all be fuck-ups and failures. We won't know that until it's too late to change it. But we have to start somewhere."

  Dr. Chin had remained standing. She still didn't look satisfied, perhaps she never would be. Foreman looked across the rows and rows of interested faces at her. "Yes?"

  "I don't know if I want to be here," she said.

  "It's a little late for that, isn't it? You're already here."

  "I'm having second thoughts."

  "I see," said Foreman. He came around the chairs and up the aisle and stood face to face with Dr. Chin. He had circled the entire room. He spoke softly. "You're waiting to see how it works out, right? You have to know that you like it here, or that you agree with what happens here, before you'll participate. That's a good excuse to keep one foot out the door just in case it gets rough. You'll leave yourself a justification for quitting, right?"

  "No!" she said, a little too vehemently. She looked as if she were being attacked. Foreman merely looked bored. "You don't know what I'm thinking!" she said. "I don't make decisions until I think things over-and I'm still thinking!"

  "I see. You don't make commitments-you think about them."

  "To make sure they're right!"

  "Uh-huh-that's very clear. Thinking things over is one of the best forms of denial-because it masquerades as responsibility. 'I'm thinking it over' is the polite way to say no, to put someone off: You see, there's a lie in that sentence. What you're really saying is, 'I don't want to think about this at all. Please stop forcing me to."' He looked around the room. "How many of you have done that?"

  At least half the people in the room raised their hands. I raised mine.

  Foreman didn't even bother to look. He turned back to Dr. Chin. "But the Chtorrans aren't going to wait for you to think this one over, Dr. Chin. Neither are we. There isn't any more time. You have to choose now. Are you going to be here or not?" He waited patiently.

  "I don't like being browbeaten!" Dr. Chin snapped at him. Her eyes were blazing.

  "Terrific. I don't like enemas. But what either of us likes or dislikes is irrelevant to the commitment to be made here." Foreman retained an easy control. "Now, are you going to be here, or do you just want to dither? Let me tell you, people who dither never finish dithering. They just find new things to dither about. And it really pisses off the other people in their lives."

  Dr. Chin looked frustrated and close to tears. If I hadn't been so annoyed with her for holding things up, I would have felt sorry for her. She wailed, "Why does this have to be decided now?"

  "Because this is the part of the course where Dorothy Chin chooses to be here. Or not. We cannot proceed until each and every one of us takes responsibility for his or her participation. That means you don't get to hide behind 'I have to think it over' any more."

  "Wait-" she said, holding up her hands as if to push him away. "Just one minute."

  Foreman stopped himself from speaking too quickly. He waited a moment and then asked politely, "Yes?"

  "I want to know," she began slowly, "just what it is that we're doing here. I mean, what's the purpose?"

  "That's a good question," Foreman said, "and I'm going to answer it. But first I want you to notice something. This is another delaying tactic." He turned around to face the rest of us, to include us. "I want you all to pay attention here. Because this is about all of us. This is a demonstration of what we do instead of making choices. This isn't about Dorothy: It's about you. Dorothy's just acting it out for you." Then he turned back to Dorothy Chin. "I'm going to answer your question now. Then I'm going to ask you to answer mine."

  And then he was back up on the dais, addressing all of us again: "The government of the United States-acting in conjunction with the governments of twenty-three other allied nations-has authorized this project. Its continuing purpose is to train the members of the core group.

  "The core group is not an official designation. It is not a select or a privileged group. It is a distinction applied to that class of individuals who have demonstrated their ability to produce results and who are committed to expanding that ability. The core group are those people who we expect to carry the greatest burdens in the war against the Chtorr. You do not have to do this training to be a member of the core group. It is neither honor nor burden. It is a distinction which we have made only for the purposes of large-scale project management.

  "The training is designed to support you in succeeding in your various projects. You are not the first group of trainees, you will not be the last. There is no honor in your participation, only in your results.

  "Let me stress that this course is not a political orientation. It is not intended to be one; it should not be approached as one. We are not interested in your various political belief systems. What we are offering here is a course in management. Personal management. Management for results. What you are being offered here is the opportunity to become a part of a continually expanding body of individuals who have, and I quote the course description, 'committed ourselves to the essential human question.'

  "What is that question'?"

  Foreman stopped. He looked around the room, looking to see if we were following him. His eyes looked sorrowfully down from the screens. He studied us like a father. We waited for him to go on.

  Foreman stepped off the dais and crossed to Dorothy Chin. "You asked, 'What is the purpose?'

  "Very simply: How do we survive?"

  Foreman turned outward to include the rest of us. "Sounds obvious, doesn't it? Indeed, it is deceptively obvious. But the question would be the essential human question even if our planet weren't under assault by the Chtorran infestation. The only difference is that the infestation has forced us to confront this question."

  Foreman turned back to Dorothy Chin and looked her straight in the eye. "Dorothy Chin. I make this assertion-do you know what an assertion is? It's a starting point. It may or may not be true, it hasn't been tested yet, it's just a place to start. I assert that what we as individuals, and as a species, do in the name of survival is not always what is necessary to ensure survival. I say that we do that because we, as individuals, and as a species, are confusedhave made false connections-as to what real survival is."

  Turning again to all of us: "We have confused survival of the mind with survival of the individual. We have confused survival of the political ideology with survival of the nation. We have confused survival of the species with survival of the world-view. And the imperatives inherent in all of those various survivals have destroyed the survival of the self."

  Turning back to Dorothy Chin: "The larger purpose of the core group is to explore the options for humanity. The group will be responsible for creating an operating context, so that humanity can choose directions, commit to them, and implement them. Additionally, the purpose of the core group will be to create an alignment of will throughout the scientific, political, and military branches of the human family. This course-here, in this roomis your training for that responsibility.

  "This is the opportunity." Foreman included all of us again. "What we are up to here is nothing less than creating the future of the entire human species." Abruptly, he looked back to Dr. Chin. "Is that a game you want to play?"

  Dr. Chin looked troubled. She said slowly, "I find the whole idea preposterous. I find you, and this group-and the conception behind it-a ridiculous joke. No, a terrifying nightmare. Who gave you the right to make decisions for the rest of the human species? Who died and appointed you God?"

  "You're right," Foreman said, nodding. "I am unfit. So are you. So are the other five hundred and eleven people in this room. But so what? We're the ones who already have the job. I told you that you selected yourself into this room. You-all of you in here-are already doing the job of determining the future of the human race. Whatever it is you're doing, that's part of the future we're all creating. Some of y
ou are studying Chtorrans, some of you are trying to communicate with them, some of you are trying to control them, or kill them-and at least one of you has even spent time living among them. As individuals, you have accomplished a lot-an incredible amount. The only problem is that it's insufficient. Because it's still not enough to stop the infestation!" And suddenly, Dr. Daniel Jeffrey Foreman looked and sounded very angry.

  He strode back to the dais so he could speak to us as a group, but again I had the sensation that he knew who each and every one of us was-and that he was speaking to each and every one of us individually.

  "It's not the ability that's missing! We know it's there! It's the focus for the ability! We are, all of us, still unfocused! Commitment is the focus for intention!

  "If the human race is to survive, we need to start kicking asses-our own!" He spoke with incredible intensity now. "We need to move ourselves up to the next level of commitment, and the next level after that, and the next level after that. And this is the place where it starts. This is what this group is for. But so far, you-the so-called movers and shakers-look like the Anarchists' football team." He paused for effect. "The truth makes you nervous, doesn't it? But it's still the truth. You look like five hundred and twelve hysterical assholes, each one of whom is running around with his or her own ball toward his or her own goal, oblivious to whether or not you're even on the goddamn field! What is wanted and needed before we can play football is the operating context of team. You need to notice where the lines are painted on the ground and who's wearing what uniforms and playing which positions."

  Foreman stopped abruptly, stepped over to his podium and took a drink of water. He looked at his notes for a moment, then continued quietly, "The Chtorran infestation has put the human species in a position that can only be described as precarious. Our language is insufficient to convey the magnitude of the disaster. The scale of it is beyond our ability to comprehend. Even our largest and fastest information-processing facilities are stumbling over the great masses of confusing and contradictory reports. We have no referents for the invaders. We have no way to assimilate what is happening, we have no way to quantify it or measure it-we have no scale for the management of the task ahead of us. And yet . . . some of us on this planet, including some of you in this room, have accepted the responsibility of the challenge anyway. "