went to the windowall and scowled at the vista of Leda.
“Altin, I want that man classified terminal.”
The leftant nodded absently. “Yes, sir. I’ll—uh, pass the word.”
6 .
“Val, call that last report from the Concordia PS research unit, please.” Erica Radek was studying Valentin Severin closely, even though her gaze was turned on the reading screen on her desk.
Val was at the memfile console. “That would be last week’s report?”
“Yes.”
Val checked the ’file index, and punched the document locator sequence, then turned to Erica.
“It’s ready for your screen.”
“Thank you, Val.” She switched her screen to the report, frowning over the lines of fine print and columns of statistics, but the activities of certain Fesh students at the University in Concordia didn’t occupy her full attention.
She was thinking about Val, sifting the data of posture, vocal nuances, facial expressions, and trying to remember when she’d first become aware of the change in Val, a restraint in her attitude, a sensed antagonism. And Erica was wondering about her own objectivity. Perhaps she was getting a little paranoid lately.
Val came to look over her shoulder, and Erica leaned back and gestured toward the screen.
“I’m afraid we have a serious problem on our hands with the University students.”
“The radical liberal movement?” Then, at Erica’s nod, “Is it confined to Concordia, or are the other Universities showing any symptoms?”
Erica smiled faintly at that term. “Well, I’m sure there are symptoms, but so far they’ve only manifested themselves in diagnosable form in Concordia.” Then she sighed. “Freedom. What a word. Humankind would be better off if it had never been invented; it’s so misleading. I have no doubt that within the year the radical liberals among the students in Concordia will be united under a common banner. This young man—” She touched the controls, the screen blurring until she stopped at an imagraph of a thin-faced, dark-haired youth. “Damon Kamp. Sociophilosophy student, family upper-class Independent Fesh, intelligence index near genius level. But he’s a very dangerous young man. An evangelist, and a skilled one. He also has a taste for power, and beyond that, he’s highly unstable emotionally.”
Val studied the face on the screen. “A dangerous combination in one man, Dr. Radek.”
That was one of the things that was bothering her, Erica realized. Lately, Val showed a tendency to address her as “Dr. Radek,” even in private, yet they’d been on first-name terms for years.
But Erica didn’t comment on that. “Yes, but it’s not an unusual combination. Kamp is an archetype, really, so true to form, one can predict his behavior with some accuracy.”
“An archetype?”
“A messiah. The species is ubiquitous in any social stratum, any historical period, any
where
, and they’re particularly effective in relatively closed systems. They’re attractive to youthful idealists, of course, and capable of inspiring classic fanaticism and inducing their followers to deny entrenched moral codes even to the point of betraying family and friends.”
She happened to be looking up at Val at that moment, and what she saw stopped her. Val’s muscles seemed to go rigid, and her face reddened; a strong emotional reaction that she was obviously trying to conceal. Yet it was so anomalous. What was there about those comments on Damon Kamp that . . .
. . .
betraying family and friends
.
Those were the catalytic words. But why? Val had never suffered serious guilt reactions toward her family as a result of joining the Phoenix, and there was nothing else in her history that could be considered a betrayal of them.
Friends. Betraying
friends
.
Erica concentrated on the screen to mask her own emotional reaction. Perhaps the subject of Damon Kamp was worth pursuing. She touched the controls, stopping at another imagraph: Kamp addressing a crowd of
“Altin, I want that man classified terminal.”
The leftant nodded absently. “Yes, sir. I’ll—uh, pass the word.”
6 .
“Val, call that last report from the Concordia PS research unit, please.” Erica Radek was studying Valentin Severin closely, even though her gaze was turned on the reading screen on her desk.
Val was at the memfile console. “That would be last week’s report?”
“Yes.”
Val checked the ’file index, and punched the document locator sequence, then turned to Erica.
“It’s ready for your screen.”
“Thank you, Val.” She switched her screen to the report, frowning over the lines of fine print and columns of statistics, but the activities of certain Fesh students at the University in Concordia didn’t occupy her full attention.
She was thinking about Val, sifting the data of posture, vocal nuances, facial expressions, and trying to remember when she’d first become aware of the change in Val, a restraint in her attitude, a sensed antagonism. And Erica was wondering about her own objectivity. Perhaps she was getting a little paranoid lately.
Val came to look over her shoulder, and Erica leaned back and gestured toward the screen.
“I’m afraid we have a serious problem on our hands with the University students.”
“The radical liberal movement?” Then, at Erica’s nod, “Is it confined to Concordia, or are the other Universities showing any symptoms?”
Erica smiled faintly at that term. “Well, I’m sure there are symptoms, but so far they’ve only manifested themselves in diagnosable form in Concordia.” Then she sighed. “Freedom. What a word. Humankind would be better off if it had never been invented; it’s so misleading. I have no doubt that within the year the radical liberals among the students in Concordia will be united under a common banner. This young man—” She touched the controls, the screen blurring until she stopped at an imagraph of a thin-faced, dark-haired youth. “Damon Kamp. Sociophilosophy student, family upper-class Independent Fesh, intelligence index near genius level. But he’s a very dangerous young man. An evangelist, and a skilled one. He also has a taste for power, and beyond that, he’s highly unstable emotionally.”
Val studied the face on the screen. “A dangerous combination in one man, Dr. Radek.”
That was one of the things that was bothering her, Erica realized. Lately, Val showed a tendency to address her as “Dr. Radek,” even in private, yet they’d been on first-name terms for years.
But Erica didn’t comment on that. “Yes, but it’s not an unusual combination. Kamp is an archetype, really, so true to form, one can predict his behavior with some accuracy.”
“An archetype?”
“A messiah. The species is ubiquitous in any social stratum, any historical period, any
where
, and they’re particularly effective in relatively closed systems. They’re attractive to youthful idealists, of course, and capable of inspiring classic fanaticism and inducing their followers to deny entrenched moral codes even to the point of betraying family and friends.”
She happened to be looking up at Val at that moment, and what she saw stopped her. Val’s muscles seemed to go rigid, and her face reddened; a strong emotional reaction that she was obviously trying to conceal. Yet it was so anomalous. What was there about those comments on Damon Kamp that . . .
. . .
betraying family and friends
.
Those were the catalytic words. But why? Val had never suffered serious guilt reactions toward her family as a result of joining the Phoenix, and there was nothing else in her history that could be considered a betrayal of them.
Friends. Betraying
friends
.
Erica concentrated on the screen to mask her own emotional reaction. Perhaps the subject of Damon Kamp was worth pursuing. She touched the controls, stopping at another imagraph: Kamp addressing a crowd of
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