Tioulang paused a moment, and the Asian girl laughed softly. "Here it comes, everybody."

"To this point, no sane person can have disagreement. But what the Peace Authority-and our friends of the Republic do resist is Yel‚n Korolev's method. Hers is the age-old story of the absentee landlord, the queen in the castle and the serfs in the fields. By some scheme that is never revealed, she parcels out data and equipment to individuals-never to organizations. The only way individuals can make sense of such a hopeless jumble is by following Korolev directions... by developing the habit of serfdom."

Wil set the beer down. The Peacer had one hundred percent of his attention now. Certainly Yel‚n was listening to the spiel, but would she understand Tioulang's point? Probably not; it was something new to Wil, and he'd thought he appreciated all the reasons for resenting Korolev. Tioulang's interpretation was a subtle-perhaps even an unconscious-distortion of Marta's plan. Yel‚n gave tools and production equipment to individuals, according to what hobbies or occupations they had had back in civilization. If those individuals chose to turn the gear over to the Peace or the Republic, that was their business; certainly Yel‚n had not forbidden such transfers.

In fact, she hadn't given any orders about how to use the gifts. She had simply made her production databases and planning programs public. Anyone could use those data and programs to make deals and coordinate development. The ones who coordinated best would certainly come out ahead, but it was scarcely a "jumble"... except perhaps to statists. Wil looked across the picnickers. He couldn't imagine the ungoverned being taken in by Tioulang's argument. Marta's plan was about as close to "business as usual" as you could come under the present circumstances, but it was alien weirdness to the Peacers and most of the NMs. That difference in perception might be enough to bring everything down.

Kim Tioulang was also watching the audience, waiting to see if his point had sunk in. "I don't think any of us want to be serfs, but how can we prevent it, given Korolev's overwhelming technical superiority?... I have a secret for you. The high-techs need us more than we need them. Without any high-techs at all, the human race would still have a chance. We have-we are-the one thing that is really needed: people. Between the Peace, the Republic, and the, uh, unaffiliated, we low-techs are almost three hundred human beings. That's more than in any settlement since the Extinction. Our biologists tell us it is enough-just barely enough-genetic diversity to restart the human race. Without our numbers, the high-techs are doomed. And they know it.

"So the most important thing is that we hang together. We are in a position to reinvent democracy and the rule of the majority."

Behind Wil, Gail Parker said, "God, what a hypocrite. The Peace never had any interest in elections when they were in the saddle."

"If I've convinced you of the need for unity-and frankly, the need is so obvious that I don't need much persuasiveness there-there is still the question of why the Peace is a better bet for you than the Republic.

"Think about it. The human race has been at the brink before. In the early part of the twenty-first century, plagues destroyed billions. Then, as now, technology remained widely available. Then, as now, the problem was the depopulation of the Earth. In all humility, my friends, the Peace Authority has more experience in solving our present problem than any group in history. We brought the human race back from the brink. Whatever else may be said of the Peace, we are the acknowledged experts in these matters...."

Tioulang shrugged diffidently. "That's really all I had to say. l22

These are important things to think about. Whatever your decisions, I hope you'll think about them carefully. My people and I are happy to take any questions, but let's do it one on one." He cut the amplifier.

There was a buzz of conversation. A fair-sized crowd followed Tioulang back to his pavilion by the beer locker. Wil shook his head. The guy had made some points. But people didn't believe everything he said. Just behind Wil, Gail Parker was giving the Dasguptas a quick rehash of history. The Peace Authority was the great devil of the early twenty-first century, and Wil had lived near enough to that era to know that their reputation could not be entirely a smear. Tioulang's diffident, friendly manner might soften the harsh outlines of history, but few were going to buy his view of the Peace.

What some did buy-Wil realized unhappily as he listened to nearby ungovs-was Tioulang's overall viewpoint. They accepted his claim that Korolev's policies were designed to keep them down. They seemed to agree that "solidarity" was their great weapon against the "queen on the hill." And the Peacer's call for a reestablishment of democracy was especially popular. Wil could understand the NMs buying that; majority rule was the heart of their system. But what if the majority decided that everyone with dark skin should work for free? Or that Kansas should be invaded? He couldn't believe the ungoverned would accept such a notion. But some appeared to. This was a matter of survival, and the will of the majority was working in their favor. How quickly cracks the -,,eneer of civilization.

Brierson rolled to his feet. "I'm getting some food. Need anything more?"

Dilip looked up from the discussion with Parker. "Er, no. We're stocked."

"Okay. Be back in a little while." Wil wandered down the lawn, treading carefully around blankets and people. There seemed the same discouraging set of responses: the Peacers enthusiastic, NMs distrustful but recognizing the "basic wisdom" of Tioulang's speech, the ungovs of mixed opinions.

He reached the food, began filling a couple of dates. One good thing about all this deep philosophical debate: He didn't have to wait in line.

The voice behind him was a sardonic bass. "That Tioulang is really a clown, isn't he?"

Wil turned. An ally!

The speaker was a brown-haired Anglo, dressed in a heavy -and none too clean-robe. At one meter seventy, he was short enough so Wil could see the shaved patch on the top of his skull. The fellow had a permanent grin pasted on his face.

"Hello, Jason." Brierson tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Of all the people here, that the only one to echo his thoughts was Jason Mudge, the cheated chiliast and professional crank! It was too much. Wil continued down the food line, piling his plates precariously high. Jason followed, not taking anything to eat, but bombarding Wil with the Mudge analysis of Tioulang's lunacy: Tioulang totally misunderstood Man's crisis. Tioulang was taking humanity back from the Faith. The Peacers and the NMs and the Korolevs-in fact, everybody-had closed their eyes to the possibility of redemption and the perils of further dis-Belief.

Wil grunted occasionally at the other's words, but avoided any meaningful response. Reaching the end of the line, he realized there was no way to get all this food across the lawn without slopping; he'd have to scarf some of it right here. He set the plates down and attacked one of the hot dogs.

Mudge circled closer, thinking Brierson had stopped to listen. Once his spiel began, he was a nonstop talker. Right now, his voice was "powered down." Earlier, he'd stood on the high ground north of the lawn and harangued them for a quarter hour. His voice had boomed across the picnic grounds, as loud as Tioulang's had been with amplification. Even at that volume, he'd spoken as fast as now, every word standing in block capitals. His message was very simple, though repeated again and again with different words: Present-day humans were Truants from the Second Coming of the Lord. (That Second Coming was presumably the Extinction.) He, Jason Mudge, was the prophet of the Third and Final Coming. ,All must repent, take the robes of the Forgiven, and await the Salvation that was soon to come.