The CRES code

Chapter Thirty Seven - Randall Agitates

     Becoming famous would be very dangerous, Randall knew. Bringing himself to the attention of the people of Elmton would also bring him to the attention of the priests, and he was new in town. They would want to check him out, even if just to rule him out as one of the hibernators. A simple handshake was all it would take to positively identify him, with their ability to sample his DNA with instruments hidden in their hands and the fact that his DNA was on record in the lunar data archive. Randall had to establish a prominent position for himself among the normal people of the city, therefore, while somehow not getting too involved with the priests.

     Randall had spent a lot of time figuring out a strategy that might accomplish that, and as he returned to the city with Deeks, the rat catcher, the wool menchant and his surviving men he began to put his plan into effect. He would let his companions tell the tale of what had happened in Duffield while he gave the appearance of self effacing modesty. The next time he met Loach he would get him to tell the tale as well. That would, hopefully, allow Randall to keep a low profile while the legend spread, being told and retold by people hoping to become part of the legend. 'I was there when it happened,' they would say, whether they actually had been or not. 'I saw it with my own eyes!'

     To help things along, Randall spent the return journey continuing to sermonise the evils of taxation to his companions, especially Deeks, who seemed to have become some kind of disciple after seeing him fight the chieftain. He never seemed to tire of hearing Randall repeat his tragic made up backstory and stared with rapt attention as Randall stated and restated his determination to tear down the oppressive rule of the aristocrats in order to replace it with a fairer system. A system in which the common people made the rules. Randall would become the people's champion, copying a tried and tested method used by countless rebels and revolutionaries down through history.

     The first instincts of the aristocrats would be to catch and execute him, Randall knew. That was always their favourite method of dealing with agitators, but history tought that if a rebel could avoid their notice for long enough, allowing him to create a large enough power base, then his death would make him a martyr, creating more problems than it solved. In that situation, the Establishment almost always turned to the same Plan B. Assimilate the upstart. Turn the rebel into one of them so that he would become a part of the very system they thought he was trying to destroy.

     They would invite Randall to become an aristocrat. We share your desire for a fairer system, they would say, but you can accomplish that better by associating with the people who have the real power, giving you the ability to influence them directly. To do that, of course, he would have to fit in. Wear expensive clothes, live in an expensive house, and once the former rebel got a taste for that kind of life he would lose the desire to destroy it. His former followers would abandon him in disgust, and when he was finally alone the aristocrats would be able to kill him safely, unless one of his former followers did it for them first.

     That was the move Randall was hoping the aristocrats would make, knowing that, once he had a foot in the door of aristocratic society he would he able to use his head phone to gather information on them. Power to influence. Possibly by direct blackmail, although he preferred more subtle methods if possible. Once he had enough of them under his sway he would be able to make himself an aristocrat in reality, giving him what he really wanted. The resources he needed to attack his real target. VIX, the machine god.

     "Home at last!" he said as they rode their horses in through the city gate along with a stream of refugees from nearby towns and villages seeking the safety of the city walls. Randall's gratitude that their journey was at an end was genuine, his tailbone was starting to ache from being so long in the saddle, but he could hardly say that. It was hardly heroic and, above all, he had to appear heroic.