Rikkalek was not there. They had said that he was the one who had called them there, and yet he was absent.
Minister Demirkol got up from her chair, pacing around the room. She had been half frightened, half sympathetic, with the man; now she was completely, utterly terrified. Why had they been brought here? Not for a meeting, not for an address; otherwise he would have been present. She had thought that her support for him would have gained his confidence. In different times she might have been swayed by Malk and the others of the older guard of the bureaucracy, trying to overthrow him; but she more than they knew that Rikkalek was different. He was not a Kerel, nor an Ikomar; he was more careful, more cautious but all the same more radical and this had given him the support of the people, or really the associations.
What was in a name? Kerel referred to a place, Ikomar to a social rank, something akin to the middle class, but Rikkalek referred to the position his ancestors had once occupied, a secular rendering of it after they had fallen, for the name of their house, their dynasty, had been lost to the ages. And indeed, Kerel's tenure had been tepid and conservative, unchanging as places were; Ikomar's one of a liberal paternalism, where he advocated for an equal society but in reality dictated to the rest from a high position; and Rikkalek's one of authority, of something approaching but not quite, or not yet, the imperial flair of his forefathers.
But names nor ancestry mattered; only the present. It would be simple for him to purge the bureaucracy as he wanted now, with the level of power and support that he had; had he brought them here to exile them, to kill them? There would be no issues afterwards; those who governed the associations were more than prepared to take over. She knew that that was what he wanted, what the associations wanted; it was what she had pretended to support to keep her power.
That was what they all had always done, but now ideology was beginning to override their machinations.
The director of the Agriculture Association opened a door and walked in. "Good evening," he said, his voice carefully modulated. '
"When may we expect to see the Head of State?" asked Minister Sancar, calmly. He as well as anyone except perhaps Arkalis, thought Demirkol, knew that anger got oneself nowhere in these situations. These were different times, no longer the Istkalen of the 80s and 90s but of the 2000s, a place where they had to remain quiet to keep their places, lest those below replaced them.
"He's not to arrive," said the director.
Was this some clever farce, or the truth, thought Demirkol. The implication was that Rikkalek was not involved in what was happening. Was he seeking to separate the two, to save Rikkalek in the case that it failed; or was he acting of his own accord?
"Why, then, were we called here?" she asked, careful not to convey anger nor worry, careful only to convey a slight unease, a slight curiosity, a general neutrality.
"Firstly, of course, I have to say one thing. Among yourselves," said the director, "you engage in your petty struggles. Killing people and the such. Everyone knows it, and I imagine you all think that we are ourselves engaging in your struggles; that we are but an extension of you. But we are not corrupt as you are; we still have something of a moral compass."
"We did not come here to listen to you moralize from on high," said Arkalis. "The whole bunch of you have an issue with hypocrisy. First it was Rikkalek, your idiotic goon, coming to us and lecturing us about being 'close to the people,' the great-grandson of the last emperor, and now it is the most corrupt people in the whole of our country seeking to lecture us about right and wrong! Oh, the humanity! First our legislative power, given to Rikkalek, now whatever other powers we have to you; what is next, our lives, you idiots?"
"This is baseless," said the director. "You also have a penchant for repeating your own ideas again and again at meeting after meeting, please say something original the next time you open your mouth. The message I have for you is simple. You are a lot of aristocrats, in our view, a cancer on the nation. You exist only because of tradition; there are so many others just as 'talented' as you who are denied entry into your exclusive class. To liquidate you all would be a shame, and a disaster from the nation; but to keep you in your current positions would be the same."
He paused, and Demirkol sighed. She would not speak, she could not speak - she had already committed her support for such a thing, what could she do without giving herself away - but she knew that others would speak.
Isteresskemar was the one who did. "So then what is to happen to us? You cannot transfer all power to you; there are a number of bureaucracies, as you term them, which cannot be easily integrated into the associations, as I imagine you seek to do. To lessen, to return to the people, is always good; but we must remain pragmatic."
"You say this because you are fearful," said the director. "It is your office, really, that you refer to. The head of the only ministry to deal with matters of the outside world. But, as I said, we are merciful. To suddenly strip you of your positions would appear...chaotic to the outside world. We perhaps better than you - for you between yourselves quarreled insanely and allowed this to consume the state - we understand the danger of this. You will not be sacked, that would cause disorder. But you will not retain your powers. You imply that your office does work that is impossible for us to do; but what work is this? I can think already of several associations which can take on your tasks."
"And we are to remain," said Sancar, "as advisors to the Head of State alone?"
"We do not deny your expertise, nor do we think it wise to leave you without work completely and still feed you. Of course you will remain in that role - but it will be limited, to prevent you from scheming as you have done. Ours will be a democratic state, not your aristocracy, your so-called 'meritocracy.'"
Demirkol listened and listened to the questions and responses, and realized that they were soon to be done away with entirely. First their legislative powers had been stripped, then their executive powers; and in all likelihood their advisory powers would be next. She could not protest lest she be discovered for what she really was; she, as the rest, she thought, could merely smile until she was finally thrown away, discarded, at the end. But whose machinations were they? Those of the associations, or those of Rikkalek's? Or were they one and the same? Difficult to say.
"Social democrats!" screamed Arkalis at the end of the meeting. "Fascists!"
No response. The director merely turned, quietly, and left the room. They were left alone, in silence and shock.
