"They don't believe it themselves," Joe protested. "It's one of those symbols they set up, to make them superior. They ever tell you what He looks like? Oh, they give Him a prophet, sure, and the prophet gives them words to live by. Don't kill, don't steal, don't lie, don't lust, don't envy—Words, Alix, words, words, words—Judge them by their actions."
Alix looked up. "I'm not—cut out to be a leader."
"Yes, you are. And I cut you out, in their minds, with words. The brown ones read me and the black ones and the yellow ones, and I built you up, in their minds—and tonight they'll wait for a signal from you."
"A signal from me? Are you—what—?"
"A signal from you. To those in the crowd, to those watching on the video screens, the ones who are briefed and know about rioting, about how to steer a revolution. Think of the irony of it—man's prejudice building the army of resentment and man's genius building the machines that army can use to destroy man—white man. White man—first."
"First—?" Manny said. "You've dreams beyond tonight, Joe?"
Joe smiled disarmingly. "I use too many words. That one got away. We can't think beyond tonight, now." He turned to Alix. "It's not an involved signal, Alix. It's just one word. The word is 'kill'. From you it's more than a word, it's an order."
There was a knock at the door, and the sono-bray above the door said, "Time to go up. Time for the big one."
All three were silent, and then Joe put a hand on Alix's shoulder. "You can't give the signal from your back, Alix. You'd better be standing up, when this one is over with."
Alix looked at Joe, trying to read behind those brown eyes. Alix said, "I'll be standing up. There's never been a second I doubted that."