The Plaza was now thronged and the sacrificial pile towered over a
hundred feet in the cleared center area. Then, as the first collective
_Ah!_ arose, a giant slagger lumbered in from the east, the direction
prescribed for such commencements. Long polarity arms glided smoothly
out of the central mechanism and reached the length for Total
Destruction.
"That's the automatic setting," parents explained to their children.
"When?" the children demanded eagerly.
"Any moment now."
Then the unforeseen occurred.
There was a rumbling from inside the pile and a huge jagged patchwork
of metal shot out, smashing both arms. The slagger teetered, swaying
more and more violently from side to side until it collapsed on its
side. The rumbling grew. And then the pile, like a mechanical cancer,
ripped the slagger apart and then absorbed it.
The panicking crowd fell back. Somewhere a child began crying,
provoking more hubbub. "Sabotage!" people were crying. "Let's get
away!"
Nothing like this had ever happened before. But Hart knew instantly
what had caused it. Some high-level servo mechanisms had not been
thoroughly disconnected. They had repaired their damages, then imposed
their patterns on the material at hand.
A second slagger came rushing into the square. It discharged
immediately; and the pile finally collapsed and disintegrated as it
was supposed to.
The crowd was too shocked to feel the triumph it had come for, but
Hart could not share their horror. Burnett eyed him. "Better look
indignant," he said. "They'll be out for blood. Somebody must have
sabotaged the setup."
"Catch the culprits!" he shouted, joining the crowd around him. "Stop
anti-social acts!"
"Stop anti-social acts!" roared Burnett; and, in a whisper: "Hart,
let's get out of here."
As they pushed their way through the milling crowd, a loudspeaker boomed
out: "Return home in peace. The instincts of the people are good. Healthy
destruction forever! The criminals will be tracked down ... if they
exist."
"A terrible thing, friend," a woman said to them.
"Terrible, friend," Burnett agreed. "Smash the anti-social elements
without mercy!"
Three children were clustered together, crying. "I wanted to set the
right example for them," said the father to anyone who would listen.
"They'll _never_ get over this!"
Hart tried to console them. "Next week is High Holy Day," he said, but
the bawling only increased.
The two men finally reached a side avenue where the crowd was thinner.
"Come with me," Burnett ordered, "I want you to meet some people."
* * * * *
He sounded as if he were instituting military discipline but Hart,
still dazed, willingly followed. "It wasn't such a terrible thing," he
said, listening to the distant uproar. "Why don't they shut up!"
"They will--eventually." Burnett marched straight ahead and looked
fixedly in the same direction.
"The thing could have gobbled up the city if there hadn't been a
second slagger!" said a lone passerby.
"Nonsense," Burnett muttered under his breath. "You know that, Hart.
Any self-regulating mechanism reaches a check limit sooner than that."
"It has to."
They turned into a large building and went up to the fiftieth floor.
"My apartment," said Burnett as he opened the door.
There were about fifteen people in the large living room. They rose,
smiling, to greet their host. "Let's save the self-congratulations for
later," snapped Burnett. "These were merely our own preliminaries.
We're not out of the woods yet. This, ladies and gentlemen, is our
newest recruit. He has seen the light. I have fed him basic data and
I'm sure we're not making a mistake with him."
Hart was about to demand what was going on when a short man with eyes
as intense as Burnett's proposed a toast to "the fiasco in the Plaza."
Everyone joined in and he did not have to ask.
"Burnett, I don't quite understand why I am here but aren't you taking
a chance with me?"
"Not at all. I've followed your reactions since your first visit to
the library. Others here have also--when you were completely unaware
of being observed. The gradual shift in viewpoint is familiar to us.
We've all been through it. The really important point is that you no
longer like the kind of world into which you were born."
"That's true, but no one can change it."
"We _are_ changing it," said a thin-faced young woman. "I work in a
servo lab and--."
"Miss Wright, time enough for that later," interrupted Burnett. "What
we must know now, Mr. Hart, is how much you're willing to do for your
new-found convictions? It will be more work than you've ever dreamed
possible."
He felt as exhilarated as he did in the months after High Holy Day.
"I'm down to under ten hours labor a week. I'd do anything for your
group if I could get more work."
Burnett gave him a hearty handshake of congratulation ... but was
frowning as he did so. "You're doing the right thing--for the wrong
reason. Every member of this group could tell you why. Miss Wright,
since you feel like talking, explain the matter."
"Certainly. Mr. Hart, we are engaged in an activity of so-called
subversion for a positive reason, not merely to avoid insufficient
work load. Your reason shows you are still being moved by the values
that you despise. We _want_ to cut the work-production load on people.
We want them to _face_ the problem of leisure, not flee it."
"There's a heart-warming paradox here," Burnett explained. "Every
excess eventually undermines itself. Everybody in the movement starts
by wanting to act for their beliefs because work appears so attractive
for its own sake. I was that way, too, until I studied the dead art
of philosophy."
"Well--" Hart sat down, deeply troubled. "Look, I deplore destroying
equipment that is still perfectly useful as much as any of you do. But
there _is_ a problem. If the destruction were stopped there would be
so much leisure people would rot from boredom."
* * * * *
Burnett pounced eagerly on the argument. "Instead they're rotting from
artificial work. Boredom is a temporary, if recurring phenomenon of
living, not a permanent one. If most men face the difficulty of empty
time long enough they find new problems with which to fill that time.
That's where philosophy showed me the way. None of its fundamental
mysteries can ever be solved but, as you pit yourself against them,
your experience and capacity for being alive grows."
"Very nice," Hart grinned, "wanting all men to be philosophers. They
never have been."
"You shouldn't have brought him here," growled the short man. "He's
not one of us. Now we have a real mess."
"Johnson, I'm leader of this group!" Burnett exploded. "Credit me with
a little understanding. All right, Hart, what you say is true. But
why? Because most men have always worked too hard to achieve the
fruits of curiosity."
"I hate to keep being a spoil-sport, but what does that prove? _Some_
men who had to work as hard as the rest have been interested in things
beyond the end of their nose."
They all groaned their disapproval.
"A good point, Hart, but it doesn't prove what you think. It just
shows that a minority enjoy innate capacities and environmental
variations that make the transition to philosopher easier."
"And _you_ haven't proven anything about the incurious majority."
"This does, though: whenever there was a favorable period the majority
who could, as you put it, see beyond the ends of their noses
increased. Our era is just the opposite. We are trapped in a vicious
circle. Those noses are usually so close to the grindstone that men
are afraid to raise their heads. We are breaking that circle!"
"It's a terribly important thing to aim for, Burnett, but--" He
brought up another doubt and somebody else answered it immediately.
For the next half hour, as one uncertainty was expressed after
another, everybody joined in the answers until inexorable logic forced
his surrender.
"All right," he conceded, "I will do anything I can--not to make work
for myself, but to help mankind rise above it."
* * * * *
Except for a brief, triumphant glance in Johnson's direction, Burnett
gave no further attention to what had happened and plunged immediately
into practical matters.
To halt the blind worship of work, the Rites had first to be
discredited. And to discredit the Rites, the awe inspired by their
infallible performance had to be weakened. The sabotage of the
Preliminary had been the first local step in that direction. There had
been a few similar, if smaller, episodes, executed by other groups,
but they had received as little publicity as possible.
"Johnson, you pulled one so big this time that they can't hide it.
Twenty thousand witnesses! When it comes to getting things done you're
the best we have!"
The little man grinned. "But you're the one who knows how to pick
recruits and organize our concepts. This is how it worked. I re-fed
the emptied cryotron memory box of a robot discard with patterns to
deal with anything it was likely to encounter in a destruction pile. I
kept the absolute-freeze mechanism in working order, but developed a
shield that would hide its activity from the best pile detector." He
spread a large tissue schematic out on the floor and they all
gathered around it to study the details. "Now, the important thing was
to have an external element that could resume contact with a wider
circuit, which could in turn start meshing with the whole robot
mechanism and then through that mechanism into the pile. This little
lever made the contact at a pre-fed time."
Miss Wright was enthusiastic. "That contact is half the size of any
I've been able to make. It's crucially important," she added to Hart.
"A large contact can look suspicious."
While others took miniphotos of the schematic, Hart studied the
contact carefully. "I think I can reduce its size by another fifty per
cent. Alloys are one of my specialties--when I get a chance to work at
them."
"That would be ideal," said Burnett. "Then we could set up many more
discarded robots without risk. How long will it take?"
"I can rough it out right now." He scribbled down the necessary
formulas and everyone photographed that too.
[Illustration]
"Maximum security is now in effect," announced Burnett. "You will
destroy your copies as soon as you have transferred them to edible
base copies. At the first hint of danger you will consume them. Use
home enlargers for study. In no case are you to make permanent
blowups that would be difficult to destroy quickly." He considered
them sternly. "Remember, you are running a great risk. You're not only
opposing the will of the state but the present will of the vast
majority of citizens."
"If there are as many other underground groups as you indicate," said
Hart, "they should have this information."
"We get it to them," answered Burnett. "I'm going on health leave from
my job."
"And what will be your excuse?" Wright demanded anxiously.
"Nervous shock," smiled their leader. "After all, I did see today's
events in the Plaza."
* * * * *
When Hart reached home his wife was waiting for him. "Why did you take
so long, Wendell. I was worried sick. The radio says anti-socials are
turning wild servos loose. How could human beings do such a thing?"
"I was there. I saw it all happen." He frowned. "The crowd was so
dense I couldn't get away."
"But what happened? The way the news was broadcast I couldn't
understand anything."
He described the situation in great detail and awaited Marie's
reaction. It was even more encouraging than he had hoped for. "I
understand less than before! How could anything reactivate that
rubble? They put everything over five years old into the piles, and
the stuff's supposed to be decrepit already. You'd almost think we
were destroying wealth before its time, because if those disabled
mechanisms reactivate--" She came to a dead halt. "That's madness! Oh,
I wish High Holy Day were here already so I could get back to work and
stop this empty _thinking_!"
Her honest face was more painfully distorted than he had ever seen it
before, even during the universal pre-Rite doldrums. "Only a few more
days to go," he consoled. "Don't worry, honey. Everything's going to
be all right. Now I'd like to be alone in the study for a while. I've
been through an exhausting time."
"Aren't you going to eat?"
The last word triggered the entry of Eric, the domestic robot, pushing
the dinner cart ahead of him. "No food to-night," Hart insisted. The
shining metal head nodded its assent and the cart was wheeled out.
"That's not a very humane thing to do," she scolded. "Eric's not going
to be serving many more meals--"
"Good grief, Marie, just leave me alone for a while, will you?" He
slammed the study door shut, warning himself to display less
nervousness in the future as he listened to her pacing outside. Then
she went away.
The projector gave him a good-sized wall image to consider. He spent
most of the night calculating where he could place tiny
self-activators in the "obsolescent" robots that were to be donated by
his plant. Then he set up the instruction tapes to make the miniature
contacts. Production then would be a simple job, only taking a few
minutes, and during a working day there were always many periods
longer than that when he was alone on the production floor.
But thinking the matter out without computers was much more difficult.
Human beings ordinarily filled their time on a lower abstracting
level.
When he unlocked the study door in the morning he was startled to see
Marie bustling down the corridor, pushing the food service cart
herself. That did not make sense, especially considering last night's
statement about Eric.
"I thought you'd want breakfast early," she coughed.
"You didn't have to bother, honey. Eric could have done it."
If she had been prying, the cart might have been a prop to take up as
soon as he came out. On the other hand, what could she in her
technical ignorance make of such matters anyway?
It was best not to rouse any deeper suspicions by openly noticing her
wifely nosiness. At breakfast they pretended nothing had happened,
devoting the time to mutually disapproved cousins, but all day long he
kept wondering whether ignorant knowledge couldn't be as dangerous as
the knowing kind.
* * * * *
The next morning, after a long sleep, he went to the factory for the
first of his semi-weekly work periods.
He sat before a huge console, surveying scores of dials, at the end of
a machine that was over five hundred yards long. Today it was turning
out glass paper the color of watered blood, made only for Ritual
publications, packing it in sheets and dispatching them in automatic
trucks; but the machine could be adjusted to everything from metal
sheeting to plastic felts. At the far end sat another man, diminished
by distance, busily tending more dials that could really take care of
themselves.
After a while the man went out for a break. Hart ran a hundred yards
to a section that was not working. He snapped it into the alloy supply
and fed in the tape. In a minute, several dozen tiny contacts came
down a chute. He pocketed them and disconnected the section just
before his fellow worker reappeared.
The man walked down the floor to him, looking curious.
"Anything the matter?" he asked, hopeful for some break in routine.
"No, just felt like a walk."
"Know what you mean--I feel restless too. Too bad this plant's only
two years old. Boy, wouldn't she make a great disintegration!" He
grinned, slapping a fender affectionately.
Hart joined in the joke. "Gives us something to look forward to in ten
years."
"A good way to look at things," said the other man.
At home he locked the contacts in a desk drawer. Tomorrow he would
deliver most of them to Burnett's apartment.
But the next morning an emergency letter came from his group leader,
warning him not to appear there. _I am going completely underground. I
think they may suspect my activities. The dispersion plan must go into
effect. You know how to reach Johnson and Wright and they each in turn
can get to two others. Good luck!_
He had just put the letter in his pocket when Eric announced the
arrival of a Rituals Inspector.
The man had nervous close-set eyes and seemed embarrassed by his need
to make such a visit. Hart took the offensive as his best defense. "I
don't understand this, Inspector," he protested. "You people should
be busy with High Holy preparations. Are you losing your taste for
work?"
"Now, now, Mr. Hart, that's a very unkind remark. I dislike this
nonsense as much as anyone." His square jaw chewed into each word as
he opened his scanning box. "It's the anti-social sabotage."
"Do you mean to say I am under suspicion?" Marie was now loitering in
the doorway, worse luck.
"Oh, no. Nothing so insulting. This is strictly impersonal. The
Scanning Center has picked apartments at complete random and we're to
make spot checks."
The eye at one end of the box blinked wickedly, waiting for an
information feed. "Now, sir, if you'll pardon me, I'll just take the
records from one of those desk drawers--any drawer--and put them in
the box." Hart slid open a drawer. "No, sir, I think I'll try the next
one. It's regulation not to accept suggestions."
With a hand made deft by practise he scooped out all the sheets and
tapes and put them in the box. The scanner's fingers rapidly sorted
them past the eye. Hart exhaled, relieved that an innocuous drawer had
been selected, and the inspector handed back the material to him.
"Well, Inspector, that's that."
"Not quite." The Inspector selected another drawer at the other end of
the desk and dumped everything before the scanner. His examination was
speeding up and that was not good; he would have time to take more
sample readings.
"Now if you'll empty your left pocket--"
* * * * *
"Oh, this is too much!" Marie exploded. "My husband struggles all
night on secret work, studying to find ways to stop the anti-socials,
and you treat him like one of them!"
"You're working on the problem?" the Inspector said respectfully.
"What are you doing?"
Frying pan to fire. Hart preferred the pan and pulled open a drawer.
"It's too complicated, too much time needed to explain!"
The Inspector glanced at his watch. "I'm falling behind schedule." He
closed up his box. "Sorry, but I have to leave. Heavy time sheet
today."
As soon as he was gone, Hart breathed easier. Nothing incriminating
would be fed into the Central Scanner.
Marie became apologetic. "I'm sorry I said it, Wendell, but I couldn't
keep quiet. All I did last night was peek in once or twice."