[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science
Fiction November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _Money was worthless, yet no man dared go broke. It was all
pretty confusing to Mark until "Point-Plus-Pearlie" told him--YOU TOO
CAN BE A MILLIONAIRE _]
[Illustration: _Life had become a mad scramble for points._]
Mark Renner looked anxiously backward as he ran up the street to the
place where the faded gold lettering on one window said "Jewelry." That
would be a good place to hide, he thought. Most of the plate-glass
windows and doors along the street were broken out as in fact they were
everywhere, and had been for twenty years--but one of the jewelry
windows and the door, protected by iron grating, were still whole and
would help to conceal him.
With one final glance back at the corner, he climbed the grating,
scuttled across it, and dropped down. Then, keeping low, he ducked in
among the dusty old counters and stopped abruptly, listening.
He heard Conley's slow, slapping footsteps as the tall man rounded the
corner and came up the street. He forced himself to breathe softly in
spite of the pounding of his heart. The dust rose a little around him
and got in his nostrils and he wanted to sneeze, but by sheer willpower
he choked it down.
Conley was from the Machine--Central Audit Bureau--and the Machine knew
by now that Mark was three thousand points in the red. Three thousand
points--when you were supposed to be always within one day's point of a
balance. You were allowed twelve hundred points a day, so Mark was now
two and a half days in debit.
He'd been walking the streets in a sort of daze, signing slips right and
left while his own pad of slips stayed in his pocket. He hadn't cared,
either, until now, because in this brave new world of the one
freedom--freedom from work--he was abominably unhappy.
Everybody struggled all day to get enough points to stay even with
Central, and what good did it do them? You got even one day, but the
next day you had to start all over. There wasn't any point to it. So
he'd said to hell with it, and for five days now he'd ignored the
Machine entirely except to line up automatically once a day at the
concourse to have his card audited. And for five straight days the
balance had been in red.
Then, today, he had seen Conley on the street, coming toward him. All of
a sudden Mark had been scared. He didn't know what Central would do to
him--nobody knew--but he didn't want to find out, either. He ran from
Conley.
Now he crouched in the dust behind an empty counter while Conley's
footsteps approached. He held his breath when they got close, and when
they passed the broken window he was very thankful.
It was late afternoon and he thought Conley would go back to Central.
Nobody knew much about Conley except that he represented the Machine and
that he seemed to disappear within it every afternoon.
So, presently, Mark crawled out of the broken window and walked down to
Main Street. He looked carefully right and left and then, not seeing
Conley's tall form above the traffic, he wandered slowly down the
street, trying to figure things out. Why wasn't there anything worth
while to do? What was the reason for all the broken windows and empty
stores? Had there once been places where people could buy things like
food and clothes? Maybe--before Central Audit Bureau had come into
existence. Or had Central always been there?
Mark saw the old lady sitting in the wheel-chair. He turned out absently
to walk by her. He saw her put her foot in his way but his brain wasn't
working. He stumbled over her foot.
Instantly the old lady half arose from her chair as if in pain,
shrieking and brandishing her cane, the leg held stiffly out in front of
her. "You've injured me," she shrieked in a raucous voice. "You've hurt
my lame foot!"
Mark stood there dumbly. He was a young man and so he didn't at once
foresee what was about to happen.
A crowd gathered in no time. The old lady was putting on a show. Mark
didn't get it. He would have allowed her a thousand points--even fifteen
hundred--without argument. But he got the shock of his young life.
"Thirty thousand points!" she screamed at him, and thrust a pad of slips
at him. "Sign my slip, please."
* * * * *
Mark took the pad automatically. He took the pencil she held out. He
started to sign. He'd never get a credit balance at the Central Bureau
now, but he didn't care. Maybe he'd get in so deep they'd give him some
work.
The old lady's voice rose unexpectedly. "My feelings are hurt, too. He
did it deliberately. Five thousand points for my injured feelings."
Dazedly Mark wrote down "Thirty-five thousand and no more," and signed
his name. He handed the pad back to her and started on. The crowd was
leaving.
But a voice stopped him. A soft voice. "Wait, son." He looked back. He
started to go on, then he saw the old lady's eyes on his. "Stick
around," she said. There wasn't any raucousness in her voice now. "Wait
till the crowd goes. I want to talk to you."
Presently he was walking beside her while she laboriously operated the
two big hand-wheels that propelled the chair. Two blocks away she turned
into an empty building marked "Groceries." Mark helped her cross the
threshold.
Inside, she amazed him by springing out of the chair and standing quite
steadily. She was small and she wasn't as old and wrinkled as he had
thought. "You get in the chair," she said. "I'll push you. I need the
exercise."
A minute later she was pushing him briskly along the street while Mark
sat, still half dazed, in the wicker chair, her old red shawl was across
his lap.
"Get cramps in my legs, to say nothing of my bottom," she observed,
"sitting there all day." She saw him stiffen. "Oh, you needn't be
shocked. After all, I'm old enough to be your grandmother. I was born in
1940, you know."
"Nineteen-forty," Mark repeated, wonderingly. "Gee, that was back in the
days when everybody worked. I wish _I_ could work."
"Well, it's a changed world," she observed. "In those days, you _had_ to
work."
At that instant Mark heard the ominous slapping footsteps. He looked
ahead, and there was Conley, easily noticeable because of the type N hat
a head above everybody else, coming toward them. Mark snatched up the
red shawl and wrapped it around his face to the nose and pulled his hat
low over his eyes. He watched from under the type L brim while Conley
approached. He held his breath while Conley fixed his deep eyes on him
for a moment, but Conley went by, and once more he was safe.
The old lady trotted briskly along. They passed a few people who stared
at them, but Mark was thinking. "This is 2021," he observed. "You're
eighty-one years old. You must know all about things."
"I'm quite spry," she pointed out, "though I must say I am working up a
sweat right now. No, no--" She pushed Mark back into the chair. "It's
good for me. Don't get enough exercise any more. Now you just sit there.
You're in a bad way. Anybody who'd fall for such a phony act and release
thirty-five thousand points without even an argument--well, of course,"
she said archly, "I do have a well-turned ankle."
But the enormity of Mark's debit with Central when the old lady should
turn in his slip, began to worry him. He wondered if he could get it
back from her. He wasn't happy with the world, and things were all
wrong, and all that, but still--well, he did have to live in it.
Thirty-five thousand points. He began to worry. He wished he knew what
the penalty would be. He wondered if the old lady knew. What were these
points all about anyway? "You must know," he said, "how the world got
into this mess."
She chuckled, "For thirty-five thousand points, I guess you've got a
right to the story." She turned into the archway of a standard type B
apartment house.
He wondered what she would do with all those points. What did anybody do
with them? Everybody had about the same living quarters. Food was
furnished by automatic vendors at the Hydroponic Farms. Clothes were
provided, ready-made; all you had to do was put your credit card in a
machine, punch the buttons for your measurements, and a suit would drop
down the chute.
Mark got out of the chair and helped her inside with it. He took off his
hat and started uncertainly to leave, but she put her hand on his arm,
"No, no. Have supper with me. I'll tell you all about everything. Glad
to. There aren't many who want to know about things any more."
Her apartment was neat and clean. It was hard for Mark to connect it
with an old woman shrieking points at him. "My name's Pearl.
Point-Plus-Pearlie, they call me. But my real name's Penelope. You can
call me Penelope."
"Thank you," Mark said gravely, and sat down. Penelope bustled into an
apron and began pulling packages from the freezer. "We'll have a feed,
you and I--a real feed." She chuckled pleasantly. "After all, you're
paying for it."
* * * * *
Mark squirmed uncomfortably.
"I'll tell you how all this started," Penelope said, popping open a can
of high-content protein. "Back before you were born there were insurance
companies. At first they were started to insure your life, and--"
"Your life!" Mark frowned. "How--"
"Never mind. Also, they insured you against loss by fire. Then it was
loss by collision of vehicles--you've never seen an auto, of course--and
so on. Finally they got to insuring you against hurting yourself when
you slipped on a cake of soap in the bathtub, and then they insured
against a suit for damages by someone who might stub his toe and fall
down and break a leg on your sidewalk. Follow me?"
"I think so," said Mark doubtfully.
"Well, there were all kinds of lawsuits. Two men would be in an
accident. Both hurt. Their insurance companies would sue each other.
Suppose A knocked over a ladder and B fell down on top of him. B's fall
broke A's arm and it broke his own leg. A could sue B for breaking his
arm. B could sue A for making him fall. Well, suppose A was insured by
company X, and B was insured by company Y. A and B filed claims against
each other's companies, and everybody went to court."
"You mean they didn't agree on damages?" Mark asked incredulously.
"Exactly." Penelope cut off the top of a bottle of enzymes. "It was
pretty dumb. But pretty soon the companies got wise. They formed working
agreements.
"When two companies carried insurance on two persons involved in an
accident, the companies just presented their claims to each other, and
the one with the biggest claim against him paid the difference, while
each company paid off the claim of the one it represented. You can see
what eventually happened."
She punched a button and a dinette table popped out of the wall.
"Companies insured people for more and more types of damage, even
against being insulted or against a claim for damages for being
insulted. The big companies eliminated the small ones, and it was just a
matter of bookkeeping among those that were left. Eventually the
government took it over."
"But look," said Mark, "I don't see--"
"Don't rush me." Penelope put a can into the container-dissolver and
punched the button that set out the plates and silverware on the tiny
table. "You see, pretty soon everybody was insured for everything
possible. People were collecting right and left, mostly small amounts
but lots of them. But it took quite a bit of time to file claims and so
on. And also, a man spent all he made buying insurance to protect
himself. It was a wicked circle. Nobody could quit buying insurance and
nobody dared quit filing claims. That's when the government took over.
They simplified things. Once a day you turn your slips into Central and
the Machine audits your account. That's all there is to it."
"But there's nothing else to do," Mark objected. "No entertainment, no
work."
"Why should there be entertainment? Entertainment means work for
somebody. No, Central--which is the government, of course--has
eliminated work for everybody and at the same time has provided
something to keep everybody busy. What work must be done is done by
automatic, self-lubricating, self-repairing, self-renewing machinery."
She sighed. "It's a brave new world. Everything is neatly worked out.
Everybody spends all their time gathering points to offset the points
they lose gathering points--and nobody seems to mind except a few rebels
like you and me. I saw that rebellious look in your eyes when you signed
my slip. That's why I invited you to come along with me. But, as I said,
Central keeps everybody busy all day and half the night trying to
balance themselves. There's no labor problem, no unemployment, no
relief, no worry about anything." She paused, to dip the vitamins out of
the dissolver. "The only catch is--it's so damned monotonous."
Mark blinked, but Penelope whirled on him, the dissolver in one hand.
"Why do you think I sit out there and put on my act all day long? Not to
get points, though I confess the points are the measure of my
success--but because life is too dull otherwise." She dished out the
vitamins.
"You say the government did all this?"
"Yes."