"Complaint on policy and purpose of Copyright Law," said Jeb nervously.
"Would you please handle it, sir? I'll switch you."
* * * * *
As Dirdon's mouth pressed into a thin line and he nodded, Jeb flicked a
switch. Both men on the screen immediately turned profiles to Jeb and
Laurie, seeing each other in their own screens.
"Did you have a complaint, sir?" asked Dirdon.
"I don't know who the devil you are," shouted the man from Marriage
Relations, "but I assume you're one of those pirates cashing in on that
copyright swindle. That new law has gone much too far. Copyrighting a
work of skill, art, or expression is okay, I suppose, but to extend it
to everyday speech, to verbal phrases--"
"Now just a minute," said Dirdon briskly. "You buy greeting cards, I
suppose, sir?"
"So I buy greeting cards, so what?"
"What are greeting cards exactly? Just a small square of paper with
a few words, a _very_ few words of sentiment on them. Words that any
normal person certainly might be able to--"
"Any moron can write a better sentiment than those lousy cards express."
"But _you_ buy them sometimes?"
"Well ... sometimes."
"Why?" demanded Dirdon.
"Saves me the bother of figuring out what to say, I guess," was the
growled answer.
"Right. And you _paid_ for these very few moronic phrases, paid good
hard credits for them. Now isn't it just as logical to protect owners
of a phrase when somebody else uses it verbally?"
"But," said the man desperately, "I didn't _want_ to violate the
Copyright on Verbal Use. I didn't _know_ that phrase was under
Copyright. Who can keep track of them all? Every day, more phrases and
expressions are under Copyright as somebody else's property. Why, first
thing you know, there'll hardly be any words left to say."
* * * * *
"That isn't true," objected Dirdon. "Copyright Law on Verbal Use is a
great boon to society. Rule 7 for admission to protection requires that
the phrase covered be one which may be considered 'shopworn, overused
and so artistically traditional that it is a wearisome truism.' That
means that verbal mediocrity is heavily penalized, which is right and
proper. Why, you ought to be ashamed to use a phrase like 'were made
for each other.' It's Monitors like Jeb who make you watch your words
and think very carefully before you speak."
"Listen, stupid--"
"Already," Dirdon plowed on, happily oratorical, "our citizens are
being forced to express themselves more richly, with initiative,
casting off triteness!"
The man from Marriage Relations looked disgusted. "Ah," he said
angrily, "why don't you drop dead."
Bong!
* * * * *
The man moaned as the Monitex Jeb held glowed red with another
violation. Jeb grinned and pressed the loudspeaker button.
"Mz-R-14," droned the voice. "At half-past eight, Monitex 27965 of
Freelance Monitor Jeb picked a violation of...."
The man covered his ears. After a few moments, he took his hands away
and looked numbly from the screen as Dirdon smirked.
"What's the Copyright fee on that one?" he asked.
"The use of the words 'Drop Dead' will cost you ten credits," said Jeb.
"We'll bill you for both violations."
Dirdon was beaming as Jeb snapped the whole screen dark.
With a start, Jeb remembered Laurie and turned to face her anger. "See,
honeybunch?" he said hopefully. "Even if I did lose a few credits on
the leasing charge by leaving the Monitex on all night, it looks like a
lucky day. Why, I'll bet I make enough commissions today to send you on
a nice vacation."
Laurie gave him a narrow-eyed, cold stare.
"You'd better," she said. "Because I've just about had enough of you.
Either you make a big killing today or I certify you by midnight
tonight. Do you hear me?"
Jeb nodded in fright. He scuttled out of the room, picking up a gravity
harness from the stand in the foyer and not pausing to buckle himself
into it until she slammed the door behind him.
Sighing, Jeb got into the harness and took off. He floated out the
opening at the end of the corridor at the sixty-story level and joined
the stream of commuters at two thousand feet.
As he set his speed at thirty miles an hour, he came abreast of a man
wearing the solid gray uniform of an Unassigned Citizen. Jeb saw the
look of misery on the man's drawn face and felt so sympathetic, he
didn't even bother to hide his Monitex in its disguising parcel. You
had to be pretty low to make your money out of a guy in that tough
status. _Hell_, thought Jeb defiantly, _let him see it and be warned; I
don't care. Even if the Inspector sees me._
He noted the Unassigned Citizen staring down at the panorama of the
vast city beneath them. At different lower levels, myriad flights of
streaming citizens moved in various directions. The tremendous blocks
of buildings had thin slits between them at the bottom of which were
walks filled with antlike figures.
"Ugly, huh?" said Jeb.
He got a moody stare in return. "Believe it or not, I suddenly find it
beautiful. Compared to where I'm heading, anyway."
* * * * *