Her expression was almost as haughty as that of her brother. "Do they? I
have never thought so."
"Really, Nadine," her father grumbled. "This is hardly your affair."
"No? In a few days I shall be repairing the damage you have allowed,
indeed sponsored, to be committed upon the bodies of possibly thousands
of now healthy human beings."
Balt said nastily, "Nobody asked you to join the medical staff, Nadine.
You could have stayed in your laboratory, figuring out new methods of
preventing the human race from replenishing itself."
The girl was obviously not the type to redden, but her anger was
manifest. She spun on her brother. "If the race continues its present
maniac course, possibly more effective methods of birth control _are_
the most important development we could make. Even to the ultimate
discovery of preventing all future conception."
Joe caught himself in mid-chuckle.
But not in time. She spun on him in his turn. "Look at yourself in that
silly skirt. A professional soldier! A killer! In my opinion the most
useless occupation ever devised by man. Parasite on the best and useful
members of society. Destroyer by trade!"
Joe began to open his mouth, but she overrode him. "Yes, yes. I know.
I've read all the nonsense that has accumulated down through the ages
about the need for, the glory of, the sacrifice of the professional
soldier. How they defend their country. How they give all for the common
good. Zen! What nonsense."
Balt Haer was smirking sourly at her. "The theory today is, Nadine, old
thing, that professionals such as the captain are gathering experience
in case a serious fracas with the Sovs ever develops. Meanwhile his
training is kept at a fine edge fighting in our inter-corporation,
inter-union, or union-corporation fracases that develop in our private
enterprise society."
She laughed her scorn. "And what a theory! Limited to the weapons which
prevailed before 1900. If there was ever real conflict between the
Sov-world and our own, does anyone really believe either would stick to
such arms? Why, aircraft, armored vehicles, yes, and nuclear weapons and
rockets, would be in overnight use."
Joe was fascinated by her furious attack. He said, "Then, what would you
say was the purpose of the fracases, Miss--"
"Circuses," she snorted. "The old Roman games, all over again, and a
hundred times worse. Blood and guts sadism. The quest of a frustrated
person for satisfaction in another's pain. Our Lowers of today are as
useless and frustrated as the Roman proletariat and potentially they're
just as dangerous as the mob that once dominated Rome. Automation, the
second industrial revolution, has eliminated for all practical purposes
the need for their labor. So we give them bread and circuses. And every
year that goes by the circuses must be increasingly sadistic, death on
an increasing scale, or they aren't satisfied. Once it was enough to
have fictional mayhem, cowboys and Indians, gangsters, or G.I.s versus
the Nazis, Japs or Commies, but that's passed. Now we need _real_ blood
and guts."
Baron Haer snapped finally, "All right, Nadine. We've heard this lecture
before. I doubt if the captain is interested, particularly since you
don't seem to be able to get beyond the protesting stage and have yet to
come up with an answer."
"I have an answer!"
"Ah?" Balt Haer raised his eyebrows, mockingly.
"Yes! Overthrow this silly status society. Resume the road to progress.
Put our people to useful endeavor, instead of sitting in front of their
Telly sets, taking trank pills to put them in a happy daze and watching
sadistic fracases to keep them in thrills, and their minds from their
condition."
Joe had figured on keeping out of the controversy with this firebrand,
but now, really interested, he said, "Progress to where?"
She must have caught in his tone that he wasn't needling. She frowned at
him. "I don't know man's goal, if there is one. I'm not even sure it's
important. It's the road that counts. The endeavor. The dream. The
effort expended to make a world a better place than it was at the time
of your birth."
[Illustration]
Balt Haer said mockingly, "That's the trouble with you, Sis. Here we've
reached Utopia and you don't admit it."
"Utopia!"
"Certainly. Take a poll. You'll find nineteen people out of twenty happy
with things just the way they are. They have full tummies and security,
lots of leisure and trank pills to make matters seem even rosier than
they are--and they're rather rosy already."
"Then what's the necessity of this endless succession of bloody
fracases, covered to the most minute bloody detail on the Telly?"
Baron Haer cut things short. "We've hashed and rehashed this before,
Nadine and now we're too busy to debate further." He turned to Joe
Mauser. "Very well, captain, you have my pledge. I wish I felt as
optimistic as you seem to be about your prospects. That will be all for
now, captain."
Joe saluted and executed an about face.
* * * * *
In the outer offices, when he had closed the door behind him, he rolled
his eyes upward in mute thanks to whatever powers might be. He had
somehow gained the enmity of Balt, his immediate superior, but he'd
also gained the support of Baron Haer himself, which counted
considerably more.
He considered for a moment, Nadine Haer's words. She was obviously a
malcontent, but, on the other hand, her opinions of his chosen
profession weren't too different than his own. However, given this
victory, this upgrading in caste, and Joe Mauser would be in a position
to retire.
The door opened and shut behind him and he half turned.
Nadine Haer, evidently still caught up in the hot words between herself
and her relatives, glared at him. All of which stressed the beauty he
had noticed the day before. She was an almost unbelievably pretty girl,
particularly when flushed with anger.
It occurred to him with a blowlike suddenness that, if his caste was
raised to Upper, he would be in a position to woo such as Nadine Haer.
He looked into her furious face and said, "I was intrigued, Miss Haer,
with what you had to say, and I'd like to discuss some of your points. I
wonder if I could have the pleasure of your company at some nearby
refreshment--"
"My, how formal an invitation, captain. I suppose you had in mind
sitting and flipping back a few trank pills."
Joe looked at her. "I don't believe I've had a trank in the past twenty
years, Miss Haer. Even as a boy, I didn't particularly take to having my
senses dulled with drug-induced pleasure."
Some of her fury was abating, but she was still critical of the
professional mercenary. Her eyes went up and down his uniform in scorn.
"You seem to make pretenses of being cultivated, captain. Then why your
chosen profession?"
He'd had the answer to that for long years. He said now, simply, "I told
you I was born a Lower. Given that, little counts until I fight my way
out of it. Had I been born in a feudalist society, I would have
attempted to batter myself into the nobility. Under classical
capitalism, I would have done my utmost to accumulate a fortune, enough
to reach an effective position in society. Now, under People's
Capitalism ..."