Keller turned to look at him. The man, he noted, was wearing one of the
late model inductive headbands that had been sold in such quantities
lately. Deluxe model, too. Must have cost him at least two months' pay.
Like almost everyone else, he was vitally concerned in this latest
affair. Keller frowned. He, himself, he realized, was acting childishly.
He would simply be wasting time by trying to do this by himself.
"Yes," he growled. "Get me a brief on a few cases like this one." He
made full contact with the man, rapidly summarizing his conversation
with DeVore, and including DeVore's short flash of his own conversation
with Ward Kirk.
"_And get a rundown from personnel. Dig up something on their angle,
too. Several representative cases. Get a few people to help you--many as
you need. I'm going to take this whole mess in to the Chief tomorrow
morning._"
* * * * *
Paul Graham swept into the apartment, seized his wife about the waist
and swung her into the air, to set her on top of one of his bookcases.
"They've done it, honey," he shouted.
Elaine kicked her heels in a rapid tattoo against the back of the case.
"Paul Graham, you get me down this instant," she ordered indignantly.
"Who's done what?"
Graham stepped back and beat on his chest. "Meet the new production
manager, Mentacom Division, Consolidated Electronics."
"Production manager? But, Paul, only first-class citizens can hold
supervisory positions."
"Not any more. Didn't you have the communicator on for the news? It all
came in."
Elaine shook her head and jumped to the floor. "I've a confession to
make, Paul. Ever since they stopped the compulsory notices, I haven't
had the thing on at all. It bothered me."
Her husband shook his head in mock dismay. "So now, I'm married to an
ignoramus." He spread his hands. "She doesn't know what's going on in
the great, big world." He shook a finger at her.
"It all busted this afternoon, darling. While you sat around in your
splendid isolation, everything turned upside down."
She looked at him indignantly for an instant, then turned toward the
kitchen.
"Paul, if you don't stop raving, I'm going to get my mentacom and pry it
out of you," she threatened. "Now, you just settle down. Stop talking in
circles and tell me what this is all about."
"Oh, all right. If you insist." Graham sank into a chair, looking like a
small boy caught in a prank. "First, there are no more first-class
citizens--no second-class citizens--not even third-class citizens.
Everyone's a citizen again. Period." He threw his hands up.
"You mean--?"
"That's exactly what I mean. No more restrictions. No more compulsory
community work. No more quarters inspections. And no more privileges.
We've got rights again!
"If you want a dress, you buy it. You don't worry about whether it suits
your station. If I can hold a job, I get it. And I did!" He got out of
the chair and strode across the room, to sit on the arm of the divan.
"And I can do this, if I want to. If I break this thing down, so help
me, George, I'll go out and buy a new one." He bounced up and down a
little.
"The administrators are going back to their original jobs. They're
responsible for defense, in case of enemy attack, and that's all." He
paused. "Of course, until sector and district elections can be held,
they'll still take care of some of the community functions--some of
them, that is. But the elections'll be set up in a few weeks, and we'll
be able to choose our own officials for community government."
He bounced to his feet again, strode around the bookcases, and looked
down at his desk. Then, he looked around again.
"Corporations are being set up to take over home construction." He held
up a hand. "_Home_ construction, I said, not quarters. They're
commercializing helicopter manufacture, all kinds of repair work, and a
lot of other services. And they're going to restore patent rights. That
means plenty to us, darling, believe me."
* * * * *
"But, but why? What happened?"
Graham turned on her. "Elaine," he cried, "haven't you noticed how many
people are wearing mentacoms now, all the time? Haven't you noticed the
consideration people have been giving each other for the past weeks?
Remember what I told you once? If you fully understand a person, you
simply can't kick him around. It's too much like taking slaps at
yourself. With the exception of a few empathic cripples, who can't use
the mentacom properly anyway, everyone, inside the administrative
offices, as well as out, recognized that the bureaucracy was simply
unworkable as it stood. So, they changed it. Effective immediately."
Elaine stamped her foot. "You know I haven't been out of this
apartment," she cried. "And you know why. I simply couldn't stand the
treatment I got. I'd have gotten into serious trouble in minutes. So,
I've stayed in. I've done my shopping by communicator, and contented
myself right here." She paused.
"But how is the new administration going to be supported? What are
people going to do? How are they taking it? It's all so sudden, I should
think--"
Graham held up a hand.
"Hey," he protested. "One at a time, please! First--remember taxes?
Remember how we used to growl about them? They're back. And I love 'em.
Second--nobody is going to do anything. Anything drastic or unusual,
that is. And finally? Everyone I've seen is taking it in their stride.
Seems as though they've been sort of expecting it, ever since they
started mind-to-mind communication.
"You'd be surprised how good most people are at it, now that they're
used to it. You start into a line of helicopters. All at once, you
realize that the guy coming is really in a hurry. He's got to get
somewhere, fast. So, you let him go by. The next fellow's not going to
be in any tearing rush. He'll let you in, and cheer you on your way.
"You feel like being left alone? Nobody'll even notice you. But if you
feel like talking, half a dozen total strangers'll find something in
common with you. And they'll discuss it. Honey, you'll be surprised how
much you've missed. Get your mentacom. Let's take a little shopping
trip."
* * * * *
"And here's one of our more difficult cases. But he's coming along
nicely." Dr. Moran pointed through the one-way window.
"Name's Howard Morely. He used to be a district leader, under the
bureaucracy. But along in the last few weeks, just before the change, he
got into some sort of scrape. They questioned him, and declared him
unfit for service. Put him out on a pension." He pulled at an ear.
"Matter of fact, I understand his case had quite a deal to do with the
change--sort of triggered it. They tell me it sort of pointed up the
fallacies of the bureaucracy." He shrugged.
"But that's unimportant now, I guess. He almost receded into complete
paranoia. Had a virtually complete case of empathic paralysis when he
came to us. Simply no conception of any other person's point of view,
and a hatred of people that was fantastic. But he's nearly normal now."
The visiting psychiatrist nodded. "I've seen the type, of course. We
have a number of them, too. You say this new technique was successfully
used in his case?"
"Yes. We had doubts of it, too. Seemed too simple. Sure, we're all
familiar with the mentacoms by now. Wouldn't be without my own. But the
idea of a field generator so powerful as to force clear impressions into
a crippled mind like his, without completely destroying that mind,
seemed a little fantastic." He shrugged.
"In this case, though, it was a last resort, so we tried it. He resisted
the field for days. Simply sat in his cell and stared at the walls. We
were almost ready to give up when one of the operators finally got
through to him. Know what his first visualization was?"
The visitor shook his head and laughed. "I could try a guess, I
suppose," he said, "but my chances would be something less than one in a
thousand million."
Moran grinned. "You're so right. There was a whole bunch of kids
standing around. Looked like dozens of 'em. And they were all chanting
at the top of their voices. You know that old jingle? 'Howie's got a
gir-rul?' Chanted it over and over." The grin widened. "Operator said
his face stung for ten minutes. That girl must have packed one sweet
wallop!"