When Freddy Soligen entered his living room, he automatically switched
off the Telly screen which was the entire north wall. The room's
lights automatically went brighter.
His perpetual air of sour cynicism was absent as he chuckled to the
room's sole inhabitant, "What! A son of mine gawking at Telly? Next
I'll be finding tranks by the bowl full, sitting on the tea table."
His son grinned at him. Already, at the ago of sixteen, Samuel Soligen
was a good three inches taller than his father, at least ten pounds
heavier. The boy was bright of eye, toothy of smile, gawky as only a
teen-ager can be gawky, and obviously the proverbial apple of his
father's eye.
Sam said, the faintest note of apology in his tone, "Just finished my
assignments, Papa. Thought I'd see if there was anything worthwhile on
the air."
"An incurable optimist," Freddy chuckled. "You take after your mother.
Believe me, Sam. There's _never_ anything worthwhile on Telly."
"Not even when you're casting?"
"_Especially_ when I'm casting, boy. What've you been getting at the
Temple school these days? Zen! I've been so busy on a special project
I've been working on, I haven't had time to keep check on whether or
not you're even still living here."
The boy shrugged, picked up an apple from the sideboard and began to
munch. His voice was disinterested. "Aw, Comparative Religion, mostly.
We gotta go way back and study about the Greeks and the
Triple-Goddess, and then the Olympians, and all that curd."
"Hey, watch your language, Sam. Remember, you're going to wind up a
priest."
"Yeah," the boy grumbled, "that'll be the day. You ever heard of a
Lower becoming a full priest? I'll be lucky if I ever get to monk."
Freddy Soligen sat down suddenly, across from his son, and his voice
lost its edge of good-natured humor and became deadly serious.
"Listen, son. You were born a High-Lower, just like your father.
Unfortunately, I wasn't jumped to Low-Middle until after your birth.
But you're not going to stay a High-Lower, any more than I'm going to
stay a Low-Middle."
The boy shrugged, his expression almost surly, now. "Aw, what
difference does it make? High-Lower isn't too bad. It's sure better
than Low-Lower. I got enough stock issued me for anything I'll ever
need. Or, if not, I can work a while, just like you've done, and earn
a few more shares."
Freddy Soligen's face worked, in alarm. "Hey, Sam, listen here. We've
been over this before, but may be not as thoroughly as we should've.
Sure, this is People's Capitalism and on top of that the Welfare
State; they got all sorts of fancy names to call it. You've got cradle
to the grave security. Instead of waiting for old age, or thirty years
of service, or something, to get your pension, it starts at birth. At
long last, the jerks have inherited the earth."
The boy said plaintively, as though in objection to his father's
sneering words. "You aren't talking against the government, or the old
time way of doing things, are you Papa? What's wrong with what we got?
Everybody's got it made. Nobody hasta--".
His father was impatiently waving a hand at him in negation. "No,
everybody doesn't have it made. Almost everybody's bogged down. That's
the trouble Sam. The guts have been taken out of us. And ninety-nine
people out of a hundred don't care. They've got bread and butter
security. They've got trank to keep them happy. And they've got the
fracases to watch, the sadistic, gory death of others to keep them
amused, and their minds off what's really being done to them. We're
not part of that ninety-nine out of a hundred, Sam. We're two of those
who aren't jerks. We're on our way up out of the mob, to where life
can be full. Got it, son? A full life. Doing things worth doing.
Thinking things worth thinking. Associating with people who have it on
the ball."
He had come to his feet in his excitement and was pacing before the
boy who sat now, mouth slightly agape at his father's emphasis.
"Sam, listen. I'm getting along. Already in my forties, and I never
did get much education back when I was your age. Maybe I'll never make
it. But you can. That's why I insisted you switch categories. You were
born into Communications, like me, but you've switched to Religion.
Why'd you think I wanted that?"
"Aw, I don't know, Papa. I thought maybe--".
His father snorted. "Look, son, I haven't spent as much time with you
as I should. Especially since your mother left us. She just couldn't
stand what she called my being against everything. She was one of the
jerks, Sam--".
"You oughtn'ta talk about my mother that way," Sam said sullenly.
"All right, all right. I just meant that she was willing to spend her
life sucking on trank, watching Telly, and living on the pittance
income from the unalienable stock shares issued her at birth. But
let's get to this religious curd. Son, whatever con man first thought
up the idea of gods put practically the whole human race on the sucker
list. You say they're giving you comparative religion in your classes
at the Temple now, eh? O.K., have you ever heard of a major religion
where the priests didn't do just fine for themselves?"
"But Papa.... Well, shucks, there's always been--"
"Certainly, certainly, individuals. Crackpots, usually, out of tune
with the rest of the priesthood. But the rank and file do pretty well
for themselves. Didn't you point out earlier that a Lower, in our
society, never makes full priest? Not to speak of bishop, or
ultra-bishop. They're Uppers, part of the ruling hierarchy."
"Well, what's all this got to do with me getting into Category
Religion? I'd think it'd be more fun in Communications, like you. Gee,
Papa, going around meeting all those famous--"
Freddy Soligen's face worked. "Look, son. Sure, I meet lots of people
on top. But the thing is, eventually you're going to become one of
those people, not just interview them." He began pacing again in
nervous irritation.
"Sam, those on top want to stay there. Like always. They freeze things
so they, and their kids, will remain on top. In our case, they've made
it all but impossible for anybody to progress from the caste they were
born in. Not impossible, but almost. They've got to allow for the man
with extraordinary ability, like, to bust out to the top, if he's got
it on the ball. Otherwise, there'd be an explosion."
"That's not the way they say in school."
"It sure isn't. The story is that anybody can make Upper-Upper if he
has the ability. But the thing is, Sam, you can't make a jerk realize
he's a jerk. If he sees somebody else rise in caste, he can't see why
he shouldn't. That's why real rising has been restricted to Category
Military and Category Religion. In the military, a man gives up his
security, obviously, and if he's a jerk he dies.
"In Category Religion they've got another way to sort out the jerks
and make sure they never get further than monk and beyond the caste of
High-Lower. Gods always work in mysterious ways and anybody in
Category Religion who doesn't have faith in the wisdom of the God's
mysterious choices of who to ordain and who to reject, obviously shows
that he's not really got the _true faith_ which is, of course,
essential to a priest, not to speak of bishop or ultra-bishop. So
obviously, the Gods were wise in rejecting him. In simpler words, the
would-be priest who simply hasn't got what it takes, can be given the
heave-ho without it being necessary for him, or his family or friends,
to understand why. It's all very simple; he lacked the humility
essential in a priest of the Gods, as proven by his rebellious
reaction."