"Sure, sure, sure," Joe growled. "Look, next time you decide to spend
five shares of my stock on some deal like this, let me know, eh?"
Freddy walked to the sideboard and got glasses. "Whiskey?" he said.
"Tequila, if you've got it," Joe said. "Look, I'm beginning to have
second thoughts about this campaign. Where's it got us, so far?"
Freddy brought the fiery Mexican drink and handed it to him, and took
a place in the chair opposite. His voice went persuasive. "It's going
fine. You're on everybody's lips. First thing you know, some of the
armaments firms will be having you indorse their guns, swords, cannon,
or whatever."
"Oh, great," Joe growled. "Already my friends are ribbing me about
this fancy uniform and all the plugs I've been getting. The
glory-grabber isn't any more popular today among real pros than he's
ever been."
"Who gives a damn?" Freddy sneered, cynically. "We're not in this to
please your lame-brain mercenary pals with their soldier-of-fortune
codes of behavior. We're in this for Number One, Joe Mauser, and
Number Two, Freddy Soligen."
Joe put away the greater part of his drink. "Sure, sure, sure. But
where are we now? Your campaign has been in full swing for months.
What's accomplished?"
The small Telly reporter was indignant. "What's accomplished? We've
got three Major Joe Mauser buff clubs in full swing and five more
starting up. And next month you're going to be on the cover of the
_Fracas Times_."
"And I'm still a major and still Mid-Middle caste. And my stock shares
available for bribery are running short."
Freddy twisted his mouth and looked worriedly down into his glass. He
said unhappily, "We need a gimmick to climax all this. Some kind of
gimmick to bring you absolutely to the top."
"A gimmick?" Joe demanded. "What do you mean, a gimmick?"
"You're going to have to do something really spectacular. Make you the
biggest Telly hero of them all. We'll have to get you into a real
fracas and pull something dramatic. I don't know what, I don't seem to
be able to come up with an angle. But when I do, I'll guarantee that
every Telly camera covering the fracas will be zeroed in on Joe
Mauser."
"Great," Joe growled. "I've got just the gimmick. It'll wow them."
The Telly reported looked up, hopefully.
"I'll get killed in a burst of glory," Joe said.
V
A servant took Joe Mauser's cap at the door and requested that Joe
follow him. Joe trailed behind on the way to the living room of the
mansion, somewhat taken aback by the, to him, ostentation of the
display of the luxuries of yesteryear. Among them was to be numbered
the butler. Servants, other than military batmen, were simply not in
Joe's world. Only the Uppers were in position to utilise the full time
of individuals. Long years past, those tasks which once called for
servants had been automated, from automated elevators to automated
baby-sitters.
[Illustration]
The servant announced him and then seemingly disappeared in the brief
moment while Joe was bowing formally over Nadine Haer's hand. Even
while murmuring the appropriate banalities, Joe wondered how one
acquired the ability to seemingly disappear, once one's services were
no longer needed. Each man to his own trade, he decided.
He had a date with Nadine, but it turned out that the piquant Upper
was not alone. In fact, it was obvious that she had not as yet got
around to dressing for her appointment with Joe. He had promised to
take her soaring in his sailplane. She was attired, as always, as
those dress who have never considered the cost of clothing. And, as
ever, when Joe saw her newly, after a period of a day or more away, he
was taken with her intensity and her almost brittle beauty. What was
it that the aristocrat seemed able to acquire after but a generation
or two of what they were pleased to call breeding? That aloof quality,
the exquisite gentility.
"Joe," Nadine said, "you'll be pleased to meet Philip Holland,
Category Government, Rank Secretary. Phil, Major Joseph Mauser."
The other, possibly forty, shook hands firmly and looked into Joe's
face. He had a crisp manner. "Good heavens, yes," he said. "That
remarkable innovation of using an engineless aircraft for
reconnaissance. My old friend, Marshal Cogswell, was speaking of it
the other day. I assume that in advance you purchased stock in the
firms which manufacture such craft, major. They must be booming."
Joe grimaced wryly. "No, sir. I wasn't smart enough to think of that.
Professional soldiers are traditionally stupid. What was the old
expression? They can take their shirts off without unbuttoning their
collars."
Philip Holland cocked his head, even as he chuckled. "I detect a note
of bitterness, major."
Nadine said airily, "Joe is ambitious, thinking the answer to all his
problems lies in jumping his caste to Upper."
Joe looked at her impatiently to where she sat on a Mid-Twentieth
Century type sofa.
Philip Holland said, "Possibly he's right, my dear. Each of us have
different needs to achieve such happiness as is possible to man."
To Joe, he sounded just vaguely on the stuffy side, even through the
crispness. By nature nervous and quick moving, Holland seemed to try
and project an air of calm which didn't quite come off. Joe wondered
what his relationship to Nadine could be, a twinge of jealousy there.
But that was ridiculous. Nadine must be in the vicinity of thirty.
Obviously, she knew, and had known, many men as attracted to her as
was Joe Mauser--And men in her own caste, at that. Somehow, though,
he felt Holland was no Upper. The other simply didn't have the air.
Joe said to him, "Nadine doesn't get my point. I contend that in a
strata divided society, it's hard to realize yourself fully until
you're a member of the upper caste. Admittedly, perhaps you won't even
if you are such a member, but at least you haven't the obstacles with
which the lower class or classes are beset."
"Interestingly stated," Holland said briskly. He returned to his chair
from which he had arisen to shake hands with Joe, and looked at
Nadine. "You said, on introducing us, that Joe would be glad to meet
me, my dear. Why, especially?"
Nadine laughed. "Because I have been practicing your arguments upon
him."
Both of the men frowned at her.
Nadine looked at Joe. "Phil Holland's the most interesting man I know,
I do believe. He's secretary to Marlow Mannerheim, the Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and simply couldn't be more privy to the inner
workings of government. It was Phil who convinced me that something is
wrong with our socio-economic system."
"Oh?" Joe said. He wasn't really interested. Let society solve its
problems. He had his own. And they were sufficient unto themselves as
well as the day thereof. However, conversation was to be kept
moving. He needled the other. "I've heard it contended that any type
of government is good given capable, intelligent personnel to run it,
or bad if not so managed. What was the example I read somewhere? Both
heaven and hell are despotisms."
Phil Holland shrugged. "An interesting observation. However,
institutions, including socio-political ones, can become outdated.
When they do, no matter how intelligent, capable and honest the
governmental heads, that socio-political system can be a hell. If, at
such time there are capable, intelligent persons available, they will
take such measures as are necessary to change the institutions."
Nadine had come to her feet. "The subject is my favorite, but I must
change. Joe is taking me a-gliding, and I'm sure this frock isn't _de
rigueur_. You gentlemen will excuse me?" She was off before they had
time to come to their feet.
* * * * *
Joe Mauser settled himself again, crossing his legs. He said, idly,
"And you think our basic institutions have reached the state of
needing change?"
"Perhaps, although as a member of the Government Category, it should
hardly be my position to advocate such." He seemed to switch subjects.
"Have you read much of the Roman _ludi_, the games as we call them?"
"The gladiators and such?" Joe shrugged. "I've read a bit about them.
It's been pointed out, in fact by Dr. Haer, among others, that
basically our present day fracases serve the same purposes. That
instead of bread and circuses, provided by the Roman patricians to
keep the unemployed Roman mob from becoming restive, we give them
trank pills and Telly violence."
"Um-m-m," Holland nodded, "but that isn't the point I was making right
now. What I was thinking was that at first the Roman games were
athletic affairs without bloodshed. It wasn't until 264 B.C. that
three pairs of slaves were sent in to fight with swords. By 183 B.C.
the number had gone up to sixty pairs. By 145 B.C. ninety pairs fought
for three days. But that was just the beginning. They really got under
way with the dictators. Sulla put a hundred lions into the arena, but
Julius Caesar topped that with four hundred and Pompey that with six
hundred, plus over four hundred leopards and twenty elephants.
Augustus beat them all with three thousand five hundred elephants and
ten thousand men killed in a series of games. But it was the emperors
who really expanded the ludi. Trajan had ten thousand animals killed
in the arena to celebrate his victory over the Dacians, not to mention
eleven thousand people.
"Are you surprised at my memory? The subject has always fascinated me.
For one thing, I am a great believer in the theory that history
repeats itself. As time went on, arenas were built all over the
empire, even small towns boasted their own. In Rome, the number of
them grew so that eventually an avid follower could attend every day,
the year around. And as they increased in quantity they also had to
grow more extreme to hold the fan's attention. The Emperor Philip, in
celebrating the thousandth anniversary of the founding of Rome, had
killed a thousand pair of gladiators, a rhinoceros, six hippopotami,
ten hyenas, ten giraffes, twenty wild asses, ten tigers, ten zebras,
thirty leopards, sixty lions, thirty-two elephants, forty wild horses.
I am afraid I forgot the rest."
Joe stirred in his chair. The other's personality grew on him. The
crisp voice had a certain magnetic quality that made what he said
important, somehow. However, Joe's interest in Roman history wasn't
exactly paramount.
Holland said, "You wonder at what I am driving, eh? Do you realize the
expense involved in getting a rhinoceros to Rome in those days? Not to
speak of hippopotami, tigers, lions and leopards. Few people realize
the extent to which the Romans went to acquire exotic animals to be
slaughtered for the edification of the mob. They penetrated as far
south as Kenya, there are still the ruins of a Roman fort there; as
far east as Indonesia; as far north as the Baltic, and there is even
evidence that they brought polar bears from Iceland."
Philip Holland snorted, as though in contempt. "But the mob wearied of
even such spectacle as giraffes being killed by pigmies from the
Iturbi forest. The games had started as fights between skilled
swordsmen, being observed by knowledgeable combat soldiers of a
warrior people. But as the Romans lost their warlike ardor and became
a worthless mob performing no useful act for either themselves or the
State, they no longer appreciated a drawn-out duel between equals.
They wanted quick blood, and lots of it, and turned to mass slaughter
of Christians, runaway slaves, criminals and whoever else they could
find to throw to the lions, crocodiles or whatever. Even this became
old hat, and they turned increasingly to more extreme sadism. Children
were hung up by their heels and animals turned loose to pull them
down. Men were tied face to face with rotting corpses and so remained
until death. Animals were taught to rape virgins."
Joe Mauser stirred again. What in Zen was this long monologue on the
Roman games leading to?
Holland said, "By the way, contrary to some belief, the games didn't
end upon Christianity becoming the dominant faith and finally the
State religion. Constantine legalized Christianity in 313 A.D. but it
wasn't until 365 that Valentinian passed a law against sacrificing
humans to animals in the arena and the gladiator schools remained in
operation until 399. The arenas were finally closed in 404 A.D. but by
that time the Roman Empire was a mockery. In all they last more than
half a millennium, but things move faster these days."
The tone of voice changed abruptly and Holland snapped a question at
Joe. "By your age, I would imagine you've participated in the present
day fracases for some fifteen years. How have they changed in that
time?"
Joe was taken aback. "Why ..." he said, hesitated as he got the
other's point, then went on, nodding. "Yes. They used to be company
size--a few hundred lads involved. After a while, a battalion size
fracas became fairly commonplace, then about ten years ago a
corporation of any size had to be able to put at least a regiment into
the field and the biggies had brigades."
"And now?" Holland urged.
"Now a divisional size fracas is the thing."
"Yes, and if a corporation isn't among the top dozen or so, a single
defeat can mean bankruptcy."
Joe nodded. He had known of such cases.
Holland leaned back in his chair, as though all his points had been
made. He said, his voice less brisk, "Our People's Capitalism, our
Welfare State, took the road of bringing the equivalent of the Roman
ludi to keep our people in a state of stupefied acceptance of the
_status quo_. And as in the case of Rome, the games are bankrupting
it. Our present day patrician class, our Uppers, have a tiger by the
tail, Joseph Mauser, and can't let go. We need those capable and
intelligent people of whom you spoke earlier, to make some basic
changes. Where are they? Nadine said that your great driving ambition
is to be jumped to Upper in caste. But even though you make it, what
will you have on your hands but these problems that the Uppers seem
unable to solve?"
Joe said, impatiently, "Possibly you're right. What you say about the
fracases becoming bigger and more expensive is true. They're also
becoming more bloody. In the old days, a corporation or union going
into a fracas was conscious of having a high casualty list among the
mercenaries. Highly trained soldiers cost money. Insurance, indemnity,
pensions, all the rest of it. Consequently, you'd fight a battle of
movement, maneuver, brainwork on the part of the officer commanding,
so that practically nobody was hurt on either side. One force or the
other would surrender after being caught in an impossible situation.
Not any more. These days, they want blood. Plenty of blood. And they
want the Telly cameras to focus right into the middle of it."
Joe shook his head. "But it's not my problem to solve. I've got my
goal. I'll worry about other ones when I've achieved it."
* * * * *
A voice behind him said superciliously, "I do believe it's the status
hungry captain, ah, that is, major these days. To what do I owe this
unexpected visit, Major Mauser?"
Joe came to his feet and faced the newcomer, Philip Holland doing the
same, somewhat more leisurely.
Baron Balt Haer, wearing a colonel's uniform and flicking his swagger
stick along his booted leg, stood in the doorway. His voice was lazily
arrogant. "And Mr. Holland, I must say, the Middle caste seems to have
taken over the house. Well, Major Mauser? I assume you do not labor
under the illusion that you are welcome in this dwelling."
In Category Military rank is observed whilst in uniform, even though
neither individual is currently on active service. Joe had
automatically come to attention. He said, stiffly, "Sir, I am calling
upon your sister, Dr. Haer."
"Indeed," Baron Haer said, his nostrils high in that attitude once
perfected by grandees of medieval Spain, landed gentry of England,
Prussian Junkers. "I find that my sister, in her capacity as medical
scientist, seems to go to extreme in her research. What aspect of the
lower classes is she studying in your case, major?"
Joe flushed. "Baron Haer," he said, "we seem to have got off on the
wrong foot when we participated in that fracas against Continental
Hovercraft under your father, the late Baron. I would appreciate an
opportunity to start over again."
"Would you indeed?" Balt Haer said loftily. He turned his eye to
Philip Holland, whose mouth bore the slightest suggestions of
suppressed humor. "Unless I am mistaken, the conversation at the time
of my entry seemed to have a distinctly subversive element. Shouldn't
this be somewhat surprising in the secretary of the administration's
foreign minister?"
Philip Holland said crisply, "You must have intruded, um-m-m, that is,
entered, at the end of a sentence, Baron Haer. We were merely
discussing the various methods, down through the ages, that ruling
classes have utilized to perpetuate themselves in power."