Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
YOU TOO CAN BE A MILLIONAIRE
By Noel Loomis
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of ScienceFiction November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _Money was worthless, yet no man dared go broke. It was allpretty confusing to Mark until "Point-Plus-Pearlie" told him--YOU TOOCAN BE A MILLIONAIRE _]
_Life had become a mad scramble for points._]
Mark Renner looked anxiously backward as he ran up the street to theplace where the faded gold lettering on one window said "Jewelry." Thatwould be a good place to hide, he thought. Most of the plate-glasswindows and doors along the street were broken out as in fact they wereeverywhere, and had been for twenty years--but one of the jewelrywindows and the door, protected by iron grating, were still whole andwould help to conceal him.
With one final glance back at the corner, he climbed the grating,scuttled across it, and dropped down. Then, keeping low, he ducked inamong the dusty old counters and stopped abruptly, listening.
He heard Conley's slow, slapping footsteps as the tall man rounded thecorner and came up the street. He forced himself to breathe softly inspite of the pounding of his heart. The dust rose a little around himand got in his nostrils and he wanted to sneeze, but by sheer willpowerhe choked it down.
Conley was from the Machine--Central Audit Bureau--and the Machine knewby now that Mark was three thousand points in the red. Three thousandpoints--when you were supposed to be always within one day's point of abalance. You were allowed twelve hundred points a day, so Mark was nowtwo and a half days in debit.
He'd been walking the streets in a sort of daze, signing slips right andleft while his own pad of slips stayed in his pocket. He hadn't cared,either, until now, because in this brave new world of the onefreedom--freedom from work--he was abominably unhappy.
Everybody struggled all day to get enough points to stay even withCentral, and what good did it do them? You got even one day, but thenext day you had to start all over. There wasn't any point to it. Sohe'd said to hell with it, and for five days now he'd ignored theMachine entirely except to line up automatically once a day at theconcourse to have his card audited. And for five straight days thebalance had been in red.
Then, today, he had seen Conley on the street, coming toward him. All ofa sudden Mark had been scared. He didn't know what Central would do tohim--nobody knew--but he didn't want to find out, either. He ran fromConley.
Now he crouched in the dust behind an empty counter while Conley'sfootsteps approached. He held his breath when they got close, and whenthey passed the broken window he was very thankful.
It was late afternoon and he thought Conley would go back to Central.Nobody knew much about Conley except that he represented the Machine andthat he seemed to disappear within it every afternoon.
So, presently, Mark crawled out of the broken window and walked down toMain Street. He looked carefully right and left and then, not seeingConley's tall form above the traffic, he wandered slowly down thestreet, trying to figure things out. Why wasn't there anything worthwhile to do? What was the reason for all the broken windows and emptystores? Had there once been places where people could buy things likefood and clothes? Maybe--before Central Audit Bureau had come intoexistence. Or had Central always been there?
Mark saw the old lady sitting in the wheel-chair. He turned out absentlyto walk by her. He saw her put her foot in his way but his brain wasn'tworking. He stumbled over her foot.
Instantly the old lady half arose from her chair as if in pain,shrieking and brandishing her cane, the leg held stiffly out in front ofher. "You've injured me," she shrieked in a raucous voice. "You've hurtmy lame foot!"
Mark stood there dumbly. He was a young man and so he didn't at onceforesee what was about to happen.
A crowd gathered in no time. The old lady was putting on a show. Markdidn't get it. He would have allowed her a thousand points--even fifteenhundred--without argument. But he got the shock of his young life.
"Thirty thousand points!" she screamed at him, and thrust a pad of slipsat him. "Sign my slip, please."
* * * * *
Mark took the pad automatically. He took the pencil she held out. Hestarted to sign. He'd never get a credit balance at the Central Bureaunow, but he didn't care. Maybe he'd get in so deep they'd give him somework.
The old lady's voice rose unexpectedly. "My feelings are hurt, too. Hedid it deliberately. Five thousand points for my injured feelings."
Dazedly Mark wrote down "Thirty-five thousand and no more," and signedhis name. He handed the pad back to her and started on. The crowd wasleaving.
But a voice stopped him. A soft voice. "Wait, son." He looked back. Hestarted to go on, then he saw the old lady's eyes on his. "Stickaround," she said. There wasn't any raucousness in her voice now. "Waittill the crowd goes. I want to talk to you."
Presently he was walking beside her while she laboriously operated thetwo big hand-wheels that propelled the chair. Two blocks away she turnedinto an empty building marked "Groceries." Mark helped her cross thethreshold.
Inside, she amazed him by springing out of the chair and standing quitesteadily. She was small and she wasn't as old and wrinkled as he hadthought. "You get in the chair," she said. "I'll push you. I need theexercise."
A minute later she was pushing him briskly along the street while Marksat, still half dazed, in the wicker chair, her old red shawl was acrosshis lap.
"Get cramps in my legs, to say nothing of my bottom," she observed,"sitting there all day." She saw him stiffen. "Oh, you needn't beshocked. After all, I'm old enough to be your grandmother. I was born in1940, you know."
"Nineteen-forty," Mark repeated, wonderingly. "Gee, that was back in thedays when everybody worked. I wish _I_ could work."
"Well, it's a changed world," she observed. "In those days, you _had_ towork."
At that instant Mark heard the ominous slapping footsteps. He lookedahead, and there was Conley, easily noticeable because of the type N hata head above everybody else, coming toward them. Mark snatched up thered shawl and wrapped it around his face to the nose and pulled his hatlow over his eyes. He watched from under the type L brim while Conleyapproached. He held his breath while Conley fixed his deep eyes on himfor a moment, but Conley went by, and once more he was safe.
The old lady trotted briskly along. They passed a few people who staredat them, but Mark was thinking. "This is 2021," he observed. "You'reeighty-one years old. You must know all about things."
"I'm quite spry," she pointed out, "though I must say I am working up asweat right now. No, no--" She pushed Mark back into the chair. "It'sgood for me. Don't get enough exercise any more. Now you just sit there.You're in a bad way. Anybody who'd fall for such a phony act and releasethirty-five thousand points without even an argument--well, of course,"she said archly, "I do have a well-turned ankle."
But the enormity of Mark's debit with Central when the old lady shouldturn in his slip, began to worry him. He wondered if he could get itback from her. He wasn't happy with the world, and things were allwrong, and all that, but still--well, he did have to live in it.Thirty-five thousand points. He began to worry. He wished he knew whatthe penalty would be. He wondered if the old lady knew. What were thesepoints all about anyway? "You must know," he said, "how the world gotinto this mess."
She chuckled, "For thirty-five thousand points, I guess you've got aright to the story." She turned into the archway of a standard type Bapart
ment house.
He wondered what she would do with all those points. What did anybody dowith them? Everybody had about the same living quarters. Food wasfurnished by automatic vendors at the Hydroponic Farms. Clothes wereprovided, ready-made; all you had to do was put your credit card in amachine, punch the buttons for your measurements, and a suit would dropdown the chute.
Mark got out of the chair and helped her inside with it. He took off hishat and started uncertainly to leave, but she put her hand on his arm,"No, no. Have supper with me. I'll tell you all about everything. Gladto. There aren't many who want to know about things any more."
Her apartment was neat and clean. It was
You Too Can Be A Millionaire Page 1
