The newcomer said gently to the guards, “That will be all,” and he entered the Oval Room. The door closed behind him.
He looked at the three and smiled sadly. Without being told, the aides suddenly knew they were not to remain. They hurried from the office through a side door. Scurried might be the better word.
“You may call me Joshua,” the newcomer said to the President. “It is a name I have used in the past.” He settled himself in a comfortable blue leather-covered chair in front of the presidential desk and regarded his host.
The President lowered himself weakly into his own chair.
Joshua said, his expression distantly amused now, “So, despite your public pronouncements, you do not believe in the Bible.”
“I…I...”
“It is quite historic, in spite of the many alterations made in the original books by the various sects and cults that have translated it to their own ends through the ages.”
“I…I was thinking of Genesis, rather than the later books written in the historic period.”
“Yes. As I say, quite historic. When we inspired it, we found it amusing to stick as closely to reality as possible. Even the planetary engineering resulting in the creation of this world took approximately seven days, using your present system of time measure. And, as you can see, when we created man, we did so in our own image.”
“Created man?” the President said weakly. “But I’ve read that it took man more than a million years to evolve from a less advanced primate. We have evidence—skeletons, artifacts...”
The other nodded acceptance. “Yes, largely you are correct, but we guided the way, intrigued by watching evolution take place. However, from time to time we intervened. Most recently, when what you call Neanderthal man seemed to have become a dead end, we helped introduce Cro-Magnon.”
The President shook his head. “I…I am afraid I am completely bewildered. What…what is planetary engineering?”
“Just what it sounds to be. You see, there are more than a billion stars in this galaxy alone that have planets that are capable of sustaining life as we know it. Indeed, life as we know it, and other life forms as well, have developed independently on some of them. But what you call the panspermia theory was at work more often.”
“I don’t believe I have heard of that theory.”
“On earth, a Swedish chemist, Svanta Arrhenius, first suggested in 1908 that living cells floated haphazardly through the universe, bringing life to suitable planets. But it was your American, Francis Crick, the scientist who discovered DNA and won the Nobel prize, who hit upon the reality. He, with Leslie Orgel, advanced the theory that life had come to this planet by spaceship, a deliberate act of seeding. Their clue was a valid one, I must say. That there is only one generic code for terrestrial life. Previously, most of your biologists had thought life had sprung up spontaneously in some great ‘primeval soup,’ but had that been so there would undoubtedly have been a number of different generic codes.”
If anything, the President’s stare was intensified. He blurted, “Do you mean to say that life here on Earth was deliberately put here by an extraterrestrial...”
“Yes,” the other nodded seriously. “That is what I have just told you.”
“And…you are one of them?”
Joshua smiled. “Is it not obvious?”
“But… well, the halo...”
It flicked out. “I assumed it to focus immediate attention upon myself, and also, if you will forgive me, for amusement. Our race has not lost its sense of humor.”
The President slumped back into his chair, feeling a bit more in control of himself, but not quite entirely.
He shook his head. “But if you are from a different star system, which one, and how far is it from Earth? This is simply mind boggling.”
“From the star system Delta Pavonis, as you call it. It is approximately 19.2 light years from the Solar System.”
The President had him now. “But for you to come here to Earth, you personally, and then return, would take almost forty years even if you could travel at the speed of light, which is impossible.”
He who had named himself Joshua smiled again. “Your Einstein pointed out that an object cannot travel at the speed of light. He said nothing about traveling at a speed greater than light. Yes, of course, your first reaction is to say, ‘But how would it be possible to achieve speeds greater than that of light without passing the impossible hurdle?’ I am afraid you are insufficiently acquainted with science to understand, but in physics there are many examples of jumping from one condition of energy, of velocity, or quantum state, to another without passing through the intermediate values. The tunnel diode is an example you even now utilize. In it the electrons tunnel, as it were, from one side of an electrical barrier to the other without going through it. Your race is not quite ready for faster than light travel, but soon, if my mission is successful, it will be.”
The President said, “My mind is reeling. I simply can’t comprehend what you are saying. That you people seeded this planet and introduced life.” He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Why? What motivates you?”
Joshua made a mouth of deprecation. “Perhaps a missionary zeal to spread our life form throughout the galaxy. However, the brain is infinitely curious. I am afraid our primary motivation is the study of life. We have seeded, in our time, a considerable number of planets which will sustain existence as we know it. Usually a bit of planetary engineering is necessary, as it was here. I, personally, became increasingly intrigued with this world particularly after the race entered the historic period.”
A suspicion was beginning to come to the President. He said, “You have been here before, then?”
“Oh, yes, various times, to watch the experiment develop. I seldom manifested myself in quite this manner. Sometimes the things I attempted to do came a cropper, to use your idiom. On one occasion, for instance, I wished to form a more advanced religion than pertained at the time; a higher ethic. Evidently, I was premature. The religion was a higher ethic than before, well enough, but few, if any, really followed it.” Joshua smiled in memory. “But it was an exciting and fascinating experiment.”
The President said warily, “You mentioned a mission.”
Joshua nodded. “Yes. You see, your race has reached a crossroads. In fact, it reached it some time ago but so far has failed to take the appropriate turning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Very well. Follow me closely. You have heard of the late Dr. Robert Oppenheimer.”
“Yes, certainly. Of the Manhattan Project, the atomic bomb.”
The other nodded. “In discussing the knowledge explosion, he said in 1955 that human knowledge was doubling every eight years. Consider the ramifications. Let us suppose this knowledge explosion really got underway in 1940. By 1948, human knowledge was double. And by the time Oppenheimer made his statement it was four times as much. Do you realize how great it would be in just one century? By the year 2038 A.D. at this rate of explosion, human knowledge will be 8,192 times what it was in 1940. Can you comprehend what it will be in the year 2140? By that year, you will have more than 67 million times as much knowledge as you did in 1940. Happily (and inevitably) you have already achieved the computer and its data banks. Other breakthroughs will continue to help in what can only be called your plight.
“This is beyond your conception now. Today you are beginning your explorations into space, you are beginning the conquest of the diseases that have plagued you down through the centuries. You are beginning, just beginning, scientific research, even into such fields as the nature of life and the achieving of immortality. You are not yet quite beginning, but are on the verge of taking the steps that will make this planet into a true garden, a paradise, if you will. But at this point you cannot conceive of the reality of 67 million times as much knowledge as you have today. You must understand that, as things are now, you do not have 67 million times as much knowledge as does, say, a cockr
oach or an ant. Can you imagine, even faintly, your new race? At that time, you too, most likely, will be practicing panspermia.”
“Your mission,” the President said hoarsely.
Joshua looked at him in compassion. He said, “You are at the crossroads. A race cannot develop scientifically and technologically without also developing ethically, without developing, at the same pace, a superior code of mores. There can be no such things as wars, the military, race differences, poverty, conflict between the sexes and generations. I could go on.”
The President was blank.
Joshua said, still compassionately, “Your codes today are such that the human race must destroy itself within your next decade if they are not revised.”
The President slumped again.
Joshua said gently, “In the past we have seldom interfered in human affairs. When we did, sometimes the results were unhappy. For instance, one of our people who has long observed Earth helped take the steps to remove the Czar of All the Russias, who was an incompetent, foolish, unintelligent man and his country in corrupt chaos. Less than ten years later, Stalin had taken his place.”
“But…” the President said.
“Matters have come to such a head that we must intervene if we are to see our experiment continue.”
“I see,” the President said, his lips pale. “What steps?”
A .45 caliber Colt automatic materialized on the desk before him.
Joshua stood, infinite sadness on his face. “Men such as yourself are not competent to lead the human race, Mr. President.”
The President was goggling the weapon. “I…I refuse to suicide.”
“You have no alternative, I am afraid. All of your people, outside, will have forgotten I was ever here. They will never know what motivated you. And now I leave for Moscow…on a similar mission.”
He disappeared.
ROMP
Rosy Porras shucked off his jerkin and began to shrug into the holster harness. As he settled it around his chest, he scowled at the row of sport jerkins in his closet. Styles these days weren’t conducive to concealing a heavy-calibered shooter.
A bell tinkled and Rosy turned his scowl to the screen sitting next to the bed. He wasn’t expecting anybody. He hesitated a moment, unbuckled the harness again and threw it into a chair, then went over and flicked the door screen switch.
It was a stranger. Young, efficient looking, his suit seeming all but a uniform, his face expressionless.
Rosy pursed his lips in surprise. Well, there was no putting it off. He reversed the switch so the other could see him as well and said, “Yeah?”
The stranger said, “Phidias Porras?”
Rosy winced at the use of his real first name. It had been some time since he had been exposed to it. He growled, “What’d you want?”
The other said, “Willard Rhuling, Category Government, Subdivision Police, Branch Distribution Services. I’d like to talk to you, Citizen.”
Rosy Porras scowled at him. A DS snooper. That’s all he needed right now, with the boys expecting him in a few minutes.
“About what?” Rosy said. “Listen, I’m busy.”
The other looked at him patiently. “About your sources of income, Citizen.”
Rosy said, “That’s none of your business.”
Willard Rhuling said, still patiently, “To the contrary, Citizen, it’s my job.”
“You got a warrant?”
Rhuling said slowly, “Do you really want me to get one, or can we sit down and just have a chat?”
“Wait a minute,” Porras growled in disgust. He flicked off the screen, went over and picked up the shooter and holster. He put them in a drawer and locked it and then left the bedroom and went on through the living room to the apartment’s front door. He opened it and let the DS man enter.
Willard Rhuling suddenly stepped close to him and patted him here, there—a quick frisking.
Rosy Porras stepped back in indignation. “Hey, take it easy, you flat. What kind of curd you pulling off?”
Rhuling said mildly, “I’ve heard you sometimes go heeled, even in this day and age, Phidias.”
Porras winced again. “Listen, call me Rosy,” he growled. “Everybody does.” He led the way into the living room.
Willard Rhuling let his eyes go around the room and did a silent whistle of appreciation. “No wonder, in view of the fact that I can’t find any record of you working since you came of age. Things are pretty rosy, aren’t they? How do you manage to maintain this apartment on the credit income from the Inalienable Basic Common stock issued you at birth? Our records show you are only a Mid-Lower. Your Inalienable Basic doesn’t begin to call for a place like this. This is Upper-Middle, or even Low-Upper caste, Porras.”
Rosy had started toward the auto-bar, but, remembering what the evening had in prospect, changed his mind and sank down into a chair. He didn’t invite the other to be seated.
He said, “A friend loans it to me.”
“I see. Where is this friend?”
“He’s on a vacation over in Common Europe.”
“And when will he be back?”
“I don’t know. It’s a long vacation. Listen, what business is it of yours?”
* * * *
Willard Rhuling had taken a place on a couch. He looked about the room again. “And all these rather expensive furnishings. They belong to your friend, too?”
“Some of them,” Rosy said. “And some of them are mine.”
Rhuling brought a notebook from an inner pocket and flicked through it. He found his page and checked it. “Phidias Porras, alias Rosy Porras,” he read. “Category Food, Subdivision Baking, Branch Pretzel Bender.” He frowned. “What in Zen is a pretzel bender?”
Rosy Porras flushed. “How’d know?” he growled. “I was born into my category, like everybody else. My old man was a pretzel bender and his old man, and his. But that branch got automated out a long time ago. Can I help it if there is no such work. I just live on my credits from my Inalienable Basic.”
Rhuling looked at him patiently. “You drive a late model hovercar. Where did you acquire the credits for it?”
Rosy grinned at him. “I didn’t.” The other’s eyebrows went up. “You admit it? That you got this car without credits to exchange for it?”
“I won it gambling.”
“Oh, come now.”
Rosy Porras, in exaggerated nonchalance, crossed one leg over the other. He said reasonably, “There’s no regulation against gambling.”
The other said disgustedly, “Don’t be ridiculous. Gambling isn’t practical on anything but a matchstick level. Of course, there’s no regulation against it, but when our system of exchange is such that no one but you yourself can spend the credits you acquire as dividends on your Inalienable Basic stock, or what you earn above your basic dividends, gambling becomes nonsense.”
Porras was shaking his head at him. “Now that’s where you Category Government people haven’t figured out this fancy system to its end. Stutes that like to gamble, like to gamble period, and they’ll find a way. Sure, we can’t spend each other’s credits, but we can gamble for things. Suppose a dozen or so poker addicts form kind of a club. One of them sticks in his hovercar which he had to pony up a hundred credits for; another sticks in a diamond ring that rates fifty credits; another puts in a Tri-Di camera that set him back twenty credits. O.K., the banker issues chips for the credit value of every item the group members put up. And if any member wins enough credit chips he can ‘buy’ the thing he wants out of the club kitty.”
Rhuling was staring at him. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
Rosy Porras snorted amusement. “You must be from out of town,” he said. “You mean you never heard of gambling clubs?”
The other cleared his throat. He said, ruefully, “Undoubtedly, I’ll be hearing more about them soon. There’s no regulation against them now, but there should be.”
“Why?” Porras said, letting his voice go plaint
ive. “Listen, why can’t you DS characters leave off fouling up everybody you can?”
The other said patiently, “Because under People’s Capitalism, Citizen, no one can steal, cheat or con anyone else out of his means of exchange. Or, at least, that’s why my category exists. The DS is interested in how a Rosy Porras can live extremely well without having performed any useful contribution in any field for his whole adult life.”
Rosy’s expression made it clear he was being imposed upon. “Listen,” he said. “I got a lot of friends. I haven’t been too well lately, I been sick, see? O.K., so these friends of mine pick up the tab here and there.”
“You mean friends have been discharging your obligations by using their credits to pay your bills?”
“There’s no regulation against gifts.”
“No, there isn’t,” Rhuling admitted, unhappily. “But discharging a grocery bill at an ultra-market isn’t exactly the sort of gift one gives a man in his prime.”
“No regulation against it.” Rhuling said.
“And this is your sole method of income, save the dividends from your Inalienable Basic stock?”
“I didn’t say that. I do a lot of people a lot of favors and then maybe they do me one. And, like I say, I belong to some of these gambling clubs.”
“And always win?”
Rosy shrugged hugely. “They don’t call me Rosy, for nothing. I’m pretty lucky. Listen, I got some business needs taking care of. Do you really have anything on me, or are you just wasting both our time?” Willard Rhuling came to his feet with a sigh. He looked down into his book again. “General Aptitude I.Q. 136,” he read. He looked up at the other. “And here you are, a full-time bum.”
Rosy stood, too, scowling. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t have to take that from you. You got my category. I’m a pretzel bender. What can I do? The job’s been automated out of existence.”
“You can always switch categories, work hard and possibly run yourself up a couple of castes.”
Rosy sneered. “Sure, that’s the theory. And maybe it sounds good to somebody like you. You’re probably a Mid-Middle, at least. And born into your caste, you’ve got it made. But when you’re a lower, about the only category you can switch to that you’ve got a chance in is Military, or Religion, and I’m not stupid enough to go into one, and not phony enough for the other.”
The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack Page 26
