“The last factor is invention or technique. I mean not only new inventions now held by patent, but also all useful accumulation of knowledge from the stone age to date. Although wealth can be created without, or with very little of it, it is the greatest factor of all. You need only consider any common article to be convinced of it. Take a pair of shoes. In a modern shoe factory the production is around six hundred pairs of shoes per man per day. By figuring in raw material and capital costs it drops only to about four hundred pairs per laborer per day. Does one man make four hundred shoes per day? Put him at a cobbler’s bench and assume him to be an experienced cobbler, yet he will do well to turn out one pair. Is it management? Management is important, for a poor manager will reduce production by perhaps 50%, yet the factory still turns out enormously more than a number of hand cobblers equal to its employees could do. Obviously the factor which produces this enormous multiplication of wealth is technical knowledge, the contribution of the creative inventor and creative artist. That is why we reward them so highly today. There is one outstanding characteristic of the creator-discoverer. His work lives after him and is cumulative in its effect. We owe more to the unknown genius who invented the wheel and axle than we do to all the workers now on earth. Furthermore, inventors stand on the shoulders of all their predecessors. No modern invention would be possible without the work done by Bacon, Da Vinci, Watt, Faraday, Edison, et cetera without number.”
“Yes, that is evident but what of it? I can’t see that the work of those men justifies laziness today.”
“These men are our forefathers. They have left to each one of us the most valuable inheritance possible, other than the good earth and life itself. To each one of us, mind you, lazy and industrious alike. To refuse your brother who prefers not to work his share in production for moralistic reasons of your own devising is to claim for yourself that which you have not earned and have no right to.”
Perry looked baffled but unconvinced. “Granting that what you say is true—it is, I suppose—nevertheless it takes labor to apply this heritage of technical knowledge. Why shouldn’t every able-bodied man have to contribute equally to that labor?”
“But surely, Perry, you can see that there is not enough drudgery in this world to go around. The machines have released us from the curse of Adam. How can all of us crowd into the control stations of the machines? We have short hours, naturally, and most machine tenders and such retire at an early age, but it isn’t practical to change shifts every fifteen minutes nor to train new men every few weeks. Would you have men dig holes and fill them up again for the sake of work itself? Would you destroy the machines and restore the cobbler’s bench? There is always creative work to be done; there is no limit to that, but there is no way to punch time clocks on it either. If a man has creation in his system, all we can do is to give him leisure in which to develop it. Tell me, have you seen very many idle people?”
“No, I haven’t as yet.”
“You won’t. The urge to work exists in more than ninety per cent of the population. Free him from drudgery and he putters in the garden, in a workshop, learns to draw, tries to write poetry, studies, goes into politics, invents, sings, devises salad dressings, climbs mountains, explores the ocean depths, and tries to fly to the moon. Few are those who sit in the sun and whittle.”
“Say, are they really trying to reach the moon?”
“Yes, surely. But I want to give you an illustration of the current situation. Suppose in your day seven men own a big car together and all wish to drive from San Francisco to New York. John is crippled and can’t drive. Joe is too young to drive. Jack doesn’t know how to drive. Jake is a good driver but hates to drive, being of a nervous temperament. Jep is just plain lazy and prefers to watch the scenery, but Jim and George are both good drivers and don’t mind doing it. Of course only one person can drive at a time. You propose that they all take turns at the wheel, barring the cripple and the child. Isn’t it more reasonable to pay the two drivers for their services and let everyone reach New York in comfort? That is what we do today. Those who perform the drudgery of the nation are paid—and well-paid—in addition to their dividend from their inheritance.”
Perry threw up his arms in mock surrender. “Enough. Enough. Frankly, I’m not convinced yet, but you certainly can make out a case.”
Davis shrugged his shoulders. “Personally I’m not interested in moralistic reasons. The present system is the one the American people have chosen to serve them at this period of their development. It suits my temperament so I don’t try to change it. If you want another you now know how to devise another which will be economically feasible. Then you are free to try to persuade the country to adopt it. You might even try to persuade a state. Several of the states have modifications.”
“So I gathered. How do they work?”
“Well, Wisconsin has very high income taxes and pays a state dividend in addition to the Federal dividend. They have a nearly complete socialism with most business run co-operatively. It seems to suit them but I find it a dull pace. However, let me mention the practical advantages of the blanket dividend as compared with your moralistic proposal. In the first place it ensures high wages, because men who are free from economic necessity won’t work for sweatshop wages. For the same reason it ensures good working conditions. Unions are no longer necessary. Those that remain have turned into fraternal organizations rather than battalions in class warfare. In the second place it ensures social security for everybody all the time and thereby makes government much simpler. In your day the social service bureaucracy was growing by leaps and bounds. We don’t need social service workers where poverty is unknown. And it saves private citizens from the insufferable buttinskyness of social work, the prying catechisms that determine the ‘deserving’ poor. If for no other reason the dividend is desirable because it ended the incredible red tape and indignities of your old system of relief, and welfare work, and private charity.”
“But see here, the dividend will hardly pay for operations and sickness. Suppose the idlers fall sick?”
Davis looked surprised. “Hadn’t you gathered that health service is free? It obviously has to be. The community can’t afford to let anyone be sick for fear of contagion and unsocial mal-adjustment. If medicine hadn’t been socialized we couldn’t have stamped out syphilis and gonorrhea for example, and our present social standards couldn’t have developed. Medical men are public servants and among the most highly paid in the community.”
“Doesn’t that tend to make medicine un-enterprising and give it a tendency to fall into a rut?”
“Did it for the army and navy in your day? Before your time they were private professions, you will remember. However, a physician need not be a public servant. He can hang out his shingle if he likes. But with higher returns for public practice, plus every opportunity for research with unlimited facilities and no economic restrictions on the expense of treatment, practically all of the best ones prefer to work for the government.”
“That reminds me of another objection. Won’t everybody ask to be treated by the best physicians?”
“They ask, but if a physician has more cases than he can handle, he picks the interesting and difficult ones, and mediocre physicians get the commonplace ones. That works out best for everybody. In your day a wealthy hypochondriac could command the services of valuable men who should have been on the difficult cases.”
“That’s fair enough, I guess. Medicine has always fascinated me.”
“You ought to fly up to the United States Medical Academy some day and get them to show you around. It will open your eyes. We’ve made a lot of progress in the last hundred and fifty years.”
“Thanks for the idea. I’ll do that someday. But to return to our argument. I’m a die-hard. Everything may appear rosy right now, but I believe that I see the seeds of decay in this system. Doesn’t it encourage the reproduction of the unfit in unlimited numbers? Wasn’t Malthus right in the long run? Aren’t you stead
ily weakening the race by making life too easy?”
“I don’t believe so. I think your fears are groundless. The pathologically unfit are inhibited from breeding by a combination of special economic inducements and the mild coercion of the threat of Coventry. The exceptionally brilliant and creative persons are sought after as parents. A famous surgeon, musician, or inventor will receive literally thousands of invitations to impregnate women who desire exceptional children or covet the social honor of bearing the offspring of genius. From a physical standpoint the race is being re-tailored by the development of gland therapy and immunization. A baby born today will never grow excessively fat nor emaciated, and couldn’t catch typhoid fever if he slept with a victim of it. Instead of protecting a child from infection we modify the genes of his grandfather so that the baby has ten times the hardihood of a jungle savage. As for Doctor Malthus, he lived before the day of voluntary conception. If we need to limit the population, we are prepared to do it.”
“Well, you’ve given me a lot to chew over and a lot of new angles to investigate. But I can’t help feeling that there’s a black swan lurking. Maybe I’ll be back at you in a few days.”
Davis chuckled. “Go to it, son. You’ve given me the first real workout I’ve had in years. Is there any more port in that bottle? That’s enough. Thanks.”
XI
Olga arrived one morning to find Perry walking the floor, and smoking. A pile of cigarette stubs alongside a barely-touched breakfast showed his state of mind. He flung her a curt greeting. Olga grinned.
“Little Merry Sunshine, no less. What’s the matter, dopey? Come down with the Never-Get-Overs?”
Perry ground the butt of his cigarette savagely into a saucer. “All very well for you to joke, but it’s serious to me. It’s this damned place. I’m sick of it.”
Olga’s face became serious. “What’s the trouble with this place, Perry? Anything wrong? Anything you need? Somebody been unkind to you?”
He scowled. “No. Nothing you can do anything about. The place is swell, and everybody is decent to me. I’m just sick of it, that’s all. I know I have to stay here and need to stay here, and I’m not arguing about my sentence, but you can’t make me like it. I’m going stir-crazy.”
Olga’s face cleared. “Why, Perry, you don’t have to stay here.”
“What? Why don’t I? I was sent here for treatment.”
“Surely. And you should spend quite a bit of your time here just for our convenience in treating you. But you are free to move around.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I always mean what I say.”
Perry’s face lit up. “Stand clear, boys! Here we go! Say, where can I hire a sky car?”
“Take mine, if you like. I won’t be needing it.”
“That gives me an idea. Are you busy today? Could you come along? We could have a picnic.”
“Why yes, I guess I could go. Sure you wouldn’t rather be alone?”
“Hell, no. You’re the perfect companion. You don’t bother a fellow when he doesn’t want to talk.”
“Okay. Let’s go. I’ll see about something to eat.”
A short while later Perry pressed back on the stick and they shot into the air at maximum lift. Higher and higher he took them, clear to the ceiling for the little craft. Then he spread his wings and accelerated to maximum speed. They shot along silently except for the muffled whir of the screw. Olga lounged on the cushions and watched him with the half smile of approval with which a mother watches a child at play. Tiring of straight flight, Perry put the machine through its paces, rotor maneuvering, climbing by wing, crashing, quick turns. Presently he leveled off, and spoke. “That was fun. I wish I had my old crate here, though. I’d show you some real acrobatics. Did you ever loop, or fly upside down? Or a power dive in formation? That’ll take the enamel off your teeth. This is a grand little boat but it’s a baby carriage with shock absorbers compared with our old fighting jobs.”
“That sounds exciting, but wasn’t it terribly dangerous?”
“Sure it was dangerous, unless you knew your job. Even then it wasn’t a tea party. Lots of my pals got theirs from carelessness, or engine failure or something. But it was grand sport. Funny, I never got hurt in the air, but a measly little spill out of an automobile finishes me off. Only it didn’t finish me.” He grinned boyishly. “Damn funny thing about me popping over all these years. It worried me a lot at first. I was afraid I’d go to sleep and wake up somebody else. You know that Hindu pal of Gordon’s. You remember he came to see me. He seems to think that Gordon and I are the same hombre using different memory tracks. I didn’t understand it and don’t see how he can prove it, but he claims that if Gordon comes back at all I’ll simply have two memories. He talked a lot about serial observers and serial time sense. I didn’t get it, but he did manage to reassure me.”
Olga patted his hand. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
“The best part about it is that I can go ahead and be a citizen of this world now and not feel like a freak. Say, are you hungry?”
“Not very, but I can usually eat.” She patted her soft expanse of tummy.
“I kinda skipped breakfast. Let’s drop down somewhere and eat outdoors.”
“Okay. Where are we?” They bent over the map screen and Olga glanced out. She placed her finger on the map. “How about it?”
“Twenty minutes more or less. It’s an inspiration.”
“I’ll get lunch ready while you whip up the horses.”
Half an hour later they were sitting at the south rim of the Grand Canyon, eating silently while they drank in the ageless wonder of the place. Perry broke the silence. “You know I’ve seen this many times before, twice since my arrival in this period and several times in my early life. It makes me feel as if the thing that happened to me in time is just a casual incident of no more import than the ten seconds of unconsciousness of a lightly knocked out boxer. Time has moved on here in the past hundred and fifty years, but the change is not perceptible.”
Olga nodded but did not answer. She stared out and down. Presently she arose and brushed the crumbs from her coverall. “Let’s get going. I have to take this place in small doses.” She stepped into the car and loosened the zipper at her throat. Perry followed her, and sealed the door. Once off the ground, coveralls stowed, and cigarettes lighted, Perry inquired,
“Whereto?”
“I don’t care.”
“Aren’t we close to the Moon Rocket Experiment Grounds?”
“Yes, it’s just east of Flagstaff. Want to see it?”
“Very much.”
He leveled off, set his course and clamped the robot. Olga lay back and dozed in the warm contentment of digestion. Perry sat and watched her and mused to himself. This was a very pleasant trip, as much fun as it would have been if Diana were along instead of Olga. Or almost. Olga was a great kid, and a lot of fun to have around. He certainly was fond of her. Not what Master Hedrick suggested of course, he wasn’t forming any attachment. He was in love with Diana and was loyal to her, whether such loyalty was customary or not. Could he have fallen in love with Olga if he had met her first? Possibly. She wasn’t as beautiful as Diana, nor as young (Perry smiled at this. Time was too scrambled for age to matter.), but she was certainly as seductive in her own way. She didn’t dress her hair nor use cosmetics with the consummate artistry of Dian’, but she was always meticulously shaven and fastidious about her person to a degree unusual even in 2086. About her character and personality there could be no question; she was tops. Yes, he decided, he could have fallen deeply in love with her—if he hadn’t met Diana first. Too bad he couldn’t have known her when he was a bachelor. Was he attractive to her? She liked him, he was sure, but Olga seemed to like a lot of people. Did he as a man arouse any response in her as a woman? He would give a lot to know. He wondered what she would do if he were to make a pass at her.
His reverie was broken by the insistent ringing of the alarm gong. The robot
checked flight and hovered. He glanced out and saw a series of bright red pylons marching over the rolling plateau. Miles beyond was a group of buildings. Just below was a small landing flat and hangars. The field lights flashed the landing signal and they obeyed. They were received by a wizened weather-beaten desert rat, who showed them where to park their car and indicated with a jerk of his thumb the stairway to the trans-tube. They descended and strapped themselves in the cylinder. Olga touched a button on the remote control panel, relays clicked, and they found themselves almost at once at the field station. They emerged from the stairwell into a large room equipped with a few chairs, a televue control station and some benches. It was almost deserted. A young man was talking to a girl dressed in an asbestos coverall. The hood and visor were pushed back, disclosing a tight mass of copper ringlets. She laughed at something he said and answered in a low tone. An elderly man with a preoccupied look entered from a corridor on the right and shuffled quickly into a side room. No one else was in sight. Olga and Perry stood uncertainly for a moment, then Perry advanced, touched the young man on the arm, and spoke.
“Excuse me.”
The young man started, and turned around. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you. May I do you a service?”
“Service,” answered Perry. “We’d like to look around, if it’s permitted.”
“Certainly. Glad to have you. You’ll need a guide though. Joe!”
A blond head appeared from behind the back of a couch, a strapping form followed it. “Yeah?”
“A couple of visitors ’ud like to take a gander around the plant. I’ve got to handle the controls for Vivian on this test run. Can you do it?”
“I guess so.” The youth chucked a magazine into a chair and joined them, long arm and hand outstretched.
Perry thanked him. “Sure this won’t put you out?”
“Not at all. Glad to have a little excitement. It’s pretty dull around here. Come along. What would you like to see first? The rockets? Most everybody does.” He led them into a huge gloomy shed. Dominating the interior was a great sleek metal behemoth that towered over their heads. Perry whistled.
For Us, the Living Page 20
