The Fracas Factor

by Mack Reynolds

  Joe said thoughtfully, “I can see where it would have advantages over the fracas from the viewpoint of the buff. In a fracas, you have no guarantee that there’ll be a telly crew on the spot when some action takes place. You might sit through a whole battle and never see any of the gore and death you tuned in for. But in a fight like that, you can’t miss. Those poor funkers are on lens from the moment they walk into the arena.”

  “There’re other angles too,” Freddy told him. “When a corporation or a union gets permission from the Category Military Department to fight a fracas, it costs them millions to hire mercenaries. But these gladiator bouts make money for whoever throws one. Those gladiator buffs up in the stands, who’d rather see the fighting live than on their telly sets, pay plenty for seats. Each gladiator who survives gets ten shares of Variable Basic stock, but…”

  “Ten shares!” Sam said. “Holy Zen, what am I doing fighting in fracases? A Rank Private like me only gets one share. I ought to switch over.”

  “Didn’t you see what just happened?” Joe asked. “We just saw two men fight it out and one was killed. In a fight like that you have a fifty-fifty chance of copping your final one. In a fracas, either side seldom takes more than ten percent casulties, and usually less than that. So there’s only one chance in ten of getting yourself in the dill and winding up in a hospital—or in the ground.”

  “Well, you have to take your chances,” Sam said.

  “You sure do,” his father growled. “That man you just saw killed, Jones, was one of the oldest hands in these gladiator fights, and he was finished off by a tyro. It’s a sucker’s game, Son.”

  The boy looked at his wrist chronometer and got up from his chair. “I gotta go,” he said. He came over to Joe Mauser to shake hands. “It was nice to see you again, Major.”

  Joe stood and said, “We’ll have to get together more often, Sam.”

  When young Sam was gone, Joe turned back to Freddy Soligen and reseated himself. He gestured at the telly set and said, “What in the devil’s the country coming to when they allow that? The fracases were bad enough.”

  Freddy shrugged. “Those cloddies that fight are consenting adults. Nobody twists their arms. Basically, it’s the same as the fracases. You don’t have to sign up for them if you don’t want to. And the pay is high. How else can somebody who was born a Lower make ten shares of Variable for a few minutes time? The government’s ruled that consenting adults can participate in violence, even to the point of killing or getting killed.”

  “What a government!” Joe said in disgust.

  Freddy Soligen looked at him, eyebrows high. “Are you talking against the government, Joe?”

  “You’re damn right I am.”

  “Well, then you’re lucky you aren’t talking to somebody who’d turn you over to Category Security. But if you like it or not, there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m not saying that there aren’t some aspects of People’s Capitalism that I’d like to see changed, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Yes, there is,” Joe said grimly. “That’s what I came to see you about, Freddy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I came around to recruit you into an organization which has as its aim changing the present socioeconomic system.”

  Freddy looked at him. “What does that mean, the socio… whatever you said?”

  “It means the government and the present way of handling production, distribution, scientific research and so forth. We want to get the country back on the tracks, back to work, back to progress.”

  “Oh, wizard,” Freddy said with a snort. “Chum-pal, you sound as though you’ve gone drivel-happy.”

  Joe said, “Well, from what you’ve told me in the past, you’re as much against the way things are now as I am. You started out a Lower and tried to fight your way up. You worked like a bastard and took your risks. And where are you at the tender age of some forty-odd? A Low-Middle without much chance of getting higher.

  You’ve got a son you love even more than ordinarily, he’s in the Category Military, and we both know what his percentages are. And all you can do is pray the kid doesn’t become silly enough to switch over to the gladiator games. So, as I say, I came to recruit you to the organization to which I belong, an organization devoted to change.”

  “You haven’t got a chance, Joe.”

  “Some of the biggest men in the country are with us, Freddy.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you, especially until you’re in.”

  “Wizard,” Freddy said. “What’s in it for me?”

  “A thought came to me when you mentioned that you were thinking of switching out of Branch Fracas News into some other branch of Category Communications. How would you like to switch to Branch News and become a Rank Commentator?”

  Freddy laughed. “Yeah, and I’d like to be bounced in caste to Upper-Upper too. Rank Commentator is as high as you can get in Category Communications, Subdivision Telly.”

  Joe said seriously, “I told you that some of the biggest men in the country were behind this organization. I think we could swing it.”

  “I’ll be damned. What would I have to do?”

  “Probably not much at this stage of the game. We’re not ready to move as yet. But when we do, we want to have people in the news media.”

  Freddy thought about it. He said finally, “What are some of the things you stand for? You can’t just overthrow the government without something to take its place.”

  “Among other things, one that you’ve been in revolt against all of your life. The caste system. We want to do away with it. No Upper-Uppers. No more Lower-Lowers. Everybody reaches his level in society on his own merit.”

  It was there that Joe Mauser had made his mistake.

  Freddy Soligen was not opposed to the caste system. He was simply ambitious within it. He wanted to get as high on the totem pole as he could manage and by whatever method that came within his reach. He was an opportunist of the old school. Freddy Soligen was out for Number One, Freddy Soligen, and, of course, his son, Sam. And nothing else was going to stand in his way, including friendship.

  He said, carefully, “Tell me more about this organization of yours, Joe.”

  Chapter Eight

  Joe Mauser, happy because he was in the process of making an outstanding recruit, returned to his apartment by vacuum-tube capsule. He emerged into his own living room to find Max Mainz sitting before the telly.

  The little man had a plastic of beer in his hand and made a gesture of greeting to Joe. He said, “Hi, Major. Where’ve you been?”

  Joe Mauser said, “Around.” He slumped into a chair beside his roommate. “Don’t tell me you’ve found something worth looking at on the goof-box.”

  Max said, “Aw, telly’s not so bad. It’s something to do. You can’t just sit around, just doing nothing.”

  Joe said, looking impatiently at him, “Didn’t it ever occur to you to take up some studies? You could get yourself some extra background. It might even lead to you being able to get a job.”

  Max took back a slug of his beer. “Why?” he said reasonably. “I got my Inalienable Basic. I got a few shares of Variable Basic now. I got it made. I don’t want to be no stute. We’re living high on the hog, Major.”

  Joe Mauser sighed. He got up and went over to the autobar and dialed himself a duplicate of Max’s beer and came back with it.

  He settled into his chair disconsolately. Phil Holland had said that they were going to have to recruit the Lowers, sooner or later. And Max Mainz was a bit more than average when it came to Lowers.

  Joe said, “Max, have you ever heard of the Nathan Hale Society?”

  “Sure.”

  Joe eyed him. “You have?”

  “Sure. I just seen something about it on the telly news. They’re gonna have a big rally tonight, over at Druid Hill Park. Free beer and everything.”

  Joe thought about it, between sips on his drink. He said
, finally, “Look. How about going over and attending the rally? Find out all you can about the outfit. If they hand out any leaflets or pamphlets, or whatever, get copies of them.”

  Max said, “Why?”

  “Because they’re probably the funkers who took a crack at us down in Mexico. I want to know more about them.”

  “You’re the boss,” Max said, finishing his beer. “What’m I supposed to find out?”

  “Damned if I know. Anything that you can. What makes them tick. What they stand for. Who’s behind them. Who their leaders are, besides Balt Haer. That sort of thing. Anything.”

  They sat for awhile, staring at the goof-box as Joe had named it. There was a crime show in progress, complete with more Mayhem than had ever happened in the real world of crime. Joe had come into it in the middle and couldn’t follow the plot.

  Max said, “You shoulda seen what was on before this. A gladiator show. This guy Rykov…”

  “I saw it,” Joe said.

  “You did?” Max was surprised. “I didn’t think you looked at stuff like that.”

  “I usually don’t. It’s for empties, Max.”

  The ugly little man scowled. “You oughtha talk like that, Major. It’s un-American. All Americans follow the fracases and the gladiator games and the phoney-fracases.”

  “No they don’t Max,” Joe sighed. “Practically nobody does except the Lowers. And especially the Low-Lowers. Vicarious violence is the need of people who have become the rejects of life. They’re trying to strike back at a world that has deserted them.”

  “I don’t know what in Zen that means but…”

  Joe interrupted him impatiently, saying, “That’s why I suggested that you take some courses from the computers of the Educational Category, Max. Possibly you’d learn what I just said meant.”

  “Aw, I told you. I don’t want get to be a stute.”

  “Don’t worry, Max; you won’t.”

  Joe brought his transceiver from his jerkin pocket and dialed Nadine Haer. In a moment, her face faded in and immediately expressed her pleasure in seeing him.

  “Darling!” she said.

  He got up and went to the far end of the room, leaving Max to his sudden death show and his exaggerated mayhem.

  Joe said into the transceiver, “Last night you were absolutely shameless.”

  Her eyes widened mockingly, and she said, “I’ll never do it again.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Joe said.

  Nadine dropped the banter and said, “How did you do?”

  “Pretty good, I think. I’ll have to check it out with the, ah, higher-ups, but I think I’ve got somebody good. And you?”

  “I’ve got an appointment with… our subject. Suppose I come by your apartment and we’ll go together.”

  “Wizard, and… darling…”

  “Yes?”

  “I like shameless girls.”

  “I’ll never be the same.” Her smiling face faded from the screen.

  Joe Mauser rejoined Max who had switched off the set and was scowling at his roommate.

  Max said, “Major, why would these Nathan Hale Society funkers want to finish you? And me, too, for that matter?”

  “Most likely you were involved just because you were along with me,” Joe told him. “They wanted to crisp me because I belong to an organization that is diametrically opposed to theirs.”

  “Is that what we were doing down there in Mexico? Something for this organization of yours?”

  Joe sighed and said, “Didn’t you hear what I said to those two hundred people in my speech at the hacienda?”

  “I didn’t listen too good. Too many big words. I can’t concentrate too good if you use a lot of big words and the ideas are too complicated.”

  Joe sighed again at the little man’s mental workings but said, “Briefly, Max, we think the country has gotten into a rut. Practically all progress has stopped. Over ninety percent of the population does nothing except collect their dividends from their Inalienable Basic, suck on trank, and watch their telly sets. Usually, they watch the most degrading shows they can find. We want to change that. We want to resume progress. We want to get out of the rut.”

  That worried Max. “You mean that you’re against the government?” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  Max thought about it for awhile and then said, “This rut you say the country’s in. How’d we get in it?”

  “Not any one thing, Max. It was the result of several trends, including the automation and computerization of industry and even commerce. But one of the immediate things was the shortage of gold. There simply wasn’t enough gold in the world to back all of the paper money the governments were printing, and you’ve got to have something to back paper money, something of real value, or you have galloping inflation on your hands. So our government took ten percent of the taxes from the two hundred largest corporations in the country in the form of their common stock. They put this together into what amounted to a gigantic mutual fund and called it United States Basic Common Stock and released it on all the stock markets of the world to find its level. Obviously, the stock paid good dividends. The government offered to redeem any paper dollars it had issued with shares of this stock. And they continued the tax policies and the issuing of more Common Basic until they had more than enough to back the dollar.”

  Max was scowling. He said, “Yeah, but that don’t sound like no rut. That was a pretty good idea.”

  “That’s just the beginning,” Joe told him patiently. “At the same time the administration of relief had gone to pot. Social Security, old age pensions, unemployment insurance, veterans pensions, food stamps, and all the rest were in a state of chaos. So the government amalgamated them all and issued shares of Inalienable Basic which were backed by the U.S. Basic Common Stock to all on relief or pensions. As time went by and more and more people were on relief, the requirements to get Inalienable Basic became less and less. Supposed old age became younger and younger; unemployment insurance became forever. When those on relief began to outnumber those who worked due to automation, the government finally issued it to everybody, including children at birth. The Inalienable Basic could not be sold and reverted to the government at death.”

  “Well, I know all that,” Max said. “Even a Low-Lower like me gets ten shares at birth.”

  “Ummm,” Joe went on. “At the same time, the Universal Credit Card was coming in along with the Banking Data Computers. The dollar was maintained as a symbol, but in actuality all exchange was in the hands of computers. You never saw the dividends from your stock; they were simply deposited to your account. Today, everyone receives the stock, but Lowers get less than Middles and Middles get less than Uppers. And that’s the way the Uppers are perpetuating themselves as a class. You can no longer go broke, no matter how stupid you are. Most of them, of course, also own Variable Basic, which can be bought and sold, but which is still based on U.S. Basic Common. And some still own blocks of stock in the corporations.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nadine Haer hated vacuum-tube capsules, so they took her hoverlimousine by automated underground ultra-highway to the Richmond area. It was noonish, and the appointment with Doctor Mitfield wasn’t until one, so they located an Upper caste restaurant and had lunch.

  They checked the menu, set into the table, and dialed their selections. They they leaned back in their chairs, waiting for the food to be delivered.

  Joe said, “What do you know about this Doctor Mitfield?”

  “Not much. He’s an M.D., which probably means that he’s an Upper-Middle.”

  “Nothing on him in the data banks? Frank Hodgson should be able to get that with his position in the Bureau of Investigation.”

  “He’s listed as a possible subversive and a suspected member of the Sons of Liberty, which is definitely regarded to be a subversive organization.”

  Joe pursed his lips. “Should we be seen in his company?”

  “You’ve got to ta
ke chances sometimes, or you’d never get anything done,” she said.

  “I suppose so,” He grimaced and said, “You told me that your brother, Balt, knew or suspected that you belonged to a subversive organization. Are you listed in the data banks as a subversive?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “You think that Balt has failed to report you because you’re his sister?”

  “Never fear. It’s not that If I was found guilty of subversion, he, as family head, would be in a position to take over my holdings in our corporation. But each time he, or any other member of the Nathan Hale Society, reports me, Frank Hodgson has the information deleted from my dossier in the data banks, which is child’s play for him, but which I suspect is driving my dear brother drivel-happy.”

  “Does Hodgson do the same for all the other members of our outfit?”

  “Yes. His position as actual head of the Bureau of Investigation is one of our strongest weapons. Category Security, and the various other witchhunters find it practically impossible to get anything on any of us. As the organization becomes larger, that’s going to become more difficult. Frank would be sticking his neck out too far by trying to clean up the dossiers of tens of thousands of members.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes while Joe mulled it over. “Could Frank delete any reference to this Doctor Mitfield being connected with subversion?” Joe asked.

  “I imagine so, if we find that we’re kindred spirits. And all the other higher echelons of the Sons of Liberty, for that matter. But this, at best, isn’t going to be as easy as your assignment down in Mexico. The Sons of Liberty is a national organization, with, I understand, local groups in at least all of the larger cities. If we sell him a bill of goods, then he, in turn, is going to have to resell it to thousands.”

  “Well, let’s get started,” he said, bringing forth his Universal Credit Card and putting it in the payment slot of the automated table.

  He said, “Did you know that in Lower and Middle restaurants you have to put your credit card in the slot before the food is delivered?”