The Fracas Factor

by Mack Reynolds

  Max didn’t see Freddy Soligen enter the room. The newcomer stood at the door, much as Max had done earlier, and looked about. It was obviously the first time he had been here. He spotted Max at the bar and frowned, as though trying to place him, but then shook his head.

  He approached one of the tables. “How do I find Baron Haer?”

  One of the Minutemen pointed and said, “Through that door and down the hall aways is an elevator. The Baron’s office is on the sixth floor. You’ll have shit’s own time gettin’ in to see him unless you got an appointment.”

  “Thanks.”

  He ran into no interference until he reached the sixth floor and found two guards there, armed with billy clubs. They gave him the cold eye, then moved in on him and gave him a quick but thorough frisking. Freddy Soligen bore it stoically.

  One of them said, “What the hell do you want?”

  Freddy said, “To see Baron Haer.”

  “You got an appointment?” the other guard said.

  “No, but I think hell see me.”

  “Whatda’ya want to see him about?”

  Whatever else Freddy Soligen was, he was no coward. He looked the other straight in the eye and said, “That’s none of your business, chum-pal.”

  The two glared at him. One finally said, “Go down the hall there until you see an office with two more Minutemen there.”

  “What’s a Minuteman?”

  The guard tapped the snake on his shirt and said pompously, “We wear shirts like this.”

  That didn’t seem to exactly answer the question, but Freddy shrugged it off and headed down the hall as indicated.

  He had no difficulty locating the guarded office. He said to one of the two Minutemen, “I’d like to see Baron Haer.”

  “Got an appointment, friend?”

  “No, but I think hell see me. My name is Freddy Soligen.”

  “The Fracas News telly reporter?” the younger of the two asked.

  “That’s right,” Freddy sighed.

  “Zen! I seen you a dozen times. Sometimes one of the other cameramen would get you in lens. Always right in the middle of the dill. I’ll never forget that time when Union Carbide was having it out with Monsanto and…”

  “I won’t forget it either,” Freddy sighed. “I copped one. Now how do I go about seeing the Baron?”

  The Minuteman frowned. “I’ll go in and ask Colonel Buttrick.”

  He went through the door and while he was gone the older Minuteman frisked Freddy again. “Just routine,” he said, slightly apologetically.

  “It’s okay,” Freddy said. “I never packed a shooter in my life.”

  The younger one came back and said, “Colonel Buttrick will see you, Citizen Soligen.”

  Freddy could have asked who the hell Colonel Buttrick was, but didn’t bother. He went through the door the Minuteman held open for him. A typical fracas-buff, Freddy thought. He could take his shirt off without unbuttoning his collar. It was for the likes of him that Freddy had risked his butt a hundred times over.

  The moment he saw Colonel Buttrick, sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, Freddy Soligen recognized him. He’d covered several fracases the colonel had participated in.

  He said, “Hi, Colonel, it’s been a long time. You were in the dill on that New Mexico Military Reservation. The United Miners, American Federation of Labor fracas. You were commanding the United Miners’ light cavalry.”

  The colonel stood up, smiled, and extended a hand. “Yes, I recall it very well. You gave me excellent coverage, Freddy. It was largely through you that I received my full colonel’s rank in the Category Military.”

  Freddy shook and said, “What’s the chances of me seeing the Baron?”

  “Could you tell me why? He’s always frightfully busy. He carries the full load of the burden of the Nathan Hale Society.”

  From what Freddy Soligen knew of Balt Haer, it couldn’t have been much of a burden if the Baron was carrying it.

  He said, “I’m afraid not. It’s sort of a top-secret thing—pertaining to your Society, and for his ears only.”

  The other nodded, frowning only slightly. “I’ve already notified the Baron of your request for an interview.”

  An interview wasn’t exactly what Freddy had in him, but he held his peace.

  Something on the colonel’s desk buzzed, and he flicked a switch, listened for a moment, and then looked at Freddy and said, “The Baron can give you five minutes.”

  Freddy Soligen suspected that he needed a sight more than five minutes, but he let the future take care of that. A door opened automatically next to Colonel Buttrick, and Freddy marched through into the opulent office that Max Mainz had occupied less than an hour before. Balt Haer, looking important, was seated behind the desk.

  He said, “Hello, Citizen Soligen. I admit that my association with you wasn’t under the most happy of circumstances, but I assume that was not your fault. You were merely doing your job.” He hadn’t offered to shake hands, but Freddy took the chair he indicated.

  Freddy Soligen said, “Yes, sir. I was in that glider with my telly camera the second time Joe Mauser flew it in a fracas. It led to both you and him being kicked out of the Category Military for violating the Universal Disarmament Pact. I had to testify at the court martial afterward, but it had nothing to do with me.”

  “No. Of course not. And now, what is the purpose of your visit, Citizen Soligen? The Nathan Hale Society is always most cooperative with the Category Communications, but your particular field is Branch Fracas News, and we hardly come under that.”

  Freddy said, “No. Let me give you some background, sir. I was born a Lower. I’m ambitious. Doing it the hard way, I worked my way up to Low-Middle. Which still isn’t very high in this People’s Capitalism of ours. I repeat, I’m ambitious.”

  Balt Haer said impatiently, “I don’t see how that applies to either the Society or myself, Soligen.”

  “No, sir. However, I know that your old man, uh, that is your father, Baron Haer, had quite a bit of influence in the Department of Categories. I don’t know how much of this has come down to you.”

  “I see,” Balt Haer said coldly. “You would like me to utilize what influence I can to have you bounced in your caste.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what do you offer in return, assuming I could make such arrangements?”

  Freddy Soligen took a deep breath before speaking. He said, “Baron Haer, I was recently contacted by someone who offered to raise my rank in Category Communications to Rank Commentator. It’s the highest rank in my category, sir. News Commentators are usually Upper-Middles or even Uppers. The pay is good.”

  Balt Haer knew the other was a top fracas telly reporter, but he did not seem to be of News Commentator caliber. He said, “Who offered you this promotion?”

  “The man we were talking about earlier. Joe Mauser.”

  The baron stared at him. “Joe Mauser is in no position to honor that committment.”

  “He isn’t?”

  “He is suspected of being a subversive and is being investigated by the Nathan Hale Society.”

  “I see.”

  “You’re a friend of his?” Balt Haer asked suspiciously.

  “I’m even more so a friend of mine—and of my son. I want him to be in line for a bounce or two in caste, as well as myself. He’s an adult now, so any bounce I get doesn’t automatically reflect on his caste.”

  “Just a minute,” Balt Haer said. He flicked on his desk screen and said, “Buttrick, see if Colonels Fodor and Warren are working late tonight. If they are, give them my compliments and ask them to come to my office.”

  He flicked the set off and turned back to Freddy and said, “I told you that Mauser is suspected of being a subversive.”

  “It’s no suspicion, Baron. He is. He told me so himself when he offered me the job.”

  “Why did he offer it to you—assuming he could deliver it?”

  “I’m not too cle
ar. I think his organization wants to infiltrate Category Communications. You can see how it is. They’ll need men in key news spots when they try to pull whatever it is they want to pull.”

  “Very well, what is it you are offering and what are you asking?”

  “A bounce or two in caste and the Same for my son.”

  “And what do you give in return?”

  “Like you said, Joe Mauser doesn’t have the pull to make me a Rank Commentator. That mean’s there’s somebody else in his outfit with enough pull who can do if.”

  Balt Haer viewed him skeptically. “It would take a rather high government official to be able to pull such strings; not necessarily someone in Category Communications, but someone who had close contacts with them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Freddy said, feeling he was beginning to get across now. “And how was Joe bounced up to Upper caste? He had only been a Mid-Middle; then, right after his court martial, he was bounced two castes. That doesn’t make much sense. He was lucky they didn’t reduce him a couple of castes.”

  Baron Haer looked at him for a long moment. He said finally, “What you’re saying is that the government has been infiltrated by subversives on a very high level.”

  And Freddy Soligen looked back. “What’s it worth to you to find out who they are, Baron?”

  But it was then that the door opened and two in the uniform of Category Military, Rank Lieutenant-Colonel entered.

  Balt Haer began introductions, but the newcomers anticipated him. Both advanced on Freddy Soligen with extended hands.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Michael Fodor said, “Why, Freddy, I haven’t seen you since that interview during the fracas in Louisiana.” There was only slight condescension in his voice; after all, he was an Upper addressing a Middle and in a quite friendly manner.

  “No, sir,” Freddy said. “You put on a good show there, Colonel.”

  Paul Warren was more open. He smiled as he shook and said, “I’ll never forget the time you were covering Stonewall Cogswell when he got that shock of seeing Joe Mauser’s glider up there observing him right smack in the middle of a fracas.”

  Freddy grinned in reply. “He sure was shocked all right.”

  Balt Haer said stiffly, “Gentlemen and Citizen Soligen, shall we get down to business?”

  When all were seated, the Baron gave a resume of what Freddy Soligen had told him.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Paul Warren scowled unhappily and said, “Joe Mauser?”

  And Balt Haer said, “I never did trust him, and now he’s obviously up to his ears in a subversive movement. Our duty, as officers of the Nathan Hale Society, is to expose him and particularly these high-ranking government officials that he seems to front for.” He turned his eyes to Freddy Soligen and said, “I do not wield the influence that my late father did. However, the Society has high connections. I guarantee that if you can reveal to us the traitors you mention, you will be bounced in caste to Upper-Middle and your son…”

  “Sam,” Freddy said.

  “Yes, your son, Sam, as well. What category is he in?”

  “Category Military.”

  “Yes, then we shall see that he is promoted in rank, as well.”

  Paul Warren took exception. “Joe Mauser was always a good man,” he said. “I’ve been in more than one fracas with him. He once saved my life.”

  Freddy looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. You were usually on Stonewall Cogswell’s permanent staff, and sometimes Mauser was with him. How come you’ve not up with the Marshal on the Little Big Horn Military Reservation? He’s going into another fracas with old Bitter Dave Langenscheidt. This will be the fifth fracas those two have fought. I’m surprised they don’t have it out with pitchforks one of these days.”

  Warren said, “It’s only regimental magnitude. The former marshal is only a brigadier these days but he’s drastically cut back his staff. I’m no longer on it.”

  Baron Haer said impatiently, “This is all beside the point, gentlemen and Citizen Soligen. The point is that the former Major Mauser is a traitor to People’s Capitalism and the Ultra-Welfare State. He and his criminal associates must be exposed.”

  Freddy stood and said, “All right, so it’s a deal. I find out who the government officials are who are able to bounce Joe up two castes and who are able to up my rank in Category Communications to News Commentator. In return, you bounce me and my son.”

  Balt Haer nodded. “You have my word.”

  Freddy Soligen turned to go, but then cocked his head in thought. He snapped his fingers and said, “Talking about Joe Mauser and Stonewall Cogswell just brought something to mind.”

  Baron Haer viewed him impatiently. He wanted to get rid of the telly reporter and talk the whole thing over with Michael Fodor and Paul Warren. “What?” he said.

  “I just saw Max Mainz in the nightclub. At first, I didn’t recognize him. But now it comes back to me.”

  “Who in the hell’s Max Mainz?” Fodor said. “And what difference does it make?”

  Freddy said, “He used to be Joe Mauser’s batman. Back in that fracas when he first flew the glider, Mainz was his observer, or signalman. The second time Joe used the glider, the time they nailed him, I took over so I could cover it for telly and Max was pissed off, jealous.

  That’s when I met him—at the airport. Only briefly, but it was him, all right. Come to think of it, I’ve seen him with Joe on another occasion. When Joe Mauser fought that Sov-officer in the duel in Budapest, it was televised, and at one time I spotted Mainz, along with other embassy Americans, in the background.”

  “Max Mainz,” Paul Warren said. “It comes back to me. It was election day in Kingston on the outskirts of the Catskill Military Reservation. Election day, when all castes can mix. Lowers can go into Upper bars, restaurants, and even hotels. Joe Mauser, a captain then, came into the Upper bar there with his orderly. You were there, Balt, and so was the Sov-world colonel, Lajos Arpad, or whatever his name was, who was connected with the International Disarmament Commission as an observer to see that the Universal Disarmament Pact was being observed.”

  Balt Haer was looking shocked. He said, “Now that you mention it, I do remember. That’s where I’ve seen the man before. That clod, Mauser, had the gall to introduce him.”

  “Yes, Max Mainz was the name all right,” Warren nodded.

  Freddy Soligen said, “What in the name of Holy Jumping Zen’s he doing down there with your Minutemen, or whatever you call them?”

  Balt Haer’s lips had gone pale. He said, “Let me think for a minute. Yesterday, I read his Category Security dossier. There was nothing in it that mentioned that he had been Joe Mauser’s orderly. And certainly nothing in it that mentioned that he had accompanied Mauser to Budapest. How in the world could that be? It would have to be in his dossier. Everything is in a man’s Security dossier.”

  Michael Fodor said softly, “It means that these officials that bounced Mauser to Low-Upper and have offered Freddy, here, a rise in rank to Commentator are even higher placed than we suspected. It means that they’re in position to alter Category Security dossiers.”

  “That’s practically impossible,” Warren blurted.

  Fodor looked at him.

  Balt Haer ran the back of his right hand over his mouth. He said, very slowly, “I’ve often wondered why the information I’ve submitted to Category Security about my sister’s hairbrained flirtations with subversives never turned up on her dossier.”

  Freddy said, “Well, this is all your problem, not mine. All I know is, Max Mainz is down in your saloon getting drenched with your Minutemen. And now, we’ve made a deal. Good night.”

  He turned and left.

  Balt Haer looked from one to the other of his two fellow officers of the Nathan Hale Society. He said, “The man just joined up. He’s obviously a goddamned spy. Gentlemen, I think we’ve just been given another tool which will enable us to completely repudiate this mysterious subversive organization.”

  Chapter Fifteen
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  After Joe Mauser finished breakfast, the tellyphone buzzed and when he answered it, Nadine Haer’s face faded in.

  She smiled her love-smile for him and said, “Hello, darling. I’m back.”

  “Mission accomplished?”

  “Well, no.”

  “What happened?”

  “I shouldn’t discuss it over the phone. H and H are coming over to my place to work it around. We’ll also have an opportunity to go over our interview with the doctor the other day. Can you come soonest? Their time is limited, of course.”

  “I’ll be there, sweetie.”

  She looked at him mockingly. “Sweetie?” she said. “You sound like a teenager.”

  “I feel like one when I see you.”

  “I’ll discuss that further with you tonight.”

  “It’s a date.” Her face faded from the telly screen.

  Then the identity screen on the door rang. The face there was that of Freddy Soligen. Joe activated the door and went into the living room, an extra coffee cup in hand.

  He said, “Hi, chum-pal.”

  The friendly salutation set Freddy back, but wordlessly he took the proffered coffee and sank down into a chair. Joe took the couch.

  Freddy said, “Joe, I’ve been having second thoughts.”

  “Oh, such as what?”

  “My protection. The deal you offered me the other day; it has angles.”

  “You get to be a Rank Commentator,” Joe said.

  “So you say, but you’re messing around with a very hot fire, Joe. What happens if a wheel comes off? You’re dealing with the Bureau of Investigation, the Category Security, and such amateur outfits as the Nathan Hale Society. Any of them can be tough.”

  “We have good cover for our people, Freddy. We’re not a bunch of mollies.”

  “So you say, so you say. But you’re talking about overthrowing the government, and you’re putting me in a position so that I can help. I told you how I stood the other day. Sure, I’d like a Rank Commentator deal. But how do I know, even if you can swing it, that I wouldn’t wind up booted out of Category Communications altogether, like you were booted out of Category Military—and maybe with a slammer sentence on top of that?”