by Colin Kapp
‘You pay me for my time at the same rate as for the last job.’
‘Now I know you’re joking. I’ve already offered you double.’
‘But I want it paid in small cash,’ said Manalone. ‘No other form of payment is acceptable.’
Blackman’s hideous face magnificently mirrored his incredulous amusement.
‘You? In trouble? I don’t believe it! What have you been up to?’
‘You’d not believe me if I told you. Is it a deal?’
‘Now wait a minute, Manny boy. Don’t rush me. I’ll have to do some checking on you first. I have to know how clean my associates are before they join me. I can’t afford for my operations to get a bad name.’
‘You don’t have any clean associates, Victor. And your shoddy and illegal operations are an anathema right through the trade. So don’t try sounding moral and organized, because you’ll probably choke yourself. Do we have a deal or not?’
‘We have a deal, Manny. It’s the least I can do to assist your reformation. And even if I do make a damn great profit, you’ll understand that my motivation primarily comes from the goodness of my heart.’
‘You haven’t got a heart. You’ve got a real-time extension from your corrupt old Sigma Eleven. God – in your organization even the computers are bent!’
‘And if you’re needing payment in small cash, it sounds as if you’ll be in good company. Give my regards to that delicious pet wife of yours.’
‘Do it yourself,’ said Manalone. ‘You probably see more of her than I do.’
As ever, his exchange of words with Blackman had proved remarkably tonic. He had also partially solved his financial problems in advance of the situation becoming critical. Of all the people he knew, Victor Blackman was the last person to be intimidated by outside pressures, nor did his operations require security clearance. If the MIPS wanted to prevent him working for Blackman, they were going to have to apply for more open pressures than they had used at the Mills.
Manalone’s second move was to make an autophone call to the automatic switchboard at Automated Mills. Through this he had a rarely used direct access link to the Mills’ main computer, which had enabled him to make interrogations or give instructions to the computer from his portable terminal, using the national autophone circuits. He doubted if anyone at the Mills yet realized the significance of his continued possession of an off-site access link, but Manalone’s knowledge of the system was such that until the link was broken, the functioning of the Mills’ computer was still effectively under his control.
He briefly considered ordering the information in the main memory banks to be erased, but acknowledged that such a piece of malicious sabotage would cripple the Mills but gain him nothing. Instead he went back to the key codes calling out of the nationwide data stores the elements of his computerized deposition. The next hundred thousand invoices issued by the Automated Mills computers would have printed on them a series of very disturbing questions.
When he found out this fact, Adam Vickers would be forced to recall all the doctored invoices and the significance of their recall would further enhance whatever interest they had raised. Recalled or not, the damage would be done before anyone had a chance to stop it. Where computers were linked direct to computers, information passed in megabits, too swiftly for human intervention or discretion. Within hours his questions would become a talking point in computer rooms throughout the country.
His next task he needed to accomplish before the news of his first two projects filtered back. Memory told him that his security clearance had been issued not by the local office of the Ministry of Information and Public Security, but by the central clearing office on the Old Cathedral site at Chichester. He dialled for an autram, and entered it still wondering if this particular exploit was ill-advised. He finally decided that he had no alternative if he still wanted information, and directed the autram to take him to the doors of the MIPS central clearing office.
A girl in the reception area referred him to an office on the fifty-second floor. Here Manalone approached a desk clerk with a question which was deliberately misleading.
‘I’ve a query about my exact security grading. I’ve been offered work on Q6 grade security projects, but refused because it’s my understanding that I’ve not yet been cleared for the higher grades. Can you please confirm my position.’
‘You have your Civil Identity card?’
‘Surely.’ Manalone handed over his CI card with some misgivings. When they found the truth of the situation, he was going to find it difficult to get it back. Nonetheless he watched with interest to see the shock develop. The clerk consulted an index, then went to look for a microfilm wallet. He came back from his cabinets with a slightly baffled look on his face.
‘You’re sure you’ve come to the right district office?’
‘Completely sure,’ said Manalone.
The clerk went off again to consult with a colleague, who came over, verified the information, and examined the same cabinets. The two of them then moved in opposite directions around the filing racks checking various possible alternatives. Both arrived finally at a small box situated on its own. This apparently produced the information they were looking for. The look that passed between them was electric.
The microfile was contained not in the usual file wallet, but in a red plastic box which was nearly full of the microdocument strips. Whatever his security status, Manalone could tell that he had been the subject of considerable and prolonged research. The two clerks were obviously disturbed by the finding, and were in earnest consultation with each other over the film reader.
‘… But you can’t tell him he’s running the test …’ one was saying. He looked up and saw Manalone’s enquiring interest, and the two of them moved well out of earshot.
‘The test, Manalone? What sort of test is that?’
Finally the first clerk came back. There was a very curious expression on his face.
‘You’re a special case, Manalone. But you knew that when you came in here. You’ve security clearance in every industrial category, only the clearance isn’t operative.’
‘Isn’t that the same as not having any clearance?’
‘Not quite. It means you’ve got it, but we won’t allow you to use it.’
‘Why not?’
‘That I can’t tell you.’
‘Then I want to speak with somebody who can tell me.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
‘Hell, it has to be possible. Let me speak to whoever’s in charge.’
‘He won’t be able to help you either. The whole thing’s out of our hands.’
‘Then whose hands is it in? The Minister’s?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then whose?’
‘There’s nothing I can tell you. You got in here under false pretences. You shouldn’t even be here.’
‘Is it by order of the Masterthinkers?’
The clerk’s response was gratifying, because he could not conceal the widening of his eyes at the mention of the name.
‘I’d advise you to leave – otherwise I’ll report you for making trouble.’
‘I’ll not leave before I get an answer. Surely I’ve a right to know why my clearance isn’t operative.’
The clerk was becoming annoyed. ‘Right? You don’t know what you’re saying. Once you get yourself put on that file you don’t have rights any more – not any. It involves a full suspension of all your civil liberties. Technically, it’s not your security clearance that’s been withdrawn, but your claim to recognition as a human being.’
Manalone said, ‘What!’ At least he thought he did. The shock and unacceptability of the statement clouded his brain and numbed his senses. He felt suddenly withdrawn inside himself; and though he continued to see and hear, such extraneous activities had no relevance for him. The clerk and the office might as well have been a thousand miles away.
‘No one has the right to dismiss another from th
e human race,’ he heard his own voice say plaintively.
‘I don’t make the rules. I only keep the records.’
‘Then to whom do I appeal against the decision – God?’
‘These days,’ said Colonel Shears’ voice, ‘even He would find it difficult to intervene without first obtaining my permission.’
25
Manalone and the Bearding
Manalone came back to his senses with a jolt. The Colonel had entered the room behind him and was holding his arm with a firm grip.
‘How much has he discovered?’
The clerk’s brow was suddenly moist with perspiration. He stood rigidly to attention. His fear of Shears was very evident.
‘Sir! I’ve told him that he is now devoid of civil rights. I’m certain that he overheard part of a discussion about the test. I’d no idea he was a test subject. He came in here with a false enquiry.’
‘Hmm! You’ll have to watch out for this one. He turns up everywhere, and he’s cleverer than the devil. I’ll speak to you later. Manalone, come with me. This seems an ideal opportunity for our little chat.’
Wonderingly, Manalone did as he was told. The grip on his arm left him no option. The Colonel led him through to a well-appointed office and bade him take a seat.
‘You look as though you could use a drink.’
‘It’s not every day one gets dismissed from the human race.’
‘It’s more than a figure of speech, I assure you. But you won’t see its significance. With luck, perhaps you will one day.’
‘And without luck?’
Shears poured two glasses of spirit. ‘Without luck you won’t be around to worry. So either way is fine with me. You’re well past the point of no return.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘It means you have to make the complete grade on the test, or else I order your execution. You know too much already, and there’s no third way.’
‘What sort of test is this?’
‘That you won’t know until you come to the end of it – if ever. Very few do. But with your intellect you stand a fighting chance. Are you ready to answer some questions?’
‘I’m prepared to make an exchange for a few answers.’
‘You’re a fantastic character, Manalone. Not many men dare to beard me in my own office. Suppose we talk about Raper’s list. You don’t still deny you have it?’
‘You know damn well I’ve got it, so why keep asking? It’s a list of subject headings all somehow related to aspects of overpopulation. Not one of the articles on the list carries a security rating, and they’re all available from the library computer. Frankly, its not security information, and nothing about it justifies Paul Raper’s death.’
Shears shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, you know. Individually the articles may be innocent, but grouped together, they’re dangerous. It’s the association that’s critical. We’re all sitting on top of a social and biological bomb. Raper was trying to light the fuse. By making such assemblies of ideas he came dangerously close to blowing the whole damn mess.’
‘So you executed him?’
‘And half a million others. Information is a very potent force. Like any other force, it can be used for destruction, conservation or creation. It’s not the information that counts, but the qualities and intentions of the user.’
‘And Paul was the wrong type?’
‘Raper used information the way political terrorists use bombs. He made dangerous parcels of it, then left it around near unsuspecting innocents, hoping it would go bang and destroy something. Unfortunately for him, the balance of the forces ranged around is too precarious for us to allow him to continue.’
‘And Oman – tell me about Pierce Oman?’
‘Oman was one of the aforesaid innocents. He’d acquired too much information for his own comfort, but didn’t have the capacity to make sense of it. Thus he was a misery to himself and a menace to us.’
‘They tortured him to death,’ said Manalone in a flat voice.
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Shears. ‘But it alters nothing. We don’t pretend to justify our operations on humanitarian grounds. Time’s running out, and only the quick and the desperate can give us a chance for survival. But I don’t see why the hell I’m answering your questions. You’re here to answer mine.’
‘But you seem to have all the answers.’ Manalone was critical. ‘All I’ve got is questions without a problem to hang them on to.’
‘That’s the way it has to be, Manalone. Because if the problem really showed through, we’d have no chance at all of finding a solution.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re starting at the wrong end of human evolution. From this point on, it’s all regression until we finish back swinging from the trees – except that we haven’t left many trees to swing from. But we daren’t let the facts become known.’
‘What facts?’
‘Human intelligence is on the decline. In not too many years the human race is going to lose the capacity to maintain the machine culture which supports the fantastic level of overpopulation. The way down the evolutionary scale will be even bloodier and hungrier and tougher than was the way up.’
‘But a change like that would take many thousands of years,’ protested Manalone.
The lines on Shears’ face were not creases, they were deep-etched clefts.
‘I wish it was true, Manalone. But the fact is that the process’ll be substantially complete in about five generations.’
‘Hell, that’s impossible! Alterations of species’ characteristics by genetic mutation and natural selection can’t operate that fast.’
‘The mutations have already taken place. The regressive genes are already predominant throughout the human species. Natural selection will get its chance when our teeming millions start tearing each other apart as the machines falter and the food supply fails. Don’t underestimate the scale of the catastrophe. Only about one in a million will survive, and he’ll inherit a world which wouldn’t be coveted by the common rat.’
‘If all this is true, don’t you think that people have a right to know it?’
‘It’s not a question of rights. The anger and the fear would feed a mass hysteria that could only hasten the end. It could possibly finish our civilization within ten years. We need time either to find a solution to the problem or to build a social structure which will let the human race down gently.’
‘I understand the fear, but not the anger.’
‘Manalone – this isn’t a natural disaster. This is the result of deliberate interference with Man’s genetic heritage. It’s the backlash of an experiment that failed.’
‘Deliberate?’ It was Manalone’s second major shock of the day.
‘You knew something ran off the rails, Manalone – but this doesn’t seem to be it. This explains the shortage of tomorrows, but not the holes in reality. This explains the police state, but not what happened to gravity and momentum. It explains what happened to Paul, but not what’s happening to you.’
There was a knock on the door and a clerk entered hurriedly. He handed a piece of paper to Colonel Shears, who read it with his face full of frank disbelief.
Manalone froze. Even from a distance he could recognize the typical format of an Automated Mills invoice. He was prepared to meet the anger on Shears’ face but the look of wan anguish was something he had not expected.
‘Manalone, you bloody fool! You stupid, incredible idiot!’ Shears’ worry drove him from his desk. He ran to the outer office, paper in hand, shouting for subordinates to muster.
Manalone sat nonplussed. Had he known earlier the things Shears had just told him, he might not have released his computer deposition. As it was, he felt no remorse about calling into question things which had been deliberately concealed from himself. However, he was considerably alarmed by the tenor of the reaction his deposition had evoked. Anger he had expected – but a state of crash emergency had been beyond his an
ticipation.
‘A basic blunder, Manalone. If Paul used information like terrorists’ bombs, you’ve used it like a nuclear weapon. In the circumstances, you’ve considerably overplayed your hand. Shears has told you some of the facts, but not all of them. The questions you’ve asked go beyond the territory even Shears was prepared to discuss. In the cause of personal survival, there’s only one course open to you – hell, you’ve got to run, boy!’
In the atmosphere of confusion in the outer office, he managed to slip through without being noticed. He could scarcely believe his luck as he reached the elevator without being challenged. Minutes later he was out of the building and running for an autram which had just been vacated on the road outside.
It was only when he began to dial his destination that he realized that habit and necessity had caused him to make a mistake. Having no cash in his pocket, he had automatically used his ComCredit card to identify his credit. His identity and his destination would go immediately on computer-file for Shears to pick out at his leisure. As soon as he recognized the fact, Manalone cancelled the destination code and dialled again, altering the last two digits. This he calculated should place him at the opposite end of his road, if he understood the system right.
The autram moved off and began to negotiate the traffic lanes, then was prematurely halted as several official manudrive vehicles with sirens and flashing beacons rushed past in the opposite direction. The manu-drives had absolute priority on the road, and all the autotraffic drew out of the way and stopped whilst the manually-controlled cars went past.
Manalone speculated as to whether the emergency override of the automatic traffic was controlled by the central computer or whether there was a local response mechanism built into the autotraffic vehicles themselves. Local response seemed the more probable, because the speed and direction of the passenger-controlled vehicles could not be known to the computer in advance. This presupposed that the manu-drives broadcast some sort of command signal which triggered the emergency over-ride. Whether this signal was a radio transmission or whether it was associated with the sirens or the flashing lights, he was unable to decide. In any case the question became largely academic as his autram resumed its normal route and began to bear him back towards his home.
