Julian, as usual, was lost. He said, “You and Edith have mentioned solar power several times and although they were working on it even earlier than 1960, I never did quite understand it. You know, that was true about just almost everybody in my day. We accepted things but didn’t have the vaguest idea of how they worked. For instance, I don’t know what radio is, not really. It goes in here and it comes out there, but I haven’t the slightest idea of just what happens. I was an average citizen, with an average citizen’s knowledge of the gadgets we had; I haven’t the vaguest idea what makes a refrigerator cold. But back to solar power…1 think there were some two hundred houses completely, or at least mostly, powered by solar sources, even in my time.”
Leete nodded. “The solar battery was developed by the Bell Telephone Laboratories in 1954. It’s been improved considerably since then. The early batteries were a flat sandwich of n-type and p-type semi-conductors. Sunlight striking the plate would knock some electrons out of place. The transfer was connected, as in the ordinary-type battery, in an electrical circuit. The freed electrons move toward the positive pole and holes move toward the negative pole, thus constituting a current. Those early solar batteries developed electric potentials of up to half a volt and up to nine watts of power from each square foot exposed to the sun. Not very much, perhaps, but its advantage was that it had no liquids, no corrosive chemicals, no moving parts. Electricity continued to be generated indefinitely, so long as the sun shined.”
“You’ve already lost me,” Julian said. “I’m afraid I’m no science student.”
“It is a bit technical,” the doctor agreed. “The amount of energy falling upon one acre of a sunny area of the earth is 9.4 million kilowatt-hours per year. Square mile upon square mile have been covered with solar batteries in places such as parts of the Sahara not suited for reforestation, in Death Valley, in the deserts of what was once Utah and other parts of the West. The Chinese have emplaced them in areas of the Gobi and the Russians in desert areas of Siberia. The Arabs have a source of power as great as that of their oil of the mid-twentieth century, in the broiling sun of the Arabian peninsula. In short, Julian, in solar power we have a source of energy that will undoubtedly last as long as the human race endures.”
“What’s wrong with nuclear atomic reactors? You have unlimited power from hydrogen taken from the oceans. They were the thing when I went into stasis.”
“Radioactive wastes are more carefully handled now, but there is still danger. The United States Atomic Energy Commission, the official custodian of the deadly byproducts of the nuclear age, took calculated risks which, looking backward, have horrified us. For instance, back in the early nineteen seventies more than a half million gallons of deadly radioactive liquid leaked from huge storage tanks at the A EC’s Hanford facility, near Richmond, Washington.
“No, we are leery about nuclear power and I have no doubt that they will phase it out as our power resources from solar energy continue to grow. Perhaps future generations will revive its use again, when science has learned more about handling it.”
Edith Leete put down her stylo, got up from the desk, and took a chair nearer to them. “I can’t concentrate with you two jabbering away,” she said. “I thought you were talking about waste under the old system. You hardly touched on some of the major ways there were to throw away valuable products.”
Julian looked at her. “Such as?”
“Take something like clothing. In your day, there were thousands of clothing manufacturers in this country alone. They would design, say, a woman’s dress, keeping their fingers crossed that the potential customer would go for the lower hem or higher hem, the lower waist or the higher waist, or this, that, or the other thing in the way of style. The shopper had tens of thousands of stores to choose from, ranging from tiny one-room affairs to department stores covering acres of land. There were mail-order houses which put out catalogues as large as the phone book of a considerable city. No woman could begin to examine all the varieties of dresses manufactured to part her from her dollars.”
Julian took in the coverall-type garment she wore, which was almost identical to that he and the doctor were garbed in.
He said, an edge of sarcasm to his voice, “In my day, people, and women in particular, dressed for attractiveness. Now everybody wears the same thing. I’m not so sure I don’t prefer the old days.”
The doctor laughed, but let his daughter carry the ball.
She smiled, looking down at her outfit. “These aren’t the only clothes we wear. They just happen to be the uniform, more or less, of the university. They’re practical, comfortable, suitable for anything from laboratory work to most sports. But I wouldn’t expect to go to a party, or dancing, or skiing…” she grinned at him “…or swimming in these dungarees.”
“Okay,” Julian acknowledged. “But then what’s the difference between 1970 and the Year 2, New Calendar?”
“To get back to our woman buying a dress. She could choose among tens of thousands of dresses and so forth. So big was the choice that if she went shopping, she couldn’t possibly check out everything. Besides that, she had a choice of quality, superior and inferior textiles, cheaper and more expensive designs. In our system there is still a choice, but there are only a few hundred different designs. And all textiles are the best possible; there are no inferior materials.”
“But isn’t it monotonous?” Julian argued.
Edith laughed. “A few hundred basic dresses is no small matter. Three hundred different types of skirts, three hundred different types of blouses, three hundred sweaters, three hundred belts, three hundred shoes and sandals. Work that out mathematically and you can see that you have literally hundreds of thousands of potential costumes. But if you are still unhappy, you can buy material and design your own clothing. A good many women do, and more men are drifting into it too. Textile design and making your own clothing are growing hobbies these days. The big thing is that we don’t produce and then destroy literally millions of articles of clothing each year simply because they have gone out of fashion. For all practical purposes, styles and fashions as such have disappeared. Our clothing is made for comfort, to be warm or cool as the season dictates, and to be attractive without being garish or ridiculous. We wouldn’t dream of wearing anything as silly as a girdle, nor a tie on a man.”
“As you say,” Julian sighed. “I’ll admit we had some far-out fads in our day. You should have seen some of the hats.”
Doctor Leete had been silent while his daughter sounded off on the subject of style. He said, “It seems to me that when I was a boy in my teens, one of the greatest wastes was the lack of planning of production. Under capitalism, capital flowed to where profit was greatest. Suppose, for instance, artichokes became a food fad. Prices would go up. Thousands of farmers would immediately put in crops of artichokes. They would overflow the market. Prices would break. Then tons upon tons of artichokes would become surplus and rot in the fields since it wouldn’t be worth harvesting them.
“Or take something like toys. Do you remember the Davy Crockett fad? I barely do. Suddenly Davy Crockett coonskins hats, Davy Crockett frontiersman shirts, Davy Crockett moccasins were a must for every child. Hundreds of manufacturers leaped in to profit in the market. Then, overnight, the youngsters tired of Davy Crockett and found a new fad, leaving literally millions of coonskin hats and moccasins to mold in warehouses or be destroyed. As far as a reasonable socioeconomic system was concerned, it was anarchy.”
Edith yawned mightily and said, “I’m getting bored with all this talk. If poor Julian hasn’t already become convinced that the socioeconomic system under which he lived was a madhouse compared to today, he never will. Jule, how would you like to take a drive out to our home? I have some things I have to pick up.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Your home? Isn’t this your home?”
“Oh, good heavens, Jule. This is a university city. We’re just in residence here while Father continues his research on
your case and while I study various projects of mine. Mother is taking a few courses too.”
“Let’s go,” Julian said.
Chapter Eight
The Year 2, New Calendar
Animal’s lives utterly depend upon green plants. Plants alone give us our food; they alone renew and refresh the air, they alone recycle organic wastes, and they alone store sunlight for our use. Plants must have ground space on which to grow. Buildings and roads are using it up at ever-faster speed… Therefore, those of us who build and pave are helping to plunge the planet into disaster. Obviously, then, since we can’t change the facts of life, we’ve got to change the way we pave and build. Buildings and roads below the living green surface of the land can restore ground space to life again.
—Malcolm B. Wells, Architect
Edith and Julian took the elevator to the car pool in the basement of the high-rise apartment building in which they lived.
He said, “This pyramid project you’re interested in simply floors me. I just don’t get the why of it.”
She looked amused. “When Father told you that only two percent of the population was needed in industry to produce an abundance for all, did you come to the conclusion that the remaining ninety-eight percent spent their time sitting before the Tri-Di television, guzzling beer and pushing pleasure buttons?”
“Pleasure buttons?”
She laughed. “It’s a branch of medical science that was experimented with for a time and then definitely dropped. I believe the experiments started with rats and monkeys back before you went into stasis. It was possible, electronically, to stimulate the areas of the brain relating to pleasure. By activating a button, the animal would experience the height of pleasure momentarily. Push the button again and the pleasure returned again, and over and over. Nothing else made any difference to them. Food, drink, even sex meant nothing. They would remain, pressing the button until they fell over from exhaustion, starvation, or dehydration.”
“Good God!” Julian exclaimed. “You mean that brain specialists can do that to humans as well?”
She nodded. “Can, but don’t. Not all the roads opened up by science are followed, Julian. So far as pleasure is concerned, we like to find it ourselves—normally. One of the ways is to create beauty. Much of the beauty in the world, created in the past, has been lost to us. We are attempting to recreate that which we can. For instance, did you know that of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, only the ruins of the Pyramid of Cheops is still in existence? All of the others we are attempting to rebuild: the Colossus of Rhodes, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, the Artemision at Ephesus, the Olympian Zeus statue originally by Phidias, the Pharos lighthouse.”
He simply stared at her in open-mouthed wonder.
The elevator had reached the car pool. Edith spoke into a screen, ordering a two-seater. Within moments it sped up to where they stood.
“I’ll drive,” she said. “I know all the coordinates.”
They got in and she deftly dialed their destination.
“Where are we going?” he asked as the automated car took off. He still wasn’t used to seeing the driver with hands not on the wheel.
“Our semi-permanent home is in what you used to call Maryland. A small town called Hopewell.”
“Semi-permanent?” he repeated. “Then you don’t own it?”
The car blended into the underground traffic, moving into the inner and fastest line.
She shook her head. “Nobody owns their homes now, Jule. It doesn’t make sense.”
“In my time, most of us—those who could afford to own them—took pride in our homes.”
“We take pride in them too as long as we remain in residence. That is, we beautify them, keep them as comfortable and attractive as we can. But we don’t tie ourselves down to one house, as a rule. Oh, some people do. Some live in the same dwelling all their lives. Certainly, there is no one to say them nay. But usually we rent our homes until some reason comes up that makes it practical to move.”
“Such as?”
“Well, look. Here you are a single man. It would seem unlikely that you would want a large house. Although housework is almost completely automated, there are still things that must be done. You rent a smallish house, or an apartment, in an area that is desirable to you, say in the mountains. Very well, after a time you meet a girl and form a permanent or semi-permanent arrangement with her. Obviously, a somewhat larger house is called for. Lo and behold, the following year she has a baby. A larger house is called for. Besides that, you’re getting tired of the mountains and move down to Florida for the beach and the fishing. It turns out she loves children and since you’re both genetically ideal, you are given the go-ahead to have another child. You decide you could use another room. So it goes for a few years and the first baby grows up and goes off on his own. Shortly the other child matures and leaves as well. There are just two of you now. You decide you’ve had enough of Florida anyway, and move down to one of the picturesque old Spanish Colonial towns in what was called Mexico before it was amalgamated into United America. By this time, your girlfriend is getting sick and tired of you and leaves. You are now single again, and a one-person house is in order. Doesn’t it make sense?”
“I suppose so,” he said. “Actually, in my time, too, we had a lot of people who were continually moving. But look, to get back to rebuilding the pyramid and all the Seven Wonders. If they’re destroyed, how can you recreate them?”
“It’s a problem, all right. Scholars are digging up every bit of information they can find. There are illustrations, some written descriptions. For instance, the lighthouse at Pharos was built back in Ptolemy’s day, before Christ, but it lasted until the 14th Century A.D. Many times it was depicted on pottery, on Egyptian tomb walls, on papyrus. We’ve got a pretty good idea of what the lighthouse looked like, and the Colossus of Rhodes which, by the way, didn’t straddle the harbor as it is sometimes illustrated. We’re having more trouble, actually, with the Roman Forum, which wasn’t one of the Seven Wonders, but we’re going to redo it anyway.”
“The Roman Forum! It must have covered several square miles, including the Colosseum. I’ve seen it.”
“Yes, of course. You see, it lasted for well over a thousand years. Now, do we reconstruct it as it was in the days of Lars Porsenna and the Etruscan reges, or as it looked during the time of Caesar and Augustus? In Nero’s day, or that of Marcus Aurelius when it was probably at the height of its beauty?”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got a project for damming up the Mississippi River so it’ll flow backward over the Rocky Mountains,” he protested.
She just smiled. The car began to edge over to the slower lanes. Finally, it darted off onto a smaller road and shortly began to ascend a ramp. A red light flickered on the dash and Edith took over the controls. They emerged into the countryside. “You mean we’re here already?” Julian asked.
“We were doing about three hundred kilometers,” Edith said. “But we’re not quite there yet. However, this part of Maryland is so beautiful I thought you’d probably rather see the countryside than continue any longer in the underground. Frankly, I hate the darn things. It’s as though you’re in suspended animation. But, of course, if speed is the thing, they give it to you.”
“Three hundred kilometers? That’s about one hundred eighty miles an hour, isn’t it?”
“Something like that. It’s been so long since I’ve converted miles to kilometers that I’d have to think about it. Anyway, at that speed, with no stops, no hills, no turns, you can cross the whole country in a little more than ten hours.”
He had only twice before driven through the countryside sinee he had been brought out of hibernation. Once again it took him back to his youth, when his parents or some other relative had sometimes driven him through upper New England in the autumn.
The road was not even paved and the traffic so slight that he felt half-inclined to wave at another car when
they passed. He estimated that at least nine-tenths of the traffic of this day was underground. He had already had it explained to him and he supposed it made sense. Unless you were out for some reason such as picnicking, fishing, or just a drive through the countryside, you took to the ultra-highways below ground and got to your destination in a fraction of the time. This road was more suited to a stately forty miles an hour, rather than one hundred eighty.
It was a beautiful day. After the ultra-efficiency high-rise building at the university city, the drive in the country was relaxing. From time to time they would pass a farm house, invariably so put together as to resemble a Hollywood set. Once or twice there were people on the porch or in the yard. Someone waved and Edith and Julian both waved back.
He said, “I thought you didn’t have small farms any more.”
“We don’t. Except for people who make it their hobby.”
“You mean none of these places puts in crops?”
“Some do. I’ve been considering taking a place like one of these after I’ve retired, or been bumped from my job. They grow their own things, receive pleasure from raising, canning, and drying their own products. Largely, they’re older people who remember and liked the old way of life. But some are younger folk who have simply taken it up as a hobby.”
“I thought almost everybody lived in high-rise apartment buildings like those at University City.”
“Oh, no, very few do. It’s a rather sterile way of life, really. The advantage of it in an institution as large as Julian West University City is that it enables a very large number of students to be in a comparatively small area. If they were spread out in individual homes the school area would have to cover several square miles of land and you’d waste all sorts of time getting from one place to another. Well, here we are.”
Equality: In the Year 2000 jw-2 Page 8
