Status Quo

by Fritz Leiber

pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked init to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses throughwhich he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking.Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it,couldn't care less right now about his physical appearance.

  A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one ofthe nation's best, keeping on such a figure.

  "Professor Voss?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." He brought forth hisidentification.

  The Professor blinked down at it. "I see," he said. "Won't you come in?"

  The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but theinterior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the differencein modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone whichhe spotted in the _entrada_ hadn't even a screen--an old model for speakingonly.

  The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, "The advantages ofcombining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In myown home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on myphone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as Imust on the streets or before my classes."

  Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one,all right.

  The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three orfour paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided,and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood,a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort ofthings you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen asculture symbols.

  The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belongedto the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was littleshort of an exhibitionist.

  The Professor took up a battered humidor. "Cigar?" he said. "Manila. Hardto get these days."

  A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next.

  "Thanks, no," Larry said. "I smoke a pipe."

  "I see," the Professor said, lighting his stogie. "Do you really like apipe? Personally, I've always thought the cigar by far the mostsatisfactory method of taking tobacco."

  What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though itwas rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den.A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with hisstatus level.

  He said, to get things under way, "Professor Voss, what is an intuitivescientist?"

  The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen matchwith which he'd lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray."Intuitive scientist?"

  "You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist."

  "Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?"

  Larry said wryly, "That's what I came to ask you about."

  The Professor was puzzled. "I'm afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr.Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?"

  "Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield.Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fillme in a bit."

  Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. "I really don't knowthe man that well. He lives across the park. Why don't--"

  "He's disappeared," Larry said.

  The Professor blinked. "I see," he said. "And in view of the fact that youare a security officer, I assume under strange circumstances." LarryWoolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair andpursed his lips. "I can't really tell you much. I became interested inSelf two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on theinadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors."

  Larry said, "I've heard about his suit against the government."

  The Professor became more animated. "Ha!" he snorted. "One example amongmany. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered.The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse."

  Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, "I was under theimpression that American free enterprise gave the individual the bestopportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he'd get tothe top."

  "Were you really?" the Professor said snappishly. "And did you know thatEdison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in thevicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like agood deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions,shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, ifanything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn't invent the reaperbut gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, one ofthe best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rockettechnology--gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors,landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes ofrecords that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches?Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit againstthe government for patent infringements!"

  [Illustration.]

  Larry held up a hand. "Really," he said. "My interest is in Ernest Self."

  The Professor relaxed. "Sorry. I'm afraid I get carried away. Self, to getback to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist.Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into fewgrooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to himand consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interferedwith his gaining employment with the universities and the largecorporations which dominate our country's research, not to mentiongovernmental agencies.

  "Ernest Self holds none of the status labels that count. The fact that heis a genius means nothing. He is supposedly qualified no more than to holda janitor's position in laboratories where his inferiors conductexperiments in fields where he is a dozenfold more capable than they. Noone is interested in his genius, they want to know what status labels arepinned to him. Ernest has no respect for labels."

  -------------------------------------

  Larry Woolford figured he was picking up background and didn't force achange of subject. "Just what do you mean by intuitive scientist?"

  "It's a term I have used loosely," the Professor admitted. "Possibly ascientist who makes a break-through in his field, destroying formerly heldpositions--in Self's case, without the math, without the accepted theoriesto back him. He finds something that works, possibly without knowing whyor how and by using unorthodox analytical techniques. An intuitivescientist, if I may use the term, is a thorn in the side of ourtheoretical physicists laden down with their burden of a status label butwho are themselves short of the makings of a Leonardo, a Newton, aGalileo, or even a Nicholas Christofilos."

  "I'm afraid that last name escapes me," Larry said.

  "Similar to Self's case and Robert Goddard's," Voss said, his voicebitter. "Although his story has a better ending. Christofilos invented thestrong-focusing principle that made possible the multi-billion-voltparticle accelerators currently so widely used in nuclear physicsexperimentation. However, he was nothing but a Greek elevator electricalsystem engineer and the supposed experts turned him down on the groundsthat his math was faulty. It seems that he submitted the idea instraight-algebra terms instead of differential equations. He finally wonthrough after patenting the discovery and rubbing their noses in it.Previously, none of the physics journals would publish his paper--he didn'thave the right status labels to impress them."

  Larry said, almost with amusement, "You seem to have quite a phobiaagainst the status label, as you call it. However, I don't see how ascomplicated a world as ours could get along without it."

  The Professor snorted his contempt. "Tell me," he said, "to which class doyou consider yourself to belong?"

  Larry Woolford shrugged. "I suppose individuals in my bracket are usuallythought of as being middle-middle class."

  "And you have no feeling of revolt in having such a label hung on you?Consider this system for a mom
ent. You have lower-lower, middle-lower, andupper-lower; then you have lower-middle, middle-middle, upper-middle; thenyou have lower-upper, middle-upper, and finally we achieve to upper-upperclass. Now tell me, when we get to that rarified category, who do we find?Do we find an Einstein, a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding scientists,humanitarians, the great writers, artists and musicians of our day?Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy playboys and girls, a former king andhis duchess who eke out their income by accepting fees to attend parties,the international born set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic titles.These are your upper-upper class!"

  Larry laughed.

  The Professor snapped, "You think it funny? Let me give you anotherexample of our status label culture. I have a friend whom I have knownsince childhood. I would estimate that Charles has an I.Q. ofapproximately 90, certainly no more. His family, however, took suchnecessary steps as were needed to get Charles through public school. Nogreat matter these days, you'll admit, although on occasion he needed abit of tutoring. On graduation, they recognized that the really betterschools might be a bit difficult for Charles so he was entered in auniversity with a good name but without--shall we say?--the highest ofscholastic ratings. Charles plodded along, had some more tutoring,probably had his thesis ghosted, and eventually graduated. At that pointan uncle died and left Charles an indefinite amount to be used infurthering his education to any extent he wished to go. Charles, motivatedprobably by the desire to avoid obtaining a job and competing with hisfellow man, managed to wrangle himself into a medical school andeventually even graduated. Since funds were still available, he continuedhis studies abroad, largely in Vienna."

  The Professor wound it up. "Eventually, he ran out of schools, or hisuncle's estate ran out--I don't know which came first. At any rate, myfriend Charles, laden down with status labels, is today practicing as apsychiatrist in this fair city of ours."

  Larry stared at him blankly.

  The Professor said snappishly, "So any time you feel you need to have yourbrains unscrambled, you can go to his office and expend twenty-fivedollars an hour or so. His reputation is of the highest." The Professorgrunted his contempt. "He doesn't know the difference between an aspirintablet and a Rorschach test."

  Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. "We seem to have gotten far off thesubject. What has this got to do with Self?"

  The Professor seemed angry. "I repeat, I'm afraid I get carried away onthis subject. I'm in revolt against a culture based on the status label.It eliminates the need to judge a man on his merits. To judge a person bythe clothes he wears, the amount of money he possesses, the car he drives,the neighborhood in which he lives, the society he keeps, or even hisancestry, is out of the question in a vital, growing society. You wind upwith nonentities as the leaders of your nation. In these days, we can'tafford it."

  He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, at the security agent. "Butadmittedly, this deals with Self only as one of many victims of a culturebased on status labels. Just what is it you wanted to know about Ernest?"

  "When you knew him, evidently he was working on rocket fuels. Have you anyidea whether he later developed a method of producing perfectcounterfeit?"

  The Professor said, "Ernest Self? Surely you are jesting."

  Larry said unhappily, "Then here's another question. Have you ever heardhim mention belonging to a movement, or, I think, he might word it _TheMovement_."

  "Movement?" the Professor said emptily.

  "Evidently a revolutionary group interested in the overthrow of thegovernment."

  "Good heavens," the Professor said. "Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. Youinterrupted me just as I was having my second cup of coffee. Do you mindif I--"

  "Certainly not," Woolford shook his head.

  "I simply can't get along until after my third cup," the Professor said."You just wait a moment and I'll bring the pot in here."

  He left Larry to sit in the combined study and living room while heshuffled off in his slippers to the kitchen. Larry Woolford decided thatin his school days he'd had some far out professors himself, but it wouldreally be something to study under this one. Not that the old boy didn'thave some points, of course. Almost all nonconformists base theirparticular peeves on some actuality, but in this case, what was thepercentage? How could you buck the system? Particularly when, largely, itworked.

  -------------------------------------

  The Professor returned with an old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, andsugar and cream on a tray. He put them on a side table and said to Larry,"You'll join me? How do you take it?"

  Larry still had the slightest of hang-overs from his solitary drinking ofthe night before. "Thanks. Make it black," he said.

  The Professor poured, served, then did up a cup for himself. He sat backin his chair and said, "Now, where were we? Something about arevolutionary group. What has that to do with counterfeiting?"

  Larry sipped the strong coffee. "It seems there might be a connection."

  The Professor shook his head. "It's hard to imagine Ernest Self beingconnected with a criminal pursuit."

  Larry said carefully, "Susan seemed to be of the opinion that you knewabout a large amount of counterfeit currency that this Movement had onhand and that you were in favor of spending it upon chorus girls."

  The Professor gaped at him.

  Larry chuckled uncomfortably.

  Professor Voss said finally, his voice very even, "My dear sir, I amafraid that I evidently can be of little assistance to you."

  "Admittedly, it doesn't seem to make much sense."

  "Susan--you mean that little sixteen year old?--said _I_ was in favor ofspending counterfeit money on chorus girls?"

  Larry said unhappily, "She used the term _the Professor_."

  "And why did you assume that the title must necessarily allude to me? Evenif any of the rest of the fantastic story was true."

  Larry said, "In my profession, Professor Voss, we track down everypossible clue. Thus far, you are the only professor of whom we know whowas connected with Ernest Self."

  Voss said stiffly, "I can only say, sir, that in my estimation Mr. Self isa man of the highest integrity. And, in addition, that I have never spenta penny on a chorus girl in my life and have no intention of beginning,counterfeit or otherwise."

  Larry Woolford decided that he wasn't doing too well and that he'd needmore ammunition if he was going to return to this particular attack. Hewas surprised that the old boy hadn't already ordered him from the house.

  He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. "Then you thinkit's out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionaryorganization?"

  The Professor protested. "I didn't say that at all. Mr. Self is a man ofideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization."

  Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words."You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization isundesirable in this country."

  The Professor's voice was reasonable. "Isn't that according to what itmeans to subvert?"

  "You know what I mean," Woolford said in irritation. "I don't usuallythink of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members ofa _movement_, as exactly idealists."

  "Then you're wrong," the Professor said definitely, pouring himselfanother cup of coffee. "History bears out that almost invariablyrevolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be eitherright or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point."

  Larry Woolford began to say, "Are you sure that you aren't interested inthis _move--_"

  But it was then that the knockout drops hit him.

  -------------------------------------

  He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. Hegroaned and opened one eye experimentally.

  Steve Hackett, far away, said, "He's snapping out of it."

  Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus.

  "What happened?" he mut
tered.

  "Now that's an original question," Steve said.

  Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretchedout on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study.

  Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at himsarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguelyremembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about andin and out of the room.

  Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, "My head's killing me.Damn it, what's going on?"

  Steve said sarcastically, "You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak anddagger friend, and the bird has flown."

  "You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right."

  "Humor we get, yet," Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. "Listen, Ithought you people had pulled out of this case."

  Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. "So did I," hemoaned, "but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thoughtI'd tidy them up before leaving."

  "You tidied them up all right," Steve grumbled. "This Professor Voss waspractically the only lead I've been able to discover. An old friend ofSelf's.