He mixed himself a drink, then turned on a wall screen for messages. That the screen was blank made him also feel blank. Sighing, he made dinner, then set about cleaning up the place so that the Wednesday tenant would find nothing to complain about. Moving from room to room, he half-saw and half-heard the news. The details of the issues in the referendum to be put before the people were shown in print and then repeated by newscasters. The items were to be voted upon separately, then the final referendum would be placed before the citizens. Meanwhile, those against and for it would be making their pitch.
Having finished the cleaning, which did not take long because he was seldom home long enough to dirty it, Duncan entered the stoner.
17
Duncan sat in the center of his own workroom in Boda Lab, the Bureau of Data Assimilation, Los Angeles Branch. The chamber had a twenty-foot diameter, and its walls were lined with ten-foot-square screens. His workdesk was circular and held twenty smaller computers and their monitors. His powered chair moved on a track along the inner perimeter of the big O. Four hours each workday he sat there; the rest of the day was his for whatever he wanted to do. Go home or shopping or sailing or bowling or looking for a lover or put in two hours of volunteer work for a bureau project or for his own research project.
At this moment, he was gathering information on a task assigned by his immediate superior. This was a small part of a very big program that had been going on for several subyears. Duncan did not think it was important, though his supervisor had stressed that it was very much so to the government. Duncan resented it because it was one more delving of the government into the private lives of its citizens. He did not know why it should be in any way needed nor what its final goal was. His supervisor was also ignorant of the goal, but that, he said, did not matter.
“A perfect state can’t be achieved until it has complete information,” Porfirio Samuels Phylactery had said to Duncan. His depigmented leaf-green eyes seemed to glow as he waved a hand that had been depigmented into light and dark stripes. The “zebra effect” was much in fashion among those who had the credits required for the treatment.
“It’s true that much of the data we’ve accumulated may not be used for a long time. But when it’s needed, it’ll be there. Let me tell you, Andrew, I’ve seen long-stored and never-called-up data suddenly needed for a project. And it’s there, waiting to become alive and vital, summoned within a microsecond, springing into being and service, fitting into the program. It doesn’t have to be laboriously and time-consumingly worked on while other parts of the program lag because the data isn’t ready. It’s hidden treasure, and a push of a button or a spoken phrase brings it out like uncorking a genie’s bottle. It’s simply fabulous! So don’t ever think you’re just on a makework job. You’re being very useful. If not for this generation, then for the next. But probably for this generation!”
That last sentence was not very arguable. Since the average longevity span in subyears was eighty-five, most of this generation would live approximately 595 obyears. The rest of what he had said, though, was 50 percent crap and 25 percent chaff.
And 24 percent doubtful.
“You’re right, boss,” Duncan said, nodding and smiling. And, he thought, he was lining up at the head of ten thousand generations of ass-kissers. But he was not doing this to curry favor and advance himself for material gain. He was playing a role.
So what else was new?
Phylactery left the room, his walk very springy, sallying forth to encourage any who were dubious, discouraged, or misled. Duncan gave the broad striped back the finger, a gesture that had probably originated in the Old Stone Age, if not before then. Feeling a little ashamed of himself at his childish act, Duncan settled down to work. Currently, this was setting up the computer complex to match the PEI (personality element index) of citizens subclassed as having a high ratio of SC (self-centeredness) to other character traits. High SC was defined as immaturity characterized by the possessor’s expecting others to arrange their schedules and interests according to the wishes of the POSS (possessor) and for N-POSS (nonpossessors, that is, those socially involved with the POSS) to do many things for the POSS that the POSS was quite capable of doing for himself or herself. There were, of course, many other subsubelements integral to the HI SC POSS.
All but saints, whose existence the state denied, were self-centered to some degree. But the HI SC POSS firmly believed that he or she was the axis around which the entire universe turned.
Duncan’s summary of data already collected re this superclass established that not a single one of the three billion under study believed that he or she was anything but normally self-centered. (Normal was not as yet clearly defined in the official psychicist catalog.)
Since the founding of the New Era, the government had been stressing in every way it could think of the desirability of cooperation and self-sacrifice for its citizens. The results were coming in now, showing that N.E. (New Era) citizens were much more cooperative and socially aware than citizens of previous societies (though there had been no substantially scientific studies of these traits in pre-N.E. citizens).
However, at least 20 percent of this generation were still HI SC POSS. According to the projections made by the government a hundred obyears ago, there should now be only 1 percent of the “incorrigibles.”
The failure to respond to state education and propaganda must, therefore, have its origins in genetic patterns.
Since the CH COM (chromosomal complex) of every citizen was in the data bank, it was comparatively easy, though not always quickly done, to match the individual’s CH COM against the HI SC POSS index. Eventually, when enough subjects had been matched to make the study significant (in a statistical sense), it could be determined (it was hoped) that certain chromosomal patterns would be shown to be responsible for high self-centeredness.
The next step?
The government had not stated this.
It was obvious to Duncan, among many others, that the present research into the alteration of chromosomal patterns before birth would be greatly stepped up. Goal: to change the undesirable patterns to desirable ones.
Just how this could be done in more than 4 or 5 percent of the unborn Duncan did not know. There just were not enough doctors and technicians to work on more than this percentage. Meanwhile, the studies had not yet been done and probably would not be for another 20 subyears or 140 obyears.
At the moment, the digested results of the study on the ratio of HI SC among zealous bridge players, homosexual males, and surgeons were being displayed. The implications of these could have been left up to the computer, but the human brain was still better in sensing subtleties and implications than the machine. Some brains were.
Duncan had the computer compress the results even more, and rotating his chair, read the desk and wall screens. Then he had each display produce voice. While listening to the verbal scan, he also considered what he would do after workhours. But he soon concentrated again on the present task.
Among the eighty million zealous bridge players, sixty-five million had a high SCI (self-centered interest index). The comparison group, eighty million citizens chosen at random, eliminating bridge players, showed that only twenty-nine million had an SCI of similar intensity. The comparison group also excluded male homosexuals, surgeons, politicians, priests, rabbis, ministers, and mullahs. Duncan had no idea why the last four groups were barred. Perhaps the government ideology prevented any consideration of “holy men and women” as non—self-centered. Or perhaps they were excluded because they were irrational and thus not fit subjects for this kind of study. If this was so, then the study was invalid in this respect.
It was possible that the entire project was based on invalid or unscientific premises. After all, the conclusions of the bureau interviewers that the individuals interviewed and studied were highly self-centered were grounded on subjective judgments.
Duncan shrugged. He had a job to do, and any comments he made about
its ineffectiveness would only cause him unwelcome attention.
He switched the displays to the results of data drawn from 100 million male homosexuals. The SCI was even higher, 820 million being credited with an upper level “negative” rating. But the “social cooperation” ratio, placed on the screens at his order, showed that only 50 million of these were anywhere in the “antisocial” bracket. Of these, only one-eighth were labeled as “dangerous.” And of the fraction, only one-third was marked as “superdangerous.” But when Duncan considered that the SUPDAN classification could result from such minor crimes as spitting on the public sidewalk more than three times or fisticuffs in a tavern, he was not sure of its validity.
Also, the cause and origin of homosexuality had long ago been established as purely genetic in all but 3 percent of the cases studied—three billion during two subcenturies. The nine chromosomal complexes responsible had been identified, and they could, in nine out of ten cases, be altered successfully in prebirth individuals. Two factors, however, had kept the government from passing laws to make the alteration mandatory despite the strong insistence by various heterosexual organizations that it should. First, the homosexuals vigorously objected. Despite all evidence to the contrary, the gay groups insisted that their sexuality was not genetically determined but was arrived at by choice, by the exercise of their free will. Second, the much more powerful determinant, the government wished to keep the population at zero growth or less. The more homosexuals there were, the less the population increased.
However, the government had made it illegal for homosexuals to beget children parthogenetically or through surrogate mothers. The official reason given for this was that, if homosexuals could not have children, homosexuality would die out. The enraged gay groups had not been able to budge the government from this position. They pointed out that most of the children born to homosexuals before the ban was imposed had been heterosexual and that at least 10 percent of the children born to heterosexuals were homosexual.
The government paid no attention to this reasoning or to the discrepancy in its own logic.
There was nothing new in this kind of logic for any government, past or present, Duncan thought.
He ran a comparison of the chromosomal complexes thought by most geneticists to be responsible for the high SCI in homosexuals to corresponding areas in bridge zealots. This had been done by others, but he wished to study the matchings himself. Perhaps he could detect something that the others had failed to observe. After a while, he tired of that and took his lunch hour. This was spent mostly in the bureau gymnasium, twenty minutes at weights and fifteen at jogging. After showering and then eating lightly, he went back to work for an hour, then went home.
That evening, he came back to his office. The guard noted the time of his entry. Since his supervisor would also check the roster of overtime workers, Duncan had to spend some time in continuing the comparison search. That would justify his presence there. But after an hour’s work, which would satisfy Phylactery that Duncan had not been just goofing off, Duncan set up the codes ensuring that his illegal probes would erase themselves at the first monitor alarm or probe by anyone else. Then, using the codes given him by the dark figure at the meeting, he put in an inquiry for a name. MARIA TUAN BOLEBROKE.
The figure had said, “I’m in a position to get the access codes, but I can’t use them myself. I’d be too open to exposure. You use them, then do what I told you to do after you get the data. I do have some data, however. Here’s the little I know on the subject.”
No codes were unbreakable, though it was dangerous to attempt to crack them. There were too many safeguards. However, codes were set up by human beings, and some men and women were, unlike the codes, accessible. That was the theory, which sometimes worked out in practice.
Duncan asked for the file on Maria Tuan Bolebroke. Challenged by the computer, Duncan gave the second code needed to get entry. But he was challenged again. Having spoken the third code, Duncan was admitted to the file. He studied the information on the screens until he had memorized all that he might need. It was against RAT procedure to run off a printout.
After he was sure that the data were locked into his mind, he gave the code that would erase all records of the procedure from the data bank. This, too, had been given him by the masked person in the gymnasium. Possession of all these codes meant that the mysterious stranger had a high position in the bureau and was also probably an upper-level organic, a “traitor.” Though Duncan was curious about the person’s identity, he resisted the impulse to try to track him down. He could have asked for the IDs of all the top-security officers of the local bureau, but, even if he did not trigger alarms by doing this, he still would not know the face and voice of his superior.
“Forget it,” he muttered.
Still, the figure had gestured vigorously and probably with a definable pattern. If he could get hold of videos of the top officials while talking, he might be able to identify the figure. Which having done, what would he do then?
“I’ll keep it in mind, anyway,” he said. And he wondered why he often talked to himself. It was not a desirable trait. Since he had assembled the personality of William St.-George Duncan, he would not have chosen the habit of thinking out loud. Was there a leak way down there, a rupture in one of the buried personae? Was the talk bubbling out like wine from a goatskin long ago sunken in an ancient gallery?
Wherever those psyches were, they had not been cut off entirely. A good thing, too. Otherwise, he would not have been able to work as a data banker. Beewolf knew nothing of that profession. Well, yes, he did. The leaks from the others were just as much a part of Beewolf as his body even though these were not in his ID card or the GOV DTA BNK.
“I have a leaky personality, but they’re good leaks in that I need them very much.”
He resumed his concentration on Maria Tuan Bolebroke. His orders had been to learn all he could about her. Then he was to get acquainted with her, become familiar with her if he could, and, if possible, be her lover. That might not be so difficult since she had had twelve in the last two subyears, and Duncan was the physical type she preferred. Once he had gained her confidence, he was to try to get her to reveal certain codes. How he did that was up to him.
Duncan did not believe that, even if he could be on intimate terms with her, he could last long enough as her lover to get Out of her what the RAT wanted to know. Her turnover rate was too high. Putting in all the time required to get something from her that she would probably not give seemed ridiculous to Duncan.
He asked for and got information about her routine and habits. This did not set off a block-access notice. He read the report, and he smiled. Why not take his own course, a much quicker one?
At lunch hour the following Tuesday, he was a few paces behind Maria Bolebroke, BODA LAB, Supervisor Class 3-M, as she walked to a restaurant near the bureau offices. Sunlight, piped in via optic fibers, made the great curving courseway bright. The crowd was clad in many-colored clothes except for the nudists, many of whom had striped skin of various loud colors. All were in a hilarious mood because of the coming surveillance-free period. When the vote on the exact items of freedom was concluded, their liberation would begin. That, however, was at least a subweek away.
The joyous mood of the people should tell the government something, Duncan thought. Though there was little official complaint from the citizens, their attitude now showed that they must have resented, even if unconsciously, their peeping-tom overlords. Just what all these L.A.-ers planned to do when the watchers quit looking, Duncan did not know. Did they think they could do anything they liked?
Maria Bolebroke was alone, and Duncan hoped that she would not be meeting someone in the restaurant. If she were, she was safe from him for that day. He let out a little sigh of relief when she took a tiny one-person booth in a corner. He got a table already held by Cabtab across the room. Snick was sitting at a nearby table with five of her coworkers. She glanced at Duncan and after
that did not look his way.
“Expecting company, citizens?” the waiter said.
“No,” Duncan said.
The waiter pressed a button at the end of one seat, and the seats slid in on themselves. The table area also shrank as the outer end dropped down and then moved under the other part. A flunky, at the waiter’s gesture, brought a folding table and chairs and set them up to occupy the space vacated by the reduced booth.
Duncan and Cabtab gave their orders, Duncan’s eyebrows rose when the big man requested only a small salad and cottage cheese.
“My boss demanded that I lose sixty pounds in six months,” Cabtab grumbled. “Otherwise, I’ll lose some credits and perks.”
“Don’t cheat,” Duncan said.
“I won’t. But the other day I saw on TV that a new product is coming out soon. It’s mostly good-tasting bulk and very few calories. I could stuff myself on that. The only trouble is that some people have side effects when they eat it. Dizziness and diarrhea, the report said. I suppose it’d be just my luck to be one of the afflicted.”
“Pray to God to give you willpower to stick to the diet.”
“Yeah? Which One?”
“Try all of Them.”
“I don’t know,” Cabtab said somewhat gloomily. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. That is, I have when my roomie isn’t chattering away. The Great Ear-Bender, I call her, though she certainly has enough good qualities to almost make up for her verbosity. Anyway, as I said, I’ve been thinking. Worshiping all the Gods should reinforce the quantity of good returns. But Jahweh and Allah and Buddha—who isn’t a God, by the way, but he likes being prayed to and He is, in a way, an agent for the Universal Equilibrium—and Woden and Thor and Zeus and Ceres and Ishtar and the Living Mantra and Jumala and Vishnu and—”
“Spare me the entire list,” Duncan said. “I understand what you’re saying.”
“Do you? I don’t. Anyway, the theory is that praying to all of These multiplies the powers of your prayers and enforces manyfold the divine interest of the divine capital, the celestial output, you might say. But…what if a prayer to one deity cancels a prayer to another? What if all my prayers blend to make one big null? Then where am I? Maybe I’ve been wrong all these years and wasted my life, not to mention the lives of my disciples. It might be—”